The Prisoner in the Mask Read online

  ‘Yes; whatever precautions they may take they could not possibly keep the fact that he is still alive secret for very long. Then they would find themselves in the very devil of a mess. Announcing his death seems sheer madness to me. I cannot conceive what they are up to. However, Father Pierre is coming to see me later this evening. He is the spiritual director of Colonel Roux, the Governor of the Cherche-Midi, and they are on excellent terms, so he may have got something out of him.’

  When Syveton had gone de Quesnoy gave his whole mind to this extraordinary turn of events, but he could not form even a theory about the government’s intentions. To fill a fifth coffin with bricks and have it buried with the other four before de Vendôme’s mother could arrive from Spain to claim her son’s body could only postpone the day when they must be called to account; for as long as he was alive he might escape, and sooner or later it was certain that his jailers would talk, or he would succeed in getting a message out to his friends.

  It was after midnight when Syveton returned, and his pale blue eyes were alight with excitement. He was hardly through the door into the dining-room, in which de Quesnoy was sitting, before he cried:

  ‘The Prince is still alive and the mystery solved! Father Pierre has only just left me. He dined with Colonel Roux and the Colonel was in a most distressed state of mind, so the Father managed to persuade him to confide in him. These people are devils! You would hardly believe what they plan to do to our poor young Prince. It sounds fantastic, but nevertheless it is quite logical.’

  ‘Tell me!’ said the Count sharply.

  ‘You will have heard of the Man in the Iron Mask.’

  ‘Of course. Dumas wrote a novel based on his sad history. He was the twin brother of Louis XIV and, fearing that when he was old enough disaffected nobles might start a civil war by persuading him to claim the crown, Cardinal Richelieu had him brought up in great secrecy.’

  ‘Yes; and as he grew up the very image of the King, Louis, from fear of a plot to use the resemblance, had his head locked into an iron helmet and kept him a prisoner for the rest of his life in the castle on the Ile St. Marguerite.’

  ‘You do not mean? You cannot mean—?’

  ‘I do. But in this case it is to be a hinged leather contraption with a lock under the ear on one side. It arrived this morning and Colonel Roux showed it to Father Pierre. At the thought of what the young Prince will suffer after the Colonel has put it on him tonight they wept together.’

  ‘Mort de Diable! The iniquity of it!’ exclaimed de Quesnoy, beginning to walk agitatedly up and down. ‘But from what you say Colonel Roux is sympathetic towards his prisoner; and, anyway, as an officer and a man of honour he will refuse to do this barbarous thing.’

  Syveton spread out his large knobbly hands. ‘What would be the use? If he did not Mollin, or some other jackal of André’s, would. Roux, too, was given his orders yesterday by André personally, and told that failure to carry them out would mean the loss of his post. It was also intimated to him that if the prisoner escaped, or his identity got out, they would hold him, as Governor of the Prison, responsible, have him tried en camera, and get him seven years in a fortress.’

  ‘And, of course, once Roux has clamped this leather headpiece on the Prince he will keep the secret from shame of having to admit that it was he who did the ignoble deed. That must be why André has ordered him to do it instead of sending some crony of his own. What cunning swine these rulers of ours are!’

  ‘You may well say that. The whole scheme is diabolically clever. If they had brought him to trial they would have had to risk a revolution in his favour. If they had dealt with him as they are dealing with the other officers, he might have resigned his commission and returned to Spain; but we could have retaliated by publicly acclaiming him as our choice for the throne and, given a fortunate turn of events, later brought him back to occupy it; so he would have continued to constitute a menace to them. As it is, by announcing his death, and condemning him untried to a living death, they will have disposed of him once and for all; and it will be years before we can build up another suitable claimant to the throne. This is a blow from which the hopes of a monarchist restoration may not recover for a generation; and they know it.’

