The Man who Killed the King

by Dennis Wheatley

  All three of them stared, deep in thought, at the table, for quite a time. Suddenly the red-faced Inspector sat back, banged his fist upon it, and cried, “I have it! We’ll smuggle him out inside the birdcage!”

  “What the devil are you talking about?” exclaimed de Batz. “How could one possibly get a well-grown child of eight into a birdcage?”

  “Ah,” laughed Michonis, “this birdcage is very different from the usual run of such things. It is said to have been made for the Prince de Conti. In any case Simon found it in the Temple Palace and had it moved up to his floor of the tower as a plaything for little Capet. It is a huge affair made of silver wire and decorated with gold, crystal-encrusted garlands. It is large enough to contain a score of birds and is one mass of ingenious devices. Its foot-thick base contains a complicated musical-box which plays different tunes in turn as springs are released by the birds alighting on the perches. Once the Simon couple are trussed and gagged, why should we not put the boy into it and cover it up with a sheet or tablecloth? We could say that it was being taken away to be repaired. Two of our trusties dressed as workmen could collect it and wheel it away on a hand trolley. Cortey could be standing near the main gate and could lift a corner of the wrapping, as though to inspect it before it went out; and that would forestall any of the guard making a closer examination of it.”

  The Baron and Roger both agreed that Michonis’s idea was an excellent one; so they went on to discuss a date for the attempt. As the Queen’s consent would have to be obtained to the new plan, in which she was to leave her prison some six hours in advance of her son, it was essential that the matter should be discussed with her before any orders were given for outside preparations. To effect this, Roger suggested that he and Michonis should arrange for themselves to be appointed for duty on the earliest date possible; but the wily Inspector shook his head.

  “No, no!” he said. “Since you have not done a turn there for many months, no one will think anything of it should you now act twice in a fortnight; but for me to do so might re-arouse Simon’s suspicions, and it is essential that I should be there with you on the night of the actual coup. You must manage this preliminary business on your own.”

  “But,” objected Roger, “should I be landed with a conscientious and watchful colleague, I may not be able to exchange so much as a whisper with the Queen.”

  “That difficulty can be overcome,” said the Baron quickly. “We know of several Commissioners who would not go to the length of risking their heads in aiding the prisoners to escape; but who are, nonetheless, sympathetic towards them, and who for a consideration would keep watch on the stairs while you talk to the Queen for as long as you like. Goret would, I think, be the most suitable man. I will make him an offer and let you know a day that suits him for you to go on duty together. Should there be any difficulty about securing him, I will approach some other. If you will call at the grocer’s round the corner tomorrow, any time after four in the afternoon, I will have a note there for you to pick up, informing you of the date for which to put your name down.”

  The main lines on which the new attempt was to be made having been settled, the conspirators separated, and Roger again returned to Passy to sup with Amanda. Next day he spent the morning with Citizen Oysé dealing with the business of their Section, then shortly after four he collected de Batz’s note from the grocer’s. It said only G.29th, but that was enough.

  Recrossing the river, he went to the office of the Commune and put his name down for that date, noting as he did so that Goret had already entered his, and that the third place was still blank; but that did not matter, as the lots could be fixed so that whoever served with them would draw the day-duty slip. Just as he was about to leave, Chaumette came in and, seeing that Roger had signed the book, remarked:

  “I’m glad, Citizen, that now you’re back in Paris you’re prepared to take a turn in guarding the she-wolf and her whelp. During the last few months we’ve been finding it quite a job to get enough volunteers, and unless our colleagues show a bit more willingness, we’ll have to put them on a roster to serve, whether they like it or not.”

  It was a matter that naturally gave Chaumette concern, as since the previous December he had been Procureur of the Commune; and, with his deputy, the frail, effeminate-looking sadist, Hébert, he was responsible for the safe-keeping of the Royal prisoners. He was a little man with a broad, heavy face, widely-spaced blue eyes, big nose and thick, sensual lips. Although only thirty, he had crammed an immense variety of experiences into his life, having started as a cabin-boy at the age of thirteen. He was a jack-of-all-trades and master of none, but was prepared to speak on any subject; and his volubility, coupled with an apparent good nature, had made him the dominant personality in the Commune.

