XI
A BATTLE OF WITS
What had happened was this:
Tournefort, one of the ablest of the many sleuth-hounds employed by theCommittee of Public Safety, was out during that awful storm on the nightof the twenty-fifth. The rain came down as if it had been poured out ofbuckets, and Tournefort took shelter under the portico of a tall,dilapidated-looking house somewhere at the back of St. Lazare. The nightwas, of course, pitch dark, and the howling of the wind and beating ofthe rain effectually drowned every other sound.
Tournefort, chilled to the marrow, had at first cowered in the angle ofthe door, as far away from the draught as he could. But presently hespied the glimmer of a tiny light some little way up on his left, andtaking this to come from the concierge's lodge, he went cautiously alongthe passage intending to ask for better shelter against the fury of theelements than the rickety front door afforded.
Tournefort, you must remember, was always on the best terms with everyconcierge in Paris. They were, as it were, his subordinates; withouttheir help he never could have carried on his unavowable professionquite so successfully. And they, in their turn, found it to theiradvantage to earn the good-will of that army of spies, which theRevolutionary Government kept in its service, for the tracking down ofall those unfortunates who had not given complete adhesion to theirtyrannical and murderous policy.
Therefore, in this instance, Tournefort felt no hesitation in claimingthe hospitality of the concierge of the squalid house wherein he foundhimself. He went boldly up to the lodge. His hand was already on thelatch, when certain sounds which proceeded from the interior of thelodge caused him to pause and to bend his ear in order to listen. It wasTournefort's metier to listen. What had arrested his attention was thesound of a man's voice, saying in a tone of deep respect:
"Bien, Madame la Comtesse, we'll do our best."
No wonder that the servant of the Committee of Public Safety remained atattention, no longer thought of the storm or felt the cold blastchilling him to the marrow. Here was a wholly unexpected piece of goodluck. "Madame la Comtesse!" Peste! There were not many such left inParis these days. Unfortunately, the tempest of the wind and the rainmade such a din that it was difficult to catch every sound which camefrom the interior of the lodge. All that Tournefort caught definitelywere a few fragments of conversation.
"My good M. Bertin ..." came at one time from a woman's voice. "Truly Ido not know why you should do all this for me."
And then again: "All I possess in the world now are my diamonds. Theyalone stand between my children and utter destitution."
The man's voice seemed all the time to be saying something that soundedcheerful and encouraging. But his voice came only as a vague murmur tothe listener's ears. Presently, however, there came a word which set hispulses tingling. Madame said something about "Gentilly," and directlyafterwards: "You will have to be very careful, my dear M. Bertin. Thechateau, I feel sure, is being watched."
Tournefort could scarce repress a cry of joy. "Gentilly? Madame laComtesse? The chateau?" Why, of course, he held all the necessarythreads already. The ci-devant Comte de Sucy--a pestilential aristo ifever there was one!--had been sent to the guillotine less than afortnight ago. His chateau, situated just outside Gentilly, stood empty,it having been given out that the widow Sucy and her two children hadescaped to England. Well! she had not gone apparently, for here she was,in the lodge of the concierge of a mean house in one of the desolatequarters of Paris, begging some traitor to find her diamonds for her,which she had obviously left concealed inside the chateau. What a haulfor Tournefort! What commendation from his superiors! The chances of aspeedy promotion were indeed glorious now! He blessed the storm and therain which had driven him for shelter to this house, where a poisonousplot was being hatched to rob the people of valuable property, and toaid a few more of those abominable aristos in cheating the guillotine oftheir traitorous heads.
He listened for a while longer, in order to get all the information thathe could on the subject of the diamonds, because he knew by experiencethat those perfidious aristos, once they were under arrest, would soonerbite out their tongues than reveal anything that might be of service tothe Government of the people. But he learned little else. Nothing wasrevealed of where Madame la Comtesse was in hiding, or how the diamondswere to be disposed of once they were found. Tournefort would have givenmuch to have at least one of his colleagues with him. As it was, hewould be forced to act single-handed and on his own initiative. In hisown mind he had already decided that he would wait until Madame laComtesse came out of the concierge's lodge, and that he would follow herand apprehend her somewhere out in the open streets, rather than herewhere her friend Bertin might prove to be a stalwart as well as adesperate man, ready with a pistol, whilst he--Tournefort--was unarmed.Bertin, who had, it seemed, been entrusted with the task of finding thediamonds, could then be shadowed and arrested in the very act offilching property which by decree of the State belonged to the people.
So he waited patiently for a while. No doubt the aristo would remainhere under shelter until the storm had abated. Soon the sound of voicesdied down, and an extraordinary silence descended on this miserable,abandoned corner of old Paris. The silence became all the more markedafter a while, because the rain ceased its monotonous pattering and thesoughing of the wind was stilled. It was, in fact, this amazingstillness which set citizen Tournefort thinking. Evidently the aristodid not intend to come out of the lodge to-night. Well! Tournefort hadnot meant to make himself unpleasant inside the house, or to have aquarrel just yet with the traitor Bertin, whoever he was; but his handwas forced and he had no option.
The door of the lodge was locked. He tugged vigorously at the bell againand again, for at first he got no answer. A few minutes later he heardthe sound of shuffling footsteps upon creaking boards. The door wasopened, and a man in night attire, with bare, thin legs and tatteredcarpet slippers on his feet, confronted an exceedingly astonishedservant of the Committee of Public Safety. Indeed, Tournefort thoughtthat he must have been dreaming, or that he was dreaming now. For theman who opened the door to him was well known to every agent of theCommittee. He was an ex-soldier who had been crippled years ago by theloss of one arm, and had held the post of concierge in a house in theRuelle du Paradis ever since. His name was Grosjean. He was very old,and nearly doubled up with rheumatism, had scarcely any hair on his heador flesh on his bones. At this moment he appeared to be suffering from acold in the head, for his eyes were streaming and his narrow, hookednose was adorned by a drop of moisture at its tip. In fact, poor oldGrosjean looked more like a dilapidated scarecrow than a dangerousconspirator. Tournefort literally gasped at sight of him, and Grosjeanuttered a kind of croak, intended, no doubt, for complete surprise.
