It took Marguerite some time to collect her scattered senses; the wholeof this last short episode had taken place in less than a minute, andDesgas and the soldiers were still about two hundred yards away from the"Chat Gris."
When she realised what had happened, a curious mixture of joy and wonderfilled her heart. It all was so neat, so ingenious. Chauvelin was stillabsolutely helpless, far more so than he could even have been under ablow from the fist, for now he could neither see, nor hear, nor speak,whilst his cunning adversary had quietly slipped through his fingers.
Blakeney was gone, obviously to try and join the fugitives at the PereBlanchard's hut. For the moment, true, Chauvelin was helpless; for themoment the daring Scarlet Pimpernel had not been caught by Desgas andhis men. But all the roads and the beach were patrolled. Every place waswatched, and every stranger kept in sight. How far could Percy go, thusarrayed in his gorgeous clothes, without being sighted and followed? Nowshe blamed herself terribly for not having gone down to him sooner, andgiven him that word of warning and of love which, perhaps, after all,he needed. He could not know of the orders which Chauvelin had given forhis capture, and even now, perhaps . . .
But before all these horrible thoughts had taken concrete form in herbrain, she heard the grounding of arms outside, close to the door, andDesgas' voice shouting "Halt!" to his men.
Chauvelin had partially recovered; his sneezing had become less violent,and he had struggled to his feet. He managed to reach the door just asDesgas' knock was heard on the outside.
Chauvelin threw open the door, and before his secretary could say aword, he had managed to stammer between two sneezes--
"The tall stranger--quick!--did any of you see him?"
"Where, citoyen?" asked Desgas, in surprise.
"Here, man! through that door! not five minutes ago."
"We saw nothing, citoyen! The moon is not yet up, and . . ."
"And you are just five minutes too late, my friend," said Chauvelin,with concentrated fury.
"Citoyen . . . I . . ."
"You did what I ordered you to do," said Chauvelin, with impatience."I know that, but you were a precious long time about it. Fortunately,there's not much harm done, or it had fared ill with you, CitoyenDesgas."
Desgas turned a little pale. There was so much rage and hatred in hissuperior's whole attitude.
"The tall stranger, citoyen--" he stammered.
"Was here, in this room, five minutes ago, having supper at that table.Damn his impudence! For obvious reasons, I dared not tackle him alone.Brogard is too big a fool, and that cursed Englishman appears to havethe strength of a bullock, and so he slipped away under your very nose."
"He cannot go far without being sighted, citoyen."
"Ah?"
"Captain Jutley sent forty men as reinforcements for the patrol duty:twenty went down to the beach. He again assured me that the watch hadbeen constant all day, and that no stranger could possibly get to thebeach, or reach a boat, without being sighted."
"That's good.--Do the men know their work?" "They have had very clearorders, citoyen: and I myself spoke to those who were about to start.They are to shadow--as secretly as possible--any stranger they may see,especially if he be tall, or stoop as if he would disguise his height."
"In no case to detain such a person, of course," said Chauvelin,eagerly. "That impudent Scarlet Pimpernel would slip through clumsyfingers. We must let him get to the Pere Blanchard's hut now; theresurround and capture him."
"The men understand that, citoyen, and also that, as soon as a tallstranger has been sighted, he must be shadowed, whilst one man is toturn straight back and report to you."
"That is right," said Chauvelin, rubbing his hands, well pleased.
"I have further news for you, citoyen."
"What is it?"
"A tall Englishman had a long conversation about three-quarters of anhour ago with a Jew, Reuben by name, who lives not ten paces from here."
"Yes--and?" queried Chauvelin, impatiently.
"The conversation was all about a horse and cart, which the tallEnglishman wished to hire, and which was to have been ready for him byeleven o'clock."
"It is past that now. Where does that Reuben live?"
"A few minutes' walk from this door."
"Send one of the men to find out if the stranger has driven off inReuben's cart."
