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The thing itself would break the daily monotony of life and provide hushed gossip for vraic gatherings and veilles for a long time to come. Thus Elie Mattingley would not die in vain! Here was one sensation, but there was still another. Olivier Delagarde had been unmasked, and the whole island had gone tracking him down.
Mattingley knew that his hour was come, and yet to his own surprise he had no violent sensations. He had a shock presently, however, for on the jailer announcing the executioner, who should be there before him but the Undertaker's Apprentice! In politeness to the chaplain Mattingley forbore profanity.
He was to have his boat waiting to respond to a signal from the shore, and to make sail for France, where he and his father were to be landed. There he was to give Mattingley, Alixandre, and Carterette his craft to fare across the seas to the great fishing-ground of Gaspe in Canada.
"He's been full as a jug three days. He got drunk too soon." The grimace seemed to widen. "O my good!" said Mattingley, and he would say no more. To him words were like nails of no use unless they were to be driven home by acts. To Mattingley the procession of death was stupidly slow.
As the procession started back with the Undertaker's Apprentice now following after Mattingley, not going before, Mattingley turned to him, and with a smile of malice said: "Ch'est tres ship-shape, Maitre-eh!" and he jerked his head back towards the inadequate rope. He was not greatly troubled about the rest of this grisly farce.
His heart gave a great bound. Yes, it was the English flag defiantly flying. And more there were two old 12 pounders being trained on the French squadron. For the first time in years a low laugh burst from his lips. "O mai grand doux," he said in the Jersey patois, "only one man in the world would do that. Only Elie Mattingley!"
She had not seen him once since that great day when they had visited the Ecrehos. The house of Elie Mattingley the smuggler stood in the Rue d'Egypte, not far east of the Vier Prison. It had belonged to a jurat of repute, who parted with it to Mattingley not long before he died.
Chattering people were gathered at familiar points, and at the foot of La Pyramide a large group surrounded two sailor-men just come from Gaspe, bringing news of adventuring Jersiais Elie Mattingley, Carterette and Ranulph Delagarde. This audience quickly grew, for word was being passed on from one little group to another.
Unlike Mattingley, she did drop her musket at the sight of Ranulph. Her lips opened, but at first she could not speak this was more than she had ever dared hope for, since those dark days in Jersey. Ranulph here! She pressed her hands to her heart to stop its throbbing. Presently she was trembling with excitement at the story of how Ranulph had been pressed at St.
"It's the gunner," he cried and handed the glass to the old man. "It's Carterette," said Mattingley in a hoarse voice. "But it's not possible. It's not possible," he added helplessly. "Nobody was ever there. My God, look at it look at it!" It was a picture indeed.
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