I Fall into a Trap.
For a short while I remained trying to understand clearly what had
happened, but it was all so strange that I could make nothing of it.
There was, of course, no mystery in Peleton's attempt on my life, but
what was I to think of Maubranne's rescue?
The baron had distinctly stated I had no reason to thank him, I was
only enjoying a respite, and that for the oddest of reasons--the Abbe
had need of me! What could be made of so astounding a remark as that?
De Retz was no friend to me, while almost every act of mine had been
opposed to his interests. Without having the least suspicion as to the
actual truth, I felt that the Abbe's plans boded me no good. I was
like a person groping in the darkness, and expecting every moment to
fall into a deep pit.
"Can't you wait?" Maubranne had asked.
For what was Peleton to wait? And how could it affect me? Why should
the fellow's temper spoil everything? From Maubranne's words it
appeared that the success of their scheme, whatever it was, depended on
me. Yet from the very beginning I had fought them tooth and nail.
"This business will drive me crazy," I muttered, "it is worse than the
muddle at La Boule d'Or. Both these blackguards would gladly give me a
few inches of steel, and yet, having me wholly in their power, they do
me no injury. It is evident that I, in some manner, am to further the
interests of their party. Am I to be offered a bribe?"
This was making myself out to be a person of some consequence, but I
could think of nothing else. However, it was useless to stand there
all night, so, keeping a keen look-out for fresh danger, I hurried from
the court and made straight for the Pont Neuf. A few night-birds were
abroad, but I passed on swiftly, keeping well within the shadow of the
walls.
As it chanced, the night's adventures were not finished even yet.
Turning into the Rue des Carolines, I was almost at home, when a man,
slipping from the shadow of a doorway, swung a lantern in my face.
Peleton's cowardly attack had put me on my guard, and in less than a
second my sword was at the fellow's throat.
He was either very stupid or very brave.
"M. de Lalande?" said he quietly, and, thrusting a folded paper into my
hand, vanished.
I ran a few yards hoping to catch him, but he was soon swallowed up in
the darkness, and there was nothing for it but to return. In my room I
opened the packet with nervous haste. The letter, or rather note,
consisted of only a few words, and had no signature. I gazed at the
writing curiously, it was cramped, partly illegible, and in a man's
hand. By supplying a letter here and there I managed to piece together
the strange message.
"When the net is spread openly, only a foolish bird will be ensnared.
A wise one will fly away. An old story relates how a swallow once
found safety in the tents of an army."
Nothing more! I read it through again and again till I had learned
every word by heart. Who wrote it? I knew not. I counted no friends
among the enemy, and danger was hardly likely to come from Raoul's
party. Peleton's attempt to murder me was merely the outcome of
personal spite, and had nothing to do with this fresh adventure. Yet,
on one point, the message was clear. Some peril threatened me, and my
best chance of safety lay in flight. But why? I sat down to thresh
the matter out.
Including my cousin, I had three enemies. Henri disliked me, because I
had, to a certain extent, spoiled his plans; yet I did not, for an
instant, imagine that he sought my life--that was out of all reason.
There remained Maubranne and Peleton, either of whom would kill me
without scruple, but that very night the baron had interfered to save
my life! Once more I was forced back on the mystery attached to his
words. What was it the Abbe proposed to do with me? Buzz! buzz! buzz!
The question hummed in my head till I was nearly wild. It went with me
to bed, it kept me awake half the night, and was the first thing I was
conscious of in the morning.
Directly after breakfast, I hurried to the Luxembourg to take counsel
with Raoul. He was on duty, but young D'Arcy, observing my agitation,
volunteered to relieve him.
"What is it?" asked my comrade anxiously. "Has anything happened?
Here, come into this room where we shall not be interrupted."
Without delay I plunged into the story, telling him first of the
mysterious spy in the Rue Crillon, the encounter with Peleton, and
Maubranne's strange action and words.
"Well, my friend," said he, "you have an adventure on hand now that
ought to keep your time fairly occupied! I don't understand it in the
least, but it is plain you have become an important person. There is
one thing I would like to know, but don't answer if you would rather
not. Are you in Mazarin's secrets?"
