Scaramouche (38 page)

Thuillier attempted to speak. "There has been—"

"Do not interrupt me. I am informed of what there has been. I am concerned with the business which has led to the arrest of the man Thorin."

At last full understanding dawned upon Thuillier. This agent had been sent to Blérancourt by Saint-Just himself so as to procure—manufacturing what was necessary—such evidence as would suffice to send the betrayed and inconvenient husband of Madame Thorin to the guillotine. Thuillier perceived his duty clearly. It was to work hand in hand with this very efficient agent of the Public Safety. He no longer scowled. He assumed instead a sympathetic gravity.

"Ah, yes. That is a sad case, citizen. Blérancourt blushes to think of it."

André-Louis' answer was startling. "I should think better of Blérancourt, and of you, if there were some evidence of a disposition to cut out this cancer."

"You mean?"

"Come, citizen. Do not trifle with me. Where are the proofs of this good will, of this patriotic zeal?"

"But have we not arrested this villain Thorin, and sent him to Paris for trial?"

"For conspiracy," said André-Louis pregnantly. He waited a moment. "Come, come! Where are the others? Where are this scoundrel's associates, his fellow-conspirators? Have you arrested them yet?"

Thuillier became impatient. "What are you talking about? We do not know of any others."

"You do not?" André-Louis raised his brows. Sarcasm was in his sudden smile. "You wish me to understand perhaps that in Blérancourt a man may conspire alone? That this is a peculiarity of the inhabitants of the Aisne?"

The Mayor was penetrated by the acuteness of the observation.

"Name' of a name!" he ejaculated, and turned to Thuillier. "But of course the fellow must have had associates. A man does not conspire alone, as the Citizen-Agent says."

"You perceive it? I am glad there is some intelligence in Blérancourt, even if one must rummage to find it. Well, Citizen-President, you do not appear to have been very diligent. You discover that Thorin is conspiring. You arrest him for it, and you leave the matter there. You do not take the trouble to ascertain who are his fellow-conspirators. Faith! I think it is high time the Committee of Public Safety looked into the matter."

André-Louis took up a pencil, and made some notes rapidly.

The Mayor looked blank stupefaction. Thuillier sat scowling again, but dumb. He realized that the less he said the better. Things were not quite as he had supposed at first. He must leave it for his friend Saint-Just to say what there was to be said to this pert, meddlesome young agent. He wouldn't meddle much more by the time Saint-Just had done with him. Lucas maintained an easy interested air in the proceedings. He, after all, was merely the instrument of the executive, and there was no responsibility upon him for any of its blunders or short-comings.

André-Louis looked up. Thuillier was to realize that this pert young meddler had not yet done with him,

"What was the nature of this conspiracy, Citizen-President? Its precise nature?"

Thuillier shifted ill-humouredly on his chair. "Do you expect me to carry all the business of my committee in my head?"

"Why, no. Have you had many conspiracies in Blérancóurt?"

"We have had no other."

"Yet you cannot remember the nature of this, the only one? You betray but a faint interest, I fear. You will have notes, I suppose?"

"I don't know whether I have or not."

André-Louis raised his brows, and for a long moment stared at the President.

"Citizen, let me admonish you to be serious. This man must have been before your committee for examination."

"He was not. I examined him myself."

"That is very irregular. But even so, you must have made some notes. A note of the case. You will have that."

"Oh, I suppose I have. But how do I know where it is now?"

"You must seek it, Citizen-President. You do not appear even yet to perceive the gravity of the matter. When we have the details of the conspiracy we should have some clue to the identity of Thorin's fellow-conspirators."

"That is true," the Mayor agreed ponderously.

"We shall be able to track down these scoundrels who are still at large to work their evil against the Republic. You perceive that, I hope, Citizen-President."

"I perceive it. Yes. I perceive it. Of course I perceive it." Thuillier was at bay. He showed his teeth. "But a thousand devils! I tell you I have no notes."

