Never for a moment did Marguerite Blakeney hesitate. The last soundsoutside the "Chat Gris" had died away in the night. She had heard Desgasgiving orders to his men, and then starting off towards the fort, to geta reinforcement of a dozen more men: six were not thought sufficient tocapture the cunning Englishman, whose resourceful brain was even moredangerous than his valour and his strength.
Then a few minutes later, she heard the Jew's husky voice again,evidently shouting to his nag, then the rumble of wheels, and noise of arickety cart bumping over the rough road.
Inside the inn, everything was still. Brogard and his wife, terrified ofChauvelin, had given no sign of life; they hoped to be forgotten, andat any rate to remain unperceived: Marguerite could not even hear theirusual volleys of muttered oaths.
She waited a moment or two longer, then she quietly slipped down thebroken stairs, wrapped her dark cloak closely round her and slipped outof the inn.
The night was fairly dark, sufficiently so at any rate to hide her darkfigure from view, whilst her keen ears kept count of the sound of thecart going on ahead. She hoped by keeping well within the shadow of theditches which lined the road, that she would not be seen by Desgas' men,when they approached, or by the patrols, which she concluded were stillon duty.
Thus she started to do this, the last stage of her weary journey, alone,at night, and on foot. Nearly three leagues to Miquelon, and then on tothe Pere Blanchard's hut, wherever that fatal spot might be, probablyover rough roads: she cared not.
The Jew's nag could not get on very fast, and though she was weary withmental fatigue and nerve strain, she knew that she could easily keepup with it, on a hilly road, where the poor beast, who was sure to behalf-starved, would have to be allowed long and frequent rests. The roadlay some distance from the sea, bordered on either side by shrubs andstunted trees, sparsely covered with meagre foliage, all turning awayfrom the North, with their branches looking in the semi-darkness, likestiff, ghostly hair, blown by a perpetual wind.
Fortunately, the moon showed no desire to peep between the clouds, andMarguerite hugging the edge of the road, and keeping close to the lowline of shrubs, was fairly safe from view. Everything around her was sostill: only from far, very far away, there came like a long soft moan,the sound of the distant sea.
The air was keen and full of brine; after that enforced period ofinactivity, inside the evil-smelling, squalid inn, Marguerite wouldhave enjoyed the sweet scent of this autumnal night, and the distantmelancholy rumble of the autumnal night, and the distant melancholyrumble of the waves; she would have revelled in the calm and stillnessof this lonely spot, a calm, broken only at intervals by the stridentand mournful cry of some distant gull, and by the creaking ofthe wheels, some way down the road: she would have loved the coolatmosphere, the peaceful immensity of Nature, in this lonely part of thecoast: but her heart was too full of cruel foreboding, of a great acheand longing for a being who had become infinitely dear to her.
Her feet slipped on the grassy bank, for she thought it safest not towalk near the centre of the road, and she found it difficult to keep upa sharp pace along the muddy incline. She even thought it best not tokeep too near to the cart; everything was so still, that the rumble ofthe wheels could not fail to be a safe guide.
The loneliness was absolute. Already the few dim lights of Calais layfar behind, and on this road there was not a sign of human habitation,not even the hut of a fisherman or of a woodcutter anywhere near; faraway on her right was the edge of the cliff, below it the rough beach,against which the incoming tide was dashing itself with its constant,distant murmur. And ahead the rumble of the wheels, bearing animplacable enemy to his triumph.
Marguerite wondered at what particular spot, on this lonely coast, Percycould be at this moment. Not very far surely, for he had had less than aquarter of an hour's start of Chauvelin. She wondered if he knew thatin this cool, ocean-scented bit of France, there lurked many spies, alleager to sight his tall figure, to track him to where his unsuspectingfriends waited for him, and then, to close the net over him and them.
Chauvelin, on ahead, jolted and jostled in the Jew's vehicle, wasnursing comfortable thoughts. He rubbed his hands together, withcontent, as he thought of the web which he had woven, and through whichthat ubiquitous and daring Englishman could not hope to escape. As thetime went on, and the old Jew drove him leisurely but surely along thedark road, he felt more and more eager for the grand finale of thisexciting chase after the mysterious Scarlet Pimpernel. The capture ofthe audacious plotter would be the finest leaf in Citoyen Chauvelin'swreath of glory. Caught, red-handed, on the spot, in the very act ofaiding and abetting the traitors against the Republic of France, theEnglishman could claim no protection from his own country. Chauvelinhad, in any case, fully made up his mind that all intervention shouldcome too late.
