The Prisoner in the Mask Read online

  ‘You have no need to worry about that,’ smiled the Count. ‘It was quite a problem but I think I have solved it. I suggest that you should drive him straight to the Spanish Embassy. He will then be out of danger within a quarter of an hour of leaving prison. Although he is a French citizen we can be quite certain, as he is a cousin of the King of Spain, that the Spanish Ambassador will never give him up.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ laughed the little General. ‘Brilliant! Now, what about yourself?’

  ‘I shall go still dressed as a woman to the Gare de l’Est. If I can get a night train for Metz, Strassburg or Basle so much the better. If not I shall wait in the buffet until one leaves early in the morning. I plan to go to Vienna, and should meet with no difficulty as this is not Russia.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Why, to enter or leave Russia everyone has to have a passport; but, thank God, no other European country insists on that tiresome formality.’

  ‘Unless Colonel Roux leaves the prison with my wife,’ said Syveton, ‘when he does let her go she will be quite alone. How do you propose that she should get home?’

  ‘I see no reason why another carriage should not wait for her. The Mont de Pieté would be a good place, then there can be no mistake. There is no need to tell the coachman anything; and if he does have to wait there all night it will do him no great harm.’

  ‘Good,’ Syveton agreed. ‘I shall be anxious for her; so I shall go in the carriage and wait for her myself.’

  The General then produced a plan of the Cherche-Midi and Father Pierre pointed out on it the cell occupied by the prisoner. It was at the back of the building, on the ground floor, and its ante-room gave on to a long L-shaped passage so, although it was some distance from the street, it might have been worse placed for an escape.

  De Quesnoy asked the General what was being done about the other officer cadets who were under arrest. Laveriac shrugged and replied: ‘The young fools got off far better than might have been expected; although their careers are ruined, at least for the time being. They have been split up and ordered into the wilderness, each to a different regiment, in New Caledonia, Martinique, Senegal, Madagascar, Saigon, and so on.’

  For another hour they continued to discuss the proposed attempt at rescue, settling such details as where Laveriac should pick up Angela and de Quesnoy in a brougham that he meant to borrow from his brother-in-law, and the sending, when the time fixed for the escape was known, of an anonymous note to the Spanish Ambassador requesting him to prepare to receive a distinguished visitor who was travelling incognito. Then, as the loss of even a day might render the whole plan abortive, Father Pierre agreed to approach Colonel Roux after dinner that night; and the meeting broke up.

  Next day Angela did not come to the pavilion until nearly half-past one. She said then that she had left her daily visit till late in the hope of hearing from Father Pierre and that he had turned up in person twenty minutes ago, giving the glib excuse to the servants for the unusual hour of his call that he was expected to lunch. He had persuaded Colonel Roux to receive her at the prison and allow her to take leave of her chér ami. The secret visit was to take place that night, and the Colonel had fixed the time for it as eleven o’clock, as that would give a full hour before the guard was changed; so only one watch of sentries would know that two women had entered or left the prison.

  After telling de Quesnoy this, Angela said that she must hurry straight back to give the Father lunch; but, pausing at the door, she asked him what he would like for dinner.

  He shrugged and smiled a little wryly. ‘Oh, don’t bother Lucille to get me anything fresh. I still have some bits of cold chicken, plenty of biscuits and a wedge of Brie.’

  ‘You silly!’ she laughed. ‘Have you forgotten that this is Saturday—the night I dine here, and all the household knows it. In an hour or so Lucille will be coming over to give the apartment its weekly cleaning, and I can send an order down for the Chef to prepare for us anything that will not spoil by being brought over and heated up.’

  ‘What a delightful surprise!’ he exclaimed joyfully. ‘Let us have lobsters then. If cooked in plenty of cream they would heat up all right, and we can add the brandy at the last moment. For afterwards, pineapple with Kirsch. But would you like that?’

  ‘Yes. What could be nicer.’ She smiled again and ran downstairs.

