"Monseigneur," said Peyrolles, "I have at my disposal, and at the disposal of your highness, a very remarkable man, the hunchback Æsop. He was in the moat of Caylus that night. He, with those two you saw yesterday, are the only ones left, except--" Peyrolles paused for a moment, and his pale face worked uncomfortably. Gonzague interpreted his thought. "Except you and me, you were going to say." Peyrolles nodded gloomily. "As Æsop," he said, "has been in Spain all these years hunting Lagardere--" "Yes," Gonzague interrupted, "and never finding him." Peyrolles bowed. "True, your highness, but at least up to now he has kept Lagardere on the Spanish side of the frontier, kept Lagardere in peril of his life. Æsop hates Lagardere, always has hated him. When the last of our men met with"--he paused for a moment as if to find a fitting phrase, and then continued--"the usual misfortune, I thought it useless to leave Æsop in Spain, and sent for him. He came to me to-day. May I present him to your highness?" Gonzague nodded thoughtfully. Any ally was welcome in such a crisis. "Yes," he said. Peyrolles went to the door that communicated with the prince's private apartments, and, opening it, beckoned into the corridor. Then he drew back into the room, and a moment later was followed by a hunchbacked man in black, who wore a large sword. The man bowed profoundly to the Prince de Gonzague. Peyrolles introduced him. "This is the man, monseigneur." Gonzague looked fixedly at the man. He could see little of his face, for the head was thrust forward from the stooping, misshapen shoulders, and his long, dark hair hung about his cheeks and shaded his countenance. The face seemed pale and intelligent. It was naturally quite unfamiliar to Gonzague, who knew nothing of Æsop except as one of the men who had played a sinister part in the murder at Caylus. Gonzague addressed him. "You know much, they tell me?" The man bowed again, and spoke, slowly: "I know that Lagardere is in Paris, and with the child of Nevers." "Do you know where he is?" Gonzague questioned. The man answered, with laconic confidence: "I will find out." "How?" asked Gonzague. The hunchback laughed dryly. "That is my secret. Paris cannot hold any mystery from me." Gonzague questioned again: "Is it to your interest that Lagardere should die?" "Indeed, yes," the hunchback answered. "Has he not sworn to kill every man who attacked Nevers that night? Has he not kept his word well? I am the last that is left--I and Monsieur Peyrolles, for, of course, I except your Excellence. I promise you I will find him, but I shall need help." "Help?" Gonzague echoed. The hunchback nodded. "He is a dangerous fellow, this Lagardere, as six of us have found to our cost. Are there not two of our number newly in your highness's service?" "Cocardasse and Passepoil," Peyrolles explained. The hunchback rubbed his hands. "The very men. Will your highness place them under my orders?"