The kidnapped Prince

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXV, Issue 5, 5 August 1905, Page 8

The kidnapped Prince

By

R. K. and R A. WEEKES

AUTHOR OF ‘•PRISONERS OF WAR,” “UNKNOWN,” Etc.

SYNOPSIS OF INSTALMENT I. (’lenient Carre, a young Frenchman, visits tin* chambers of Roland Carew, an Englishman of wealth and leisure, with whom lie is on intimate terms, and hints at tlie possibility of the occurrence of wonderful things about to happen to him, and implying that he is concerned in a plot to restore tin* old Monarchy in France. Roland presently visits h’s friend, Violet Nicholson, a young lady of great charm ami much character, who is trying to make a living at literature, where amongst ot her things, the matter of the Legitimist Plot is discussed will; some originality. Having left Violet Nicholson with whom, unknown to himself, Roland is in love, he goes to a restaurant, where he finds a pocket book, belonging to two French men. du Berri and Souvestre in which he tim's confirmation of the Royalist plot. He restores the papers to their owners, and is by them induced to visit their headquarters. where he is assaulted ami nearly killed but on tinding that his friend Clement Carre is the man whom the conspirators wish to place upon the throne of !• rance, he consents to assist them so la? as to help in freeing Carre from th • pt ison in which he has been immured In the meantime the conspirators take the greatest precautions against his escape. CHAPTER IV. VOICE OUT OF THE NIGHT. HE upcr skies showed faintTly blue, ami the sun was beginning to peer doubtfully through the mists which overwhelmed the lower ■f.GO'jfe *pHces of air: the sea lay Killing lazv surges, which F/Hn k : broke glittering round the 1-1 of the Im. of Fire, or slid outwards into the skirl- of t he great fog. Roland, stand ing on deck, (-mild sonn times hear the blast of foghorns which he knew came from an inland river: but of that river, and of the pmiceful country through which it flowed. he could see nothing. (Roomy fog blinding, (hill, airrighting fog attended tin* coninienceim nt of his voyage in the Eyes of Fire: most appropriately. as it seemed to him. He was in the mood to find a sort of symbolism in the circle of haggard sunshine which girdled the ya.eht : it stood to him for the easy opening of du Bern’s plans, while the hopeless blindness beyond symbolised their inevitable end. Du Berri had christened the ship by its fantastic name because of the powerful searchlights with which she was furnished. She was an incongruous ves-

sei, little and fast: a dangerous craft to cross the Atlantic in; fitted with the luxuries of a gentleman’s yacht, and with some of the deadly weapons of a man o’ war. The crew was as strange as the appointments. Roland slept alone, aft of the cabin, where were two berths; Souvestre and Paul were amidships; the rest of the crew, Jacques and three Portguese sailors, shared the forecastle. Of these seven only live pretended to any knowledge of the sea: du Berri had never set foot on any ship but the Channel steamers, and Jacques had been what Souvestre called him, a butcher. Souvestre. who was captain, appeared to have a good deal of book-learning but less experience. Boland was full of lively expectation of going to the bottom, and except when he thought of Violet, did not much care. But Roland was no landsman; he knew and loved the salt smell of the sea, the cold freshness of the wind that ran past him as the Eyes of Eire steamed down the channel. His spirits went up and he began to whistle. Du Berri came up and vouched him on the arm. “Well, mon ami, are you so glad to leave your England?” “For the pleasure of your society?” asked Roland laughing. “For the society of this dirty ocean, which tosses and tumbles so alarmingly.” “Alarmingly, indeed! My dear Paul, you arc as green as the sea.” “Very likely. I am. you must remember. a boulevardier, a lover of the City of the World. Very good: I remove myself I enter upon an odious voyage, in an odious ship, upon an ocean which cries to be washed—Nature rebels! She savs quite plainly. ‘Mon cher, you are a fool! lieturn to your Paris!’ I do not return, however, and by and bye she submits. At present, however, she is revolting. I wish this deck would remain still.” Roland gripped him by the arm and held him firmly. “Wilf you go below, Paul?” he asked. “Merci —if you would assist me. No, do not take my hand —be careful!” Roland remembered the episode ,»t the emerald ring, and hastily put his arm round Paul’s shoulders instead, lie helped the unlucky conspirator down the gangway into his berth, which smelt of the engines, and left him there, himself returning on deek. There was something at once ludicrous and dreadful about Paul du Berri; his lisp iltg. childish talk ami sickly physique—the emerald death on his slim, white finger.

Roland lit a cigar and leaned over the side. Paul, in the gangway below, was safe from plotting, at least for a time: Souvestre was at the other end of the deck, poring over an open chart; Jacques was at the wheel, and the others below in the engine-room. The sun was nearing the horizon, and from the bows of the vessel the water fell away with a creaming, prattling noise, in curves of darkling green, along whose upper edges there ran an evanescent arabesque of foam. The fog seemed to be darkening and dropping; it would be an evil night. He wondered what Violet was doing; it was now a week since he had seen her—a week of annoying restrictions. He had passed it in Paul’s house, under surveillance of either du Berri or Souvestre —one or other had stayed within hearing the whole time, and Jacques himself was never out of reach. On the last day of the week, a cup of coffee was as usual brought to him with his breakfast: he drank it, and in ten minutes he was lying unconscious on the floor. He woke from his stupoi in the cabin of the Eyes of Fire, and he learned afterwards that during his five

hours’ unconsciousness he had been put into a cab, driven to the docks, and put on board. He had already found that the plans confided to him by Paul on the night of their meeting were quite imaginary; of their real scheme he had no idea. So he smoked and watched the sunset. It grew dark, the wind blew colder. Roland looked at his watch, which pointed to a quarter past eight. He was about to go down and get something to eat, when suddenly there came, or seemed to come, a low cry over the dark and troubled water. “Did you hear anything?” asked a voice at Roland’s elbow. It was Souvestre. Roland did not answer for a minute, but listened intently. “Yes, I do; there it is again. A kind of cry—don’t you hear it too?” “A seagull,” suggested Souvestre. “No, it is a man’s voice. Listen.” “I think I hear something; it sounds like a call.” “Some one is hailing ns.” “From which way? The fog is bewildering to eye and ear alike.”

"I ean’t tell. But it must be some •ne ill distress.” “How do you know that?’’ “Who else could it bet” “Hi!” “There it is again! Souvestre, I’d swear he's in distress. You must put on the searchlight. It may be a wreck.” “tin such a night?” “Nothing more likely. The fog is frightfully dangerous in crowded waters; there are constant collisions.” Souvestre went aft. ami Roland heard him give the order for the engines to go at half speed. The vessel checked with a backward surge of foam; then she moved on with slower pace. Then Armand’s voice was heard giving directions about the searchlight, and presently there shot from the Eyes of Eire a broad and steady beam, which drove a widening furrow through the murky fog. On the yacht’s deck every strip of burnished metal, every' spraydrenehed spar glowed and sparkled against an intense, a more vivid blackness of shadow; while over the sea that fan-shaped beam opened a lane of misty glory between rolling walls of fog. a path of hoary diamond along the shattering, spray-clad waves. But it showed no shape of wreck. Then it moved, it lanced anti winnowed the fog; it streamed out across the ocean. Half of sea, sky. and ship was as black as a coal mine; the other half ran lire. Suddenly there struck on Roland’s straining eyes a spot of blackness in the trail of glory. The light moved, -and the object was swallowed up in. a mist,but the look-out had seen it too. and with his aid the searchlight was turned in its former direction. Roland had no telescope, but he could dimly guess that it was a small, open pleasure boat. The looK-out had a glass; Tie scanned it for a moment and then called out: • b’oat. sir: one man in it. He waves his hand! He asks to he taken on board!” "This is rather awkward for you,” said Roland laughing. “My dear Soiivestre. what shall you do with him?” "’Run him down!” said a voice which seemed to come from Annand’s boots. It was Paul, who was dragging himself up the companion. “Why. yon inhuman brute!’’ said .Roland. still laughing. “What for?” “Became he interferes with us. Tf we take him on board he will be furiously inconvenient; if we leave him in his boat he will get picked up, and then he will carry' tales about the ship which saw him and left him to drown.” “Do I understand that your advice was given in earnest?” said Roland, incredulously. ' "My friend, you do not appear to regard our affair as serious. You believe ■that the sacred object of bur journey can In* put aside for every trifling pretext which offers itself. You would say, ‘lt is our duty to rescue this man, who is altogether a stranger, and without doubt only some vulgar fisherman, though we risk in So doing the success of our sacred task.’ You must learn to take a higher view of life and its responsibilities.” "Very well. You will do as you please. Only—lll be no partner to your brutality.” “No.” said Paul, watching him narrowly. “You will do —what?” . “Join him.” ■ “What do you mean?” • “What I say. I shall jump overboard, swim to his boat, help him if I can to get out of the way of the Eyes of Fire; at least gi'e him fair warning, and if it comes to the worst, die with him.” "Is your mind made up?” “Quite. I’ve gone as low as l ean go.?’ Paul hesitated and reviewed the ease. The yacht was under-manned already, and flu* loss of one of her crew would be serious; besides, he foresaw the possibility of making use of the stranger as well. “Very well.” lie said amicably. “Armand. give orders that we may approach as close as possible to that little boat.’ Armand shrugged -bis shoulders and _ obeyed. Du Berri laid his hand on Roland’s arm. "I cannot bear to let you die. It is for your sake that I spare this man. You observe that now. I am’sacrificing myself to save your life, mon ehcr Roland, •Set that against the time when I had intended to kill you. and let us cry quits.” The Eyes of Fir» wheeled and curved till she was quite near tin* little boat, in ■which Roland could see a solitary figure standing up; he sal down and took up the oars to get the boat alongside, ■nd caught, at the rope which was flurtg to him. He swung himself easily up on d«ak and looked round on the company.

