THE LAST ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK BAND
The last hours of the Black Band in Aramon were marked by many exploits
still remembered in the town. Citizens, even men marked for their former
devotion to the cause of the workmen, were stopped in the streets and
relieved of all they had about them, to their very watches and chains.
Shopkeepers were given the alternative of executing an immediate forced
loan or having their premises burnt over their heads. Some, running too
complacently to the hiding-places of their wealth, found themselves
despoiled of all. The two banks were threatened and squeezed
alternately. A poll-tax was levied on the population and exacted at the
point of the bayonet.
Underground reaction growled and raged in Aramon, and if the Committee
of Public Safety had remained a few days more, it is likely that they
would have found themselves hunted and shot like mad dogs.
But they had no such intentions. They acted precisely as does a
fraudulent bankrupt who lays his hand on every shilling in preparation
for an immediate flight. They did not intend ever to set eyes on Aramon
again, and they cared nothing for the dissatisfaction caused by their
last measures of rapacity.
But the favour accorded to Matteo le Gaucher by the chief of the band at
the Mairie had not escaped the notice of his compatriots. The little
hunchback one day appeared sunning himself on the bridge wall, with his
wrist displaying a gold bangle, which everyone recognised as that which
had been worn by Chanot. Instantly the quick Italian suspicions were
aroused--and in all Italy none are so silent and shrewd as the men of
Tuscany. But though they tried this way and that for a good clue, they
were beaten. All they could learn was that Le Gaucher was in the pay of
the Bad Men, and that boded no good to their master. So, because they
were fond of the big, slow-moving, kindly man, they went back and told
him. Arcadius served out a litre of wine apiece to mark his sense of
their good-will, but as for any danger from Matteo, he merely shrugged
his shoulders.
But Arcadius, as he moved in his garden with his dainty mattock in his
hand, and in his pocket his garden-scissors, which were strong enough to
cut through a branch the thickness of his own thumb, had a vast deal of
time for thinking. And generally Arcadius thought to some purpose.
He was persuaded that neither Chanot nor any other would trouble their
heads about him. They would leave him with his flower seeds, his tree
plants, and his brussels-sprouts in peace between the great gate of the
cemetery and the rush of the river waters to the sea.
But for what, then, would so selfish and insolent a dog as Chanot not
only be willing to be openly on good terms with an impossible reptile
like Matteo, but actually present him with the gold bangle which he was
supposed to wear in memory of an ancient love affair?
Arcadius delved and thought. He pruned and snipped and thought, and
finally he finished by coming to a conclusion. A wise man was Arcadius,
and like all who cultivate the ground his thoughts were longer and wiser
than his speech--though that was wise, too, when the slow sluices were
raised and Arcadius, under the influence of friendship or wine, let his
talk run free.
The night of the 24th May, when at Paris the whole city seemed to be
burning, was one of great quiet in Aramon. The Band at the Mairie seemed
to have tired of their house searchings and the town had rest behind the
bolted doors and barred windows which garnished every house, yet in
spite of which no man felt safe.
With many doubts the burgesses drew on their night-caps, and before
climbing into bed, looked out back and front to see if the horizon were
lit by the torches of burning houses in the suburbs, and to listen if
the gun-butts were not beating some neighbour's door in, trembling all
the while lest their time should come next.
But for that night the grocer and the wineseller, the grain merchant and
the locksmith might sleep in peace beside their coiffed and bonneted
spouses. The Black Band had left the Mairie empty and resonant. A part
had passed the river in boats. Others had stolen one by one across the
bridge, but instead of continuing down the main street of Aramon le
Vieux, had twisted sharply round to the left, passed under the railway
embankment, threaded a beautiful but difficult pathway overlooking the
river, and so at length, a mile below the town, found the
boating-parties waiting for them.
The four of the inner circle, Chanot, Chardon, Leduc, and Violet, with
the necessary Matteo, kept together and avoided any conspicuous part in
the arrangements.
But Barres did the talking for everybody. He was most anxious to
distinguish himself. He had been taunted with his careful inaction, and
now against schoolboys and their professors, mostly men of the peaceful
robe, he had suddenly grown very brave indeed.
Chanot had his reasons for thinking otherwise. He was playing a game so
quaintly double and triple to-night that he smiled as he thought it
over, and admired the intricate subtlety of his own brain as compared
with the simple criminal instincts of his coadjutors.
