The Shadow of Albion by Andre Norton, Rosemary Edghill Page B

obstinately continued to act the part of the
    foolish and oblivious Reynard.
     
    „But you doubt me, my dear Reynard.“ Grillot’s smile grew more feral as he
    spoke. „Perhaps you will find a walk in the garden a spur to the intellect?“
     
    If Grillot had expected Wessex to deviate from Reynard’s persona by one iota,
    he was to be sadly disappointed.
     
    „Certainly my good Grillot, if such is your desire,“ Wessex said urbanely. But in
    his pocket, where no one could see, his fingers tightened upon the butt of a very
    small pistol.
     
    The Princesse Eugenie’s little garden was meant to be seen at night. Narrow padis
    surfaced in white stone and crushed seashell curved around ornamental plantings
    designed to encourage assignations. A high wall concealed the garden from the street
    and from the prying eyes of neighboring houses. Grillot stopped just short of the
    tiny, ornamental gazebo.
     
    „But you will wonder, my dear Chevalier, that Madame la Princesses garden is
    so quiet?“
     
    „Will I?“ asked Wessex politely. He glanced behind him. They were out of sight
    of the house. Good.
     

 
    „The English boy who was here now awaits the Jacquerie in the kitchen – but he
    will not be lonely long. Madame la Guillotine’s kiss is one that he will remember for
    eternity – thus perish all such enemies of France!“
     
    There was a sudden shout from the house. Grillot fumbled a bulky and obvious
    pistol from his pocket, undoubtedly already primed and loaded and carried on the
    cock for just this moment. Wessex waited patiently while he did so. The Duke had
    no intention of grappling with him for the firearm – not while he was trying to avoid
    the attention that pistol-fire would surely draw.
     
    „My dear Grillot, now that you have discovered all, there is one question I should
    like to have answered,“ Wessex said – in English and a voice quite unlike „Citoyen
    Reynard’s.“
     
    He spoke to cover the soft clicking sound as he pressed down on a hidden button
    on the shaft of the quizzing-glass held between his fingers. A snap of the wrist, and
    the lens hung free, connected to the ornate golden handle only by a thin cord of
    braided silk. It was not meant for the work he was about to put it to, but it would
    have to serve.
     
    „Soon you will answer questions, English cochon – not ask them,“ Grillot snarled
    theatrically.
     
    There was a crash from the house and the man turned toward it, forgetting, in that
    fatal moment, to beware of his companion. As Grillot turned, Wessex flung the
    invisible coil of silk about his neck and jerked it tight, pulling the smaller man back
    against him and muffling Grillot’s death-struggles with his own long limbs.
     
    „Nevertheless, I shall ask,“ he breathed softly in Grillot’s ear as the Frenchman
    died. „Did you actually believe that you might sentence an Englishman to death with
    impunity? It is not done, my dear Grillot; you must hold me your preceptor in this.“
     
    Wessex spoke to cover the bitterness in his own soul – clean death on deck or
    battlefield might be any man’s fate, but this sneaking soft-handed game of shadows,
    fought with weapons that were not even honest steel –!
     
    Grillot went limp, and Wessex lowered Grillot’s dead body to the ground. He
    drew the silk cord back into the shaft of his quizzing-glass once more, then dragged
    the body into the cover of some of the Princesse’s ornamental shrubbery, stripping
    off the gaudy coat and waistcoat of the Chevalier de Reynard once he’d done so.
    With a few deft motions he turned the waistcoat inside out, concealing the lurid
    vermilion of the embroidered Chinese silk behind a veil of dully respectable ecru
    satin.
     
    The outcry from the house was louder now. There was a sound of breaking glass
    and a woman’s squeal. The Jacks were quite as crude in their methods as their
    predecessors at the height of the Terror had been; their motto one that all the