CHAPTER V. THE CRUISE OF THE EYES OF FIRE. “I am the captain of this vessel,” said Souvestre, coming forward. “Who are you?” “My name is Charles Auburn. I was out rowing when the fog came up; I lost my bearings, and, it seems, rowed out to sea. I have been wandering about for five hours. I am greatly indebted to you; I was glad enough to see your Eyes of Fire.” “You have keen sight.” “I read your name by the searchlight. I am greatly indebted to you, Captain ” Souvestre took no notice. The stranger. somewhat puzzled, looked round at the yacht, In which he seemed to find further matter for bewilderment. “What make of craft is this? She seems rather curiously fitted. ’ Souvestre kept silence. "To-morrow morning 1 have no doubt I shall be able to find my way back, as soon as the fog lifts. I should be much obliged if you would make the boat fast and tow it along behind you; it belongs to an old fisherman, who would be broken-hearted if it were lost.’ “I will attend to that.” said Souvestre gravely. “Take Mr. Auburn down, flu Berri. and give him something to eat. Or you, Carew.” he added, apparently as an after thought. Roland,, doubtful, suspected foul play at some point. He could not, howewi, keep watch at once over Souvestre and ilu Berri; he elected to remain with the .mow* dangerous, and followed du Berri down the companion. They made ,i curious group, when .hey emerged into the lighted cabin. Du Berri was verv pale and rather green; lie ’walked unsteadily, and his elotlies had lost their bandbox air.

Roland, in the smart clothes of a London man which ho had put on to visit •Violet, with his pale face ami look of anxious watchfulness, made a still more, unusual figure. The stranger was a tall man with golden hair and brown iy.es; lie was dressed in flannels. but he was (benched from head to foot, and had lost his cap. Paul’s nature was extremely hospitable; he made Mr. Auburn sit down, and With- his own hands laid the table, and fetched the supper. In so doing, he noticed that the water was trickling from Auburn’s garments and forming a pool on the carpet. “Mon Dieu!” said Paul, stopping with the bread knife* in his hand, which gave him a peculiarly sanguinary air. "Why, ,vou are wet through ! .Mon ca'. r n.onsieur, why did you not say so? Come.inst intly to rav berth and I will lend you some clothes.” “Many thanks,” said the stranger drily. “I think your friend's would suit me better.” Roland turned scarlet and could not find a word to say. “Unless, of course, you have any objection.” said Auburn staring. “Not in the least.” said Roland hastily. IT.? could not tell tin* already mystified Auburn that he had no clothes beyond those he stood up in; it would, he thought, give the show away too completely, “But—ah—l don’t know if you’d care—l had smallpox a few weeks ago—months ago.” “Smallpox!” “Confident smallpox,” said du Berri gravely. “And your clotb.es—do you mean to tell me that they are the same ones?” “Certainly.” “We had it on board.” said du Berri. “Seven of the men died of it.” “‘We die—dees it matter when?’” quoted Mr. Auburn. “I really do not think it makes much difference. If you’ve all had confluent smallpox, and the ship hasn’t been disinfcctid. 1 really don’t think a matter of a f.*w clothes would make ni#*h odds. If 1 don’t borrow them, I shall very likely catch it and inflammation of the lungs into the bargain. So if it’s all one to you. I think I’ll trouble you for a eoat and a pair of trousers.” “I’m very sorry, but I really can’t. M. du Berri here will no doubt ”• “Ah, yes, and very nine I should, look in M. du Beni’s things. Come, sir, what possible objection can you have to lend me some dry clothes? It’s an net of common humanity—to say nothing of the very elegant carpet which I’m spoiling” Roland saw that the quick brown eyes passed from the carpet to the rest of the furniture, and noted every eostly and inappropriate detail. “Why don't you give some reason? Confound it all! I don’t want you to do it if

you’d rather not, but tlv?re must Im? some reason! I’m as cold as ire, as it is. Don’t stand there as mute as if I’d put a pistol to your head, man!” “I’m awfully sorry.” began Roland, stifling an inclination to laugh. But Auburn cut him short. “Can it be?—no, impossible. And yet is there any particular reason why you don’t want me to put anything of yours on? Don’t you want me to see them?” “What?” said Roland, himself bewildered by the change in Auburn’s voice. “Anything particular in the rut?” Roland stared at him blankly. “Anything to do with keeping your hat on in the cabin?” Roland, in an extremity of amazement, took oil’ his hat and looked at it. as if trying to trace the connection bet wren it and his imaginary raiment. “My hat?” he said. “1 don’t understand, I’m afraid.” Then he saw Paul shaken by a paroxysm of laughter. “No, monsieur, you err! lie take; you for a convict. Roland!” du Berri gasped. “Too much honour,” said Roland calmly. “But what is it? Look here; I’m not a fool. You don’t seem me to be on the square. What’s the sh’p? Is it a yacht, or is it a pirate? What are you armed to the teeth for? Why do you furnish your place like a lady’s drawingroom? Why did your captain just now refuse to tell me his name?” “Why do you press us with questions which you know we cannot answer? You’re our guest, and we’ll give you hospitality as far as we can; hut this is not a hotel, neither are you a passenger. You have no right to demand explanations.” Auburn shrugged his shoulders. “True: but 1 am very curious about you. It’s a strange craft, this Eyes of Fire. Hullo! what’s up?” Roland caught du Berri by the arm and tiling him back again.-t the door. He stood between Paul and Auburn, who stood unmdved by the table. Paul’s eyes sparkled: he looked at Roland as if he would fain have tried conclusions with him. Roland had seen the stealthy movement of Paul’s jewelled hand: he could not stand by and see murder done, though interference meant the betrayal of many secrets. The only absolutely unmoved person was Auburn, who stood and watched through his eyelashes the fine, defiant figure of Roland Carew. They were still standing thus when Souvestre came into the cabin. “Have you given M. Auburn supper?

He will be faint with hunger. Come, monsieur, sit down.” He placed a chair for Auburn and courteously waved him into it. Roland still stood between him and Paul. Auburn very unconcernedly -at down and began to eat. . ’’Are you a good sailor?” Souvestre asked presently. “1 am an old hand at it. There’s little in the sailor’s trade that 1 can’t do.” “How came you not t° notice the approaching fog?” “I did notice it; but when it first came 011 1 was already an hour’s journey out. It gathered very swiftly: I soon lost all knowledge of my direction.” “I trus-t there is no one in England who will be anxious for you?” “Luckily, or unluckily, there is not. My landlady may be puzzled when I do not return, but I shall soon set that right. I reckon, you wil! be ab’c tn put me ashore at Seabourne without going far- out of your course. I shall reach Home before to-morrow evening.” “How do you know what our course ”1 do not know, nor care to know.” . “1 am afraid we shall not be able to put you on shore to morrow.” “Why. not?” “Because, for one thing, wo have not time to waste; for another thing, wa do not want to attract notice: and for a third thing, you know too miicli.” “What, is? it pirates, then?” “That name will do as well as any other. Paul. L think we will explain to M. Auburn.” “As you will.” said Paul lazily. “Personally. 1 prefer my own plan.” “You are too fond of that plan of yours. I prefer explanation, and so. I feel sure, does Mr Carew.” “Y’ou?” said Auburn, looking at Roland, who bowed. And Souvestre made his explanation. Substantially, it was the same he bad made to Roland. Auburn heard him patiently to the end; then he asked: “Have you had small-pox here?” “Small-pox? I do not quite t‘»d!o\v.” “Exactly. 4 Now, Mr Carew, what the dickens did you mean?” “Only that I left town with ui bringing any luggage with mo. The captain has kindly promised to lend me a -hot: or so, but so far as upper raiment Is concerned I have what I stand up in, no more. I didn't know Souvestre meant to explain, and I thought if I only told you so much as that, you would think me a madman.”

