Athénaïs was now three weeks overdue. After that first week of extreme tension, Roger had reached the stage of fearing that little hope remained of her making a belated appearance; so he had relieved Dan of his tedious watch for her. During the fortnight that followed he had continued to worry himself sick at the thought that some evil fate must have befallen her, but now the first effects of the blow had had time to become a little dulled, and for a few days after his meeting with de Batz anxieties connected with the new plot helped to lessen the periods he spent brooding about her. Then, on the 1st of September, an event occurred that temporarily drove her image completely from his mind.
On entering the Hôtel de Ville at midday he learnt that Michonis had been arrested.
CHAPTER XXII
THE ANTE-CHAMBER OF DEATH
The precincts of the Council Chamber were buzzing with rumours. A plot had been discovered to rescue the Queen. As yet no details were known, but the chief turnkey, Richard, his wife, a gendarme named Gilbert, and Michonis had all been arrested and taken to the Abbaye. The complicity of the Inspector of Prisons, who had always been regarded as such a good “patriot”, filled many of the Commissars with amazement; but others sagely shook their heads and recalled honest Citizen Simon’s unheeded denunciation of him while the Queen was still confined in the Temple. It was said that the police were already on the track of the aristos who had suborned Michonis, and that all Paris was being combed for them.
Outwardly calm, but inwardly a prey to the most fearful apprehensions, Roger listened to all this; and as he did so one alarming thought after another flashed through his mind. Would the trail of discovery lead to de Batz? If so, would it lead through him to Lady Atkyns? At all costs he must stop Amanda setting out that afternoon to join her at the Baron’s country house. Thank God there was still time to do so—if he was not arrested before he could reach her. Thank God, too, he had had the foresight to keep it from everyone that he used the house at Passy. Amanda would be safe there if he could stop her leaving. But what of himself? Should he disappear and go into hiding with her? If he did, and there was the least suspicion against him, his disappearance would be taken as a certain sign of guilt. As long as he remained ignorant of how much the police knew, to reappear and resume his duties would be to risk his head; so if he once abandoned ship it would be the end of his activities as a Commissar. It seemed unlikely that police enquiries would have led as far as himself yet. But what of Michonis? Would the ex-lemonade-seller break down under examination? Would he try to save his own life by giving his confederates away?
Only one thought kept recurring in the back of Roger’s mind—he must do nothing on impulse; in keeping his head while he still had it on his shoulders lay his only chance of preventing it from rolling into the basket under the knife of the guillotine. So, fighting down the urge to dash off to Passy at once, he walked into the Council Chamber and took his usual place there.
With his brain still whirling, but with praiseworthy self-control, he remained there for an hour; then, after a vote had been taken on some minor measure about which not one word had penetrated to his mind, he left the building. Outside in the street the orange-seller accosted him and slipped him a note, which read, Fear nothing. Tonight, north door St. Sulpice, 9 o’clock.
The Baron’s optimism did little to reassure him, since the worst danger lay in what Michonis might give away; and over that de Batz could not possibly exercise any control. However, during Roger’s hour in the Council Chamber one thought had encouraged him to believe that his own chances might not be too bad—the Inspector of Prisons was a brave fellow, and on the occasion when Simon had so very nearly caught him out he had shown an exceptionally cool head. Moreover, he and Roger had formed a definite liking for one another; so it seemed reasonable to assume that he would protect his colleagues if he possibly could. It was this estimate of Michonis’s character that had decided Roger not to go into hiding, but to play the game out and gamble his head against retaining his status as a Commissioner.
He had also decided not to go out to Passy himself, but to send Dan, as by doing so he could eliminate the risk of being traced there should the police already be watching him. There was the further point that, during the many months they had been in Paris together, Dan must inevitably have become known to a number of people at the Cushion and Keys as his alter ego; so if he were arrested Dan might be hauled in as well on suspicion.
To guard against this possibility, when Roger ran Dan to earth half an hour later, after giving him the message for Amanda that all arrangements were cancelled and in no circumstances was she to leave the house, he added, “Things look atrocious black, and you can serve me best by keeping yourself out of trouble—at any rate for the present. I wish you to remain with Mrs. Brook at Passy for a week. If by the end of that time I have not come out there, you can return to Paris, but must do so in disguise. First contact the League and arrange with them to convey Mrs. Brook safely to England. Only after that should you, if you wish, run the risk of trying to find out which prison I am in and doing what you can to get me out.”
“Should I wish!” muttered Dan angrily. “As though I’d be like to leave ’e marooned here; I’d burn they’s bloody city down first.”
Roger had known well enough that if anything could be done to save him Dan would do it; so he gave him a friendly grin and they shook hands surreptitiously. Having watched him hurry off, he went into a restaurant and ordered himself a meal, although he found that he could do scant justice to the food when it was placed before him. The rest of the afternoon and early evening he spent at his Section, endeavouring to concentrate on business, while fearing at any moment that the agents of the Comité de Sûreté Générale would arrive to arrest him; but nothing unusual happened and, as far as he could judge, he was not followed in the street on his way to meet the Baron.
