Part 37 (1/2)
”More than that--it is felonious,” almost shouted the Marquis, great veins swelling upon his forehead and his hand shaking with rage. ”Should the monster ever land again upon the sh.o.r.es of France from which I drove him, my G.o.d, I will hang him! Leave me this letter.”
”The fellow is gross enough to return,” said Louis scornfully. ”What could be plainer--his movements speak for themselves.”
Here a shabby individual stepped up, handed the Marquis a note, and at the same time beckoned the two into a corner out of the crowd. The billet was a sc.r.a.p on which was written only--
”LECOUR.”
Mystery had a fascination for de Lotbiniere. Not so for Louis, who was impatient that so seedy a person should presume to stop them. Still, on being handed the paper, he condescended to remain.
”Craving pardon, my Lord,” said Jude--it was of course he--in a low voice, ”I have word for you in this affair. Your powerful movements are known to me.”
”Indeed?”
”I know your sentiments on the impostor.”
”And you wish me to buy some information from you?”
”Monsieur le Marquis--he is my enemy also: I ask no price, only your co-operation with a humble individual like myself.”
”Speak on.”
”It is all letters to day, my Lord. I heard you both discuss that of Madame de Lery.”
”You are a spy, then?” asked Louis tartly, scorn flas.h.i.+ng across his face.
”An _observer_, Monsieur--one of the King's secret service.”
”A 'Sentinel of the nation,'” the Marquis said, only the more deeply interested, smiling and tendering his snuff-box to Jude graciously.
”And next?” added he.
”Next, too, is a letter. I watched the mails addressed to his correspondents and friends here. This is a letter to his valet.”
The Marquis took it. It read--
”DOVER, _6th January, 1789_.
”MY DEAR DOMINIQUE,--Prepare for me within ten days after you receive this.
”DE LINCY.”
”_Peste!_” hissed the Marquis.
Jude pressed a folded paper into his hand, slipped behind a pillar and disappeared, and the two relatives joined the crowd. The Marquis that day made copious entries in his journal.
His life was now entirely engrossed in the controversy with LeCour. As a Frenchman the occupation was dear to his heart. What Norman does not love a lawsuit? What Parisian, politics? The journal became even more complete and exact on the matter and teemed with expressions of contempt thrust home to the heart of the absent adversary. It recapitulated minutely the manner in which LeCour had been discovered wearing the Repentigny name; the refusal of the slayer of Philibert to punish him; the change of name to de Lincy, which de Lotbiniere shrewdly attributed to the genealogist; the conduct of de Bailleul; the real origin of the Lecour family, with the history of the father; the duels with Louis, and his vexations on account of the matter; the writer's journey to Chalons, Troyes, and Versailles, the circ.u.mstances of the disappearance of Germain, and the news of his actions in Canada.
After bringing his account down to date with a description of the written proofs collected, he laid the journal aside, opened the drawer of his secretary and took out a folio sheet of an exceedingly heavy wrapping-paper. This he bent over so as to make it into something resembling the cover of a book, then cut a lining of white unruled foolscap for this improvised cover, and taking out his paste-pot, fitted it neatly to the inside. Next he clipped up a length of linen tape and by means of wafers attached eight pieces of it as ties to the top, bottom, and sides. The whole const.i.tuted one of those record-covers which he had been taught to make for the papers of special enterprises in his profession. On the outside he pasted a small square labelled:--
+-------------------------+
PAPERS
RELATIVE TO LECOUR,