Of such were Sir Stephen Berrington and Morice Conyers.
No wonder Michael found his task a hard one, for the two, pitted against him in his work of rescue, were no fools.
The leaders of the glorious Revolution had the greatest confidence in Marcel Trouet.
Lord Denningham might lack morals, but brains he had in plenty.
Without scruples the latter gift is dangerous.
So Michael felt the uneasiness growing in him as he helped his father up the stairs of the lodging they had taken.
"Lesh drink an' b' jolly, an' drownsh melancholy,"
warbled Sir Stephen, rousing himself. "Ha, ha, Mike, boy, drownsh it, drownsh it."
Sir Stephen sank back in an easy-chair, his handsome face flushed, his satin suit crumpled and stained with wine splashes, his wig awry. And over him stood his son, stern and commanding.
"Where is Morice Conyers?" he asked gravely and very slowly, whilst grey eyes dominated wavering blue ones.
"Morry! Wantsh to know where Morry is? Why, you knowsh better'n I. He's with Moosoo. Ha, ha! a pretty joke, split me if it ain't. We'll make them laugh at Almack's over it. Ha, ha! good old Morry. Fancy him turningsh politics! Red capsh, Marshellaise, too funny."
"He has gone with Marcel Trouet to France," said Michael, in even, quiet tones.
"Marcel Trouet? Ha! ha! He's the birdsh for Paris. Paris! I knowsh Paris. Course I do! Not going there now, though. Marcel may go alone. No redsh caps for me. Mightn't leave head to wear it on. No, no. I'm goingsh, Morry."
"Brittany. Thatsh it! Brittany. Never, never will be slaves. No, no, thatsh wrong. Morry's a Marquish. Gran' thing Marquish, but Morry's not proud. Red capsh for Morry, Marshellaise. Send all the demsh arist'crats to the guillotine. That's what Trouet wants. Goodsh fellow, Trouet. Those demsh Bretons such fools. Don't know where breadsh buttered. Morry'll teach 'em, an' the little Count can sit an' shing to Gabrielle. Pretty girl, Gabrielle, Morry's shishter. The little Count'll be waitingsh, an' waitingsh. Ha, ha! 'Have to wait,' says Marcel. Bumpers on that. Morry'll dosh own work to ownsh tune. Won't be dictated to by whipper-shnappers. I'm with Morry--Denningham an' I'sh with Morry. All goin' together. Good joke that. Right side too. No danger there. Quality, libertysh, fraternitish."