"Citizen Tournefort!" he exclaimed. "Name of a dog! What are you doinghere at this hour and in this abominable weather? Come in! Come in!" headded, and, turning on his heel, he shuffled back into the inner room,and then returned carrying a lighted lamp, which he set upon the table."Amelie left a sup of hot coffee on the hob in the kitchen before shewent to bed. You must have a drop of that."
He was about to shuffle off again when Tournefort broke in roughly:
"None of that nonsense, Grosjean! Where are the aristos?"
"The aristos, citizen?" queried Grosjean, and nothing could have lookedmore utterly, more ludicrously bewildered than did the old concierge atthis moment. "What aristos?"
"Bertin and Madame la Comtesse," retorted Tournefort gruffly. "I heardthem talking."
"You have been dreaming, citizen Tournefort," the old man said, with ahusky little laugh. "Sit down, and let me get you some coffee--"
"Don't try and hoodwink me, Grosjean!" Tournefort cried now in a suddenaccess of rage. "I tell you that I saw the light. I heard the aristostalking. There was a man named Bertin, and a woman he called 'Madame laComtesse,' and I say that some devilish royalist plot is being hatchedhere, and that you, Grosjean, will suffer for it if you try and shieldth
ose aristos."
"But, citizen Tournefort," replied the concierge meekly, "I assure youthat I have seen no aristos. The door of my bedroom was open, and thelamp was by my bedside. Amelie, too, has only been in bed a few minutes.You ask her! There has been no one, I tell you--no one! I should haveseen and heard them--the door was open," he reiterated pathetically.
"We'll soon see about that!" was Tournefort's curt comment.
But it was his turn indeed to be utterly bewildered. He searched--nonetoo gently--the squalid little lodge through and through, turned thepaltry sticks of furniture over, hauled little Amelie, Grosjean'sgranddaughter, out of bed, searched under the mattresses, and even pokedhis head up the chimney.
Grosjean watched him wholly unperturbed. These were strange times, andfriend Tournefort had obviously gone a little off his head. The worthyold concierge calmly went on getting the coffee ready. Only whenpresently Tournefort, worn out with anger and futile exertion, threwhimself, with many an oath, into the one armchair, Grosjean remarkedcoolly:
"I tell you what I think it is, citizen. If you were standing just bythe door of the lodge you had the back staircase of the houseimmediately behind you. The partition wall is very thin, and there is adisused door just there also. No doubt the voices came from there. Yousee, if there had been any aristos here," he added naively, "they couldnot have flown up the chimney, could they?"
That argument was certainly unanswerable. But Tournefort was out oftemper. He roughly ordered Grosjean to bring the lamp and show him theback staircase and the disused door. The concierge obeyed without amurmur. He was not in the least disturbed or frightened by all thisblustering. He was only afraid that getting out of bed had made his coldworse. But he knew Tournefort of old. A good fellow, but inclined to benoisy and arrogant since he was in the employ of the Government.Grosjean took the precaution of putting on his trousers and wrapping anold shawl round his shoulders. Then he had a final sip of hot coffee;after which he picked up the lamp and guided Tournefort out of thelodge.
The wind had quite gone down by now. The lamp scarcely flickered asGrosjean held it above his head.
"Just here, citizen Tournefort," he said, and turned sharply to hisleft. But the next sound which he uttered was a loud croak ofastonishment.
"That door has been out of use ever since I've been here," he muttered.
"And it certainly was closed when I stood up against it," rejoinedTournefort, with a savage oath, "or, of course, I should have noticedit."
Close to the lodge, at right angles to it, a door stood partially open.Tournefort went through it, closely followed by Grosjean. He foundhimself in a passage which ended in a cul de sac on his right; on theleft was the foot of the stairs. The whole place was pitch dark save forthe feeble light of the lamp. The cul de sac itself reeked of dirt andfustiness, as if it had not been cleaned or ventilated for years.
"When did you last notice that this door was closed?" queriedTournefort, furious with the sense of discomfiture, which he would haveliked to vent on the unfortunate concierge.
"I have not noticed it for some days, citizen," replied Grosjean meekly."I have had a severe cold, and have not been outside my lodge sinceMonday last. But we'll ask Amelie!" he added more hopefully.
Amelie, however, could throw no light upon the subject. She certainlykept the back stairs cleaned and swept, but it was not part of herduties to extend her sweeping operations as far as the cul de sac. Shehad quite enough to do as it was, with grandfather now practicallyhelpless. This morning, when she went out to do her shopping, she hadnot noticed whether the disused door did or did not look the same asusual.
Grosjean was very sorry for his friend Tournefort, who appeared vastlyupset, but still more sorry for himself, for he knew what endlesstrouble this would entail upon him.
Nor was the trouble slow in coming, not only on Grosjean, but on everylodger inside the house; for before half an hour had gone by Tourneforthad gone and come back, this time with the local commissary of policeand a couple of agents, who had every man, woman and child in that houseout of bed and examined at great length, their identity bookssearchingly overhauled, their rooms turned topsy-turvy and theirfurniture knocked about.
