El Dorado: An Adventure of the Scarlet Pimpernel

  CHAPTER VIII. ARCADES AMBO

  "That is the way we conduct our affairs, citizen," said Heron gruffly,as he once more led his guest back into his office.

  It was his turn to be complacent now. De Batz, for once in his lifecowed by what he had seen, still wore a look of horror and disgust uponhis florid face.

  "What devils you all are!" he said at last.

  "We are good patriots," retorted Heron, "and the tyrant's spawn leadsbut the life that hundreds of thousands of children led whilst hisfather oppressed the people. Nay! what am I saying? He leads a farbetter, far happier life. He gets plenty to eat and plenty of warmclothes. Thousands of innocent children, who have not the crimes ofa despot father upon their conscience, have to starve whilst he growsfat."

  The leer in his face was so evil that once more de Batz felt thateerie feeling of terror creeping into his bones. Here were cruelty andbloodthirsty ferocity personified to their utmost extent. At thought ofthe Bourbons, or of all those whom he considered had been in the pastthe oppressors of the people, Heron was nothing but a wild and ravenousbeast, hungering for revenge, longing to bury his talons and his fangsinto the body of those whose heels had once pressed on his own neck.

  And de Batz knew that even with millions or countless money at hiscommand he could not purchase from this carnivorous brute the life andliberty of the son of King Louis. No amount of bribery would accomplishthat; it would have to be ingenuity pitted against animal force, thewiliness of the fox against the power of the wolf.

  Even now Heron was darting savagely suspicious looks upon him.

  "I shall get rid of the Simons," he said; "there's something in thatwoman's face which I don't trust. They shall go within the next fewhours, or as soon as I can lay my hands upon a better patriot than thatmealy-mouthed cobbler. And it will be better not to have a woman aboutthe place. Let me see--to-day is Thursday, or else Friday morning.By Sunday I'll get those Simons out of the place. Methought I saw youogling that woman," he added, bringing his bony fist crashing down onthe table so that papers, pen, and inkhorn rattled loudly; "and if Ithought that you--"

  De Batz thought it well at this point to finger once more nonchalantlythe bundle of crisp paper in the pocket of his coat.

  "Only on that one condition," reiterated Heron in a hoarse voice; "ifyou try to get at Capet, I'll drag you to the Tribunal with my ownhands."

  "Always presuming that you can get me, my friend," murmured de Batz, whowas gradually regaining his accustomed composure.

  Already his active mind was busily at work. One or two things whichhe had noted in connection with his visit to the Dauphin's prison hadstruck him as possibly useful in his schemes. But he was disappointedthat Heron was getting rid of the Simons. The woman might have beenvery useful and more easily got at than a man. The avarice of the Frenchbourgeoise would have proved a promising factor. But this, of course,would now be out of the question. At the same time it was not becauseHeron raved and stormed and uttered cries like a hyena that he, deBatz, meant to give up an enterprise which, if successful, would placemillions into his own pocket.

  As for that meddling Englishman, the Scarlet Pimpernel, and hiscrack-brained followers, they must be effectually swept out of the wayfirst of all. De Batz felt that they were the real, the most likelyhindrance to his schemes. He himself would have to go very cautiouslyto work, since apparently Heron would not allow him to purchase immunityfor himself in that one matter, and whilst he was laying his plans withnecessary deliberation so as to ensure his own safety, that accursedScarlet Pimpernel would mayhap snatch the golden prize from the Templeprison right under his very nose.

  When he thought of that the Gascon Royalist felt just as vindictive asdid the chief agent of the Committee of General Security.

  While these thoughts were coursing through de Batz' head, Heron had beenindulging in a volley of vituperation.

  "If that little vermin escapes," he said, "my life will not be worthan hour's purchase. In twenty-four hours I am a dead man, thrown to theguillotine like those dogs of aristocrats! You say I am a night-bird,citizen. I tell you that I do not sleep night or day thinking of thatbrat and the means to keep him safely under my hand. I have nevertrusted those Simons--"

  "Not trusted them!" exclaimed de Batz; "surely you could not findanywhere more inhuman monsters!"

  "Inhuman monsters?" snarled Heron. "Bah! they don't do their businessthoroughly; we want the tyrant's spawn to become a true Republican anda patriot--aye! to make of him such a one that even if you and yourcursed confederates got him by some hellish chance, he would be no useto you as a king, a tyrant to set above the people, to set up inyour Versailles, your Louvre, to eat off golden plates and wear satinclothes. You have seen the brat! By the time he is a man he shouldforget how to eat save with his fingers, and get roaring drunk everynight. That's what we want!--to make him so that he shall be no use toyou, even if you did get him away; but you shall not! You shall not, notif I have to strangle him with my own hands."

