The Scarlet Pimpernel

by Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy

  Marguerite's breath stopped short; she seemed to feel her very lifestanding still momentarily whilst she listened to that voice and to thatsong. In the singer she had recognised her husband. Chauvelin, too, hadheard it, for he darted a quick glance towards the door, then hurriedlytook up his broad-brimmed hat and clapped it over his head.

  The voice drew nearer; for one brief second the wild desire seizedMarguerite to rush down the steps and fly across the room, to stop thatsong at any cost, to beg the cheerful singer to fly--fly for his life,before it be too late. She checked the impulse just in time. Chauvelinwould stop her before she reached the door, and, moreover, she had noidea if he had any soldiers posted within his call. Her impetuous actmight prove the death-signal of the man she would have died to save.

  "Long to reign over us, God save the King!"

  sang the voice more lustily than ever. The next moment the door wasthrown open and there was dead silence for a second or so.

  Marguerite could not see the door; she held her breath, trying toimagine what was happening.

  Percy Blakeney on entering had, of course, at once caught sight of theCURE at the table; his hesitation lasted less than five seconds, thenext moment, Marguerite saw his tall figure crossing the room, whilst hecalled in a loud, cheerful voice,--

  "Hello, there! no one about? Where's that fool Brogard?"

  He wore the magnificent coat and riding-suit which he had on whenMarguerite last saw him at Richmond, so many hours ago. As usual, hisget-up was absolutely irreproachable, the fine Mechlin lace at hisneck and wrists were immaculate and white, his fair hair was carefullybrushed, and he carried his eyeglass with his usual affected gesture. Infact, at this moment, Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart., might have been on hisway to a garden-party at the Prince of Wales', instead of deliberately,cold-bloodedly running his head in a trap, set for him by his deadliestenemy.

  He stood for a moment in the middle of the room, whilst Marguerite,absolutely paralysed with horror, seemed unable even to breathe.

  Every moment she expected that Chauvelin would give a signal, that theplace would fill with soldiers, that she would rush down and help Percyto sell his life dearly. As he stood there, suavely unconscious, shevery nearly screamed out to him,--

  "Fly, Percy!--'tis your deadly enemy!--fly before it be too late!"

  But she had not time even to do that, for the next moment Blakeneyquietly walked to the table, and, jovially clapped the CURE on the back,said in his own drawly, affected way,--

  "Odds's fish! . . . er . . . M. Chauvelin. . . . I vow I never thought ofmeeting you here."

  Chauvelin, who had been in the very act of conveying soup to his mouth,fairly choked. His thin face became absolutely purple, and a violent fitof coughing saved this cunning representative of France from betrayingthe most boundless surprise he had ever experienced. There was no doubtthat this bold move on the part of the enemy had been wholly unexpected,as far as he was concerned: and the daring impudence of it completelynonplussed him for the moment.

  Obviously he had not taken the precaution of having the inn surroundedwith soldiers. Blakeney had evidently guessed that much, and no doubthis resourceful brain had already formed some plan by which he couldturn this unexpected interview to account.

  Marguerite up in the loft had not moved. She had made a solemn promiseto Sir Andrew not to speak to her husband before strangers, and shehad sufficient self-control not to throw herself unreasoningly andimpulsively across his plans. To sit still and watch these two mentogether was a terrible trial of fortitude. Marguerite had heardChauvelin give the orders for the patrolling of all the roads. Sheknew that if Percy now left the "Chat Gris"--in whatever direction hehappened to go--he could not go far without being sighted by some ofCaptain Jutley's men on patrol. On the other hand, if he stayed, thenDesgas would have time to come back with the dozen men Chauvelin hadspecially ordered.

  The trap was closing in, and Marguerite could do nothing but watch andwonder. The two men looked such a strange contrast, and of the two itwas Chauvelin who exhibited a slight touch of fear. Marguerite knew himwell enough to guess what was passing in his mind. He had no fear forhis own person, although he certainly was alone in a lonely inn with aman who was powerfully built, and who was daring and reckless beyondthe bounds of probability. She knew that Chauvelin would willingly havebraved perilous encounters for the sake of the cause he had at heart,but what he did fear was that this impudent Englishman would, byknocking him down, double his own chances of escape; his underlingsmight not succeed so well in capturing the Scarlet Pimpernel, when notdirected by the cunning hand and the shrewd brain, which had deadly hatefor an incentive.

  Evidently, however, the representative of the French Government hadnothing to fear for the moment, at the hands of his powerful adversary.Blakeney, with his most inane laugh and pleasant good-nature, wassolemnly patting him on the back.

  "I am so demmed sorry . . ." he was saying cheerfully, "so very sorry. . . I seem to have upset you . . . eating soup, too . . . nasty, awkwardthing, soup . . . er . . . Begad!--a friend of mine died once . . .er . . . choked . . . just like you . . . with a spoonful of soup."

