At first Chauvelin had the wish to go back and see the Public
Prosecutor--to speak with him--to tell him--what? Yes, what? That he,
Chauvelin, had all of a sudden been assailed with the same doubts which
already had worried Hebert and the others?--that he had told a
deliberate lie when he stated that the incriminating doggerel rhyme had
been found in Mole's cell? No, no! Such an admission would not only be
foolish, it would be dangerous now, whilst he himself was scarce
prepared to trust to his own senses. After all, Fouquier-Tinville was in
the right frame of mind for the moment. Paul Mole, whoever he was, was
safely under lock and key.
The only danger lay in the direction of the house on the Chemin de
Pantin. At the thought Chauvelin felt giddy and faint. But he would
allow himself no rest. Indeed, he could not have rested until something
approaching certainty had once more taken possession of his soul. He
could not--would not--believe that he had been deceived. He was still
prepared to stake his very life on the identity of the prisoner at the
Abbaye. Tricks of light, the flash of the lantern, the perfection of the
disguise, had caused a momentary illusion--nothing more.
Nevertheless, that awful feeling of restlessness which had possessed him
during the last twenty-four hours once more drove him to activity. And
although commonsense and reason both pulled one way, an eerie sense of
superstition whispered in his ear the ominous words, "If, after all!"
At any rate, he would see the Leridans, and once more make sure of them;
and, late as was the hour, he set out for the lonely house on the Pantin
Road.
Just inside the Barriere du Combat was the Poste de Section, where
Commissary Burban was under orders to provide a dozen men of the Surete,
who were to be on the watch round and about the house of the Leridans.
Chauvelin called in on the Commissary, who assured him that the men were
at their post.
Thus satisfied, he crossed the Barriere and started at a brisk walk down
the long stretch of the Chemin de Pantin. The night was dark. The
rolling clouds overhead hid the face of the moon and presaged the storm.
On the right, the irregular heights of the Buttes Chaumont loomed out
dense and dark against the heavy sky, whilst to the left, on ahead, a
faintly glimmering, greyish streak of reflected light revealed the
proximity of the canal.
Close to the spot where the main Route de Meux intersects the Chemin de
Pantin, Chauvelin slackened his pace. The house of the Leridans now lay
immediately on his left; from it a small, feeble ray of light, finding
its way no doubt through an ill-closed shutter, pierced the surrounding
gloom. Chauvelin, without hesitation, turned up a narrow track which led
up to the house across a field of stubble. The next moment a peremptory
challenge brought him to a halt.
"Who goes there?"
"Public Safety," replied Chauvelin. "Who are you?"
"Of the Surete," was the counter reply. "There are a dozen of us about
here."
"When did you arrive?"
"Some two hours ago. We marched out directly after you left the orders
at the Commissariat."
"You are prepared to remain on the watch all night?"
"Those are our orders, citizen," replied the man.
"You had best close up round the house, then. And, name of a dog!" he
added, with a threatening ring in his voice. "Let there be no slackening
of vigilance this night. No one to go in or out of that house, no one to
approach it under any circumstances whatever. Is that understood?"
"Those were our orders from the first, citizen," said the man simply.
"And all has been well up to now?"
"We have seen no one, citizen."
The little party closed in around their chief and together they marched
up to the house. Chauvelin, on tenterhooks, walked quicker than the
others. He was the first to reach the door. Unable to find the bell-pull
in the dark, he knocked vigorously.
The house appeared silent and wrapped in sleep. No light showed from
within save that one tiny speck through the cracks of an ill-fitting
shutter, in a room immediately overhead.
In response to Chauvelin's repeated summons, there came anon the sound
of someone moving in one of the upstairs rooms, and presently the light
overhead disappeared, whilst a door above was heard to open and to close
and shuffling footsteps to come slowly down the creaking stairs.
A moment or two later the bolts and bars of the front door were
unfastened, a key grated in the rusty lock, a chain rattled in its
socket, and then the door was opened slowly and cautiously.
The woman Leridan appeared in the doorway. She held a guttering tallow
candle high above her head. Its flickering light illumined Chauvelin's
slender figure.
"Ah! the citizen Representative!" the woman ejaculated, as soon as she
recognised him. "We did not expect you again to-day, and at this late
hour, too. I'll tell my man--"
"Never mind your man," broke in Chauvelin impatiently, and pushed
without ceremony past the woman inside the house. "The child? Is it
safe?"