"Yes, citoyen."
Desgas went to give the necessary orders to one of the men. Not a wordof this conversation between him and Chauvelin had escaped Marguerite,and every word they had spoken seemed to strike at her heart, withterrible hopelessness and dark foreboding.
She had come all this way, and with such high hopes and firmdetermination to help her husband, and so far she had been able to donothing, but to watch, with a heart breaking with anguish, the meshes ofthe deadly net closing round the daring Scarlet Pimpernel.
He could not now advance many steps, without spying eyes to track anddenounce him. Her own helplessness struck her with the terrible sense ofutter disappointment. The possibility of being the slightest use to herhusband had become almost NIL, and her only hope rested in being allowedto share his fate, whatever it might ultimately be.
For the moment, even her chance of ever seeing the man she loved again,had become a remote one. Still, she was determined to keep a close watchover his enemy, and a vague hope filled her heart, that whilst she keptChauvelin in sight, Percy's fate might still be hanging in the balance.
Desgas left Chauvelin moodily pacing up and down the room, whilst hehimself waited outside for the return of the man whom he had sent insearch of Reuben. Thus several minutes went by. Chauvelin was evidentlydevoured with impatience. Apparently he trusted no one: this last trickplayed upon him by the daring Scarlet Pimpernel had made him suddenlydoubtful of success, unless he himself was there to watch, direct andsuperintend the capture of this impudent Englishman.
About five minutes later, Desgas returned, followed by an elderly Jew,in a dirty, threadbare gaberdine, worn greasy across the shoulders. Hisred hair, which he wore after the fashion of the Polish Jews, with thecorkscrew curls each side of his face, was plentifully sprinkled withgrey--a general coating of grime, about his cheeks and his chin, gavehim a peculiarly dirty and loathsome appearance. He had the habitualstoop, those of his race affected in mock humility in past centuries,before the dawn of equality and freedom in matters of faith, and hewalked behind Desgas with the peculiar shuffling gait which has remainedthe characteristic of the Jew trader in continental Europe to this day.
Chauvelin, who had all the Frenchman's prejudice against the despisedrace, motioned to the fellow to keep at a respectful distance. The groupof the three men were standing just underneath the hanging oil-lamp, andMarguerite had a clear view of them all.
"Is this the man?" asked Chauvelin.
"No, citoyen," replied Desgas, "Reuben could not be found, so presumablyhis cart has gone with the stranger; but this man here seems to knowsomething, which he is willing to sell for a consideration."
"Ah!" said Chauvelin, turning away with disgust from the loathsomespecimen of humanity before him.
The Jew, with characteristic patience, stood humbly on one side, leaningon the knotted staff, his greasy, broad-brimmed hat casting a deepshadow over his grimy face, waiting for the noble Excellency to deign toput some questions to him.
"The citoyen tells me," said Chauvelin peremptorily to him, "that youknow something of my friend, the tall Englishman, whom I desire to meet. . . MORBLEU! keep your distance, man," he added hurriedly, as the Jewtook a quick and eager step forward.
"Yes, your Excellency," replied the Jew, who spoke the language withthat peculiar lisp which denotes Eastern origin, "I and Reuben Goldsteinmet a tall Englishman, on the road, close by here this evening."
"Did you speak to him?"
"He spoke to us, your Excellency. He wanted to know if he could hirea horse and cart to go down along the St. Martin road, to a place hewanted to reach to-night."
"What did you say?"
"I did not say anything," said the Jew in an injured tone, "ReubenGoldstein, that accursed traitor, that son of Belial . . ."
"Cut that short, man," interrupted Chauvelin, roughly, "and go on withyour story."
"He took the words out of my mouth, your Excellency: when I was about tooffer the wealthy Englishman my horse and cart, to take him wheresoeverhe chose, Reuben had already spoken, and offered his half-starved nag,and his broken-down cart."
"And what did the Englishman do?"
