CHAPTER III
I FIND THE KEY TO THE PUZZLE
I lay for some time where I had fallen, nursing my bruises and reflecting with bitterness upon the singular gratitude of princes. I was dazed by the suddenness, the unexpectedness, of it all. What had I done that I should be treated so? And then, in a breath, a flash of light broke in upon me and brought me to my feet. What was it Letourge had said, “He will finish the work he began in the Rue Gogard.” The Rue Gogard—but that was where I had met Claire. Could it be that it was Letourge and M. le Comte whom I had resisted there; that it was into the face of M. le Comte himself that white-hot iron had seared? I shuddered as I recalled the hiss of the iron into his flesh, the smell of burning, his cry of agony! Small wonder he should thirst for vengeance! Death on the gibbet would be merciful beside the torture which he had suffered and which he must suffer still.
I sat down again to think it out. Yes, there could be no doubt of it—I had been blind not to see it before. The man in armor had been styled “M. le Comte” in Duval’s room; he had called his companion Gaspard, and it was Gaspard whom he had cursed from his bed. Gaspard, of course, was Letourge. And then Duval’s despair when I had told him who I was—oh, there could be no doubt of it! And, in a flash, I saw the full peril of my position.
Here, then, was I, Paul de Marsan, about to be hanged by order of the Comte de Cadillac, whose family we of Marsan had served faithfully for two centuries and more, and whose favor I had thought to win. It had remained for me to be the first to betray him—though how was I to know?—and to be the first of the Marsans to die with a rope about his neck. I saw tumbling about my ears all those pretty castles in the air which I had spent so much time in building while floating along the Midouze or taking a lesson with the sword from old Maitre Perigneau, who had tested his art by my father’s side—and my grandfather’s, as well—in a hundred combats. It is not a pleasant thing when one is only twenty, with a heart warm for adventure, to see just ahead the end of the path—and such an end! More shaken than I cared to own, I rose again to my feet and determined to find out the nature of this place into which I had been cast. Perhaps I might yet escape, and M. le Comte would be less vengeful once his wound had healed.
The cell was not large, as I discovered by feeling my way along the walls, all of great stones, delicately fitted,—ten feet square at the most,—and the low, iron-studded door the only opening. Plainly, I could not go out until that door was opened, and the path from it to the gibbet seemed like to be a short one. I stood for a time leaning against it; at last, overcome by weariness and despair, I sank into one corner and dropped into a troubled sleep.
Then, of a sudden, I awoke to feel my wrists seized by iron hands and twisted behind me. I struggled till my heart seemed like to burst, certain that this was the end, but those great hands clung to me and would not be shaken off.
“Hold him so,” a voice whispered, and the hands tightened.
I lay still, the sweat starting from my forehead, waiting the blow that would end it. A hand tore the doublet from my breast,—there was a moment’s silence broken only by the crackling of a paper,—then the voice whispered again,—
“Strike him!”
A great blow fell upon my head.
I opened my eyes to find a tall fellow bending over me and dashing water into my face. Another stood near by holding a torch. A flare of light came from the doorway, and I heard voices and the clank of arms without.
“He’s coming round,” said the fellow with the torch, seeing my eyes open. “He must have struck his head when we pitched him in here. Lucky for us his skull is thick. Again, Blatot.”
And the other deluged me again with water.
I sat upright, sputtering, dazed, suffocated.
“What is it?” I asked, so soon as I could get my breath. “Do you wish to choke me?”
“No, we’ll leave that to the hangman,” answered Blatot grimly. “Just now we are to take you before M. le Comte. I advise you to go quietly.”
“I will go gladly,” I said, for I had feared another answer. Besides, now that I held the key to the puzzle, I might find a way out. “Lead the way.”
They fell into place about me and we toiled up the steps to the hall above. As we reached the stair-head I saw it was full day. Down the hall we turned, into the room where I had first met d’Aurilly, and across it to the chamber beyond.
It was crowded with M. le Comte’s retainers, and they must have got some wind of my adventure, for a hum of anger greeted my entrance. M. le Comte himself was seated in a great fauteuil, his face still bandaged, but seemingly giving him less pain than it had the night before. D’Aurilly stood beside him, and he smiled maliciously as he noted my torn and disordered clothing, drenched with water, and the bruises on my head and face. Plainly he had not forgot that blow on the mouth—at which I did not greatly wonder, for neither should I have forgot it.
