CHAPTER XC.

MARKBY'S MISSIVE--ON THE WATCH!--"SMART FELLOW, MARKBY!"--MARKBY'S MYRMIDON--THE SPY'S MISSION.

The Englishman Markby was gone before Pierre Lenoir could question him further.

"Jack Harkaway?" exclaimed Lenoir; "I have heard that name before. Of course; I remember now. But Markby speaks of him as a lad. Why, the Harkaway that I remember must be a middle-aged man by now; besides, what little I knew of Harkaway then would not show him to be a likely man for my purpose."

Not long after this, as Lenoir was upon the point of rising and leaving the café, a commissionaire or public messenger came up at a run with a note in his hand.

"M'sieu Lenoir."

"_C'est moi._"

He took the note and found it to contain the following words, scribbled boldly by Markby--

"They are now coming along in your direction. You will easily recognise them--two youths in sailor dress. Follow them, and if they stay at any of the cafés, I leave you to scrape up an acquaintance with them.--M."

"Markby has been upon the _qui vive_," said Lenoir to himself. "Smart fellow, Markby!"

Glancing to the left, he saw the two young sailors approaching: so Pierre Lenoir made up his mind at once.

He stepped into the house, intending to let them pass and then follow them, and, if by chance they should, on their way, stop at either of the cafés, he could drop in and seek the opportunity he so much desired.

But while he was waiting the young sailors came up, and, instead of passing the café they dropped into chairs at the door and called for refreshments.

This was more than Lenoir had bargained for.

However, it was no use wasting time.

He desired to profit by the opportunity, and so out he came and sat at the next table to the two young Englishmen.

* * * *

"What's your opinion of Marseilles, Jack?"

"Nothing great."

"Ditto."

"Nothing to see once you're out of sight of the sea, and the natives are not very interesting. They only appear to be full of conceit about their town without the least reason for it. I should like to know if there is really any thing in Marseilles to warrant the faintest belief in the place."

This was Pierre Lenoir's opportunity.

He stepped forward.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," said he. "Englishmen, I presume?"

"Yes, sir," responded Jack; "are you English?"

"I haven't that honour," replied Pierre Lenoir.

"You speak good English. You have resided in England, I suppose, for a long while?"

"No, only a short time. Long enough to get a desire to go back there."

"That's very kind of you to say so. Your countrymen, as a rule, don't speak in such flattering terms of _la perfide_ Albion."

"And yet they are glad enough to find a refuge there."

"True."

"Are you a native of Marseilles?" asked Harry.

"No."

"Then you are not offended at our remarks?"

"Not a bit," replied Lenoir heartily. "The Marseillais are absurdly conceited about their town, and after all it contains but few objects of interest for a traveller."

"Very few."

"There are some, however, and if you will accept my escort, I shall be very happy to show you them."

They expressed their thanks at this courteous offer which, on a very little pressing, they were glad to accept.

"Thanks; we will go and tell a friend, who is waiting for us down by the quay, that he must not expect us for an hour or so."

"Very good."

* * * *

Markby must have been pretty keenly upon the lookout, for no sooner were they gone than back he came.

"Well, what success?"

"Just as I wished," returned Lenoir, with a great chuckle; "they are coming back directly."

"That's your chance; you have only to take them up to your place. Once there, you will do as you please with them."

"There is no danger?"

"What can there be!"

"Only this--suppose that you were mistaken?"

Markby was visibly offended at this.

"If you think that likely after all I have told you, take my advice and have nothing whatever to do with them. I don't want to expose you to any risk that you think you ought not to run."

Lenoir appeared to waver momentarily.

Markby eyed him anxiously for awhile, until Lenoir, with an air of resolution, exclaimed--

"Hang the risk. I'll go for it neck or nothing."

"And you will take them there to-night."

"I will."

"Good! You'll have no cause to repent your decision. They'll do you a turn that you little contemplate."

"Right! Now off with you."

"I'm gone."

And away he went.

"What a strange fellow that Markby is," thought Pierre Lenoir, looking after him. "What an odd laugh he has."

Alas! Pierre Lenoir had good reason to bear that laugh in mind.

But we must not anticipate.

* * * *

As soon as Markby was fairly out of sight, he beckoned over to a young man in white blouse and a cap, who had walked along on the opposite side of the way, keeping Markby in view all the while without appearing to notice him.

The fellow in the blouse ran across at once.

"Well, how's it going?"

"Beautiful," returned Markby, "nothing could be better. Already have Harkaway and his hard-knuckled companion, Girdwood, been seen in Lenoir's society. But before the day is over they will be seen in the Caveaux themselves, where proofs of their guilt will spring up hydra-headed from the very ground."

"And what will it end in?" asked the other, eagerly.

"The galleys," returned Markby, with fierce intensity.

"Beautiful!" exclaimed the man in the blouse, with unfeigned admiration. "You always must have been a precious sight downier than I thought. Why, your old man was no fool. He made a brown or two floating his coffins, but he was a guileless pup compared to you."

"You keep watch," said Markby, hurriedly; "and be ready for any emergency. It is a bold stroke we are playing for. Lenoir is a desperate ruffian, and the least mistake in the business would be something which I for one don't care to contemplate."

"Lenoir be blowed," replied the man in the blouse; "the only people I care about if we should go and make a mess of the job is, firstly--Jack Harkaway, and secondly, his pal Harry Girdwood, which a harder fist than his I have seldom received on my unlucky snuffer-tray."

And he was gone.