All the way he kept a hand on the collar of Matteo. The hunchback of
Arqua did not fill him with confidence. Indeed, he trusted only Chardon,
whose innocent admiration he had long proven sincere. Leduc and Violet
were better than the rest, but taken because strictly necessary for the
business in hand. After that he, Chanot, would attend to their case.
They could not expect to share equally with him. He had discovered
Matteo. He had wormed his secret out of him. His was the idea of the
masking attack on the Lycee St. Andre, which would make a noise and
occupy the attention of the National Guard of Aramon le Vieux. He had
thought of the boat at Les Saintes, and had arranged for it to be in
time to meet them there. What had Leduc and Violet to do with these
things? Nothing whatever, they were simply privates called from the
ranks, and he would see to it that they did not interfere with the
perquisites of the Commander-in-Chief.
He had even permitted himself to drop a hint of the proposed attack upon
Mont St. Andre in quarters which would ensure a prompt transmission of
the news to Dennis Deventer.
Chanot only waited the proper moment to disassociate himself from the
brigands whom he despised for their ignorance and almost (but not quite)
pitied for their simplicity.
The scaling party would have lost itself among the trees if it had not
been for Chanot. He had been born in the neighbourhood and, if he had
chosen, could have led them blindfold. But for his own purposes he
allowed them to stumble on, bruising and buffeting themselves against
the rocks and trees, losing nerve and temper. Then, just when they were
worn out, he found the well-trodden path by the boat-hirer's house,
guided them along it, and with encouraging words adjured them to greater
silence and caution. In fact, he behaved in every way like the model
leader of an expedition. If any had doubted him before, he had repented
in dust and ashes when Anton the wise, Anton Chanot, turned over the
leadership to Barres, who, as his manner was, grasped it eagerly,
without thanks, and simply as a right too long withheld.
The attack had been timed for midnight, when the ditches of the old
fortress were to be crossed, the scaling-ladders which they had carried
applied to the walls, and they would find themselves inside.
The treasure was in the chapel, at least the bulk of it. The rest was in
the safes of the _econome_, who had his bureaux opposite. That wing,
therefore, of the college must be held against all comers, while with
chisel and file, jemmy and dynamite the "expropriators" were busy with
their task. So little did these men trust each other that one man from
each company was nominated to see the enumeration of the plate and to
watch the opening of the safes.
One man they trusted, Chanot, and their respect was heightened by his
declaration that he desired no part of the spoil for himself. They had
followed him faithfully, and if he could reward those who had stood by
him when the majority drew back to save their skins, he was content.
A base of simplicity and even sentimentality underlies the brutality of
many criminals. One has only to note the songs which are applauded at a
penitentiary or reformatory concert. These men believed Chanot, and
preferred his self-abnegation to the rhodomontades of Barres, who
repeatedly declared that he, and he alone, would lead them to victory.
The black half-hour of waiting was horribly trying to the nerves. They
were quite on the top of things, and though the night was so dark, they
could see the walls of St. Andre cutting the sky and shutting out the
stars. The woods through which they had come were now retired farther
back--or at least so it seemed. The plateau stretched out behind,
mysteriously grey, gradually descending towards Nimes and St. Gilles,
but almost imperceptibly. Indeed, to the eyes of those town birds of
prey, it seemed a plain. That was their path of safety. By it they would
make good their retreat, laden with a golden spoil.
The signal was to be the striking of the Mairie clock, the golden,
illuminated dial of which, almost beneath their feet, testified in the
tranquillity which had not ceased to reign in Aramon le Vieux. The old
conservative and Protestant town had known how to keep its gates closed,
its inhabitants safe (if not very prosperous), and always behind the
dial of its Mairie clock was to be seen the equal shining of the
mellowest and gentlest light in the world.
During ten minutes the hand of Chanot pushed Matteo steadily before him
into the dusky covert of the wood. At the same moment three men at
different parts of the attacking line glided away unnoticed. The hands
of the clock moved on. Though the figuring of the dial was too distant
to be made out, the black lines of the minutes and hour hands could be
seen approaching one another.
It was time for Chanot to be elsewhere. He had other work and Matteo
must guide him. They slipped in Indian file through the wood, Chanot
still with his hand upon the Left Handed man's shoulder. For an instant
Matteo seemed to hesitate. He had ascended from the other side and
Gobelet was hard to find, but at last he struck the main road between
the town and the _lycee_ above. It appeared to be perfectly empty, but
Chanot whispered angrily in his guide's ear. They must get back into
shelter. Here they were exposed to any passers-by--nay, to the first
faint-hearted deserter from the attack above.
