dealing with the Jaggery child.
The arrest of Moreau would be a personal pleasure, but Hoare would be exceeding his brief by thinking to command the expedition it would apparently require. Besides his disaffected French-Canadians, Moreau could well have other English renegades at his disposal as well-Irish irredentists, too, perhaps, ready to avenge Wolfe Tone. Yet, whether he would be exceeding his brief or not, Hoare wanted to be in on the kill, in person. The stink of the vanished Vantage was still fresh in his nose.
How was he to go about it? A more tactful officer than himself-one who had kept on good terms with Sir Thomas Frobisher instead of near-hostility-could simply call on the baronet for a force of his watch, march up the long slope from Weymouth town under the eyes of Moreau, cut him out from among some sixteen men, and haul him away. In doing so, this more tactful officer would, of course, have no difficulty in persuading Moreau not to put an end to him with the Kentucky rifle he had stolen, as he had done with at least two victims-Kingsley and Dr. Graves.
Moreover, the man behind Moreau-Fortier s and Jaggery's 'Himself,' lurking in the shadows of the case-might still be in the offing with reinforcements for the defense of his man Moreau. Then again, maybe not.
The Marine division headquartered in Portsmouth, Hoare remembered as he went, included-as well as nearly fifty companies of infantry and batteries of artillery-a troop of hybrid creatures. Half soldier, half sailor, half cavalrymen, they were called 'Horse Marines.' These military chimeras served as outlying guards on the landward side of Portsmouth. On their rounds, they kept an eye peeled for seamen and fellow Marines seeking to disappear into the countryside. They were a despised laughingstock-military bastards-about whom ribald jigs had been circulating for years.
Hoare had met two of their officers, including their captain, not so long ago and taken their part in a dispute with certain regular hussars. It was to their corner of the Marine barracks that he went. He hoped their captain-a John Jinks, if he remembered correctly-would be at hand and that he would respond to Hoare's appeal for armed support.
Captain Jinks was both present and complaisant. 'It'll give the lazy rascals a jaunt,' he said. Within minutes, Hoare was jouncing out of town on a borrowed charger beside Captain Jinks, his troop of Horse Marines jingling behind him.
A day and a half later, the troop trotted through a mizzle of chilly rain and crested the Purbeck Downs beside Morrow's quarry. There a dozen men or more, variously armed, blocked the narrow paved roadway into Weymouth, up and down which Hoare had plodded before, to be insulted and rebuffed by Morrow and Sir Thomas Frobisher. At their head, Sir Thomas himself sat a handsome eighteen-hand horse-an Irish hunter, Hoare hazarded to himself. Another horseman flanked Sir Thomas.
'Halt right there, you troop of sleazy imitation soldiers,' Sir Thomas Frobisher said. 'How dare you trespass on Frobisher land without my say-so?'
'I don't know that I care for the way you describe my Marines, sir,' Captain Jinks retorted. 'In any case, we bring a warrant for the arrest of one Edouard Moreau, alias Edward Morrow, on charges of treason, et cetera, et cetera. Stand aside, please.'
'Show your warrant, sir,' Sir Thomas said. His bandy, froggy legs barely reached below his mount's barrel. Captain Jinks turned to Hoare, as did Sir Thomas, who looked at Hoare with extreme distaste.
'You again, fellow,' he said, his voice oozing contempt. 'I told you I'd have you horsewhipped if I laid eyes on you again on my manor.'
'I think not, sir,' Hoare whispered. 'Here is the warrant. I think you will find it quite in order.' He held the document up.
'Well, fellow? Give it to me,' Sir Thomas ordered.
'I think not, sir,' Hoare repeated. 'You may advance as far as you must in order to read it.'
'Never mind,' Sir Thomas said. 'I did not sign it, and I am the law of this land. You can go to hell, and take your fornicatin' document with you.'
