IV

Citizen Rateau, if he thought about the matter at all, must indeed have

been vastly surprised at the unwonted amiability or indifference of

sergeant Ribot, who was in command at the gate of Gentilly. Ribot only

threw a very perfunctory glance at the greasy permit which Rateau

presented to him, and when he put the usual query, "What's in that

parcel?" and Rateau gave the reply: "Two heads of cabbage and a bunch of

carrots," Ribot merely poked one of his fingers into the bundle, felt

that a cabbage leaf did effectually lie on the top, and thereupon gave

the formal order: "Pass on, citizen, in the name of the Republic!"

without any hesitation.

Tournefort, who had watched the brief little incident from behind the

window of a neighbouring cabaret, could not help but chuckle to himself.

Never had he seen game walk more readily into a trap. Rateau, after he

had passed the barrier, appeared undecided which way he would go. He

looked with obvious longing towards the cabaret, behind which the

keenest agent on the staff of the Committee of Public Safety was even

now ensconced. But seemingly a halt within those hospitable doors did

not form part of his programme, and a moment or two later he turned

sharply 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 and

Gourdon coming through the gates. They, too, had apparently made a brief

halt inside the guard-room, where--as at most of the gates--a store of

various disguises was always kept ready for the use of the numerous

sleuth-hounds employed by the Committee of Public Safety. Here the two

men had exchanged their official garments for suits of sombre cloth,

which gave them the appearance of a couple of humble bourgeois going

quietly about their business. Tournefort had donned an old blouse,

tattered stockings, and shoes down at heel. With his hands buried in his

breeches' pockets, he, too, turned into the long narrow Rue de

l'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, now

darting in and out of open doorways, kept his quarry well in sight.

Chauvelin and Gourdon lagged some little way behind. It was still

raining, but not heavily--a thin drizzle, which penetrated almost to the

marrow. Not many passers-by haunted this forlorn quarter of old Paris.

To right and left tall houses almost obscured the last, quickly-fading

light of the grey September day.

At the bottom of the Rue Mouffetard, Rateau came once more to a halt. A

network of narrow streets radiated from this centre. He looked all round

him and also behind. It was difficult to know whether he had a sudden

suspicion that he was being followed; certain it is that, after a very

brief moment of hesitation, he plunged suddenly into the narrow Rue

Contrescarpe and disappeared from view.

Tournefort was after him in a trice. When he reached the corner of the

street he saw Rateau, at the further end of it, take a sudden sharp turn

to the right. But not before he had very obviously spied his pursuer,

for at that moment his entire demeanour changed. An air of furtive

anxiety was expressed in his whole attitude. Even at that distance

Tournefort could see him clutching his bulky parcel close to his chest.

After that the pursuit became closer and hotter. Rateau was in and out

of that tight network of streets which cluster around the Place de

Fourci, intent, apparently, on throwing his pursuers off the scent, for

after a while he was running round and round in a circle. Now up the Rue

des Poules, then to the right and to the right again; back in the Place

de Fourci. Then straight across it once more to the Rue Contrescarpe,

where he presently disappeared so completely from view that Tournefort

thought that the earth must have swallowed him up.

Tournefort was a man capable of great physical exertion. His calling

often made heavy demands upon his powers of endurance; but never before

had he grappled with so strenuous a task. Puffing and panting, now

running at top speed, anon brought to a halt by the doubling-up tactics

of his quarry, his great difficulty was the fact that citizen Chauvelin

did not wish the man Rateau to be apprehended; did not wish him to know

that he was being pursued. And Tournefort had need of all his wits to

keep well under the shadow of any projecting wall or under cover of open

doorways which were conveniently in the way, and all the while not to

lose sight of that consumptive giant, who seemed to be playing some

intricate game which well-nigh exhausted the strength of citizen

Tournefort.

What he could not make out was what had happened to Chauvelin and to

Gourdon. They had been less than three hundred metres behind him when

first 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 both

of him--Tournefort--and of the very elusive quarry. To make matters more

complicated, the shades of evening were drawing in very fast, and these

narrow 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 quickly

took refuge under a doorway and was mopping his streaming forehead, glad

of this brief respite in the mad chase, when that awful churchyard cough

suddenly sounded so close to him that he gave a great jump and well-nigh

betrayed his presence then and there. He had only just time to withdraw

further still into the angle of the doorway, when Rateau passed by.

Tournefort peeped out of his hiding-place, and for the space of a dozen

heart beats or so, remained there quite still, watching that broad back

and those long limbs slowly moving through the gathering gloom. The next

instant he perceived Chauvelin standing at the end of the street.

Rateau saw him too--came face to face with him, in fact, and must have

known who he was for, without an instant's hesitation and just like a

hunted creature at bay, he turned sharply on his heel and then ran back

down the street as hard as he could tear. He passed close to within half

a metre of Tournefort, and as he flew past he hit out with his left fist

so vigorously that the worthy agent of the Committee of Public Safety,

caught on the nose by the blow, staggered and measured his length upon

the flagged floor below.

The next moment Chauvelin had come by. Tournefort, struggling to his

feet, 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 intricate

mazes of the streets by their fleeing quarry. They had Rateau well in

sight, and the latter could no longer continue his former tactics with

success now that two experienced sleuth-hounds were on his track.

At a given moment he was caught between the two of them. Tournefort was

advancing cautiously up the Rue Bordet; Chauvelin, equally stealthily,

was coming down the same street, and Rateau, once more walking quite

leisurely, was at equal distance between the two.