"He listened to Reuben Goldstein, your Excellency, and put his handin his pocket then and there, and took out a handful of gold, which heshowed to that descendant of Beelzebub, telling him that all that wouldbe his, if the horse and cart were ready for him by eleven o'clock."
"And, of course, the horse and cart were ready?"
"Well! they were ready for him in a manner, so to speak, yourExcellency. Reuben's nag was lame as usual; she refused to budge atfirst. It was only after a time and with plenty of kicks, that she atlast could be made to move," said the Jew with a malicious chuckle.
"Then they started?"
"Yes, they started about five minutes ago. I was disgusted with thatstranger's folly. An Englishman too!--He ought to have known Reuben'snag was not fit to drive."
"But if he had no choice?"
"No choice, your Excellency?" protested the Jew, in a rasping voice,"did I not repeat to him a dozen times, that my horse and cart wouldtake him quicker, and more comfortably than Reuben's bag of bones. Hewould not listen. Reuben is such a liar, and has such insinuating ways.The stranger was deceived. If he was in a hurry, he would have hadbetter value for his money by taking my cart."
"You have a horse and cart too, then?" asked Chauvelin, peremptorily.
"Aye! that I have, your Excellency, and if your Excellency wants todrive . . ."
"Do you happen to know which way my friend went in Reuben Goldstein'scart?"
Thoughtfully the Jew rubbed his dirty chin. Marguerite's heart wasbeating well-nigh to bursting. She had heard the peremptory question;she looked anxiously at the Jew, but could not read his face beneath theshadow of his broad-brimmed hat. Vaguely she felt somehow as if he heldPercy's fate in his long dirty hands.
There was a long pause, whilst Chauvelin frowned impatiently at thestooping figure before him: at last the Jew slowly put his hand in hisbreast pocket, and drew out from its capacious depths a number of silvercoins. He gazed at them thoughtfully, then remarked, in a quiet tone ofvoice,--
"This is what the tall stranger gave me, when he drove away with Reuben,for holding my tongue about him, and his doings."
Chauvelin shrugged his shoulders impatiently.
"How much is there there?" he asked.
"Twenty francs, your Excellency," replied the Jew, "and I have been anhonest man all my life."
Chauvelin without further comment took a few pieces of gold out of hisown pocket, and leaving them in the palm of his hand, he allowed them tojingle as he held them out towards the Jew.
"How many gold pieces are there in the palm of my hand?" he askedquietly.
Evidently he had no desire to terrorize the man, but to conciliate him,for his own purposes, for his manner was pleasant and suave. No doubthe feared that threats of the guillotine, and various other persuasivemethods of that type, might addle the old man's brains, and that hewould be more likely to be useful through greed of gain, than throughterror of death.
The eyes of the Jew shot a quick, keen glance at the gold in hisinterlocutor's hand.
"At least five, I should say, your Excellency," he replied obsequiously.
"Enough, do you think, to loosen that honest tongue of yours?"
"What does your Excellency wish to know?"
"Whether your horse and cart can take me to where I can find my friendthe tall stranger, who has driven off in Reuben Goldstein's cart?"
"My horse and cart can take your Honour there, where you please."
"To a place called the Pere Blanchard's hut?"
"Your Honour has guessed?" said the Jew in astonishment.
"You know the place? Which road leads to it?"
"The St. Martin Road, your Honour, then a footpath from there to thecliffs."
"You know the road?" repeated Chauvelin, roughly.
"Every stone, every blade of grass, your Honour," replied the Jewquietly.
Chauvelin without another word threw the five pieces of gold one by onebefore the Jew, who knelt down, and on his hands and knees struggled tocollect them. One rolled away, and he had some trouble to get it, forit had lodged underneath the dresser. Chauvelin quietly waited while theold man scrambled on the floor, to find the piece of gold.
When the Jew was again on his feet, Chauvelin said,--
"How soon can your horse and cart be ready?"
"They are ready now, your Honour."