“M. de Marsan,” said M. le Comte, when I stood before him, “I have had you brought here in place of ordering you straight to the gallows that you may answer certain questions I have to ask of you. ’Twill be wise on your part to answer them fully and truthfully.”
“I shall be glad to answer every question Monsieur may please to ask,” I answered, overjoyed that he should begin so mildly. “I shall be only too happy to tell Monsieur everything I know.”
“That is well,” and his brow cleared a little. “You may perhaps yet save your neck. Now answer me. Where was it you last saw the Duc de Roquefort?”
“M. le Comte,” I answered simply, “I have never in my whole life seen the Duc de Roquefort.”
His brow contracted and he brought his hand down with a crash upon the arm of his chair.
“By God! M. de Marsan,” he cried, “you seem to set small value on that head of yours! You will be denying next that it was you who came to the rescue of that cursed, cowardly henchman of his, Brissac, just when I had him where he must have given up certain papers. You will be denying that it was you who spitted Bastien, who caused me to suffer this wound across the face,” and he pointed to his bandaged cheek with a terrible gesture that sent the blood back to my heart.
“I deny nothing, Monsieur,” I protested, “but I beg you to believe that I did not know it was you I was resisting or your enemies I was aiding.”
“M. le Comte,” broke in d’Aurilly, with an evil light in his eyes, “has not this farce gone far enough? Why keep this liar longer from the rope?”
“Why, indeed?” repeated M. le Comte, looking at me darkly. “Do you persist in your denials, M. de Marsan?”
And then of a sudden I remembered the message. With feverish fingers I sought to draw it from my bosom—it was not there! In a flash I understood—the assault in the dungeon, the tearing of my doublet, the rustling of a paper!
“It has been stolen!” I cried hoarsely, my throat on fire. “Some one has stolen it from me!”
I caught d’Aurilly’s eyes on mine, and my heart grew hot with hate as I marked the sneer on his lips.
“What hath been stolen?” demanded M. le Comte impatiently. “No tricks, M. de Marsan!”
I clinched my hands to still their trembling, until the blood started beneath the nails.
“M. le Comte,” I began, “hear me to the end. I came to Montauban from Marsan as fast as horse could carry me that I might place in your hand a message which concerns you deeply. You know what my reception was, but you do not know that after I had been thrown into yonder dungeon some one crept upon me while I slept and tore the message from me. See, here is where I carried it. You have a traitor in your house, Monsieur!”
His face was red, and I could hear the stir in the circle of men-at-arms behind me. Only d’Aurilly laughed harshly.
“A pretty story!” he cried. “A brazen lie! Does not your patience near an end, M. le Comte?”
But I looked only at my master. Surely he must see that I spoke truth!
“M. le Comte will remember,” I concluded, “that I told him of this message in his sleeping-room, but he would not hear me out. The one who robbed me must have known I carried it, yet I told no one save yourself, the sentry at the outer door, M. Letourge, and—the Vicomte d’Aurilly.”
I was looking full at d’Aurilly now, and I think he read the meaning of my look, for his face went white, and I could see his hand gripping his sword-hilt. And in that instant I knew who the traitor was!
“Good God, M. le Comte!” he burst out, “do you permit us to be insulted by this scoundrel?”
But my master waved him to silence. His face was very stern and his voice cold as steel when he spoke again.
“You make grave charges, M. de Marsan,” he said; “so grave that either your head or another’s will fall. Do you know the contents of this message?”
“I do, Monsieur,” I answered, and I saw d’Aurilly go white again. “I have been trying to tell it you. I learned it by rote that I might repeat it in case I was intercepted and so compelled to destroy it. I had not foreseen it would be stolen from me at my journey’s end.”
“Well, repeat it then, man!” he cried, moving in his seat uneasily. “Out with it!”
