Its governor might be a humane man who would allow him some degree of liberty; one of the gaolers might be open to bribery; or, if he was not too closely watched, he might succeed in tunnelling his way out, as had Monte Cristo. Besides, Laveriac would be able to find out where he had been taken, and he felt confident that the Royalist Committee would do their utmost to effect his rescue, even had Angela not been certain to urge them to it.
With outside help and no lack of money for bribes, it seemed to him that, given time to plan and work in, a determined man must be able to escape from the deepest dungeon. But time was the all-important factor. And how much time would he be given?
Through treachery or ill chance it might get out within the next few days that de Vendôme was hiding in the Spanish Embassy. In any case rumours that he was free were bound to get about within a month or two, and if de Quesnoy was not also a free man by the time the French Government began to take these rumours seriously an investigation would soon afterwards result in his being sent to the scaffold.
So much for his future chances; but he had first to face a more immediate danger—namely the possibility of Colonel Roux’s discovering that de Vendôme’s place had been taken by someone else. As his voice might give him away he had decided to pretend to have been overcome by a profound melancholy and refrain from answering when spoken to, for some days at least. But there remained the risk that the Colonel might unlock the helmet in the morning for him to wash, and if he could not think of some way to avoid taking it off in Roux’s presence the game would be up.
All this he had known when entering the cell and, as there was nothing he could do to avoid these hazards to his life, which was the price he had elected to pay rather than have de Vendôme’s sufferings on his conscience, he was not even thinking about them. Instead, he let his mind savour in retrospect again and again those last passionate moments with Angela and the complete abandon with which she had avowed her love for him.
Still thinking of her, he mechanically undressed, pulled down the chain of the gas mantle and got into bed. The hard surface of the leather helmet, between the side of his face and the pillow, proved so uncomfortable that for some moments he gave way to a fit of rage, consigning to eternal damnation whoever it was that had thought of this cruel way of concealing de Vendôme’s identity; then, realising that the sooner he accustomed himself to the discomforts imposed by the mask the better it would be for his peace of mind, he turned over on his back. Even so, it was a long time before he fell into a fitful sleep, and then he twice woke from it sweating and gasping after nightmares, in the first of which he was being suffocated and in the second strangled.
The barred window high up in the cell wall had become only grey with the first pre-dawn light when he was aroused to full consciousness by the door being unlocked. Colonel Roux came in, lit the gas and said to him:
‘I regret to arouse you so early, Monsieur, but you are to leave here today; and my orders are to have you out of the prison before the cleaning squads and day-staff are about. Please get up and dress. If you will give me your word not to make trouble about putting your mask on again I will unlock it for you.’
De Quesnoy sat up in bed, but followed his plan for continuing to deceive the Colonel by neither raising his eyes nor making any reply. Roux then repeated what he had said, upon which the Count only lowered his head mulishly and still made no answer.
‘What has come over you?’ the Colonel asked. ‘You made no fuss about giving me your promise last night, when Madame Syveton came to see you. Why won’t you do so now?’
With what the Colonel took for stubbornness, the Count remained dumb and unmoving. So, after a moment, Roux said with some asperity, ‘Very well then! I’ve no more time to waste. You will have to go without a shave. If you make any trouble about dressing yourself I shall send my men in to dress you forcibly. Get up now.’
Still keeping his eyes lowered, in order to avoid the Colonel’s direct glance, and with apparent reluctance, de Quesnoy got out of bed. His silence had unexpectedly relieved him of his worst anxiety, as to leave his face unwashed and unshaven was a small price to pay for not having to risk Roux’s coming back into the cell while he still had the mask off. He was further cheered by the news that he was to be moved at once, for that meant that he would the sooner be subject to a settled routine, which was the necessary preliminary to planning a successful attempt to escape.
Concealing his satisfaction with a sullen shrug, he slouched over to the washstand and began to do his teeth with de Vendôme’s brush. Then he washed as much of his neck as he could get at under the edge of the leather helmet, dried himself and proceeded to dress.
Roux had, meanwhile, left him but returned a few minutes later with the redheaded warder, who was carrying a breakfast tray. As the man set it down on the table the Colonel said:
‘I can give you only ten minutes; so you had best make the most of them.’
A glance at the tray showed the Count that either the Government had issued an order that de Vendôme was to enjoy the full amenities of a Prisoner of State, or that Roux was treating him with special consideration, for the tray had evidently come from the Colonel’s own kitchen. On it there were rolls, properly made pats of butter, honey, a dish of fruit and a pot of coffee the aroma from which guaranteed its excellence.
Neither danger nor anxiety had ever robbed de Quesnoy of his appetite, and he found no difficulty in eating with the mask on; but when he raised his cup the lower edge of the mouth slit prevented his bringing it to his lips. Roux, who was standing nearby, picked up from the tray an implement that the Count had not noticed and, handing it to him, said: ‘You seem very stupid this morning. Surely you have not forgotten that to drink you must use this.’ It was a hollow glass tube about eight inches long, and through it de Quesnoy sucked up his coffee with considerable enjoyment.
