CHAPTER XVI
THE LIBRARY OF GROSBOIS
And now, my friends, I am coming to the end of those singular adventures
which I encountered upon my arrival in France, adventures which might
have been of some interest in themselves had I not introduced the figure
of the Emperor, who has eclipsed them all as completely as the sun
eclipses the stars. Even now, you see, after all these years, in an old
man's memoirs, the Emperor is still true to his traditions, and will not
brook any opposition. As I draw his words and his deeds I feel that my
own poor story withers before them. And yet if it had not been for that
story I should not have had an excuse for describing to you my first and
most vivid impressions of him, and so it has served a purpose after all.
You must bear with me now while I tell you of our expedition to the Red
Mill and of what befell in the library of Grosbois.
Two days had passed away since the reception of the Empress Josephine,
and only one remained of the time which had been allowed to my cousin
Sibylle in which she might save her lover, and capture the terrible
Toussac. For my own part I was not so very anxious that she should save
this craven lover of hers, whose handsome face belied the poor spirit
within him. And yet this lonely beautiful woman, with the strong will
and the loyal heart, had touched my feelings, and I felt that I would
help her to anything--even against my own better judgment, if she should
desire it. It was then with a mixture of feelings that late in the
afternoon I saw her and General Savary enter the little room in which I
lodged at Boulogne. One glance at her flushed cheeks and triumphant
eyes told me that she was confident in her own success.
'I told you that I would find him, Cousin Louis!' she cried; 'I have
come straight to you, because you said that you would help in the taking
of him.'
'Mademoiselle insists upon it that I should not use soldiers,' said
Savary, shrugging his shoulders.
'No, no, no,' she cried with vehemence. 'It has to be done with
discretion, and at the sight of a soldier he would fly to some
hiding-place, where you would never be able to follow him. I cannot
afford to run a risk. There is too much already at stake.'
'In such an affair three men are as useful as thirty,' said Savary.
'I should not in any case have employed more. You say that you have
another friend, Lieutenant--?'
'Lieutenant Gerard of the Hussars of Bercheny.'
'Quite so. There is not a more gallant officer in the Grand Army than
Etienne Gerard. The three of us, Monsieur de Laval, should be equal to
any adventure.'
'I am at your disposal.'
'Tell us then, mademoiselle, where Toussac is hiding.'
'He is hiding at the Red Mill.'
'But we have searched it, I assure you that he is not there.'
'When did you search it?'
'Two days ago.'
'Then he has come there since. I knew that Jeanne Portal loved him.
I have watched her for six days. Last night she stole down to the Red
Mill with a basket of wine and fruit. All the morning I have seen her
eyes sweeping the country side, and I have read the terror in them
whenever she has seen the twinkle of a bayonet. I am as sure that
Toussac is in the mill as if I had seen him with my own eyes.'
'In that case there is not an instant to be lost,' cried Savary. 'If he
knows of a boat upon the coast he is as likely as not to slip away after
dark and make his escape for England. From the Red Mill one can see all
the surrounding country, and Mademoiselle is right in thinking that a
large body of soldiers would only warn him to escape.'
'What do you propose then?' I asked.
'That you meet us at the south gate of the camp in an hour's time
dressed as you are. You might be any gentleman travelling upon the high
road. I shall see Gerard, and we shall adopt some suitable disguise.
Bring your pistols, for it is with the most desperate man in France we
have to do. We shall have a horse at your disposal.'
The setting sun lay dull and red upon the western horizon, and the white
chalk cliffs of the French coast had all flushed into pink when I found
myself once more at the gate of the Boulogne Camp. There was no sign of
my companions, but a tall man, dressed in a blue coat with brass buttons
like a small country farmer, was tightening the girth of a magnificent
black horse, whilst a little further on a slim young ostler was waiting
by the roadside, holding the bridles of two others. It was only when I
recognised one of the pair as the horse which I had ridden on my first
coming to camp that I answered the smile upon the keen handsome face of
the ostler, and saw the swarthy features of Savary under the
broad-brimmed hat of the farmer.