"I have heard nothing of the Cardinal since my visit to Aunay."
"Then that notion falls to the ground. I thought De Retz might imagine
you could give him some useful information. And yet, I don't know.
People say he is already in the Queen's confidence."
"Well," I remarked, "if the first chapter is exciting, what do you
think of the second?" and I showed him the warning note, which he read
with a strangely puzzled air.
"Where did this come from?" he asked, and I informed him, adding that
the messenger was a total stranger whom I should be unable to recognise.
"Still," said he, "it shows there is some one in the Abbe's confidence
who wishes you well. I wonder if it can be Madame de Chevreuse? She
is concerned with most of his plans."
"I have not met her since the night of the ball and besides, this is a
man's writing."
"That can be accounted for easily; she employs several secretaries."
I shook my head, saying Madame de Chevreuse was not likely to interest
herself in my welfare.
After walking about the room for a time, Raoul stopped and exclaimed,
"Suppose we are looking at the matter from the wrong side? How can you
be certain this note comes from a friend? It may be a trick to lure
you away from Paris!"
"If so, it will fail. I will not leave the city for an hour, even were
Turenne to offer me the command of a regiment."
"Why not accept service with the Duke? You would be in a much safer
position."
"No. I will see this thing through alone. I will not budge a foot for
all the fighting priests in the country."
"Don't be over venturesome. De Retz is a crafty foe and is playing
just now for high stakes. If rumour speaks true, he is going to try a
fall with Conde himself. Now I must set Armand at liberty, but I will
come to your rooms at the first opportunity. Meanwhile, if you require
help, a note will bring me instantly."
I returned home still in a state of bewilderment. The mystery was as
dark as ever, and, cudgel my brains as I would, I could throw no light
on it.
That same evening I laid the case before John Humphreys, but naturally
he was unable to offer any explanation.
"Show me an enemy," said he, "and I will stand up against him, but I am
a poor hand at fighting shadows. However, it is plain enough that some
one has marked you down, and you will have to walk warily."
That, indeed, was the only advice any one could offer. The thing which
troubled me most at this time was the presence of the spy in the Rue
Crillon. The ladies apparently had not noticed him, so I said nothing
to them, but continued to keep a strict watch on the mysterious
stranger who night after night prowled about near their house. What he
expected to gain was difficult to imagine, as he neither followed
Madame Coutance abroad nor attempted to molest her. At first I thought
him a clumsy fellow, but twice when I tried to catch him he vanished
cleverly down the narrow streets.
One evening, while strolling carelessly along the Rue Pierre, I met my
cousin Henri. He was wearing a long mantle with a hood, and appeared
in a great hurry. To my surprise, however, he stopped and exclaimed
quite cordially, "Ah, cousin, you are a stranger! I have not seen you
for a long time. I was sorry to hear of Peleton's mad prank. Were you
hurt?"
"No," said I, rather shortly.
"You are a lucky fellow, Albert. For a lad from the country, you have
done well. _Peste!_ You have made quite a splash in the world, and I
am proud of my cousin."
"You do me great honour," said I, with a mocking bow.
"Not more than you deserve. By the way, is it true that you have
joined Conde's party?"
"Why?"
"Because you were with his mob when Madame Coutance behaved so
stupidly."
"I did my best to save a woman from being torn to pieces--nothing more."
"It was very gallant of you," and then, as an afterthought, "so you
still fancy there is a chance of Mazarin's return?"
"There may be, or not. I only know that I am pledged to assist him,
and that the De Lalandes have been taught to keep their word."
"Quite right!" returned Henri, gaily. "Well, adieu, my faithful
cousin! Your constancy is touching, and I hope it may bring you good
fortune, but of that I am doubtful," and, with a careless laugh, he
hurried on.
"Planning some fresh mischief!" I muttered, and dismissed the incident
from my mind.
Nearly a week had now passed since the receipt of the mysterious note,
and nothing of consequence had happened. Every day I went into the
streets without disguise or attempt at concealment, and no one paid any
attention to my doings.
