A Solitaire: A Story of Espionage in the Age of Napoleon by D.P. McCandless

Author:D.P. McCandless [McCandless, D.P.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-03-02T17:00:00+00:00

12. Battling Shadows

Asking Don Martin Cristobal de Acuña for essential information about L’Orient seemed like chasing a feather in the wind, but Philip had no alternative but to try. He once again pulled up the floorboards, extracted the gold and bank notes and set off for the yellow-brick home.

The Spanish envoy’s doorman frowned slightly when he opened the door one rainy afternoon to again see the wine merchant “Joseph Bourgarel,” but he nonetheless showed him to the drawing room.

As he stood waiting, Philip reviewed his plan to leave Paris with Jean-François Floquet, the sound of drips from his wet cloak onto the marble floor heightening his sense of urgency.

Don Martin finally entered with a sour expression, accompanied by a tall man with a long face, sideburns and a goatee, the look of a tough from the streets of Paris whose work required a menacing appearance.

“I had hoped to have an audience alone,” Philip said, growing even more apprehensive.

“You will not decide how we are to meet,” Don Martin snarled. “You are an insolent young dog, and if you displease me, my associate will provide a lesson in etiquette.”

Numbed by the threat, Philip proceeded cautiously. “I wished to reintroduce our business arrangement,” he said. “I agree that our last meeting was not successful, and I had hoped that we could restore the ties between my employer and yourself.”

“Your employer,” Don Martin spat, “needs to know that I am not a man to bring to anger and that the price for relieving that anger is quite high. Do you understand what I say?”

“Yes, and I shall make certain that he understands as well,” Philip said, suddenly worried that he lacked the funds that would win back the Spaniard’s favor. “The reason for my visit is to see if you still are in possession of the information from L’Orient.”

Don Martin seemed confused at first by the request, but then cast steely eyes upon him.

“Oh, I see that you do not know everything there is to know, and so you come back begging like a little dog.”

Philip lost his composure. “I apologize for thinking that perhaps we could do business,” he said, “I apparently was mistaken.”

Don Martin’s companion made a move to block the door, but the Spaniard waved his hand to stop him. “Wait,” he said and walked over to a small desk by the window, scribbled on a card and passed it forward: “Convent of St. Bertin, 11 o’clock.”

The doorman again showed the back door to Philip, who cautiously stepped out into the alleyway and looked both ways to see what awaited him. The rain and the approaching night combined to heighten his fears as he fumbled in his pocket for the printer’s pinch.

“Where are you, you bastard?” he muttered to himself as he cast side glances for Don Martin’s villainous associate.

He stepped slowly away from the alleyway and crossed the street, cautiously eyeing a pair of men who stood beneath an awning over the entrance to a tobacco shop. Convinced that they were the Spaniard’s thugs, he approached them and asked for directions to the convent of St.

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