The Prisoner in the Mask Read online

  Going out into the garden, de Quesnoy made a round of the shrubberies softly calling to him, but received no answer. And it could hardly be that, not having his key on him, he had boggled at climbing in over the wall, as that would have presented no great difficulty to any young man. His fears that de Vendôme had not yet arrived now being confirmed the Count became greatly worried. It was getting on for four hours since they had parted so, even if the Prince had had to walk the whole of the eleven miles from Versailles, he should still easily have arrived by this time. However, it was possible that he had been delayed in starting by having to hide in the hotel until the police had left it, and that might not have been until one o’clock or even later.

  Comforting himself as well as he could with that thought, the Count tiptoed through the shadows towards the house. Collecting some small stones from a path he carefully checked up which of the windows on the second floor would be that of Angela’s bedroom, then started to toss the stones up at it. To hit it in the dark at that height was not too easy, but at the third shot a sharp click told him that his pebble had struck glass, and in the next two minutes he scored two further hits. A light then went on, so he stopped throwing and waited. The curtains were pulled apart, the bottom of the window thrown up, and Angela’s head appeared.

  ‘Hist!’ he called up softly. ‘It is I; Armand! My pupil and I are in grave trouble. Can you come down?’

  ‘Yes,’ she called back. ‘Give me a minute to put on a few things.’

  He went up the conservatory steps and waited at the door that opened into it. After about five minutes a light showed through the greenery; then Angela appeared, unlocked the door and beckoned him inside.

  She had tucked her hair under a mob cap edged with lace. Her dressing-gown was of crimson velvet; it swept the ground as she moved and at the neck was edged with a high collar of marabou which stood up under her ears like a light ruff. The modern age of make-up not yet having dawned she normally used only powder on her nose, so she looked no less lovely than when de Quesnoy had last seen her.

  Putting a finger to her lips, she led him through a gap between two stages that held potted plants into a small room on the left. It was Syveton’s study, and as she switched on the light there she got her first unshadowed sight of her visitor’s face. It was badly scratched, there was an ugly bruise where a glancing blow had caught him on the side of the jaw, and his left eye was well on the way to closing.

  ‘Armand!’ she exclaimed. ‘Your poor face is in a frightful mess. Whatever has been happening?’

  ‘Tell me first,’ he asked quickly, ‘has de Vendôme been here?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. You know that he can never get off in the middle of the week; so why should you suppose he had?’

  ‘I thought that he might have, and that perhaps Syveton… But never mind. It is to be hoped that he will yet.’ De Quesnoy shrugged wearily, then gave her a brief outline of what had happened, and added: ‘Syveton must be informed of this immediately. Can you bring him down here without disturbing any other members of the household?’

  ‘Yes. Stay here. I’ll be as quick as I can,’ she replied at once. Then as she turned away, she murmured, ‘Oh poor François; I do hope he is all right! And you, Armand. What a frightful business.’

  Ten minutes later she returned with Gabriel Syveton. He was buttoned into a tight-fitting smooth-faced black cloth coat with a red quilted collar and cross braids; but his hair was unbrushed and there were great pouches under his eyes, which made him look every day of his fifty-two years.

  In greater detail, de Quesnoy repeated his story. Syveton heard him out, then angrily struck the desk near which he was standing, and exclaimed:

  ‘The young fool! After all these months of planning! To ruin everything!’

  De Quesnoy frowned. ‘It was not his fault. If it is anyone’s it is that of your precious Committee for having drawn attention to him prematurely by too much publicity. Naturally his friends jumped to conclusions and wanted to support him. Naturally, too, Combes’s police have been led to take an interest in him. From that it was only a step to their learning about this party tonight, then waiting in ambush until these young hotheads had committed themselves.’

  ‘But how could you have let them hold such a party?’ Syveton groaned.

