“Monsieur the superintendent of police has twice been here this week to inquire about my mistress,” she answered softly. “This very morning he was here. He would know everything would monsieur the superintendent. But he does not pay and he learned nothing, nothing, I swear.” She laughed knowingly.
André mounted and rode away. Fate was against him. Well, it could not be helped now. And the news of that English gentleman and the inquiries of the police were disquieting. What were English gentlemen doing at “The Cock with the Spurs of Gold” when England was at war with France? No wonder the police, the Marquise’s friend in particular, were prowling about so suspicious an inn. No wonder the crystal-gazer had taken to flight.
“Who is that?” cried a boyish voice. A galloping horse had suddenly pulled up beside André’s. “You, Vicomte, you! The very man that is wanted.”
André had at the sudden challenge whipped out his sword to defend himself. He now peered through the gloom.
“Chevalier, you!” he exclaimed in intense suspicion and annoyance.
“Yes, I, Chevalier de St. Amant. I am in luck. There’s the devil’s own business here.”
“What is it?” André demanded angrily. To be detected in this wood by the Chevalier, of all men, was maddening.
“Treachery,” said the Chevalier briefly.
“Treachery?”
St. Amant was excited. “I was on my way to Paris by the King’s orders to overtake a courier. I took the short cut through this wood; you know it doubtless. I hear a groan, I dismount, and there is the courier in the ditch, tied hand and foot, gagged too, poor devil, and his despatches gone.”