André-Louis looked at him long and searchingly, until Thuillier got to his feet in a rage.

"Why do you stare at me?"

"You have no notes? What am I to understand by this?"

Thuillier, trusting to the protection of his friend Saint-Just, on whose behalf he had acted, permitted himself to lose his temper.

"You may understand what the devil you like. I am tired of your questions. Do you think that I am to be browbeaten by a mouchard. For that is what you are, I suppose. Do you think—"

André-Louis interrupted him. "Silence, my man! Silence! Sainte Guillotine! Do I represent the Committee of Public Safety, or what do I represent? Am I to have insolences from the President of a provincial revolutionary committee. Here's a fine state of things! Do you think I want speeches from you? You'll answer to what I ask you, and no more. But, indeed, I don't think there is much more to ask you."

"I am glad of that, at least," said Thuillier with a toss of his dark head and in an irrepressible flash of insolence. He sat down again, and crossed his legs, a swift movement eloquent of his anger.

André-Louis looked at him keenly. Then he took up a pen, dipped it, drew a sheet of paper towards him, and wrote briskly. For a few moments there was no sound in the room but the scratching of his quill and the gusty, ill-tempered breathing of the Citizen Thuillier. At last it was done. The agent cast aside the pen, and sat back waving the sheet so as to dry the ink. Whilst he waved it, he spoke, and now not only to Thuillier, but to Foulard as well.

"The situation, then, is this: a fortnight ago the Citizen Thorin was arrested by order of the President of the Committee of Blérancourt on a charge of conspiracy, and sent to Paris to the Conciergerie, where he remains a prisoner. I am sent here to discover the nature of the conspiracy and the names of those who conspired with Thorin. The President can tell me neither the one nor the other. He informs me in insolent terms that he has no notes. It is not for me to draw inferences. The Committee of Public Safety will do that. But it is already clear that only two inferences are possible. Either the Citizen-President has been criminally negligent of his duty, or else he is concerned to shield these other plotters."

"What do you say?" Thuillier was on his feet again.

André-Louis went on steadily and relentlessly. "It will be for the Committee to determine which inference it will adopt. Meanwhile, my own duty is quite clear. Citizen-Mayor, will you be good enough to countersign this order?" And he held out towards Foulard the paper on which he had written.

The Mayor read; Thuillier, his face dark with rage, stared at him, and from him to André-Louis.

"What is it?" he asked at last.

"My God!" said the Mayor at the same moment.

"It is an order for your arrest, of course," said André-Louis. "For my arrest? Arrest me? Me?" The President recoiled. He was suddenly white under his deep tan.

"You will have perceived the necessity, Citizen-Mayor," said André-Louis.

The Citizen-Mayor licked his lips meditatively. His red-rimmed eyes were narrowed. He took up the pen. Was André-Louis deceived, or did a smile-flicker over the little man's lips as he bent to sign? It was not difficult to imagine how such a man as Thuillier, tyrannically abusing his position as President of the Revolutionary Committee, must have bullied and humiliated the Mayor, or what old scores the Mayor was now settling by that pen-stroke for which the responsibility lay elsewhere.

And then the dumbfounded Thuillier recovered himself at last.

"Are you mad? Don't sign, Foulard! Don't dare to sign! By God, man, I'll have your head for this!"

"Ha Make a note of that threat, Boissancourt. It shall be reported with the rest. And let me remind you, Citizen Thuillier, that your own head is none so secure at this moment. You'll best protect it by a submissive conduct, reserving what else you may have to say until you come to stand your trial." He took the paper and turned to the gaping officer. "Here is your order, Citizen-Commandant. You will lodge the Citizen Thuillier in the local gaol, and you will hold him there pending my further orders. You will have him guarded by men of trust and you will see to it that he holds no communications whatever without an order from me. He is to send no letters, receive no letters, and he is to be allowed to see no one at all. You are responsible for this. I warn you that the responsibility is a heavy one."

