FOUR DAYS
§1
What occurred during the next few seconds Chauvelin himself would have
been least able to say. Whether he stepped of his own accord into the
antechamber of Catherine Théot's apartment, or whether an unseen hand
pushed him in, he could not have told you. Certain it is that, when he
returned to the full realisation of things, he was sitting on one of the
benches, his back against the wall, whilst immediately in front of him,
looking down on him through half-closed, lazy eyes, débonnair, well
groomed, unperturbed, stood his arch-enemy, Sir Percy Blakeney.
The antechamber was gloomy in the extreme. Some one in the interval had
lighted the tallow candles in the centre chandelier, and these shed a
feeble, flickering light on the dank, bare walls, the carpetless floor,
the shuttered windows; whilst a thin spiral of evil-smelling smoke wound
its way to the blackened ceiling above.
Of Theresia Cabarrus there was not a sign. Chauvelin looked about him,
feeling like a goaded animal shut up in a narrow space with its
tormentor. He was making desperate efforts to regain his composure,
above all he made appeal to that courage which was wont never to desert
him. In truth, Chauvelin had never been a physical coward, nor was he
afraid of death or outrage at the hands of the man whom he had so deeply
wronged, and whom he had pursued with a veritable lust of hate. No! he
did not fear death at the hands of the Scarlet Pimpernel. What he feared
was ridicule, humiliation, those schemes--bold, adventurous, seemingly
impossible--which he knew were already seething behind the smooth,
unruffled brow of his arch-enemy, behind those lazy, supercilious eyes,
which had the power to irritate his nerves to the verge of dementia.
This impudent adventurer--no better than a spy, despite his aristocratic
mien and air of lofty scorn--this meddlesome English brigand, was the
one man in the world who had, when he measured his prowess against him,
invariably brought him to ignominy and derision, made him a
laughing-stock before those whom he had been wont to dominate; and at
this moment, when once again he was being forced to look into those
strangely provoking eyes, he appraised their glance as he would the
sword of a proved adversary, and felt as he did so just that same
unaccountable dread of them which had so often paralysed his limbs and
atrophied his brain whenever mischance flung him into the presence of
his enemy.
He could not understand why Theresia Cabarrus had deserted him. Even a
woman, if she happened to be a friend, would by her presence have
afforded him moral support.
"You are looking for Mme. de Fontenay, I believe, dear M. Chambertin,"
Sir Percy said lightly, as if divining his thoughts. "The ladies--ah,
the ladies! They add charm, piquancy, eh? to the driest conversations.
Alas!" he went on with mock affectation, "that Mme. de Fontenay should
have fled at first sound of my voice! Now she hath sought refuge in the
old witch's lair, there to consult the spirits as to how best she can
get out again, seeing that the door is now locked. . . . Demmed awkward,
a locked door, when a pretty woman wants to be on the other side. What
think you, M. Chambertin?"
"I only think, Sir Percy," Chauvelin contrived to retort, calling all
his wits and all his courage to aid him in his humiliating position, "I
only think of another pretty woman, who is in the room just above our
heads, and who would also be mightily glad to find herself the other
side of a locked door."
"Your thoughts," Sir Percy retorted with a light laugh, "are always so
ingenuous, my dear M. Chambertin. Strangely enough, mine just at this
moment run on the possibility--not a very unlikely one, you will
admit--of shaking the breath out of your ugly little body, as I would
that of a rat."
"Shake, my dear Sir Percy, shake!" Chauvelin riposted with
well-simulated calm. "I grant you that I am a puny rat and you the most
magnificent of lions; but even if I lie mangled and breathless on this
stone floor at your feet, Lady Blakeney will still be a prisoner in our
hands."
"And you will still be wearing the worst-cut pair of breeches it has
ever been my bad fortune to behold," Sir Percy retorted, quite
unruffled. "Lud love you, man! Have you guillotined all the good tailors
in Paris?"