‘•'lliat is exactly shat 1 do think. Am fl right in supposing that M du Beni wanted to kill me just now ?” Roland nodded. “Ami that. you prevented him? Thanks. And now what remains tor m<? to do?” “Well, if you’ve finished your supper, 1 should advise you to turn in.” “You’re a pretty crew!” said Auburn, in a jeering voice. “Do you mean to kidnap me?” “That is the very word,” smiled Paul. “Oh, well-1! 1 really have very little objection. I sympathise with the lost prime ami with you, and I really don’t much care w iiat I do so long as it holds out a prospect of a little fun. I suppose 1 may sleep without fear of assassination ?’’ .“Certainly. 'i bis way.” said Roland. Auburn bowed to the two Frenchmen, and followed his leader out of the cabin. Roland took him to the unoccupied berth opposite his own. There, by a mutual impulse, the two Englishmen turned ami looked steadily at one another. Auburn spoke first. ‘.“How came you to this galley? I don’t think it’s your trade, is it?” “No. I was eaught rather like you.” Roland told his story briefly. “Odd! Well, as they aren’t your bosom friends. 1 suppose I may mention that the young gentleman with the black hair seems to me to be a kind of first cousins of His Majesty in person.” •‘Paul isn’t such a bad chap when you come to know ’him- But he takes a Jot of knowing.” ‘ “He seems to have an inconvenient trick of nipping acquaintances in the bud. Judging by the way he Hew at me. I should say lie was a very difficult fellow to know.” ’ “Paul would be a very docent sort of fellow if he were not so extraordinarily reckless of human life. Hr makes no more of a murder than I should of drowning a kitten.” “It’s a pleasing trait. What’s Souvestre like?” t ■ “Quiet, commanding clever, unscrupulous, and unflinching. You might as soon appeal for mercy to that bulkhead.” “And 1 he crew?” “ Three Portuguese, of the lowe-t ami Toughest class; and the Jacques of my rlory.” < “I ’pop my word, it’s a nice little Sun-day-school.” . “If it comes to a row, it will be us and perhaps Paul against Armand, Jacques, ami the three Portuguese.” .“He’sa flimsy youth, your friend Paul. Kind of suggests that you could break his backbone* between your linger and thumb.” “Whalebone,” suggested Roland. And then they both laughed. “We’re the only Englishmen aboard this blessed ship. How she races through the water! Sh! Can’t you hear it slipping by? Are you a’ good shot ?’’ “Tolerably.” “Tolerably strong, oh? Could you tackle Jacques ami one sailor while L tackled Armand and the other?’’ “‘Two to one’s long odds. And they have such diabolically scientific dodges-” “Yes, we mustn't let it come to a row. Besides, I'm not at all sure which side your friend would back. Ami I daresav he’s good at sticking people from behind.” “Exact Iv w hat struck me.”

“Very well, the i, no row. llo! 1 am sleepy. . Where 4 an I turn in?” Ro>and showed him his bunk and retired to the cabin. Souvestre ami Paul looked at him rather suspiciously, when he entered, and after a minute. Soiivestre said, “If uc have elected to allow Mr Auburn to remain, it is not in order that you ami he may—what is it? —>play into each other’s hands.” “Allow!” said Roland, affecting 'ot to notice the threat in Souvestre’s tone. “That.is one way of putting it- He is quite willing to depart.” “He will not depart, nor will you. But if you bhow sign of disloyalty, 1 will shoot you. That is understood.” Roland bowed. “You may go,” said Souvestre. an-1 he made a little gesture of dismissal. Roland walked away, whistling. “1 dreamt I dwelt in marble halls,” but his heart was boiling with rage. Up was in a position so perilous that he durst not appear to take offence; an angry word might easily precipitate a catastrophe- He was compelled to pocket the affront, and very cross it made him. CHAPTER VI. Bright skies and still waters, f.esh and gentle winds, carried the Eyes of Fire rapidly across the Atlantic. Without, all was pleasant, peaceful, and promising. Within, the stage was cleared, the. actors were dressed for a tragedy. The Englishmen slept with rcvolveis under their pillows; but that was not enough; 1 hey hit upon the plan of keeping watch and watch. While. Roland slept. Auburn watched, and while Auburn slept. Roland watched. They brushed their hair with a brush in one hand and a revolver in the other, and they carried tin* latter all day in their hip-pockets. At no moment could they feel sure that when the hands of the clock swung round again to the hour, both, or either, would .be alive to hear it. They held little talk with the Frenchmen; the coming of Auburn had completely altered Roland’s relations with du Berri. It was a curious thing that Auburn and Carew, by nature little given to forming friendships, were attracted into an intimate relation, partly, of course, by force of circumstances. but chiefly because their characters suited. Meeting anywhere, they would have liked each other; meeting here, insulated in mid-ocean, they struck up in a week the friendship of a lifetime. It was night; the sky was bare of clouds, and tin* innumerable stars glittered like the hoar-frost against the illimitable dark. The sea was perfectly black and almost still; the funnel of the hurrying steamer painted a trail of murky smoke which floated away unshaken by the wind, and she left a trail of surging foam which ran shining almost Io the horizon. The Englishmen xvere talking on deck, when There came sudden|v a call from the look-out, “Land hb!” Roland caught, up a telescope; his hand shook so that he' could scarcely focus it. Right ahead, on the rim of the horizon, he saw' a tiny smudge like a dark cloud. The Frenchmen came on deck and looked, and Souvestre gave the order to reverse the engines. “Is that it?” said Roland, in a voice of awe. “That is it. And now. gentlemen. I

propose that we go below ami settle our plans.” They went down into the cabin. Auburn sat on the edge of the. table, Roland stood near him with his back against the wall. Souvestre and Paul also remained si amiing. “Gentlemen,” began Souvestre, “the object of our journey you know; it is to rescue the great grandson of Louis XVL, who has been condemned, though a king by right, to a fate which exceeds Hie common punishment of the criminal. He lives on an island, in a prison consisting of a single room; it is surrounded by an open-air passage or walk; beyond this passage he may not pass. The cell and outer walk together are shut in by a kind of cage, resembling that of a wild beast, formed of bars of iron. To break through this would be, for us, impossible; there is, however, a door, and to this we must turn our attention. Night and day a soldier is put on guard inside the cage, ami four soldiers without it. the fourth being an officer. This officer has control of the key, which he keeps himself. The entire set of soldiers is changed every week, and the prisoner is not allowed to communicate with them. With the rest of the military arrangements 1 will not weary you; they cannot concern us. If one of these three soldiers is allowed to cry out loudly, we shall bring about our ears a real hornets’ nest — we shall be certainly driven back.” “That will be rather difficult to prevent.” said Roland. “Not at all,” answered du Berri, “with our method.” “Oh. I can well understand that if you get a chance of using your method they will never cry out again,” said Roland tartly. “Sh! don’t squabble, my amiable friends. Souvestre has something up his sleeve. I think.” "You are right, I have. It is one of the most recent triumphs of science'! Behold!” Souvestre put on a table a metal casket. unlocked it with a key which he took from Ins pocket, and showed them —what? A roll of white parchment, stained with drops of a yellowish liquid. - “Very pretty, I’m sure,” said Auburn. “I-s it your last will and testament, Souvestre? It smells with great vigour.” “It is the weapon which jnakes us equal to the mighty,” said Paul. “It is basanus. isn’t it?” said Roland. “You know? Yes, it is basanus. And as for the plan, it is simple. We have only to wait for a dark night.” “Explain!” said Auburn. And Souvestre explained. What he said need not here be repeated, but at the end of the interview’ Auburn* and Roland were every whit as much excited as the Frenchmen themselves. The peril and hardship of th<‘ adventure attracted them.- and they could not but admire the dauntless insolence of the rebels; and besides, Roland remembered that the priu.ee whom they were to rescue was Clement Carre. 'There was nothing to be done but to wait for the next night. It was as strange a day as Roland had ever passed; The four men were all thrilled by a kind of nervousness; they longed for night, yet dreaded what it might bring. The w ind had dropped, and as the steamer lay becalmed, the sun beat down upon her decks so that they seemed to be living in a furnace. The inland prison

