“He said: ‘Parfaitement. Have you got any ideas about it?’ And I said--listen to me, gunner--I said: ‘Oui, mon Amiral, I think I’ve got a man,’ and the admiral interrupted me at once: ‘All right, you don’t want to talk to me about him, I put you in charge of that affair and give you a week to arrange it. When it’s done report to me. Meantime you may just as well take this packet.’ They were already prepared, Peyrol, all those faked letters and dispatches. I carried it out of the admiral’s room, a parcel done up in sail-cloth, properly corded and sealed. I have had it in my possession for three days. It’s upstairs in my valise.” “That doesn’t advance you very much,” growled old Peyrol. “No,” admitted the lieutenant. “I can also dispose of a few thousand francs.” “Francs,” repeated Peyrol. “Well, you had better get back to Toulon and try to bribe some man to put his head into the jaws of the English lion.” Réal reflected, then said slowly, “I wouldn’t tell any man that. Of course a service of danger, that would be understood.” “It would be. And if you could get a fellow with some sense in his caboche, he would naturally try to slip past the English fleet and maybe do it, too. And then where’s your trick?” “We could give him a course to steer.” “Yes. And it may happen that your course would just take him clear of all Nelson’s fleet, for you never can tell what the English are doing. They might be watering in Sardinia.” “Some cruisers are sure to be out and pick him up.” “Maybe. But that’s not doing the job, that’s taking a chance. Do you think you are talking to a toothless baby--or what?” “No, my gunner. It will take a strong man’s teeth to undo that knot.” A moment of silence followed. Then Peyrol assumed a dogmatic tone. “I will tell you what it is, lieutenant. This seems to me just the sort of order that a land-lubber would give to good seamen. You daren’t deny that.” “I don’t deny it,” the lieutenant admitted. “And look at the whole difficulty. For supposing even that the tartane blunders right into the English fleet, as if it had been indeed arranged, they would just look into her hold or perhaps poke their noses here and there, but it would never occur to them to search for dispatches, would it? Our man, of course, would have them well hidden, wouldn’t he? He is not to know. And if he were ass enough to leave them lying about the decks, the English would at once smell a rat there. But what I think he would do would be to throw the dispatches overboard.” “Yes--unless he is told the nature of the job,” said Peyrol. “Evidently. But where’s the bribe big enough to induce a man to taste of the English pontoons?”