  ‘But wait!’ cried the Count. ‘All is not yet lost! We know the truth. Get your Committee together. Inform them of this and tell them to shout it from the house-tops. Get Charles Maurras or Henry Vaugeois to publish another article on the lines of Zola’s J’Accuse at the time of the Dreyfus business. Call out the Camelots du Roi. Storm the prison and rescue the Prince. Launch your bid to put him on the throne as François Troisième now.’

  Sadly Syveton shook his head. ‘Alas, mon chèr Comte, that is not possible. The attempt was to be made in April or May. Only the basic plan has so far been agreed upon. There are a thousand and one things which yet have to be arranged if the coup is to be successful. To do as you suggest could only end in a débâcle. Our friends and I would promptly be arrested, the troops would obey General André’s orders and the Camelots du Roi would be shot down. We should be playing into Combes’s hands, and giving him just the excuse he would like to have to destroy utterly the monarchist party.’

  ‘I do not believe that.’ De Quesnoy stuck out his chin. ‘Forty-eight hours should be ample for you to tie the strings together. What you may lose by measures taken so hurriedly will be more than made up for by the lesser likelihood of leakage of your plans than would be the case over a much longer period. And what a story to launch the attempt upon! No decent person in France could hear without feeling indignation of this plan to keep a young man’s head in an inverted leather bucket for the rest of his life. Such a chance to rouse the masses in his favour will never come again.’

  ‘There is much in what you say,’ Syveton agreed. ‘Yet I doubt if the Committee will see it in that light. They are mostly elderly men, and have had to act with caution for so long that caution has become second nature to them.’ With a glance at his watch he added: ‘After hearing Father Pierre’s disclosure I sent messages to the key men of the Committee so that I might inform them of it. They are to meet at half-past one in a house not far from here. I must go now; but I will put your suggestion to them and let you know their reaction to it tomorrow.’

  De Quesnoy’s grey, yellow-flecked eyes bored into Syveton’s pale blue ones, as he said harshly: ‘Let us be clear about this matter. Either they adopt my proposal to launch a revolution within the next few days, with the forcible rescue of de Vendôme as the first move in it, or steps must be taken at once towards arranging his escape.’

  ‘You are right,’ Syveton agreed. ‘We cannot abandon him to such a terrible fate. I may not get back until very late, but I will tell my wife what has been decided at the meeting and she will pass it on to you tomorrow at mid-day.’

  Left alone with his thoughts, the Count brooded upon the living death that must be his young friend’s portion unless he could be got out of the clutches of his enemies. He knew enough of the Committee to fear that while its members would willingly provide money, and intrigue endlessly, in support of their political convictions, few of them would be game to risk their necks in the sort of bold stroke that he had suggested, so, after a while he turned his mind to ways in which it might be possible to rescue de Vendôme from the Cherche-Midi.

  When Angela came up to him shortly after mid-day on the Friday he found her as distressed as himself. She reported that her husband, after a night of conferences which had kept him out of bed until early in the morning, had only just come downstairs. He sent a message to the effect that the Committee was convinced that to order a rising prematurely would jeopardize the whole monarchist movement for years to come, but that money, transport and courageous volunteers would all be made readily available for any scheme offering a fair chance to rescue the Prince.

  Having heard what she had to say, de Quesnoy replied: ‘During the night I have given the matter much thought, and of one thing I am certain; a m
ilitary prison guarded by troops, such as the Cherche-Midi, cannot be broken into and a prisoner removed from it by half a dozen men, however determined. Either it must be stormed and the rescue effected by sheer weight of numbers, or some skilful deception practised which would need only two or three persons. Since the former has now been ruled out, we must resort to the later.’ He paused for a moment, then added:

  ‘And now, my dear, I want an honest answer to a plain question. Just how much do you love de Vendôme?’

  She turned her candid brown eyes upon him as she answered: ‘I don’t love him. Not in the true sense. I’ve told you how the affaire between us started. I liked him before that, and I have since become very fond of him; but that is not love.’

  ‘Are you fond enough of him to risk considerable unpleasantness on his account? Perhaps even having to spend some time in prison?’

