PASCAL AND THE SPY
Lucette’s visit to the Castle in quest of Gabrielle was the result of
several causes which had important bearing upon the position.
In the first place Gerard’s plan to send a second messenger in hot
haste to Cambrai, urging his cousin in command of the Bourbon troops
there to hurry on to Morvaix, had been delayed. The messenger had been
stopped at the city gate.
Pascal, in his monk’s garb, was present and had been greatly
disconcerted and not a little alarmed by the mischance. If it meant
nothing more serious it must involve delay. The message must be
despatched somehow, that was certain, because everything depended upon
the troops being brought up at the earliest opportunity.
To attempt this in the daylight seemed impracticable; since the
messenger would have to drop from the walls at some favouring point,
and the cover of darkness was necessary for such a venture. Moreover, a
spot would have to be found where the thing could be done; and neither
Pascal nor any of his men knew enough of the city to select one. There
was, further, the imminent risk that the courier, being on foot, might
be intercepted and so the whole plan fail.
But in this dilemma, help came most unexpectedly. A stranger accosted
Pascal, and recognizing him as the monk who had stood between the
citizens and the crowd in the market place, offered his assistance. He
was, he said, the brother of Babillon the smith, the murdered man.
After a few pointed questions Pascal decided to accept his help, and
left him in the care of his men, while he made fresh plans. He resolved
that two couriers should go to Cambrai by separate paths, each carrying
a despatch; and in view of the grave risks he decided to be one of them.
He returned accordingly to Malincourt, in his character of servant,
to find Gerard and get the despatch duplicated; but on learning that
Gerard was still at the Castle, he assumed once more his monk’s garb
and went after him.
The news that met him greatly increased his uneasiness. Both Gerard and
Dubois had been arrested by the Duke, for what reason no one knew for
certain, although it was rumoured that his assumed character had been
discovered. Pascal knew enough to guess more, and he was not long in
deciding how to act.
It was clear that with both Gerard and Dubois in confinement he himself
could not leave the city and could not get a second despatch from
Gerard; and, further, that without waiting for the cover of darkness a
courier must be got out of the city at once.
He could act very promptly at need, and he did so now. He added a
letter to the leader at Cambrai telling him what had befallen Gerard
and urging the utmost haste; and wrote two other despatches for
d’Alembert describing the situation. By the aid of Babillon two men
were despatched at once from different points with orders to procure
horses at the earliest moment after getting free of the city and to
ride with all speed to Cambrai; and he impressed upon both that the
life of their young lord might depend upon their zeal. The third
despatch two carefully picked men were to carry, and were not to start
until dark had fallen.
The next problem was the much more difficult one of getting Gerard out
of the Governor’s hands. This must be done by force if necessary and
in the last resort; and a place must be provided to which he could be
brought, where a stand could be made with some hope of holding the
Governor at bay until d’Alembert could reach the city with the troops.
Malincourt was obviously the best place for such a stand. It was
strongly built, had ample room for the necessary force of men, and was
sure to contain a store of provisions which could be increased without
any suspicion being raised. Moreover, he believed there were arms there.
He instructed the men in the city, therefore, to go in their monk’s
gabardines and purchase each for himself enough provision for three
days, on the plea that they were setting out on a pilgrimage on the
morrow; after which they were to remain in readiness for a summons to
meet him at any hour.
Having the first steps arranged, he returned to Malincourt, omitting
in his haste to put off his monk’s gown. He meant to see Gabrielle and
tell her plainly what his plans were, and consult with her as to the
best means of rescuing Gerard and Dubois.
Here came a check, however. Gabrielle was not at the maison; and as he
stood in the great hall considering how he could best find her, he was
seen by Jacques Dauban. The spy had been sent back to Malincourt by de
Proballe to fetch away certain papers which now that the maison was
shut to him, were too incriminating to be left there.
It was Dauban who had carried the news to the Governor’s Castle that
Gerard was not really de Cobalt, and having been a witness of Dubois’
arrest, was struck by the fact that another monk, of the same order
apparently, should be found at Malincourt. Scenting a mystery he
resolved to follow it up.
Pascal, unwilling to be recognized in his disguise, would have avoided
him, but Dauban made this impracticable, and thus Pascal was reduced to
the device of drawing his cowl close so as to hide his features so far
as possible.
“Give you gooden, good father?” began Dauban.
“_Pax vobiscum_, son,” replied Pascal, deepening and altering his voice.
“Can I help you, father? I am of the household here--the secretary.”
“Then truly you may. I have a message I would deliver to miladi of
Malincourt, and would have speech with her.”
“I know her business well and am high in her confidence. Is it a matter
of urgency? I am even now on my way to her.”
“Could you get to her at once, or deliver a letter secretly?”