Never for a moment did the slightest remorse enter his heart, as to theterrible position in which he had placed the unfortunate wife, who hadunconsciously betrayed her husband. As a matter of fact, Chauvelin hadceased even to think of her: she had been a useful tool, that was all.
The Jew's lean nag did little more than walk. She was going along at aslow jog trot, and her driver had to give her long and frequent halts.
"Are we a long way yet from Miquelon?" asked Chauvelin from time totime.
"Not very far, your Honour," was the uniform placid reply.
"We have not yet come across your friend and mine, lying in a heap inthe roadway," was Chauvelin's sarcastic comment.
"Patience, noble Excellency," rejoined the son of Moses, "they are aheadof us. I can see the imprint of the cart wheels, driven by that traitor,that son of the Amalekite."
"You are sure of the road?"
"As sure as I am of the presence of those ten gold pieces in the nobleExcellency's pockets, which I trust will presently be mine."
"As soon as I have shaken hands with my friend the tall stranger, theywill certainly be yours."
"Hark, what was that?" said the Jew suddenly.
Through the stillness, which had been absolute, there could now be hearddistinctly the sound of horses' hoofs on the muddy road.
"They are soldiers," he added in an awed whisper.
"Stop a moment, I want to hear," said Chauvelin.
Marguerite had also heard the sound of galloping hoofs, coming towardsthe cart and towards herself. For some time she had been on the alertthinking that Desgas and his squad would soon overtake them, but thesecame from the opposite direction, presumably from Miquelon. The darknesslent her sufficient cover. She had perceived that the cart had stopped,and with utmost caution, treading noiselessly on the soft road, shecrept a little nearer.
Her heart was beating fast, she was trembling in every limb; already shehad guessed what news these mounted men would bring. "Every stranger onthese roads or on the beach must be shadowed, especially if he be tallor stoops as if he would disguise his height; when sighted a mountedmessenger must at once ride back and report." Those had been Chauvelin'sorders. Had then the tall stranger been sighted, and was this themounted messenger, come to bring the great news, that the hunted harehad run its head into the noose at last?
Marguerite, realizing that the cart had come to a standstill, managedto slip nearer to it in the darkness; she crept close up, hoping to getwithin earshot, to hear what the messenger had to say.
She heard the quick words of challenge--
"Liberte, Fraternite, Egalite!" then Chauvelin's quick query:--
"What news?"
Two men on horseback had halted beside the vehicle.
Marguerite could see them silhouetted against the midnight sky. Shecould hear their voices, and the snorting of their horses, and now,behind her, some little distance off, the regular and measured tread ofa body of advancing men: Desgas and his soldiers.
There had been a long pause, during which, no doubt, Chauvelin satisfiedthe men as to his identity, for presently, questions and answersfollowed each other in quick succession.
"No, citoyen, we have seen no tall stranger; we came by the edge of thecliff."
"Then?"
"Less than a quarter of a league beyond Miquelon, we came across a roughconstruction of wood, which looked like the hut of a fisherman, where hemight keep his tools and nets. When we first sighted it, it seemed to beempty, and, at first we thought that there was nothing suspicious about,until we saw some smoke issuing through an aperture at the side. Idismounted and crept close to it. It was then empty, but in one cornerof the hut, there was a charcoal fire, and a couple of stools werealso in the hut. I consulted with my comrades, and we decided that theyshould take cover with the horses, well out of sight, and that I shouldremain on the watch, which I did."
"Well! and did you see anything?"
"About half an hour later, I heard voices, citoyen, and presently, twomen came along towards the edge of the cliff; they seemed to me to havecome from the Lille Road. One was young, the other quite old. They weretalking in a whisper, to one another, and I could not hear what theysaid." One was young, and the other quite old. Marguerite's aching heartalmost stopped beating as she listened: was the young one Armand?--herbrother?--and the old one de Tournay--were they the two fugitives who,unconsciously, were used as a decoy, to entrap their fearless and noblerescuer.
