In spite of this new difficulty, Amanda declared herself confident that the rescue of the whole Royal Family could yet be effected, if only de Batz had at his disposal another Commissioner to take Toulan’s place and go on duty with Michonis. She had deliberately refrained from suggesting Roger, as she had realised how important it was to preserve, even from her closest friends, the secret that her husband was a British agent holding a high position under the Revolutionary Government; but now that her dangerous mishap had thrown them together without her fellow-conspirators knowing anything about it, she acclaimed the fact as a direct act of Providence. Who in all Paris, she insisted, was better qualified to fill the gap that Toulan had left? Clearly God, in His wisdom, had guided Roger’s every step through the labyrinth of the Revolution in order to fit him for a key rôle in this all-important undertaking—the rescue of the prisoners in the Temple.
The moment Roger had seen which way the wind was blowing he had been conscious of a still, small voice within his mind urging him to keep out of the affair. No one could accuse him of lack of courage or of desire to see the brave Queen restored to liberty, but he did not at all like the idea of getting himself mixed up with so many people. If he went into it, de Batz, Lady Atkyns, Michonis and Cortey would all have to be informed of the part he was to play some days before the coup took place. Toulan, although now deprived of a major rôle, would still be standing by to render such help as he could, and no doubt the avarice of Lepître would keep him lurking somewhere in the offing; then there was the lamplighter in the Temple, whom it was proposed to make use of again, and a Royalist who had apparently taken his place to pass messages in to the Queen on several occasions. Many of these were acting solely from the highest motives and could be regarded as trustworthy, but the co-operation of others was being bought; and if the latter lost their nerve they might at any time endeavour to save their necks by giving away all their associates.
For a time during his long conversation with Amanda he had had a very guilty feeling that he could have, and ought to have, played Toulan’s part, and that his failure to do so had been culpable neglect of the most vital task with which Mr. Pitt had charged him; but on reflection he had decided that to play such a rôle had been placed beyond his powers by circumstances.
It was not until precautions had been relaxed after the King’s death that Toulan had felt able to make the first proposals to the Queen about arranging her escape, and it was clear that all the time the conspirators had been at work conditions in the Temple had been very different from those which had maintained during the early months of the captivity. Over 700 passes for admission to the precincts of the prison were being issued every week, so they could now be obtained without much difficulty. The sentries no longer examined them closely; for visitors simply to hold them up at a distance was deemed sufficient. The majority of the Commissioners had become bored with doing duty at the Temple, and now its novelty had worn off they regarded it as a fatigue; so those with an ulterior motive could have themselves put on more or less whenever they wished, thus making it easy for them to co-ordinate their turns of duty with arrangements outside. Apparently, too, discipline among the National guards had so deteriorated that many of the men detailed for a twenty-four hour duty failed to parade for the changing of the guard at eight in the morning, and often did not bother to turn up until midday or later.
In fact, the slackness, almost inevitable after many months of changeless routine, had permeated the whole organisation, just as Roger had foreseen that in due course it would; but that he had been unable to keep a look-out for it setting in, and take advantage of it when it had, was not altogether his fault, as for the greater part of the past four months his duties as a Commissioner had kept him out of Paris.
Even had he been able to remain in the capital, he would have been faced with a special difficulty that Toulan had not had to surmount—his past relations with the Queen. She still regarded him as a murderer and a traitor, and would not have forgotten the way in which he had insulted her husband on the morning following the mob’s invasion of the Tuileries. That obstacle might now be surmounted by these friends she trusted vouching for him and informing her that his participation in their plot was essential to its success; but had he been acting alone it was highly probable that she would have feared that he was trying to lead her into a trap, and refused to have anything to do with him.
His final conclusions were that he had no real grounds for reproaching himself, but that he would have if he now refused to aid the conspiracy and it failed on that account. That he would have to disclose his true colours to a number of people, some of whom were untrustworthy, was a most disturbing thought; but no personal risk could be allowed to weigh against the chance to accomplish this greatest of all anti-Revolutionary projects.
Amanda had told him that the Commune had been fooled into the belief that Lady Atkyns had returned to England, and that de Batz had retired to Brussels. Those stories had been prearranged for circulation by the Baron’s agents among the Revolutionary police in the event of her being caught whilst in the Temple. Lady Atkyns was still at Neuilly, and he was still living in the city; so before Roger finally drifted off to sleep he decided that, now he had committed himself, the sooner he got into touch with de Batz the better.
In consequence, on the following morning, Amanda wrote a letter in code, briefly informing the Baron that she had regained her freedom, introducing Roger to him, and stating that he was prepared to take the place of “the faithful”, as Toulan had been christened by the Queen and was known among the conspirators. In accordance with her instructions, he took it to a grocer’s shop south of the river in the rabidly Revolutionary Théâtre Français Section, and, while buying a packet of biscuits, slipped it across the counter to an elderly man who had been described to him. He then crossed the river to the Hôtel de Ville, took his seat in the Council Chamber of the Commune, and passed most of the day there participating in its business.
