"Thus I come to the middle of the volume. The stories have met; I take up the ends of them; I twine them together, and, _voila!_ an _eclaircissement_! When I have run my little race in the ungrateful republic, I come home to England. "I am free. I have money, health; I have a sacred duty to perform, an insult to avenge; I hasten into England, and seek my principal. "_Ouais!_ are not the journals teeming with great news? '_The Great Castle Brand Plot_ meets my astonished eyes in every journal. The vile imposture is divulged, the daring murderer is condemned; his serpentine guile is held up; and with passion I read that my valet Thoms and my employer Mortlake are one. I foam, I sweat with rage and shame, that he should have cheated me. "Oh, _mon Dieu!_ that I should live to be cheated by _Thoms_! Why did I not saber him in those days in Virginia? "I swear that I will have honorable satisfaction; the dog shall die for his treachery to a knight whose honor is more valued than his life. "I know the old disguise of my Mortlake. I remember his haunts, I say. England, I will find your criminal for you, but I shall have my little account settled with him before I pass him over to you. "I hasten to Canterbury, where I have seen him first, and in his old haunt, plying his modest profession as gambler, I find my bird-of-the-jail, with the eye upon Paris when tracked to Canterbury, there to hide from angry England. "I penetrate to his _cafe_, where he consorts with blacklegs, sharpers, and barmaids, and I gain a private audience of the great man in his exile. "I snap the fingers in his face. _Tonnere!_ how white it grows! I cry: "'Monsieur, you are no gentleman--you are _un fripon_, a rogue, a speaking cur! Monsieur, I spit upon you for a cur! Will you have pistols or sabers?' "'Calembours, by all the devils!' groans my rat in the trap. 'Why, man, I thought you were dead long ago. If I hadn't thought so, I should have had you to help me through with that accursed plot, and paid you well for it, too----' "'Liar!' I cry, 'I don't believe you! You are Thoms, and Thoms was a traitor. _Allons_, monsieur, will you meet me in the court out there?' "'Calembours,' whines the slave, 'why need you trample on a down man? Nobody knows me here, and I'll give you my purse, my jewels, and a fine blood-horse which I have out there in the stable, if you'll let me escape to Dover to-night.' "I weigh the purse, not so light, considering; the jewels--_par la messe!_ a million francs would not purchase them. "But I do not falter; he has cheated me with a paltry trick, he has practiced upon my credulity--my credulity, mademoiselle, and a _chevalier d'honneur_ never forgives that.