About this time the city was considerably agitated, and filled with all
sorts of conflicting rumours. Among other things it was hinted that
Mazarin, having re-entered France, was marching at the head of a
foreign army on Paris, with the avowed object of razing it to the
ground.
De Retz, laughing in his sleeve, went about attended by a numerous and
well-armed retinue to protect him from being murdered; Conde followed
his example, and the _petits maitres_ swaggered more than ever,
especially when they met the friends of De Retz; at the Hotel Vendome,
the Duke of Beaufort stayed in bed, having, according to rumour, been
poisoned; while Gaston of Orleans was popularly supposed to have joined
four separate plots in one day, and betrayed them all to the Queen
before night. Thus far, however, nothing serious had resulted from
these wonderful doings, and I was chiefly concerned with my own private
affairs.
"It seems to me," I said to Raoul one night, as we walked together
toward the Rue Crillon, "that we have been making a mountain out of a
mole-hill. More than a week has passed now since the warning, and I am
none the worse."
"Yet the spy still keeps watch?"
"He was there last night, but I could not get near him. Perhaps you
may have better luck."
The man was in his usual place, and I pointed him out to Raoul,
whispering, "That is he. Are you acquainted with him?"
"No. He belongs to the class that either De Retz or Conde can buy by
the dozen. Don't look that way. Let us cross the road. I will slip
through this alley and enter the street at the other end; then we shall
have him between us."
Unfortunately for our purpose the fellow was particularly wide-awake,
and as Raoul appeared at the corner he moved away. Following
cautiously, we kept him in sight for a good distance, but finally he
disappeared in a maze of alleys.
"_Peste!_" exclaimed my comrade, discontentedly, "he is an artful
rascal. If we could catch him he might be able to tell us all we want
to learn. There must be some reason for his actions. Is he always
alone?"
"Always."
"We must set a trap for him."
"Let me try once more by myself. I dislike the idea of being beaten by
a spy."
"As you will; and if you fail, I will borrow some troopers from the
Luxembourg and lay him by the heels. At all events the fellow will
know who pays him."
The next night I set off for the Rue Crillon, and, after spending an
hour or two with Marie and her aunt, went back into the street. My
man, as usual, was in full view, and it appeared to me, rather overdid
his part, as if he was anxious to attract my attention.
However, there was not much leisure for reflection, and I walked
quickly and boldly towards him, when he immediately made off. Angry at
being baulked so often, and determined to discover his business, I
followed sharply, and nearly caught him at the bottom of the narrow
street running at right angles to the Rue Crillon. A stupid
charcoal-burner lost me my advantage here, but perceiving which way the
spy went I hurried on in the same direction.
For half an hour I patiently tracked my quarry, through a network of
narrow streets and alleys crossing and re-crossing each other like an
Eastern puzzle. By this time I was hopelessly astray, never having
been in that quarter, which was one of the worst in the city. Under
other circumstances I should have feared to trust myself in those
horrible courts, but now I did not even remember the danger.
Presently the spy himself seemed doubtful as to which turning to take.
He stood a moment in apparent hesitation, but, finding me close on his
heels, darted as if at random up a narrow entrance. It was a
_cul-de-sac_ containing perhaps half a dozen houses, and I chuckled
inwardly on finding how completely he had trapped himself. I could not
have desired a better place for my purpose. The court was very quiet;
the houses were old and dilapidated, and the inmates had either gone to
bed or had not returned from their nightly wanderings. We two had a
clear stage to ourselves.
The man was a regular coward after all. He looked this way and that
with frightened eyes, ran on a few paces as if hoping to find a way
out, came back, and finally made a dash to get past me.
"Oh, ho, not so fast, my good fellow!" I cried, barring his path.
"Where are you going in such a hurry?"
"I have lost my way, monsieur," he answered in a whining voice.
"How strange! So have I! We may as well keep each other company.
Don't look like that, I am not going to hurt you."
"I feared monsieur meant to kill me," he whimpered.