'I think that we may travel without fearing to excite suspicion,' said
he. 'Crook that straight back of yours a little, Gerard! And now we
shall push upon our way, or we may find that we are too late.'
My life has had its share of adventures, and yet, somehow, this ride
stands out above the others.
There over the waters I could dimly see the loom of the English coast,
with its suggestions of dreamy villages, humming bees, and the pealing
of Sunday bells. I thought of the long, white High Street of Ashford,
with its red brick houses, and the inn with the great swinging sign.
All my life had been spent in these peaceful surroundings, and now, here
I was with a spirited horse between my knees, two pistols peeping out of
my holsters, and a commission upon which my whole future might depend,
to arrest the most redoubtable conspirator in France. No wonder that,
looking back over many dangers and many vicissitudes, it is still that
evening ride over the short crisp turf of the downs which stands out
most clearly in my memory. One becomes _blase_ to adventure, as one
becomes _blase_ to all else which the world can give, save only the
simple joys of home, and to taste the full relish of such an
expedition one must approach it with the hot blood of youth still
throbbing in one's veins.
Our route, when we had left the uplands of Boulogne behind us, lay along
the skirts of that desolate marsh in which I had wandered, and so
inland, through plains of fern and bramble, until the familiar black
keep of the Castle of Grosbois rose upon the left. Then, under the
guidance of Savary, we struck to the right down a sunken road, and so
over the shoulder of a hill until, on a further slope beyond, we saw the
old windmill black against the evening sky. Its upper window burned red
like a spot of blood in the last rays of the setting sun. Close by the
door stood a cart full of grain sacks, with the shafts pointing
downwards and the horse grazing at some distance. As we gazed, a woman
appeared upon the downs and stared round, with her hand over her eyes.
'See that!' said Savary eagerly. 'He is there sure enough, or why
should they be on their guard? Let us take this road which winds round
the hill, and they will not see us until we are at the very door.'
'Should we not gallop forward?' I suggested.
'The ground is too cut up. The longer way is the safer. As long as we
are upon the road they cannot tell us from any other travellers.'
We walked our horses along the path, therefore, with as unconcerned an
air as we could assume; but a sharp exclamation made us glance suddenly
round, and there was the woman standing on a hillock by the roadside and
gazing down at us with a face that was rigid with suspicion. The sight
of the military bearing of my companions changed all her fear into
certainties. In an instant she had whipped the shawl from her
shoulders, and was waving it frantically over her head. With a hearty
curse Savary spurred his horse up the bank and galloped straight for the
mill, with Gerard and myself at his heels.
It was only just in time. We were still a hundred paces from the door
when a man sprang out from it, and gazed about him, his head whisking
this way and that. There could be no mistaking the huge bristling
beard, the broad chest, and the rounded shoulders of Toussac. A glance
showed him that we would ride him down before he could get away, and he
sprang back into the mill, closing the heavy door with a clang behind
him.
'The window, Gerard, the window!' cried Savary.
There was a small, square window opening into the basement room of the
mill. The young hussar disengaged himself from the saddle and flew
through it as the clown goes through the hoops at Franconi's.
An instant later he had opened the door for us, with the blood streaming
from his face and hands.
'He has fled up the stair,' said he.
'Then we need be in no hurry, since he cannot pass us,' said Savary, as
we sprang from our horses. 'You have carried his first line of
entrenchments most gallantly, Lieutenant Gerard. I hope you are not
hurt?'
'A few scratches, General, nothing more.'
'Get your pistols, then. Where is the miller?'
'Here I am,' said a squat, rough little fellow, appearing in the open
doorway. 'What do you mean, you brigands, by entering my mill in this
fashion? I am sitting reading my paper and smoking my pipe of
coltsfoot, as my custom is about this time of the evening, and suddenly,
without a word, a man comes flying through my window, covers me with
glass, and opens my door to his friends outside. I've had trouble
enough with my one lodger all day without three more of you turning up.'
'You have the conspirator Toussac in your house.'