  At that the Count flared up. ‘I had no option. And he could hardly be expected to offend all his friends by refusing to go to it. We had no reason to suspect that the police had got wind of it, and by accompanying him to it I hoped that my presence would keep royalist enthusiasm within reasonable bounds. It is as well I did; for otherwise he would never have got away. He and I have far more reason for bitterness about this collapse of our hopes than yourself. It is we who are on the run, with our lives at stake, not you.’

  ‘Forgive me,’ Syveton murmured apologetically, ‘but everything was going so well, and this catastrophe is so totally unexpected. You may count upon the Committee, though, to do everything possible to hide you and get you safely out of the country.’

  De Quesnoy shrugged. ‘I am more worried about that boy than myself. But tell me; what are the chances of your being compromised by this affair? I told de Vendôme to come here because it was the only place I could think of where he could go to earth, at least for the night, in safety. What about tomorrow, though? It is likely that in their hunt for him the police will start a systematic search of the houses of all the members of the Committee?’

  ‘No. I should be very surprised if they did; even if the names of all the members are known to them. None of us has had any communication with the Prince, except socially; and that applies to a hundred of the best families in Paris. The Senate would never permit them to turn the houses of so many influential people upside down.’

  ‘But what of yourself, as Treasurer of the Ligue?’

  ‘The Ligue is controlled by the Committee but separate from it; and there is nothing secret about the Ligue’s activities. Even if the police suspect a conspiracy I doubt if they can have any evidence of it, and certainly none involving the Ligue. You see, you have acted as our sole agent throughout; so there are no trails leading back to anyone else.’

  ‘Thank God for that!’ murmured de Quesnoy. ‘The last thing I would wish to do is to bring trouble on you and Madame Syveton. But it would be a great relief if he—that is if he turns up—and I could lie hidden in the apartment on the upper floor of your garden pavilion until you can make arrangements to have us smuggled across a frontier.’

  Syveton raised his eyebrows. ‘You are aware then, that the place is not just a loft.’

  ‘I am; and this is no time to stand on ceremony. It has been my duty to keep myself informed about the Prince’s activities.’

  ‘In that case, Count, let us say no more. It is entirely at your disposal. You should be as safe there as anywhere; and I can assure you that you will not be involving us in any great risk.’

  ‘What if François fails to turn up?’ Angela asked anxiously.

  ‘He will, unless he has been caught,’ replied de Quesnoy. His mouth set in a grim line, then he added: ‘If he has, whatever it costs we must rescue him. I would rather give my own life than leave him in Combes’s hands to be sent to the guillotine.’

  15

  ANXIOUS DAYS

  ‘Oh what an awful thought!’ Angela’s face went pale. ‘That you … That he … That either of you—’ ‘We’ve no need to contemplate anything so terrible, as yet,’ her husband interposed quickly. ‘After all, although Monsieur le Comte got the Prince out of the clutches of the police, he did not see him leave the hotel. He may have thought it best to hide for a while in some attic or cellar before setting out for Paris.’

  ‘That is what I am hoping,’ de Quesnoy agreed. ‘You may take it, though, that he will not disobey my orders and strike out on a line of his own. That would be contrary to his nature. If he is free he will be here before daylight.’

  ‘Daylight is still three hours away,’ remarked
Syveton. ‘Where would you prefer to spend them—here or in the pavilion?’

  ‘In the pavilion. From its back windows I can keep a lookout for de Vendôme; and the sooner you both return to your beds now the better. If any of your servants learnt that you had received a midnight visitor they might become curious; and the less they know about this the better.’

  ‘Yes!’ Angela gave a quick nod. ‘And with the hue and cry that is likely to start after François and yourself we must take every possible precaution against any of them discovering that anyone is using the pavilion to lie low in. Apart from my maid, Lucille, and our butler, Octave, I would not care to trust any of them.’

  ‘Our gardener will be your worst danger,’ Syveton added. ‘He works here from seven till midday, then from two o’clock till five. Fortunately he is an old man and somewhat deaf; but you will have to be careful that he does not see you at any of the windows, or hear you moving about when he comes in to get his tools or to put them away.’