It was past midnight before all these perquisitions were completed. Noone dared to complain at these indignities put upon peaceable citizenson the mere denunciation of an obscure police agent. These were timeswhen every regulation, every command, had to be accepted without amurmur. At one o'clock in the morning, Grosjean himself was thankful toget back to bed, having satisfied the commissary that he was not adangerous conspirator.
But of anyone even remotely approaching the description of the ci-devantComtesse de Sucy, or of any man called Bertin, there was not thefaintest trace.
II
But no feeling of discomfort ever lasted very long with citizenTournefort. He was a person of vast resource and great buoyancy oftemperament.
True, he had not apprehended two exceedingly noxious aristos, as he hadhoped to do; but he held the threads of an abominable conspiracy in hishands, and the question of catching both Bertin and Madame la Comtessered-handed was only a question of time. But little time had been lost.There was always someone to be found at the offices of the Committee ofPublic Safety, which were open all night. It was possible that citizenChauvelin would be still there, for he often took on the night shift, orelse citizen Gourdon.
It was Gourdon who greeted his subordinate, somewhat ill-humouredly, forhe was indulging in a little sleep, with his toes turned to the fire, asthe night was so damp and cold. But when he heard Tournefort's story, hewas all eagerness and zeal.
"It is, of course, too late to do anything now," he said finally, afterhe had mastered every detail of the man's adventures in the Ruelle duParadis; "but get together half a dozen men upon whom you can rely, andby six o'clock in the morning, or even five, we'll be on our way toGentilly. Citizen Chauvelin was only saying to-day that he stronglysuspected the ci-devant Comtesse de Sucy of having left the bulk of hervaluable jewellery at the chateau, and that she would make some effortto get possession of it. It would be rather fine, citizen Tournefort,"he added with a chuckle, "if you and I could steal a march on citizenChauvelin over this affair, what? He has been extraordinarily arrogantof late and marvellously in favour, not only with the Committee, butwith citizen Robespierre himself."
"They say," commented Tournefort, "that he succeeded in getting hold ofsome papers which were of great value to the members of the Committee."
"He never succeeded in getting hold of that meddlesome Englishman whomthey call the Scarlet Pimpernel," was Gourdon's final dry comment.
Thus was the matter decided on. And the following morning at daybreak,Gourdon, who was only a subordinate officer on the Committee of PublicSafety, took it upon himself to institute a perquisition in the chateauof Gentilly, which is situated close to the commune of that name. He wasaccompanied by his friend Tournefort and a gang of half a dozen ruffiansrecruited from the most disreputable cabarets of Paris.
The intention had been to steal a march on citizen Chauvelin, who hadbeen over arrogant of late; but the result did not come up toexpectations. By midday the chateau had been ransacked from attic tocellar; every kind of valuable property had been destroyed, pricelessworks of art irretrievably damaged. But priceless works of art had nomarket in Paris these days; and the property of real value--the Sucydiamonds namely--which had excited the cupidity or the patriotic wrathof citizens Gourdon and Tournefort could nowhere be found.
To make the situation more deplorable still, the Committee of PublicSafety had in some unexplainable way got wind of the affair, and the twoworthies had the mortification of seeing citizen Chauvelin presentlyappear upon the scene.
It was then two o'clock in the afternoon. Gourdon, after he had snatcheda hasty dinner at a neighbouring cabaret, had returned to the task ofpulling the chateau of Gentilly about his own ears if need be, with aview to finding the concealed treasure.
For the nonce he was sta
nding in the centre of the finely proportionedhall. The rich ormolu and crystal chandelier lay in a tangled, brokenheap of scraps at his feet, and all around there was a confused medleyof pictures, statuettes, silver ornaments, tapestry and brocadehangings, all piled up in disorder, smashed, tattered, kicked at now andagain by Gourdon, to the accompaniment of a savage oath.
The house itself was full of noises; heavy footsteps tramping up anddown the stairs, furniture turned over, curtains torn from their poles,doors and windows battered in. And through it all the ceaselesshammering of pick and axe, attacking these stately walls which hadwithstood the wars and sieges of centuries.
Every now and then Tournefort, his face perspiring and crimson withexertion, would present himself at the door of the hall. Gourdon wouldquery gruffly: "Well?"
And the answer was invariably the same: "Nothing!"
Then Gourdon would swear again and send curt orders to continue thesearch, relentlessly, ceaselessly.
"Leave no stone upon stone," he commanded. "Those diamonds must befound. We know they are here, and, name of a dog! I mean to have them."
When Chauvelin arrived at the chateau he made no attempt at first tointerfere with Gourdon's commands. Only on one occasion he remarkedcurtly:
"I suppose, citizen Gourdon, that you can trust your search party?"
"Absolutely," retorted Gourdon. "A finer patriot than Tournefort doesnot exist."
"Probably," rejoined the other dryly. "But what about the men?"
"Oh! they are only a set of barefooted, ignorant louts. They do as theyare told, and Tournefort has his eye on them. I dare say they'llcontrive to steal a few things, but they would never dare lay hands onvaluable jewellery. To begin with, they could never dispose of it.Imagine a va-nu-pieds peddling a diamond tiara!"
"There are always receivers prepared to take risks."
"Very few," Gourdon assured him, "since we decreed that trafficking witharisto property was a crime punishable by death."
Chauvelin said nothing for the moment. He appeared wrapped in his ownthoughts, listened for a while to the confused hubbub about the house,then he resumed abruptly:
"Who are these men whom you are employing, citizen Gourdon?"
"A well-known gang," replied the other. "I can give you their names."
"If you please."
Gourdon searched his pockets for a paper which he found presently andhanded to his colleague. The latter perused it thoughtfully.