'Toussac!' cried the miller. 'Nothing of the kind. His name is
Maurice, and he is a merchant in silks.'
'He is the man we want. We come in the Emperor's name.'
The miller's jaw dropped as he listened.
'I don't know who he is, but he offered a good price for a bed and I
asked no more questions. In these days one cannot expect a certificate
of character from every lodger. But, of course, if it is a matter of
State, why, it is not for me to interfere. But, to do him justice, he
was a quiet gentleman enough until he had that letter just now.'
'What letter? Be careful what you say, you rascal, for your own head
may find its way into the sawdust basket.'
'It was a woman who brought it. I can only tell you what I know.
He has been talking like a madman ever since. It made my blood run cold
to hear him. There's someone whom he swears he will murder. I shall be
very glad to see the last of him.'
'Now, gentlemen,' said Savary, drawing his sword, 'we may leave our
horses here. There is no window for forty feet, so he cannot escape
from us. If you will see that your pistols are primed, we shall soon
bring the fellow to terms.'
The stair was a narrow winding one made of wood, which led to a small
loft lighted from a slit in the wall.
Some remains of wood and a litter of straw showed that this was where
Toussac had spent his day. There was, however, no sign of him now, and
it was evident that he had ascended the next flight of steps.
We climbed them, only to find our way barred by a heavy door.
'Surrender, Toussac!' cried Savary. 'It is useless to attempt to escape
us.
A hoarse laugh sounded from behind the door.
'I am not a man who surrenders. But I will make a bargain with you.
I have a small matter of business to do to-night. If you will leave me
alone, I will give you my solemn pledge to surrender at the camp
to-morrow. I have a little debt that I wish to pay. It is only to-day
that I understood to whom I owed it.'
'What you ask is impossible.'
'It would save you a great deal of trouble.'
'We cannot grant such a request. You must surrender.'
'You'll have some work first.'
'Come, come, you cannot escape us. Put your shoulders against the door!
Now, all together?'
There was the hot flash of a pistol from the keyhole, and a bullet
smacked against the wall between us. We hurled ourselves against the
door. It was massive, but rotten with age. With a splintering and
rending it gave way before us. We rushed in, weapons in hand, to find
ourselves in an empty room.
'Where the devil has he got to?' cried Savary, glaring round him.
'This is the top room of all. There is nothing above it.'
It was a square empty space with a few corn-bags littered about. At the
further side was an open window, and beside it lay a pistol, still
smoking from the discharge. We all rushed across, and, as we craned our
heads over, a simultaneous cry of astonishment escaped from us.
The distance to the ground was so great that no one could have survived
the fall, but Toussac had taken advantage of the presence of that cart
full of grain-sacks, which I have described as having lain close to the
mill. This had both shortened the distance and given him an excellent
means of breaking the fall. Even so, however, the shock had been
tremendous, and as we looked out he was lying panting heavily upon the
top of the bags. Hearing our cry, however, he looked up, shook his fist
defiantly, and, rolling from the cart, he sprang on to the back of
Savary's black horse, and galloped off across the downs, his great beard
flying in the wind, untouched by the pistol bullets with which we tried
to bring him down.
How we flew down those creaking wooden stairs and out through the open
door of the mill! Quick as we were, he had a good start, and by the
time Gerard and I were in the saddle he had become a tiny man upon a
small horse galloping up the green slope of the opposite hill.
The shades of evening, too, were drawing in, and upon his left was the
huge salt-marsh, where we should have found it difficult to follow him.
The chances were certainly in his favour. And yet he never swerved from
his course, but kept straight on across the downs on a line which took
him farther and farther from the sea. Every instant we feared to see
him dart away in the morass, but still he held his horse's head against
the hill-side. What could he be making for? He never pulled rein and
never glanced round, but flew onwards, like a man with a definite goal
in view.
Lieutenant Gerard and I were lighter men, and our mounts were as good as
his, so that it was not long before we began to gain upon him. If we
could only keep him in sight it was certain that we should ride him
down; but there was always the danger that he might use his knowledge of
the country to throw us off his track. As we sank beneath each hill my
heart sank also, to rise again with renewed hope as we caught sight of
him once more galloping in front of us.