  And he smiled shyly, good-humouredly, down at Chauvelin.

  "Odd's life!" he continued, as soon as the latter had somewhat recoveredhimself, "beastly hole this . . . ain't it now? La! you don't mind?" headded, apologetically, as he sat down on a chair close to the table anddrew the soup tureen towards him. "That fool Brogard seems to be asleepor something."

  There was a second plate on the table, and he calmly helped himself tosoup, then poured himself out a glass of wine.

  For a moment Marguerite wondered what Chauvelin would do. His disguisewas so good that perhaps he meant, on recovering himself, to deny hisidentity: but Chauvelin was too astute to make such an obviously falseand childish move, and already he too had stretched out his hand andsaid pleasantly,--

  "I am indeed charmed to see you Sir Percy. You must excuse me--h'm--Ithought you the other side of the Channel. Sudden surprise almost tookmy breath away."

  "La!" said Sir Percy, with a good-humoured grin, "it did that quite,didn't it--er--M.--er--Chaubertin?"

  "Pardon me--Chauvelin."

  "I beg pardon--a thousand times. Yes--Chauvelin of course. . . .Er . . . I never could cotton to foreign names. . . ."

  He was calmly eating his soup, laughing with pleasant good-humour, asif he had come all the way to Calais for the express purpose of enjoyingsupper at this filthy inn, in the company of his arch-enemy.

  For the moment Marguerite wondered why Percy did not knock the littleFrenchman down then and there--and no doubt something of the sort musthave darted through his mind, for every now and then his lazy eyesseemed to flash ominously, as they rested on the slight figure ofChauvelin, who had now quite recovered himself and was also calmlyeating his soup.

  But the keen brain, which had planned and carried through so many daringplots, was too far-seeing to take unnecessary risks. This place, afterall, might be infested with spies; the innkeeper might be in Chauvelin'spay. One call on Chauvelin's part might bring twenty men aboutBlakeney's ears for aught he knew, and he might be caught and trappedbefore he could help, or, at least, warn the fugitives. This he wouldnot risk; he meant to help the others, to get THEM safely away; for hehad pledged his word to them, and his word he WOULD keep. And whilsthe ate and chatted, he thought and planned, whilst, up in the loft,the poor, anxious woman racked her brain as to what she should do, andendured agonies of longing to rush down to him, yet not daring to movefor fear of upsetting his plans.

  "I didn't know," Blakeney was saying jovially, "that you . . .er . . . were in holy orders."

  "I . . . er . . . hem . . ." stammered Chauvelin. The calm impudence ofhis antagonist had evidently thrown him off his usual balance.

  "But, la! I should have known you anywhere," continued Sir Percy,placidly, as he poured himself out another glass of wine, "although thewig and hat have changed you a bit."

  "Do yo
u think so?"

  "Lud! they alter a man so . . . but . . . begad! I hope you don't mind myhaving made the remark? . . . Demmed bad form making remarks. . . . Ihope you don't mind?"

  "No, no, not at all--hem! I hope Lady Blakeney is well," said Chauvelin,hurriedly changing the topic of conversation.

  Blakeney, with much deliberation, finished his plate of soup, drankhis glass of wine, and, momentarily, it seemed to Marguerite as if heglanced all round the room. "Quite well, thank you," he said at last,drily. There was a pause, during which Marguerite could watch these twoantagonists who, evidently in their minds, were measuring themselvesagainst one another. She could see Percy almost full face where hesat at the table not ten yards from where she herself was crouching,puzzled, not knowing what to do, or what she should think. She had quitecontrolled her impulse now of rushing down and disclosing herself toher husband. A man capable of acting a part, in the way he was doingat the present moment, did not need a woman's word to warn him to becautious.

  Marguerite indulged in the luxury, dear to every tender woman's heart,of looking at the man she loved. She looked through the tatteredcurtain, across at the handsome face of her husband, in whose lazy blueeyes, and behind whose inane smile, she could now so plainly see thestrength, energy, and resourcefulness which had caused the ScarletPimpernel to be reverenced and trusted by his followers. "There arenineteen of us ready to lay down our lives for your husband, LadyBlakeney," Sir Andrew had said to her; and as she looked at theforehead, low, but square and broad, the eyes, blue, yet deep-set andintense, the whole aspect of the man, of indomitable energy, hiding,behind a perfectly acted comedy, his almost superhuman strength ofwill and marvellous ingenuity, she understood the fascination which heexercised over his followers, for had he not also cast his spells overher heart and her imagination?

  Chauvelin, who was trying to conceal his impatience beneath his usualurbane manner, took a quick look at his watch. Desgas should not belong: another two or three minutes, and this impudent Englishman wouldbe secure in the keeping of half a dozen of Captain Jutley's mosttrusted men.