A thrill passed through Matteo's heart. He gave thanks to his patron
saint and promised candles for his altar when he should be rich. Before
him was the bombed forehead of the gatehouse of Gobelet. The gate itself
was padlocked securely, and the top adorned with spikes, but Chanot made
no attempt there. He only skirted the wall till he found a place which
pleased him. Then he ordered Leduc and Violet to make a ladder up which
the light Chardon climbed. Then came Matteo and Chanot himself. Lastly
the ladder was dissolved into its elements and all found themselves on
the inner side of the garden wall of Gobelet.
Matteo now advanced with more certainty. Yes, the house lay there
through this gate, along this path. There was the well-shelter he had
seen, and above them rose the dark side of the house, where was the
kitchen entrance and all the apartments of service.
"BONG--BONG--BONG!" Solemnly, and with an air of detachment from merely
worldly affairs, the big hammer gave out the twelve strokes of midnight.
Just so had it once called holy nuns to prayer in the Convent of the
Visitation, and it tolled just the same to let loose a pack of the worst
ruffians on earth upon the chapel of St. Andre.
Anton Chanot listened carefully. He knew that now the _fosses_ would be
crossed and the scaling-ladders laid against the walls. But sudden and
startling there came down the hill a wild yell, mingled of pain and
anger. Rifles ripped and crashed. A light filtered through the
tree-tops, which faintly illuminated the covered well-stoop under which
the five were hiding.
"What fools!" said Chanot, cursing his late companions. "They have begun
firing too soon! And the light? Can they have already set fire to the
chapel?"
He did not know that fate and a message from Dennis Deventer had served
him well--that is, so far as his immediate purpose was concerned. The
missive which Hugh Deventer received at Gobelet contained these words in
his father's hand: "St. Andre to be attacked to-night. Go up and see
what you can do. I send you some arms--also Brown with an electric-light
plant which you may find useful."
Hugh was compelled to go, and though he hated to leave Gobelet and
Alida, he dared not disobey his father. Besides, hidden among its woods
and showing no facade to tempt plunderers, he did not believe that my
father's house was in any great danger.
In this he was right so far as the Band of the Mairie was concerned, but
he had not taken into account the vendetta of Matteo, the ambitions of
Chanot, and the plot against the person of Alida.
The noise on the hill-top seemed rather to increase than to diminish,
volley responded to volley, and to the yells of the brigands another
cry, shriller and more piercing, replied.
Chanot had altered his plans and taken his cue while he stood listening.
He had some remarkable qualities and this readiness was one of them. He
had intended to break his way into Gobelet before the noise of the
assault brought up the swarming town or the National Guard of Aramon le
Vieux. But this (he saw now) would not do. Already on the Place Beauvais
they were beating to arms. Well, he must make the more haste. So without
an alteration of his determined bearing he walked round the house and
knocked loudly at the main door.
My father, who as usual was not yet in bed, threw open a first-floor
window (for those on the ground floor had been closed and strengthened
by the hand of Hugh Deventer). "What can I do for you?" my father
inquired courteously.
"Let us in for God's sake, they are killing everyone up at the _lycee_.
We have escaped--my friends and I, _pions_, and the others, three honest
fellows from the gardens, whom we picked up on our way."
"Wait a moment, gentlemen," my father called out, "and if you will
pardon the delay, you shall have all the shelter and succour my house
can give you!"
"What a lamb!" murmured Chanot, "he presents us with his fleece. Are all
foreigners fools?"
"All English are," snarled Matteo. "In my country we give them to our
children to cheat--to prove their teeth upon."
The door opened, and there before them, a lamp in his hand, stood the
gentle scholar, Gordon Cawdor, with a smile of welcome on his face. The
less instructed four would have leaped upon him immediately, but Chanot
held them back. I can see my father standing there before his potential
butchers, inviting them to enter with a single large movement of the
hand, infinitely noble and touching to me to think of to-day. He
precedes them with an apology. They tramp after him, treading on one
another's heels in haste to see the sacks of coin reported by Matteo.
That worthy has drawn his knife from its sheath. The others have made
ready their revolvers. Only Chanot has the education and the strength of
will to keep a hold upon himself--which in turn gives him a hold upon
his comrades.
A stern gesture bade them put up their arms. They must play out their
parts and follow his lead. In the study they found lights, a fire, and
tier upon tier of books climbing to the ceiling--a marvellous place,
undreamed of by any of them. But where were the bags of coin, the
wallets stuffed with bank-notes with which they were to flee across the
wilderness of the Camargue?