"You choose to be flippant, Sir Percy," Chauvelin rejoined dryly. "But,
though you have chosen for the past few years to play the rôle of a
brainless nincompoop, I have cause to know that behind your affectations
there lurks an amount of sound common sense."
"Lud, how you flatter me, my dear sir!" quoth Sir Percy airily. "I vow
you had not so high an opinion of me the last time I had the honour of
conversing with you. It was at Nantes; do you remember?"
"There, as elsewhere, you succeeded in circumventing me. Sir Percy."
"No, no!" he protested. "Not in circumventing you. Only in making you
look a demmed fool!"
"Call it that, if you like, sir," Chauvelin admitted with an indifferent
shrug of the shoulders. "Luck has favoured you many a time. As I had the
honour to tell you, you have had the laugh of us in the past, and no
doubt you are under the impression that you will have it again this
time."
"I am such a believer in impressions, my dear sir. The impression now
that I have of your charming personality is indelibly graven upon my
memory."
"Sir Percy Blakeney counts a good memory as one of his many
accomplishments. Another is his adventurous spirit, and the gallantry
which must inevitably bring him into the net which we have been at pains
to spread for him. Lady Blakeney----"
"Name her not, man!" Sir Percy broke in with affected deliberation; "or
I verily believe that within sixty seconds you would be a dead man!"
"I am not worthy to speak her name, c'est entendu," Chauvelin retorted
with mock humility. "Nevertheless, Sir Percy, it is around the person of
that gracious lady that the Fates will spin their web during the next
few days. You may kill me. Of course, I am at this moment entirely at
your mercy. But before you embark on such a perilous undertaking, will
you allow me to place the position a little more clearly before you?"
"Lud, man!" quoth Sir Percy with a quaint laugh. "That's what I'm here
for! Think you that I have sought your agreeable company for the mere
pleasure of gazing at your amiable countenance?"
"I only desired to explain to you, Sir Percy, the dangers to which you
expose Lady Blakeney, if you laid violent hands; upon ma 'Tis you,
remember, who sought this interview--not I."
"You are right, my dear sir, always right; and I'll not interrupt again.
I pray you to proceed."
"Allow me then to make my point clear. There are at this moment a score
of men of the National Guard in the room above your head. Every one of
them goes to the guillotine if they allow their prisoner to escape;
every one of them receives a reward of ten thousand livres the day they
capture the Scarlet Pimpernel. A good spur for vigilance, what? But that
is not all," Chauvelin went on quite steadily, seeing that Sir Percy had
apparently become thoughtful and absorbed. "The men are under the
command of Captain Boyer, and he understands that every day at a certain
hour--seven in the evening, to be precise--I will be with him and
interrogate him as to the welfare of the prisoner. If--mark me, Sir
Percy!--if on any one day I do not appear before him at that hour, his
orders are to shoot the prisoner on sight. . . ."
The word was scarce out of his mouth; it broke in a hoarse spasm. Sir
Percy had him by the throat, shook him indeed as he would a rat.
"You cur!" he said in an ominous whisper, his face quite close now to
that of his enemy, his jaw set, his eyes no longer good-humoured and
mildly scornful, but burning with the fire of a mighty, unbridled wrath.
"You damned--insolent--miserable cur! As there is a Heaven above us----"
Then suddenly his grip relaxed, the whole face changed as if an unseen
hand had swept away the fierce lines of anger and of hate. The eyes
softened beneath their heavy lids, the set lips broke into a mocking
smile. He let go his hold of the Terrorist's throat; and the unfortunate
man, panting and breathless, fell heavily against the wall. He tried to
steady himself as best he could, but his knees were shaking, and faint
and helpless, he finally collapsed upon the nearest bench, the while Sir
Percy straightened out his tall figure, with unruffled composure rubbed
his slender hands one against the other, as if to free them from dust,
and said, with gentle, good-humoured sarcasm:
"Do put your cravat straight, man! You look a disgusting object!"
He dragged the corner of a bench forward, sat astride upon it, and
waited with perfect sang-froid, spy-glass in hand, while Chauvelin
mechanically readjusted the set of his clothes.