barely.darkened the blue line of the horizon; it seemed as though a breath might blow it away. Roland spent his time on deck, talking with Auburn, who was gayer than ever. Du Berri and Souvestre stayed below, busy over maps and plans. : “After this, the deluge,” said Auburn flippantly. “What are we going to do with Clement Carre when we’ve got him ?” “Oh, he’s going to be King.« Didn’t yon know that?” “Heaven save these men! they have cheek enough to stock a regiment of R.E.’s. Who’s going to be Prime Minister ?” “How do I know? Paid, I should think.” “Can’t help liking the fellow, can you? There’s a dash of pure devilry about him that amuses me.” “You can’t help liking a man who hasn’t a solitary redeeming point, about him. lie’s intellectually brave; his head’s brave enough? but his legs are cowanlly.” Roland’s opinions had changed of late. “We shall see to-night. Faith, I’ve not been in such a risky affair since I stole apples and got hooked up in an apple tree.” “1 don’t like these sciem ific dodges. I don’t mulerstand them, ami I don’t take kindly to them. I daresay we she'll be up. a tree with a vengeance befoie. wje’re through.” It seemed, to them all fhat .’the sun had never laken so. long to s^t.. Auburn waxed impatient of the 'slow - pojnp.of crimson in the .west. “Hang it,” he said, “he takes as long getting into bed as a king! Why can’t he blow out the, candle and pop between the sheets without all that fuss?” Then he apologised and begged the sun’s pardon for, laugh; ing at him. and offered to lend him one of Paul’s nightcaps, and went on fpv ten minutes in such a preposterous strain of serious absurdity that Roland goL quite confused, and was left -with a hazy idea that he had been listening to a dia? logue. Night fell, at last. The stars came out in the sky, and were reflected in the glassy mirror of the sea; the coolness; and darkness slackened the tension of Roland’s nerves, though it did not silence Auburn’s mad humour. Du -Berri ami Souvestre came on. deck ; orders were given, and the Eyes of Fire, every lamp put out, got up steam ami slipped -quietly’ through the dusky water, which -fell murmuring away from her bows. The island darkened and widened, and-from a vague smear grew into the likeness-of a long low hill. The Eyes of Fire-did not pause until she was within a mile from land; it was risky work, for, though the night was moonless. :H\vene looking through a good glass -might have seen the little steamer. On her deck Roland, Auburn, - Souvestre, and Paul were saying the last words. Paul carried under his arm the mysterious 1 parchment which was to' be the .means of Clement Carre’s rescue. He took off eveiything but his trousers and shirt, and at his suggestion the others did the same, even leaving their shoes', for noiselessness was essentia) to success. The three Portuguese were to stay behind and guard the yacht. Roland wished in his heart that Jacques was not to be of the party, but he did not care to say so. They took their seats in the boat, Paul at the rudder, and were

lowered carefully; the hooks which held the boat-tiew open and released her as she touched the watjer; all the oars were muffled, and scarcely a sound was heard as they shot away into the darkness from the side of the Eyes of Fire. The island was long and low, rising a little towards the south, where, almost at the edge of the cliff, stood the prison of Clement Carre! some way off lay the buildings of the garrison. The men of the Eyes of Fire dared not speak a word ds'th’d bodt drew in; at last it gained the lee of the rocks and came within their sphere of shadow. Souvestre touched Koland’s arm. ‘•Will the wind carry right from here?” he breathed. “A trifle to the south—tell Paul.” They made for the strip of beach a few paces’to the south, and as they did so Jacques’ oar made a slight splash. The sound was noticeable, and voices were immediately heard at the top of the cliff twenty feet away. /“I heard a splash,” said a voice in French. “It is a fish,” said another voice. “Without doubt. Yet I wilt go and look.” “Ah. go and look. T pray you! -WhAt do you think? —that Louis Bourbon has crawled out and drowned himself?” Two or three swift strokes sent the boat below deep into Ihe shadow of the island, under the shelter of an overhanging rock. There they lay waiting, holding their breath, and draining, even the bravest of them, the dregs of the cup of trembling. There is nothing more demoralising than secrecy; Roland counted the flight of ages by the beating of his heart, till a voice almost over his head said in loud/ careless tones: “1 see nothing of Bourbon; it must have been one of his cousins, the rats. Still, we will just make sure.” The steps receded; presently rhe voice was heard again more faintly. “Hola, rat! come out of thy hole and ahow thyself.” lu the perfect st ill of the night Roland heard and recognised the voice of Clement Carre. am here; do you want me.” “Pas du tout; but we are bound to keep thee safe.” “Well, f could wish you would not wake me out of my beauty sleep.” “Oh. you may slepp. if you wish it. I was once in England, rat; there they deal very well with traitors. In England. monsieur le roi. -a traitor is hung, drawn, and quartered. They sleep well t hen?.” i.. - .’ Lucky traitors!” said Clement Carre. Then all was still; the. soldier threw himself down by the side of his comrade, and the boat approached the beach again. They disembarked, and climbed noiselessly up the cliff; near the top Paul halted, and took out of his pocket a box of wax vestas. Sheltering the box behind his hand, he struck a match; the. tiny yellow flame flickered over the faces of the men. Paul was flushed, tremulous, excited; Souvestre was rather anxious and fearful. Roland was very white and his .mouth was set; he was furious, scornful, and compassionate at one?. Auburn alone was quite unnjoyed; he smiled slightly.as he saw the look on Roland’s face. Paul unrolled the sheet of parchment, and fixed it in the. cleft cuff of a tall wand, jointed like a fishing rod; then he put the match to its edge. It did not at once catch, nor did it at all break into flame; but there ran a red glowing line of heat along it, which gave off a sickly smell. Wlb?n it was alight, Paul held the wand over his head, arid, taking hold of a corner of rock to steady himself, stood upright. Extended to its uttermost, the rod reached the top of the cliff; the thin gas ascended invisibly and was blown by the wind across the guard at the prison door. Paul himself could not smell it, for it was above his head; yet. light as is was, it proved strong and effectual.

