"Not so. I said he was on no record given me. Officially I know
nothing of him."
"Come," said I, "you know well how I am concerned for him. You
quibble; you lied to our General."
A wicked light shone in his eyes. "I choose to pass that by, for the
moment," said he. "I am sorry you forget yourself; it were better
for you and me to be courteous till our hour of reckoning, Shall
we not meet some day?" he said, with a sweet hatred in his tone.
"With all my heart."
"But where?"
"In yonder town," said I, pointing.
He laughed provokingly. "You are melodramatic," he rejoined. "I
could hold that town with one thousand men against all your army
and five times your fleet."
"You have ever talked and nothing done," said I. "Will you tell
me the truth of the chaplain?"
"Yes, in private the truth you shall hear," he said. "The man is
dead."
"If you speak true, he was murdered," I broke out. "You know
well why."
"No, no," he answered. "He was put in prison, escaped, made for
the river, was pursued, fought, and was killed. So much for serving
you."
"Will you answer me one question?" said I. "Is my wife well? Is
she safe? She is there set among villainies."
"Your wife?" he answered, sneering.
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