"The two men presently went into the hut," continued the soldier, whilstMarguerite's aching nerves seemed to catch the sound of Chauvelin'striumphant chuckle, "and I crept nearer to it then. The hut is veryroughly built, and I caught snatches of their conversation."
"Yes?--Quick!--What did you hear?"
"The old man asked the young one if he were sure that was right place.'Oh, yes,' he replied, ''tis the place sure enough,' and by the light ofthe charcoal fire he showed to his companion a paper, which he carried.'Here is the plan,' he said, 'which he gave me before I left London. Wewere to adhere strictly to that plan, unless I had contrary orders, andI have had none. Here is the road we followed, see . . . here the fork. . . here we cut across the St. Martin Road . . . and here is the footpathwhich brought us to the edge of the cliff.' I must have made a slightnoise then, for the young man came to the door of the hut, and peeredanxiously all round him. When he again joined his companion, theywhispered so low, that I could no longer hear them."
"Well?--and?" asked Chauvelin, impatiently.
"There were six of us altogether, patrolling that part of the beach,so we consulted together, and thought it best that four should remainbehind and keep the hut in sight, and I and my comrade rode back at onceto make report of what we had seen."
"You saw nothing of the tall stranger?"
"Nothing, citoyen."
"If your comrades see him, what would they do?"
"Not lose sight of him for a moment, and if he showed signs ofescape, or any boat came in sight, they would close in on him, and,if necessary, they would shoot: the firing would bring the rest of thepatrol to the spot. In any case they would not let the stranger go."
"Aye! but I did not want the stranger hurt--not just yet," murmuredChauvelin, savagely, "but there, you've done your best. The Fates grantthat I may not be too late. . . ."
"We met half a dozen men just now, who have been patrolling this roadfor several hours."
"Well?"
"They have seen no stranger either."
"Yet he is on ahead somewhere, in a cart or else . . . Here! there isnot a moment to lose. How far is that hut from here?"
"About a couple of leagues, citoyen."
"You can find it again?--at once?--without hesitation?"
"I have absolutely no doubt, citoyen."
"The footpath, to the edge of the cliff?--Even in the dark?"
"It is not a dark night, citoyen, and I know I can find my way,"repeated the soldier firmly.
"Fall in behind then. Let your comrade take both your horses back toCalais. You won't want them. Keep beside the cart, and direct the Jew todrive straight ahead; then stop him, within a quarter of a league of thefootpath; see that he takes the most direct road."
Whilst Chauvelin spoke, Desgas and his men were fast approaching, andMarguerite could hear their footsteps within a hundred yards behind hernow. She thought it unsafe to stay where she was, and unnecessary too,as she had heard enough. She seemed suddenly to have lost all facultyeven for suffering: her heart, her nerves, her brain seemed to havebecome numb after all these hours of ceaseless anguish, culminating inthis awful despair.
For now there was absolutely not the faintest hope. Within two shortleagues of this spot, the fugitives were waiting for their bravedeliverer. He was on his way, somewhere on this lonely road, andpresently he would join them; then the well-laid trap would close, twodozen men, led by one whose hatred was as deadly as his cunning wasmalicious, would close round the small band of fugitives, and theirdaring leader. They would all be captured. Armand, according toChauvelin's pledged word would be restored to her, but her husband,Percy, whom with every breath she drew she seemed to love and worshipmore and more, he would fall into the hands of a remorseless enemy, whohad no pity for a brave heart, no admiration for the courage of a noblesoul, who would show nothing but hatred for the cunning antagonist, whohad baffled him so long.
She heard the soldier giving a few brief directions to the Jew, thenshe retired quickly to the edge of the road, and cowered behind some lowshrubs, whilst Desgas and his men came up.
All fell in noiselessly behind the cart, and slowly they all starteddown the dark road. Marguerite waited until she reckoned that they werewell outside the range of earshot, then, she too in the darkness, whichsuddenly seemed to have become more intense, crept noiselessly along.
CHAPTER XXVIII THE PERE BLANCHARD'S HUT
The Scarlet Pimpernel Page 27