"That's better," he said approvingly. "Just the bow at the back of your
neck . . . a little more to the right . . . now your cuffs. . . . Ah,
you look quite tidy again! . . . a perfect picture, I vow, my dear M.
Chambertin, of elegance and of a well-regulated mind!"
"Sir Percy----!" Chauvelin broke in with a vicious snarl.
"I entreat you to accept my apologies," the other rejoined with utmost
courtesy. "I was on the verge of losing my temper, which we in England
would call demmed bad form. I'll not transgress again. I pray you,
proceed with what you were saying. So interesting--demmed interesting!
You were talking about murdering a woman in cold blood, I think----"
"In hot blood, Sir Percy," Chauvelin rejoined more firmly. "Blood fired
by thoughts of a just revenge."
"Pardon! My mistake! As you were saying----"
"'Tis you who attack us. You--the meddlesome Scarlet Pimpernel, with
your accursed gang! . . . We defend ourselves as best we can, using what
weapons lie closest to our hand----"
"Such as murder, outrage, abduction . . . and wearing breeches the cut
of which would provoke a saint to indignation!"
"Murder, abduction, outrage, as you will, Sir Percy," Chauvelin
retorted, as cool now as his opponent. "Had you ceased to interfere in
the affairs of France when first you escaped punishment for your
machinations, you would not now be in the sorry plight in which your own
intrigues have at last landed you. Had you left us alone, we should by
now have forgotten you."
"Which would have been such a pity, my dear M. Chambertin," Blakeney
rejoined gravely. "I should not like you to forget me. Believe me, I
have enjoyed life so much these past two years,'I would not give up
those pleasures even for that of seeing you and your friends have a bath
or wear tidy buckles on your shoes."
"You will have cause to indulge in those pleasures within the next few
days, Sir Percy," Chauvelin rejoined dryly.
"What?" Sir Percy exclaimed. "The Committee of Public Safety going to
have a bath? Or the Revolutionary Tribunal? Which?"
But Chauvelin was determined not to lose his temper again. Indeed, he
abhorred this man so deeply that he felt no anger against him, no
resentment; only a cold, calculating hate.
"The pleasure of pitting your wits against the inevitable," he riposted
dryly.
"Ah?" quoth Sir Percy airily. "The inevitable has always been such a
good friend to me."
"Not this time, I fear, Sir Percy."
"Ah? You really mean this time to----?" and he made a significant
gesture across his own neck.
"In as few days as possible."
Whereupon Sir Percy rose, and said solemnly:
"You are right there, my friend, quite right. Delays are always
dangerous. If you mean to have my head, why--have it quickly. As for me,
delays always bore me to tears."
He yawned and stretched his long limbs.
"I am getting so demmed fatigued," he said. "Do you not think this
conversation has lasted quite long enough?"
"It was none of my seeking, Sir Percy."
"Mine, I grant you; mine, absolutely! But, hang it, man! I had to tell
you that your breeches were badly cut."
"And I, that we are at your service, to end the business as soon as may
be."
"To----?" And once more Sir Percy passed his firm hand across his
throat. Then he gave a shudder.
"B-r-r-r!" he exclaimed. "I had no idea you were in such a demmed
hurry."
"We await your pleasure, Sir Percy. Lady Blakeney must not be kept in
suspense too long. Shall we say that in three days . . .?"
"Make it four, my dear M. Chambertin, and I am eternally your debtor."
"In four days then, Sir Percy," Chauvelin rejoined with pronounced
sarcasm. "You see how ready I am to meet you in a spirit of
conciliation! Four days, you say? Very well then; for four days more we
keep our prisoner in those rooms upstairs. . . . After that----"
He paused, awed mayhap, in spite of himself, by the diabolical thought
which had suddenly come into his mind--a sudden inspiration which in
truth must have emanated from some unclean spirit with which he held
converse. He looked the Scarlet Pimpernel--his enemy--squarely in the
face. Conscious of his power, he was no longer afraid. What he longed
for most at this moment was to see the least suspicion of a shadow dim
the mocking light that danced in those lazy, supercilious eyes, or the
merest tremor pass over the slender hand framed in priceless Mechlin
lace.
