‘The posters and the assassination of Colonel Berle were just diversions. You needed me for your third plan, the most spectacular one, the one that would have the most impact, your masterstroke!’
Louis de Leaume’s face creased in surprise. ‘How did you hear about that?’
‘He’s cunning,’ warned Varencourt. ‘But he doesn’t know anything more.’
Margont threw his last card on the table: it was just an idea, speculation, an ill-formed hypothesis. But if he said nothing, they would kill him and Lefine, so what did he have to lose?
‘On the contrary, I know everything. You’re going to assassinate Napoleon.’
The group froze in consternation. It was strange to see them still
pointing their weapons but looking worried. Louis de Leaume was dismayed. No, he really had not imagined things turning out like th is. He was experiencing the disappointment of the player who announces with a smirk: ‘Checkmate’ only to have his opponent reply: ‘If you will allow me ...’ and move one of his pieces to continue the game! His error of judgement had tarnished his joy like a spot of grease come to stain the glittering costume of his triumph. Varencourt was worried by their leader’s anxiety. ‘He’s just saying whatever comes into his head, making it up as he goes along. It’s just coincidence that he’s hit on the right thing!’
Margont looked supremely calm. It was just an act but he was putting his soul into it. Noticing this, Lefine followed suit, his serenity echoing his friend’s magnificently. They both acted as if everything was going exactly as they had hoped.
‘Charles de Varencourt told me everything,’ announced Margont. ‘That’s not true!’ Varencourt fumed.
‘I don’t believe you,’ said Vicomte de Leaume. But it was precisely because he was wondering if it could be true that he rejected it out loud.
‘Do you want more proof?’ asked Margont. ‘Charles explained that you wanted to kill the Emperor with a needle soaked in a rare poison with astonishing properties. It acts through the bloodstream and a single drop is enough to finish a man off. It’s called curare and is used by the Indian tribes of the Amazon. It paralyses the muscles and the victim dies of suff—’
‘But I didn’t tell him anything!’ Charles de Varencourt insisted. He wondered who could have revealed these things to Margont.
The latter was triumphant. His enemies were giving each other worried glances, not sure how to react to this unforeseen development.
Margont spoke to Varencourt: ‘Come on, don’t worry, Charles, you can stop pretending now. The police are surrounding the house. We’ve won! You’re going to be able to realise your dream of spending the rest of your life losing the twenty thousand francs Joseph promised you, playing cards.’
Varencourt lost his temper. He was about to fire at Margont, but
Louis de Leaume grabbed his arm, obliging him to lower his weapon.
‘Now!’ yelled Margont, lunging at Honoré de Nolant, who had turned to look at Leaume and Varencourt.
Lefine, accustomed to hand-to-hand conflict, pounced on Jean-Baptiste de Chatel with the speed of a cat. Chatel fired, but too late: Lefine had already pushed the gun out of the way and the bullet sped off to murder a chest of drawers. Louis de Leaume would have been able to finish off Margont, who had turned his back on him to beat up Honoré de Nolant. But as he believed Charles de Varencourt was guilty of giving their plan away, it was him he floored first with a pistol-whip to the jaw. Varencourt subsided groaning, dropping his pistol, and in the time it took Leaume to pick it up, Margont and Lefine had already reached the door. During their tussle Margont had forced Honoré de Nolant to drop his weapon, but had not managed to get hold of it. Nolant recovered it and, in concert with the Vicomte and Chatel, who took a small-calibre pistol from his pocket, went in hot pursuit of the two fugitives. Margont was taking the stairs several at a time. He could see the man who had guided them here waiting at the bottom holding a pistol. As Margont was unarmed he transformed himself into a projectile, launching himself at the man from the fifth step up. He struck the man at full speed, hurling him against the door. The door handle slammed violently into the man’s back and he collapsed howling. Lefine grabbed the man’s dropped gun and whirled round, pointing it at the top of the stairs, while Margont undid the bolts of the door. The other man who had stayed downstairs was nowhere to be seen - perhaps he had accompanied Catherine de Saltonges, or else he was stationed outside. Lefine took aim at a silhouette. All he could see of his pursuer was his outline against the light, but he guessed that the man was aiming at him too. He did not allow anything to disturb his concentration. He did not let fear or pity muddy his intention. He was not thinking about his own situation, was not worrying about what would happen to him if he were to miss his target. No, all he saw was an imaginary line, a straight line running from the barrel of his gun to
his adversary, who had had more time to adjust his aim but who had manifestly failed to conquer his fears. He delayed and Lefine fired. The silhouette collapsed and instinctively the two men behind fell back to take cover.
Margont and Lefine ran outside and charged across the courtyard. The man charged with blocking the narrow passage appeared, pistol at the ready. He was barring their way.
Lefine prepared to attack him but Margont shouted: ‘Police! Police!’
And their opponent fled, melting into the surrounding alleys. The obsession with secrecy that was second nature to the Swords of the King, and had served them so well until now, was being turned against them. Vicomte de Leaume had not warned the man that Margont and Lefine were spies, for fear of spreading alarm. Shutters creaked open and a shot rang out. The bullet shattered against a wall just as the two fugitives disappeared in their turn into the streets. Lefine led the way and, after several detours, eventually succeeded in finding Pont d’Austerlitz.
‘Help!’ yelled Margont to a line of Marie-Louises.
The young conscripts brandished their weapons in all directions. Some wanted to protect the poor frightened blighter running towards them; others prepared to fire at him to protect Lefine, whom they took to be his victim; still others copied their brothers in arms without having decided yet who they should fire on; the appalled crowd scattered, fearing a shoot-out; several men who could have been taken simply for passers-by pulled pistols from their overcoats; National Guardsmen appeared, rifles at the ready ... Everyone was prepared to kill everyone else. Gradually calm was restored. One of the armed civilians came over to Margont, his weapon lowered to avoid any misunderstanding.
‘I’m delighted to see you safe! I’m Monsieur Palenier. As arranged, we were following you, but we lost you on the bridge because of that damned haycart! Where are the men we need to arrest?’ ‘Imbeciles! Incompetent imbeciles!’ was all that Margont could manage to splutter in response.
CHAPTER 35
MARGONT recounted the happenings to Palenier, who in turn relayed them to Joseph. When the latter heard that the Swords of the King had been planning to assassinate his brother, he flew into a terrible rage. But it was obvious that his shouting and recriminations were partly to camouflage his fear. He immediately mobilised all available forces but to little avail.
His personal police burst into various houses where they thought members of the Swords of the King were hiding and arrested some suspects. They went back to the ‘treasure-trove’ and picked up the man Margont had wounded. But as Leaume, with his mania for secrecy, had not told him anything, he could provide no new information. The man Lefine had shot had escaped with the others. There were drops of blood on the stairs, but the telltale trail ended abruptly in the courtyard - he must have taken care to stem the bleeding with a handkerchief. Lefine thought they would find him not far from Charles de Varencourt’s body, but that was not the case. Margont voiced the theory that it had taken so long for Joseph’s agents to surround the house - because Lefine had had trouble finding the building again - that Charles de Varencout had been able to prove his innocence to the others. Or else he had profited from the general panic and had managed to escape.