CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
A RAT-TRAP IN THE RUE D'AGNES.
The worth of my credentials was very soon put to the test; for an hour's ride brought me to Morlaix, where, as I had learned from a hastily scrawled list of places on the cover of the passport, I was to expect my first fresh horse.
Here there was some grumbling at my lateness and wondering as to the cause of it.

For the diligence guard had reported that I (or rather he whom I represented) had started ahead of the coach from Brest, and should have passed Morlaix three hours in front.
Whereupon I explained that I had been attacked by a highwayman, and obliged to hide in the woods till daylight.

At which they laughed, and said if I chose to travel to Paris alone on horseback, instead of journeying as most honest citizens did, I must expect to be shot at.
Then I was ordered into the _conciergerie_ while my passport and papers were examined.
It was lucky for me I had put on the dead man's clothes, and that the description chiefly related to these.

As regards personal appearance I was described as young, beardless, with blue eyes, brown hair, and "nothing remarkable," which equally well described me as it did poor John Cassidy.
"Who is your master ?" demanded the officer.
"Citoyen Lestrange," said I boldly, "an Irishman resident in Paris." "Where have you been ?" "To Dublin, to see my master's agent, Mr Patten." "Is this Monsieur Patten's letter ?" "That to my master is his.

That to the Citoyen Duport is from a French gentleman in Dublin whose name I do not know." It hurt me to tell so many lies in one breath.