  From the beginning, the Commune of Paris had been much more radical than the National Chamber; but it had lost much of its power when a number of its most prominent members had been elected to the Convention, and its influence was declining still further now that the extremists had gained control of the Committee of Public Safety, as they could do without it. But it still held a trump card as the custodian of the Queen and the little King. Chaumette and Hébert were well aware of that, and regarded the prisoners as a ransom for their own lives in the event of a counter-Revolution; therefore the guardianship of the captives was the thing always uppermost in both their minds. It was they who had chosen the stupid but earnest Simon as watchdog, and Chaumette spoke of him now:

  “You will find the little Capet much changed since you last saw him. We removed him from his family in order to make him lose the idea of his rank, and Citizen Simon is turning him into a good sans-culotte.”

  Roger laughed and made an appropriate comment, but he was greatly shocked when he saw the boy three nights later.

  After the Commissars and officers of the guard had dined in the ground-floor room of the tower, Simon invited several of them, including Roger, up to the second floor for a game of pool. The whole of the late King’s apartments there were now occupied by the Simons and the child; all three of them slept in the main bedroom, and Cîéry’s room now contained a billiard table. When Simon and his visitors came in the little King was there playing with a model guillotine.

  Everyone now called him Charles, which was his second name, and within a few minutes Roger saw that he appeared perfectly happy in his new environment. He had always been precocious and talkative, and although he had been ill for some weeks in May he now seemed fully recovered. It was the things he said and did that horrified Roger. There was something peculiarly disgusting about hearing the prattle of a child of eight constantly interspersed with the most filthy and obscene words, and in seeing him become tipsy on sweetened brandy.

  Whilst in the care of his mother he had been made to spend a good part of his day doing lessons, and had been put to bed at a proper hour for his age. Having as companions only a sister seven years older than himself and two women both terribly saddened and depressed by their misfortunes, he must have found life very gloomy. It was, therefore, understandable that he should be enjoying this new freedom, in which there were no lessons, no tedious devotions with Aunt Elizabeth, no tears and no furtive whispered conferences; but, instead, men who applauded all his antics, taught him bawdy songs, and encouraged him to drink potent cordials like a grown-up. But the extraordinary thing about it was that less than a month had elapsed since the boy had been taken from his mother.

  Formerly he had been gay and, if a little wilful at times, on the whole obedient, most affectionate, very carefully brought up and had charming manners; now he swore, spat and kicked people who teased him, as if he had always been a slum child. It seemed incredible that Simon should have succeeded in changing the boy’s whole nature in such a short time; but he undoubtedly had, and to an extent that was even greater than appeared on the surface, as Roger learned through a revolting episode which took place about half an hour after they had started their game of pool.

 
They all heard the sound of something heavy, perhaps an armchair, being dragged across the floor above, where the Queen and Princesses were now retiring for the night. The little King looked up, jerked his thumb towards the ceiling, and said:

  “It’s time those noisy bitches up there had a taste of this,” and pointed with his other hand at his toy guillotine.

  Roger could hardly believe his ears, but he forced himself to join in the laugh that the child’s terrible jest raised among the others.

  An hour later the party broke up; Roger and Goret relieved the two Commissars who had spent the evening in the Queen’s ante-room, and the others went downstairs. Once they were alone Goret sighed and said:

  “It makes me almost physically sick to see what Simon is doing to that boy. Fancy teaching a child of eight to chop off the heads of his dolls in a guillotine; and did you hear the awful thing he said about these poor women here?”

  “I did.” Roger nodded. “The whole thing is monstrous, and I only pray the time may come when Simon’s own head rolls into the basket.”