  "You are on your way to Paris, Sir Percy?" he asked carelessly.

  "Odd's life, no," replied Blakeney, with a laugh. "Only as far asLille--not Paris for me . . . beastly uncomfortable place Paris, just now. . . eh, Monsieur Chaubertin . . . beg pardon . . . Chauvelin!"

  "Not for an English gentleman like yourself, Sir Percy," rejoinedChauvelin, sarcastically, "who takes no interest in the conflict that israging there."

  "La! you see it's no business of mine, and our demmed government is allon your side of the business. Old Pitt daren't say 'Bo' to a goose. Youare in a hurry, sir," he added, as Chauvelin once again took out hiswatch; "an appointment, perhaps. . . . I pray you take no heed of me.. . . My time's my own."

  He rose from the table and dragged a chair to the hearth. Once moreMarguerite was terribly tempted to go to him, for time was getting on;Desgas might be back at any moment with his men. Percy did not know thatand . . . oh! how horrible it all was--and how helpless she felt.

  "I am in no hurry," continued Percy, pleasantly, "but, la! I don't wantto spend any more time than I can help in this God-forsaken hole! But,begad! sir," he added, as Chauvelin had surreptitiously looked at hiswatch for the third time, "that watch of yours won't go any faster forall the looking you give it. You are expecting a friend, maybe?"

  "Aye--a friend!"

  "Not a lady--I trust, Monsieur l'Abbe," laughed Blakeney; "surely theholy church does not allow? . . . eh? . . . what! But, I say, come by thefire . . . it's getting demmed cold."

  He kicked the fire with the heel of his boot, making the logs blaze inthe old hearth. He seemed in no hurry to go, and apparently was quiteunconscious of his immediate danger. He dragged another chair to thefire, and Chauvelin, whose impatience was by now quite beyond control,sat down beside the hearth, in such a way as to command a view of thedoor. Desgas had been gone nearly a quarter of an hour. It was quiteplain to Marguerite's aching senses that as soon as he arrived,Chauvelin would abandon all his other plans with regard to thefugitives, and capture this impudent Scarlet Pimpernel at once.

  "Hey, M. Chauvelin," the latter was saying airily, "tell me, I prayyou, is your friend pretty? Demmed smart these little French womensometimes--what? But I protest I need not ask," he added, as hecarelessly strode back towards the supper-table. "In matters of tastethe Church has never been backward. . . . Eh?"

  But Chauvelin was not listening. His every faculty was now concentratedon that door through which presently Desgas would enter. Marguerite'sthoughts, too, were centred there, for her ears had suddenly caught,through the stillness of the night, the sound of numerous and measuredtreads some distance away.

  It was Desgas and his men. Another three minutes and they would be here!Another three minutes and the awful thing would have occurred: the braveeagle would have fallen in the ferret's trap! She would have movednow and screamed, but she dared not; for whilst she heard the soldiersapproaching, she was looking at Percy and watching his every movement.He was standing by the table whereon the remnants of the supper, plates,glasses, spoons, salt and pepper-pots were scattered pell-mell. Hisback was turned to Chauvelin and he was still prattling along in his ownaffected and inane way, but from his pocket he had taken his snuff-box,and quickly and suddenly he emptied the contents of the pepper-pot intoit.

  Then he again turned with an inane laugh to Chauvelin,--

  "Eh? Did you speak, sir?"

  Chauvelin had been too intent on listening to the sound of thoseapproaching footsteps, to notice what his cunning adversary had beendoing. He now pulled himself together, trying to look unconcerned in thevery midst of his anticipated triumph. "No," he said presently, "thatis--as you were saying, Sir Percy--?"

  "I was saying," said Blakeney, going up to Chauvelin, by the fire, "thatthe Jew in Piccadilly has sold me better snuff this time than I haveever tasted. Will you honour me, Monsieur l'Abbe?"

  He stood close to Chauvelin in his own careless, DEBONNAIRE way, holdingout his snuff-box to his arch-enemy.

  Chauvelin, who, as he told Marguerite once, had seen a trick or twoin his day, had never dreamed of this one. With one ear fixed on thosefast-approaching footsteps, one eye turned to that door where Desgasand his men would presently appear, lulled into false security by theimpudent Englishman's airy manner, he never even remotely guessed thetrick which was being played upon him.

  He took a pinch of snuff.

  Only he, who has ever by accident sniffed vigorously a dose of pepper,can have the faintest conception of the hopeless condition in which sucha sniff would reduce any human being.

  Chauvelin felt as if his head would burst--sneeze after sneeze seemednearly to choke him; he was blind, deaf, and dumb for the moment, andduring that moment Blakeney quietly, without the slightest haste, tookup his hat, took some money out of his pocket, which he left on thetable, then calmly stalked out of the room!

  CHAPTER XXVI THE JEW