"By God it is," said the livid Thuillier. "Some of you will have to answer for this. Some of you will lose your heads over it."

"Take him away," said André-Louis.

The Commandant saluted, and, order in hand, turned to Thuillier.

"Come, Citizen-President."

Thuillier stood there a moment, his jaws working, his lips moving, but uttering nothing. Then he shook a fist at André-Louis. "You wait, my pert jackanapes! You wait! You'll see what happens to you."

André-Louis looked at him with contempt. "I am concerned to see what happens to you, you traitor. I could foretell it with reasonable certainty."

He waved him away.

CHAPTER XXXIX

EVIDENCE

When the sounds of the protesting, threatening Thuillier's removal had at last faded, André-Louis, who had risen, addressed himself to Foulard.

"What do you make of it, Citizen-Mayor?"

The paunchy little man washed his unclean hands in the air and wagged his head in grave and sorrowful condemnation.

"I do not like it. I tell you frankly, Citizen-Agent, I do not like it."

"What don't you like? Be clear, man."

The Mayor jumped. "I don't like the conduct of Thuillier. It is not frank. It is not the conduct of a patriot."

"Ha! You perceive that too. I was sure from the moment I saw you that I could count upon your intelligence. Though it isn't intelligence that is lacking in Blérancourt. It's loyalty, zeal, patriotism. You conspire here, and the President of your committee shelters the conspirators."

"You think that? You believe that?"

"Don't you?" boomed Boissancourt.

"I don't know what to think; what to believe." André-Louis smiled unpleasantly.

"We must find you something. We may find it among that rascal's papers. Come, citizen, Show me the way to Thuillier's house. You will come with us, Boissancourt."

Thuillier had his lodging at the end of the village in a house that was set back in a tangled, neglected garden, very desolate in its present December nakedness. It was a ramshackle place kept by the Widow Grasset and her maiden sister, both women in middle life. Thuillier occupied two rooms on the ground floor. A brief survey of the bedroom justified André-Louis in dismissing it. He passed to the sitting-room where evidently Thuillier dispatched the matters concerned with his official position. There were some books on a shell. André-Louis looked them over cursorily; a 'Contrat Social', some volumes of Voltaire's 'Siêcle de Louis XIV', one or two works on philosophy, a translation of Ovid, a copy of the 'Roman de la Rose', and many others, making up a curious assortment.

A writing-table stood in the window. There were some papers upon it. He looked through them. They were of no particular account. He opened the two drawers set in it. There was nothing in them of the least consequence.

Then, the Mayor following him ever, and Boissancourt bringing up the rear, he passed to a mahogany bureau that stood in a recess of the wall. It was locked.

Having broken it open, André-Louis sat down to go through its contents. The Mayor by his invitation pulled up a chair so as to sit beside him and participate in his investigation. Boissancourt, standing on his other side, assisted as directed.

The December daylight had long since faded, and they had been working for three hours by candlelight in that chill, untidy room before they brought their labours to a close. From that rigorous sifting had resulted a little bundle of papers, which Boissancourt tied together. Then the bureau was closed again, and by André-Louis' orders the Mayor affixed his seals to it. Similarly they sealed up the two rooms, informing the startled Widow Grasset that they were not to be opened save upon an official order from the Committee of Public Safety or by its accredited representatives.

Back in his room at the Bonnet Rouge, where meanwhile a fire had been kindled to thaw the august limbs of the Citizen-Agent, André-Louis went more closely over the appropriated documents with the Mayor, whilst Boissancourt, in his capacity of secretary, sat making such notes as were required by his master.

The great prize was a letter from Saint-Just, which Thuillier had incautiously kept in spite of a note at foot enjoining him instantly to destroy it. It was a month old, its terms were deliberately vague and it made no mention of Thorin by name. But they were not so vague that when read in the light of subsequent events they left very much doubt as to the charge upon which Thorin had been arrested.

