"I should have preferred to know more of how you slew that Monsieur de Garnache; but since you deny me the information, I shall do my best without it.

I'll try to conjure up his ghost, to keep you entertained, Monsieur le Capitaine." And then, raising his voice, his sword, engaging now his brother's: "Ola, Monsieur de Garnache!" he cried.

"To me!" And then it seemed to those assassins that the Marquis had been neither mad nor boastful when he had spoken of strange things he had learned beyond the Alps, or else it was they themselves were turned light-headed, for the doors of a cupboard at the far end of the room flew open suddenly, and from between them stepped the stalwart figure of Martin de Garnache, a grim smile lifting the corners of his mustachios, a naked sword in his hand flashing back the sunlight that flooded through the window.
They paused, aghast, and they turned ashen; and then in the mind of each arose the same explanation of this phenomenon.

This Garnache wore the appearance of the man who had announced himself by that name when he came to Condillac a fortnight ago.

Then, the sallow, black-haired knave who had last night proclaimed himself as Garnache in disguise was some impostor.