  They drew the two truckle beds across the doors of the two bedrooms and, as they could hear the Queen still moving about, they stood talking for a while. Then, when complete silence had fallen in the tower, Goret lit his pipe and went out to sit on the top step of the stairs, while Roger walked over to the door of the Queen’s room and gently scratched upon it in a certain manner that he had been told Toulan had always used as a prearranged signal.

  After a few moments the door opened a crack. The only light came from an oil lamp that was burning dimly on the far side of the ante-room; so the shadow was too deep for the Queen to recognise Roger, and her voice came in a whisper, “Who is there?”

  “Madame,” he whispered back, “I am an old friend and a true one. In more recent times, alas, circumstances have caused you to form a prejudice against me; but this note will inform you that those you still count their friends are satisfied of my fidelity.”

  Without a word, she took the folded paper he held out and drew back. A faint light came through the crack, showing that she had lit her bedside lamp; then, momentarily, a brighter glow, which told Roger that having read the note she had burnt it. Again the crack went dark, and her whisper came:

  “Monsieur de Breuc, I know not what to say. It may be that you come here at the peril of your life; but it may be that you have deceived my friends, just as you deceived me a year ago, when I told you never to let me see your face again.”

  As Roger had feared, the note alone had proved insufficient to remove her doubts of him, so he replied in an earnest whisper, “I deceived you then, Madame, solely because time was precious, and I was desirous not to waste it in a discussion such as this. Had you but placed your trust in me then, you would not be here now.”

  “Perhaps; yet how could you expect me to trust you, knowing as I did that you were twice a murderer?”

  “Madame, ’tis true that I slew the Comte de Caylus and caused Don Diego Sidonia y Ulloa to be killed; yet in neither case did I stand to gain for myself either love or money by their deaths. I killed de Caylus in fair fight, and then only that Athénaïs de Rochambeau might marry a man more suited to her age and tastes As for the Don, he had already had my poor Isabella d’Aranda done to death, and I did no more than execute justice upon him, which he would have otherwise escaped.”

  The Queen sighed. “Those names! Those names! How strange they sound in this grim place, recalling as they do memories of those happy days when I thought only of beauty, grace and laughter. But is it indeed the truth, Chevalier, that in these awful deeds you had no ulterior motive? Would you take an oath on that?”

  “I swear it, Madame! I vow, too, that I had your best interests at heart that morning when, dressed as a sweep, I endeavoured to take you out of the Tuileries; and again, when I attempted to forestall the Commissioners who brought you here. I beg you, Madame—nay, I implore you—to give me back your confidence, and help me in this new attempt to save you from your enemies.”

  For a moment the Queen was silent, then she whispered, “Very well, Monsieur, I will listen to what you have to say.”

  “God be thanked!” breathed Roger; then, in a low voice, he told her what was proposed. But when he came to the necessity for the rescue of the little King to take place some hours later than her own, she instantly took alarm, and exclaimed:

  “No, no! I will not hear of it! Either my son comes with me or I will not go. This is a trap to separate me from him.”

  “Madame,” Roger reasoned, “is he not separated from you already?”

  “Yes, oh yes! How could they be so cruel!” She gave a sob. “That brutal Simon now has charge of him, and treats him abominably.”

  “Nay, that is not true; Simon is uncouth, but not unkind,” he strove to reassure her. “That your son should have been taken from you is hard indeed, but I promise you he is not ill-treated.”

  She sobbed again. “I—I spend most of my days now peering through a slit in the wall of the turret at the top of the stairs. Some days Simon takes him up to the leads to stretch his little legs, and once in a while I see a glimpse of him. It is my only joy—all that is left to me.” At the thought she broke down and burst into tears.

  “Courage, Madame! Courage!” Roger urged her. “I beg you not to let your thoughts dwell on that now, but to give me your attention.”

  Beyond the dark crack the sobs were gradually stifled, then the Queen murmured, “Forgive me, Monsieur, but I can think of little else. They are doing terrible things to him, terrible things. He sings the ça ira, and he would never do that unless he were forced to.”

  “He cannot understand the meaning of the song, Madame.”

