He was sprawling on a chair in his usual slouching manner with his big head sunk between his broad shoulders, his shifty, prominent eyes wandering restlessly from the face of his colleague to that of the other man.
But now he gave a grunt of impatience.
"We are wasting time, citizen Chauvelin," he muttered. "I have still a great deal to see to if we are to start at dawn. Get the d--d letter written, and--"
The rest of the phrase was lost in an indistinct and surly murmur.
Chauvelin, after a shrug of the shoulders, paid no further heed to him; he turned, bland and urbane, once more to the prisoner.
"I see with pleasure, Sir Percy," he said, "that we thoroughly understand one another. Having had a few hours' rest you will, I know, feel quite ready for the expedition. Will you kindly indicate to me the direction in which we will have to travel?"
"Northwards all the way."
"Towards the coast?"
"The place to which we must go is about seven leagues from the sea."
"Our first objective then will be Beauvais, Amiens, Abbeville, Crecy, and so on?"
"Precisely."
"As far as the forest of Boulogne, shall we say?"
"Where we shall come off the beaten track, and you will have to trust to my guidance."
"We might go there now, Sir Percy, and leave you here."
"You might. But you would not then find the child. Seven leagues is not far from the coast. He might slip through your fingers."
"And my colleague Heron, being disappointed, would inevitably send you to the guillotine."
"Quite so," rejoined the prisoner placidly. "Methought, sir, that we. had decided that I should lead this little expedition?
Surely," he added, "it is not so much the Dauphin whom you want as my share in this betrayal."
"You are right as usual, Sir Percy. Therefore let us take that as settled. We go as far as Crecy, and thence place ourselves entirely in your hands."
"The journey should not take more than three days, sir."
"During which you will travel in a coach in the company of my friend Heron."
"I could have chosen pleasanter company, sir; still, it will serve."
"This being settled, Sir Percy. I understand that you desire to communicate with one of your followers."
"Some one must let the others know ... those who have the Dauphin in their charge."
"Quite so. Therefore I pray you write to one of your friends that you have decided to deliver the Dauphin into our hands in exchange for your own safety."
"You said just now that this you would not guarantee," interposed Blakeney quietly.
"If all turns out well," retorted Chauvelin with a show of contempt, "and if you will write the exact letter which I shall dictate, we might even give you that guarantee."
"The quality of your mercy, sir, passes belief."
"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."
"Begin your letter as you wish, then; now continue."
And he began to dictate slowly, watching every word as it left Blakeney's pen.
"'I cannot stand my present position any longer. Citizen Heron, and also M. Chauvelin--, Yes, Sir Percy, Chauvelin, not Chambertin ... C, H, A, U, V, E, L, I, N.... That is quite right--' have made this prison a perfect hell for me.'"
Sir Percy looked up from his writing, smiling.
"You wrong yourself, my dear M. Chambertin!" he said; "I have really been most comfortable."
"I wish to place the matter before your friends in as indulgent a manner as I can," retorted Chauvelin dryly.
"I thank you, sir. Pray proceed."