If this Pantaloon, Saint-Just wrote, continues to squeal as you now report, grave inconvenience may result to me. Purity of life is so popular at this present that I have embraced the advocacy of it. That should be enough for you. You will infer the rest, and understand the inconveniences. Something must be done. No use to write to me to order things differently here. Even if I were to do so, this man could still be mischievous. His silence must be ensured. I leave it to your wits to discover the way. Take counsel at need with B.S.J. You may both depend upon my gratitude.

Greetings and fraternity,

Your life-long friend, F. Saint-Just.

On matters hinted in this letter, André-Louis proceeded to an examination of the Mayor.

"Pantaloon in the comedy is always a poor cuckold.. That a cuckold is in question is confirmed by the next sentence. What cuckold here in Blérancourt could be inconvenient to the Representative Saint-Just?"

This was putting a pistol to the Mayor's head. However fearful Foulard might be, he could not elude it.

"There was Thorin."

"Thorin!" André-Louis affected astonishment. "Thorin! But that is the name of this conspirator."

"Just so," said the Mayor.

"The man whose silence must be ensured. Do you know, Citizen-Mayor, that it begins to look as if there was here a conspiracy of quite another sort. Thuillier, who discovered it, cannot tell us what it was about, or who was in it, save this unfortunate Thorin. What is the truth about Thorin? What is his story?"

Out it came. It was known in the village that Saint-Just had seduced Thorin's wife. Since his going to Paris she had disappeared, and it was rumoured that she had followed him, and that he kept her there.

Boissancourt wrote briskly, reducing the statement to writing.

André-Louis offered a comment. "A nice story concerning one who has 'embraced the advocacy of purity, which is now so popular'." He passed on.

"Then this B.S.J. There are two notes here signed with these initials. In one B.S.J. suggests that some person or other unnamed should be placed under arrest. In the other, as if answering a question, he writes: 'How do I know what you should do with him? In your place I would send him to Soissons to be guillotined.' That may allude to the unfortunate Thorin. Who is this B.S.J.? Do you surmise?"

"It must be Bontemps; a fellow named Bontemps who lives at Chaume, who calls himself Bontemps Saint-Just."

"Calls himself? What do you mean?"

"He is a relative of the Representative Saint-Just. It'll be his right to call himself that, no doubt. But he's more generally known as Bontemps."

"What's his station in life?"

"He'll be a horse-leech by trade. But he's farming now. He's come by a deal of émigré property lately." The Mayor seemed almost to sneer.

André-Louis looked up, sharply alert.

"What do you mean with your come-by? He's bought it, I suppose."

"I suppose he has. But I never heard tell that he had any money."

Keener grew the eyes of André-Louis.

"This is interesting. The fellow has no money. Yet he buys land."

"Oh, a deal of land, all round La Beauce. A deal of land." The Citizen-Agent was thoughtfully silent a while.

"It might be as well to have a talk with this Bontemps Saint-Just," he said at last. "He had better explain these notes." Then he changed the subject. "To return to Thorin. What do you know about him?"

"Nothing to his good. A ne'er-do-well, a drunkard, a wife-beater. Small blame to his wife for going off with the Citizen Saint-Just. And that's why so little has been heard of it. No one was sorry when he was laid by the heels."

André-Louis was stern. "Whatever he may have been does not lessen the offence of swearing away his life on a false charge."

"I am not saying so, Citizen-Agent," quavered the Mayor. "What relations does he possess?"

"A married sister. She's over in Chaume, too. And there's a cousin of his in the village here."

"Ah!" André-Louis stood up. "Let them wait until tomorrow. It is close upon midnight. You will seek me here in the morning at nine o'clock, Citizen-Mayor. We shall have a busy day before us. Boissancourt, put these papers away in safety. Good night, Citizen-Mayor."

Foulard took his departure, a weary man, glad to escape at last from the presence of that terrible agent of the Committee of Public Safety.

