The Elusive Pimpernel

by Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy

  Later on, when his colleague left him in order to see to the horses andto his escort for to-night, Chauvelin called Sergeant Hebert, his oldand trusted familiar, to him and gave him some final orders.

  "The Angelus must be rung at the proper hour, friend Hebert," he beganwith a grim smile.

  "The Angelus, Citizen?" quoth the Sergeant, with complete stupefaction,"'tis months now since it has been rung. It was forbidden by a decree ofthe Convention, and I doubt me if any of our men would know how to setabout it."

  Chauvelin's eyes were fixed before him in apparent vacancy, while thesame grim smile still hovered round his thin lips. Something of thatirresponsible spirit of adventure which was the mainspring of all SirPercy Blakeney's actions, must for the moment have pervaded the mind ofhis deadly enemy.

  Chauvelin had thought out this idea of having the Angelus rung to-night,and was thoroughly pleased with the notion. This was the day when theduel was to have been fought; seven o'clock would have been the veryhour, and the sound of the Angelus to have been the signal for combat,and there was something very satisfying in the thought, that that sameAngelus should be rung, as a signal that the Scarlet Pimpernel waswithered and broken at last.

  In answer to Hebert's look of bewilderment Chauvelin said quietly:

  "We must have some signal between ourselves and the guard at thedifferent gates, also with the harbour officials: at a given moment thegeneral amnesty must take effect and the harbour become a free port. Ihave a fancy that the signal shall be the ringing of the Angelus: thecannons at the gates and the harbour can boom in response; then theprisons can be thrown open and prisoners can either participate inthe evening fete or leave the city immediately, as they choose. TheCommittee of Public Safety has promised the amnesty: it will carry outits promise to the full, and when Citizen Collot d'Herbois arrives inParis with the joyful news, all natives of Boulogne in the prisons therewill participate in the free pardon too."

  "I understand all that, Citizen," said Hebert, still somewhatbewildered, "but not the Angelus."

  "A fancy, friend Hebert, and I mean to have it."

  "But who is to ring it, Citizen?"

  "Morbleu! haven't you one calotin left in Boulogne whom you can pressinto doing this service?"

  "Aye! calotins enough! there's the Abbe Foucquet in this verybuilding... in No. 6 cell..."

  "Sacre tonnerre!" ejaculated Chauvelin exultingly, "the very man! Iknow his dossier well! Once he is free, he will make straightway forEngland... he and his family... and will help to spread the gloriousnews of the dishonour and disgrace of the much-vaunted ScarletPimpernel!... The very man, friend Hebert!... Let him be stationedhere... to see the letter written... to see the money handed over--forwe will go through with that farce--and make him understand that themoment I give him the order, he can run over to his old church St.Joseph and ring the Angelus. ... The old fool will be delighted... moreespecially when he knows that he will thereby be giving the very signalwhich will set his own sister's children free.... You understand?..."

  "I understand, Citizen."

  "And you can make the old calotin understand?"

  "I think so, Citizen.... You want him in this room.... At what time?"

  "A quarter before seven."

  "Yes. I'll bring him along myself, and stand over him, lest he play anypranks."

  "Oh! he'll not trouble you," sneered Chauvelin, "he'll be deeplyinterested in the proceedings. The woman will be here too, remember," headded with a jerky movement of the hand in the direction of Marguerite'sroom, "the two might be made to stand together, with four of yourfellows round them."

  "I understand, Citizen. Are any of us to escort the Citizen Foucquetwhen he goes to St. Joseph?"

  "Aye! two men had best go with him. There will be a crowd in the streetsby then... How far is it from here to the church?"

  "Less than five minutes."

  "Good. See to it that the doors are opened and the bell ropes easy ofaccess."

  "It shall be seen to, Citizen. How many men will you have inside thisroom to-night?"

  "Let the walls be lined with men whom you can trust. I anticipateneither trouble nor resistance. The whole thing is a simple formality towhich the Englishman has already intimated his readiness to submit. Ifhe changes his mind at the last moment there will be no Angelus rung, nobooming of the cannons or opening of the prison doors: there will beno amnesty, and no free pardon. The woman will be at once conveyedto Paris, and... But he'll not change his mind, friend Hebert," heconcluded in suddenly altered tones, and speaking quite lightly, "he'llnot change his mind."