  At three o’clock Lucille arrived. De Quesnoy hardly knew her, but recognised her as the young woman who had shown him up to Angela’s boudoir the evening before he had been sent into exile, and in this conspiratorial atmosphere they greeted one another as old friends. She had brought with her a valise containing the woman’s outfit he had asked for, and while he tried the things on in the bedroom she set about cleaning up the rest of the apartment.

  Later, he asked her to make a few adjustments to the clothes then, when she had gone, he lay down and had a couple of hours’ sleep in preparation for the night’s work. He was aroused by her return, bringing the food for dinner and to lay the table. While she was doing so he freshened himself up. Soon, afterwards, having demurely wished him luck on ‘his outing dressed as a lady’, she left again; and, ten minutes later, Angela joined him.

  Tonight she was not en décolleté but wearing the clothes in which she meant to go to the prison. As she had on two skirts, two travelling cloaks, an extra veil and had numerous other things distributed about her she appeared much bulkier than usual; but her being so swathed up could well be justified by the cold outside. When de Quesnoy had helped her out of most of her surplus clothing they sat down to dinner.

  It proved a strange meal: by no means a pleasant one yet not unduly solemn. Neither could altogether put out of their thoughts the anxieties and uncertainties with which they would be faced in a few hours’ time; but by talking of the past they managed to keep quite light-hearted. Both realised that tonight they must not allow any emotional crisis to deflect their minds from the task before them so by an unspoken agreement no mention was made by either of their feelings for one another, and at half-past nine, de Quesnoy went into the bedroom to change into his disguise.

  Angela helped him with the final touches, then put on her extra garments. They pinned a small hat, like the one Angela was wearing, under his voluminous skirts and distributed a number of other items between them. Then they were ready.

  They turned out the oil stoves, blew out the candles, and she produced a torch. As he took her arm to lead her to the door she said in a faltering voice:

  ‘Armand. We have every reason to hope that I shall get away quite soon after you. Instead of going to the railway station why should you not return and … and spend the night here?’

  His mouth suddenly went dry. Swallowing hard, he gulped. ‘Oh, my beloved! If only I could. But I dare not. There is, I feel sure, a train that leaves for Basle at midnight. I must catch it if I possibly can. My life may depend on it.’

  Throwing an arm round her he drew her to him; but she gave a little laugh that was near to tears and murmured: ‘Dear Armand! Fate is against us. We have left it too late. Without unknotting these wretched veils we’re wearing we can’t even kiss.’

  ‘If we are to rescue de Vendôme tonight,’ he murmured, quickly releasing her, ‘perhaps that is just as well.’

  As they went downstairs she asked: ‘When … when can I hope to see you again?’

  ‘Who can say?’ He gave a heavy sigh. ‘But somehow, sometime, somewhere, God will at last be kind to us, and allow us to make up for the years that we have lost.’

  Hand in hand they went out into the darkness.

  17

  THE ONLY WAY

  It had been arranged that the brougham should wait for them a hundred yards down the Avenue Messine, which was only just across the Rue de Lisbonne from the cul-de-sac leading to the Park. Three minutes’ walk brought them to it. On the box sat a figure they knew to be the General only by its shortness and broad shoulders, as a woollen muffler hid the lower part of
his face and his cockaded top hat was pulled well down over his eyes. For that the chill of the night and a touch of fog was ample justification. He greeted them only by raising his whip. They got in, and the carriage moved off.

  The streets through which they drove for the first few minutes were dark, but they soon entered the Madeleine district with its cafés and shops. At it was Christmas Eve many of the latter that sold food were still open; but France’s present-giving festival being New Year’s Day, the scene was not as animated as it would have been in the capitals of many other countries. To keep Angela’s thoughts away from the hazardous business to which they were now committed de Quesnoy began to tell her about Weinachsfest in Vienna, with its Christmas trees, lighted candles in all the windows, and carol singers. That revived for her memories of her Christmas while still a young girl in England, and for ten minutes or so they talked of holly, mince-pies, stockings, snap-dragon and jolly, carefree parties.