This good breakfast was the last pleasant surprise that was to come his way for a considerable time, but there were plenty of disagreeable ones awaiting him. While he had been eating, the older warder had packed into a small valise a few underclothes and other personal belongings of de Vendôme’s that had evidently been brought for him from St. Cyr. The other, meanwhile, had come into the cell carrying a pair of handcuffs and a sack.
De Quesnoy got up from the table and put on de Vendôme’s greatcoat. As soon as he had done so he was handcuffed and the sack was put over his head. Grimly he realised the reason for the latter precaution. Had he been de Vendôme he might, once outside the prison, have shouted to passers-by that he was being martyred. The sack would prevent his knowing when there was anyone nearby to shout to and, if he shouted at random, muffle his cries; moreover, no stories of a prisoner whose head was encased in an inhuman leather helmet would get about, because the helmet was completely hidden under the sack.
Taking him by the arms the two warders led him from the cell, down the corridor and out through the front hall of the prison. For a few paces he could feel the cobbles of the courtyard beneath his feet, then he was half pulled, half pushed up a steep ramp. At its top he tripped over what seemed to be a wooden step but was saved from falling by his escorts, turned about and lowered into a sitting position on what he rightly guessed to be a narrow bed. Next there came a clanking of chain and a broad leather belt was fastened round his waist. His handcuffs were removed and the sack taken from over his head.
He saw at once that he was in another cell, but this one was smaller, had wooden walls and no window. It was about six feet high and seven feet square. Apart from the bed on which he was sitting, it was furnished only with a washstand, slop pail and a low wooden cupboard, the top of which could be used as a table.
As he sat on the bed he was facing the door. It was open but almost entirely blocked by the forms of the two warders as they went out and then that of the Colonel as he came in; yet before the latter closed the door behind him de Quesnoy caught a glimpse of the prison entrance. It gave him the impression that the cell was som
e feet from the ground and in the middle of the courtyard; but Roux proceeded to explain this strange phenomenon.
With a dour smile he said, ‘This cell was specially made for you to travel in. Actually it is a large wooden box, and at the moment it is resting on a dray. The driver of the dray was sent away with his horses while we got you in here, but presently he will return and drive his load to the goods yard. There a crane will lift the cell on to a railway truck, and in this way you will be conveyed to your destination without our having constantly to guard against your communicating with people, or anyone’s curiosity being aroused by the sight of a prisoner in a mask.’
As de Quesnoy cherished few hopes of being able to make his escape until he had been settled for a while in permanent quarters, this information was no great blow to him; but next moment he nearly gave himself away in his eagerness to find out where he was being sent. Fortunately, just as he was about to break silence and ask, the Colonel went on:
‘The two warders and I are accompanying you, but naturally we shall travel in a railway coach, and it is not desirable that during the journey anyone should realise that this is a cell with a man in it. From outside it has the appearance of a large crate and in order to maintain that impression we shall not open its door again until we get to the other end. That will not be until some time tomorrow; so until then you will have to look after yourself.’
Opening the cupboard, the Colonel revealed that it contained bread, butter, cheese, some packets of cold meat, fruit, and two bottles each of red wine and mineral water, together with the things necessary for their consumption. Then he stepped back through the doorway, shut the door and locked it; upon which the cell, lit only by a dozen small airholes bored in its roof, became plunged in semi-darkness.
At the news that he was to be left on his own for twenty-four hours, and that meanwhile the cell would remain unguarded outside, de Quesnoy’s spirits went up with a bound. They rose even higher when he saw that among the things in the cupboard there were two knives, a fork and a corkscrew. The possession of such implements and a day and a night in which to work undisturbed seemed after all to offer a real chance of getting away during the journey.
Coming to his feet, he took a swift pace forward with the intention of examining the lock of the door. There was a clank of chain and he was brought up with a jerk while still three feet from it. He had not yet had a moment to examine the wide leather belt that had been fastened round his waist. Now, his fumbling fingers found that it was secured in the small of his back by a stout clasp from which ran a three-foot length of steel chain; then, turning, he saw that the end of the chain was padlocked to an iron staple bolted into the wall just above the level of the bed. Evidently the object of this contrivance was to prevent him from springing upon and overcoming anyone who entered the cell, then making a dash for freedom through the still open door. But, unless he could get free from it, the lock of the door remained just out of reach, which made it impossible for him to attempt to work back its tongue or pick it.
His first thought was to cut through the belt, but he soon saw that any attempt to hack through the leather with a table knife must prove hopeless because it was laced with strands of wire. He then tried to snap the chain by throwing his whole weight upon it, but he succeeded only in winding himself and the violent jerking did not even loosen the staple. As a forlorn hope he picked up the corkscrew and bored with it into the wall to get some idea of the thickness of the wood, on the chance that it might be thin enough for him to cut the staple and bolts out, but it proved to be inch thick planking, and he realised that with the meagre implements at his disposal the job would have taken him a week’s hard work.
With bitter disappointment he had to accept the fact that the belt and chain not only prevented him from reaching the door but, even if he could have got it open, would still have held him prisoner.