For a while complete silence reigned in the bare, dank room--a silence
broken only by the stertorous, rapid breathing of the one man who
appeared moved. That man was not Sir Percy Blakeney. He indeed had
remained quite still, spy-glass in hand, the good-humoured smile still
dancing round his lips. Somewhere in the far distance a church clock
struck the hour. Then only did Chauvelin put his full fiendish project
into words.
"For four days," he reiterated with slow deliberation, "We keep our
prisoner in the room upstairs. . . . After that, Captain Boyer has
orders to shoot her."
Again there was silence--only for a second perhaps; whilst down by the
Stygian creek, where Time never was, the elfish ghouls and impish demons
set up a howl of delight at the hellish knavery of man.
Just one second, whilst Chauvelin waited for his enemy's answer to this
monstrous pronouncement, and the very walls of the drabby apartment
appeared to listen, expectant. Overhead, could be dimly heard the
measured tramp of heavy feet upon the uncarpeted floor. And suddenly
through the bare apartment there rang the sound of a quaint,
light-hearted laugh.
"You really are the worst-dressed man I have ever come across, my good
M. Chambertin," Sir Percy said with rare good-humour. "You must allow me
to give you the address of a good little tailor I came across in the
Latin quarter the other day. No decent man would be seen walking up the
guillotine in such a waistcoat as you are wearing. As for your
boots----" He yawned again. "You really must excuse me! I came home late
from the theatre last night, and have not had my usual hours of sleep.
So, by your leave----"
"By all means, Sir Percy!" Chauvelin replied complacently. "At this
moment you are a free man, because I happen to be alone and unarmed, and
because this house is solidly built and my voice would not carry to the
floor above. Also because you are so nimble that no doubt you could give
me the slip long before Captain Boyer and his men came to my rescue.
Yes, Sir Percy; for the moment you are a free man! Free to walk out of
this house unharmed. But even now, you are not as free as you would wish
to be, eh? You are free to despise me, to overwhelm me with lofty scorn,
to sharpen your wits at my expense; but you are not free to indulge your
desire to squeeze the life out of me, to shake me as you would a rat And
shall I tell you why? Because you know now that if at a certain hour of
the day I do not pay my daily visit to Captain Boyer upstairs, he will
shoot his prisoner without the least compunction."
Whereupon Blakeney threw up his head and laughed heartily.
"You are absolutely priceless, my dear M. Chambertin!" he said gaily.
"But you really must put your cravat straight. It has once again become
disarranged . . . in the heat of your oratory, no doubt . . . Allow me
to offer you a pin."
And with inimitable affectation, he took a pin out of his own cravat and
presented it to Chauvelin, who, unable to control his wrath, jumped to
his feet.
"Sir Percy----!" he snarled.
But Blakeney placed a gentle, Arm hand upon his shoulder, forcing him to
sit down again.
"Easy, easy, my friend," he said. "Do not, I pray you, lose that
composure for which you are so justly famous. There! Allow me to arrange
your cravat for you. A gentle tug here," he added, suiting the action to
the word, "a delicate flick there, and you are the most perfectly
cravatted man in France!"
"Your insults leave me unmoved, Sir Percy," Chauvelin broke in savagely,
and tried to free himself from the touch of those slender, strong hands
that wandered so uncomfortably in the vicinity of his throat.
"No doubt," Blakeney riposted lightly, "that they are as futile as your
threats. One does not insult a cur, any more than one threatens Sir
Percy Blakeney--what?"
"You are right there, Sir Percy. The time for threats has gone by. And
since you appear so vastly entertained----"
"I _am_ vastly entertained, my dear M. Chambertin! How can I help it,
when I see before me a miserable shred of humanity who does not even
know how to keep his tie or his hair smooth, calmly--or almost
calmly--talking of----Let me see, what were you talking of, my amiable
friend?"
