The old man shook his head, miserably. “It is all my fault. I should never have allowed you to bring Jean into this. He is just a child.”
“But a remarkable child, you will admit,” said Mongoose.
“He is most resourceful. Already, at twelve, he is an accomplished liar, a gifted thief, an excellent marksman, and he is utterly without scruples. He has a brilliant future ahead of him.”
“You have perverted him,” Lafitte said, glumly.
“No. I have only helped him to discover himself. You are an old man, Lafitte. Face it, my friend, you are not long for this earth. You should be grateful to me for having helped Jean discover the innate abilities that he possessed. When it is time for you to die, you can do so knowing that the boys will not go hungry or uncared for. They will be quite able to fend for themselves.”
“I have served you faithfully, Monsieur l’Avenir,” said Lafitte. “Even though I do not understand these secret dealings of yours, I have done everything you asked me to do without question. If you can assure me of their safety, I shall do anything you ask, even give up my life, what little of it there is left to me.”
Mongoose smiled. “I can assure you not only of their safety, but of their prosperity,” he said. “They will both become very famous men. Jean, especially, will make his mark upon the world.”
“Where is Jean? I had hoped he was with you, but-”
“Jean was with me,” said Mongoose. “He does not know about Pierre and it is very important that you do not tell him should you see him. He will not be able to think clearly if he is concerned about his brother. At this moment, he is performing a service for me. I also have work for you to do, as well.”
“Say it and it shall
be done.”
The weather cleared and Marguerite Blakeney and Andrew Ffoulkes were able to sail to Calais that afternoon. They knew that Chauvelin would be sailing at the same time, although they would probably beat him to Calais upon the Day Dream.
“A lucky break for us,” said Ffoulkes. “Percy and the others must have sailed on another boat, leaving the Day Dream in Dover. Perhaps he suspects that someone is on his trail and is being extra cautious. I certainly hope so.”
“Do you think that we shall reach them in time?” Marguerite said, anxiously.
“I have no doubt of it,” said Ffoulkes, although privately he was not so certain. He knew that Percy was to meet with him at Brogard’s inn in Cap Gris Nez; however, he was arriving a day early. He had left word for Tony Dewhurst to gather the others together and proceed on to Calais as soon as possible, but he had no way of knowing when Dewhurst would get the message. He knew that Percy was very secretive about his plans and chances were that he and the others might have gone on to Paris. If that would be the case, then there was little he and Marguerite could do. other than to wait for their return and try to get to him before Chauvelin could. Unfortunately, that would give Chauvelin all the time he needed to gather his forces together and by the time Percy and the others returned to Cap Gris Nez, it could well be crawling with soldiers. The advantage that they had was that they knew that Percy would go to Cap Gris Nez, rather than Calais. Chauvelin would waste valuable time searching for him in Calais. Still, it would not take very long for him to conduct his investigation and ascertain that no one had seen a party of English citizens loitering about. Once he came to the conclusion that Blakeney wasn’t in Calais, Cap Gris Nez would be the next logical place in which to search for him.
When they arrived at Calais, they quickly made their way to Cap Gris Nez and the Chat Gris. Brogard received them in his usual surly manner and, when questioned, replied that “the English aristo” had, indeed, been there, but that he had left. He did not say exactly when he would return, but he had kept the rooms that he had taken, as usual, so that it would seem that he would not be gone for long. Brogard then began to sound Ffoulkes out as to the possibility of selling him some wine. He did so with little enthusiasm, as though he felt guilty for being forced to do business with English aristocrats. Having established their cover as oenophiles, the members of the league now had to carry on with the deception, which meant that they were forced to buy wine every time they came to Cap Gris Nez. To curry favor with Brogard, they had bought some wine from him on several occasions. Evidently, he received some sort of a commission from whoever he got it from and he thus profited by playing the middleman. Undoubtedly, he cheated both parties involved. Ffoulkes didn’t mind that so much, but the wine he sold them was terrible. They usually dumped it off mid-Channel, because not even Briggs would drink it.