André-Louis and Boissancourt smiled at each other. "By God, you're brisk!" said Boissancourt.

"It's in the part of Scaramouche. He succeeds by forestalling. It was imperative to arrest Thuillier at once so as to prevent him from communicating with Paris. The rest was the reward of virtue, and the highest reward of all was to discover the end of this thread that leads to the Citizen Bontemps. We should find there far more than ever I hoped or suspected when I came to Blérancourt."

They did. They rode out to Chaume on the following morning, accompanied by the Mayor, the Commandant, and six troopers of the National Guard. Soon after ten they were at the gates of the diminutive but elegant château which was one of the recent acquisitions of Bontemps and wherein he had taken up his residence. Its original owner, the Vicomte de La Beauce, had been guillotined some months ago, and the legitimate heir was somewhere in exile.

Bontemps himself emerged at the clatter of their arrival in the courtyard. Dressed like a peasant, he was a young man of thirty, tall and vigorous, and with a face that was everywhere full save in the chin. The result was a rather foolish and weakly expression. But there was no weakness in the terms he used, when the Commandant announced to him that by order of the Committee of Public Safety he was under arrest. Having exploded into a succession of vehement minatory questions, such as whether they had by any chance gone mad, whether they had counted the cost of what they did, whether they were aware of his relationship with the Representative Saint-Just, what they thought the representative would have to say with them for this egregious error, he came at last to a relevant demand to know the grounds upon which he was arrested.

André-Louis stood truculently before him. He had cocked his round hat in front and plastered the tricolour cockade upon the face of it. "The grounds will be fully established by the time we have gone through your papers."

The chinless countenance of Bontemps changed colour and went slack. But in a moment he had rallied.

"If you depend on that, it means you have no charge. How can you arrest me without formulating a charge? You are abusing your authority, if, indeed, you have any. You are committing an outrage, for which you shall answer."

"You know too much law for an honest man," said André-Louis. "And, anyway, it's out of date. Have you never heard of the Law of Suspects? We arrest you under that. On suspicion."

"You won't allay it by violence," said Boissancourt. "Best take it quietly."

Bontemps appealed to the Mayor. The Mayor answered him in a paraphrase of the words of Boissancourt, and Bontemps, growing prudently sullen, was locked in a room with a guard at the door and another under the window.

André-Louis wasted no time in questioning the two men and the elderly woman who made up the household of Bontemps. He desired of them no more than an indication of where the Citizen Bontemps kept his papers. They spent three hours ransacking them, the Mayor and Boissancourt assisting André-Louis in his search. When it was complete, and André-Louis had found what he sought, certain notes and one or two letters relating to the purchase of the La Beauce lands, they dined on the best that the little chateau could supply them; an omelette, a dish of partridges, a couple of bottles of the best wine in Bontemps' well-stocked cellar.

"He's just a damned aristocrat it seems, this Bontemps," was all the thanks André-Louis bestowed on the household for that excellent repast.

Then he had the table cleared, and improvised a tribunal in the pleasant dining-room, which was brightened by the wintry sunshine. Writing materials were placed on the table. André-Louis disposed himself in an armchair before it, with Boissancourt pen in hand on his right, and the Mayor of Blérancourt on his left.

Bontemps, pale, ill at ease and sullen, was brought in under guard. The Commandant lounged in the background, an official spectator.

The examination began. Bontemps was formally asked his name, age, condition, place of abode and occupation, and his answers were set down by Boissancourt. To the last question he replied that he was a proprietor and farmer.

"How long have you been that?" was the inconvenient question.

Bontemps hesitated, then answered. "For the last year."

"And before that? What were you?"

"A horse-leech."

André-Louis looked at him appraisingly. "I understand that your patrimony was negligible. You are a young man, Citizen Bontemps. How long did you practise as a horse-leech?"

"Five or six years."

"Hardly the time in which to amass a fortune. But you were thrifty, I suppose. You saved money. How much did you save?"