Free The Sultan's Daughter by Dennis Wheatley

of his execution might yet give him a chance to save his life.
    Two of the men bundled Roger into the cart. At a sign from the Corporal, Giffens clambered in after him and the two soldiers climbed on to the driver’s seat. Mounting one of the horses, Tardieu took the lead; then, with the Corporal bringing up the rear on the other horse, they set off.
    The road was no more than a rutted track, and the rumble of the cartwheels on the hard ground drowned all other sounds; so, as soon as Roger had recovered a little from the ghastly five minutes he had just been through, he wriggled into a more comfortable position and said to Giffens:
    â€˜Are you not utterly ashamed of yourself?’
    â€˜Why should I be?’ muttered the man surlily.
    â€˜For having betrayed a fellow-countryman, of course.’
    Giffens shrugged. ‘I don’t ’old with nationalities. There’s rich and poor in the world, that’s all. And you be on the other side to I. Besides, it were either me or you.’
    â€˜What makes you suppose that?’
    â€˜Why, they’d ’ave sent I to the galleys. But by givin’ you away I’ve saved me bacon, ain’t I?’
    Roger managed an unpleasant little laugh. ‘I wouldn’t count on that. These Frenchmen of the Revolution have a nasty habit of using one enemy to bring about the death of another, then ridding themselves of his betrayer. I ought to know, seeing that I am a Frenchman myself.’
    â€˜You a Frenchie!’ Giffens snorted. ‘Don’t give me such gab. I know different. You’re Admiral Brook’s son, just as I tells the officer when ’e questions me an ’our back.’
    â€˜I’ve no doubt you believe so,’ Roger said quietly. ‘But in that you are wrong. How long is it since you think you last saw me?’
    Giffens scratched his head. ‘Let’s see now. Miss Amanda were married in the summer o’ninety, weren’t she? Then you come down to Walhampton with she the following spring; so ’twould be getting on seven year agone. But I seed you many a time afore that.’
    â€˜No, it was my English cousin, Roger Brook, you saw. We are near the same age and have a striking resemblance. But I am of the French branch of the family and was born in Strasbourg. That is why my name is spelt Breuc.’
    â€˜Them’s a pack o’ lies fit only for the marines. Seems to ’ave slipped your memory that only yesterday you played the fine English gentleman an’ threatened me with a floggin’. You was Mr. Roger Brook then, right enough, an’ made no pretence otherwise.’
    â€˜Indeed, no; and I’d have been out of my mind to do so, seeing that I was passing myself off as him in order to get back to France.’
    â€˜That’s another tall one. ’Ow come it that you recognised me, then? It was you as said to me, “ ’Aven’t I seen your face some place afore?” Remember?’
    â€˜Certainly. And I had. On several occasions while our two countries were still at peace I stayed at Lymington with my relatives, and more than once I visited Walhampton with the Admiral—or Captain Brook, as he then was.’
    Giffens was evidently shaken, but he stubbornly shook his head and declared, ‘I’ll not believe it. I’ll be danged if I do.’
    Sensing the doubt he had sown in the man’s mind, Roger pressed his advantage, and retorted, ‘You will continue to disbelieve me at your peril. Listen, Giffens. Believe it or not,I am a Frenchman and a Colonel on the Staff of the most important General in France. There are hundreds of officers in the French Army to whom my face is well known. When we reach the place to which we are being taken I shall demand to see the local Military Commander. I’ll then have no difficulty in establishing my true identity. I shall, of course, at once be freed. But what of you? If you persist in this idea of