"As well send a sheep into a den of lions." Then he added more briskly: "However, that is none of my business. If your Royal Highness will be good enough to append your own signature to a document stating the terms of the offer to Pichegru, I will set out this evening on an attempt to carry it to him."
The Prince yawned, belched mildly, stood up and said: "Draw up the document now, Abbé, append my seal to it and bring it up
to my bedroom. I am weary after the chase and must have my rest, but will sign it before I sleep." Turning his protuberant blue eyes on Roger, he went on: "I regret that you should have to leave us so soon, Chevalier; but it is in a good cause, and I trust your absence will be only temporary. I shall pray for your safety and success; and can assure you that we shall all be a-dither with anxiety until we can make you doubly welcome on your return."
Roger let the glib lies flow over him, and again kissed the beringed hand that the Prince extended. Whatever his luck with Pichegru, he had no intention of returning to anyone except, God willing, Mr. Pitt and, in due course, Amanda. Two hours later he drove away from the Schloss in his coach, soberly aware that the really dangerous part of his mission had now begun.
chapter XIX
THE TREACHERY OF GENERAL PICHEGRU
Although Roger had given the Abbé Chenier the impression that he meant to penetrate the enemy lines that night, he did not mean to do so. For one thing he was badly in need of .a good night's sleep, and felt that, urgent as coming to an understanding with General Pichegru might be, the delay of a few hours would be more than compensated for by renewed freshness when he entered Mannheim and would need all his wits about him.
Had the atmosphere at de Condé's headquarters been more congenial to him he would have slept there; but the sight of the servile nobles and unctuous priests had so sickened him that solitude at a wayside inn seemed definitely preferable.
He had also to rid himself of his coach and the two coachmen. Although most Belgians had now become antagonistic towards the French owing to the extortions inflicted on them by the Republican Commissioners, when first the so-called 'Army of Liberation' had invaded the country, the masses in the towns had received them with open arms; and Roger had no means of knowing for certain whether his two men were ardent revolutionaries or reactionaries. True, they had not betrayed him when he had pretended to be a doctor in order to get through the French outposts, but if left either at the Schloss or m Mannheim they might have endangered his future operations by gossiping, in the one case about his use of fluent French while posmg as Citizen Breuc on the journey from Brussels, and in the other by letting out that he had been at the headquarters of the emigris; so the best means of insuring against both these eventualities was to pay them off at some lonely place on the road, where he could also sleep.
The Abbé" had provided him with a laissez-passer; so he had no difficulty with the occasional patrols of Austrians in the back areas who challenged the poach, and four hours of good driving brought them to the little town of Sinsheim. As it was by then ten o'clock, he began to look out for a likely place in which to spend the night, and a few miles beyond the town, on the crest of a long slope up which the horses had had to be walked, they came to a fair-sized inn.
It was in darkness; but getting out, he knocked up the landlord: a fat German who came down and opened the door. Roger asked him if he had a bedroom free, and a riding horse he could sell in the morning.
The man said that he was welcome to a room, but a horse was another matter. For the past week the Austrians had been commandeering every horse to be had in those parts, and three days before had taken all four of the horses he had had in his stable.
Realizing that enquiries elsewhere were unlikely to have better results, Roger decided to use the off-lead from the team drawing the coach; but he said nothing about that for the moment, simply telling the Belgians that he meant to lie at the inn for the night and that after they had drunk as much beer as they wanted they could for once enjoy a long sleep. As they had slept most of the day they were now less tired than he was, but ample beer and a snug corner in a hay-loft over their animals was to them a pleasant enough prospect, so they thanked him and drove the coach into the yard of the inn.
At six o'clock Roger woke after an excellent night, dressed and went downstairs to find the landlord already about; so he asked him for pen and paper, and if he could sell him a saddle. The man produced the writing materials from a cupboard and said that he had several saddles so would be willing to part with one for a fair price.
While breakfast was being prepared Roger wrote out an instruction to the owner of the coach to pay to the two coachmen the big deposit he had left on it; then, after making a good meal, accompanied by the landlord, he went out to the stable. Some gold pieces soon induced the Belgians to surrender the off-lead horse, and he added a handsome pourboire to the chit entitling them to the deposit; so the parting was effected with goodwill on both sides.
By seven-thirty he was on his way to Mannheim, with the small valise strapped to the back of his saddle. In addition to the few things he had bought in Brussels, it now contained the uniform of a private in the émigré army, which he had asked the Abbé Chenier to provide for him after their talk with de Grade" the previous afternoon.
His return through the war zone was almost devoid of risk, as the units of both armies were scattered over a wide area, and even when he got to within a few miles of Mannheim he heard only the occasional shots of snipers in the distance. The sight of his laissez-passer was enough for the Austrian pickets to wave him on, then when he came to the French he told the simple truth—that he was on his way to General Pichegru—and taking him for a Frenchman they directed him towards the city.
He entered it at one o'clock in the afternoon, stabled his horse at the Drei Konige and took an attic there, which, owing to the crowded state of the town, was the best the hotel could do for him. In it he changed into the emigre uniform, put on his long, dark multi-caped coat over it, then went downstairs, wrote a brief note, slipped it into his pocket and walked along to the Rathaus.
