o wipe away the
contaminating touch of the cloak. His eyes were bothering him of late,
and he had not read from his favorite book since he left Panurge
hunting for the prophetess. Being now awake and having nothing to do,
he took down his master's sword and began polishing the blade. He had
scarce begun his labor when the door opened and the vicomte stood on
the threshold.

"My lad," he said, quietly, "you were right. Your master wants the
purple cloak. I was wrong."

Without replying, Breton hung up the grey cloak and took down another.

"Is Monsieur le Vicomte seasick?" he asked.

"It is hunger, lad, which makes me pale."

As the vicomte reappeared upon deck, he saw D'Herouville biting his
nails. He met the questioning glance, and laughed coldly and
mirthlessly.

"Chevalier," said the vicomte, "your lackey handed me the grey cloak
first."

"The grey cloak?"

"Yes; but I recalled its history, and returned with this. Hang me, but
you have a peculiar fancy. In your place, I should have burned that
cloak long ago."

D'Herouville looked interested.

"I have a morbid fancy for that cloak," returned the Chevalier. "I
want it always with me. Murder will out, and that garment will some
day . . . No matter."

"Have you ever searched the pockets?" asked D'Herouville, in a quiet,
cool tone.

The vicomte's eyes brightened. There was good metal in this
D'Herouville.

"Searched the pockets?" said the Chevalier. "Not I! I have not
touched the cloak since I last wore it. I never expect to touch it.
Vicomte, thank you for your trouble." The Chevalier threw the cloak
around his shoulders and closed his eyes. The wind, blowing forcefully
and steadily into his face produced a drowsiness.

Du Puys looked from one to the other. A grey cloak? All this was
outside the circle of his understanding. When Victor returned the old
soldier rose and made his way to the cabin. As he disappeared,
D'Herouville moved toward the wheel. From time to time he looked back
at the vicomte, but that gentleman purposely refused to acknowledge
these glances.

"Chevalier," he said, "you know why our poet here and myself are upon
this ship: a certain paper, ten by twelve inches, stands between us and
the block."

"Ah!" The Chevalier opened his eyes.

"Yes. Has it ever occurred to you, my poet, to investigate Monsieur le
Chevalier's grey cloak; that is to say, search its pockets?"

Victor smothered an oath and thwack