"Where did Tournefort find these men?" he asked.
"For the most part at the Cabaret de la Liberte--a place of very evilrepute down in the Rue Christine."
"I know it," rejoined the other. He was still studying the list of nameswhich Gourdon had given him. "And," he added, "I know most of these men.As thorough a set of ruffians as we need for some of our work. Merri,Guidal, Rateau, Desmonds. TIENS!" he exclaimed. "Rateau! Is Rateau herenow?"
"Why, of course! He was recruited, like the rest of them, for the day.He won't leave till he has been paid, you may be sure of that. Why doyou ask?"
"I will tell you presently. But I would wish to speak with citizenRateau first."
Just at this moment Tournefort paid his periodical visit to the hall.The usual words, "Still nothing," were on his lips, when Gourdon curtlyordered him to go and fetch the citizen Rateau.
A minute or two later Tournefort returned with the news that Rateaucould nowhere be found. Chauvelin received the news without any comment;he only ordered Tournefort, somewhat roughly, back to his work. Then, assoon as the latter had gone, Gourdon turned upon his colleague.
"Will you explain--" he began with a show of bluster.
"With pleasure," replied Chauvelin blandly. "On my way hither, less thanan hour ago, I met your man Rateau, a league or so from here."
"You met Rateau!" exclaimed Gourdon impatiently. "Impossible! He washere then, I feel sure. You must have been mistaken."
"I think not. I have only seen the man once, when I, too, went torecruit a band of ruffians at the Cabaret de la Liberte, in connectionwith some work I wanted doing. I did not employ him then, for heappeared to me both drink-sodden and nothing but a miserable,consumptive creature, with a churchyard cough you can hear half a leagueaway. But I would know him anywhere. Besides which, he stopped andwished me good morning. Now I come to think of it," added Chauvelinthoughtfully, "he was carrying what looked like a heavy bundle under hisarm."
"A heavy bundle!" cried Gourdon, with a forceful oath. "And you did notstop him!"
"I had no reason for suspecting him. I did not know until I arrived herewhat the whole affair was about, or whom you were employing. All thatthe Committee knew for certain was that you and Tournefort and a numberof men had arrived at Gentilly before daybreak, and I was theninstructed to follow you hither to see what mischief you were up to. Youacted in complete secrecy, remember, citizen Gourdon, and without firstascertaining the wishes of the Committee of Public Safety, whose servantyou are. If the Sucy diamonds are not found, you alone will be heldresponsible for their loss to the Government of the People."
Chauvelin's voice had now assumed a threatening tone, and Gourdon feltall his audacity and self-assurance fall away from him, leaving him aprey to nameless terror.
"We must round up Rateau," he murmured hastily. "He cannot have gonefar."
"No, he cannot," rejoined Chauvelin dryly. "Though I was not speciallythinking of Rateau or of diamonds when I started to come hither. I didsend a general order forbidding any person on foot or horseback to enteror leave Paris by any of the southern gates. That order will serve uswell now. Are you riding?"
"Yes. I left my horse at the tavern just outside Gentilly. I can get tohorse within ten minutes."
"To horse, then, as quickly as you can. Pay off your men and dismissthem--all but Tournefort, who had best accompany us. Do not lose asingle moment. I'll be ahead of you and may come up with Rateau beforeyou overtake me. And if I were you, citizen Gourdon," he concluded, withominous emphasis, "I would burn one or two candles to your compeer thedevil. You'll have need of his help if Rateau gives us the slip."
III
The first part of the road from Gentilly to Paris runs through thevalley of the Biere, and is densely wooded on either side. It winds inand out for the most part, ribbon-like, through thick coppice ofchestnut and birch. Thus it was impossible for Chauvelin to spy hisquarry from afar; nor did he expect to do so this side of the Hopital dela Sante. Once past that point, he would find the road quite open andrunning almost straight, in the midst of arid and only partiallycultivated land.
He rode at a sharp trot, with his caped coat wrapped tightly round hisshoulders, for it was raining fast. At intervals, when he met anoccasional wayfarer, he would ask questions about a tall man who had aconsumptive cough, and who was carrying a cumbersome burden under hisarm.
Almost everyone whom he thus asked remembered seeing a personage whovaguely answered to the description: tall and with a decided stoop--yes,and carrying a cumbersome-looking bundle under his arm. Chauvelin wasundoubtedly on the track of the thief.
Just beyond Meuves he was overtaken by Gourdon and Tournefort. Here,too, the man Rateau's track became more and more certain. At one placehe had stopped and had a glass of wine and a rest, at another he hadasked how close he was to the gates of Paris.
The road was now quite open and level; the irregular buildings of thehospital appeared vague in the rain-sodden distance. Twenty minuteslater Tournefort, who was riding ahead of his companions, spied a tall,stooping figure at the spot where the Chemin de Gentilly forks, andwhere stands a group of isolated houses and bits of garden, which belongto la Sante. Here, before the days when the glorious Revolution sweptaside all such outward signs of superstition, there had stood a Calvary.It was now used as a signpost. The man stood before it, scanning thehalf-obliterated indications.
At the moment that Tournefort first caught sight of him he appeareduncertain of his way. Then for a while he watched Tournefort, who wascoming at a sharp trot towards
him. Finally, he seemed to make up hismind very suddenly and, giving a last, quick look round, he walkedrapidly along the upper road. Tournefort drew rein, waited for hiscolleagues to come up with him. Then he told them what he had seen.
"It is Rateau, sure enough," he said. "I saw his face quite distinctlyand heard his abominable cough. He is trying to get into Paris. Thatroad leads nowhere but to the barrier. There, of course, he will bestopped, and--"
The other two had also brought their horses to a halt. The situation hadbecome tense, and a plan for future action had at once to be decided on.Already Chauvelin, masterful and sure of himself, had assumed command ofthe little party. Now he broke in abruptly on Tournefort's vapidreflections.
