CHAPTER XIX.

Unsummoned Witnesses.

Slowly the afternoon wore away.  My content had given place to urgent impatience, and I longed every moment for the summons to action.  None came; and a quarter to five I went downstairs, hoping to find some means of whiling away the interval of time.  Pushing open the door of the little salle-à-manger, I was presented with a back view of my host M. Bontet, who was leaning out of the window.  Just as I entered, he shouted “Ready at six!” Then he turned swiftly round, having, I suppose, heard my entrance; at the same moment, the sound of a door violently slammed struck on my ear across the yard.  I moved quickly up to the window.  The stable door was shut; and Bontet faced me with a surly frown on his brow.

“What is to be ready at six?” I asked.

“Some refreshments for Mme. Delhasse,” he answered readily.

“You order refreshments from the stable?”

“I was shouting to the scullery:  the door is, as you will perceive, sir, there to the left.”

Now I knew that this was a lie, and I might very likely have said as much, had not the Duke of Saint-Maclou at this moment come into the room.  He bowed to me, but addressed himself to Bontet.

“Well, are the gentlemen to be here at five?” he asked.

Bontet, with an air of relief, began an explanation.  One of the gentlemen—­M. de Vieuville, he believed—­had read out the note in his presence, and had desired him to tell the duke that he and the other gentleman would meet the duke and his friend on the sands at a quarter to six.  They would be where the road ceased and the sand began at that hour.

“He seems to think,” Bontet explained, “that less attention would thus be directed to the affair.”

The precaution seemed wise enough; but why had M. de Vieuville taken Bontet so much into his confidence?  The same thought struck the duke, for he asked sharply: 

“Why did he read the note to you?”

“Oh, he thought nothing of that,” said Bontet easily.  “The gentlemen at Pontorson know me very well:  several affairs have been arranged from this house.”

“You ought to keep a private cemetery,” said the duke with a grim smile.

“The sands are there,” laughed the fellow, with a wave of his hand.

Nobody appeared to desire to continue this cheerful conversation, and silence fell upon us for some moments.  Then the duke observed: 

“Bontet, I want you for a few minutes.  Mr. Aycon, shall you be ready to start in half an hour?  Our friends will probably bring pistols:  failing that, I can provide you, if you have no objection to using mine.”