  He picked up his short-stemmed pipe and pulled savagely at it forawhile. De Batz was meditating.

  "My friend," he said after a little while, "you are agitating yourselfquite unnecessarily, and gravely jeopardising your prospects of gettinga comfortable little income through keeping your fingers off my person.Who said I wanted to meddle with the child?"

  "You had best not," growled Heron.

  "Exactly. You have said that before. But do you not think that youwould be far wiser, instead of directing your undivided attention to myunworthy self, to turn your thoughts a little to one whom, believe me,you have far greater cause to fear?"

  "Who is that?"

  "The Englishman."

  "You mean the man they call the Scarlet Pimpernel?"

  "Himself. Have you not suffered from his activity, friend Heron? I fancythat citizen Chauvelin and citizen Collot would have quite a tale totell about him."

  "They ought both to have been guillotined for that blunder last autumnat Boulogne."

  "Take care that the same accusation be not laid at your door this year,my friend," commented de Batz placidly.

  "Bah!"

  "The Scarlet Pimpernel is in Paris even now."

  "The devil he is!"

  "And on what errand, think you?"

  There was a moment's silence, and then de Batz continued with slow anddramatic emphasis:

  "That of rescuing your most precious prisoner from the Temple."

  "How do you know?" Heron queried savagely.

  "I guessed."

  "How?"

  "I saw a man in the Theatre National to-day..."

  "Well?"

  "Who is a member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel."

  "D---- him! Where can I find him?"

  "Will you sign a receipt for the three thousand five hundred livres,which I am pining to hand over to you, my friend, and I will tell you?"

  "Where's the money?"

  "In my pocket."

  Without further words Heron dragged the inkhorn and a sheet of papertowards him, took up a pen, and wrote a few words rapidly in a loose,scrawly hand. He strewed sand over the writing, then handed it acrossthe table to de Batz.

  "Will that do?" he asked briefly.

  The other was reading the note through carefully.

  "I see you only grant me a fortnight," he remarked casually.

  "For that amount of money it is sufficient. If you want an extension youmust pay more."

  "So be it," assented de Batz coolly, as he folded the paper across."On the whole a fortnight's immunity in France these days is quite apleasant respite. And I prefer to keep in touch with you, friend Heron.I'll call on you again this day fortnight."

  He took out a letter-case from his pocket. Out of this he drew a packetof bank-notes, which he laid on the table in front of Heron, then heplaced the receipt carefully into the letter-case, and this back intohis pocket.

  Heron in the meanwhile was counting over the banknotes. The lightof ferocity had entirely g
one from his eyes; momentarily the wholeexpression of the face was one of satisfied greed.

  "Well!" he said at last when he had assured himself that the numberof notes was quite correct, and he had transferred the bundle of crisppapers into an inner pocket of his coat--"well, what about your friend?"

  "I knew him years ago," rejoined de Batz coolly; "he is a kinsman ofcitizen St. Just. I know that he is one of the confederates of theScarlet Pimpernel."

  "Where does he lodge?"

  "That is for you to find out. I saw him at the theatre, and afterwardsin the green-room; he was making himself agreeable to the citizenessLange. I heard him ask for leave to call on her to-morrow at fouro'clock. You know where she lodges, of course!"

  He watched Heron while the latter scribbled a few words on a scrap ofpaper, then he quietly rose to go. He took up his cloak and once againwrapped it round his shoulders. There was nothing more to be said, andhe was anxious to go.

  The leave-taking between the two men was neither cordial nor more thanbarely courteous. De Batz nodded to Heron, who escorted him to theoutside door of his lodging, and there called loudly to a soldier whowas doing sentinel at the further end of the corridor.

  "Show this citizen the way to the guichet," he said curtly. "Good-night,citizen," he added finally, nodding to de Batz.

  Ten minutes later the Gascon once more found himself in the Rue duTemple between the great outer walls of the prison and the silentlittle church and convent of St. Elizabeth. He looked up to where in thecentral tower a small grated window lighted from within showed theplace where the last of the Bourbons was being taught to desecrate thetraditions of his race, at the bidding of a mender of shoes--a navalofficer cashiered for misconduct and fraud.

  Such is human nature in its self-satisfied complacency that de Batz,calmly ignoring the vile part which he himself had played in the lastquarter of an hour of his interview with the Committee's agent, foundit in him to think of Heron with loathing, and even of the cobbler Simonwith disgust.

  Then with a self-righteous sense of duty performed, and an indifferentshrug of the shoulders, he dismissed Heron from his mind.

  "That meddlesome Scarlet Pimpernel will find his hands over-fullto-morrow, and mayhap will not interfere in my affairs for some time tocome," he mused; "meseems that that will be the first time that a memberof his precious League has come within the clutches of such unpleasantpeople as the sleuth-hounds of my friend Heron!"