V
The man who had so mysteriously led Yvonne de Kernogan from the house of Louise Adet to the Rat Mort, turned away from the door of the tavern as soon as it had closed on the young girl, and started to go back the way he came.
At the angle formed by the high wall of the tavern he paused; a moving form had detached itself from the surrounding gloom and hailed him with a cautious whisper.
"Hist! citizen Martin-Roget, is that you?"
"Yes."
"Everything just as we anticipated?"
"Everything."
"And the wench safely inside?"
"Quite safely."
The other gave a low cackle, which might have been intended for a laugh.
"The simplest means," he said, "are always the best."
"She never suspected me. It was all perfectly simple. You are a magician, citizen Chauvelin," added Martin-Roget grudgingly. "I never would have thought of such a clever ruse."
"You see," rejoined Chauvelin drily, "I graduated in the school of a master of all ruses—a master of daring and a past master in the art of mimicry. And hope was our great ally—the hope that never forsakes a prisoner—that of getting free. Your fair Yvonne had boundless faith in the power of her English friends, therefore she fell into our trap like a bird."
"And like a bird she shall struggle in vain after this," said Martin-Roget slowly. "Oh! that I could hasten the flight of time—the next few minutes will hang on me like hours. And I wish too it were not so bitterly cold," he added with a curse; "this north-westerly wind has got into my bones."
"On to your nerves, I imagine, citizen," retorted Chauvelin with a laugh; "for my part I feel as warm and comfortable as on a lovely day in June."
"Hark! Who goes there?" broke in the other man abruptly, as a solitary moving form detached itself from the surrounding inky blackness and the sound of measured footsteps broke the silence of the night.
"Quite in order, citizen!" was the prompt reply.
The shadowy form came a step or two further forward.
"Is it you, citizen Fleury?" queried Chauvelin.
"Himself, citizen," replied the other.
The men had spoken in a whisper. Fleury now placed his hand on Chauvelin's arm.
"We had best not stand so close to the tavern," he said, "the night hawks are already about and we don't want to scare them."
He led the others up the yard, then into a very narrow passage which lay between Louise Adet's house and the Rat Mort and was bordered by the high walls of the houses on either side.
"This is a blind alley," he whispered. "We have the wall of Le Bouffay in front of us: the wall of the Rat Mort is on one side and the house of the citizeness Adet on the other. We can talk here undisturbed."
Overhead there was a tiny window dimly lighted from within. Chauvelin pointed up to it.
"What is that?" he asked.
"An aperture too small for any human being to pass through," replied Fleury drily. "It gives on a small landing at the foot of the stairs. I told Friche to try and manœuvre so that the wench and her father are pushed in there out of the way while the worst of the fracas is going on. That was your suggestion, citizen Chauvelin."
"It was. I was afraid the two aristos might get spirited away while your men were tackling the crowd in the tap-room. I wanted them put away in a safe place."
"The staircase is safe enough," rejoined Fleury; "it has no egress save that on the tap-room and only leads to the upper story and the attic. The house has no back entrance—it is built against the wall of Le Bouffay."
"And what about your Marats, citizen commandant?"
"Oh! I have them all along the street—entirely under cover but closely on the watch—half a company and all keen after the game. The thousand francs you promised them has stimulated their zeal most marvellously, and as soon as Paul Friche in there has whipped up the tempers of the frequenters of the Rat Mort, we shall be ready to rush the place and I assure you, citizen Chauvelin, that only a disembodied ghost—if there be one in the place—will succeed in evading arrest."
"Is Paul Friche already at his post then?"
"And at work—or I'm much mistaken," replied Fleury as he suddenly gripped Chauvelin by the arm.
For just at this moment the silence of the winter's night was broken by loud cries which came from the interior of the Rat Mort—voices were raised to hoarse and raucous cries—men and women all appeared to be shrieking together, and presently there was a loud crash as of overturned furniture and broken glass.
"A few minutes longer, citizen Fleury," said Chauvelin, as the commandant of the Marats turned on his heel and started to go back to the Carrefour de la Poissonnerie.
"Oh yes!" whispered the latter, "we'll wait awhile longer to give the Englishmen time to arrive on the scene. The coast is clear for them—my Marats are hidden from sight behind the doorways and shop-fronts of the houses opposite. In about three minutes from now I'll send them forward."
"And good luck to your hunting, citizen," whispered Chauvelin in response.
Fleury very quickly disappeared in the darkness and the other two men followed in his wake. They hugged the wall of the Rat Mort as they went along and its shadow enveloped them completely: their shoes made no sound on the unpaved ground. Chauvelin's nostrils quivered as he drew the keen, cold air into his lungs and faced the north-westerly blast which at this moment also lashed the face of his enemy. His keen eyes tried to pierce the gloom, his ears were strained to hear that merry peal of laughter which in the unforgettable past had been wont to proclaim the presence of the reckless adventurer. He knew—he felt—as certainly as he felt the air which he breathed, that the man whom he hated beyond everything on earth was somewhere close by, wrapped in the murkiness of the night—thinking, planning, intriguing, pitting his sharp wits, his indomitable pluck, his impudent dare-devilry against the sure and patient trap which had been set for him.
Half a company of Marats in front—the walls of Le Bouffay in the rear! Chauvelin rubbed his thin hands together!
"You are not a disembodied ghost, my fine Scarlet Pimpernel," he murmured, "and this time I really think——"