Lord Tony's Wife Part 30

Chauvelin paid no heed to the fatuous remarks.

How little did this flippant young braggart and this coa.r.s.e-grained bully understand the subtle workings of that same adventurer's brain! He himself--one of the most astute men of the day--found it difficult. Even now--the losing of those letters in the open streets of Nantes--it was part of a plan. Chauvelin could have staked his head on that--a part of a plan for the liberation of Lady Anthony Dewhurst--but what plan?--what plan?

He took up the letter which his colleague had thrown down: he fingered it, handled it, letting the paper crackle through his fingers, as if he expected it to yield up the secret which it contained. The time had come--of that he felt no doubt--when he could at last be even with his enemy. He had endured more bitter humiliation at the hands of this elusive Pimpernel than he would have thought himself capable of bearing a couple of years ago. But the time had come at last--if only he kept his every faculty on the alert, if Fate helped him and his own nerves stood the strain. Above all if this blundering, self-satisfied Carrier could be reckoned on!...

There lay the one great source of trouble! He--Chauvelin--had no power: he was disgraced--a failure--a nonent.i.ty to be sneered at. He might protest, entreat, wring his hands, weep tears of blood and not one man would stir a finger to help him: this brute who sprawled here across his desk would not lend him half a dozen men to enable him to lay by the heels the most powerful enemy the Government of the Terror had ever known. Chauvelin inwardly ground his teeth with rage at his own impotence, at his own dependence on this clumsy lout, who was at this moment possessed of powers which he himself would give half his life to obtain.

But on the other hand he did possess a power which no one could take from him--the power to use others for the furtherance of his own aims--to efface himself while others danced as puppets to his piping.

Carrier had the power: he had spies, Marats, prison-guards at his disposal. He was greedy for the reward, and cupidity and fear would make of him a willing instrument. All that Chauvelin need do was to use that instrument for his own ends. One would be the head to direct, the other--a mere insentient tool.

From this moment onwards every minute, every second and every fraction of a second would be full of portent, full of possibilities. Sir Percy Blakeney was in Nantes with at least three or four members of his League: he was at this very moment taxing every fibre of his resourceful brain in order to devise a means whereby he could rescue his friend's wife from the fate which was awaiting her: to gain this end he would dare everything, risk everything--risk and dare a great deal more than he had ever dared and risked before.

Chauvelin was finding a grim pleasure in reviewing the situation, in envisaging the danger of failure which he knew lay in wait for him, unless he too was able to call to his aid all the astuteness, all the daring, all the resource of his own fertile brain. He studied his colleague's face keenly--that sullen, savage expression in it, the arrogance, the blundering vanity. It was terrible to have to humour and fawn to a creature of that stamp when all one's hopes, all one's future, one's ideals and the welfare of one's country were at stake.

But this additional difficulty only served to whet the man's appet.i.te for action. He drew in a long breath of delight, like a captive who first after many days and months of weary anguish scents freedom and ozone. He straightened out his shoulders. A gleam of triumph and of hope shot out of his keen pale eyes. He studied Carrier and he studied Lalouet and he felt that he could master them both--quietly, diplomatically, with subtle skill that would not alarm the proconsul's rampant self-esteem: and whilst this coa.r.s.e-fibred brute gloated in antic.i.p.atory pleasure over the handling of a few thousand francs, and whilst Martin-Roget dreamed of a clumsy revenge against one woman and one man who had wronged him four years ago, he--Chauvelin--would pursue his work of striking at the enemy of the Revolution--of bringing to his knees the man who spent life and fortune in combating its ideals and in frustrating its aims. The destruction of such a foe was worthy a patriot's ambition.

On the other hand some of Carrier's bullying arrogance had gone. He was terrified to the very depths of his cowardly heart, and for once he was turning away from his favourite Jacques Lalouet and inclined to lean on Chauvelin for advice. Robespierre had been known to tremble at sight of that small scarlet device, how much more had he--Carrier--cause to be afraid. He knew his own limitations and he was terrified of the a.s.sa.s.sin's dagger. As Marat had perished, so he too might end his days, and the English spies were credited with murderous intentions and superhuman power. In his innermost self Carrier knew that despite countless failures Chauvelin was mentally his superior, and though he never would own to this and at this moment did not attempt to shed his over-bearing manner, he was watching the other keenly and anxiously, ready to follow the guidance of an intellect stronger than his own.

III

At last Carrier elected to speak.

"And now, citizen Chauvelin," he said, "we know how we stand. We know that the English a.s.sa.s.sins are in Nantes. The question is how are we going to lay them by the heels."

Chauvelin gave him no direct reply. He was busy collecting his precious papers together and thrusting them back into the pocket of his coat.

Then he said quietly:

"It is through the Kernogan woman that we can get hold of him."

"How?"

"Where she is, there will the Englishmen be. They are in Nantes for the sole purpose of getting the woman and her father out of your clutches...."

"Then it will be a fine haul inside the Rat Mort," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Carrier with a chuckle. "Eh, Jacques, you young scamp? You and I must go and see that, what? You have been complaining that life was getting monotonous.

