Then I grew seriously alarmed; and reflecting on the many important secrets which the memorial contained, whereof a disclosure must spoil plans so long and sedulously prepared, I found myself brought on a sudden face to face with disaster. I could not imagine how the King, who had again and again urged on me the utmost precaution, would take such a catastrophe; nor how I should make it known to him. For a moment, therefore, while I listened to the tale, I felt the hair rise on my head and a shiver descend my back; nor was it without an uncommon effort that I retained my coolness and composure.
Plainly no steps in such a position could be too stringent. I sent Maignan with an order to close all the doors and let no one pass out. Then I made sure that none of the servants had entered the room, between the time of my rising and return; and this narrowed the tale of those who could have taken the packet to eleven, that being the number of persons who had sat down with me. But having followed the matter so far, I came face to face with this difficulty: that all the eleven were, with one exception, in my service and in various ways pledged to my interests, so that I could not conceive even the possibility of a betrayal by them in a matter so important.
I confess, at this, the perspiration rose upon my brow; for the paper was gone. Still, there remained one stranger; and though it seemed scarcely less difficult to suspect him, since he could have no knowledge of the importance of the document, and could not have anticipated that I should leave it in his power, I found in that the only likely solution. He was one of the Vilains of Pareil by Monceaux, his father living on the edge of the park, little more than a thousand yards from the chateau; and I knew no harm of him. Still, I knew little; and for that reason was forward to believe that there, rather than in my own household, lay the key to the enigma.
My suspicions were not lessened when I discovered that he alone of the party at table had left the house before the doors were closed; and for a moment I was inclined to have him followed and seized. But I could scarcely take a step so decisive without provoking inquiry; and I dared not at this stage let the King know of my negligence. I found myself, therefore, brought up short, in a state of exasperation and doubt difficult to describe; and the most minute search within the house and the closest examination of all concerned failing to provide the slightest clue, I had no alternative but to pass the night in that condition.
On the morrow a third search seeming still the only resource, and proving as futile as the others, I ordered La Trape and two or three in whom I placed the greatest confidence to watch their fellows, and report anything in their bearing or manner that seemed to be out of the ordinary course; while I myself went to wait; on the King, and parry his demand for the memorial as well as I could. This it was necessary to do without provoking curiosity; and as the lapse of each minute made the pursuit of the paper less hopeful and its recovery a thing to pray for rather than expect, it will be believed that I soon found the aspect of civility which I was obliged to wear so great a trial of my patience, that I made an excuse and retired early to my lodging.
Here my wife, who shared my anxiety, met me with a face full of meaning. I cried out to know if they had found the paper.
“No,” she answered; “but if you will come into your closet I will tell you what I have learned.”
I went in with her, and she told me briefly that the manner of Mademoiselle de Mars, one of her maids, had struck her as suspicious. The girl had begun to cry while reading to her; and when questioned had been able to give no explanation of her trouble.
“She is Vilain’s cousin?” I said.
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Bring her to me,” I said. “Bring her to me without the delay of an instant.”
My wife hastened to comply; and whatever had been the girl’s state earlier, before the fright of this hasty summons had upset her, her agitation when thus confronted with me gave me, before a word was spoken, the highest hopes that I had here the key to the mystery. I judged that it might be necessary to frighten her still more, and I started by taking a harsh tone with her; but before I had said many words she obviated the necessity of this by falling at my wife’s feet and protesting that she would tell all.
“Then speak quickly, wench!” I said. “You know where the paper is.”
“I know who has it!” she answered, in a voice choked with sobs.
“Who?”
“My cousin, M. de Vilain.”
“Ha! and has taken it to his house?”
But she seemed for a moment unable to answer this; her distress being such that my wife had to fetch a vial of pungent salts to restore her before she could say more. At length she found voice to tell us that M. de Vilain had taken the paper, and was this evening to hand it to an agent of the Spanish ambassador.
“But, girl,” I said sternly, “how do you know this?”
Then she confessed that the cousin was also the lover, and had before employed her to disclose what went on in my household, and anything of value that could be discovered there. Doubtless the girl, for whom my wife, in spite of her occasional fits of reserve and temper, entertained no little liking, enjoyed many opportunities of prying; and would have continued still to serve him had not this last piece of villainy, with the stir which it caused in the house and the rigorous punishment to be expected in the event of discovery, proved too much for her nerves. Hence this burst of confession; which once allowed to flow, ran on almost against her will. Nor did I let her pause to consider the full meaning of what she was saying until I had learned that Vilain was to meet the ambassador’s agent an hour after sunset at the east end of a clump of trees which stood in the park; and being situate between his, Vilain’s, residence and the chateau, formed a convenient place for such a transaction.
“He will have it about him?” I said.
She sobbed a moment, but presently confessed. “Yes; or it will be in the hollow of the most easterly tree. He was to leave it there, if the agent could not keep the appointment.”