"Seat yourselves, gentlemen, a welcome to you," said the host. "You are
well out of the trouble and safe with me."
And he set before them meat and drink, such as he could find in the
cupboards of Saunders McKie.
"I do not disturb my servants for what I can do myself," he added
smilingly, "but you are welcome and--here is Madame Keller and her
daughter Alida--which means that our dear invalid goes better. Madame,
Mademoiselle, let me introduce to you some new friends who have taken
refuge with us. The _lycee_ has been beset by brigands and these
gentlemen have come to claim, what Gobelet has never refused, the right
of asylum."
At sight of Alida in her white, gauzy robes, standing in the doorway, a
thrill ran through the blood of Chanot. Never had he looked on such
beauty. His heart beat thick, and instinctively he glanced sideways at
his followers. Matteo sat bent forward, almost crouched as for a spring,
his eyes small and glowing red like those of a wild boar before he
charges. Chardon was open-mouthed, but watchful of his leader. Leduc and
Violet showed their teeth and fingered the hilts of their revolvers.
A kind of revulsion of feeling passed over Chanot, perhaps as much akin
to what we in Scotland would call conversion as can be imagined of a
trained and thorough-paced French scoundrel.
Under his breath he bade Leduc and his companion to keep their seats,
and kept his own hand hard on the shoulder of Matteo.
"We thank you, ladies, for your presence," he said, with his pleasantest
manner. "We had not expected so great an honour."
But Alida, glad of new faces and eager for news of Hugh Deventer, whose
desertion had left her companionless, asked many questions, to some of
which it took all Chanot's readiness to answer. She was, however, called
off by Linn, who presently issued from the kitchen with a dish of eggs
hastily cooked.
"There is bread on the sideboard, cut it for these gentlemen!" said
Linn. And Alida hastened to serve each in turn, with a smile that was an
accomplishment in flattery.
Then followed a strange hour. The sound of shouting and continuous
firing could be heard from above. On the road outside the hoofs of
horses clattered, and more than once Chanot thought that he heard the
jingle of harness.
But with my father at the head of the table talking gently and equably,
and Alida at the foot with her chin on her clasped hands, the men sat
and listened. Chardon answered when he was spoken to, but he kept
looking at his chief for guidance. Leduc and Violet drank steadily,
though Chanot tried to kick them under the table. Matteo alone could not
be still. His breath whistled between his teeth. He leaned over to
Chanot and whispered, "Kill, kill--if you do not, I shall!"
But even for him the influence of these peaceful surroundings had its
power. The richly carpeted floor, the table with many flowers, the rows
on rows of beautifully bound books, were so much powerful necromancy to
the Man from Arqua. But it could not last. The wolf must spring, and
Chanot watched him with an anxious eye.
"_Kill--kill!_"
The words came like the hiss of a poison snake. They had come to the end
of the meal now and were trifling with their wineglasses--that is,
Chanot and Chardon did so. Leduc and Violet looked on stupidly, but not
yet ready for any movement against their chief. Only Matteo had become
intractable. He at least would not be done out of his prize by a handful
of fine words. So Chanot should know. Matteo was in the house of the
treasure, and he meant to have his fingers among the clinking pieces.
"_Kill, man, kill, or I shall kill!_"
Chanot looked about apprehensively. Surely this time they must have
heard. But my father continued his talk upon the early art of Provence
and from her end of the table Alida placidly listened, all her thoughts
intent on the speaker.
Matteo rose unsteadily and stumbled towards her. She sat back in her
chair with a gesture of fear. For the big hairy hands of the Arquan were
groping to seize her.
"Oh, take him away," she cried, turning to Chanot as the leader, perhaps
also because of the human qualities she had seen in his eyes--not
exactly good, but with the capacity for good.
"I shall take the _donzella_!" cried Matteo, and caught her about the
neck. Linn was beside her in a moment, but even her powerful hands could
not disengage that hairy clutch. The fierce visage frothing at the lips
was close to Alida's face. She moved her head this way and that.
"Save me--save me!" she cried out in an agony of fear.
"_Kill--kill--lay out the others--take your gold--the gold I found for
you--the girl for me!_"
All were now on their feet. Chardon was watching his chief. Chanot's
face was pale as wood ash, but there was on it a kind of joy--the
strength of a new resolve.
"To the door--Leduc, and you, Violet," he ordered, "wait for me outside.
I have something which will satisfy you!"
