De Grammont said he knew nothing of the contents of the box except that it contained a message for a friend, and I believed him.

When I left his house he came to the door with me, murmuring:  “My gratitude!  My gratitude!  Also the gratitude of my king, which I hope may prove of far greater value to your friend than my poor offering of words.”

I lost no time in seeking George, except to make sure that I was not followed.  I trusted De Grammont and felt sure that the box he had given me contained a personal communication from no less a person than Louis XIV of France, but I wanted to take no risk of betraying Hamilton by leading De Grammont or any one else to his hiding-place.

Since Frances’s providential escape, the king had suspected the right persons of her rescue.  At least he suspected Hamilton, and was seeking him more diligently than ever before.  His Majesty had not shown me any mark of disfavor, but I feared he suspected me, and was sure he was not convinced that Frances’s alibi had been proved by unsuborned testimony.  If he was sure that she was the one who had been kidnapped, his suspicious nature would connect George with the rescue, and would lead him to conclude that Hamilton must be in England.

A maid of Lady Castlemain’s told Rochester, who in turn told me, that the king had again set his men to work searching for Hamilton.  That being the case, George was in danger, and should he be found by the king’s secret agents, who, I understood, were prowling all over England in the hope of obtaining a reward, his life would not be worth a week’s purchase.

George knew the risk he ran by remaining in England, but it was a part of his reckless courage to take delight in it.  Later on this recklessness of disposition induced him to take a far greater risk.  But of that in its turn.

* * * * *

After supper, I found Hamilton in his bedroom, which was connected by a hidden stairway with the room of the sinking floor.  He wore his Quaker’s disguise, and on the table beside him were the Bible and a few theological works dear to the hearts of his sect.  I gave him the box, telling him its history.  The letter was brief and was written in cipher.

George translated it thus:—­

“MASTER GEORGE HAMILTON: 

“Monsieur le Grand wishes you to pay him a visit immediately.

“DE CATANET.”

“You probably know Monsieur le Grand?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered, “and I shall visit him without delay.”

“In Paris?” I asked, not quite sure that Monsieur le Grand was King Louis of France, and not desiring to know certainly.

“In Paris,” he answered, giving me to understand by his manner that he must tell me nothing more definite of Le Grand’s identity.

“Don’t tell me what you know of the business this letter refers to, but tell me whether you know,” I said, hoping that George might at least tell me it meant good fortune for him.