“You did, and I know that you meant me well.”

“And what happened?”

“I was kidnapped by a slaver, and I was to have been taken to the coast of Africa, but a storm intervened and saved me.  Perhaps the slaver was acting for Mynheer Van Zoon, but I talked it over with Mr. Hardy and we haven’t a shred of proof.”

“Perhaps a storm will not intervene next time.  You must look to yourself, Robert Lennox.”

“And you to yourself, Chevalier de St. Luc.  I’m grateful to you for the warning you gave me, and other acts of friendship, but whatever your mission may have been in New York I’m sure that one of your errands, perhaps the main one, in Williamsburg, is to gather information for France, and, sir, I should be little of a patriot did I not give the alarm, much as it hurts me to do so.”

Robert saw very clearly by the moonlight that the blue eyes of St. Luc were twinkling.  His situation might be dangerous, but obviously he took no alarm from it.

“You’ll bear in mind, Mr. Lennox,” he said, “that I’m not asking you to shield me.  Consider me a French spy, if you wish—­and you’ll not be wholly wrong—­and then act as you think becomes a man with a commission as army scout from Governor Dinwiddie of Virginia.”

There was a little touch of irony in his voice.  His adventures and romantic spirit was in the ascendant, and it seemed to Robert that he was giving him a dare.  That he would have endured because of his admiration for St. Luc, and also because of his gratitude, but the allusion to his commission from the governor of Virginia recalled him to his sense of duty.

“I can do nothing else!” he exclaimed. “’Tis a poor return for the services you have done me, and I tender my apologies for the action I’m about to take.  But guard yourself, St. Luc!”

“And you, Lennox, look well to yourself when Braddock marches!  Every twig and leaf will spout danger!”

His light manner was wholly gone for the moment, and his words were full of menace.  Up the street, a sentinel walked back and forth, and Robert could hear the faint fall of his feet on the sand.

“Once more I bid you beware, St. Luc!” he exclaimed, and raising his voice he shouted:  “A spy!  A spy!”

He heard the sentinel drop the butt of his musket heavily against the earth, utter an exclamation and then run toward them.  His shout had also been heard at the tavern, and the guests, bareheaded, began to pour out, and look about confusedly to see whence the alarm had come.

Robert looked at the sentinel who was approaching rapidly, and then he turned to see what St Luc would do.  But the Frenchman was gone.  Near them was a mass of shrubbery and he believed that he had flitted into it, as silently as the passing of a shadow.  But the sentinel had caught a glimpse of the dusky figure, and he cried: 

“Who was he?  What is it?”

“A spy!” replied Robert hastily.  “A Frenchman whom I have seen in Canada!  I think he sprang into those bushes and flowers!”