'The warrant is signed and sealed by the Marquess of Blandford, sir, as you can plainly see. As I need not tell you, he is Lord Lieutenant of this county.' Hoare hoped that Sir Thomas would stop arguing and decide either to resist this troop of mounted Marines or to obey his Lord Lieutenant. He felt himself running out of whisper.
Sir Thomas muttered a few words to his fellow horseman, who spurred his animal at a furious, foolhardy pace down the hill toward the town. With no good will, he gestured to his other followers to clear the road. He himself sat his horse, fuming, while the red-coated troop filed past him like a martial hunt passing in review before their Master of Fox Hounds. At the tail of the last trooper, Hoare doffed his hat and bowed silently in his saddle to the baronet. He was crotch-weary and glad to be ending his eighty-mile journey. It had rained all the way.
Moreau was not at the offices of his quarry. At the door of the house at the top of the zigzag road that led down to the town, Moreau's manservant shook his head.
'You'll not find the master here,' he said. ' 'E's gorn.'
'We'll see about that,' Captain Jinks replied grimly. 'Sergeant MacNab!'
'Sah?'
'Take four men. Station one at each door of the house. Search the house for our man. You'll remember the description given you last night by Mr. Hoare.'
'Sah!'
One of the troopers failed to suppress a guffaw. Sergeant MacNab turned on him.
'Silence, man! Twa days o' muckin' oot the stables forrr ye!'
The rest of the troop jogged carefully on down the turnpike, behind Hoare and their captain. They spurned the outraged tollbooth keeper and proceeded into town.
Waving frantically, the maid Agnes stood at Mrs. Graves's front door as the troop clattered up.
'She's gone to keep an eye on Mr. Morrow on the shore!' Agnes cried. ' 'You'll find him at Portland Bill,' she says I was to tell you, 'where you and I drove off his men together'!'
Once off the smooth blocks of the street and down on the shingle, Jinks set the troop to a canter-but not for long, as first one horse and then another went lame, victims of the treacherous cobbles.
'It ain't the 'untin' that 'urts the 'orse; it's the 'ammer, 'ammer, 'ammer on the 'ard 'ighway,' Captain Jinks reminded Hoare out of the side of his mouth.
When they rounded a small point of the cliff, the troop's leaders could see Moreau, alone, heaving a shallop toward the surf. It might well have been the very shallop that had sheltered Eleanor Graves from her assailants that first afternoon. The wind was easterly and gusty, the clouds heavier than they had been on that first occasion. Perhaps a quarter-mile offshore, Marie Claire lay hove to, her foresail backed, tossing in the first line of breakers. Hoare handed the warrant to Captain Jinks. Let him do the shouting.
Jinks deployed his men. A sudden rain squall hid Marie Claire, then swept across the waves toward them.
'Edouard Moreau, alias Edward Morrow,' Jinks cried, 'I have here a warrant for your arrest on charges of treason! Advance and surrender!' He gestured to his men to spread out along the stony beach and take aim.
'I'll be damned if I do!' Moreau shouted.
'Surrender, or we fire!'
Moreau continued to shove at the skiff. The curtain of rain squall struck. Marie Claire vanished behind it. It drove down on the waiting troop, bent on soaking the carbines' priming powder.
'Fire!' Captain Jinks cried.
Two carbines went off. Three misfired with faint, wet sounds. Hoare dismounted and began to plod wearily toward Moreau along the shingle, turning an ankle at every third step.
'You'll never make it through the surf, you fool,' he whispered to the metis, knowing well that his words would be lost within inches of his mouth.
Moreau did not even turn. He had the shallop afloat at last. He heaved it into the sea until the first surf foamed around his knees, drew himself aboard it, and set the oars in their tholepins. Looking over his shoulder every few strokes to see that he was on course for Marie Claire, he began to pull for her. The Canadian handled his oars as well as any Coastguardsman.
In the offing, Hoare saw a pair of men clamber over the schooner's side into a small boat and cast off, towing a light line behind them. They were still beyond the breakers.