  It was not until they had crossed the river and were some way along the Boulevard St. Germain that he said to her: ‘Now, I want you to listen very carefully. To begin with, as your maid, I can play only the part of an onlooker; so the whole initiative will lie with you. Should the Colonel suggest leaving me in some lobby while he takes you to see his prisoner alone, you must in no circumstances agree to that. Pretend to be very nervous and insist that I should remain within call. On the grounds of propriety that is a perfectly reasonable request, and it will ensure my being taken with you to the ante-room of the cell. Two warders are permanently stationed there. It is to be hoped that the Colonel will send them out into the passage. If he does not, tell him, again on the grounds of propriety, that you wish the door from the ante-room to the cell to be left ajar, but will he please spare you the embarrassment of anyone other than him and myself overhearing what passes between you and the prisoner. He can then hardly refuse to send the two men outside. Lastly, should the Prince have on this leather mask, you must persuade the Colonel to remove it. As he knows that you are aware who the prisoner is he can have no reasonable objection. Then, when you are alone with the Prince, you must on no account give him any idea that you have come there to rescue him. Until I join you, act just as though you had got in only to bid him good-bye. Is that all clear?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied in a low voice. ‘And then what?’

  ‘You can leave the rest to me. But whatever I may ask you to do you may be sure there will be a good reason for it; so please don’t ask why, but do it quickly.’

  The carriage was now within a hundred yards of the prison gates, and he went on: ‘One thing more. I have decided on a slight change of plan. You are to come out first with the Prince, while I shall remain behind.’

  ‘But why?’ she exclaimed. ‘The Colonel is much more likely to detain my maid than he is me.’

  He gave a little laugh. ‘Come now! Haven’t I just asked you to do as I wish without argument?’

  ‘But Armand!’

  ‘Please! There is no time now to go into my reasons.’

  As he finished speaking the carriage halted, and he threw open its door. Grasping his arm she said in a swift whisper: ‘No, no! Are you mad! They would never let François and me out together dressed in almost the same clothes.’

  Stepping down, he half pulled her out after him and whispered back: ‘Don’t worry. Leave everything to me.’

  The gate-keeper had already come forward. Evidently he had been expecting them; for, without a word, he led them past the sentry and across a small courtyard to a pair of double doors through which he motioned them to enter. They passed through into a dimly-lit hall. Near the door a sergeant was seated at a desk. Some way beyond him stood a tall grey-haired officer, with rather sad blue eyes and a walrus moustache. The number of gold rings on his kepi showed him to be the Colonel. He saluted casually and Angela, in the manner customary among her class, was just about to extend her hand for him to kiss when he clasped both of his behind his back and asked abruptly:

  ‘You are the two nurses from the hospital?’

  For a second she was taken aback, but quickly realising that he was initiating in the presence of the sergeant some plan that he had thought out to cover himself, she replied: ‘Oui, Monsieur.’

  ‘Be pleased to follow me, then.’ Turning on his heel, he led them down the long L-shaped passage, that they had seen on the plan of the prison, to its far end and, opening a door there, showed them into a room about fourteen feet square. In it there were two warders: one a gaunt middle-aged man, sitting at a bare wooden table writing a letter, the other a somewhat younger red-headed fellow, dozing beside a glowing iron stove.

  As Colonel Roux followed the visitors in the two warders came quickly to attention; then, to de Quesnoy’s relief, the Colonel told them to go out into the passage but remain within call. Directly the heavy door was shut behind them he removed his kepi, bowed to Angela and said in a low voice:

  ‘Madame, I am honoured to make your acquaintance. I only regret that it should be in such sad circumstances.’

  She gave him her hand to kiss then, and said how deeply grateful she was to him for having agreed to allow her to say farewell to his prisoner.

  He bowed again, and his pale blue eyes looked more melancholy than ever as he murmured: ‘It was a request that no man of sensibility could refuse.’ Then he produced two big keys from the pocket of his jacket and, while unlocking the two large old-fashioned locks on the iron-studded door of the cell, he said to her:

  ‘I can allow you a quarter of an hour, Madame; no more. You will appreciate too that I must leave the cell door ajar, er … just in case of any unforeseen happening; but I will not listen to your conversation.’ Pulling the door open, he stood aside for her to go in.

