Part 9 (1/2)

”What was that scrawl?” asked Tybalt.

Pierre stooped to the sand, and wrote two words with his finger. ”Like that,” he answered.

Tybalt looked intently for an instant, and then drew a long breath.

”Charles Rex,” he said, hardly above his breath.

Pierre gave him a suggestive sidelong glance. ”That name was droll, eh?”

Tybalt's blood was tingling with the joy of discovery. ”It is a great name,” he said shortly.

”The Slave was great--the Indians said so at the last.”

”But that was not the name of the Slave?”

”Mais non. Who said so! Charles Rex--like that! was the man who wrote the letters.”

”To the Great Slave?”

Pierre made a gesture of impatience. ”Very sure.”

”Where are those letters now?”

”With the Governor of the Company.” Tybalt cut the tobacco for his pipe savagely. ”You'd have liked one of those papers?” asked Pierre provokingly.

”I'd give five hundred dollars for one,” broke out Tybalt.

Pierre lifted his eyebrows. ”T'sh, what's the good of five hundred dollars up here? What would you do with a letter like that?”

Tybalt laughed with a touch of irony, for Pierre was clearly ”rubbing it in.”

”Perhaps for a book?” gently asked Pierre.

”Yes, if you like.”

”It is a pity. But there is a way.”

”How?”

”Put me in the book. Then--”

”How does that touch the case?”

Pierre shrugged a shoulder gently, for he thought Tybalt was unusually obtuse. Tybalt thought so himself before the episode ended.

”Go on,” he said, with clouded brow, but interested eye. Then, as if with sudden thought: ”To whom were the letters addressed, Pierre?”

”Wait!” was the reply. ”One letter said: 'Good cousin, We are evermore glad to have thee and thy most excelling mistress near us. So, fail us not at our cheerful doings, yonder at Highgate.' Another--a year after--said: 'Cousin, for the sweetening of our mind, get thee gone into some distant corner of our pasturage--the farthest doth please us most.

We would not have thee on foreign ground, for we bear no ill-will to our brother princes, and yet we would not have thee near our garden of good loyal souls, for thou hast a rebel heart and a tongue of divers tunes.

Thou lovest not the good old song of duty to thy prince. Obeying us, thy lady shall keep thine estates untouched; failing obedience, thou wilt make more than thy prince unhappy. Fare thee well.' That was the way of two letters,” said Pierre.

”How do you remember so?”