"We don't want him stopped at the barrier," he said in his usual curt,authoritative manner. "You, citizen Tournefort," he continued, "willride as fast as you can to the gate, making a detour by the lower road.You will immediately demand to speak with the sergeant who is incommand, and you will give him a detailed description of the man Rateau.Then you will tell him in my name that, should such a man presenthimself at the gate, he must be allowed to enter the city unmolested."
Gourdon gave a quick cry of protest.
"Let the man go unmolested? Citizen Chauvelin, think what you aredoing!"
"I always think of what I am doing," retorted Chauvelin curtly, "andhave no need of outside guidance in the process." Then he turned oncemore to Tournefort. "You yourself, citizen," he continued, in sharp,decisive tones which admitted of no argument, "will dismount as soon asyou are inside the city. You will keep the gate under observation. Themoment you see the man Rateau, you will shadow him, and on no accountlose sight of him. Understand?"
"You may trust me, citizen Chauvelin," Tournefort replied, elated at theprospect of work which was so entirely congenial to him. "But will youtell me--"
"I will tell you this much, citizen Tournefort," broke in Chauvelin withsome acerbity, "that though we have traced the diamonds and the thief sofar, we have, through your folly last night, lost complete track of theci-devant Comtesse de Sucy and of the man Bertin. We want Rateau to showus where they are."
"I understand," murmured the other meekly.
"That's a mercy!" riposted Chauvelin dryly. "Then quickly man. Lose notime! Try to get a few minutes' advance on Rateau; then slip in to theguard-room to change into less conspicuous clothes. Citizen Gourdon andI will continue on the upper road and keep the man in sight in case heshould think of altering his course. In any event, we'll meet you justinside the barrier. But if, in the meanwhile, you have to get onRateau's track before we have arrived on the scene, leave the usualindications as to the direction which you have taken."
Having given his orders and satisfied himself that they were fullyunderstood, he gave a curt command, "En avant," and once more the threeof them rode at a sharp trot down the road towards the city.
IV
Citizen Rateau, if he thought about the matter at all, must indeed havebeen vastly surprised at the unwonted amiability or indifference ofsergeant Ribot, who was in command at the gate of Gentilly. Ribot onlythrew a very perfunctory glance at the greasy permit which Rateaupresented to him, and when he put the usual query, "What's in thatparcel?" and Rateau gave the reply: "Two heads of cabbage and a bunch ofcarrots," Ribot merely poked one of his fingers into the bundle, feltthat a cabbage leaf did effectually lie on the top, and thereupon gavethe formal order: "Pass on, citizen, in the name of the Republic!"without any hesitation.
Tournefort, who had watched the brief little incident from behind thewindow of a neighbouring cabaret, could not help but chuckle to himself.Never had he seen game walk more readily into a trap. Rateau, after hehad passed the barrier, appeared undecided which way he would go. Helooked with obvious longing towards the cabaret, behind which thekeenest agent on the staff of the Committee of Public Safety was evennow ensconced. But seemingly a halt within those hospitable doors didnot form part of his programme, and a moment or two later he turnedsharply on his heel and strode rapidly down the Rue de l'Oursine.
Tournefort allowed him a fair start, and then made ready to follow.
Just as he was stepping out of the cabaret he spied Chauvelin andGourdon coming through the gates. They, too, had apparently made a briefhalt inside the guard-room, where--as at most of the gates--a store ofvarious disguises was always kept ready for the use of the numeroussleuth-hounds employed by the Committee of Public Safety. Here the twomen had exchanged their official garments for suits of sombre cloth,which gave them the appearance of a couple of humble bourgeois goingquietly about their business. Tournefort had donned an old blouse,tattered stockings, and shoes down at heel. With his hands buried in hisbreeches' pockets, he, too, turned into the long narrow Rue del'Oursine, which, after a sharp curve, abuts on the Rue Mouffetard.
Rateau was walking rapidly, taking big strides with his long legs.Tournefort, now sauntering in the gutter in the middle of the road, nowdarting in and out of open doorways, kept his quarry well in sight.Chauvelin and Gourdon lagged some little way behind. It was stillraining, but not heavily--a thin drizzle, which penetrated almost to themarrow. Not many passers-by haunted this forlorn quarter of old Paris.To right and left tall houses almost obscured the last, quickly-fadinglight of the grey September day.
At the bottom of the Rue Mouffetard, Rateau came once more to a halt. Anetwork of narrow streets radiated from this centre. He looked all roundhim and also behind. It was difficult to know whether he had a suddensuspicion that he was being followed; certain it is that, after a verybrief moment of hesitation, he plunged suddenly into the narrow RueContrescarpe and disappeared from view.
Tournefort was after him in a trice. When he reached the corner of thestreet he saw Rateau, at the further end of it, take a sudden sharp turnto the right. But not before he had very obviously spied his pursuer,for at that moment his entire demeanour changed. An air of furtiveanxiety was expressed in his whole attitude. Even at that distanceTournefort could see him clutching his bulky parcel close to his chest.
After that the pursuit became closer and hotter. Rateau was in and outof that tight network of streets which cluster around the Place deFourci, intent, apparently, on throwing his pursuers off the scent, forafter a while he was running round and round in a circle. Now up the Ruedes Poules, then to the right and to the right again; back in the Placede Fourci. Then straight across it once more to the Rue Contrescarpe,where he presently disappeared so completely from view that Tournefortthought that the earth must have swallowed him up.