Marguerite fidgeted throughout Ffoulkes’s conversation with Brogard, but she managed to keep silent until he left them.
“How can you discuss buying wine at a time like this?” she said. “We should be looking for them, instead of-”
“Please,” Ffoulkes kept her from going on. “Lower your voice. There may be spies about, one never knows. Brogard believes us to be wine merchants to our well-heeled friends and it is necessary to keep up appearances. As for looking for Percy, there may be little we can do now. I think it would be best if you remained here while I scouted around. Have something to eat, you must be starving. The food here actually isn’t so bad. It will fill you up, at least. Then go upstairs and stay in the room. Do not come out under any circumstances until I return. Please, for all our sakes, you must do as I ask.”
She nodded.
“Remember that there may be spies about,” said Ffoulkes. “Stay out of sight and speak to no one. Do not admit anyone into your room for any reason, not even Brogard. Trust no one. Percy’s life may depend upon it.”
Ffoulkes gulped the rest of his wine, grimacing. Brogard insisted upon serving him the awful stuff and he could hardly claim that he didn’t like it, since they were buying so much of it. He then ordered some food for Marguerite and hurriedly departed to search the streets of Cap Gris Nez for Percy. There was also a chance that he could be at Pere Blanchard’s cottage and therefore Ffoulkes had to look there, as well. There was a great deal of ground to cover and not much time to do it in. Before he left, he once again reminded Marguerite to remain inside her room, no matter what.
Marguerite made a somewhat halfhearted attempt to eat something, but she was unable to do much more than pick at her food. She purchased a bottle of wine from Brogard deciding that even the swill he served was better than nothing and went upstairs. She closed the door and bolted it, sat down on the bed and took a healthy swig from the bottle. The taste was horrible, but at least it was wet. Her mouth and throat felt very dry. She thought to herself, the waiting will be the worst part.
The waiting was the worst part. Hours went by that seemed like days. There was no sign of Ffoulkes. It was beginning to grow dark. Where can he be? She thought that surely Ffoulkes would have returned by now. All sorts of possibilities occurred to her. Ffoulkes had been captured by Chauvelin. Ffoulkes had injured himself somehow and was lying outside somewhere in the growing darkness. Ffoulkes had found Percy and they had both been captured. She brought the bottle to her lips once more and was astonished to discover that she had emptied it. Yet, she did not feel drunk. She had always joked with Percy that her capacity for wine was much greater than his, but never before had she finished a whole bottle by herself. The room suddenly seemed oppressively hot. She started to get up to cross the room and open the window, but sat back down upon the bed, involuntarily. The floor seemed to be tilting of its own accord.
Fool, you fool, she thought, you’re drunk!
Of all the stupid things to do and at a time like this! Furiously, she threw the bottle at the wall and it shattered, sending shards of glass flying in all directions. The window, she thought, I must open the window. Some fresh air will help to clear my head. With deliberate effort, she rose to her feet unsteadily and took several tentative steps. All right, it was not too bad. She was inebriated, but at least she still had some semblance of control. She was not falling down drunk.
Andrew will be furious with me, she thought. She staggered over to the night table, where stood a bowl of water for washing up. She emptied it over her head. Dripping wet, she walked over to the window, feeling her way along the wall and using it for support. The water combined with the chill air outside will do it, she told herself. She made it to the window and opened it, taking in deep gulps of air. Her room was on the far end of the inn, the window opening out onto the street. The entrance to the Chat Gris was just below and to her left. She heard the sounds of hoofbeats rapidly approaching and, remembering what Ffoulkes had said, she ducked back out of sight, pressing herself against the wall beside the open window. The horses stopped in front of the inn and she held her breath.
“Percy!” she whispered. “It must be!”
“You men start at the other end of town, I’ll interrogate the innkeeper here myself. Besides, you’ve had a chance to eat your supper and I haven’t. I’m told this inn has the only decent food in all of Cap Gris Nez.”
Chauvelin!