"Enough, do you think, to loosen that honest tongue of yours?"
"What does your Excellency wish to know?"
"Whether your horse and cart can take me to where I can find my friend
the tall stranger, who has driven off in Reuben Goldstein's cart?"
"My horse and cart can take your Honour there, where you please."
"To a place called the Pere Blanchard's hut?"
"Your Honour has guessed?" said the Jew in astonishment.
"You know the place?"
"Which road leads to it?"
"The St. Martin Road, your Honour, then a footpath from there to the cliffs."
"You know the road?" repeated Chauvelin, roughly.
"Every stone, every blade of grass, your Honour," replied the Jew quietly.
Chauvelin without another word threw the five pieces of gold
one by one before the Jew, who knelt down, and on his hands and knees
struggled to collect them. One rolled away, and he had some trouble
to get it, for it had lodged underneath the dresser. Chauvelin
quietly waited while the old man scrambled on the floor, to find the
piece of gold.
When the Jew was again on his feet, Chauvelin said,--
"How soon can your horse and cart be ready?"
"They are ready now, your Honour.
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