“My dear friend,” cried Aramis.

“You see, we had each our mission,” said Porthos; “mine was to guard you and I am doing so.  Have you seen the king?”

“Yes, and all goes well.”

“We are to meet our friends at the hotel at eleven.”

It was then striking half-past ten by St. Paul’s.

Arrived at the hotel it was not long before Athos entered.

“All’s well,” he cried, as he entered; “I have hired a cedar wherry, as light as a canoe, as easy on the wing as any swallow.  It is waiting for us at Greenwich, opposite the Isle of Dogs, manned by a captain and four men, who for the sum of fifty pounds sterling will keep themselves at our disposition three successive nights.  Once on board we drop down the Thames and in two hours are on the open sea.  In case I am killed, the captain’s name is Roger and the skiff is called the Lightning.  A handkerchief, tied at the four corners, is to be the signal.”

Next moment D’Artagnan entered.

“Empty your pockets,” said he; “I want a hundred pounds, and as for my own ——­ " and he emptied them inside out.

The sum was collected in a minute.  D’Artagnan ran out and returned directly after.

“There,” said he, “it’s done.  Ough! and not without a deal of trouble, too.”

“Has the executioner left London?” asked Athos.

“Ah, you see that plan was not sure enough; he might go out by one gate and return by another.”

“Where is he, then?”

“In the cellar.”

“The cellar —­ what cellar?”

“Our landlord’s, to be sure.  Mousqueton is propped against the door and here’s the key.”

“Bravo!” said Aramis, “how did you manage it?”

“Like everything else, with money; but it cost me dear.”

“How much?” asked Athos.

“Five hundred pounds.”

“And where did you get so much money?” said Athos.  “Had you, then, that sum?”

“The queen’s famous diamond,” answered D’Artagnan, with a sigh.

“Ah, true,” said Aramis.  “I recognized it on your finger.”

“You bought it back, then, from Monsieur des Essarts?” asked Porthos.

“Yes, but it was fated that I should not keep it.”

“So, then, we are all right as regards the executioner,” said Athos; “but unfortunately every executioner has his assistant, his man, or whatever you call him.”

“And this one had his,” said D’Artagnan; “but, as good luck would have it, just as I thought I should have two affairs to manage, our friend was brought home with a broken leg.  In the excess of his zeal he had accompanied the cart containing the scaffolding as far as the king’s window, and one of the crossbeams fell on his leg and broke it.”

“Ah!” cried Aramis, “that accounts for the cry I heard.”

“Probably,” said D’Artagnan, “but as he is a thoughtful young man he promised to send four expert workmen in his place to help those already at the scaffold, and wrote the moment he was brought home to Master Tom Lowe, an assistant carpenter and friend of his, to go down to Whitehall, with three of his friends.  Here’s the letter he sent by a messenger, for sixpence, who sold it to me for a guinea.”