"The simple fact," Devinne replied, "that he, too, has fled from justice, which he knew was about to overtake him and punish him for his crime."
"What do you mean?"
"Only this. All that I have told you I learned through listening to the talk of a group of vagabonds in the cabaret of the Chien sans Queue on the Corbeil road. They were musicians who had scraped their catgut and blown their trumpets all afternoon up at La Rodière. I was one of the crowd who had gone up there to see the fun, and then adjourned to the Chien sans Queue for a mug of ale. The vagrants were talking in whispers. I caught a word or two. To my astonishment those ragamuffins were speaking English, which I, as a Canadian, know well. I edged closer to them and heard every word they said. That is how I know everything and how I knew all about their plans. And," he concluded, with slow emphasis, measuring every word, "they spoke of Pradel as being a member of their gang and of their resolve to take him along with the la Rodières to England."
After Devinne had finished speaking there fell a stillness over this banal office, in the center of which, round the desk littered with papers and paraphernalia, three men sat pondering over what would follow the amazing events of the previous night. The Chief Commissary perspired more freely than ever and kept on muttering in tones almost of despair:
"What are we going to do? Nom d'un nom, what are we going to do?"
Maurin said nothing. He was thinking. Thing very deeply indeed, and at the same time trying to keep a mask of indifference over his face, so as not to allow that fool of a Commissary to guess that he felt neither doubt nor bewilderment at this turn of events, but only satisfaction. Pradel, his enemy, was disarmed. No longer could he be a rival in the affections of Blanche Levet. Neither as an émigré flying to England to save his skin, nor standing at the bar of the Hall of Justice under an accusation of treasonable association with a gang of English spies, could he ever hope to capture the glamour which had dazzled an unsophisticated young girl. And when the Commissary reiterated his complaint for the third time: "Non d'un nom, what am I to do?" the lawyer responded dryly:
"It is too late to do anything now. That wily Scarlet Pimpernel with his drove of traitors and aristos will be half-way to the coast by now."
"Not so bad as that, Citizen Lawyer," Devinne put in. "They will have to make a forced halt at Le Perrey for relays. Of course, they will drive like Satan himself as far as there, but the coach with its heavy load will be slow of progress."
A ray of hope glistened in the eyes of the Commissary at this suggestion.
"You are certain about Le Perrey?" he asked.
"Quite certain. I heard the gang discuss the question of relays and the enforced halt there. At any rate, it might be worth your while, Citizen Commissary," he went on in an insinuating manner, "to send a squad of mounted men in pursuit. They could get fresh horses at Le Perrey and ride like the wind. They are bound to come up with the lumbering coach."
"Do you know which route they mean to take, beyond Le Perrey?"
"Yes, I do. They will make straight for Dreux, Pont Audemer and Trouville. The Scarlet Pimpernel has established headquarters all along that route and it is the nearest way from here to the coast."
The Commissary brought his fist down with a crash upon the desk.
"Pardieu!" he said lustily. "Citizen Collin is right. There is time and to spare to be at the heels of these cursed spies. What say you, Citizen Lawyer?"
But the citizen lawyer really didn't care one way or the other. Whether Pradel was caught in the company of English spies, or was still in Choisy, when of a surety he would be arrested for treason on the evidence of this Canadian farmer, mattered nothing to Louis Maurin, the prospective husband of Blanche Levet. He gave a shrug of indifference and said casually: "You must do as you thing best, Citizen Commissary."
The latter by way of an answer tinkled his hand-bell furiously. The clerk entered, looking scared.
"Send Citizen Captain Cabel to me at once," the Commissary commanded. He was feeling decidedly better. Much relieved. He mopped his still streaming forehead, picked up a pen and started tap-tapping it against the top of the desk. And while he did so a look of absolute beatitude crept slowly all over his face. He had just remembered that a reward of five hundred louis was offered by the government for the capture of the Scarlet Pimpernel.
To Captain Cabel, who entered the office a few minutes later, he gave quick orders:
"A gang of English spies, probably in disguise, and escorting a coach in which are the aristos from La Rodière, are speeding towards the coast by way of Le Perrey, Dreux and Pont Audemer. They will probably make for Trouville. Take a mounted squad of sixteen picked men and ride like hell in pursuit. The leader of the gang is the famous Scarlet Pimpernel. There is a reward of five hundred louis for his apprehension. Fifty louis will be for you if you get him and another twenty to be distributed among the men. Lose no time, Citizen Captain; your promotion and your whole future depend on your success."
Captain Cabel , dumb with emotion, gave the salute, and turning on his heel, marched out of the room. There was no mistaking the expression of his face as he did so. If it was humanly possible to accomplish such a thing, he would bring that audacious Scarlet Pimpernel back to Choisy in chains. The Commissary rubbed his hands together with glee. He had never done a better morning's work in all his life. Five hundred, or what would be left of it after he had shared it with the captain and the men, was a fortune in these days of penury. Yes, Chief Commissary Lacaune had reason to be elated. He rose and with an inviting gesture begged his distinguished visitors to join him in a vin d'honneur at the Café Tison.
Maurin accepted with pleasure. He liked to be on friendly terms with the Commissary, who was the most important personage in the Commune. But Devinne asked politely to be excused. He was heartily sick of all these people, the like of whom in his own country he would not have touched with a barge pole. He longed to be back in England, where rabble such as ruled France to-day would be sent to gaol for venality and corruption. He took his leave with as polite a bow as he could force himself to make. The Commissary tinkled his bell, the clerk re-entered and ushered Citizen Collin out of the place.
Maurin gazed thoughtfully on the door that had closed behind the pseudo Canadian farmer.
"A strange person that," he remarked to his friend Lacaune. "Do you suppose he spoke the truth?"
The Commissary gave a gasp. He did not relish this sudden onslaught on his newly risen hopes.
"I'll soon ascertain,: he replied tartly, "for I'll send up to La Rodière to liberate Citizen Chauvelin and the men from durance. If they are not there, it will give the lie to our Canadian; in which case-" he went on, and completed the sentence by drawing the edge of his hand across his throat.
"And, anyway, I am having him watched. You may be sure of that, my friend." After which he gave a short laugh and added lightly:
"But I am more than hopeful that my men will find the distinguished member of the Committee of Public Safety locked up in the cellar of the Château, as our friend the Canadian has truly informed us."
With that the worthy Commissary took his friend the lawyer by the arm and together the two compeers adjourned for a vin d'honneur at the Café Tison.
BOOK V