There were sentries on its entrances, but evidently only as a formality, for among the officers constantly going in and out there was an occasional civilian, and none of them was being challenged. All the same Roger knew that once inside he might very well come out of it as a prisoner on his way to be shot; so he had to make a conscious effort to appear entirely carefree as he ran up the steps and walked through its main door.
In the stone-flagged hall beyond, a sergeant stopped him and asked his business. With an indignant air he declared that he, a citizen of the glorious French Republic, had been cheated and insulted the night before in a brothel, and had come to demand that the dirty Germans who ran the place should be taught a lesson.
This was a complaint with which the sergeant could sympathize, and he directed Roger up a staircase to the right, saying that he would find the Provost-Marshal's office on the second floor. Roger had felt confident that it would be somewhere in the building, but he had no intention of going to it. On reaching the first floor he turned right along the principal corridor, hoping that now he was free to roam the place he would be able to locate the General without having actually to ask for him.
Pichegru's headquarters bore not the faintest resemblance to de Condé. Here there were no lackeys, no priests, no respectful hush at the approach of prominent personalities. The place was as busy as a bee-hive, and it was the constant bustle of officers, clerks and orderlies hurrying to and fro which enabled Roger to move about quite freely without risk of being questioned further.
After a time he came upon a minstrel's gallery which overlooked the great hall in the centre of the building. It was obviously there that in times of peace the wealthier merchants of Mannheim periodically gorged themselves at civic banquets; but it had now been turned into a huge mess. Here again, in striking contrast to His Royal Highness's dinners, duly announced by a gentleman who rapped sharply with a rod on th
e parquet floor of a salon, and served to the minute each day, there was no trace whatever of formality. The service appeared to be in perpetual session; officers, some clean and others filthy, marched in and plumped themselves down where they would, the waiters put plates piled high with food in front of them, they ate voraciously, often not even exchanging a word with their neighbours, then marched out again.
Here and there among them was a civilian official, and it was their presence which caused Roger his greatest anxiety. At the Schloss he ad stood within a few feet of three noblemen with whom he had been acquainted in the past, and a fourth whom he had been instrumental in saving from the guillotine; but a combination of his false name, changed appearance and the execrable French he had then been using deliberately, had protected him from recognition. Whereas now, should he come face to face with one of his ex-colleagues of the Revolution, he would have to rely solely on his moustache and whiskers.
Worse still, many of them had seen him about Paris for far longer than he had been known to any of the Prince de Condé's gentlemen, and he had reason to believe that there were at least two men at this headquarters whom he had special reason to dread. They were the Citizens Rewbell and Merlin of Thionville, two out of the three Représentants en Mission, sent by the Convention to keep an eye on Pichegru, and with both of whom Roger had sat on Committee.
For a long time he sat up in a corner of the deserted gallery watching the scene in the banqueting hall below, and feeling certain that sooner or later the General would come in to have a meal there. At length, at close on five o'clock, his patience was rewarded. A tall, handsome man in his early thirties came swaggering in with Citizen Merlin beside him and followed by half a dozen other officers. From the circumstances of his arrival and the description Roger had received, he knew at once that the tall officer must be Pichegru.
It was now that the greatest risk had to be run, as Roger might just as well not have come there unless he could obtain a private interview with the General, and he could see no way to succeed in that without disclosing that he was acting as the Prince de Condi's agent If, as seemed quite possible from Pichegru's sudden advance on Mannheim, he had come to the conclusion that Montgalliard and Fauche-Borel were untrustworthy, or if one of the Représentants en Mission was given the least cause for suspicion, the game would be up as far as Roger was concerned, and, ten to one, for good. But it would have been contrary to his nature to back out now; so, drawing a deep breath, he stood up, then made his way downstairs.
Owing to the constant coming and going in the big hall, he attracted no attention when he came into it by one of its side entrances and took up a position near to a service door that gave on to the kitchen. In his hand he had, folded into a small thick triangle, the note he had written at the Drei Konige, and a twenty mark piece. As the waiter who. had been serving the General came by he plucked the man by the sleeve, gave him a quick glimpse of the coin and the note, and said in a low voice:
"I am a tradesman anxious to secure a share of the General's patronage. Do me the favour to give him this."
The man hesitated only a moment, then with a sudden grin he stuck the note in his cuff and pocketed the gold.
When he next emerged from the kitchen, carrying another load of platters, Roger followed his movements with a heavily pounding heart. He saw him place the note beside the General's plate, but for what seemed an eternity Pichegru did not appear to have even noticed it. At last he picked it up, opened it, and read the few lines that Roger had written, which ran:
Citizen General,
I am a partner in the firm of Fauche-Borel, booksellers and printers. I crave the distinction of being permitted to print such proclamations as Your Excellency may desire to issue to the people of Mannheim and its adjacent territories.
The die was cast. The name Fauche-Borel could not fail to register in the General's mind. In another minute he might order the arrest of the sender of the note or make an assignation with him.