On leaving the Commune, a little after six o’clock, he had not walked far before he was accosted by an orange-seller. With a smile he shook his head, but the girl said in a swift whisper, “I come from the grocer you visited this morning.”
Stopping at once, he bought a couple of oranges from her, and as she handed him his change she slipped a screw of paper into his palm. After walking a quarter of a mile, he turned into an alley and opened the slip; written on it was simply, Café Coraeza. 10 o’clock.
Of all places in Paris, the café would have seemed the most unlikely for a hunted Royalist plotter to arrange a rendezvous. It was also in the Théâtre Français Section, hard by the Cordeliers, the Club of the extremists, and with many of them it was a favourite haunt. Yet, as Roger thought the matter over, he mentally saluted the Baron for his perspicacity and courage. Had a number of the well-known terrorists who were accepting his bribes come to see him at a private address, their visits might have been noticed, commented on, and reported by the spies of the Sectional Comités de Surveillance which now infested Paris; whereas these crooked Revolutionaries could drop into the Café Coraeza at any time without arousing the least suspicion, and, provided the Baron was adequately disguised, no one would dream of suspecting his presence there.
When Roger entered the café four hours later he saw a number of people whom he knew—Camille Desmoulins, one of the first of the Revolutionaries with whom he had become acquainted; Billaud-Varennes; Tallien; the ex-actor Collot d’Herbois; and the incompetent lawyer, Fouquier-Tinville, who, solely owing to his ferocity, had got himself appointed Public Prosecutor to the Revolutionary Tribunal. Nodding a greeting to them, Roger sat down at an unoccupied table, ordered a glass of the cold punch for which the place was famous, then picked up a news-sheet and pretended to become absorbed in it.
Some ten minutes elapsed, then the proprietor came over to his table and asked him if he would care for a game of billiards. Taking this lead, Roger agreed, finished his drink, then followed the man through
the back of the premises and upstairs to the first floor. To the left, across the landing, was a door from behind which came the sound of voices and the click of billiard balls; but the landlord turned right, led him down a short passage, and showed him into a room at its far end.
Seated there at a table was a medium-sized, round-faced, rather plumpish man. His eyes were extraordinarily piercing and his movements quick. As the door closed behind Roger he came swiftly to his feet, bowed, and said, “I am de Batz. You have no need to identify yourself, as I have often seen you in the Commune; I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
He was much younger than Roger had expected, and, he judged, not much over thirty. Apart from the fact that his clothes were those of a bourgeois, and somewhat faded, he appeared to be using no disguise at the moment. Having made a suitable reply, Roger took the chair the Baron offered him, and they began their talk.
Roger had seen no alternative to allowing Amanda to let it be known, in her letter to the Baron, that he was her husband, as that had seemed the only way of entering on this business without telling a string of lies that might later lead to awkward complications; but he had no intention of disclosing one atom more of his private concerns than proved absolutely necessary. He was, therefore, extremely pleased when, after some preliminary conversation regarding Amanda’s capture and release, de Batz said:
“It is natural for one in my position to know a considerable amount about you, Monsieur, as you are a Revolutionary of some prominence; and I keep files recording the principal activities of all those who have ever been Ministers, Deputies, Members of the Commune, or have held any important public office. When looking through yours this evening, I noted that, although you have always assiduously carried out the duties assigned to you, and are regarded as a thoroughly sound ‘patriot’, you have never committed any act of terrorism yourself, or initiated any measure in the Commune which would actively further the progress of the Revolution. That interested me very much; but, believe me, I have no intention of prying into your motives for exercising this somewhat unusual restraint. On the contrary, I wish you to understand that I make it a rule never to discuss politics with my associates. Experience has shown me that it is a great mistake to do so, as valuable help may be lost through attempting to convert others to one’s own point of view. All I require is that I should be able to rely upon them to perform certain agreed services, either voluntarily or on a purely business basis. In which of these categories do you wish me to place you?”
Nothing could have suited Roger better than this frank approach, and he replied at once, “On a business basis, M. le Baron.”
De Batz raised a pair of sandy eyebrows. “Really! From what your wife inferred in her letter . . . But no matter; everyone must live! She tells me she had informed you of our activities. As a Commissioner of the Commune you have it in your power to carry on where Citizen Toulan was compelled to leave off. How much do you ask for your services?”
“I fear I have misled you a little,” Roger smiled. “I will willingly give you my aid without payment, but I have a considerable interest in the disposal of the Royal Family after they are freed. Our views may be the same. If so that would be excellent, but if not I may find it necessary to drive a bargain with you, or, if you cannot see your way to meet my terms, refuse you my aid altogether.”
For a full moment the Baron made no reply. In the sudden silence the ticking of a small clock on the mantelpiece could be heard distinctly, and a distant murmuring from the billiard-room. Then he said, “This is not a matter that I would normally be prepared to discuss with anyone; but since you press me to it, I had Normandy in mind, mainly because it affords the shortest route by which they could be removed from the clutches of the Convention.”