  The conversation between Chauvelin and his familiar had been carried onin whispers: not that the Terrorist cared whether Marguerite overheardor not, but whispering had become a habit with this man, whose tortuousways and subtle intrigues did not lend themselves to discussion in aloud voice.

  Chauvelin was sitting at the central table, just where he had beenlast night when Sir Percy Blakeney's sudden advent broke in on hismeditations. The table had been cleared of the litter of multitudinouspapers which had encumbered it before. On it now there were only acouple of heavy pewter candlesticks, with the tallow candles fixed readyin them, a leather-pad, an ink-well, a sand-box and two or three quillpens: everything disposed, in fact, for the writing and signing of theletter.

  Already in imagination, Chauvelin saw his impudent enemy, the bold anddaring adventurer, standing there beside that table and putting his nameto the consummation of his own infamy. The mental picture thus evokedbrought a gleam of cruel satisfaction and of satiated lust into thekeen, ferret-like face, and a smile of intense joy lit up the narrow,pale-coloured eyes.

  He looked round the room where the great scene would be enacted: twosoldiers were standing guard outside Marguerite's prison, two more atattention near the door which gave on the passage: his own half-dozenpicked men were waiting his commands in the corridor. Presently thewhole room would be lined with troops, himself and Collot standing witheyes fixed on the principal actor of the drama! Hebert with speciallyselected troopers standing on guard over Marguerite!

  No, no! he had left nothing to chance this time, and down below thehorses would be ready saddled, that were to convey Collot and theprecious document to Paris.

  No! nothing was left to chance, and in either case he was bound to win.Sir Percy Blakeney would either write the letter in order to savehis wife, and heap dishonour on himself, or he would shrink from theterrible ordeal at the last moment and let Chauvelin and the Committeeof Public Safety work their will with her and him.

  "In that case the pillory as a spy and summary hanging for you, myfriend," concluded Chauvelin in his mind, "and for your wife... Bah,once you are out of the way, even she will cease to matter."

  He left Hebert on guard in the room. An irresistible desire seized himto go and have a look at his discomfited enemy, and from the latter'sattitude make a shrewd guess as to what he meant to do to-night.

  Sir Percy had been given a room on one of the upper floors of the oldprison. He had in no way been closely guarded, and the room itselfhad been made as comfortable as may be. He had seemed quite happy andcontented when he had been conducted hither by Chauvelin, the eveningbefore.

  "I hope you quite understand, Sir Percy, that you are my guest hereto-night," Chauvelin had said suavely, "and that you are free to comeand go, just as you please."

  "Lud love you, sir," Sir Percy had replied gaily, "but I verily believethat I am."

  "It is only Lady Blakeney whom we have cause to watch until to-morrow,"added Chauvelin with quiet significance. "Is that not so, Sir Percy?"

  But Sir Percy seemed, whenever his wife's name was mentioned, to lapseinto irresistible somnolence. He yawned now with his usual affectation,and asked at what hour gentlemen in France were wont to breakfast.

  Since then Chauvelin had not seen him. He had repeatedly asked how theEnglish prisoner was faring, and whether he seemed to be sleeping andeating heartily. The orderly in charge invariably reported tha
t theEnglishman seemed well, but did not eat much. On the other hand, hehad ordered, and lavishly paid for, measure after measure of brandy andbottle after bottle of wine.

  "Hm! how strange these Englishmen are!" mused Chauvelin; "this so-calledhero is nothing but a wine-sodden brute, who seeks to nerve himself fora trying ordeal by drowning his faculties in brandy... Perhaps after allhe doesn't care!..."

  But the wish to have a look at that strangely complex creature--hero,adventurer or mere lucky fool--was irresistible, and Chauvelin in thelatter part of the afternoon went up to the room which had been allottedto Sir Percy Blakeney.

  He never moved now without his escort, and this time also two of hisfavourite bodyguards accompanied him to the upper floor. He knocked atthe door, but received no answer, and after a second or two he bade hismen wait in the corridor and, gently turning the latch, walked in.

  There was an odour of brandy in the air; on the table two or three emptybottles of wine and a glass half filled with cognac testified to thetruth of what the orderly had said, whilst sprawling across the campbedstead, which obviously was too small for his long limbs, his headthrown back, his mouth open for a vigorous snore, lay the imperturbableSir Percy fast asleep.

