On the following morning I was at breakfast, when Alphonse said to me: “I made last night sir, pretense of following monsieur, and discovered that another man was doing the same thing. Circumstances permitted me to observe that he was stupid, but monsieur will perceive that either I am mistrusted by the police, or that the affair of madame is growing more difficult and has so far baffled the detectives. The count must have mentioned your name to them.” There he paused and busied himself with the coffee-urn, and, for my part, I sat still, wondering whether I had not better be more entirely frank with this unusual valet. He knew enough to be very dangerous, and now stood at ease, evidently expecting some comment on my part. I had asked Merton to breakfast, and a half-hour later he came in, apologizing and laughing.

“Well,” he said, “I am late. I had Lieutenant West to see me, and, to my grief, Aramis is out of it and has explained, and so on; but Porthos is inexorable. I said at last I was so tired of them all that I should accept rapiers if the big man would give me time. The fact is, we must first dispose of this other business. A wound, or what not, might cripple me. I am not a bad hand with the sword, and I take lessons twice a day. But now about the other affair. This duel is a trifle to it.”

Alphonse had meanwhile gone, at a word from me, and I was free to open my mind to Merton. He did not hesitate a moment. “Call him back,” he said, “and let me talk to him.”

Alphonse reappeared.

“I gave you three hundred francs,” said Merton.

“Yes, monsieur.”

“Where is it?”

“My mother has it.”

“Very good. Are you for the emperor?”

The man’s face changed. “M. le Capitaine knows that a man must live. I was of the police, but my father was shot in the coup d’État. I am a republican.”

“If so,” said Merton, “for what amount would you sell your republican body and soul?”

“As to my body, monsieur, that is for sale cheap.”

“And souls are not dear in France,” said Merton.

“Yes, monsieur; but the price varies.”

“What would you say to—well, a thousand francs down and a thousand in three months?”

“If monsieur would explain.”

I did not dislike his caution, but I still had a residue of doubt as to the man who was serving two masters. Merton had none. He went on:

“We mean to be plain with you. We are caught in the net of a big and dangerous business.”

“I had thought as much,” said Alphonse. “Would M. le Capitaine explain? No doubt there are circumstances—”

“Precisely. A woman has done what makes it necessary for us to recover a certain document despite the police and the government. Understand that if we succeed you get two thousand francs and run meanwhile risks of a very serious nature.”

“And my master?”

“Oh, he may lose his position. You and I and madame may be worse off.”

“As to my position,” I said, “leave me out of the question. We shall all take risks.”

“Then I accept,” said Alphonse. “Monsieur has been most kind to my mother, and circumstances have always attracted me—monsieur will understand. What am I to do?”

“You are to examine the outside of Madame Bellegarde’s villa by day and at night—to-night—and report to us to-morrow morning. I have a scheme for entering it and securing the document we want, but of that we will speak when we hear your report. I have already ridden around the place. I am trusting you entirely.”

“No, monsieur, not quite entirely,” said Alphonse, smiling.

Merton understood this queer fellow as I did not, for, as I sat wondering what he meant, my friend said quietly: “No we have not told you where the papers are concealed nor what they are. And you want to know?”

A sudden panic seemed to fall on the valet. He winked rapidly, looked to right and left, and then cried in a decisive way, with open hands upraised as if to push away something: “No, monsieur, no. Circumstances make it not to be desired.”

From that moment I trusted the man. “Is that all, monsieur?” he said.

“No. I do not want you to act without knowing that we, all of us, are about to undertake what is against the law and may bring death or, to you at least, the galleys.”

“I accept.” He said it very quietly. “What other directions has monsieur, or am I merely to report about the house and the guards? It is easy.”

“Yes, that is all at present. The danger comes later. Let us hear at nine to-morrow morning.”

His report at that time was clear and not very reassuring. There were guards at or near the gateway. At night a patrol moved at times around the outside. He saw a man enter the garden and remain within. He could not say whether there was another one in the house. It was likely. Madame Bellegarde had driven to the villa. She had been allowed to enter, and came out with a basket of flowers. As no one went in with her, it was pretty sure that they trusted some one within to watch her.

Merton said: “And now, Alphonse, have you any plan, any means by which we can enter that house at night and get away safe without violent methods?”

“If there was no one within.”

“But we do not know, and that we must risk.”

“It would be necessary,” said Alphonse, “to get the police away from the gate for a time, and, if I am not mistaken, their orders will be capture, dead or alive. They believe your papers are still hidden in that house and that an effort may be made to secure them. You observe, monsieur, that all this care would never be taken in an ordinary case. If monsieur proposes to enter the house and take away certain papers, the guard may resist, and in that case—”

“In that case,” laughed Merton, “circumstances—”

“Monsieur does not desire me to enter the house.”

I said promptly that we did not. Alphonse seemed relieved, and Merton went on to state with care his own plan. Alphonse listened with the joy of an expert, adding suggestions and twice making very good comments on our arrangements. It would be necessary he thought, to wait for a stormy night, but already it was overclouded.

Alphonse went away to see his mother and to make his own preparations for the share assigned to him in an adventure to which I looked forward with keen interest and with small satisfaction.

Not so Merton. When the valet left us, the captain said: “We are utterly in the hands of that man.”

“Yes,” I returned thoughtfully.

“If he knew,” said Merton, “he might—”

“No. That he did not want to know what these papers are was an expression of his own doubt concerning the extent to which he might trust himself. I think we must trust him.”

“Yes,” returned the captain. “Whether or not we have been wise to use him, I rather doubted, but now I do not. The limitations of the moral code of a man like Alphonse are strange enough. It is hard to guess beforehand what he will do and what he will not. However, we are in for it. You have a revolver?”

“No.”

“I will lend you mine.”

I said I should be glad to borrow it, but I may say that I took care, before we set out, to see that the barrels were not loaded. I might use it to threaten, but was resolute not to fire on any one, even if not to do so involved failure of our purpose. I, too, had my moral limitations.

We lost a day, but on the following night there was such a storm as satisfied us to the full.

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