The Grey Cloak Part 34

"I will gladly seek him," said the vicomte, flas.h.i.+ng a triumphant look at D'Herouville, whose face became dark.

"Permit me to accompany you," requested the count.

"The vicomte will do, Monsieur," interposed the Chevalier, wonderingly.

The vicomte pa.s.sed down the companionway and disappeared. He stopped before the Chevalier's cabin and knocked. The sound of his knuckles was as thunder in his ears. Breton opened the door, rubbing his eyes.

"Your master, my lad, has sent me for his grey cloak. Will you give it to me to carry to him?"

"The grey cloak?" repeated Breton, greatly astonished.

"Yes. Be quick about it, as your master complains of the cold."

"Why, Monsieur Paul has not touched the grey cloak . . ."

"Must I get it myself? Be quick!" The vicomte was pale with excitement and impatience.

Breton, without further parley, took down the cloak and pa.s.sed it over to the vicomte.

"Monsieur will find the collar badly torn," he said.

"If he changes his mind, I will return shortly;" and the vicomte threw the cloak over his arm, left the cabin, and closed the door.

Breton wiped his hands on his breeches as if to 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 polis.h.i.+ng 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 s.h.i.+p: 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 thwacked his thigh. "Horns of Panurge!"

softly.

"Then you have not. It would be droll if our salvation was accompanying us to the desert." The vicomte was up and heading toward D'Herouville.

"Victor, lad," said the Chevalier, "go you and see if there is anything in the pockets of that grey cloak."

"Well, Monsieur?" said D'Herouville, eagerly.

"There is a ghost upon the s.h.i.+p," replied the vicomte.

"You have secured the papers?"

"Papers?" with elevated brows. "Is there more than one, then?" the vicomte's tone hardening.

"Paper or papers, it matters not; I was speaking only in a general way."

"Do you recall that when I touched that cloak it gave forth a crackling sound as of paper?"

"It was paper," said the count impatiently. What was this man D'Halluys driving at?

"Well, as I said;" and the vicomte twisted the ends of his mustache and gnawed it between his teeth. "There is a ghost upon this s.h.i.+p. There was nothing in that pocket, not even a piece of paper as large as your thumb-nail."

"You lie!" roughly.

Their faces came close together.

"If Monsieur le Chevalier leaves enough of you, Monsieur," said the vicomte. His tone was gentle. "When I gave you my word it was given honestly, without reservation. There were no papers in that cloak.

Some one has gone before us, or rather, some one has gone before me.

You spoke of papers: what gave you to believe there was more than one?

Monsieur, is not the lie on your side? Have you not had access to the Chevalier's room? You say that I lie; is not your own tongue crooked?

Besides, let us not forget the poet, who, while he may be unaware of the commercial value of that paper, has no less an interest in it. You have given me the lie: go about your affairs as you please, and I shall do likewise. When we land, if the Chevalier does not kill you, I will."

"Why?"

"You tell me that I lie."