I opened the window quietly and slipped out. The drop to the court was less than my own height. Into the street I turned with the sober step of leisure, yet my feet tingled to run hard and my heart was stormy. The bells of St. Eloi went on ringing; the streets were growing busy with holiday-makers and the soldiers who were destined to over-run my country. I took there and then the most dreadful hatred of them, and scowled so black that some of the soldiers cried after me with a jeer. The priest and Kilbride I found were not at the inn where I had left them, having gone back to the vessel, so I hurried down to the quay after them. The hoy had been moved since morning, and in the throng of other vessels that were in the harbour at the time I lost well-nigh an hour in seeking her. Whether that was well for me or ill would be folly now to guess, but when I had no more than set a foot upon the gunwale of a small boat that was to take me out to her I was clapped upon the shoulder. I turned, to see Thurot and two officers of marine! “Pardon, M. Greig, a moment,” said Thurot, with not the kindest of tones. “Surely you would not hurry out of Dunkerque without a _congé_ for old friends?” I stammered some sentences that were meant to reassure him. He interrupted me, and--not with any roughness, but with a pressure there was no mistaking and I was not fool enough to resist--led me from the side of the quay. “_Ma foi!_” said he, “'Tis the most ridiculous thing! I had nearly missed you and could never have forgiven myself. My Swiss has just informed me that you were in the house an hour ago while I was there myself. I fear we must have bored you, M. Albany and I, with our dull affairs. At least there was no other excuse for your unceremonious departure through my back window.” I was never well-equipped to conceal my feelings, and it was plain in my face that I knew all. He sighed. “Well, lad,” said he, rather sorrowfully, “I'd give a good many _louis d'or_ that you had come visiting at another hour of the day, and now there's but one thing left me. My Swiss did not know you, but he has--praise _le bon Dieu!_--a pair of eyes in his head, and he remembered that my visitor wore red shoes. Red shoes and a Scotsman!--the conjunction was unmistakable, and here we are, M. Greig. There are a score of men looking all over Dunkerque at this moment for these same shoes.” “Confound the red shoes!” I cried, unable to conceal my vexation that they should once more have brought me into trouble. “By no means, M. Greig,” said Thurot. “But for them we should never have identified our visitor, and a somewhat startling tale was over the Channel a little earlier than we intended. And now all that I may do for old friendship to yourself and the original wearer of the shoes is to give you a free trip to England in my own vessel. 'Tis not the _Roi Rouge_ this time--worse luck!--but a frigate, and we can be happy enough if you are not a fool.” CHAPTER XXXVIII