"Where?"
"Not ten metres from this door. Will your Excellency deign to look."
"I don't want to see it. How far can you drive me in it?"
"As far as the Pere Blanchard's hut, your Honour, and further thanReuben's nag took your friend. I am sure that, not two leagues fromhere, we shall come across that wily Reuben, his nag, his cart and thetall stranger all in a heap in the middle of the road."
"How far is the nearest village from here?"
"On the road which the Englishman took, Miquelon is the nearest village,not two leagues from here."
"There he could get fresh conveyance, if he wanted to go further?"
"He could--if he ever got so far."
"Can you?"
"Will your Excellency try?" said the Jew simply.
"That is my intention," said Chauvelin very quietly, "but remember, ifyou have deceived me, I shall tell off two of my most stalwart soldiersto give you such a beating, that your breath will perhaps leave yourugly body for ever. But if we find my friend the tall Englishman, eitheron the road or at the Pere Blanchard's hut, there will be ten more goldpieces for you. Do you accept the bargain?"
The Jew again thoughtfully rubbed his chin. He looked at the money inhis hand, then at this stern interlocutor, and at Desgas, who had stoodsilently behind him all this while. After a moment's pause, he saiddeliberately,--
"I accept."
"Go and wait outside then," said Chauvelin, "and remember to stick toyour bargain, or by Heaven, I will keep to mine."
With a final, most abject and cringing bow, the old Jew shuffled out ofthe room. Chauvelin seemed pleased with his interview, for he rubbedhis hands together, with that usual gesture of his, of malignantsatisfaction.
"My coat and boots," he said to Desgas at last.
Desgas went to the door, and apparently gave the necessary orders, forpresently a soldier entered, carrying Chauvelin's coat, boots, and hat.
He took off his soutane, beneath which he was wearing close-fittingbreeches and a cloth waistcoat, and began changing his attire.
"You, citoyen, in the meanwhile," he said to Desgas, "go back to CaptainJutley as fast as you can, and tell him to let you have another dozenmen, and bring them with you along the St. Martin Road, where I daresayyou will soon overtake the Jew's cart with myself in it. There will behot work presently, if I mistake not, in the Pere Blanchard's hut. Weshall corner our game there, I'll warrant, for this impudent ScarletPimpernel has had the audacity--or the stupidity, I hardly knowwhich--to adhere to his original plans. He has gone to meet de Tournay,St. Just and the other traitors, which for the moment, I thought,perhaps, he did not intend to do. When we find them, there will be aband of desperate men at bay. Some of our men will, I presume, be putHORS DE COMBAT. These royalists are good swordsmen, and the Englishmanis devilish cunning, and looks very powerful. Still, we shall be fiveagainst one at least. You can follow the cart closely with your men, allalong the St. Martin Road, through Miquelon. The Englishman is ahead ofus, and not likely to look behind him."
Whilst he gave these curt and concise orders, he had co
mpleted hischange of attire. The priest's costume had been laid aside, and he wasonce more dressed in his usual dark, tight-fitting clothes. At last hetook up his hat.
"I shall have an interesting prisoner to deliver into your hands," hesaid with a chuckle, as with unwonted familiarity he took Desgas' arm,and led him towards the door. "We won't kill him outright, eh, friendDesgas? The Pere Blanchard's hut is--an I mistake not--a lonely spotupon the beach, and our men will enjoy a bit of rough sport there withthe wounded fox. Choose your men well, friend Desgas . . . of thesort who would enjoy that type of sport--eh? We must see that ScarletPimpernel wither a bit--what?--shrink and tremble, eh? . . . before wefinally . . ." He made an expressive gesture, whilst he laughed a low,evil laugh, which filled Marguerite's soul with sickening horror.
"Choose your men well, Citoyen Desgas," he said once more, as he led hissecretary finally out of the room.
CHAPTER XXVII ON THE TRACK
The Scarlet Pimpernel Page 26