  ‘I’ll take every care; but if he does hear sounds I see no reason why he should suspect that anyone other than a member of your household is up there.’

  Angela shook her head. ‘Oh, but he might! Only Lucille is aware that it is sometimes used in the winter months; and even then she goes to it only on Saturday afternoon, when he is not here, to prepare it for the evening; so you really will have to be very careful. We shall not be able to come to you whenever we wish, either; or stay with you for any length of time, even after he has gone home, for fear of arousing the suspicions of the other servants.’

  ‘No matter,’ replied de Quesnoy. ‘As long as you can bring some food at night, and any news there is. While the gardener is away for his midday meal too, perhaps you could look in, anyhow tomorrow. If you will let me have the key I will go down there now and install myself.’

  ‘Please let me give you a drink first,’ Syveton offered, ‘and some biscuits in case you get hungry during your vigil. I have both here in my cupboard.’

  Without waiting for an answer, he produced a decanter of brandy, a quart bottle of Perrier and three glasses. The warming spirit was welcome to them all, but they drank in depressed silence. The Count pocketed a dozen of the biscuits, then Syveton said:

  ‘I doubt if this affair will be reported in the morning papers, except as stop-press news; but first thing tomorrow I will send one of my agents out to Versailles to get particulars of exactly what is known to the hotel people. That will give us an indication of the sort of story that is likely to be published.’ Turning, he gave Angela a somewhat embarrassed look, and added: ‘The garden pavilion is yours, my love; so perhaps it would be best if I left it to you to put on a coat and show Monsieur le Comte the accommodation we can offer him.’

  With a casual assent, Angela left them. For ten minutes Syveton bewailed the collapse of the conspiracy; although he took care not to criticise de Quesnoy further. Then she returned with a fur coat on, below which showed the hem of a thick tweed skirt and a pair of button boots. The Count bade Syveton good night and followed her out into the garden.

  When they reached the pavilion she lit the oil stoves, showed him where everything he might need was kept, and insisted on bathing his face. She then suggested that she should sit up there to keep watch for de Vendôme, while he went to bed. Played out though he was, he would not let her, as it was by then after half-past four; so in another hour and a half the servants would be getting up and, perhaps, from one of the top windows of the house see her returning to it.

  After she had left him he maintained a weary vigil till dawn; but it proved useless. Convinced that the Prince would not endanger his friends by seeking refuge there in daylight de Quesnoy now had every reason to fear that his protégé had failed to get away after all; but, as yet, nothing could be done about it. Sick and dispirited he undressed and stretched out his aching body between the cool pink silk sheets. In spite of his anxieties, he fell almost instantly asleep.

  When he woke it was about half an hour after midday. Angela had roused him by laying a hand on his forehead. One of his eyes, now surrounded with a great purple bruise, refused to open; but with the other he looked up at her.

  ‘Armand,’ she said, ‘I’m afraid I have bad news for you. I couldn’t come to you until old Simon, our gardener, had gone to his dinner; but about an hour ago Gabriel’s agent delivered his report of what he had picked up at Versailles.’

  ‘Has the Prince been taken?’ he asked quickly.

  ‘I don’t know for certain, but it sounds as if he has. Apparently he had never been to the hotel before; so only the waiters who served the dinner could have definitely identified him, and none of them admitted to having seen him. But a young officer who answers to his description was seen in a passage down by the kitchen quarters, where the waiters hang their overcoats, in the act of stealing one—presumably to put on over his uniform. A servant girl spotted him and started to cry: “Stop thief!” He ran out of the building, but was caught before he could get across the yard.’

  De Quesnoy groaned: ‘That must have been de Vendôme. None of the others could have got as far as the ground floor. And what of them?’