The men moved uncertainly away. Things were turning out strangely. Was
Chanot turning traitor? If so--they would see. But the power of the
stronger will was upon them, and they were soon in the garden. They came
out on a dark, shadowy world, in which all things seemed of the same
colour, but scented of flowers and the full bloom of the _tilleul_, the
bee-haunted lime tree of the south.
Above them they heard the irregular rattle of musketry, and the din of
combat. A fierce light beat upon the tree-tops at intervals. No fire
could pierce like that. The gleam was far too steady. It looked like the
beam of an electric arc-lamp, but how could the Jesuit professors of St.
Andre have come into possession of such a thing?
Within the house of Gobelet they heard the voice of Matteo uplifted.
"_Kill--kill--you have turned soft, I shall kill you, Chanot. Matteo of
Arqua is not to be cheated!_"
Leduc and Violet looked back through the door out of which they had
come. The hall was dusk, but a light was burning somewhere out of sight.
They could see a couple emerge out of the passage which led to the
study--Chanot pushed the Arquan in front of him. The face of the chief
was calm, but of a ghastly pallor--his lips almost disappearing, so
firmly were they set. His blue eyes had the dull glitter of lapis
lazuli, or rather of malachite--green rather than blue. But they were
not good to see. Death looked out of them, and chilled the marrow of
Leduc and Violet. Not for the world would they have crossed the will of
Chanot at that moment.
They could see Chardon shutting the door of the study from within, and
guessed that he was left there on guard, but they could not hear
Chanot's courteous last words of excuse for Matteo, "I fear this
gentleman is ill. He is from Italy and troubled with fever. He will be
better outside. I will conduct him."
"Shut the door and let no one pass," he added to Chardon, in a rapid
whisper, "talk as if nothing had happened till I come back!" And the
next moment he was pushing his prisoner along the corridor. Leduc and
Violet saw them come, and made ready to fall in behind, but they were
not prepared for what followed so swiftly.
Matteo le Gaucher suddenly dropped to the floor, pulling his collar out
of the grasp of his captor. Then, quick as thought, he drew a long knife
from his belt and struck the deadly forward blow at Chanot--the Arquan
blow below the belt for which there is no parry. But Chanot had not for
nothing been President of the Athletic and Sportive Association of the
Midi. He was in admirable training and his eye forestalled the Gaucher's
movement. It was a fine thrust, delivered with the broad-cutting edge
upward. No man, even in Arqua, could have saved himself. But Chanot had
leaped aside, nimble as a cat. And the next moment the knife was
stricken from the Arquan's hand.
There was a wild, fierce struggle there on the threshold, the movements
of the combatants being so quick that Leduc and Violet dared not
interfere lest they should harm the wrong man. Biting, kicking, and
scratching, Matteo le Gaucher was shoved out across the gravel, over the
lawn and into a little _clairiere_ upon which shone directly the beam of
Hugh Deventer's electric installation up on the heights of Mont St.
Andre.
Leduc and Violet had followed marvelling, their eyes starting from their
heads, eager to see the end like children at a play. They knew that this
was the chief's business and that he must finish it for himself. In the
middle of the green cleared space was a rustic bench, and the ground was
thickly strewn with pine-cones and needles. Chanot thrust his prisoner's
head down till he lay across the back of the seat, and then, without
haste and calmly as a man who consults his watch, he drew from his
pocket a revolver and fired once behind Matteo's ear. There was no
struggle. That had gone before. Chanot was very calm, and as for Matteo
he only shuddered and sank in a heap, his body swinging arms down over
the rustic bench. The fierce light of the arc-lamp lay on the
_clairiere_ and Matteo's shadow made a strange toad-like patch on the
grey-green sward. That was all.
"Now, Leduc, and you, Violet, take up this carrion and carry him near
enough to the fighting up yonder to be clear of all connection with this
house. There is no treasure here. He deceived us, like the Italian he
was. But I shall not deceive you."
He opened his pocket-book and took out small notes for two thousand
francs. One thousand he gave to Leduc and the other to Violet.
"I shall meet you in Spain," he said, "and there I shall expect to
receive from you an account of this night's mission. I am not to be
trifled with as you see. I warn you to be very faithful. Take up the
Arquan, and I will see you safe outside the wall."
He unlocked the gate which opened from the grounds of the Garden Cottage
into the road, and stood watching them, as they toiled painfully up the
hill, Violet leading with the dead man's legs over his shoulders, and
Leduc supporting his head, the long, hairy arms which had wrought so
much evil trailing in the dust.
"_Missa est! Amen!!_" said Chanot, who had served Mass in his time, and
turning on his heel he strode back towards the house of Gobelet.