“Then I pray you write. Which of your followers will have the honour of the communication?”
“My brother-in-law, Armand St. Just; he is still in Paris, I believe. He can let the others know.”
Chauvelin made no immediate reply. He paused awhile, hesitating. Would Sir Percy Blakeney be ready—if his own safety demanded it—to sacrifice the man who had betrayed him? In the momentous “either—or” that was to be put to him, by-and-by, would he choose his own life and leave Armand St. Just to perish? It was not for Chauvelin—or any man of his stamp—to judge of what Blakeney would do under such circumstances, and had it been a question of St. Just alone, mayhap Chauvelin would have hesitated still more at the present juncture.
But the friend as hostage was only destined to be a minor leverage for the final breaking-up of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel through the disgrace of its chief. There was the wife—Marguerite Blakeney—sister of St. Just, joint and far more important hostage, whose very close affection for her brother might prove an additional trump card in that handful which Chauvelin already held.
Blakeney paid no heed seemingly to the other’s hesitation. He did not even look up at him, but quietly drew pen and paper towards him, and made ready to write.
“What do you wish me to say?” he asked simply.
“Will that young blackguard answer your purpose, citizen Chauvelin?” queried Heron roughly.
Obviously the same doubt had crossed his mind. Chauvelin quickly re-assured him.
“Better than any one else,” he said firmly. “Will you write at my dictation, Sir Percy?
“I am waiting to do so, my dear sir.”