THE SECRET AGENT ONCE MORE
Lieutenant Simpson, as first officer of the Ranger, was placed in
command of the Drake, and that vessel was taken in tow and the American
man-of-war sailed in quest of more prizes along the Irish coast and
then toward Brest.
Sighting a sail, one day, Captain Jones cut the Drake loose after
instructing his first officer to make the best of his way into Brest.
But Simpson, true to his instincts, changed his course to southward and
Paul Jones was compelled to give up the pursuit of several promising
prizes in order that he might come up with the captured frigate.
Incensed beyond measure by the insolence of Simpson, he placed the man
under arrest, and the command of the Drake was given to Lieutenant
Hall, who finally took her into port.
When they reached France once more they discovered that a treaty of
alliance between the colonies and that kingdom had been signed. The
American ministers had been received at the French court; the French
ambassador had left London, and the English envoy, Lord Stormont, had
departed from France. War was on between these two great European
powers, and in the heat of that great struggle the colonies at last had
a chance to be free.
Once again Paul Jones, Ethan Carlyle and Longsword rode to Paris to
consult with Dr. Franklin. They were warmly greeted by the sage, and he
listened to their experiences with interest and appreciation.
“Captain Jones,” he said at the conclusion, “there is nothing in the
gift of your country too great for your deserving. In the name of the
colonies, I thank you.”
“I suppose,” remarked Ethan, after a time, “that the lost dispatch is
now valueless, seeing that the alliance has already been accomplished.”
“On the contrary,” said Dr. Franklin, “it is now more important that
it should be recovered than ever. I have communicated with Congress,
and a duplicate of the dispatch has been sent me; it was by means
of its contents that this treaty has been effected. But were the
facts contained in the dispatch to come, even now, under the eyes
of Lord North, such pressure would be brought upon France that she
would drop all connection with us at once and again make a peace with
England. Indeed, the fact that the information is in the way of being
discovered, were the French aware of it, might be fatal. The dispatch
must be recovered at all hazards.”
As they sat in their lodgings that night Ethan told Longsword of this:
and the Irish dragoon wrinkled his brow and looked infinitely wise.
“Politics,” remarked he, sagely, “is a great thing, faith. Sure the
statesmen are always burrowing under the ground and cutting it away
from beneath each others’ feet. It wouldn’t surprise me if the loss of
this dispatch should bring about the recall of the French fleets that
have sailed for America, and the ruin of the hopes for liberty.”
“Don’t say that, Longsword,” said Ethan, a pained look in his eyes. “I
hate to even think of such a thing.”
“If we could only come upon the bla’guard Lascar we might gain
something by it. Oh, but it’s him that’s the fox; sure nobody can hold
him, it seems.”
“The fact that the Earl of Selkirk went away upon a journey soon after
his interview with the Lascar troubles me,” said Ethan. “It looks as
though he had learned something of the paper and had set out to try to
gain possession of it.”
“True for ye, and it seems to me that Paris, somehow, is the place he
would come for it.”
“Paris! And why?”
“Sure, I don’t know. But it presents itself to me that way, Master
Ethan.”
“Perhaps you may be right. This man Fochard is here, and it would not
be at all surprising if he knew something of the matter.”
“Suppose,” suggested Longsword after a pause, “that we pay a visit to
this gentleman in the Rue Constantine?”
“An excellent idea,” cried Ethan. “And we will put it into operation at
once.”
They put on their heaviest clothing, for the night was a cold one in
February, and set forth. The hard frosty ground rang beneath their
feet as they trudged along the rather gloomy streets. Turning into the
Rue Constantine they had no trouble in finding the house of M. Fochard.
The same little man in the spectacles and with the shining bald head
opened the door upon the chain and looked out at them. Recognizing them
at a single glance he cried:
“Oh, you rogues, so you have returned. A very nice trick that was to
play upon an old clerk, was it not? Shame! I almost lost my place
because of you. But you will not fool me again, no, no!”
“Is M. Fochard within?” asked Ethan.
“He is not, and would not see you if he were! You are rogues,
monsieurs; and we have nothing to do with such here!” And with that, he
clapped the door in their faces and left them standing in the darkness
and cold.
“The old fellow seems angry,” chuckled Longsword. “I suppose his
employer hauled him over the coals for letting us in that night.”
“There is no use in our trying again to-night at any rate,” said
Ethan. “Are you cold, Shamus?” he continued after they had turned away
and retraced their steps along the Rue Constantine.
“I am, faith!” answered the Irish soldier.
“There is a bright, clean looking coffee house across the way. Suppose
we step in and take the chill off with some coffee and a little
snack--say a buttered roll or something of that sort.”