“Diable! What an insupportable odour!” * “What isc it? Ah, ciel! —” The exclamation of fear and dislike trailed away in silence. Boland looked round with a kind of horror; there was something underhand and cruel in the simple scheme which revolted him. Look ing at Auburn. Iv? caught *a fleeting glimpse of the same disgust and dislike in that impassive face; but Paul and Souvestre were already scrambling up the path. The Englisincn followed and gained the plateau. There stood the prison of (’lenient Carre, in its iron cage; beside it lay four men. one of them an officer, as his uniform showed, apparently dead. Souvestre ran to the officer and searched his pockets, turning the insensible figure (Her on its back. Then he lifted an anguished face. “Th? keys, vile!” gasped Paul. “There are none!” “Imbecile! is this your management?” Roland ran to the cage and called in a whisper: “Clement! Clement CarThere was no answer. Here, too, the poison had done its work. “Search the others, quick!” said Roland And he led the way by running his hand through the pockets of the nearest soldier. Auburn, who alone was quite cool, had an idea; he went to the door of the cage and looked. “The keys are in the lock.” he said calmly. “In the lock? Fools that we were!” And now all crowded round the door where Auburn stood with his hand on the key. “Which way does it turn?” he asked. “The usual way!” “Don you know that, or is it guess work? For it’s wry stiff*. Lots of French locks turn the reverse way. and if we hamper it, it’s all up with Sambo.” “Qiuck, quick!” fretted Paul. “It lasts only fifteen minutes.” “Let me try.” said Souvestre. He tiied, turning it to the right and left, but the key did not yield easily either way. “Ah, be quick, be qjiick.!” Paul moaned. Roland put Souvestre aside. “If we hamper the lock we’re done, but we’re equally done if we .stand here playing the fool. Now for it!” He exerted all ~his strength, and with a jerk the key. turned. There was no time for relief: he stood aside and the Frenchmen dashed in. Roland and Auburn. who did not know their wav about the cell, sitood aside and waited. As they waited, they heard the clank of steel, the orderly tread of a marching detachment. And now, both men were white, as white as the bodies at their feet. “Changing guard.” said Roland. He ran into the cage and found Paul and Souvestre trying to drag along the'body of ( lenient Carre, which hung, a dead weight, between them. “They’re changing guard.” said Roland. and Paul threw up his hands and let Clement fall. “Perdu!” he moaned. Roland pushed him aside ami took up Clement Carre himself, and with the aid of Souvestre carried him out on the plateau. Auburn greeted him with the words: “They’re round the corner, a few hundred yards oil'. They’ll turn it and see us in a minute.” “Oh. heaven!” said Roland. Then he turned quickly. “Souvestre! Paul! Co on, climb down. We’ll lower him Io you.” The Frenchmen made a bee-line for the cliff' and dropped over the edge. I he Englishmen could quite easily carry ( loment between them: in a minute they had lowered him down and were following themselves. The cliff was steep enough to make it very difficult for even four men to lower a fifth who was to all intents dead. Auburn clutched at Clement’s left arm, Roland grasped hi* right. Paul and Souvestre caught him by the legs. The humour of the position struck the Englishmen, and they broke simultaneously into a sort of convulsive giggle. “Beastly sharp—these rocks’’ said Auburn in a spasm of laughter. “I say —they’ll see the door—open and run!” “I shut it,” said Roland, who was clinging on in the attitude of a crab. “Good old man! You’ve a head -oh!” Voices sounded from the heights: cries of iiiiiazement. dismay, terror. Then came a shout of “Silence!’’ and a dead hush. The men of the Eyes of Fire were almost at the bottom of the cliff now. but they were making as much noise as an avalanche. A voice cried, “Who goes

there? Answer or we lire!” in one breath, and a shower of bullets rained round the fugitives. Rut lieluw lay the boat, and Jacques, and freedom; and there were only a few feet more of precipitous cliff'. These last few feet were the steepest of all. the Frenchmen dropped down them; Roland and Auburn, their heel* live fret above their heads, steadied themselves with one hand and lowered CJemrht with the other into the arnn of Souvestre. Paul cried out, “’Jacques! this way. Jacques!” but no Jacques came. They could see the b_>at drifting, five or six yards out. Roland and Auburn rolled headlong down the slope and came to their feet at* the bottom in a black nightmare of sweat and blood and grime and bullets. They, tou saw’ the boat, and the desperate face of Souvest re. and the prostrate figure of ( lenient Carre; and they heard the bullets spattering into the sea. and the stones set rolling by the soldiers who were beginning to climb down after them. Then Paul flung up his arms and dropped screaming: and Roland sprang into the sea and struck out for the boat. He gained it: Jacques lay in the bottom, dead or dying. Roland cared not which, and he scrambled ill, griped the oars, and turned it towards the shore, where he found Auburn and Souvestre in the water and Clement unconscious between them. Auburn was in the boat in a minute, add the two Englishmen dragged in first Clement and then Souvestre. “And Paul?” “Leave him!” said Souvestre. “We must.” “Lache!” said Roland, and l.e looked at Auburn and then at the cliffside. He took up his oar; Auburn followed; a couple of strokes brought the boat close in. Roland and Auburn sprang out on the beach, and Auburn caught Pau’, threw him over his shoulder, and returned. Roland had nothing to do but to follow him; and he thrust off' t luboat. A sword blade, gleamed over Auburn’s bead out of the shadow; it was the first soldier, who, unencumbered by anything, 1 had already reached the sand. Roland had no weapon but his oar; he hove it up. beat dowm the sword, and left the soldier lying on the shore with his skull cracked. Souvestre steered, the Englishmen pulled ’with strokes learned on the Isis. r |’he bullets flow’ all round them; Roland swore round I v when one grazed his shoulder and another nicked his hair: Auburn never turned, but Roland quite

plainly hcini him sav some thing about “The priest like waters at their cleauMOf pure ablut'.ui round vaith's human a* he dipped his blood stained <»ar into the water; though he ever alter denied it strenuously, and said that he hi I never opened his lips. As the tiny boat flew like one winged across the sea. Roland heard the shouts and cries of the men on the island when they found they had bren so utterly and impudently tricked. lie foresaw that they would despatch a \ pssel to overtake tin* escaped prisoner and he wondered whether the Eyes ot Fire could outsail her. and then he saw the lights flash out on the yacht, which had lain hitherto a shadow dimly guessed at. And still there was no slackening of laltouring sinew an I straining chest: and bodj and soul were sucked into a whirlpool of eHurt, amt still the bullets flew round them. The Eyes of Fire was reached at last, and the three who were unhurt dragged the three wounded on to the deck, 'the Portuguese were ready. Roland heard the vessel drawing a long breath, and then hr heard the swirl of the water, and the first, churning of foam, and slowly, with gathering speed, the Eyes of Fire got under way. “'l’he narrowest shave I’ve ever been through!” said Auburn in a shaken voice. “Come on. Roland, help me (<» cany them down into the cabin.” ( lenient Carre was still insensible, and Roland carried him down in his arms: Auburn followed with I’aul du Beni, and Souvestre came afrer. staggering and reeling. Then they returned Io fetch Jacques; but when they came to lift him up. a certainty came to them that he. at least, had passed beyond the province of human aid. “Shot through the heart,” said Auburn. “Should you have thought ha had one to he shot through?” “Don’t be a brute. Auburn.” “Come down below. You look rather done up; and there’s du Beni to be seen to.” “Du Berri! There’s Clement Carre,who’s worth fifty of him. Come on.” • I’hcy hurried down the companion. Souvestre had thrown himself into ;t chair and was asking for brandy, the others lay where they had left them. Roland paid no attention to anyone but ( lemcnt. who looked as white and

Well nigh as haggard as a corpse; ne loosened his elotlies and dashed water in his face. “He isn’t strong, you know,” he said. “1 hope that stuff is all right.” “He’ll be as fit as a flea in five minutes." said Auburn cheerfully, lie lifted ('lenient’s drooping head and felt his pul. e. "Look, he’s coining round ahead! : don't you worry, old man.” And indeed Clement’s eyes unclosed, and he gazed up at Roland with an expression first of ineffable weariness, then of curiosity, and lastly of rapturous recognition. "Why, it's Koley!” he murmured. “Sweet angel, didst thou fly down from the skies on an odour of brimstone? Where the dickens am I?” Auburn said “Oh, Lord!” and turned precipitately away to attend to Paul. Roland, who had scarcely been prepared for such a mode of address under the circumstances, laughed grimly. "You’ve just been rescued by your friends, my son, and this is the cabin of a yacht. Allow me to introduce M. Armand Souvestre. to whom your thanks arc due for your rescue.” He indicated Armand by a wave of his hand; but Armand did not get up, or evince the slightest interest in his protege. Clement lifted his head and took a look at him, then he let it drop • gain. "Who's him?” The "him” was Auburn, indicated with the point of a forefinger. Auburn caught the gesture in a mirror, and wheeled round with an exceedingly sweeping bow. “The humblest of your Majesty’s servants,” he said, airily, “who hopes to have the pleasure of kissing your Majesty’s royal hand when your Majesty has recovered his majestic health.” “His name is Auburn,” supplemented Roland. “And he isn’t sueh a Tool as he looks, I give you my word for it.”