  Chauvelin went up to the bedstead and looked down upon the recliningfigure of the man who had oft been called the most dangerous enemy ofRepublican France.

  Of a truth, a fine figure of a man, Chauvelin was ready enough to admitthat; the long, hard limbs, the wide chest, and slender, white hands,all bespoke the man of birth, breeding and energy: the face too lookedstrong and clearly-cut in repose, now that the perpetually inane smiledid not play round the firm lips, nor the lazy, indolent expressionmar the seriousness of the straight brow. For one moment--it was a mereflash--Chauvelin felt almost sorry that so interesting a career shouldbe thus ignominiously brought to a close.

  The Terrorist felt that if his own future, his own honour and integritywere about to be so hopelessly crushed, he would have wandered up anddown this narrow room like a caged beast, eating out his heart withself-reproach and remorse, and racking his nerves and brain for an issueout of the terrible alternative which meant dishonour or death.

  But this man drank and slept.

  "Perhaps he doesn't care!"

  And as if in answer to Chauvelin's puzzled musing a deep snore escapedthe sleeping adventurer's parted lips.

  Chauvelin sighed, perplexed and troubled. He looked round the littleroom, then went up to a small side table which stood against the walland on which were two or three quill pens and an ink-well, also someloosely scattered sheets of paper. These he turned over with a carelesshand and presently came across a closely written page. ---- "CitizenChauvelin:--In consideration of a further sum of one million francs..."

  It was the beginning of the letter!... only a few words so far... withseveral corrections of misspelt words... and a line left out here andthere which confused the meaning... a beginning made by the unsteadyhand of that drunken fool... an attempt only at present....

  But still... a beginning.

  Close by was the draft of it as written out by Chauvelin, and which SirPercy had evidently begun to copy.

  He had made up his mind then.... He meant to subscribe with his own handto his lasting dishonour... and meaning it, he slept!

  Chauvelin felt the paper trembling in his hand. He felt strangelyagitated and nervous, now that the issue was so near... so sure!...

  "There's no demmed hurry for that, is there... er... MonsieurChaubertin?..." came from the slowly wakening Sir Percy in somewhatthick, heavy accents, accompanied by a prolonged yawn. "I haven't gotthe demmed thing quite ready..."

  Chauvelin had been so startled that the paper dropped from his hand. Hestooped to pick it up.

  "Nay! why should you be so scared, sir?" continued Sir Percy lazily,"did you think I was drunk?... I assure you, sir, on my honour, I am notso drunk as you think I am."

  "I have no doubt, Sir Percy," replied Chauvelin ironically, "that youhave all your marvellous faculties entirely at your command.... Imust apologize for disturbing your papers," he added, replacing thehalf-written page on the table, "I thought perhaps that if the letterwas ready ..."

  "It will be, sir... it will be... for I am not drunk, I assure you....and can write with a steady hand... and do honour to my signature...."

  "When will you have the letter ready, Sir Percy?"

  "The 'Day-Dream' must leave the harbour at the turn of the tide," quothSir Percy thickly. "It'll be demmed well time by then... won't it,sir?..."

  "About sundown, Sir Percy... not later..."

  "About sundown... not later..." muttered Blakeney, as he once morestretched his long limbs along the narrow bed.

  He gave a loud and hearty yawn.

  "I'll not fail you..." he murmured, as he closed his eyes, and gave afinal struggle to get his head at a comfortable angle, "the letter willbe written in my best cali... calig.... Lud! but I'm not so drunk as youthink I am. ..."

  But as if to belie his own oft-repeated assertion, hardly was the lastword out of his mouth than his stertorous and even breathing proclaimedthe fact that he was once more fast asleep.

  With a shrug of the shoulders and a look of unutterable contempt athis broken-down enemy, Chauvelin turned on his heel and went out of theroom.

  But outside in the corridor he called the orderly to him and gave strictcommands that no more wine or brandy was to be served to the Englishmanunder any circumstances whatever.

  "He has two hours in which to sleep off the effects of all that brandywhich he had consumed," he mused as he finally went back to his ownquarters, "and by that time he will be able to write with a steadyhand."

  Chapter XXXIII: The English Spy