“A very thoughtful suggestion. Sure, nothing would please me better.”
They crossed the street and entered the coffee house. Each had a
cutlass hanging from his belt, and their foreign air at once attracted
the attention of the people in the place. But they sought out a small
table at the far end of the room and seating themselves quietly ordered
and sipped their coffee and nibbled at the white rolls that were
brought with it.
“A very respectable looking place,” said Longsword as his eyes roved
about, examining its patrons.
“Yes,” answered Ethan. “And the coffee is excellent.”
As they talked in low tones upon various topics, the door opened and
three men entered the room. One of them was queerly huddled up in a
huge cloak; the others were lowering looking fellows, apparently of the
class of cut-purses or bravos which infested the city at that time.
They took seats at a side table near the door.
“There are three bla’guards, or I never saw any,” declared Longsword
to Ethan as he looked at the newcomers. “Sure and ye can see villainy
written all over them.”
“They are not very prepossessing looking persons at all events,”
admitted Ethan. He went on sipping his coffee for a time and then
leaning toward his companion he said in a low tone, “They are watching
us.”
“No!” exclaimed Longsword, glaring at the trio.
“Don’t stare so at them. Yes; it’s true. The man in the cloak seems to
be some one in authority; he pointed us out as soon as they came in;
they have been furtively eyeing us ever since.”
“I wonder why?” said Longsword, puzzled.
“I couldn’t say. Perhaps because we are Americans. I’ve noticed that
that causes the French people to stare always, as we pass along the
street.”
The young American and his companion watched the three closely while
pretending to inspect the room. The conversation of the men was carried
on in a very low tone; their gestures were guarded; their whole manner
was secret; and while they ate sparingly of the food placed before them
they never took their eyes, so it seemed, from Ethan and Longsword.
While deep in the observation of all this Ethan was surprised to hear a
quiet voice say, almost in his ear:
“Our friends by the door seem like most peculiar people.”
Ethan turned quickly, for the voice had a strangely familiar sound; and
to his great astonishment he found himself looking into the smiling
face of Monsieur Fochard. Longsword was equally astonished; the
language was French and so of course he did not understand what the man
said; but he recognized the features of the secret agent instantly. The
man saw this and smiled and nodded.
“I had not thought,” said he to Ethan, “to see you again so soon. I
fancied, monsieur, that you would be at St. Mary’s Isle, awaiting the
coming of Siki, the Lascar.”
Ethan fancied that he detected a chuckle in the man’s voice--a chuckle
of intense satisfaction. But he made no reply and the agent went on:
“I forgive you for the deception which you allowed me to practice upon
myself that night when you came to my house. It was a clever ruse,
monsieur, and most remarkable for a boy of your years. My best man
could scarcely excel it.”
Ethan laughed.
“You do me too much honor, M. Fochard. It was chance that took me to
your house, and chance that carried the matter on.”
“Very modest--very commendable,” said the other with a wave of his
hand. “But I prefer to believe that it was a set plan; it would not do
for Fochard to admit that he was outwitted by blind chance.”
He had been sitting sipping his black coffee at a table directly
behind; now he dragged his chair forward to theirs and sat twirling the
heavy seals upon his watch-guard. He spent a few moments in silent
contemplation of both; then he asked:
“Would it be too much if I inquired how you learned that Siki had
returned to Paris?”
“I did not know that he had,” returned Ethan.
The secret agent regarded him with a smile.
“My dear fellow,” said he stretching his trim silk stockinged legs
beneath the table, “how can you say that when the man sits before you?”
As he spoke he made a gesture toward the three men at the door;
Ethan glanced at the man in the cloak; he caught sight of a dark,
long-fingered subtle looking hand which was thrust from beneath it. It
was true; this man must be the Lascar.
“You must not think to deceive me again, young gentleman,” said
Fochard. He rearranged his elaborate shirt frill and the huge ruffles
of lace which he wore at his wrists, and smiled. “There sits Siki,
bravely before us,” he continued. “But tell me what you think of the
other two.”
“They look to me like rascals,” answered Ethan, promptly.
“Ah!” and the secret agent seemed greatly interested. “You have studied
physiognomy then.”
But Ethan shook his head.
“Ah! that is a pity! The study of the human countenance is a great and
vital thing; all men, especially those engaged in duties that bring
them into contact with the motives and secret doings of other men
should study this grand science.”
He seemed to be upon a subject which interested him greatly, and
continued:
“By it we are forearmed, safeguarded. We at once know the tendencies of
strangers, and so it saves us many disasters in our affairs; for those
whom this philosophy warns us against we do not trust.”