“I’m glad of that,” said Clement Carre, languidly. “Roland, what have you been doing?” Roland explained hurriedly. Fresh from tile srene of the tight, he painted it in full colours, not without laying some stres-« on Auburn’s part in it. Souvestre, who had recovered himself after a dose of brandy, sat up with an air of weariness and studied his sovereign’s face while he listened to the jiarrat ive. “What did yon do for it?” Clement asked, addressing him directly. “I understand my friend, Mr Carew’s motives. but what were yours?” “I have but one,” said the imperturbable Armand, “1 wish to restore your Highness to the throne of his ancestors” “Did you say throne or tomb?” “Throne, I trust. We shall not find it a difficult matter; France is weary of her Republic.” Clement Carre made no reply; he regarded Armand with a most elusive smile, and then turned to Roland. “I’ll dispense, with a levee to-night; I desire to retire to my conch. Roland picked him up and carried him off to his own bunk and laid him down very gently. “That beastly stuff has knocked you clean off your pins,” he said. “I say. Clement, how do you like this affair?” “I’m glad to be away,” said Clement, quietly. “He looked as though he understated the truth, but the next minute he was talking nonsense as usual. “1 told you I was an important person, didn’t 1? But a child of joy can’t exist like a bird in a cage; give you my word I only composed two lines all the while I was on the island. And them I’ve forgotten, because I couldn’t write them down, because 1 hadn’t any paper, because 1 might have started treasonous correspondence with the seagulls. How’s Violet ?’’ “Don’t know,” said Roland, shortly. “What do you think of Paul and Armand ?” “I think the big one was in a blue funk and the little one wore stays. Ah, Holey, dear, 1 don’t see myself sitting on a throne. Let’s talk of something else.” Roland stifled a sigh. “I hate this place. However, Jacques is dead, so •we are three against five; and Auburn and I are pretty strong. I shouldn’t much wonder if it came to a fight, you know.” “Well, if Burnt-Almonds wants to make me a King against my will,” said Clement Carre calmly, “he will find he has caught a Tartar. lam going to by-bye.” Roland assisted his Majesty’s toilet and then went in to the other berth, where be found Auburn alone, Souvestre and Paul having also retired. “Got rid of your sprig of royalty,” was his greeting when he saw Roland. “Yes, he’s gone to sleep. He looks very sick. These brutes have done their best to kill him.” “He’s an aspiring sprig, and thorny to handle; I’m thinking Souvestre will find that out by and bye. I say, Rohand! “Well ?” “What on earth would have happened if we hadn’t been there?” “Ask another!” “J say, you know. Armand funked it awfully- Fancy his wanting to leave du Berri on the beach!” “1 don’t think lie fanged it. He was looking to the <nd thinking of his confounded old Society of Fire.” “Of course it was a risky thing going back like Hint. Some of the men had aheadv got down on the- beach, hadn't they?”' “( hie had. I think.” “Faith, he came down pretty quirk! I thought he went by express, but ours was only Fast-Train-to-’Eriir-’jll compared with his. By the bye, what became of him?” “Oh, he sat down,” said Roland, vaguely. Auburn looked at him ami laughed; then he put his hand on Roland's arm for a minute. “That’s (he second time, you know. Look here. Roland, you look fagged out, ami there’s blood on your sleeve. Sure you're not hurt?” “A bullet grazed my arm, that’s all. For goodness’ sake, Auburn, don’t go Poking about me with those bandages’ I believe you’re thirsting to sew me up.” Auburn put him into a chair, bandaged his arm, and actually bathed his feet, which were badly cut by scrambling over the rocks. In the middle of his affectionate ministrations, Roland went to sleep and snored. Auburn stopped short and looked at him.

“The man’s as eallous as an oyster! Oh, Roland, my very good Roland, 1 cannot possibly stay down here if you are going to snore- Well, I don’t know that Clement Carre wants anything more but sleep, and Roland looks as if he were good for twelve hours. So, in case anybody should come and pry at you. I’ll take the liberty of turning the key in the lock—so! and now I’ll go on deck and have a little smoke.” CHAPTER VII. Auburn sat and smoked and watched the circle of the sea. The Eyes of Eire was going at racing speed, and, calm as the night was, there blew a high wind on her deck. Auburn watched the stars paling in the brightening skies, and the light growing in the east; presently the sky began to open and unfold like a flower in morning mists of golden cloud; brief was the enchanted twilight; the wind blew colder, with an awakening note, and through flights of pale cloud there shot arrows of sunshine. Then a star of gold flickered in a hollow of the rippling sea, it rose’ into a bar, a crescent, a semi-circle, a full orb —the sea shone with daylight. “ ‘Little gold sun,’ ” said Auburn, with a touch of sentiment, “‘come out of the dawn.’” The time was favourable to meditation, and Auburn was dreaming of England, when his thoughts were broken in upon by a noise below. Someone, apparently, was hammering and pounding at a door. Auburn, lost in dreams, paid no heed, till a voice began shouting in no gentle tones. “Auburn! Auburn! Come and let me out.” “Oh, ah!” said Auburn, leisurely making his way down the companion, “I forgot. You needn’t batter the door in, Roland.” “You forgot!” said Roland. “Upon my word, you’re pretty cook What’s the time?” “Getting on for tiffin. Sun’s been up about two hours.” “Haven’t you been to sleep at all?” “Not I. Do 1 look tired?” “No, you look fresh enough, all things considered. I say”—Roland slightly lowered his voice—“have you thought ?” “All right. Get it over before the others come up. They’re delicate, and mightn’t like it.” The two Englishmen went on deck, where lay the body of Jacques, his face stiffened in a look of expectation. “Get an old piece of sailcloth or something, and a needle and thread,” said Roland. “The Portuguese will know.” They got a. piece of canvas, and clumsily sewed it round him. When it was partly done, Roland stopped short. Oughtn’t we to go through his pockets?” he asked. There were only two pockets in the man’s dirtv clothes: front one came a

plug of rank tobacco, and a pouch; from the other a large silver watch, still ticking, and a knife, with a broad, short, keen blade, in a wooden sheath. Roland was yet staring at the knife when Auburn said sharply: “Here’s a good deal of loose cash, Roland.” It was indeed a good deal for a common sailor to possess. Most of it was paper money, and by a rough calculation they made it out to amount to over a thousand francs. “That’s a lot for a man to carry about with him,” said Roland. “It's a lot for a man to have. I don’t wonder at his carrying it, on him; no doubt it was the safest place. That’s a sweet little penknife you’ve got there.” “Yes,” said Roland. “The ease is the oddest part of it.” They looked at it together. It was of plain wood; but in one corner there were traces of initials. The surname of Jacques they knew to be Mercier. The second initial was an unmistakeable B. The Englishmen looked at each other, and did not speak. A shadow fell across the face of the dead man. Both looked up with a start; but it was only one of the Portuguese, who wished them good day. “What do you want?” said Roland sharply. “You should not leave the wheel.” “Surely the gentlemen were not going to throw that beautiful coat into the sea? And those shoes—that scarf and hat—Jacques would never need them again, and they would do no good to the sharks, if there were any, which there weren’t. And Pedro and Juan would be so graceful it the gentlemen would permit ” “Let him!” said Auburn laughing. “No, no, Roland, you mustn’t spoil the play. Fate is working out a dear little piece of irony for us. Sit down and forget tliat you are civilised.” Pedro despoiled the corpse of its upper garments, leaving exposed a great brown hairy neck. On the man’s shoulders there were deep and dark red lines, close-crossed and cruel. “The fellow' has been under the lash,” said Auburn critically. “Now. I wonder where lie got those marks.” Pedro looked up with a gleam of understanding. He, knew a few words of English. “Jacques showed them to me once, and said it was M. du Berri.” ‘■Why?” “I do not know why: but—Senor is good to Pedro.” } “Yes,” said Auburn nodding. “Senof has given Pedro a beautiful coat, and shoes, and lots of lovely things.” -Pedro shielded his mouth with his hand. “Senor—Jacques said there were 51) lashes for him, but there would have been a hundred, only ” “Well?” “He promised to work for M. du Berri.”