Tournefort was a man capable of great physical exertion. His callingoften made heavy demands upon his powers of endurance; but never beforehad he grappled with so strenuous a task. Puffing and panting, nowrunning at top speed, anon brought to a halt by the doubling-up tacticsof his quarry, his great difficulty was the fact that citizen Chauvelindid not wish the man Rateau to be apprehended; did not wish him to knowthat he was being pursued. And Tournefort had need of all his wits tokeep well under the shadow of any projecting wall or under cover of opendoorways which were conveniently in the way, and all the while not tolose sight of that consumptive giant, who seemed to be playing someintricate game which well-nigh exhausted the strength of citizenTournefort.
What he could not make out was what had happened to Chauvelin and toGourdon. They had been less than three hundred metres behind him whenfirst this wild chase in and out of the Rue Contrescarpe had begun. Now,when their presence was most needed, they seemed to have lost track bothof him--Tournefort--and of the very elusive quarry. To make matters morecomplicated, the shades of evening were drawing in very fast, and thesenarrow streets of the Faubourg were very sparsely lighted.
Just at this moment Tournefort had once more caught sight of Rateau,striding leisurely this time up the street. The worthy agent quicklytook refuge under a doorway and was mopping his streaming forehead, gladof this brief respite in the mad chase, when that awful churchyard coughsuddenly sounded so close to him that he gave a great jump and well-n
ighbetrayed his presence then and there. He had only just time to withdrawfurther still into the angle of the doorway, when Rateau passed by.
Tournefort peeped out of his hiding-place, and for the space of a dozenheart beats or so, remained there quite still, watching that broad backand those long limbs slowly moving through the gathering gloom. The nextinstant he perceived Chauvelin standing at the end of the street.
Rateau saw him too--came face to face with him, in fact, and must haveknown who he was for, without an instant's hesitation and just like ahunted creature at bay, he turned sharply on his heel and then ran backdown the street as hard as he could tear. He passed close to within halfa metre of Tournefort, and as he flew past he hit out with his left fistso vigorously that the worthy agent of the Committee of Public Safety,caught on the nose by the blow, staggered and measured his length uponthe flagged floor below.
The next moment Chauvelin had come by. Tournefort, struggling to hisfeet, called to him, panting:
"Did you see him? Which way did he go?"
"Up the Rue Bordet. After him, citizen!" replied Chauvelin grimly,between his teeth.
Together the two men continued the chase, guided through the intricatemazes of the streets by their fleeing quarry. They had Rateau well insight, and the latter could no longer continue his former tactics withsuccess now that two experienced sleuth-hounds were on his track.
At a given moment he was caught between the two of them. Tournefort wasadvancing cautiously up the Rue Bordet; Chauvelin, equally stealthily,was coming down the same street, and Rateau, once more walking quiteleisurely, was at equal distance between the two.
V
There are no side turnings out of the Rue Bordet, the total length ofwhich is less than fifty metres; so Tournefort, feeling more at hisease, ensconced himself at one end of the street, behind a doorway,whilst Chauvelin did the same at the other. Rateau, standing in thegutter, appeared once more in a state of hesitation. Immediately infront of him the door of a small cabaret stood invitingly open; itssignboard, "Le Bon Copain," promised rest and refreshment. He peered upand down the road, satisfied himself presumably that, for the moment,his pursuers were out of sight, hugged his parcel to his chest, and thensuddenly made a dart for the cabaret and disappeared within its doors.
Nothing could have been better. The quarry, for the moment, was safe,and if the sleuth-hounds could not get refreshment, they could at leastget a rest. Tournefort and Chauvelin crept out of their hiding-places.They met in the middle of the road, at the spot where Rateau had stood awhile ago. It was then growing dark and the street was innocent oflanterns, but the lights inside the cabaret gave a full view of theinterior. The lower half of the wide shop-window was curtained off, butabove the curtain the heads of the customers of "Le Bon Copain," and thegeneral comings and goings, could very clearly be seen.
Tournefort, never at a loss, had already climbed upon a low projectionin the wall of one of the houses opposite. From this point of vantage hecould more easily observe what went on inside the cabaret, and in short,jerky sentences he gave a description of what he saw to his chief.
"Rateau is sitting down ... he has his back to the window ... he has puthis bundle down close beside him on the bench ... he can't speak for aminute, for he is coughing and spluttering like an old walrus.... Awench is bringing him a bottle of wine and a hunk of bread andcheese.... He has started talking ... is talking volubly ... the peopleare laughing ... some are applauding.... And here comes Jean Victor, thelandlord ... you know him, citizen ... a big, hulking fellow, and asgood a patriot as I ever wish to see.... He, too, is laughing andtalking to Rateau, who is doubled up with another fit of coughing--"
Chauvelin uttered an exclamation of impatience:
"Enough of this, citizen Tournefort. Keep your eye on the man and holdyour tongue. I am spent with fatigue."
"No wonder," murmured Tournefort. Then he added insinuatingly: "Why notlet me go in there and apprehend Rateau now? We should have the diamondsand--"
"And lose the ci-devant Comtesse de Sucy and the man Bertin," retortedChauvelin with sudden fierceness. "Bertin, who can be none other thanthat cursed Englishman, the--"
He checked himself, seeing Tournefort was gazing down on him, with aweand bewilderment expressed in his lean, hatchet face.
"You are losing sight of Rateau, citizen," Chauvelin continued calmly."What is he doing now?"
But Tournefort felt that this calmness was only on the surface;something strange had stirred the depths of his chief's keen, masterfulmind. He would have liked to ask a question or two, but knew fromexperience that it was neither wise nor profitable to try and probecitizen Chauvelin's thoughts. So after a moment or two he turned backobediently to his task.