“I suppose not,” answered Ethan, vaguely.
“It is a matter of great ease,” went on the man, crossing his silk
stockinged legs and smoothing his ruffles with one many-ringed hand,
“to discover the tendencies of our friends there at the door, for they
carry their vocations plainly writ upon their faces. Note the leaner
of the two Frenchmen--the pointed and protruding jaw, the outstanding
ears, the eyes set close together, the low brow, the nose slightly
hooked. It is a countenance whose message is unmistakable. To one who
knows it cries out ceaselessly--beware, beware!”
Ethan nodded; science or no science he knew that the stranger spoke the
truth.
“The other face,” continued Fochard, “is of a decidedly lower type.
Note the huge jaw, the small round head set upon the great torso, with
scarcely the sign of a neck. This is a common sort of ruffian--one who
will make much noise about his wrong-doing and be easily caught.”
Ethan looked at the secret agent curiously; somehow he had the
impression that the man’s talk was for the purpose of gaining time;
also that he desired the three at the table near the door to see
them, apparently, earnestly engaged together. Drawing a large silver
snuff-box from his waistcoat pocket Fochard took a dainty pinch and
then offered it to Ethan and Longsword in turn. Upon their refusing
he smiled and delicately applied the snuff to his nostrils; then he
dusted the fallen grains from his clothing and put the box away.
“I think,” said Ethan, “that you must have encountered these men before
to know their characteristics so well. A single glance at the face does
not tell so much.”
The Frenchman gestured his admiration of this remark, and his jeweled
hands sparkled in the candle-light.
“You Americans are keen and most practical,” he said. “And for that
reason,” he went on, bending toward Ethan, “I am going to do something
for you to-night which will surprise you much--and out of sheer
admiration of your nation.”
“Indeed.”
“I have here a ring,” and Fochard drew from his finger a sparkling
circlet and held it up so that the light would fall upon it. “I am
going to give it to you.”
He noted the lad’s look of surprise, and added with a smile:
“It is not because of the ring itself--oh, no. But the person who
stands, with this ring upon the third finger of his right hand and
with the hand held so, at the great gate of Versailles at ten in the
morning, will receive--a packet. Do you understand?”
“A packet,” Ethan shot a keen glance at the man.
“Exactly--a packet sealed with great splotches of red wax.”
“Ah!” The boy drew in a deep breath, and his eyes narrowed and began to
burn.
“Ten thousand pounds is a great sum,” and Fochard shrugged his fat
shoulders. “But I am a Frenchman, and all Frenchmen love the Americans.
For this reason I forego all hope of the profit that a great labor
should bring me.” He grasped Ethan by the right wrist and placed the
ring upon his finger. As he did so the men at the far table quietly
arose and drew nearer, seating themselves at another table. Their
watchful eyes never lost a movement of Fochard’s or Ethan’s; their
heads were bent in an effort to hear what was being said.
“So,” said Fochard, in a low tone, “that is done, monsieur, and I am
pleased.”
“Is this packet,” demanded Ethan eagerly, “what I suppose it is?”
“It is,” replied Fochard in a somewhat louder tone. “But guard the ring
carefully; for it alone will bring you what you desire.”
And once more he repeated his instructions to the boy. The three
listening men drank in his words eagerly, and when he had finished they
paid their score and went out.
“They overheard what you said,” spoke Ethan.
“I know it,” smiled Fochard. “Since the time when I caught the Lascar
in his attempt to leave France with the dispatch, he has been hounding
me.”
“But,” said Ethan, “if you secured it from him why did he go to St.
Mary’s Isle to see the Earl of Selkirk?”
“To induce that gentleman to purchase the paper. But now that the time
has come, I’d rather see liberty result than my own enrichment. If the
American government should see its way clear to rewarding me, why, well
and good, if not it will not matter much. This resolution has angered
the Lascar, for he hoped to share in the English gold.”
“I see,” said Ethan. “But Danvers did not know of this compact between
you.”
“Indeed no,” smiled Fochard. “I gave him to understand that Siki was
safely out of France with the papers and--ahem--that you assisted him.”
“So he said,” replied the young American.
“And now,” said Fochard, arising, “I will be going. You will not fail
to bring these matters to the attention of Dr. Franklin at once, I
trust. As things are,” with a most expressive wave of the hand, “I
cannot act for myself. It would be misconstrued--for it is generally
supposed that Fochard works only for pay. Good-evening.”
He bowed to both Ethan and Longsword, then walked gravely through the
lines of small tables and departed. Ethan at once informed Longsword
of all that had been said; and the latter shook his head, the grim
expression of his face increasing.