  “I would I could believe you. But it is not only that. Sometimes he uses the most frightful words, and the terrible thing is that he uses them in their right context. I would sooner be placed upon the rack than know their intentions towards him; yet I cannot escape it. There is a worse crime than the murder of the body, Monsieur: it is the murder of the mind. And it is that these wretches are plotting against my poor child.”

  Again the distraught mother’s grief temporarily overcame her, and Roger could not wonder at it. From what he had seen that evening, he knew that a kernel of awful truth lay at the heart of her accusations; and he decided to use it in an attempt to persuade her to accept the plan. When her weeping had eased a little, he whispered:

  “I believe you right, Madame; but how can this devilish crime be prevented? Only by His Majesty being restored to your care; and what hope can you have of that as long as you and he remain in the hands of your enemies? You have been separated from him for near a month, so why should you baulk at the thought of leaving here a few hours in advance of him, when that offers a good prospect of your retrieving him for good?”

  “Ah; but while I remain here we are still in the same building. As I have told you, I can still catch a glimpse of him now and then. That means so much to me. What if you succeeded in rescuing me but failed to rescue him? Can I trust you? Can I really trust you?”

  “Madame, as we have planned matters, his rescue should prove much easier than your own. If we succeed with yourself and the Princesses, I am confident that we shall succeed with him.”

  “You swear it? You give me your solemn oath that this is no trick to separate me from him permanently?”

  Roger realised that something more than a ready assent was needed; otherwise she would think matters over later, become plagued with renewed doubts, and perhaps back out after all on the night of the attempt. In an effort to convince her absolutely of his integrity, he said in a low, tense whisper:

  “I, Roger Brook, swear to you, Marie Antoinette, that naught but God’s intervention shall prevent my restoring your son to you.”

  CHAPTER XXI

  THE PRICE OF INFIDELITY

  Two nights later, as soon as Roger came off duty, he went to the Café Coraeza and reported to de Batz. Michonis, having been warned by the Ba
ron that he expected Roger, was already there. Now that the Queen’s consent to the plan had been obtained, it remained only to settle on a date and make the final preparations.

  The ruddy-faced Inspector said that he was averse to rushing things. He thought that an interval of a week ought to be allowed to lapse before Roger again put his name down for duty, and he suggested that they should make it the 8th of August.

  De Batz, however, announced himself in favour of the 5th, because Captain Cortey was already on the roster for duty with his company at the Temple on that date; and, although he might be able to exchange duties with another officer, such a complication should be avoided if possible.

  Roger supported the Baron, and disposed of Michonis’s doubts by reporting the conversation he had had with Chaumette; so they agreed that it should be the 5th. He was to tell Amanda to rejoin Lady Atkyns at the Baron’s house at Neuilly on the afternoon of the 4th; otherwise all that Michonis and himself had to do was to put their names down for duty. It was de Batz’s province to co-ordinate all other arrangements, including those for getting the prisoners safely out of Paris; so, having drunk a glass of wine to the success of their great venture, and agreed that it was unnecessary for them to meet again until “the night”, they separated.

  In a matter of such importance as the Queen’s escape, Roger would never have allowed his private affairs to bias his contribution to the making of a decision; but, all the same, he was extremely relieved that the earlier date had been chosen, as the later one would have landed him with a major worry. He was far from having forgotten that the beautiful and passionate Athénaïs was due to arrive at Passy any day from the 7th of August on. When he had made the arrangement with her he had hoped to have Amanda out of prison and on her way to England with Dan within a fortnight. The first part of that programme had been accomplished with a day to spare, but the second had been entirely upset by her winning him over to commit himself with de Batz. Athénaïs had said, as he was about to leave her, that she would be bored if she remained on alone at the Red Lobster; so she meant to make her way to Paris by easy stages, and, as he had not the faintest idea how far she had progressed, he could not write and ask her to postpone her arrival. Therefore, once he had committed himself, he had realised that, should the Queen not have been rescued and Amanda have left Paris with her by the end of the first week in August, he would be faced with the knotty problem of how to prevent his adored mistress from running into his beloved wife.