"I can't see Rateau for the moment," he said, "but there is much talkingand merriment in there. Ah! there he is, I think. Yes, I see him!... Heis behind the counter, talking to Jean Victor ... and he has just thrownsome money down upon the counter.... gold too! name of a dog...."
Then suddenly, without any warning, Tournefort jumped down from his postof observation. Chauvelin uttered a brief:
"What the----- are you doing, citizen?"
"Rateau is going," replied Tournefort excitedly. "He drank a mug of wineat a draught and has picked up his bundle, ready to go."
Once more cowering in the dark angle of a doorway, the two men waited,their nerves on edge, for the reappearance of their quarry.
"I wish citizen Gourdon were here," whispered Tournefort. "In thedarkness it is better to be three than two."
"I sent him back to the Station in the Rue Mouffetard," was Chauvelin'scurt retort; "there to give notice that I might require a few armed menpresently. But he should be somewhere about here by now, looking for us.Anyway, I have my whistle, and if--"
He said no more, for at that moment the door of the cabaret was openedfrom within and Rateau stepped out into the street, to the accompanimentof loud laughter and clapping of hands which came from the customers ofthe "Bon Copain."
This time he appeared neither in a hurry nor yet anxious. He did notpause in order to glance to right or left, but started to walk quiteleisurely up the street. The two sleuth-hounds quietly followed him.Through the darkness they could only vaguely see his silhouette, withthe great bundle under his arm. Whatever may have been Rateau's fears ofbeing shadowed awhile ago, he certainly seemed free of them now. Hesauntered along, whistling a tune, down the Montagne Ste. Genevieve tothe Place Maubert, and thence straight towards the river.
Having reached the bank, he turned off to his left, sauntered past theEcole de Medecine and went across the Petit Pont, then through the NewMarket, along the Quai des Orfevres. Here he made a halt, and for awhilelooked over the embankment at the river and then round about him, as ifin search of something. But presently he appeared to make up his mind,and continued his leisurely walk as far as the Pont Neuf, where heturned sharply off to his right, still whistling, Tournefort andChauvelin hard upon his heels.
"That whistling is getting on my nerves," muttered Tournefort irritably;"and I haven't heard the ruffian's churchyard cough since he walked outof the 'Bon Copain.'"
Strangely enough, it was this remark of Tournefort's which gaveChauvelin the first inkling of something strange and, to him, positivelyawesome. Tournefort, who walked close beside him, heard him suddenlymutter a fierce exclamation.
"Name of a dog!"
"What is it, citizen?" queried Tournefort, awed by this sudden outburston the part of a man whose icy calmness had become proverbial throughoutthe Committee.
"Sound the alarm, citizen!" cried Chauvelin in response. "Or, by Satan,he'll escape us again!"
"But--" stammered Tournefort in utter bewilderment, while, with fingersthat trembled somewhat, he fumbled for his whistle.
"We shall want all the help we can," retorted Chauvelin roughly. "For,unless I am much mistaken, there's more noble quarry here than even Icould dare to hope!"
Rateau in the meanwhile had quietly lolled up to the p
arapet on theright-hand side of the bridge, and Tournefort, who was watching him withintense keenness, still marvelled why citizen Chauvelin had suddenlybecome so strangely excited. Rateau was merely lolling against theparapet, like a man who has not a care in the world. He had placed hisbundle on the stone ledge beside him. Here he waited a moment or two,until one of the small craft upon the river loomed out of the darknessimmediately below the bridge. Then he picked up the bundle and threw itstraight into the boat. At that same moment Tournefort had the whistleto his lips. A shrill, sharp sound rang out through the gloom.
"The boat, citizen Tournefort, the boat!" cried Chauvelin. "There areplenty of us here to deal with the man."
Immediately, from the quays, the streets, the bridges, dark figuresemerged out of the darkness and hurried to the spot. Some reached thebridgehead even as Rateau made a dart forward, and two men were upon himbefore he succeeded in running very far. Others had scrambled down theembankment and were shouting to some unseen boatman to "halt, in thename of the people!"
But Rateau gave in without a struggle. He appeared more dazed thanfrightened, and quietly allowed the agents of the Committee to lead himback to the bridge, where Chauvelin had paused, waiting for him.
VI
A minute or two later Tournefort was once more beside his chief. He wascarrying the precious bundle, which, he explained, the boatman had givenup without question.
"The man knew nothing about it," the agent said. "No one, he says, couldhave been more surprised than he was when this bundle was suddenly flungat him over the parapet of the bridge."
Just then the small group, composed of two or three agents of theCommittee, holding their prisoner by the arms, came into view. One manwas walking ahead and was the first to approach Chauvelin. He had asmall screw of paper in his hand, which he gave to his chief.
"Found inside the lining of the prisoner's hat, citizen," he reportedcurtly, and opened the shutter of a small, dark lantern which he wore athis belt.
Chauvelin took the paper from his subordinate. A weird, unexplainableforeknowledge of what was to come caused his hand to shake and beads ofperspiration to moisten his forehead. He looked up and saw the prisonerstanding before him. Crushing the paper in his hand he snatched thelantern from the agent's belt and flashed it in the face of the quarrywho, at the last, had been so easily captured.
Immediately a hoarse cry of disappointment and of rage escaped histhroat.
"Who is this man?" he cried.
One of the agents gave reply:
"It is old Victor, the landlord of the 'Bon Copain.' He is just a fool,who has been playing a practical joke."
Tournefort, too, at sight of the prisoner had uttered a cry of dismayand of astonishment.