"Bah! I only want a little information, which will be well paid for.
Are you willing to earn ten crowns?"
"Ten crowns, monsieur? Certainly."
"Then tell me what you do in the Rue Crillon and who pays you? Answer
these questions and here are the ten crowns."
"And if not, monsieur?" said he, still whining like a beggar.
"If not it will be the worse for you. Quick, make your choice, I
cannot stay here for ever."
It was the rascal's turn now to laugh, as some one, throwing a heavy
mantle over my head, tripped me up violently.
"His sword, quick! Take it away! Tie his arms firmly; he is a mad
bull for fighting. Now his pistols, Francois, you fat pig! Softly
monsieur! Tap him on the head if he struggles. Are you ready, Pierre?
What a time! are your fingers in knots? Now, monsieur, your
choice--will you come quietly or must we use force?"
I lay on the ground half dazed and only partly understanding the
fellow's meaning, so, to awaken my interest he repeated his questions,
pressing one of my own pistols to my head.
"Take that thing away," I said, "and help me to my feet. You have the
upper hand at present."
Laughing mischievously, he withdrew the weapon, and his companions,
pushing me upright, half led, half dragged me into one of the
dilapidated houses. We ascended a flight of stairs, went along a
narrow passage, and so into a room which had been prepared for my
reception.
At least, that was the conclusion I arrived at when two of the men
having gone out, the third said, "Monsieur, there is a bed of straw in
the corner, the door is bolted, the window barred, and I am going to
keep watch inside all night, while Pierre and Francois relieve each
other outside the door."
I could not see the speaker, as the room was in darkness, but his voice
sounded familiar, and I tried, but in vain, to remember where I had
heard it before. However, this did not matter, so I lay down on the
straw, and wondered what the adventure meant.
Who were my gaolers, and what did they intend to do with me? Presently
Maubranne's words flashed into my mind, and set me thinking that this
might be a move in the plot at which the mysterious note hinted. Just
how De Retz could make use of me I had not the faintest notion, but he
was a clever schemer, and had, presumably, laid his plans carefully.
However, as no amount of speculation on this head would improve
matters, I began to reflect on the best way of escape. My arms were
tightly bound, the door was well secured, the window barred, and a
gaoler, wide-awake and armed, sat between me and it. Altogether the
prospect was far from cheering.
"Sleep will perhaps bring counsel," I muttered, and, turning on my
side, I dozed off into a light, restless slumber.
With the coming of day I was able to make an inspection of my new
abode. The room was small, dirty, out of repair, and destitute of
furniture. In the corner opposite to mine was another heap of straw,
and on it sat the man whom long ago I had gagged and bound in the
chamber at La Boule d'Or, and who afterwards was my companion from
Aunay to Paris. Perceiving that I recognised him, the rascal showed
his teeth in a broad grin, and exclaimed, "The wheel has turned,
monsieur! It seems that we have changed parts."
"And you are uppermost this time," I answered, striving to speak
good-humouredly, for it is a bad plan to quarrel with one's gaoler.
Rising and taking a turn round the room, Pillot stood still at my side.
"Listen to me, monsieur," said he. "Some months ago I lost the game to
you and you acted like a lad of honour. When your own life was in
danger you remembered me, and I am still grateful. Now let me give you
a friendly warning. Of course, you are planning to get away. Abandon
the idea, as you cannot escape alive. There is an armed man beneath
the window, while Pierre or Francois will knock you on the head without
the least hesitation. We all have our orders."
"_Merci!_ It is just as well to know what one has to expect. Do the
orders include starving your prisoner?"
"Here comes Francois in reply to the question; but you must pass your
word not to take advantage if I unbind you."
After a moment's reflection I gave the required promise, upon which
Pillot untied my arms, and then, opening the door, admitted Francois,
who carried the food.
"Here is breakfast, monsieur," said the dwarf, making an elaborate bow.
"It is not as good as the supper we enjoyed together in the village
inn, but Francois has not had much experience in the character of host.
Later on he will doubtless acquit himself better."