as actually
gone to meet him--of course, no one suspects St. Just as yet; but after
that . . . to get them both out of the country! I'faith, 'twill be a
tough job, and tax even the ingenuity of our chief. I hope I may yet
have orders to be of the party."

"Have you any special instructions for me?"

"Yes! rather more precise ones than usual. It appears that the
Republican Government have sent an accredited agent over to England,
a man named Chauvelin, who is said to be terribly bitter against our
league, and determined to discover the identity of our leader, so that
he may have him kidnapped, the next time he attempts to set foot in
France. This Chauvelin has brought a whole army of spies with him, and
until the chief has sampled the lot, he thinks we should meet as seldom
as possible on the business of the league, and on no account should talk
to each other in public places for a time. When he wants to speak to us,
he will contrive to let us know."

The two young men were both bending over the fire for the blaze had died
down, and only a red glow from the dying embers cast a lurid light on
a narrow semicircle in front of the hearth. The rest of the room lay
buried in complete gloom; Sir Andrew had taken a pocket-book from his
pocket, and drawn therefrom a paper, which he unfolded, and together
they tried to read it by the dim red firelight. So intent were they upon
this, so wrapt up in the cause, the business they had so much at heart,
so precious was this document which came from the very hand of their
adored leader, that they had eyes and ears only for that. They lost
count of the sounds around them, of the dropping of the crisp ash from
the grate, of the monotonous ticking of the clock, of the soft, almost
imperceptible rustle of something on the floor close beside them. A
figure had emerged from under one of the benches; with snake-like,
noiseless movements it crept closer and closer to the two young men, not
breathing, only gliding along the floor, in the inky blackness of the
room.

"You are to read these instructions and commit them to memory," said Sir
Andrew, "then destroy them."

He was about to replace the letter-case into his pocket, when a tiny
slip of paper fluttered from it and fell on to the floor. Lord Antony
stooped and picked it up.

"What's that?" he asked.

"I don't know," replied Sir Andrew.

"It dropped out of your pocket just now. It certainly does not seem to
be with the other paper.