V

There are no side turnings out of the Rue Bordet, the total length of

which is less than fifty metres; so Tournefort, feeling more at his

ease, ensconced himself at one end of the street, behind a doorway,

whilst Chauvelin did the same at the other. Rateau, standing in the

gutter, appeared once more in a state of hesitation. Immediately in

front of him the door of a small cabaret stood invitingly open; its

signboard, "Le Bon Copain," promised rest and refreshment. He peered up

and down the road, satisfied himself presumably that, for the moment,

his pursuers were out of sight, hugged his parcel to his chest, and then

suddenly 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 least

get 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 a

while ago. It was then growing dark and the street was innocent of

lanterns, but the lights inside the cabaret gave a full view of the

interior. The lower half of the wide shop-window was curtained off, but

above the curtain the heads of the customers of "Le Bon Copain," and the

general comings and goings, could very clearly be seen.

Tournefort, never at a loss, had already climbed upon a low projection

in the wall of one of the houses opposite. From this point of vantage he

could 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 put

his bundle down close beside him on the bench ... he can't speak for a

minute, for he is coughing and spluttering like an old walrus.... A

wench is bringing him a bottle of wine and a hunk of bread and

cheese.... He has started talking ... is talking volubly ... the people

are laughing ... some are applauding.... And here comes Jean Victor, the

landlord ... you know him, citizen ... a big, hulking fellow, and as

good a patriot as I ever wish to see.... He, too, is laughing and

talking 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 hold

your tongue. I am spent with fatigue."

"No wonder," murmured Tournefort. Then he added insinuatingly: "Why not

let me go in there and apprehend Rateau now? We should have the diamonds

and--"

"And lose the ci-devant Comtesse de Sucy and the man Bertin," retorted

Chauvelin with sudden fierceness. "Bertin, who can be none other than

that cursed Englishman, the--"

He checked himself, seeing Tournefort was gazing down on him, with awe

and 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, masterful

mind. He would have liked to ask a question or two, but knew from

experience that it was neither wise nor profitable to try and probe

citizen Chauvelin's thoughts. So after a moment or two he turned back

obediently to his task.

"I can't see Rateau for the moment," he said, "but there is much talking

and merriment in there. Ah! there he is, I think. Yes, I see him!... He

is behind the counter, talking to Jean Victor ... and he has just thrown

some money down upon the counter.... gold too! name of a dog...."

Then suddenly, without any warning, Tournefort jumped down from his post

of observation. Chauvelin uttered a brief:

"What the----- are you doing, citizen?"

"Rateau is going," replied Tournefort excitedly. "He drank a mug of wine

at 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 the

darkness it is better to be three than two."

"I sent him back to the Station in the Rue Mouffetard," was Chauvelin's

curt retort; "there to give notice that I might require a few armed men

presently. 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 opened

from within and Rateau stepped out into the street, to the accompaniment

of loud laughter and clapping of hands which came from the customers of

the "Bon Copain."

This time he appeared neither in a hurry nor yet anxious. He did not

pause in order to glance to right or left, but started to walk quite

leisurely up the street. The two sleuth-hounds quietly followed him.

Through the darkness they could only vaguely see his silhouette, with

the great bundle under his arm. Whatever may have been Rateau's fears of

being shadowed awhile ago, he certainly seemed free of them now. He

sauntered along, whistling a tune, down the Montagne Ste. Genevieve to

the Place Maubert, and thence straight towards the river.

Having reached the bank, he turned off to his left, sauntered past the

Ecole de Medecine and went across the Petit Pont, then through the New

Market, along the Quai des Orfevres. Here he made a halt, and for awhile

looked over the embankment at the river and then round about him, as if

in search of something. But presently he appeared to make up his mind,

and continued his leisurely walk as far as the Pont Neuf, where he

turned sharply off to his right, still whistling, Tournefort and

Chauvelin 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 out

of the 'Bon Copain.'"

Strangely enough, it was this remark of Tournefort's which gave

Chauvelin the first inkling of something strange and, to him, positively

awesome. Tournefort, who walked close beside him, heard him suddenly

mutter a fierce exclamation.

"Name of a dog!"

"What is it, citizen?" queried Tournefort, awed by this sudden outburst

on the part of a man whose icy calmness had become proverbial throughout

the 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 fingers

that 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 I

could dare to hope!"

Rateau in the meanwhile had quietly lolled up to the parapet on the

right-hand side of the bridge, and Tournefort, who was watching him with

intense keenness, still marvelled why citizen Chauvelin had suddenly

become so strangely excited. Rateau was merely lolling against the

parapet, like a man who has not a care in the world. He had placed his

bundle 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 darkness

immediately below the bridge. Then he picked up the bundle and threw it

straight into the boat. At that same moment Tournefort had the whistle

to his lips. A shrill, sharp sound rang out through the gloom.

"The boat, citizen Tournefort, the boat!" cried Chauvelin. "There are

plenty of us here to deal with the man."

Immediately, from the quays, the streets, the bridges, dark figures

emerged out of the darkness and hurried to the spot. Some reached the

bridgehead even as Rateau made a dart forward, and two men were upon him

before he succeeded in running very far. Others had scrambled down the

embankment and were shouting to some unseen boatman to "halt, in the

name of the people!"

But Rateau gave in without a struggle. He appeared more dazed than

frightened, and quietly allowed the agents of the Committee to lead him

back to the bridge, where Chauvelin had paused, waiting for him.