But at last that which I had feared befell us. We were not more than a
couple of hundred paces behind him when we lost all trace of him.
He had vanished behind some rolling ground, and we could see nothing of
him when we reached the summit.
'There is a road there to the left,' cried Gerard, whose Gascon blood
was aflame with excitement.
'On, my friend, on, let us keep to the left!'
'Wait a moment!' I cried. 'There is a bridle-path upon the right, and
it is as likely that he took that.'
'Then do you take one and I the other.'
'One moment, I hear the sound of hoofs!'
'Yes, yes, it is his horse!'
A great black horse, which was certainly that of General Savary, had
broken out suddenly through a dense tangle of brambles in front of us.
The saddle was empty.
'He has found some hiding-place here amongst the brambles,' I cried.
Gerard had already sprung from his horse, and was leading him through
the bushes. I followed his example, and in a minute or two we made our
way down a winding path into a deep chalk quarry.
'There is no sign of him!' cried Gerard. 'He has escaped us.'
But suddenly I had understood it all. His furious rage which the miller
had described to us was caused no doubt by his learning how he came to
be betrayed upon the night of his arrival. This sweetheart of his had
in some way discovered it, and had let him know. His promise to deliver
himself up to-morrow was in order to give him time to have his revenge
upon my uncle. And now with one idea in his head he had ridden to this
chalk quarry. Of course, it must be the same chalk quarry into which
the underground passage of Grosbois opened, and no doubt during his
treasonable meetings with my uncle he had learned the secret. Twice I
hit upon the wrong spot, but at the third trial I gained the face of the
cliff, made my way between it and the bushes, and found the narrow
opening, which was hardly visible in the gathering darkness. During our
search Savary had overtaken us on foot, so now, leaving our horses in
the chalk-pit, my two companions followed me through the narrow entrance
tunnel, and on into the larger and older passage beyond. We had no
lights, and it was as black as pitch within, so I stumbled forward as
best I might, feeling my way by keeping one hand upon the side wall, and
tripping occasionally over the stones which were scattered along the
path. It had seemed no very great distance when my uncle had led the
way with the light, but now, what with the darkness, and what with the
uncertainty and the tension of our feelings, it appeared to be a long
journey, and Savary's deep voice at my elbow growled out questions as to
how many more miles we were to travel in this moleheap.
'Hush!' whispered Gerard. 'I hear someone in front of us.'
We stood listening in breathless silence. Then far away through the
darkness I heard the sound of a door creaking upon its hinges.
'On, on!' cried Savary, eagerly. 'The rascal is there, sure enough.
This time at least we have got him!'
But for my part I had my fears. I remembered that my uncle had opened
the door which led into the castle by some secret catch. This sound
which we had heard seemed to show that Toussac had also known how to
open it. But suppose that he had closed it behind him. I remembered
its size and the iron clampings which bound it together. It was
possible that even at the last moment we might find ourselves face to
face with an insuperable obstacle. On and on we hurried in the dark,
and then suddenly I could have raised a shout of joy, for there in the
distance was a yellow glimmer of light, only visible in contrast with
the black darkness which lay between. The door was open. In his mad
thirst for vengeance Toussac had never given a thought to the pursuers
at his heels.
And now we need no longer grope. It was a race along the passage and up
the winding stair, through the second door, and into the stone-flagged
corridor of the Castle of Grosbois, with the oil-lamp still burning at
the end of it. A frightful cry--a long-drawn scream of terror and of
pain--rang through it as we entered.
'He is killing him! He is killing him!' cried a voice, and a woman
servant rushed madly out into the passage. 'Help, help; he is killing
Monsieur Bernac!'
'Where is he?' shouted Savary.
'There! The library! The door with the green curtain! 'Again that
horrible cry rang out, dying down to a harsh croaking. It ended in a
loud, sharp snick, as when one cracks one's joint, but many times
louder. I knew only too well what that dreadful sound portended.