  ‘If you mean will I help in an attempt to rescue him, of course I will. All of us who have had any hand in encouraging him to believe that he would become King owe him that. It is the least we can do.’

  De Quesnoy nodded. ‘That is what I feel; otherwise I would never have suggested that you should involve yourself in this. As it is, I hate having to do so; but no one else stands in the same relationship to him as you do, so it would be impossible to carry through the plan I have thought out without your cooperation.’

  ‘What do you wish me to do?’

  ‘Get in to see him, on the plea that you are his mistress. Either through bribery or sentiment we ought to be able to persuade his jailers to allow you to say good-bye to him before he is removed from Paris. I shall come with you dressed as a woman and pretending to be your maid. Both of us will, of course, be heavily veiled. Are you willing to do that, and leave the rest to me?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. If any single person can rescue him I am sure you will succeed.’

  ‘Thank you, my dear,’ he smiled. ‘But we shall need one other: a coachman we can trust. Could Syveton drive his own brougham?’

  ‘I greatly doubt it. I suppose he must have driven pony-carts and that sort of thing when he was young; but he has never been good with horses.’

  ‘Then we certainly will not have him to drive us through the streets of Paris. Ask him to ask General Laveriac if he will do so. In any case I must see the General to discuss the guard arrangements at the prison with him, and the fewer of us who are in the plot the better. I would like to talk to Father Pierre, too. The best thing would be if Syveton could arrange a conference up here with the two of us, himself, Laveriac and the Father. If possible it should be for this evening, as they may move the Prince out of Paris at any time; so we must not waste an unnecessary moment.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll tell Gabriel that. Is there anything else?’

  ‘You must buy a complete outfit of women’s things for me. I should be able to get into the largest stock size of everything they keep. Black, of course; full-length skirts to hide my feet, bonnet, shawl and veil. I want to look as much like a respectable housekeeper, or elderly maid, as you can make me. You had better buy me a false bun with elastic to wear on the nape of my neck and some sausage curls to stick in the sides of the bonnet. I shall also want a pack of cards: the older the better. With regard to yourself, you should dress in a plain coat and skirt, and the coldness of the weather will justify a travelling cloak. Look out things of which you can provide or get, more or less, duplicates. I’ll tell you why later. And one other thing; tell Syveton to ask Laveriac to bring with him if he can a plan of the Cherche-Midi.’

  She was about to leave him, and he was accompanying her to the door, when he said softly: ‘Just now I put the very worst complexion on things because no one can foresee every possibility. I mean, when I asked you if you would be willing to face a spell in prison. Actually I don’t think there is any risk of that. You see, if Colonel Roux does let you in to see de Vendôme, he will have given hostages to fortune; so if things did go wrong, he would probably get rid of you as quickly as possible for his own sake. If it were not for that I would not have asked your help, but would have tried to think of some other plan.’

  Her eyes shining, she took his hand and pressed it. ‘I’m sure of that, mon ami; but I’m pleased and proud to be able to help in this. My only worry is about you, and that you mean to do something rash which may jeopardize your own safety.’

  ‘Come now,’ he chid her with a smile. ‘Don’t start to worry before there is any need. You promised to leave everything to me, and you may be sure that I shall not take any risks that I don’t have to.’

  Syveton succeeded in arranging the conference for six o’clock that evening, and brought the General and Father Pierre to the pavilion by way of the door in the garden wall. Angela was already with de Quesnoy, and when they were all seated round the dining-room table in the soft light of the candles he asked the priest:

  ‘Do you think, Father, that if it were made worth Colonel Roux’s while he would connive at the escape of his prisoner? If so, it would, of course, make everything much less difficult and dangerous for all concerned.’

  Father Pierre was a vigorous-looking middle-aged man. As the Cherche-Midi was situated on the edge of the Faubourg St. Germain he combined his duties as Chaplain of the prison with that of spiritual director to a number of noble families; so he was very much a man of the world. Having taken a pinch of snuff, he replied with decision:

  ‘No. Etienne Roux is a man of principle. He is a good Catholic and would certainly not be averse to a restoration of the monarchy. But forty years or more in the Army has imbued him with a strong sense of duty, and I am sure he would not be prepared to sacrifice it for personal gain.’