As Roger watched he saw Citizen Representative Merlin lean towards Pichegru. There could be little doubt that he was enquiring the contents of the note, which, in his capacity as one of the Convention's watch-dogs, he was fully empowered to do.
It was at that moment that Roger saw Rewbell join the group. His heart seemed to jump into his throat, for Jean-Francois Rewbell was one of the old gang who had survived the fall of Robespierre. An Alsatian by birth, he had started life as a lawyer, had soon become a fanatical revolutionary, and had advocated many of the most ruthless measures of the Terror. He had already sent two Army Commanders back to Paris to be guillotined, and his shrewd, suspicious mind made him an expert at smelling out treachery.
To Roger's momentary relief the three men laughed at something one of them had said. Then Pichegru beckoned to the waiter who had brought the note. They both looked in Roger's direction, and the waiter began to walk towards him. His mouth went dry and again he was seized with near panic. Rewbell or Merlin might have found out that Fauche-Borel was a Royalist agent. If so Pichegru would have had no option but to save his own skin by sacrificing the bookseller's colleague. Perhaps they had laughed at the idea of his presenting himself there to be led out and shot There was still time to turn, slip through the nearest entrance and make a bolt for it Even with so short a lead, among the maze of staircases and corridors he might succeed in eluding pursuit and perhaps in the attics find a hiding-place until darkness increased his chance of getting away from the building unrecognized. His palms were moist and his feet itched to be on the move; but with a great effort of will he stood his ground until the waiter came up to him and said:
"The General says that if you'll wait in the outer hall, he'll try to find time to see you later."
Suppressing a gasp of relief, and still too internally wrought up to trust himself to speak, Roger nodded; then made his way out of the great noisy chamber.
When he reached a low archway that gave on to the hall, he looked anxiously through it; and was much relieved to see that the sergeant to whom he had told his story about the brothel had been relieved by another. Stationing himself in an out-of-the-way corner and taking out his handkerchief, he mopped his face with it. Gradually the beating of his heart eased and he tried to. persuade himself that his worst danger was over. But he could not be certain of that, as now that the offensive was going so well Pichegru might have decided against declaring for the Royalists, and, if he wished to strengthen his position with Rewball, the turning over of an émigré agent to a firing squad would be a cheap way of earning himself a good mark.
The time of waiting seemed to Roger interminable, and actually it was over two hours before a club-footed private came down the wide staircase opposite the main door, limped up to him, and asked;
"Are you the Citizen printer?"
On Roger replying that he was, the soldier took him upstairs to a suite of rooms on the second floor. The first was an ante-chamber and had the General's military equipment scattered about it. Pointing to a chair there, the soldier told him to sit down, and taking up a jackboot set to work polishing it.
Through an open doorway Roger could see the bedroom, which he guessed to be normally used by the Mayors of Mannheim when in residence at the Rathaus. It was furnished with a vast bed and other heavy, ugly pieces, and Roger could well imagine that many a fat German City Father had fallen into a drunken slumber there after doing the honours in the banqueting hall below.
Still racked with anxiety about what might follow his coming interview with Pichegru, Roger endured a further twenty minutes' wait; then, at last, the General strode into the room.
Charles Pichegru was the son of a labourer, but had been educated by the Church and sent to the military school at Brienne, after which he had become an artillery officer. The Revolution had given him his chance and he was one of the most brilliant Generals it had produced. After successful campaigns in '93 and '94 his conquest of Holland the preceding winter had made him the most outstanding of them all. He
was a tail, fine looking man, possessed of enormous physical strength, and was now thirty-four.
Giving Roger a penetrating glance, he motioned him into the bedroom, followed him in, told his man that on no account was he to be disturbed, and swung the door shut.
"Now!’ he said without preamble. "Had your approach to me been only a little less subtle I would have had you taken straight out to a firing squad; and I may yet do so. Fauche-Borel has already endangered me more than enough by forcing himself upon me with wild-cat schemes that lack any concrete backing, and when last I saw him I told him if he pestered me again I would have him shot."
It was far from being a propitious opening, but Roger was on his mettle now and replied with a calmness that he was far from feeling: "Citizen General, 'tis because it has been realized in the highest quarters that Fauche-Borel was incompetent to handle such business lat I have been selected to replace him. I bring you a firm undertaking from His Royal Highness the Prince de Conde!'
The General's eyes narrowed slightly, and he asked: "Do you mean that the Prince has actually put his hand to the terms that I supposed Fauche-Borel to have invented in the hope of gulling me into declaring for the Royalists?"
"That I cannot say, but if these are they I scarcely think you can regard them as ungenerous." As Roger spoke he handed over the list of bribes that the Abbé Chenier had had signed by de Condé.
After reading slowly through them, Pichegru looked up and said: "These differ from those offered by Fauche-Borel only in that the sum to be paid in cash has been doubled."
Roger smiled. "Fauche-Borel acted only as the cat's-paw of a rogue named Montgalliard. It was he who inspired these negotiations, and as he handles many of de Condi's transactions, no doubt he counted on being nominated to make the payment, which would have enabled him to keep half the money for himself."
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