  With a word of thanks, she stepped past him. Then she gave a low cry. It was answered by another, and the sound of chair legs scraping back on the stone floor. Angela had paused in the doorway. Turning to Colonel Roux, she cried:

  ‘What is that awful box thing he has over his head?’

  ‘It is a form of mask, Madame. The government has ordered that he shall wear it. Such treatment is inhuman; but what would you? They are determined to keep his identity secret at all costs. He is allowed to speak with no one but myself. Until yesterday, after I had put the mask on him, even the two warders were not allowed inside his cell; so I had to bring his food and perform other small services for him personally.’

  Angela laid a hand on the Colonel’s arm. ‘But, Monsieur, his identity is no secret from me. I am his chère amie. Surely in this last interview you will permit me to gaze again on his face.’

  With a heavy sigh, the Colonel replied: ‘Madame, since you know who he is I would like to oblige you. But this morning when I removed his mask so that he could wash I had great difficulty in getting him to put it on again.’

  ‘I am sure that he will make no such difficulties if you will relieve him of it now,’ said Angela softly.

  The Colonel accompanied her into the cell and spoke to the Prince. De Vendôme had come quickly to his feet and was staring through the slits in his mask at Angela as though she were a ghost. Stammering slightly, he gave the required assurance. Colonel Roux produced a key, unlocked the mask and came out almost closing the door behind him. The voices coming from within sank to a murmer.

  De Quesnoy, meanwhile, had been standing quite still on the far side of the ante-room table. Up to the moment everything had gone in complete accordance with his wishes. He now took from a well-worn leather handbag that he was carrying the pack of cards. Holding it up for the Colonel to see as he came out of the cell he said:

  ‘Will you permit me, Monsieur?’

  The Colonel nodded. The Count sat down at the table, untied his veil and threw it back over his bonnet. It was a crucial moment. Although he had never before met Roux, the Colonel might recognise him from his photographs which had been appearing during the past few days in the papers. He could rely only on the extreme unlikelihood of a man want
ed for murder deliberately walking into a prison, and his disguise. He had shaved with extra care, and Angela had said that although his arched nose, firm mouth and slanting eyebrows made his face a very male one, the side curls and high lace collar kept in place with whalebone supports did a lot to soften it. There was at least a more than even chance that he would be taken for a capable if unprepossessing middle-aged woman of the superior servant class; but all the same, he kept his glance lowered as he began to lay out the cards on the table.

  For about five minutes he tapped first one card then another of the layout, shuffled, cut, repeated the process, and all the time kept up an almost inaudible mutter; then, with a little cry of satisfaction, he swept the cards together.

  Having nothing to do, Colonel Roux had been watching him, but only with casual interest. Without looking up the Count asked: ‘Would Monsieur le Colonel like me to tell his fortune?’

  It was the sort of invitation that few people will refuse; and, with a shrug, the Colonel replied: ‘Why not, Madame; why not?’ then sat down opposite him at the table.

  De Quesnoy asked him to cut the pack and, when he had done so, said: ‘It is important, Monsieur, that you should attune your personality to the cards. Please keep your eyes fixed on them and concentrate your thoughts upon the movement of my hands so that you will subconsciously direct the layout.’

  He then began to deal the cards, first in one pattern then in another, while keeping up a low monologue of the rather vague type commonly used by fortune tellers—a remove; a slight illness; a dark woman who would make trouble; a journey; a new friend who would be a fat man having great influence; and so on—and all the time his slender hands with the long slim fingers flickered and flickered and flickered.

  Having spent four or five minutes in this way he gathered up the cards, placed the pack face downwards in the centre of the table and said: ‘Now your wish. Please cut the cards twice, so that they make three stacks and at the same time, while you are making your wish, you must look into my eyes.’