For a while he sat on the bed, then he lay down upon it; but only to encounter a fresh discomfort. He had already discovered that if he lay on his side the hard leather of the mask hurt his cheek, and now it was impossible for him to lie on his back because one end of the chain and the big steel belt clasp came immediately beneath his spine. Vowing vengeance against Combes, André and their unscrupulous associates, he shifted about until he found a position which was just bearable, then, exerting his trained will power, he forced himself to sleep.
He was awakened by the cell receiving a sudden jolt. Then, as soon as memory flooded back to him, he realised that the dray on which it had been loaded was now slowly moving over the cobbles. How long he had slept he had no means of telling, but he had the feeling that it had been for quite a long time. However, daylight was still coming through the holes in the roof and since twilight fell so early at this nadir of the year he knew that it could not be much more than three o’clock in the afternoon.
For over an hour the dray rumbled its way through streets that he could not see or even guess at; then it halted. There came a jingle of harness as the big draught horses were taken from its shafts and after that, for a long time, silence.
Gradually the light faded, and as it did so he became increasingly conscious of a new distress. The cell had no form of heating, and when he had woken he had felt the cold. Now, it seemed to be seeping into his very bones. From time to time he stood up, stamped his feet and flailed his arms across his chest, but that brought him only temporary relief.
As a further measure for keeping some warmth in his body he opened one of the bottles of red wine and drank half its contents through a glass tube which had been provided. While he was supping it up he suddenly remembered that this was Christmas Day. Millions and millions of people in a hundred countries were now either sleeping off their Christmas lunch or preparing to enjoy their Christmas dinner; and here was he, locked up in a wooden box like a dangerous animal, shivering with cold and with his head encased in a grotesque mask as though he were one of the victims of the Inquisition in the Middle Ages. The cynical thought came to him that at least he could drink a toast, and he did: ‘To Combes and André side by side, roasting in Hell for ever.’
It was shortly after that he heard faint sounds which might have been voices; then someone clambered on to the roof of the cell. From the occasional chugging and hissing of passing engines, he had already concluded that the dray must be parked in one of the Paris marshalling yards; so now he had half a mind to beat on the sides of the cell and call on the railway workers for help.
On second thoughts he realised the futility of such an act. Even if the men were willing they could not release him, and it was certain that Colonel Roux would be somewhere in the vicinity. He would no doubt admit that there was a man in the box but account for this unusual way of transporting a prisoner by saying that he was a violent maniac. To have had to make an explanation at all about this most secret affair would be sure to annoy him, and it was even possible that to prevent a similar happening farther down the line he might resort to gagging his prisoner.
There came a faint shout. The cell was lifted by a crane and swung smoothly through a quarter of a circle. For a moment it hung swaying slightly, then it was suddenly lowered and came to rest with a heavy bump. The slop pail rattled and the water splashed out of the big enamel jug that stood in the tin wash basin, but nothing else in the cell responded to the jolt, and it was only then that de Quesnoy noticed that the rest of its modest furnishings were screwed to the floor.
Silence fell again. The cold seemed to grow more intense. No matches, candle or torch had been provided for the prisoner, so it was only by groping in the dark that he managed to make a scratch meal. Between mouthfuls he drank the rest of the bottle of wine, then crawled under the blankets of the bed fully dressed and tried to get to sleep.
An hour, two hours, perhaps four hours, later—for all he knew—the train jolted into motion and, after several false starts, chugged away into the night. At times it gathered quite a speed, then suddenly braked and slowed with a clanging of buffers; a
t other times it meandered on, then halted altogether for periods of up to twenty minutes. In Madagascar de Quesnoy had learned how to fall asleep almost at once simply by willing himself to do so, but to exercise such command over the mind at least a reasonable degree of quiet and physical relaxation were necessary; now to obtain either was impossible.
The result was that he slept only by fits and starts and between cold and acute discomfort spent the most miserable night of his life. A dozen times during it he vowed that, should he ever be a free man again, he would dedicate himself to the task of bringing about the fall of the Combes government and the public disgrace of General André.
At last a faint daylight began to percolate through the holes in the roof. Getting up, he washed as well as he could, spent some time in exercising to get his circulation going, then ate another scratch meal.
Soon after he had finished, a new trial beset him. It had begun to rain, and water now dripped from all the air-holes on to either the bed or the floor. Kneeling on the bed, he used the paper that the meat and cheese had been wrapped in to plug those over it, but there was not enough to do the others; so for the rest of the morning he sat in a chilly twilight while the drip, drip, drip on to the now sodden floor further added to his depression.
At what he guessed to be about mid-day the train rolled to a halt, remained stationary for a while, then went backwards several hundred yards. Suddenly the twilight in the cell became almost complete darkness, as had been the case for several minutes twice that morning when the train was passing through tunnels; but now it stopped again, and after half-an-hour had elapsed without its moving on, the Count decided that it had probably reached its destination.
An hour or so later his surmises were confirmed. The door was unlocked by Colonel Roux. Behind him were the two warders and over their shoulders de Quesnoy could see portions of a soot-grimed roof and girders, which told him that the truck carrying the cell had been shunted into a railway shed.
The Prisoner in the Mask Page 27