“Given certain guarantees, I would be prepared to compromise on that,” said Roger thoughtfully.
“May I ask to which place you would definitely be opposed?”
“To Brussels, Coblenz, or any place where they would be liable to fall into the hands of the Germanic powers.”
“Should I adhere to my plans to get them to Normandy, what are the guarantees that you would require?”
“That they should remain in hiding there with a reliable Royalist family, and in no circumstances be handed over to the Federalists.”
It was the Baron’s turn to smile. “I see, Monsieur, that we are at one in believing the Federalists to be basically Republicans, even if a shade less Red in their opinions than the Jacobins. No doubt they would be glad enough to welcome the little King at the moment, in order to use him as a pawn in their game; but later, should they overcome the Convention, I fear he might find himself back in the Temple. No, you need have no fear that I mean to give him and his mother to the Girondins.”
“That being the case, why stop at Normandy?” asked Roger. “Unlike the Vendée, no considerable area of the Province is truly Royalist, and although many Royalist households might be found there in which they could lie hidden, there would be the ever-present danger of their being betrayed.”
De Batz nodded. “I am fully conscious of that risk; more, I think I see the way your mind is working. As long as they remain under cover they would be of no value to the Royalist cause, and that they should become so is important. Lady Atkyns put it to me most strongly that Normandy should be used only as a temporary asylum, and that as soon as possible they should be sent to England; in that, after much thought, I agreed with her. Would such a programme meet your requirements?”
“Entirely,” said Roger, “and with that as our final objective, I am fully prepared to risk my life with you.”
For some time they discussed the situation in the Temple, and the new difficulty which had arisen through the little King having been separated from his mother; then Roger agreed to return to the café at the same hour on the following night, when de Batz promised to have Michonis there so that the three of them could confer on possible ways and means.
It was midnight before Roger got back to Passy, but he found Amanda still up, and waiting for him with a cold supper. Over it, he told her, to her delight, about his interview with de Batz, and how well the audacious Baron’s plans fitted in with his own.
The following night, soon after ten, Roger was closeted in the upstairs room of the Café Coraeza with de Batz and Michonis. He already had a nodding acquaintance with the broad-shouldered, ruddy-faced Inspector of Prisons, and now that they found themselves together in the Baron’s company they laughed—although the laugh was on Roger—over Amanda’s release from prison. As she was a member of the Baron’s organisation, Michonis had intended to rescue her anyhow; so had not Roger been so anxious and impatient, he could have saved himself 30,000 francs, but the Inspector did not offer to return his share of the plunder.
When they had settled down, Roger said, “Having thought over the matter, it seems to me that this operation must necessarily be performed in two entirely separate parts: firstly, the rescue of the Queen and the two Princesses; secondly, that of the little King.”
“I fear it is beyond anyone’s powers to persuade Her Majesty to leave the prison without her son,” commented de Batz.
“Might she not be persuaded to do so if she received our promise that the boy should be rescued on the same night?”
“That far she might go; but what have you in mind?”
“Simply this. If the original plan is adhered to, and I can think of none better, the Queen and the Princesses will march out in the midst of a squad of National Guards, dressed similarly to them. If they are to pass from the tower to the street without risk of recognition, that part of the programme must be carried out during darkness; but, as long as darkness lasts during these short summer nights, the little King will be in bed in the Simons’ apartment. To secure his person, Simon and his wife must either be temporarily got out of the way, or surprised and overcome. Simon is a queer creature, almost a moron in most respects; but with a fanatic zeal which gives him the cunning of an animal he d
evotes himself to this one task of plugging every loophole that might enable the prisoners to escape. He is suspicious of everyone, and has already had occasion to suspect Michonis. Alone, I could not hope to overcome Simon and his wife and get the child out of their room without their raising an alarm; and should Michonis accompany me, if I rouse them on some pretext after they have gone to bed, Simon might at the first sight of him well suspect our intentions and yell for the turnkeys. If, on the other hand, we make our visit in daylight, Simon will be off his guard. It should then be possible for us to take him and his wife by surprise, hold them up, bind and gag them, and make off with the boy. So my proposal is that the Queen and the Princesses should be smuggled out as soon as the garrison has settled down for the night, but that Michonis and I should remain behind and, from dawn onwards, wait outside the Simons’ door until we hear sounds of movement. Then, having given them time to dress, we should pay our visit, and afterwards, by some means or other, smuggle the little King out of the prison.”
The other two considered this in silence for a moment, then de Batz said, “I think your reasoning sound. The Simons never let him out of their sight, so at whatever hour the attempt is made one or both of them will have to be overcome. The chances of surprising them successfully in the daytime would be much greater than during the night; yet only at night can we get the three ladies out dressed as National Guards. Yes, you are right. The Queen must be persuaded to agree to our carrying out the business in two separate movements.”
Michonis nodded his agreement, and Roger went on, “There remains the problem of how we are to smuggle the boy out in broad daylight; and that, I confess, so far entirely defeats me.”
The Man who Killed the King Page 42