“That would be easy enough--the letter I mean.”
“Can I trust you?” Dauban met the piercing eyes fixed on him through
the close drawn cowl, as if in suspicion, and answered as he thought
with cunning frankness.
“That must be as you please. Miladi herself does. But you must decide
quickly, for she waits for me.”
The monk appeared to hesitate and glancing round lowered his tone.
“Do you know aught of this business of the so-called Gerard de Cobalt?”
“Not so loud, father. I know of his arrest and am even now engaged in
the task of procuring his release.” It was a clever lie and seemed to
impose on the monk.
“Good,” he said. “Lead me where I can write. Life and death depend on
your good faith.”
“Follow me,” said Dauban, and led the way to de Proballe’s apartments.
On the way they chanced to meet Lucette, who looked at the pair with
curious eyes. Wondering what Dauban could be doing in such company, she
followed at a distance and resolved to watch.
“Are we alone here?” asked Pascal.
“Quite. You need have no fear on that score.”
“Those doors--are they locked? If not, lock them and bring the keys
here.”
All unsuspecting and wishing to win his companion’s confidence, Dauban
did so and laid the keys on the table before him. As if still doubting,
Pascal glanced round the room for himself, taking advantage of the
minute to loose his habit stealthily.
“Paper, monsieur,” he said, and while Dauban’s back was toward him he
slipped off his habit and laughed.
At his laugh Dauban turned, and the colour fled from his face in the
fright of the recognition.
“Now, Master Spy, we will have a little talk and an understanding,”
said Pascal. “Sit down there,” pointing to a seat, “and if you give
but one faint sign of resistance, I’ll first break half the bones in
your body up here, and then pitch you from the casement yonder for the
courtyard stones to break the other half.”
The spy sat staring open-eyed and agape at him, cursing himself for his
blindness in not having recognized Pascal; and cudgelling his wits how
to get out of the trap into which he had walked, and in abject fear for
himself.
“You thought to trap me, Master Spy, and instead I’ve trapped you. Now
understand, I’m in too dangerous a mood to bear any trifling and am
in desperate haste. Do all I tell you and do it at once, and answer
my questions plainly, and you’ll save your life; but try to fool me
and--well, I’ve told you what I’ll do, and I’m a man of my word.”
“I’ve no desire----”
“Silence, till I bid you speak. This is your master’s room and you are
in his confidence. You know the part he has played in all this business
about M. de Cobalt. Find at once and give to me every paper that
concerns it.”
“I know nothing, monsieur, I swear; and there are no papers. I’ll swear
it on the holy crucifix.”
“If you keep me dallying in this way the next oath you take about it
will be in hell,” growled Pascal sternly.
“I declare on my soul----” But before he could say more Pascal had him
by the throat and shook him till his teeth rattled and the stars came
out in myriads in the firmament of his dazed sight.
“Now perhaps you’re frightened enough to tell the truth,” he cried,
with a fierce oath, as he flung him back on the seat. The spy fell
doubled up against the table and as Pascal jerked him up again he heard
the crackle of papers under his doublet.
“So you have them on you, you sly devil, have you? Strip, to the skin,
and let me see what’s there. If I play valet for you you’ll find little
play in it, on my oath.”
“I’ll tell you all, monsieur,” gasped Dauban, faintly. “Let me but get
my breath.”
“I want no more of your lies. Give me the papers.”
“They are there,” and Dauban pointed to a desk.
“Thank you, master liar, but first I’ll have those on you. Quick
or----” and another threatening gesture finished the sentence.
Slowly and with a groan of anguish, Dauban took out some of the papers
he had concealed in his clothes, and laid them on the table.
“The rest,” said Pascal, putting these out of the spy’s reach. “Strip
and don’t try my temper farther, or I’ll not answer for myself.”
Trembling so that his aching teeth chattered, Dauban obeyed the
command; and as each garment was drawn off Pascal examined it for any
concealed documents, and a quick glance at what he found showed him the
nature and value of his discovery. He had the proofs not only of de
Proballe’s infamy but also of the Duke’s complicity in everything.
“Now open these places and, while I search, put on your clothes again.
Quick!” he thundered.
Then Dauban formed a plan. Terror-stricken though he was, he had yet
sense to reflect that he could never face his master with such a
confession. He donned his clothes rapidly and going to the cupboard
said--
“There is a secret hiding place here, monsieur.”
But Pascal was as sharp as a dagger’s point, and on the instant
detected a change of tone, and was ready for a trick.
“Open it,” he said, curtly, and without turning his head shifted his
position just sufficiently to watch the spy. Dauban made a pretence of
opening some secret recess and Pascal saw him snatch up something and
conceal it.
“It is open, monsieur,” said the spy.