Drownages--Republican marriages! They have all palled in their turn on your jaded appet.i.te.... But the capture of the English a.s.sa.s.sins, eh?...

of that League of the Scarlet Pimpernel which has even caused citizen Robespierre much uneasiness--that will stir up your sluggish blood, you lazy young vermin!... Go on, go on, citizen Chauvelin, I am vastly interested!"

He rubbed his dry, bony hands together and cackled with glee. Chauvelin interposed quietly:

"Inside the Rat Mort, eh, citizen?" he queried.

"Why, yes. Citizen Martin-Roget means to convey the Kernogan woman to the Rat Mort, doesn't he?"

"He does."

"And you say that where the Kernogan woman is there the Englishmen will be...."

"The inference is obvious."

"Which means ten thousand francs from that fool Martin-Roget for having the wench and her father arrested inside the Rat Mort! and twenty thousand for the capture of the English spies.... Have you forgotten, citizen Chauvelin," he added with a raucous cry of triumph, "that commandant Fleury has my orders to make a raid on the Rat Mort this night with half a company of my Marats, and to arrest every one whom they find inside?"

"The Kernogan wench is not at the Rat Mort yet," quoth Chauvelin drily, "and you have refused to lend a hand in having her conveyed thither."

"I can't do it, my little Chauvelin," rejoined Carrier, somewhat sobered by this reminder. "I can't do it ... you understand ... my Marats taking an aristo to a house of ill-fame where presently I have her arrested ... it won't do ... it won't do ... you don't know how I am spied upon just now.... It really would not do.... I can't be mixed up in that part of the affair. The wench must go to the Rat Mort of her own free will, or the whole plan falls to the ground.... That fool Martin-Roget must think of a way ... it's his affair, after all. He must see to it.... Or you can think of a way," he added, a.s.suming the coaxing ways of a tiger-cat; "you are so clever, my little Chauvelin."

"Yes," replied Chauvelin quietly, "I can think of a way. The Kernogan wench shall leave the house of citizeness Adet and walk into the tavern of the Rat Mort of her own free will. Your reputation, citizen Carrier,"

he added without the slightest apparent trace of a sneer, "your reputation shall be safeguarded in this matter. But supposing that in the interval of going from the one house to the other the English adventurer succeeds in kidnapping her...."

"Pah! is that likely?" quoth Carrier with a shrug of the shoulders.

"Exceedingly likely, citizen; and you would not doubt it if you knew this Scarlet Pimpernel as I do. I have seen him at his nefarious work. I know what he can do. There is nothing that he would not venture ...

there are few ventures in which he does not succeed. He is as strong as an ox, as agile as a cat. He can see in the dark and he can always vanish in a crowd. Here, there and everywhere, you never know where he will appear. He is a past master in the art of disguise and he is a born mountebank. Believe me, citizen, we shall want all the resources of our joint intellects to frustrate the machinations of such a foe."

Carrier mused for a moment in silence.

"H'm!" he said after awhile, and with a sardonic laugh. "You may be right, citizen Chauvelin. You have had experience with the rascal ...

you ought to know him. We won't leave anything to chance--don't be afraid of that. My Marats will be keen on the capture. We'll promise commandant Fleury a thousand francs for himself and another thousand to be distributed among his men if we lay hands on the English a.s.sa.s.sins to-night. We'll leave nothing to chance," he reiterated with an oath.

"In which case, citizen Carrier, you must on your side agree to two things," rejoined Chauvelin firmly.

"What are they?"

"You must order Commandant Fleury to place himself and half a company of his Marats at my disposal."

"What else?"

"You must allow them to lend a hand if there is an attempt to kidnap the Kernogan wench while she is being conveyed to the Rat Mort...."

Carrier hesitated for a second or two, but only for form's sake: it was his nature whenever he was forced to yield to do so grudgingly.

"Very well!" he said at last. "I'll order Fleury to be on the watch and to interfere if there is any street-brawling outside or near the Rat Mort. Will that suit you?"

"Perfectly. I shall be on the watch too--somewhere close by.... I'll warn commandant Fleury if I suspect that the English are making ready for a coup outside the tavern. Personally I think it unlikely--because the duc de Kernogan will be inside the Rat Mort all the time, and he too will be the object of the Englishmen's attacks on his behalf. Citizen Martin-Roget too has about a score or so of his friends posted outside his sister's house: they are lads from his village who hate the Kernogans as much as he does himself. Still! I shall feel easier in my mind now that I am certain of commandant Fleury's co-operation."

"Then it seems to me that we have arranged everything satisfactorily, what?"

"Everything, except the exact moment when Commandant Fleury shall advance with his men to the door of the tavern and demand admittance in the name of the Republic."

"Yes, he will have to make quite sure that the whole of our quarry is inside the net, eh?... before he draws the strings ... or all our pretty plans fall to nought."

"As you say," rejoined Chauvelin, "we must make sure. Supposing therefore that we get the wench safely into the tavern, that we have her there with her father, what we shall want will be some one in observation--some one who can help us to draw our birds into the snare just when we are ready for them. Now there is a man whom I have in my mind: he hath name Paul Friche and is one of your Marats--a surly, ill-conditioned giant ... he was on guard outside Le Bouffay this afternoon.... I spoke to him ... he would suit our purpose admirably."

"What do you want him to do?"

"Only to make himself look as like a Nantese cut-throat as he can...."

"He looks like one already," broke in Jacques Lalouet with a laugh.