“He says it’s instanta.” “What kind of a boy?” “A Frenchy.” “Achille!” And Chester, thoroughly awake, springing up from his bunk, orders: “Send him down at once!” It is Achille with a note from Oliver. “You’re Captain Andrea Blanco?” asks the messenger. “Yes.” “Then you’re to read this at once,” says the boy, handing his missive, which bears evidence of being written in great haste and agitation. It has no address, but is in Oliver’s hand, and reads: “Fly! Fly quickly—for God’s sake—for your life, and if possible save the boy who brings this. He has been my servant—they’ll torture him for evidence. The hand is descending upon me. I have only time to say God bless you. Good bye.” “How came you to bring this?” asks Guy, his lips trembling a little and his face growing pale. “He told me—” “He!—who?” “Monsieur Oliver; he told me to get a pigeon,” says the boy, “and I went to the coop and somehow—for he cried to me to hurry—I let the door open and they all got out and flew away. Then I went to him and told him.” “And he?” “I think he must be sick. He screamed ‘Mon Dieu! what have you done?’ Then he said to me, ‘You’ve let the pigeons go, you must take a letter—Misericorde! my friend!’ Then he gave me money to get a horse and told me to ride as fast as I could and to get here last night in time to get through the town before the gates closed and give this to Captain Andrea Blanco on the ship Esperanza. And then to do what he told me.” “Then why were you not here last night?” demands Guy, in awful tones. “The stableman cheated me in the horse, curse him—the beast was lame and I didn’t get to the Emperor’s Gate until just as it was closing, so I had to stay at home all night, but I brought it here as soon as the gates were open. But you’re not Captain Andrea Blanco, you’re Captain Guido Amati,” adds Achille, who has kept curious eyes on Guy ever since he came into the cabin. “Both.” “That’s funny.” “Don’t trouble yourself about thinking whether it’s funny or not,” says Chester in a quarter-deck tone that astonishes the French boy. “Sit down!” “I’d—I’d like to go home for breakfast,” mutters Achille nervously. “Stay here, have breakfast with me, and do as I tell you. That’s what your master bids you do.” Thus commanded, and a very savory breakfast making its appearance, Achille sits down and eats, though Guy does not join him, for he is thinking with all his soul what he shall do.