  ‘It must have been quite frightful. Worse even than most of these affrays that are taking place between the Camelots du Roi and the Communists. It is said that three policemen were killed and four of your students. Several more from both sides, suffering from serious injuries, were taken away in ambulances, and the rest of your party in prison vans. It seems that you were the only one who escaped.’

  ‘Is it known where they took the prisoners?’

  She shook her head. ‘No; and even such facts as we have got were hard to get. The police threatened all the staff at the Roi Soleil that they would get into trouble if they talked; so Gabriel’s agent had to spend quite a lot in bribes to get even a few general statements. I suppose the government want to put out their story of the affair, before our journalists have a chance to accuse the police of breaking up a harmless social gathering.’

  ‘Have the morning papers got anything about it.’

  ‘Only as stop-press items. Those of our side and theirs don’t differ much. They just say: “A clash occurred between officers from St. Cyr and police in Versailles last night. It is reported that shots were exchanged resulting in several dead and injured. A number of arrests followed”.’

  ‘It is surprising that none of them mentions de Vendôme.’

  ‘I don’t think so. The party was held in a private room; so, as I have just said, only the waiters who served the dinner would have had a chance to recognise him. He was not received as royalty or called on by name while they were present, and they had all been bundled downstairs by the police sometime before Dampierre proposed his health; so it is even possible that none of them realised that he was one of the thirty young men at the dinner. Add to that the fact that the lower classes always go in fear of the police, and that the police have threatened to make it hot for these people unless they keep their mouths shut. Surely all this makes it unlikely that Francois’s name would get into a first report?’

  De Quesnoy ran a hand through his rumpled hair and sat up. ‘Yes, I suppose you are right. But the journalists will ferret out the truth during the day. Anyhow, there can be little doubt that he was the young man who was caught stealing the overcoat; so we must lose no time in finding out to which prison they have taken him. It would be a bit too risky for me to walk the streets of Paris in broad daylight, but as soon as dusk falls I’ll go out and start making enquiries.’

  ‘You will do nothing of the kind,’ declared Angela firmly. ‘Either you will give me your word to remain here, or I shall take your clothes away. Gabriel will find out where François has been taken. The Committee have a special organisation for doing that sort of thing; so it would be madness for you to expose yourself to getting caught quite unnecessarily.’

  ‘Then you are right again.’ He gave her a rueful smile. ‘In that case I don’t think I’ll get up today a
t all. I’m still feeling pretty groggy from the rough handling I had last night; so twenty-fours hours in bed will be welcome. I hope, though, you have brought me some déjeuner as I’m beginning to feel quite hungry.’

  Angela returned his rueful smile. ‘About that I’m afraid you are going to be disappointed. As I have never before been responsible for feeding anyone in hiding, I was quite staggered this morning when I realised how difficult it was going to be to get hold of a little food in my house without the servants knowing and wondering what I want it for. All I could do was to save you the croissants from my own breakfast, and sneak some biscuits and fruit from the dining-room.’

  ‘Really!’ He burst out laughing. ‘Well, well! Never mind; that will do to go on with. I hope, though, you will think up some way to get me something a little more substantial for my dinner.’

  ‘Yes; Gabriel is going to buy you some cold food this afternoon at a charcuterie. I couldn’t even do that, as if I stopped my carriage and got out to make such purchases, my coachman would think I had gone crazy. When you think, too, that in the kitchen I have a head chef, a pastry cook, a vegetable man and half a dozen wenches to fetch and carry for them, it really is too farcical. But there it is. I’m afraid while you are here you will have to make do with picnics.’

  ‘That will be no great hardship, and far better than arousing the suspicions of the servants. I thought, though, you said that you could trust your own maid.’

  ‘Yes; but I’ve had no chance to speak to her yet. When I have she can do the shopping for you, and help us in various other ways. But you will have to look after yourself until Saturday, as that is the only day of the week she normally comes here. She can give the place a clean up then, because they must all know that I entertain a chèr ami here on Saturday evenings and that she gets the place ready for me. But for her to be seen coming here on other days would excite comment.’