"Victor!" he exclaimed. "Name of a dog, citizen, what are you doinghere?"
But Chauvelin had gripped the man by the arm so fiercely that the latterswore with the pain.
"What is the meaning of this?" he queried roughly.
"Only a bet, citizen," retorted Victor reproachfully. "No reason to fallon an honest patriot for a bet, just as if he were a mad dog."
"A joke? A bet?" murmured Chauvelin hoarsely, for his throat now felthot and parched. "What do you mean? Who are you, man? Speak, or I'll--"
"My name is Jean Victor," replied the other. "I am the landlord of the'Bon Copain.' An hour ago a man came into my cabaret. He was a queer,consumptive creature, with a churchyard cough that made you shiver. Someof my customers knew him by sight, told me that the man's name wasRateau, and that he was an habitue of the 'Liberte,' in the RueChristine. Well; he soon fell into conversation, first with me, thenwith some of my customers--talked all sorts of silly nonsense, madeabsurd bets with everybody. Some of these he won, and others he lost;but I must say that when he lost he always paid up most liberally. Thenwe all got excited, and soon bets flew all over the place. I don'trightly know how it happened at the last, but all at once he bet me thatI would not dare to walk out then and there in the dark, as far as thePont Neuf, wearing his blouse and hat and carrying a bundle the same ashis under my arm. I not dare?... I, Jean Victor, who was a fine fighterin my day! I bet him a gold piece that I would and he said that he wouldmake it five if I came back without my bundle, having thrown it over theparapet into any passing boat. Well, citizen!" continued Jean Victorwith a laugh, "I ask you, what would you have done? Five gold piecesmeans a fortune these hard times, and I tell you the man was quitehonest and always paid liberally when he lost. He slipped behind thecounter and took off his blouse and hat, which I put on. Then we made upa bundle with some cabbage heads and a few carrots, and out I came. Ididn't think there could be anything wrong in the whole affair--just thetomfoolery of a man who has got the betting mania and in whose pocketmoney is just burning a hole. And I have won my bet," concluded JeanVictor, still unabashed, "and I want to go back and get my money. If youdon't believe me, come with me to my CABARET. You will find the citizenRateau there, for sure; and I know that I shall find my five goldpieces."
Chauvelin had listened to the man as he would to some weird dream-story,wherein ghouls and devils had played a part. Tournefort, who waswatching him, was awed by the look of fierce rage and grim hopelessnesswhich shone from his chief's pale eyes. The other agents laughed. Theywere highly amused at the tale, but they would not let the prisoner go.
"If Jean Victor's story is true, citizen," their sergeant said, speakingto Chauvelin, "there will be witnesses to it over at 'Le Bon Copain.'Shall we take the prisoner straightway there and await further orders?"
Chauvelin gave a curt acquiescence, nodding his head like someinsentient wooden automaton. The screw of paper was still in his hand;it seemed to sear his palm. Tournefort even now broke into a grim laugh.He had just undone the bundle which Jean Victor had thrown over theparapet of the bridge. It contained two heads of cabbage and a bunch ofcarrots. Then he ordered the agents to march on with their prisoner, andthey, laughing and joking with Jean Victor, gave a quick turn, and soontheir heavy footsteps were echoing down the flagstones of the bridge.
* * * * *
Chauvelin waited, motionless and silent, the dark lantern still held inhis shaking hand, until he was quite sure that he was alone. Then onlydid he unfold the screw of paper.
It contained a few lines scribbled in pencil--just that foolish rhymewhich to his fevered nerves was like a strong irritant, a poison whichgave him an unendurable sensation of humiliation and impotence:
"We seek him here, we seek him there! Chauvelin seeks him everywhere! Is he in heaven? Is he in hell? That demmed, elusive Pimpernel!"
He crushed the paper in his hand and, with a loud groan, of misery, fledover the bridge like one possessed.
VII
Madame la Comtesse de Sucy never went to England. She was one of thoseFrench women who would sooner endure misery in their own beloved countrythan comfort anywhere else. She outlived the horrors of the Revolutionand speaks in her memoirs of the man Bertin. She never knew who he wasnor whence he came. All that she knew was that he came to her like somemysterious agent of God, bringing help, counsel, a semblance ofhappiness, at the moment when she was at the end of all her resourcesand saw grim starvation staring her and her children in the face. Heappointed all sorts of strange places in out-of-the-way Paris where shewas wont to meet him, and one night she confided to him the history ofher diamonds, and hardly dared to trust his promise that he would getthem for her.
Less than twenty-four hours later he brought them to her, at the poorlodgings in the Rue Blanche which she occupied with her children underan assumed name. That same night she begged him to dispose of them. Thisalso he did, bringing her the money the next day.
She never saw him again after that.
But citizen Tournefort never quite got over his disappointment of thatnight. Had he dared, he would have blamed citizen Chauvelin for thediscomfiture. It would have been better to have apprehended the manRateau while there was a chance of doing so with s
uccess.
As it was, the impudent ruffian slipped clean away, and was never heardof again either at the "Bon Copain" or at the "Liberte." The customersat the cabaret certainly corroborated the story of Jean Victor. The manRateau, they said, had been honest to the last. When time went on andJean Victor did not return, he said that he could no longer wait, hadwork to do for the Government over the other side of the water and wasafraid he would get punished if he dallied. But, before leaving, he laidthe five gold pieces on the table. Every one wondered that so humble aworkman had so much money in his pocket, and was withal so lavish withit. But these were not the times when one inquired too closely into thepresence of money in the pocket of a good patriot.
And citizen Rateau was a good patriot, for sure.
And a good fellow to boot!
They all drank his health in Jean Victor's sour wine; then each went hisway.
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