IN THE SHADOW
"Yes."
"Is Monsieur Dessalines within, oh, oh, m'sieur?" The man spoke in the Creole patois with which Jules was rapidly becoming familiar. Jules walked out to the gate. The horseman, seeing that he was white, started.
"Oh, you are Maître Jules, the attendant of Monsieur le Comte?"
"Si!"
"There is a letter for him, monsieur. It is important; there is no answer.
Jules took the letter from the man's hand. "Who gave you this?" he asked.
"A man in Port au Prince. I brought it immediately. It is a long ride—it makes one thirsty."
"Come into the house," said Jules, "and we will have a glass of wine together. Did this other man tell you anything?"
"No; only that he could be found at the house of Lucien Laroque, opposite the market; also, he said that you would pay me."
"What is your charge?"
"I throw myself upon the generosity of m'sieur."
"Here are ten gourdes."
"Merci, m'sieur!"
"Here also is a glass of wine."
"Merci plus, m'sieur!"
Jules opened the letter. It was written in a cipher prearranged which he had committed to memory. He read, reread, then fell back, faint, dazed, overcome. With an unsteady hand he poured himself a glass of wine. The note read simply:
246
