“The root of the matter is that man who is a prisoner, my Gouverneur Faulkner.  I say that you go; that you start while yet it is night and while no man can advise you not to take that journey.  It can be done while this entertainment to the farm of the Brices is made for the inspection of mules and also the running of horses.  It is necessary!” As I spoke to him in that manner a great force rose in me that I poured out to him through my eyes.

“Great Heavens, boy, I believe I’ll do it.  I could never get anything if I went when they knew I was going, but I might find out the whole thing if I went to it in secret.  If I go now they’ll not have time to get their breath before I am back.  I’ll be able to think out there is those hills and I’m—­a—­man who needs to think—­with a vision unobscured.”  For a long minute my Gouverneur Faulkner sat with his head bowed in his hands as he rested his elbows on that table, then he rose to his feet.  “Let’s get away while it is still the dead of night, Robert.  I’ll leave a note with Cato to tell the General that I’ve taken you, and nobody except himself must know where I have gone or why.  He’ll put up the right bluff and we’ll be back before they get anything out of him.  It’s three o’clock and we must be far out on the road by daybreak.  We’ll take your car and leave it in hiding at Springtown, where by sunup we’ll get horses to cross the mountains.”

“Is it that I must go for three days out into those mountains with you, my Gouverneur Faulkner?” faltered that ridiculous and troublesome Roberta, Marquise of Grez and Bye.

“Why, no, Robert, unless—­unless—­Oh, well, I suppose this prisoner of Jim’s can speak English as they all can.  I rather wanted you—­but perhaps it is best for me to fight it out alone.  Will you help me pack a bag?  Get the one from my dressing room while I take a plunge.”

“Quick, Robert Carruthers, make an excuse to that Roberta, Marquise of Grez and Bye, who is of such a foolishness, that you must go with your beloved Gouverneur Faulkner for his aid,” I said to myself.

“It is necessary that your foreign secretary accompany you to deal with that gentleman of France who is in prison, my Gouverneur Faulkner,” I said with decision as I rose from the side of the table with a great quickness.  “I must return home for a few necessities of my toilet for those three days, but I will be back in what that good Kizzie says to be a jiffy, when speaking of cooking that is delayed.”

“Good,” answered me my beloved Gouverneur Faulkner.  Then he laid his hand upon my shoulder as we stood together in the dimness out from the rays of the light.  “There is something in your eyes, Robert, that renews my faith in the truths of—­of life.  I’m going out into the wilderness on a grave mission whose result may shake down some houses of—­of cards, but because of your being with me I feel as if I were starting off on a picnic or a day’s fishing at the age of ten.  Now, I’ll hurry.”  And as he spoke my Gouverneur Faulkner made a start in the direction of his room for the bath.