We set off next day, riding to Dover, where we embarked upon a packet-boat, and so came, after much tossing and discomfort, to Calais. This being the port where Raoul had been kidnapped three years before, as Stubbs told me, I made discreet inquiry among the harbour people whether they knew aught of that villainy, being careful to name no names. But none had any knowledge of the matter, whereupon we rode on at once to Dieppe, both because that was the nearest port to Raoul’s château, and because our common friend Jean Prévost dwelt there, whom I purposed to take into my confidence. ’Twas drawing towards evening when we came to the town and reined up at the door of the _Belle Etoile_, a hostelry that I knew very well. The host, honest Jacques Aicard, remembered me, though it was near seven years since he last saw me, and welcomed me very heartily. The goodman’s face was rueful when he ushered me to a room. "’Tis pity, monsieur," he said, "that I have no better chamber to offer, but my best room is bespoke. But if monsieur will be content with this for a night or two, be sure that he shall have the best when my other visitor departs." I assured him that the room would do very well, since I did not purpose to make a long stay. "Ah, monsieur," he said, "that is sad news. I would that I had more guests like monsieur," a piece of arrant flattery whereat I smiled. ’Tis true that honest Jacques loved an Englishman. Having seen Stubbs also provided, I hastened forth, and by good luck found Jean Prévost at home. He likewise welcomed me with great heartiness, and, after our salutations, as he set wine before me, he opened upon the very matter which had brought me to him. "Would that Raoul were with us!" he said. "How we three laughed! But I fear me we shall never see him more." "He disappeared; that I know," said I. "Tell me how it befell." "Why, three years ago he rode to Calais, with the intent to sail to the Low Countries, and use his sword against the Spaniards. We have never heard of him since. Whether he was wrecked, or fell in Flanders, we know not. He vanished utterly away." "And what of his estate?" I asked. "His uncle holds it, the Count de Sarney. You have heard Raoul speak of him. He was a Leaguer, and there was a coldness between them. Indeed, though their châteaux lie but five miles apart, they had no dealings one with the other for many years. But the breach was healed when Henry became king, and after that Raoul had disappeared none was so busy as the Count in seeking for him. He sent emissaries at his own charges to Flanders to inquire diligently in all likely quarters, and ’twas a full year before he entered upon his heritage. He lives at Torcy, much by himself, and we see little of him." "Raoul lugs an oar in a galley at Cadiz," I said with a very quiet voice. Jean leapt from his seat as though a wasp had stung him. "A galley-slave! Impossible! Incredible!" he cried.