"Of the hostage, Sir Percy, which we hold until the happy day when the
gallant Scarlet Pimpernel is a prisoner in our hands."
"'M, yes! He was that once before, was he not, my good sir? Then, too,
you laid down mighty schemes for his capture."
"And we succeeded."
"By your usual amiable methods--lies, deceit, forgery. The latter has
been useful to you this time too, eh?"
"What do you mean, Sir Percy?"
"You had need of the assistance of a fair lady for your schemes. She
appeared disinclined to help you. So when her inconvenient lover,
Bertrand Moncrif, was happily dragged away from her path, you forged a
letter, which the lady rightly looked upon as an insult. Because of that
letter, she nourished a comfortable amount of spite against me, and lent
you her aid in the fiendish outrage for which you are about to receive
punishment." He had raised his voice slightly while he spoke, and
Chauvelin cast an apprehensive glance in the direction of the door
behind which he guessed that Theresia Cabarrus must be straining her
ears to listen.
"A pretty story, Sir Percy," he said with affected coolness. "And one
that does infinite credit to your imagination. It is mere surmise on
your part."
"What, my friend? What is surmise? That you gave a letter to Madame de
Fontenay which you had concocted, and which I had never written? Why,
man," he added with a laugh, "I saw you do it!"
"You? Impossible!"
"More impossible things than that will happen within the next few days,
my good sir. I was outside the window of Madame de Fontenay's apartment
during the whole of your interview with her. And the shutters were not
as closely fastened as you would have wished. But why argue about it, my
dear M. Chambertin, when you know quite well that I have given you a
perfectly accurate exposé of the means which you employed to make a
pretty and spoilt woman help you in your nefarious work?"
"Why argue, indeed?" Chauvelin retorted dryly. "The past is past. I'll
answer to my country which you outrage by your machinations, for the
methods which I employ to circumvent them. Your concern and mine, my
gallant friend, is solely with the future--with the next four days, in
fact. . . . After which, either the Scarlet Pimpernel is in our hands,
or Lady Blakeney will be put against the wall upstairs and summarily
shot."
Then only did something of his habitual lazy nonchalance go out of
Blakeney's attitude. Just for the space of a few seconds he drew himself
up to his full magnificent height, and from the summit of his splendid
audacity and the consciousness of his own power he looked down at the
mean cringing figure of the enemy who had hurled this threat of death
against the woman he worshipped. Chauvelin vainly tried to keep up some
semblance of dignity; he tried to meet the glance which no longer
mocked, and to close his ears to the voice which, sonorous and
commanding, now threatened in its turn.
"And you really believe," Sir Percy Blakeney said slowly and
deliberately, "that you have the power to carry through your infamous
schemes? That I--yes, I!--would allow you! to come within measurable
distance of their execution? Bah! my dear friend. You have learned
nothing by past experience--not even this: that when you dared to lay
your filthy hands upon Lady Blakeney, you and the whole pack of
assassins who have terrorized this beautiful country far too long,
struck the knell of your ultimate doom. You have dared to measure your
strength against mine by perpetrating an outrage so monstrous in my
sight that, to punish you, I--even I!--will sweep you off the face of
the earth and send you to join the pack of unclean ghouls who have aided
you in your crimes. After which--thank the lord!--the earth, being
purged of your presence, will begin to smell sweetly again."
Chauvelin made a vain effort to laugh, to shrug his shoulders, to put on
those airs of insolence which came so naturally to his opponent. No
doubt the strain of this long interview with his enemy had told upon his
nerves. Certain it is that at this moment, though he was conscious
enough to rail inwardly at his own cowardice, he was utterly unable to
move or to retort. His limbs felt heavy as lead, an icy shudder was
coursing down his spine. It seemed in truth as if some uncanny ghoul had
entered the dreary, dank apartment and with gaunt, invisible hand was
tolling a silent passing bell--the death-knell of all his ambitions and
of all his hopes. He closed his eyes, for he felt giddy and sick. When
he opened his eyes again he was alone.