“Good!” I said; and then, having assured myself by one or two questions of that, of which her state of distress and agitation left me in little doubt — namely, that she was telling the truth — I committed her to my wife’s care; bidding the Duchess lock her up in a safe place upstairs, and treat her to bread and water until I had taken the steps necessary to prove the fact, and secure the paper.
After this — but I should be tedious were I to describe the alternations of hope and fear in which I passed the period of suspense. Suffice it that I informed no one, not even Maignan, of what I had discovered, but allowed those in the secret of the loss still to pursue their efforts; while I, by again attending the Court, endeavoured at once to mitigate the King’s impatience and persuade the world that all was well. A little before the appointed time, however I made a pretext to rise from supper, and quietly calling out Boisrueil, bade him bring four of the men, armed, and Maignan and La Trape. With this small body I made my way out by a private door, and crossed the park to the place Mademoiselle had, indicated.
Happily, night had already begun to close in, and the rendezvous was at the farther side of the clump of trees. Favoured by these circumstances, we were able to pass round the thicket — some on one side and some on the other — without noise or disturbance; and fortunate enough, having arrived at the place, to discover a man walking uneasily up and down on the very spot where we expected to find him. The evening was so far advanced that it was not possible to be sure that the man was Vilain; but as all depended on seizing him before he had any communication with the Spanish agent, I gave the signal, and two of my men, springing on him from either side, in a moment bore him to the ground and secured him.
He proved to be Vilain, so that, when he was brought face to face with me, I was much less surprised than he affected to be. He played the part of an ignorant so well, indeed, that, for a moment, I was staggered by his show of astonishment, and by the earnestness with which he denounced the outrage; nor could Maignan find anything on him. But, a momen
t later, remembering the girl’s words, I strode to the nearest tree, and, groping about it, in a twinkling unearthed the paper from a little hollow in the trunk that seemed to have been made to receive it. I need not say with what relief I found the seals unbroken; nor with what indignation I turned on the villain thus convicted of an act of treachery towards the King only less black than the sin against hospitality of which he had been guilty in my house. But the discovery I had made seemed enough of itself to overwhelm him; for, after standing apparently stunned while I spoke, he jerked himself suddenly out of his captors’ hands, and made a desperate attempt to escape. Finding this hopeless, and being seized again before he had gone four paces, he shouted, at the top of his voice: “Back! back! Go back!”
We looked about, somewhat startled, and Boisrueil, with presence of mind, ran into the darkness to see if he could detect the person addressed; but though he thought that he saw the skirt of a flying cloak disappear in the gloom, he was not sure; and I, having no mind to be mixed up with the ambassador, called him back. I asked Vilain to whom he had called, but the young man, turning sullen, would answer nothing except that he knew naught of the paper. I thought it best, therefore, to conduct him at once to my lodgings, whither it will be believed that I returned with a lighter heart than I had gone out. It was, indeed, a providential escape.
How to punish the traitor was another matter, for I could scarcely do so adequately without betraying my negligence. I determined to sleep on this, however, and, for the night, directed him to be locked into a chamber in the south-west turret, with a Swiss to guard the door; my intention being to interrogate him farther on the morrow. However, Henry sent for me so early that I was forced to postpone my examination; and, being detained by him until evening, I thought it best to tell him, before I left, what had happened.
He heard the story with a look of incredulity, which, little by little, gave way to a broad smile. “Well,” he said, “Grand Master, never chide me again! I have heard that Homer sometimes nods; but if I were to tell this to Sillery or Villeroy, they would not believe me.”
“They would believe anything that your Majesty told them,” I said. “But you will not tell them this?”
“No,” he said kindly, “I will not; and there is my hand on it. For the matter of that, if it had happened to them, they would not have told me.”
“And perhaps been the wiser for that,” I said.
“Don’t believe it,” he answered. “But now, what of this young Vilain? You have him safe?”
“Yes, sire.”
“The girl is one degree worse; she betrays both sides to save her skin.”
“Still, I promised—”
“Oh, she must go,” Henry said. “I quite understand. But for him — we had better have no scandal. Keep him until to-morrow, and I will see his father, and have him sent out of the country.”
“And he will go scot free,” I said, bluntly, “when a rope and the nearest tree—”
“Yes, my friend,” Henry answered with a dry smile; “but that should have been done last night. As it is, he is your guest and we must give an account of him. But first drain him dry. Frighten him, as you please, and get all out of him; then I wish them joy of him. Faugh! and he a young man! I would not be his father for two such crowns as mine!”
As I returned to my lodgings I thought over these words; and I fell to wondering by what stages Vilain had sunk so low. Occasionally admitted to my table, he had always borne himself with a modesty and discretion that had not failed to prepossess me; indeed, the longer I considered the King’s saying, the greater was the surprise I felt at this DENOUEMENT; which left me in doubt whether my dullness exceeded my negligence or the young man’s parts surpassed his wickedness.
A few questions, I thought, might resolve this; but having been detained by the King until supper-time, I postponed the interview until I rose. Then bidding them bring in the prisoner, I assumed my harshest aspect and prepared to blast him by discovering all his vileness to his face.
