splashing of his foot-steps until they were lost in the howling of the
gale.

And so the mysterious cottage was mine to ransack if I could pluck its
secrets from it. I lifted the book which had been left upon the table.
It was Rousseau's 'Social Contract'--excellent literature, but hardly
what one would expect a trader to carry with him whilst awaiting an
appointment with smugglers. On the fly-leaf was written 'Lucien
Lesage,' and beneath it, in a woman's hand, 'Lucien, from Sibylle.'
Lesage, then, was the name of my good-looking but sinister acquaintance.
It only remained for me now to discover what it was which he had
concealed up the chimney. I listened intently, and as there was no
sound from without save the cry of the storm, I stepped on to the edge
of the grate as I had seen him do, and sprang up by the side of the
fire.

It was a very broad, old-fashioned cottage chimney, so that standing on
one side I was not inconvenienced either by the heat or by the smoke,
and the bright glare from below showed me in an instant that for which I
sought. There was a recess at the back, caused by the fall or removal
of one of the stones, and in this was lying a small bundle. There could
not be the least doubt that it was this which the fellow had striven so
frantically to conceal upon the first alarm of the approach of a
stranger. I took it down and held it to the light. It was a small
square of yellow glazed cloth tied round with white tape. Upon my
opening it a number of letters appeared, and a single large paper folded
up. The addresses upon the letters took my breath away. The first that
I glanced at was to Citizen Talleyrand. The others were in the
Republican style addressed to Citizen Fouche, to Citizen Soult, to
Citizen MacDonald, to Citizen Berthier, and so on through the whole list