He could scarcely control his excitement. There was a buzzing, as of an
angry sea, in his ears. The next second, until the woman spoke, seemed
like a cycle of years.
"Quite safe, citizen," she said placidly. "Everything is quite safe. We
were so thankful for those men of the Surete. We had been afraid before,
as I told the citizen Representative, and my man and I could not rest
for anxiety. It was only after they came that we dared go to bed."
A deep sigh of intense relief came from the depths of Chauvelin's heart.
He had not realised himself until this moment how desperately anxious he
had been. The woman's reassuring words appeared to lift a crushing
weight from his mind. He turned to the man behind him.
"You did not tell me," he said, "that some of you had been here
already."
"We have not been here before," the sergeant in charge of the little
platoon said in reply. "I do not know what the woman means."
"Some of your men came about three hours ago," the woman retorted; "less
than an hour after the citizen Representative was here. I remember that
my man and I marvelled how quickly they did come, but they said that
they had been on duty at the Barriere du Combat when the citizen
arrived, and that he had dispatched them off at once. They said they had
run all the way. But even so, we thought it was quick work--"
The words were smothered in her throat in a cry of pain, for, with an
almost brutal gesture, Chauvelin had seized her by the shoulders.
"Where are those men?" he queried hoarsely. "Answer!"
"In there, and in there," the woman stammered, well-nigh faint with
terror as she pointed to two doors, one on each side of the passage.
"Three in each room. They are asleep now, I should say, as they seem so
quiet. But they were an immense comfort to us, citizen ... we were so
thankful to have them in the house...."
But Chauvelin had snatched the candle from her hand. Holding it high
above his head, he strode to the door on the right of the passage. It
was ajar. He pushed it open with a vicious kick. The room beyond was in
total darkness.
"Is anyone here?" he queried sharply.
Nothing but silence answered him. For a moment he remained there on the
threshold, silent and immovable as a figure carved in stone. He had just
a sufficiency of presence of mind and of will power not to drop the
candle, to stand there motionless, with his back turned to the woman and
to the men who had crowded in, in his wake. He would not let them see
the despair, the rage and grave superstitious fear, which distorted
every line of his pallid face.
He did not ask about the child. He would not trust himself to speak, for
he had realised already how completely he had been baffled. Those
abominable English spies had watched their opportunity, had worked on
the credulity and the fears of the Leridans and, playing the game at
which they and their audacious chief were such unconquerable experts,
they had made their way into the house under a clever ruse.
The men of the Surete, not quite understanding the situation, were
questioning the Leridans. The man, too, corroborated his wife's story.
Their anxiety had been worked upon at the moment that it was most acute.
After the citizen Representative left them, earlier in the evening, they
had received another mysterious message which they had been unable to
read, but which had greatly increased their alarm. Then, when the men of
the Surete came.... Ah! they had no cause to doubt that they were men of
the Surete!... their clothes, their speech, their appearance ... figure
to yourself, even their uniforms! They spoke so nicely, so reassuringly.
The Leridans were so thankful to see them! Then they made themselves
happy in the two rooms below, and for additional safety the Lannoy child
was brought down from its attic and put to sleep in the one room with
the men of the Surete.
After that the Leridans went to bed. Name of a dog! how were they to
blame? Those men and the child had disappeared, but they (the Leridans)
would go to the guillotine swearing that they were not to blame.
Whether Chauvelin heard all these jeremiads, he could not afterwards
have told you. But he did not need to be told how it had all been done.
It had all been so simple, so ingenious, so like the methods usually
adopted by that astute Scarlet Pimpernel! He saw it all so clearly
before him. Nobody was to blame really, save he himself--he, who alone
knew and understood the adversary with whom he had to deal.
But these people here should not have the gratuitous spectacle of a man
enduring the torments of disappointment and of baffled revenge. Whatever
Chauvelin was suffering now would for ever remain the secret of his own
soul. Anon, when the Leridans' rasping voices died away in one of the
more distant portions of the house and the men of the Surete were busy
accepting refreshment and gratuity from the two terrified wretches, he
had put down the candle with a steady hand and then walked with a firm
step out of the house.
Soon the slender figure was swallowed up in the gloom as he strode back
rapidly towards the city.