"That is Lucas, that is his secretary," declared Yeux-gris, as who
should say, "That is his scullion."

Gervais looked at him oddly a moment, then shrugged his shoulders and
demanded of me:

"What next?"

"I came away angry."

"And walked all the way here to risk your life in a haunted house?
Pardieu! too plain a lie."

"Oh, I would have done the like; we none of us fear ghosts in the
daytime," said Yeux-gris.

"You may believe him; I am no such fool. He has been caught in two lies;
first the Béthunes, then the Comte de Mar. He is a clumsy spy; they
might have found a better one. Not but what that touch about
ill-treatment at Monsieur's hand was well thought of. That was
Monsieur's suggestion, I warrant, for the boy has talked like a dolt
else."

"I am no liar," I cried hotly. "Ask Jacques whether he did not tell me
about the Béthunes. It is his lie, not mine. I did not know the Comte de
Mar was dead, and this Lucas of yours is handsome enough for a count. I
came here, as I told you, in curiosity concerning Maître Jacques's
story. I had no idea of seeing you or any living man. It is the truth,
monsieur."