In his right hand he held a silver
box of orders, and as his arm fell at the sight of Claiborne, the gay
ribbons and gleaming pendants flashed to the floor.
"It is not Armitage; we have made a mistake!" muttered Chauvenet tamely,
his eyes falling from Claiborne's face to the cloak, the sword, the
tangled heap of ribbons on the floor.
Durand stepped forward with an oath.
"Who is the man?" he demanded.
"It is my friend Captain Claiborne. We owe the gentleman an apology--"
Chauvenet began.
"You put it mildly," cried Claiborne in English, his back to the
fireplace, his arms folded, and the smile gone from his face. "I don't
know your companions, Monsieur Chauvenet, but you seem inclined to the
gentle arts of kidnapping and murder. Really, Monsieur--"
"It is a mistake! It is unpardonable! I can only offer you
reparation--anything you ask," stammered Chauvenet.
"You are looking for John Armitage, are you?" demanded Claiborne hotly,
without heeding Chauvenet's words. "Mr. Armitage is not here; he was in
Storm Springs to-night, at my house. He is a brave gentleman, and I warn
you that you will injure him at your peril.
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