"He has kept me waiting longer than was agreeable," I remarked, taking the note and breaking the seal. The letter was neither signed nor addressed, and my face must have shown surprise at the contents, as, looking up suddenly, I found the messenger watching me with undisguised alarm. Springing across the room I fastened the door, and, picking up a pistol, said quietly, "Raise your voice above a whisper and I fire! Now attend to me. Do you know what is in this note?" "No!" he answered boldly. "That is false," I said, still speaking quietly, "and will do you no good. Tell me what is in it." "Has not monsieur learned to read?" he asked in such a matter-of-fact manner that I burst out laughing. "You are a brave little man, and when you see your master tell him I said so." "What name shall I give him, monsieur?" "Name, you rascal? Why, my own, De Lalande! Now sit there and don't stir, while I read this again." It was a queer communication, and only the fact of my chance meeting with the youngster in the Rue de Roi gave me anything like a clue as to its meaning. This was what I read. "I have sent to the inn, in case my mounted messenger should fail to stop you on the road. The plan will go on, _but without us_. We move only when success is certain. Make your arrangements accordingly. Our friends will be annoyed, but they can hardly draw back. I leave you to supply a reason for your absence. A broken leg or a slight attack of fever might be serviceable. Destroy this." Plainly the note did not come from Raoul, nor was it intended for me. What did it mean? That there was a conspiracy on foot I grasped at once, as also that my cousin was one of the prominent actors. But what, and against whom? and why was I, or rather Henri, to draw back? Who were _our friends_ who would do it without us? Was my acquaintance of the Rue de Roi among them? On which side was Raoul? Now Raoul and my cousin had no love for each other, and therefore, I argued, though wrongly as it afterwards appeared, they could not be working together. "Come," thought I, "this is clearing the ground. By going more deeply into the matter I may be able to do Raoul a service." But how to proceed? That was the question which troubled me. CHAPTER III. I Enter the Astrologer's House. It was plain that whatever I decided to do must be done quickly. I glanced at the messenger. He sat quite still, but his shrewd, beady eyes were fixed on me as if to read my every thought. Evidently there was no help to be expected from that quarter. And, worse still, the man had discovered his mistake. The instant I opened the door he would raise an alarm, and I should probably fare ill in the ensuing scuffle. The rascal was aware of his advantage, and actually grinned.