When he reached the north door of the now deserted church he could see no one in the deep shadow thrown by the great building; but after a moment the figure of a woman, draped in a dark cloak, emerged from the angle of a buttress. For a second he stared at her uncertainly, and it was only when she spoke that he realised that the roundish blur of features beneath the pokebonnet were those of de Batz.
“Give me your arm,” said the Baron in a low voice, “and we will walk a little way. My time is short; so say nothing unnecessary. Leave me to do the talking.” Then, as they set off, he continued:
“They have caught only those on the inside. All else is secure for the moment, but unfortunately I am compromised. M.’s sister is the wife of the man who owns the café. She cleans my room there and knows where to find me in two of my other haunts. From those I might be traced to others; so, you see, she has it in her power to make Paris too hot to hold me. Had it not been M. who has been caught she would still be one hundred per cent reliable, but she is greatly attached to him. This morning she held a pistol to my head, and threatened to denounce me unless I can save him. Could I see my way to, I would do so without being blackmailed, for M. is a good fellow and deserving of all possible help. But the devil of it is that I can do nothing without a group to work with me; and men like C. and de R. would not be willing to risk their necks for M. Not unnaturally, perhaps, they do not regard him as one of themselves, but as a man who betrays his own side for money. Therefore I have no alternative but to get away while I can. But before leaving I wished to assure you that there is nothing among my papers which could throw suspicion on you, and to ask your intentions. I should add, too, that to the best of my knowledge M.’s sister has never been about at the times when you visited my room; so you have nothing to fear from her.”
“Then for me everything hangs on whether M. endeavours to save himself at our expense?” murmured Roger.
“Yes. No harm can come to you from any other quarter; and, personally, I believe he is the type of man who will hold his tongue.”
“That is my impression; and what you have told me confirms my inclination to remain.
”
“My felicitations on your courage,” said the Baron. “I was greatly hoping that you might so decide, as for one in your position there may yet occur a chance to aid the widow.” Then, producing a piece of paper from the bosom of his dress, he pressed it into Roger’s hand and added, “Here, take this; it is a draft on Thellusson’s Bank for a hundred thousand francs to be paid in gold. Should you find the opportunity, I wish you to use it for bribes.”
“Thank you,” smiled Roger in the darkness. “I promise nothing, but if I escape arrest I will do what I can. Tell me now, will Lady A. also have to leave, or is her retreat safe and are you about to join her there?”
“My country properties are not involved,” replied de Batz, “but I detest inactivity, and should be bored to desperation did I have to go into hiding with that good, earnest woman. I propose to stay in Brussels for a while, as there I have many interests.”
For a moment Roger wondered if the slippery Baron was putting out the same sort of cover as he had used so successfully at the time of Amanda’s arrest, but in a few more paces they reached a street corner. De Batz halted there, wished him a whispered “Good fortune” and, turning, minced away with a woman’s short steps into the shadows.
It was only by the exercise of considerable resolution that Roger made his way back to the Cushion and Keys. He needed no telling that it was the common practice of the terrorists to make their arrests in the middle of the night, but cold logic told him that there was little point in evading capture during the dark hours if he meant to expose himself to it when daylight came. Nevertheless, when he reached his room he did not undress, but lay down fully-clothed to doze upon his bed. That precaution would, he felt, at least give him a sporting chance, as by the time his locked door had been broken in he could be out of the window and attempting a perilous get-away over the neighbouring roofs.
Morning seemed terribly long in coming; but it came at last, and with its coming he permitted himself a few hours’ proper sleep. He awoke with a violent start at a banging on his door and, for a second, stared at it in terror; but it was only Citizen Oysé’s sister come to rouse him, thinking that he had overslept. After tidying himself up, he breakfasted, then went out to face the hazards of the day.
At the Commune, he found that all interest in the attempt to rescue the Queen had been submerged in excitement, fear and indignation caused by a new menace to the survival of the Revolution. That morning a courier had arrived from Toulon. The Federalists who controlled the port, fearing that they alone would not be able to hold it against the Revolutionary Army, had appealed for help to the British Squadron cruising in the Mediterranean, offering to hand the city over to Admiral Lord Hood; and on the 29th he had signed an agreement with them. The English had promptly landed sailors and marines; they were now the masters of France’s most important naval base, and with it had taken no less than thirty-six French ships of the line.
It was a major disaster, and no one to whom Roger spoke had a thought for anything else; but he knew that it would not hold up police enquiries; so he spent most of the day trying to check himself from giving furtive glances over his shoulder.
Again he passed a miserable night, but the dreaded visitation did not mature; and next day a new topic was uppermost in the minds of everyone in Paris. The Convention had issued decrees which would have the most drastic effect on the nation’s finances.
Cambon had already introduced a well-conceived, if far-reaching, measure, by which the scrips of all national loans, irrespective of date of issue or rate of interest, had to be surrendered within a given period. The amount of those cashed-in was to be credited in one Great Book, and new scrips issued bearing a uniform rate of interest. This he called “Republicanising the National Debt”, as it placed the dubious new issue on a par with the gilt-edged old ones. It also prevented stock-jobbing in Government securities; so on two counts it was a serious blow at the monied classes.
