nwards.

Murray bought his box of cigars, and returned to the hotel where he
resided, but still the letter lay unheeded beneath the tobacco shop
window, till darkness had settled over the town of Marseilles except
where street lamps and shop lights pierced the gloom.

Then there came up to the shop an old man, who apparently had been a
soldier, as he dragged one leg very stiffly, and had his left arm in a
sling.

But although his hair was white, his carriage was upright and martial.

He looked in at the door, then entered, and purchased some tobacco,
after which he stood outside and filled his pipe.

"I might have taken a light inside," he muttered, when that operation
was finished, and seeing a scrap of paper on the pavement, he picked it
up, to use as a pipe-light.

But the writing on the outside caught his eye.

"A letter to the British consul!" the old man ejaculated. "It may be
worth a franc or two, if I restore it to his excellency."

So he thrust it into his pocket, obtained a light, and hobbled away in
the direction of the consulate.

But presently he paused in a retired spot, where only a single lamp
illumined the surrounding houses.

"I wonder what the letter is about," he said; "I can make a better
bargain, perhaps, if I know the contents."

And without more ado, the man pulled out the letter, and read it
carefully.

Although it was written in English, the old French soldier seemed to
understand it thoroughly.

"That cursed villain's name again," he hissed, through his teeth, when
he had read a few lines. "But I'll pay him yet."

Then he continued the perusal, steadily, till he came to the end.

"It looks like truth," he said, as he returned it to his pocket. "I
will restore it to the consul. Ha, ha! it will be sport indeed if I,
Pierre Lenoir, the proscribed criminal, can defeat the schemes of that
villain."

With a subdued chuckle the coiner departed on his way, revelling with
delight at the thought that he would yet be avenged on his perfidious
friend.

He reached the consul's residence, knocked, and was admitted by the
same servant who had formerly opened the door to Chivey.

"Is his Excellency the Consul at home?"

"Yes, but very much engaged," replied the flunkey.

"I do not particularly wish to see him, but I have found this letter in
the street, and it may be something of importance."

"Right, my good feller; 'ere's a franc for you."

And the door was closed on Lenoir, who