“Good. Fright makes a ready servant of you,” replied Pascal; and as if
unsuspicious of treachery, crossed the room turning his back to give
the spy his chance.
With a quick stealthy rush Dauban sprang forward only to find himself
foiled, his uplifted right hand caught in a grip of iron, the weapon
taken from it and himself pinned against the wall with fingers of steel
playing on his windpipe and Pascal’s eyes gleaming close to his. He
wriggled and fought with the strength of despair; but the air was shut
from his lungs, his sight grew blurred, a blood red mist surged about
him, and then all was dark with the darkness of death.
“The sly treacherous devil,” murmured Pascal, as he let the inert
helpless body of the spy slip to the ground. “Who’d have thought he’d
even enough pluck for such a thing?”
What to do with him was a difficulty, however. Pascal had already
lost time which could ill be spared and having had one experience of
Dauban’s cleverness in slipping out of his bonds, he was loth to trust
again to mere cords.
A hurried search of the room offered no solution, and for the moment
there seemed nothing for it save the desperate step of plunging the
knife into his heart. He had earned death by his last murderous attack,
and Pascal picked up the weapon; but he shrank from the deed, and with
the object of obtaining the assistance of some of the household, he
opened the door.
In the corridor he found Lucette strolling near the room with an
assumed air of indifference. On seeing him she made as if to hurry
away, and he called her.
“Mademoiselle, you must help me,” he said, somewhat brusquely and with
a touch of command in his tone.
“Where is the monk, monsieur?” she asked, shrinking from him, “and
Jacques Dauban? What is the meaning of that knife?” and she pointed at
the knife which unwittingly he retained in his hand.
“I am the monk, mademoiselle. For God’s sake don’t run off in that
way.” He turned and tossed the knife back into the room. “Did you
think I had murdered myself and with an unstained knife?” he asked,
and smiled. “I am here on M. de Cobalt’s business and miladi of
Malincourt’s, and I must have help.”
Reassured by his tone she returned then.
“What has happened?” she asked.
“That which may help to straighten all this devil of a tangle. I have
tricked that spy of de Proballe’s and pinched half the life out of him,
and must have help to get him safely caged. He proved too slippery for
me once before.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ll show you;” and he opened the door so that she saw Dauban.
“Is he dead?” she asked, shrinking again.
“He would be if he had his deserts.”
“But what does it all mean?”
“Such a cauldron of troubles as the devil loves to set a-bubbling,
mademoiselle. M. Gerard de Cobalt has been found to be not Gerard de
Cobalt and the Governor has clapped him into one of his Castle cells;
this cur here and his mangy master are at the bottom of it--I have
just laid hands on the written proofs of their part. I have had a busy
afternoon and am in search of Mademoiselle de Malincourt, and must find
her at once. I have no time to fill in the details for you; so smother
your curiosity and just say if you will help me?”
“You have a commanding way with you, monsieur, for a serving man,”
cried Lucette with a smile.
“I am no serving man, but just a soldier; and by your leave have no
time for badinage. There is much to be done, and talk must wait on
action. I want irons and a guard for this carrion here. Can they be got
in the maison? If not, I must take the knife to him, much as I dislike
it. But his babbling tongue must be silenced, or we shall all be in
peril.”
“You would not kill him in cold blood?” cried Lucette, with a look of
horror.
“I would kill any one and any thing that stood between me and my
master’s safety.”
“I can get what you need,” she said, and hurried away, to return
quickly with a couple of men with manacles. Pascal gave them his
orders, and placing the gyves on Dauban’s wrists--none too gently, for
the spy was hated by every one--they carried him away.
“Now, mademoiselle, you must find a place of security for these,” said
Pascal, giving Lucette the papers. “De Proballe may come in search of
his precious spy, and he must not find these, nor must any one know
aught of the spy’s whereabouts. If my advice be followed I would clap
the master in the next cellar to this man; but that as you please.
Now, how to find Mademoiselle de Malincourt?”
“She is still at the Governor’s Castle. You can seek her there.”
“Nay, by your leave, that can I do only in the last extreme. Suspicion
is all over the place, and if they were to clap me by Dubois’ side
there would be more to pay than we can just now afford.”
“Dubois? Who is he?”
“Another of this Governor’s prisoners, and while he’s in I must keep
out. Will you go to miladi?”
“Of course I will. What shall I tell her?”
“That the liberty and perhaps the lives of the prisoners depends upon
her seeing me instantly.”
“Who shall I say you are?”
“Say what you like--that I am close in my master’s confidence and have
a plan for liberating him, if she will but come to me quickly.”
It was this conversation which sent Lucette hurrying in hot haste to
seek Gabrielle at the Castle, while Pascal employed the time of her
absence in examining Malincourt with an eye to putting it in the best
condition of defence.