*Wbat atr “Ah, senor —Jacques poor—senor du Berri rich.” Auburn thrust his hand into Jacques’ pocket-book, which he was holding, and drew out some notes. “Senor Auburn rich too,” h.? said with a smile; but Pedro shrank back. ""No money—no, senor. but listen. Jacques say he sharpen senor’s knife for him.” “Go on.” Roland had turned away, unable longer to bear the sight of the (bead man’s ghastly face. ~ Pedro stood up, signing to Auburn to keep silence, clenched his right hand round an imaginary knife, and with a -terrible stealthy gesture, imitated the act of plunging the blade between Rolands shoulders. » Auburn touched his own breast and looked at Pedro, who nodded his head. - • “ That will do. Here, quick, Roland, finish the work. Now go. Pedro.; you have been very good. Oh. fetch us something heavy, you understand;” They stitched Jacques up in the sail, tied an iron bar to his feet, and in a , breathless hurry lifted their dreadful burden and placed it on the taflrail. There for a moment they both paused. “We therefore commit his body to the deep,” Poland began, but stopped, forgetting the exact words. Auburn held up his hand. “Stop there. 1 don’t love this gentleman. Roland; but he’s dead, and we won’t be vindictive.” And together they swung the body overboard. It tell with a dull splash into the sea. and the deep received it from their sight. Auburn threw after it the leather bag full of blood-money, the watch, and the tobacco. The dagger he was about to put into his pocket, when he saw something glitterfng on the deck beside it. •Hullo, what’s this?” he said. It was a woman’s wedding ring. “Oh,” said Auburn with a hysterical gasp of laughter. “It only needed that.” And he Hung the ring into the sea. “I wish we bad left it on him.” said Roland, clenching his hands. “Oh. I wish we had hit it on him.” “Oh. he’ll be able to find it—if he wants it. Come and have some tiffin.” Auburn was whistling the Dead March as they wont down together. Juan had got ready some breakfast, ami they were both hungry; but first there were the sick to be visited. Clement Carre was still asleep and smiling, but in thp other berth du Berri ■was tossing to and fro. and asking for water. Roland’s conscience smote him; he fetched a glass, and held it to his eager lips. Souvestre cam? and looked in on them. “They are not then pursuing us?” “Apparently not,” said Auburn. “I am greatly rested,” said Souvestre. “This dear Paul seems to be a little feverish.” “He’ll be up and about in a week. Will you come and have something to cat. Souvestre?” “With pleasure. flow is our friend, M. Carre?” bAsleep. Everything is going on all right; but we all. I think, want to settle our next move. Myself, 1 do not even know whither Pedro is taking uh.” said Roland. “Back to England. That is the refuge of the outcast.”

“England is too much honoured,” said Auburn, bowing profoundedly. They feat down to table; a strangely assorted trio. “Excellent coffee,” said Roland, pouring out for all. “Do you take milk, Armand? Well—about our future.” “Yes?” said Armand.- “You have, no doubt, some plan ” “Entire obedience to the wishes of the Society.” “To be sure, yes. Well, I think those plans can be discuss»?d after we get back to England. Surely you agree with me? So much must depend on circumstances. By the way, where is Jacques?” “Apropos of circumstances?” Auburn allowed himself to ask. “I do not quite follow you,” said the Fr»?nchman, paling a little. t “Perhaps you had rather follow Jacques.” “Make allowance for the dullness of my intellect,” pleaded Armand. “Well, if you want the brutal truth (truth is apt to be brutal) ” “Yes?* 5 said Armand, half rising. “He is out there,” Roland interposed, pointing to the open porthole. Auburn’s raillery struck him as hardly in good taste. “He was shot dead in last night’s affair.” “Jacques? Dead? Buried?” “We buried him,” said Auburn gravely. “It was an affecting scene.” And again he whistled the “Dead March.” “You buried him? You?” “Why not? We feared it would be too much for you.” “Poor fellow!” said Armand. in a melancholy voice. “H.e was a faithful servant. M. Auburn.” “I am sure lie was most obedient.” “Did you—did you— make any prepa rations?’’ <A Very little. Neither Carew nor myself is accustomed to the post of undertaker’s man. It was hardly a pleasant task; not one to be lingered over. “Ah’” said Souvestre. drawing a deep breath of relief. “Yes, he was a faithful servant. I shall not easily find bis like.” “Pedro, of course.” said Auburn, “though he is a good fellow, is far 100 clumsy to do Jacques’ work.” “Du Berri will be inconsolable,’’ put in Roland. “I fear so indeed; but here is M. Carre awake.” And indeed at that moment ( lenient Carre appeared at the open door. He ■wore a gorgeous dressing-gown of Paid du Beni’s, which he held up with b »th hands in front of him; his face was still almost entirely without colour, his eyes very large, his nose pinched, and his cheeks hollowed, hid he smiled upon the company with cordiality. “Good morning, everybody. f hope you have recovered from your light. M. Souvestre. Roley, I want, some breakfast.” Souvestre looked across at the little insouciant figure, with a deep, calculating "lance. “Monsieur Carre.” he said, “for so it will bo best to call you you have suffered tyrannical imprisonment at the hands of a government of rebels.” “One moment. I beg; if you use so many long words you sound like an anarchist in Hyde Park. However, don't let me interrupt; a pure style is not allimportant, of course, except to a poet like myself. Government of rebels—yes?”

“You have regained your freedom.” Armand pursued quite calmly, though his eyes flickered with anger, ‘"through my assistance.” “The dickens he has!” said Auburn rather disgusted. ’Weil, i should have said we bad a hand in it but. however, it is an honour which we aren’t particularly anxious to share, are we, Roland boy ?” But Roland did not answer. He was watching Clement Carre, with a light of amusement dawning in his eyes. “Through my assistance, as head of the Society of Fire. My society pitied your miserable posit ion ” “The salt, phase. ( Imlies. I'm much obliged to your society.” “We propose to do more for you than that. I speak quite* plainly, for we are all friends here. A’ou are the rightful heir to the throne of Franc .’’ “Well. 1 know that: 1 could tell you that.’’ “But without my aid you will b? unable to regain your rightful position. Tfie society offers to restore you to the throne of your ancestors.” “Wry good of it. I’m sure; but what, may I ask. does the society intend to g(*t itself, as a present for i good boy?’* Armand’s face expressed a high degree of Ijewilderment. Auburn leaned against the table struggling with a fit of laughter. but Boland, who was more attentive to the promptings of prudence, bit his lip and frowned significantly. Clement continued fo eat his e"g. “As a piesent?” Armand repeated blankly. “For a for you?” ( len.ieiil followed Auburn's had, and leaned hick, speechle-sly shaking. As a conspirator. Ise was a trifle impracticable. his face expressing only an impish enjoyment of his own position and Armand’s. Catching Boland’s eye. however. he sat up and fronted Sou vest re’s darkening brow. “Look here, M. Souvestre.” he said. “I may hr only a boy of seventeen, but I am a Bourbon, and I don't choose to Income the puppet of your society a lax figure set on a throne, and worked by a nri -hinrry of Anarchism. For that is what you purpose. I’m fo bo Hu fignr'head you steer. X'est ce ]»as?” Armand shrugged his shoulders. “Without us you will never be king at all.” “Wry well then. I never will be a king at all. That is settled. And now the son of France desires to eat his 1 reakfast in peace: hi 1 will dispense with the presence of all his courtiers who are in a bad temper, or who venture to contract their I rows and sulk — you can sort yourselves out for yourselves. Some coffee. Charles.” His meaning was so obvious, and was pointed by such a decided movement on the part of the Englishmen, that Sou veslre. though wil h a very ill grace, found himself constrained to withdraw. The allies, left alone together for the first time, looked at each other for a minute in a silence which as usual — Auburn broke. “Why aren’t we all as prudent as our dear old Barrels?” he said, laying an affectionate hand on Bohind's shoulder. ‘••You've thrown down the gage of battle with a vengeance. my honoured sovereign.” “It had to come sooner or later. You. Charles, are not a poet, and do not

imut-rsliind th? diilaulty of raining when you are a child of the sun.” “Sit ou him, Boland, do. or we shall never be strious. Now. look here, yod fellows, don't joke don’t. I implore you! This isn't Bank Holiday : it’s a funeral, don't you know.” “W hat 1 want to know.” said Roland, ignoring the incorrigible je<ter. “is this, are you really and honestly a son of Saint Louis, and heir to the throne of France, if there was one, or is it a game of bluff?” “Heir to the throne of France?” sai l ( lenient. “No, I am the king.” And he launched into a strange lale. Most people have heard of the hapless little prince who appears in history under the name of Louis X\ IL. an 1 who was supposed to have died in prison at the age of ten. on June S. 1795, under the care of the brutal Simon. When .* 1815. Louis W ill, soughi for his remains, no trace of his burial could IhB found; and since then many impostors have arisen claiming to be Louis W 11., one of whom, like Clement ( arro, l»or® a striking likeness to the Bourbons; but none of them had evidence to support their story. But Clement Carre had; hci possessed documents, which had been