The new measure was, however, far more drastic. The Convention required of the nation a Forced Loan of one thousand million to be secured only on the unsalable confiscated lands of the Church and émigrés. From the income of each family only 1,000 francs for each of its members was to be regarded as untaxable; on the next 10,000 a tax of ten per cent was to be paid; and above that the entire income for the year was to be taken away in exchange for practically worthless paper.
The idle, pampered nobility and worldly, indolent priests, who had been the original cause of discontent in France, had long since left the country, taking with them what they could in gold and jewels; so this savage attack on capital was aimed at the middle classes, its object being to make the thrifty surrender their hardearned savings and eventually to drag them down to the level of the most improvident workers.
Naturally the law did not affect the Communist officials, as they were all admirably placed to look after themselves and make handsome incomes which were not subject to taxation. The small fry, corrupt to a man, levied their unofficial tolls for passing every one of the innumerable forms that had to be filled up, and without which existence in Revolutionary France was no longer possible. The big fish, with the exception of perhaps half a dozen incorruptible fanatics like Robespierre, were making fortunes. The Convention had voted to the Commune a million a week for the upkeep of Paris; five-sixths of that huge sum, as was later shown in the accounts, disappeared into the Commissars’ pockets. Roger had no scruples about taking his share, and in less than a month he had recovered more than he had had to pay out to ransom Amanda.
On the 6th of September there was a further reshuffle in the Committee of Public Safety. Since Danton had left it his influence had declined still further, and now the last of his friends on it, Thuriot and Hérault, were replaced by two Hébertists, the gloomy fanatic Billaud-Varennes and the dissolute cut-throat Collot d’Herbois; while the shifty Barére had gone over to Robespierre, who, since the end of July, had come out into the open and taken a seat on it himself.
The original Comité had been Danton’s idea. He had realised that the Revolution could not possibly survive if every measure to fight enemies without and within had to be argued by the ignorant, the visionaries, the fools, the spiteful, and the timid, who made up the madhouse of the Convention; so he had sought to form a small, strong, executive body that could take the most urgent decisions without reference to any other. He had succeeded in forging the weapon, but it had been prised from his hand by terrorists even more bloody-minded than himself.
The work of the Comité divided itself into two parts—the organisation and supply of the armies, and the enforcement of Revolutionary measures upon the civil population. Of its eleven members, five devoted themselves to the first task, and by far the most outstanding of these was Carnot, a forty-year-old officer of the regular army, who had been one of the earliest to go over to the Revolution and had first come to public notice as a member of the Legislative Assembly. He was a man of high principles and a genuine patriot, who elected to close his eyes to the crimes of his colleagues rather than allow the War Office to fall into incompetent hands and see his country overrun by foreign soldiery. Clear-headed, tireless and with a genius for picking men, he took over the incredible muddle that had been left him by his predecessors and soon made himself so indispensable that his colleagues dared not interfere with any decisions he took in his own field. In a large measure he succeeded in restoring discipline, and protected his best Generals, Kléber, Hoche, Kellermann, Pichegru and Jourdan, from the jealous accusations of their sans-culotte subordinates; while he also brought forward many promising younger men, such as Berthier and Davoust, who were later to become Napoleon’s greatest marshals. He raised, equipped and supplied fourteen armies, and unquestionably saved France.
The remaining six members of the Comité, Robespierre, Couthon, Saint-Just, Billaud-Varennes, Collot d’Herbois and Barère, were henceforth to form the camarilla that bathed France in blood; for they now instituted a Terror which made all that had gone befo
re seem, by comparison, no more than a mild persecution.
To achieve this they had at their disposal a body that had now become the second most powerful in France—the Comité de Sûreté Générale. This had originated as a directorate for the control of the Police, but the detection of crime soon became the least of its activities. Its moderate members were replaced by men such as David, Vadier, Amer and Vouland, all ferocious terrorists who had been nominated either by Hébert or Robespierre. Under it worked the 48 Comités de Surveillance in the Sections, which, in conjunction with its innumerable agents, formed a vast espionage system for the suppression of all resistance to the will of the Committee of Public Safety.
By the 7th, Roger was breathing a little more easily. For some days and nights he had lived in a state of ghastly suspense, but he felt that if the police had any information leading to him they would have acted by now. Michonis had not been brought to trial, and until he found himself actually faced with death there must remain the unnerving possibility that he would then endeavour to buy his life by disclosing the names of his accomplices. It was the very “Sword of Damocles” that Roger had feared he might at any time find suspended over his head when he had so reluctantly allowed Amanda to involve him in Lady Atkyn’s plots. As long as he had been working alone, only personal ill-luck or his own stupidity could have brought him to grief; now he must pay the price which was so often demanded of those who become enmeshed in a widespread conspiracy, and always go with fear at the back of his mind that through no fault of his own he might suddenly be struck down by a bolt from the blue.
That night he went out to Passy to relieve the anxieties of Amanda and Dan. All was tranquil there, and after he had told her that de Batz had been forced to leave Paris, with the result that his organisation had collapsed, he put it to her very strongly that she should now go home.
The Man who Killed the King Page 46