We rushed together into the room, but the hardened Savary and the
dare-devil hussar both recoiled in horror from the sight which met our
gaze.
My uncle had been seated writing at his desk, with his back to the door,
when his murderer had entered. No doubt it was at the first glance over
his shoulder that he had raised the scream when he saw that terrible
hairy face coming in upon him, while the second cry may have been when
those great hands clutched at his head. He had never risen from his
chair--perhaps he had been too paralysed by fear--and he still sat with
his back to the door. But what struck the colour from our cheeks was
that his head had been turned completely round, so that his horribly
distorted purple face looked squarely at us from between his shoulders.
Often in my dreams that thin face, with the bulging grey eyes, and the
shockingly open mouth, comes to disturb me. Beside him stood Toussac,
his face flushed with triumph, and his great arms folded across his
chest.
'Well, my friends,' said he, 'you are too late, you see. I have paid my
debts after all.'
'Surrender!' cried Savary.
'Shoot away! Shoot away!' he cried, drumming his hands upon his breast.
'You don't suppose I fear your miserable pellets, do you? Oh, you
imagine you will take me alive! I'll soon knock that idea out of your
heads.'
In an instant he had swung a heavy chair over his head, and was rushing
furiously at us. We all fired our pistols into him together, but
nothing could stop that thunderbolt of a man. With the blood spurting
from his wounds, he lashed madly out with his chair, but his eyesight
happily failed him, and his swashing blow came down upon the corner of
the table with a crash which broke it into fragments. Then with a mad
bellow of rage he sprang upon Savary, tore him down to the ground, and
had his hand upon his chin before Gerard and I could seize him by the
arms. We were three strong men, but he was as strong as all of us put
together, for again and again he shook himself free, and again and again
we got our grip upon him once more. But he was losing blood fast.
Every instant his huge strength ebbed away. With a supreme effort he
staggered to his feet, the three of us hanging on to him like hounds on
to a bear. Then, with a shout of rage and despair which thundered
through the whole castle, his knees gave way under him, and he fell in a
huge inert heap upon the floor, his black beard bristling up towards the
ceiling. We all stood panting round, ready to spring upon him if he
should move; but it was over. He was dead.
Savary, deadly pale, was leaning with his hand to his side against the
table. It was not for nothing that those mighty arms had been thrown
round him.
'I feel as if I had been hugged by a bear,' said he. 'Well, there is
one dangerous man the less in France, and the Emperor has lost one of
his enemies. And yet he was a brave man too!'
'What a soldier he would have made!' said Gerard thoughtfully. 'What a
quartermaster for the Hussars of Bercheny! He must have been a very
foolish person to set his will against that of the Emperor.'
I had seated myself, sick and dazed, upon the settee, for scenes of
bloodshed were new to me then, and this one had been enough to shock the
most hardened. Savary gave us all a little cognac from his flask, and
then tearing down one of the curtains he laid it over the terrible
figure of my Uncle Bernac.
'We can do nothing here,' said he. 'I must get back and report to the
Emperor as soon as possible. But all these papers of Bernac's must be
seized, for many of them bear upon this and other conspiracies.' As he
spoke he gathered together a number of documents which were scattered
about the table--among the others a letter which lay before him upon the
desk, and which he had apparently just finished at the time of Toussac's
irruption.
'Hullo, what's this?' said Savary, glancing over it. 'I fancy that our
friend Bernac was a dangerous man also. "My dear Catulle--I beg of you
to send me by the very first mail another phial of the same tasteless
essence which you sent three years ago. I mean the almond decoction
which leaves no traces. I have particular reasons for wanting it in the
course of next week, so I implore you not to delay. You may rely upon
my interest with the Emperor whenever you have occasion to demand it."'
'Addressed to a chemist in Amiens,' said Savary, turning over the
letter. 'A poisoner then, on the top of his other virtues. I wonder
for whom this essence of almonds which leaves no trace was intended.'
'I wonder,' said I.
After all, he was my uncle, and he was dead, so why should I say
further?