tested and pronounced genuine by experts' which followed every step oi liis narrative, from the escape ot child-king, through the connivance of his gaoler’s wife,’ • I own to the birth, 17 years before, of Charles Louis Clement, Commonly known as Clement Carre. •3’his evidence, such as it was, was enough to convince the two sceptical Knglishinc n. “So it is really true?” said Ronald, after a pause. “Well, I honestly own 1 hardly believed it.” “Hand and glove with the Royal family!” was Auburn’s irreverent comment. “('harming sensation, isn't it? A 7 our Majesty might give us a Legion of Honour apiece, I think; its the least you can do for us.” “Legion of Honour! Nasty Republican decoral ion! Charles, you are like horse and mule that have no understanding, ami I only wish I had the bit •nd bridle.” ‘.“One thing I really want to know, < lenient,” said Roland gravely, “are you ambitious?” “Awfully. think of my rondeaux, sestinas, and kyviellrs!” “You want to be King?” Clement waved him away with a look of horror. “Me reign?” Roland laughed outright. “Then I don't see what they can do us,” he iKaid. “We have only to wait a bit. till we get near some English port secure one of the boats, and slip away by night. ” “True for you,” said Auburn gaily. “It sounds as easy as a cat licks cream; •nd yet, somehow, I’ve a nasty Ijttle. suspicion in the back of my mind that we shan’t get oil’ quite so easily as all that conies to. 'Those men are desperate; and I’ll be hanged if 1 think Armand means to let us slip between his fingers without shots tired.” ’ The homeward voyage... was not without incident. 'The weather, that had heen so mi hi and favourable, changed, •nd the sky grew overcast. Storm winds drove the Eyes of Eire heavily through Jong .Atlantic surges. Souvestre’s theories, and the practical knowledge ami skill of the Englishmen, wore sorely taxed to keep the little yacht afloat. r i'hey were driven out of the track of commerce, ami so gained, by eluding pursuers and evading other vessels, but they ran into other dangers, principally because tin* yacht was undermanned. JJu Berri was useless: he got up ami dressed after three days... but Ip* could not, or would not, take his turn with the others. Clement Carre professed to he equal t<> a man’s part, but his face gave him the lie; he did more than Souvestre allowed him t°. and filled up his Bparc time by making friends with the fillip's company, lie constituted himself Taul’s nurse, ami spent hours at his Fide, treating him with half serious condescension. Paul was impressed. He was the only person on board the Eyes <d Eire to whom Clement’s position was real. The boy was a .liftle shy of the Englishmen. or rather, of Auburn; he felt that two is company, and so kept out of their way. They, for their part, found much to do. and little time for talking. Blit the wild weather at last

abated, and on one afternoon of mi hl winds ami wthed billows, .Souvestre came up to Roland and said: “To-jmoitow wb shall see’England.” “Hi, Aulnirn!” shouted Roland. “M. Sou vest re says we shall be in England to-morrow.” “You mistake,” said Sou vest re: and a smile flitted over his face, which to Roland's eyes boded no good to him ami his. “I said we should see it.” Auburn leant against the mast, sway* ing his pliant body to the easy motion of the yacht. His keen eye travelled over Souvestre’s face, and thence to Rola ml’s. “Is it not time, my gallant friend,” he said. , ‘thal tin* distinguished Paul and yourself gave us the tip- put us up to sniifT ?” “You are pleased to be impertinent,” said Paul's voice behind him. “A thousand pardons,” said Auburn, gravely. “I did not see yon. Where did you spring from? Down below?” “I have this instant come up, hearing voices.” “Really? I did not know you could hear down there. Diftieilis ascensus, eh, Roland? Hope you aren’t tired?” “Shut up!” said Roland's lips in inaudible movement. Du Berri had long since given up trying to make out Auburn's meaning when he talked slang. “Well,” said Souvestre. after a pause, “our plans are simple, ( loment Carre must go wit h us. Wo must first get money from the Legitimists: then remove the President: and- but 1 need not weary you with details.” “'There's only One flaw,” said Roland, “and that’s Clement Carre. He does not care for—— “Treasons, strategies.' and revolutions,” wound up Auburn politely. “I am afraid.” said Souvestre, “that he must acquire the.,taste.” “You can’t compel him.” “Oh. yes.” ... “Fiddle!” said Auburn. “He won’t conspire, and you can’t make'Him: not if you were to feed him oh skulls of gore.” - [ “Oh. I think /wp can persuade him to join us. And. messieurs, what of you? You will not join.us too?” * “Certainly not. - That was all in the bond,” said Boland/' » “The bond? What bond?” “'The bond we made with you when we promised to aid you.”

“The bond you made with us when you were in process of being strangled by .Jacques? The bond Air Auburn made with us when he. was on the brink of death by drowning? I do not think, Mr ( arew, ihat you quite realise your position. Your life.” said Souvestre, imperiously, “you hold as our free gift. It is not for you to make conditions.” And I don t think that you quite realise the position either,” said Auburn in a tone of grim amusement. “Why, you shrimp. Paul! don't you know that I could send you down to join the other shrimps in a happy’ family party with one hand behind my back? Souvestre. do you-think you could stand much chance against Carew ?” . “Threats! 11l rents!” cried Souvestre, and he whipped out his revolver. Auburn leaped aside, and Ihe bullet went into the mast some six feet above the deck. Auburn. Roland, and Paul were unarmed. Souvestre. who had probably’ foreseen what Would happen, carried two revolvers. both loaded. 'There followed a kind of game of peep-bo about the dork. Why they were not hit Roland and Auburn did not know: but the motion of the yacht spoilt Sodvostre’s aim, and the shots Hew wide. 'They would have gone below and armed themselves. but (land not. for Paul had early made a dash at the stairs, and was probably” waiting armed at 'the foot. Suddenly Auburn noticed that the skylight was open. lie gripped the edge with both hands, swung himself over, and went down into the cabin, snatched up his two revolvers, and ran out in time to see Roland caught fairly between two fires. He was half-way down the companion. standing sideways; above him stood Soilvest re. and below him Paul, both armed, and playing with him for the moment. They had forgotten Auburn. who sprang at du Berri from behind, and twisted away his revolver. Ho would not shoot because Paul was wounded, or because hr was attacking from behind for some one of those strange instinctive reasons which defy analysis. Roland saw it. and made one step to the bottom of the companion, in doing which he very naturally tripped and fell. Souvestre saw if, and emptied

. the fast.-two shots levolver point, blank at. them, careless of wounding I’aul.-’ Auburn capgh.t Roland by his arm and by the hair of l|is head.-drag-ged liiin bodily into the cabin,' the door. i ‘•By Jove!” said Auburn, as he fell uvto a ehair, “that was a neat thing. [ say. Roland, you’re always in the wars. Are you hurt now, old boy?” "No—yes—not worth speaking of,” said Roland, picking himself up by inches. ‘‘What on earth happens next?” . "What in Hades you’d better say, if you want an expletive. It’s a miracle you’re not dead. I gave you up when I saw you on the stairs.” "But, look here, this is a deadly feud. They'll shoot us on sight now.” “Well, my dear soul, I’m not very keen on chumming up with these interesting murderers. 1 know they’re friends of yours, but personally I don’t regret what has happened from the point of view of losing their society.” "You had the best of that last scene, you know. My nerves feel a bit shaky. [ don't mind dying, but I hate waiting to die.” "Souvestre can look the tiger, too—exact ly like a great eat with an Overgrown mouse. All the same, we’ve spoilt his little game.” "If he were alone, it would be all right,” said Roland, silting gingerly on the edge of the table, and looking as if he were not quite sure that he had still got all his legs and arms. “Well, we are alone. You surely don’t want to tie those fascinating Italians to the "heels of your chariot?”. "< lenient.l'arre.”

“What about him? My dear Roland, I wouldn’t,- if -1- ettiild, clear out of this beastly hole and leave you. in it: then you’re' but a db'ild in the ways' of his way a-bintt-pretty nearly as well as I his wav about prety nearly as well as I do.” . "He’s very young.” "Young? You can call a man young who for 17 years lias known himself fo be King of France? What a truly insular idea! Really, Roland, if they turned you out to grass they’d never find you again; you'd be such an exact match.” , .."Sometimes I-do think you’re the biggest fool in creation, Auburn!” x . ..“A bit touched in the temper,”, said Auburn, gazing dreamily at the calm ceiling. "Just a little short—oh. yes, I think so, it was a rise, a decided ” , A flash ami a report ended the sentence. and while the cabin filled with smoke, Roland felt the glass of the skylight over his head fall in a shower of splinters all round him. _ (To be Continued.)