"Bills upon Spain?" asked the disturbed host.

"Bills upon his Majesty's private treasury," answered d'Artagnan,
who, reckoning upon entering into the king's service in
consequence of this recommendation, believed he could make this
somewhat hazardous reply without telling of a falsehood.

"The devil!" cried the host, at his wit's end.

"But it's of no importance," continued d'Artagnan, with natural
assurance; "it's of no importance. The money is nothing; that
letter was everything. I would rather have lost a thousand
pistoles than have lost it." He would not have risked more if he
had said twenty thousand; but a certain juvenile modesty
restrained him.

A ray of light all at once broke upon the mind of the host as he
was giving himself to the devil upon finding nothing.

"That letter is not lost!" cried he.

"What!" cried d'Artagnan.

"No, it has been stolen from you."

"Stolen? By whom?"

"By the gentleman who was here yesterday. He came down into the
kitchen, where your doublet was. He remained there some time
alone. I would lay a wager he has stolen it."