MONSIEUR WAITS UPON A LADY
ominously. “If I knew where he had put the papers—if I could but get him to fight—”
“Fight! Ye couldn’t coax a fight from Ferrers with the flat of yer hand. He’d rather see ye in the Bastile or the Tower. He’s too sure to take any risks. Besides, if ye’d kill him the papers would be lost forever. No, he’ll not fight. He owes ye money, and while the constables can cancel the debt ye may be sure that he will not.”
Mornay passed his hand over his brow. “’Tis true. But I must see them together. That is the only chance. I will go to-day.”
“But how, Mornay?” asked Cornbury, dryly. “In a coach and four?”
Mornay sprang to his feet in delight. “C’est ça!” he cried, joyfully. “Oh, monsieur, but you have the Irish wit. Vigot shall bring me a coach. I shall ride in state.”
Cornbury rose to his feet angrily.
“What nonsense is this?” he cried. Mornay smiled on him benignly.
“Can you not see, Monsieur le Capitaine? While they are looking for me at the Fleece,
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