  ‘I feared that might be the case,’ said the Count. Then he intimated tactfully that the Prince had a deep romantic attachment to Angela, and asked if the Colonel might be persuaded to let her visit the prisoner, in order that he should have the consolation of saying farewell to her.

  To that the priest replied with equal assurance: ‘Yes. Naturally I cannot guarantee that Colonel Roux will agree to allow Madame to see his prisoner, but I feel reasonably confident that I can persuade him to do so.’ He made a little bow to Angela, and added: ‘In fact I find it difficult to imagine a Frenchman who would be so ungallant as to refuse.’

  With this hopeful opening to their talk they discussed the Count’s plan. Its basis was that they should smuggle in women’s clothes for the Prince similar to those that Angela would be wearing. He would then take the Prince out as Angela and she would remain behind until they were well clear of the prison. She would then declare herself, and Colonel Roux, realising the futility of detaining her, would let her go.

  His scheme was instantly assailed with a chorus of objections. Even if Angela was left alone with the Prince it might not be for long enough for him to put on the disguise. Anyway, when the cell door was opened the Colonel would see, apparently two women and no Prince. And if Angela were left behind how could they be certain she would be released? Colonel Roux, finding himself a ruined man, would instinctively detain her, even if only to show how he had been tricked.

  De Quesnoy dealt only with the last point. If the Colonel did detain Angela they would be able to get her out within forty-eight hours, because they would have rescued de Vendôme. With him free they could expose the official lie about his death and the whole of the atrocious government plot. Public indignation would be intense, and when the story of the way in which the Prince had been rescued was given to the Press Angela would be acclaimed a national heroine. The government would realise at once that if she were brought to trial no jury would ever convict her; so they would have to let her go.

  His argument was unanswerable. The other points he refused to discuss, saying that he had thought of a way to trick the Colonel and had worked out the details of the escape with the greatest care; so he was convinced that, given reasonable luck, his plan was feasible. Laveriac and Syveton continued to have misgivings, but as he was insistent and declined to
go into particulars they agreed to give him a free hand.

  However, Father Pierre, who had taken no part in the argument, then said in a worried voice: ‘I understood, of course, that we were meeting here to discuss the possibility of aiding the Prince to escape, but until Monsieur le Comte outlined his plan I had no idea of the form it might take. As both a Christian and a Royalist I am most anxious to help, but I cannot ignore my responsibility towards my good friend Etienne Roux. As this plan involves him personally it would cause his complete ruin. He would not only lose his post and pension but get the seven years in a fortress with which General André threatened him.’

  ‘I was coming to that,’ replied de Quesnoy. ‘Should the Prince escape, however he may do so, the Colonel’s loss of his post is inevitable. That is one of the reasons why I hoped that he might accept a handsome offer to give us a free hand. Since you feel sure that he will not, and my whole plan hangs upon our taking advantage of his compassion for the prisoner. I feel that he should be compensated afterwards.’ Glancing towards Syveton and Laveriac, he added: ‘Do you agree?’

  Both nodded, and Syveton said: ‘The Committee, I am sure, would be willing to pay him a pension equivalent to what he is receiving now. Would that meet your objection, Father?’

  ‘It would if it were not for the fact that he is certain to be court-martialled, and will receive a heavy sentence.’

  ‘No, no,’ said de Quesnoy quickly. ‘When Madame Syveton discloses herself she can tell him what has been settled about a pension for him and that instead of reporting the escape he must leave with, or immediately after her. No doubt, too, arrangements could be made to get him out of Paris that same night.’

  ‘What about the Prince?’ Laveriac asked. ‘It is a long way to the Spanish border, or for that matter to any of the frontiers. If they get on his track and he is re-arrested before he can get across one of them that would be tragic. We shall have to organise his journey very carefully.’