But when I had waited a little, only Maignan came in, with an air of consternation that brought me to my feet. “Why, man, what is it?” I cried.
“The prisoner,” he faltered. “If your excellency pleases—”
“I do not please!” I said sternly, believing that I knew what had happened. “Is he dead?”
“No, your excellency; but, he has escaped.”
“Escaped? From that room?”
Maignan nodded.
“Then, PAR DIEU!” I replied, “the man who was on guard shall suffer in his place! Escaped? How could he escape except by treachery? Where was the guard?”
“He was there, excellency. And he says that no one passed him.”
“Yet the man is gone?”
“The room is empty.”
“But the window — the window, fool, is fifty feet from the ground!” I said. “And not so much footing outside as would hold a crow!”
Maignan shrugged his shoulders, and in a rage I bade him follow me, and went myself to view the place; to which a number of my people had already flocked with lights, so that I found some difficulty in mounting the staircase. A very brief inspection, however, sufficed to confirm my first impression that Vilain could have escaped by the door only; for the window, though it lacked bars and boasted a tiny balcony, hung over fifty feet of sheer depth, so that evasion that way seemed in the absence of ladder or rope purely impossible. This being clear, I ordered the Swiss to be seized; and as he could give no explanation of the escape, and still persisted that he was as much in the dark as anyone, I declared that I would make an example of him, and hang him unless the prisoner was recaptured within three days.
I did not really propose to do this, but in my irritation I spoke so roundly that my people believed me; even Boisrueil, who presently came to intercede for the culprit, who, it seemed, was a favourite. “As for Vilain,” he continued; “you can catch him whenever you please.”
“Then catch him before the end of three days,” I answered obstinately, “and the man lives.”
The truth was that Vilain’s escape placed me in a position of some discomfort; for though, on the one hand, I had no particular desire to get him again into my hands, seeing that the King could effect as much by a word to his father as I had proposed to do while I held him safe; on the other hand, the evasion placed me very peculiarly in regard to the King himself, who was inclined to think me ill or suddenly grown careless. Some of the facts, too, were leaking out, and provoking smiles among the more knowing, and a hint here and there; the result of all being that, unable to pursue the matter farther in Vilain’s case, I hardened my heart and persisted that the Swiss should pay the penalty.
This obstinacy on my part had an unforeseen issue. On the evening of the second day, a little before supper-time, my wife came to me, and announced that a young lady had waited on her with a tale so remarkable that she craved leave to bring her to me that I might hear it.
“What is it?” I said impatiently.
“It is about M. Vilain,” my wife answered, her face still wearing all the marks of lively astonishment.
“Ha!” I exclaimed. “I will see her then. But it is not that baggage who—”
“No,” my wife answered. “It is another.”
“One of your maids?”
“No, a stranger.”
“Well, bring her,” I said shortly.
She went, and quickly returned with a young lady, whose face and modest bearing were known to me, though I could not, at the moment, recall her name. This was the less remarkable as I am not prone to look much in maids’ faces, leaving that to younger men; and Mademoiselle de Figeac’s, though beautiful, was disfigured on this occasion by the marked distress under which she was labouring. Accustomed as I was to the visits of persons of all classes and characters who came to me daily with petitions, I should have been disposed to cut her short, but for my wife’s intimation that her errand had to do with the matter which annoyed me. This, as well
as a trifle of curiosity — from which none are quite free — inclined me to be patient; and I asked her what she would have with me.
“Justice, M. le Duc,” she answered simply. “I have heard that you are seeking M. de Vilain, and that one of your people is lying under sentence for complicity in his escape.”
“That is true, mademoiselle,” I said. “If you can tell me—”
“I can tell you how he escaped, and by whose aid,” she answered.
It is my custom to betray no astonishment, even when I am astonished. “Do so,” I said.
“He escaped through the window,” she answered firmly, “by my brother’s aid.”
“Your brother’s?” I exclaimed, amazed at her audacity. “I do not remember him.”
“He is only thirteen years old.”
I could hide my astonishment no longer. “You must be mad, girl!” I said, “mad! You do not know what you are saying! The window of the room in which Vilain was confined is fifty feet from the ground, and you say that your brother, a boy of thirteen, contrived his escape?”
“Yes, M. de Sully,” she answered. “And the man who is about to suffer is innocent.”
“How was it done, then?” I asked, not knowing what to think of her persistence.
“My brother was flying a kite that day,” she answered. “He had been doing so for a week or more, and everyone was accustomed to seeing him here. After sunset, the wind being favourable, he came under M. de Vilain’s window, and, when it was nearly dark, and the servants and household were at supper, he guided the kite against the balcony outside the window.”
“But a man cannot descend by a kite-string!”
“My brother had a knotted rope, which M. de Vilain drew up,” she answered simply; “and afterwards, when he had descended, disengaged.”
I looked at her in profound amazement.
“Your brother acted on instructions?” I said at last.
Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman Page 193