CHAPTER VI
RIBAUT PLAYS A CARD
I stood for a moment dazed by this unexpected blow, for which I had been wholly unprepared. From what direction had it come? Clearly not from Ribaut, since I had been with him all the time. From whom, then? And in an instant I remembered the mysterious actions of the old woman who had fallen over my feet the night before. I ran down the stairs like the wind, and as I reached the court I perceived her sitting in her ruinous little lodge. I drew my sword, threw the door open and entered.
“Madame,” I said, with all the calmness I could muster, “you will tell me at once what has happened to the lady who was in my room.”
She crouched back in her chair away from the point at her throat and looked at me with venomous eyes.
“I know nothing about it,” she snarled. “You will have to look elsewhere, my fine blade.”
“No lies!” I said sharply. “You cannot deceive me. She could not have been carried off without you seeing it, even if you did not lend a hand.”
“Carried off, indeed!” she retorted with a sneer. “And what if she had simply grown weary of you and took the first chance to escape? On my word, I should not blame her!”
“She did not go away of her own will,” I said, quite positively. “She was carried away. Tell me what you saw.”
“I saw nothing,” she repeated sullenly.
“Very well,” I said between my teeth, “it seems you are prepared to die, then. Say your prayers. Commend your soul to God, if you possess one, for I warn you that I will kill you as I would a snake, without an instant’s hesitation.”
She looked at me for a moment, her eyes glittering, her face livid, her mouth working convulsively. She licked her lips and swallowed with an effort.
“Come,” I repeated, “you have nothing more to say then?” and my sword quivered in my hand.
She saw I was in earnest.
“I will tell you what I know, Monsieur,” she said at last.
“Good. That is the only way to save your life,” and I lowered my point. “If I find you lying to me, you shall die none the less surely.”
“All that I know, Monsieur, is that ten minutes after you had left three men entered. One remained on guard here, while the others mounted the stair. In a moment they returned, bringing the lady with them. Despite her struggles, they placed her in a coach which was waiting in the street, and drove away as fast as their horses could take them.”
“And who were these men?” I asked. “Where did they take the girl?”
“I do not know, Monsieur.”
“You lie!” I cried fiercely. “It was you who set them on! It was you who told them she was alone! Tell me who they were!”
She was snarling again from the depths of her chair, and I looked at her in disgust.
“Come,” I repeated after a moment, “you must tell me. There is no way of escaping it.”
I saw her glance past me into the court, and heard footsteps on the stones without. I turned to see two men standing there.
“Is there a gentleman lodged here by the name of Pierre le Moyne?” asked one of them.
“That is my name,” I answered.
“Will you be good enough to accompany us, Monsieur?”
“And why?” I inquired.
“We have been commissioned to conduct you to M. d’Argenson, lieutenant of police,” he answered. “He will doubtless explain everything to you, Monsieur.”
“I am under arrest, then?” I asked, with a sinking heart.
“If you choose to call it so, Monsieur,” and the man bowed.
I heard the concierge chuckling savagely in her chair behind me.
“Very well,” I said, after a moment’s reflection, “I shall be very glad to see M. le Comte d’Argenson. But I have some clothing and other property in my room here which I do not care to have stolen.”
“We will seal the door, Monsieur, if you will show us the room. Nothing will then be disturbed in your absence.”
I led the way to the room and we entered.
“We were also instructed to bring to M. d’Argenson a girl named Anne Ribaut,” said the fellow, looking about the room and seeing it empty. “Where is she, Monsieur?”
“I do not know,” I answered bitterly. “I left her here an hour since. When I returned she had disappeared. Look at the condition of the room, Monsieur, and judge if she went willingly.”
They looked about the room with practised eyes, which took in every detail.
“Have you a theory, Monsieur?” asked one of them at last.
“Only that the woman who is concierge knows more about it than she cares to tell,” I answered. “I was endeavoring to force a confession from her at the point of my sword when you interrupted me.”
“Ah,” and the man smiled. “We must look into that. If she has anything to tell she will tell it, Monsieur, rest assured of that. We have a more effective method of securing confessions than the sword-point,” and he smiled again.
They made another careful survey of the place, disturbing nothing, and then, motioning me to follow, left the room and sealed the door behind them. We descended to the court, but found that the concierge was no longer in her lodge.
“We shall get her, Monsieur, never fear,” one of them remarked. “No one can escape us in Paris.”
I doubted this somewhat, but deemed it best to say nothing, and followed them into the street. They led the way to the Rue St. Honoré, turned down the Bons Enfants, and entered at one of the smaller doors of the Palais Royal. In a moment we were in an ante-chamber which was crowded with people, many of whom shot curious glances at me as we passed. Here there was a short delay, and then we were shown into a room where a man sat writing at a table.
I looked at him with interest, for that this was the renowned Comte Voyer d’Argenson, who had organized the police system of Paris into the most perfect in the world, I did not doubt. At the first glance I was struck by nothing so much as his surpassing ugliness, for his face was horribly disfigured by small-pox, and yet when I looked again this impression faded imperceptibly and I saw only a man with kindly eyes and winning mouth.
He listened in silence to the report of the men who had arrested me, glancing keenly at my face once or twice, but for the most part playing with the pen he still held in his hand.
“Very good,” he said, as the report was concluded. “I need not tell you that it is necessary to arrest this woman. Do so without delay, and find out everything possible about her past. You may go.”
They went out and closed the door behind them.
“Sit down, M. le Moyne,” he continued, and I fancied I detected a trace of kindness in his voice. “I should be glad to hear your story of your connection with Mlle. Ribaut.”
“May I ask first, Monsieur,” I questioned, “why I have been arrested?”
“You are charged with the abduction and detention of the girl, with drawing your sword against her legal guardian, M. Jacques Ribaut, and with subsequently assaulting him and his friend, M. Jean Briquet, at his residence in the Rue des Moulins. Luckily, they were not injured seriously, and so could lodge complaint against you without delay.”
“But they did not know my lodging,” I protested, looking at him with bewildered eyes. “How was I found so speedily?”
D’Argenson smiled and turned to a great book which lay beside him on the table.
“Listen,” he said, and opened it. “Ah, here it is,” he added, after turning a page or two. “An entry on this page reads as follows, under date of July 10: ‘Pierre le Moyne, age about twenty, brown hair, brown eyes, well built, entered by the Porte St. Antoine at sunrise. Found lodging at the Epée Flamboyante, Rue du Chantre. A Gascon, Mont-de-Marsan. Unsuspected.’”
He smiled again as he glanced at my astonished face.
“It is our record,” he said, “of all strangers who enter Paris. We have agents at every gate—a simple thing. You see we had you under our hand.”
Still I could not speak. It was incredible. But I began to understand how no one could escape M. D’Argenson.
“As to the charges,” he added more gravely, “I trust they are not true, M. le Moyne, for they are of a most serious nature.”