Citizen Fouquier-Tinville had returned home from the Palais at a very
late hour that same evening. His household in his simple lodgings in the
Place Dauphine was already abed: his wife and the twins were asleep. He
himself had sat down for a moment in the living-room, in dressing-gown
and slippers, and with the late edition of the Moniteur in his hand, too
tired to read.
It was half-past ten when there came a ring at the front door bell.
Fouquier-Tinville, half expecting citizen Chauvelin to pay him a final
visit, shuffled to the door and opened it.
A visitor, tall, well-dressed, exceedingly polite and urbane, requested
a few minutes' conversation with citizen Fouquier-Tinville.
Before the Public Prosecutor had made up his mind whether to introduce
such a late-comer into his rooms, the latter had pushed his way through
the door into the ante-chamber, and with a movement as swift as it was
unexpected, had thrown a scarf round Fouquier-Tinville's neck and wound
it round his mouth, so that the unfortunate man's call for help was
smothered in his throat.
So dexterously and so rapidly indeed had the miscreant acted, that his
victim had hardly realised the assault before he found himself securely
gagged and bound to a chair in his own ante-room, whilst that dare-devil
stood before him, perfectly at his ease, his hands buried in the
capacious pockets of his huge caped coat, and murmuring a few casual
words of apology.
"I entreat you to forgive, citizen," he was saying in an even and
pleasant voice, "this necessary violence on my part towards you. But my
errand is urgent, and I could not allow your neighbours or your
household to disturb the few minutes' conversation which I am obliged to
have with you. My friend Paul Mole," he went on, after a slight pause,
"is in grave danger of his life owing to a hallucination on the part of
our mutual friend citizen Chauvelin; and I feel confident that you
yourself are too deeply enamoured of your own neck to risk it wilfully
by sending an innocent and honest patriot to the guillotine."
Once more he paused and looked down upon his unwilling interlocutor,
who, with muscles straining against the cords that held him, and with
eyes nearly starting out of their sockets in an access of fear and of
rage, was indeed presenting a pitiful spectacle.
"I dare say that by now, citizen," the brigand continued imperturbably,
"you will have guessed who I am. You and I have oft crossed invisible
swords before; but this, methinks, is the first time that we have met
face to face. I pray you, tell my dear friend M. Chauvelin that you have
seen me. Also that there were two facts which he left entirely out of
his calculations, perfect though these were. The one fact was that there
were two Paul Moles--one real and one factitious. Tell him that, I pray
you. It was the factitious Paul Mole who stole the ring and who stood
for one moment gazing into clever citizen Chauvelin's eyes. But that
same factitious Paul Mole had disappeared in the crowd even before your
colleague had recovered his presence of mind. Tell him, I pray you, that
the elusive Pimpernel whom he knows so well never assumes a fanciful
disguise. He discovered the real Paul Mole first, studied him, learned
his personality, until his own became a perfect replica of the miserable
caitiff. It was the false Paul Mole who induced Jeannette Marechal to
introduce him originally into the household of citizen Marat. It was he
who gained the confidence of his employer; he, for a consideration,
borrowed the identity papers of his real prototype. He again who for a
few francs induced the real Paul Mole to follow him into the house of
the murdered demagogue and to mingle there with the throng. He who
thrust the identity papers back into the hands of their rightful owner
whilst he himself was swallowed up by the crowd. But it was the real
Paul Mole who was finally arrested and who is now lingering in the
Abbaye prison, whence you, citizen Fouquier-Tinville, must free him on
the instant, on pain of suffering yourself for the nightmares of your
friend."
"The second fact," he went on with the same good-humoured pleasantry,
"which our friend citizen Chauvelin had forgotten was that, though I
happen to have aroused his unconquerable ire, I am but one man amongst a
league of gallant English gentlemen. Their chief, I am proud to say; but
without them, I should be powerless. Without one of them near me, by the
side of the murdered Marat, I could not have rid myself of the ring in
time, before other rough hands searched me to my skin. Without them, I
could not have taken Madeleine Lannoy's child from out that terrible
hell, to which a miscreant's lustful revenge had condemned the poor
innocent. But while citizen Chauvelin, racked with triumph as well as
with anxiety, was rushing from the Leridans' house to yours, and thence
to the Abbaye prison, to gloat over his captive enemy, the League of the
Scarlet Pimpernel carefully laid and carried out its plans at leisure.
Disguised as men of the Surete, we took advantage of the Leridans'
terror to obtain access into the house. Frightened to death by our
warnings, as well as by citizen Chauvelin's threats, they not only
admitted us into their house, but actually placed Madeleine Lannoy's
child in our charge. Then they went contentedly to bed, and we, before
the real men of the Surete arrived upon the scene, were already safely
out of the way. My gallant English friends are some way out of Paris by
now, escorting Madeleine Lannoy and her child into safety. They will
return to Paris, citizen," continued the audacious adventurer, with a
laugh full of joy and of unconquerable vitality, "and be my henchmen as
before in many an adventure which will cause you and citizen Chauvelin
to gnash your teeth with rage. But I myself will remain in Paris," he
concluded lightly. "Yes, in Paris; under your very nose, and entirely at
your service!"
The next second he was gone, and Fouquier-Tinville was left to marvel if
the whole apparition had not been a hideous dream. Only there was no
doubt that he was gagged and tied to a chair with cords: and here his
wife found him, an hour later, when she woke from her first sleep,
anxious because he had not yet come to bed.