“I don’t like it,” declared the Irishman, decidedly. “And I don’t trust
the man.”
“But it seems possible,” protested Ethan. “The French are almost mad
with admiration of the Americans just now, and a man may do such a
thing in his enthusiasm for a cause.”
“But not a man like that, faith! He’s as cold blooded as a fish. He has
some sort of a plot behind all this, mark my words.”
“But what can it be?” asked the lad.
The dragoon shook his head again. “I don’t know,” he answered. “But
time will tell, I think.”
They left the coffee house; and as they stepped into the shadows of the
Rue Constantine, Ethan noticed his companion pull his scabbard about so
that his cutlass would be ready at his hand.
“What’s that for?” he asked, in surprise.
“It’s always good to have your blade handy on a dark night,” said
Longsword, briefly.
Ethan made no reply, and so they continued on their way in silence for
a time. Finally the lad spoke.
“I suppose it would have been better had we given an alarm and had the
Lascar seized by the authorities,” said he.
“And have the whole matter of the dispatch come out,” cried the Irish
soldier. “That would never do. Remember what Dr. Franklin said.”
The way to their lodgings was narrow and dark; the hour was still
fairly early, but there were very few people abroad. As they proceeded
along at a smart pace they caught a short, sharp whistle from directly
ahead; and immediately it was repeated from behind. Longsword grasped
the lad’s arm tightly.
“It sounded very much like a signal of some sort,” said Ethan coolly.
He cast a long look into the darkness as he spoke; a shadow seemed to
move silently away and melt into the murk; the soft patter of guarded
footsteps fell upon their ears, and then all was still.
“We are being followed,” breathed Longsword, his strong hand upon the
hilt of his hanger. “And it’s all because of that rascal Fochard, I’ll
be bound.”
“Perhaps,” said Ethan soberly.
Once more they started on their way; all was soundless save for the
ring of their own footsteps upon the flags; but suddenly they turned
a sharp corner, and caught sight of another skulking shadow flitting
before them in the gloom; and as they paused, the patter of muffled
feet fell softly behind them.
“We are in for it,” said Ethan Carlyle, as he quietly plucked his
cutlass from its scabbard. “I wonder how many there are of them.”
“Let them come from the front and it makes no differ,” said Longsword,
blade in hand. “Faith, Master Ethan, it’s meself that loves a bit of
a fight now and then, but I like a little daylight along wid it by
choice.”
Ethan drew the dragoon into an open archway, and here they awaited
developments. A number of dark figures stole through the shadows and
gathered directly opposite.
“There they are, beneath the arch,” Ethan heard a voice say in French.
“Now then, men, upon them in a body. I must have that ring.”
The voice was that of the Lascar; Ethan recognized its thin tones at
once. As the man spoke there came the clear bold ring of advancing
footsteps upon the frosty ground.
“There is some one coming,” said a second voice.
“Make haste!” cried the Lascar, “or we will be too late!”
A quick rush of feet followed this.
“Strike hard!” breathed Longsword through his set teeth. His cutlass
swung through the air with a “swish” and the foremost man fell back
with a howl of agony. Ethan’s blade hissed downward in a favorite
stroke and another of the party was out of the fight with a slash
across the shoulder. But the remainder closed in. They were armed with
swords, knives and heavy bludgeons; but the deftly played cutlasses of
the two master swordsmen seemed to threaten all at once, and though the
ruffians struck madly and often, the sharp points were ever in their
faces, and the keen edges slashed and bit at them with fury.
A pistol shot rang out sharply. Ethan felt a sudden scorching line run
across his forehead; then a gush of blood almost blinded him.
“I’m hit,” he said to Longsword, as he strove to dash the blood from
his eyes.
This seemed to turn the grim Irelander into a demon. Ethan, dazed by
the shot, had sunk upon one knee; the dragoon stood over him playing
his weapon with the speed of light and the rage of a Berserker. But
even his great skill and matchless endurance would not have served
to beat the crowd of ruffians off; they were closing about him in a
circle and about beating him down when a sudden gleam of light shot
into the archway, and a stern voice called:
“What, you rascals! At them, men.”
Ethan’s dazed eyes caught one glimpse of the evil faces as the rays
of a flaring torch lit them up. The circle broke at once and the men
turned swiftly; the next instant they were fighting frantically against
a new sword and a brace of heavy clubs in the hands of two stout
porters.
With a gasp of delight Ethan saw that the new swordsman was Paul Jones;
then all grew suddenly dark, and he pitched forward and fell upon his
face.