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Page 87
"You have never hunted butterflies?"
"No," sharply. "Shall we start for him while his heels are hot?"
"It is very exciting. It is the one thing I really care for. There is
often danger, but it is the kind that does not steal round your back.
Hereafter I shall devote my time to butterflies. You can make
believe--is that what you call it?--each butterfly is a great rascal.
The more difficult the netting, the more cunning the rascal . . . What
did you say?"
"Look here, Ferraud," cried Fitzgerald angrily; "do you want to catch
him or not? He's gone, and that means he has got the odd trick."
"But not the rubber, my son. Listen. When you set a trap for a rat or
a lion, do you scare the animal into it, or do you lure him with a
tempting bait? I have laid the trap; he and his friend will walk into
it. I am not a police officer. I make no arrests. My business is to
avert political calamities, without any one knowing that these
calamities exist. That is the real business of a secret agent. Let
him dig up his fortune. Who has a better right? _Peste_! The pope
will not crown him in the gardens of the Tuileries. What!" with a ring
in his voice Fitzgerald had never heard before; "am I one to be
overcome without a struggle, without a call for help? The trap is set,
and in forty-eight hours it will be sprung. Be calm, my son. Tonight
we should not find a horse or carriage in the whole town of Ajaccio."
"But what are you going to do?"
"Go to A�tone, to find a hole in the ground."
"But the admiral!"
"Let him gaze into the hole, and then tell him what you will. I owe
him that much. Come on!"
"Where?"
"To the admiral, to tell him his secretary is a fine rogue and that he
has stolen the march on us. A good chase will soften his final
disappointment."
"You're a strange man."
"No; only what you English and Americans call a game sport. To start
on even terms with a man, to give him the odds, if necessary. What!
have beaters for my rabbits, shoot pigeons from traps? _Fi donc_!"
"Hang it!" growled the young man, undecided.
"My son, give me my way. Some day you will be glad. I will tell you
this: I am playing against desperate men; and the liberty, perhaps
honor, of one you love is menaced."
"My God!"
"Sh! Ask me nothing; leave it all to me. There! They are coming.
Not a word."
The admiral's fury was boundless, and his utterances were touched here
and there by strong sailor expressions. The scoundrel! The black-leg!
And he had trusted him without reservation. He wanted to start at
once. Laura finally succeeded in calming him, and the cold reason of
M. Ferraud convinced him of the folly of haste. There was a comic side
to the picture, too, but they were all too serious to note it; the
varied tints of the dressing-gowns, the bath-slippers and bare feet,
the uncovered throats, the tousled hair, the eyes still heavy with
sleep. Every one of the party was in Ferraud's room, and their voices
hummed and murmured and their arms waved. Only one of them did Ferraud
watch keenly; Hildegarde. How would she act now?
Fitzgerald's head still rang, and now his mind was being tortured.
Laura in danger from this madman? No, over his body first, over his
dead body. How often had he smiled at that phrase; but there was no
melodrama in it now. Her liberty and perhaps her honor! His strong
fingers worked convulsively; to put them round the blackguard's throat!
And to do nothing himself, to wait upon this Frenchman's own good time,
was maddening.
"Your head is all right now?" as she turned to follow the others from
the room.
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