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Updated: June 29, 2025
"If we are to strike against him we cannot know too much of his doings. Besides, when we do strike we must not blunder eh, General?" laughed the monk, after which he opened a bottle of champagne, of which we all drank. A week later I was in London, and one afternoon called upon Madame Huguet, who was expecting me.
We went into the library, and there, consulting the map, Colonel Fitzgerald and General Huguet discussed where I might go that afternoon. The mist of the morning had turned to rain, and the roads at the front would be very bad. Besides, it was felt that the "Chief" should give me permission to go to the front, and he had not yet returned.
The two gentlemen joined me in the search, and we went over every inch of the ground, but to no purpose. "I thought them safer with Huguet than with me," Monsieur groaned. "I knew we ran the risk of ambush. Myself would be the object of attack; I bade Huguet, were we waylaid, to run with the papers." "And of course he would not." "He should; it was my command.
What we had heard him lock in the chest might have been these very pistols that he had afterward taken out again. Three men had fled from M. de Mirabeau's alley; we had no means of knowing whether this Peyrot were he who ran as we came up, he whom I had encountered, or he who had engaged M. Étienne. And did we know, that would not tell us which of the three had stabbed and plundered Huguet.
Therefore do I purpose never to give over striving after my lady." "Oh, we'll win her by noon. But first we'll sleep. There's Félix yawning his head off. Come, come." We set off along the alley, the St. Quentins arm in arm, I at their heels. Monsieur looked over his shoulder with a sudden anxiety. "Félix, you said Huguet had run for aid?"
But the trail did not reach the door; for when we turned into the little street where the arch is, where I had waited for Martin, as we turned the familiar corner under the walls of the house itself, we came suddenly on the body of a man. Monsieur ran forward with a cry, for it was the squire Huguet. He wore a leather jerkin lined with steel rings, mail as stout as any forged.
Why should you not go, Féodor?" she suggested, suddenly turning to me. "I? To London!" I exclaimed, in no way averse to the journey, for I had been in England on three occasions previously. "Yes," said Rasputin. "You shall go. Start to-morrow. Telegraph to Madame Huguet. She will help you, for she is not suspected, and all believe her to be French. Besides, she is pretty, and therefore useful."
I ran back to the spot where we had found Huguet; there was his hat on the ground, but no papers. I followed up the red trail to its beginning, looking behind every stone, every bunch of grass; but no papers. In my desperation I even pulled about the dead man, lest the packet had been covered, falling from Huguet in the fray.
Each day he lunched at the best restaurants with his business friends, and discussed the great Otchakov scheme, and each night he took one of his lady friends out to dinner, the theatre, and the Savoy, Ritz or Carlton afterwards. Within ten days of my arrival in London I found that his guest at dinner at the Ritz one night was the sprightly young Frenchwoman, Julie Huguet!
When Dom Duarte died in 1438, or when Huguet himself died not long after, the work had only been carried out as far as the tops of the surrounding chapels, and so remained all through his son's and his grandson's reigns, although in his will the king had specially asked that the building should be carried on.
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