“‘M. le Duc de Roquefort,’” I repeated, “‘has learned of the presence of Madame la Comtesse at the Château de Cadillac, together with Mademoiselle, her daughter. He has learned also that not above thirty men can be mustered to defend the place. He designs to carry it by surprise and to take prisoner Madame and Mademoiselle, confident that with them as hostages he can secure certain concessions from M. le Comte. There is need of haste!’”
I could hear the crowd behind me breathing hard. A murmur of rage and astonishment ran from mouth to mouth, and I caught the rattle of a hundred scabbards as hand fell to hilt. M. le Comte was trembling with emotion.
“And the signature!” he cried, bending down from his chair till his eyes glared into mine. “The signature!”
“I know nothing of the signature,” I said. “It was not given to me.”
“But whence came the message? Prove to me that it is genuine—that it may be believed!”
“M. le Comte,” I said, as calmly as I could, for the blood was beginning to sing in my ears, “permit me to tell my story. Three nights ago a stranger rode up to Marsan. He bore the message which I have just repeated. My father, who recognized the messenger by some secret sign which I know nothing of, ordered out his horse at once that he himself might bring it to Montauban. But my father is growing old, as you know, Monsieur; besides, in cold, wet weather his wounds trouble him greatly. I begged that I might come in his stead. I was eager to be of service to our master—to prove to him my loyalty and address. At last my father yielded. I should have his horse. The stranger gave me the paper sealed. He repeated to me its contents—three, four times, until I knew them word for word. Then he sprang to horse and disappeared in the night. Five minutes later I was on the road to Montauban. By noon of the next day I had reached the Losse, and here I was compelled to stop to rest my horse. Evening saw me en route again. At midnight I reached Comdan; dawn found me at Lestoure. An hour’s rest, and I pressed on. At noon I had reached the Garonne. I forded it, and thought soon to reach Montauban, when, of a sudden, my horse fell lame. He grew worse at every step, until he was no longer able to proceed. There was no house in sight, so I left him by the roadside and hastened on afoot. As evening came I entered Montauban from the west.”
I paused a moment at what I had yet to tell.
“Yes, yes!” cried my listener. “Continue; and then?”
“And then, M. le Comte,” I said, “as I was hastening along the Rue Gogard a woman burst from a gate and appealed to me for help. Without pausing to reflect, I followed her. The rest you know.”
He sat for a moment looking at me.
“In faith, Monsieur,” he said at last, “if what you say is true,—and it hath a certain ring of truth about it,—you are not so greatly at fault as I had thought. I reprieve you from the gallows till I have tested your story. M. de Fronsac,” he added, to a young man who stood near by, “I commit M. de Marsan to your care. See that he does not escape.”
Fronsac bowed and took his place at my side.
“See that he is provided with new equipage,” added M. le Comte, with a gleam of humor in his eye as he looked at me; “he hath need of it.” And then he rose from his seat and his voice took a sterner ring. “Messieurs,” he cried, “you have heard this message, and can guess how nearly it touches us. Whether it be true or false, we shall soon determine. Arm yourselves!”
D’Aurilly, leaning on his chair, interrupted him.
“Do you mean, M. le Comte,” he asked disdainfully, “that you intend to go forth on this fool’s errand?”
My master shot him a swift glance, in which I saw suspicion spring to life.
“It may be, as you say, a fool’s errand, M. le Vicomte,” he answered. “Should it prove so, this liar will lose his head. But should it appear that he spoke truth,”—he paused, his eyes still on d’Aurilly,—“should it appear that he spoke truth, it will not be his head that falls. In either case, a spy and traitor will get his dues.”
D’Aurilly’s eyes were on the floor, but he kept countenance well.
“I am quite ready for the test, M. le Comte,” he said quietly. “Nothing will delight me more than to see a traitor get his dues.”
“Nor me,” assented M. le Comte, and looked at him a moment longer. Then he turned again to his men with fire in his eyes. “Arm yourselves, Messieurs!” he cried. “In twenty minutes we must be en route to Cadillac. Should this dog of a Roquefort, who dares fight only women, have been there before us, we will follow him even to his den in the Pyrenees and drag him forth like the cur he is! À outrance!”
They heard him with gleaming eyes and mantling cheeks. I could hear their swords rattling, eager to leap from the sheath. The lust of blood was on them, and they caught up the cry as their master ended.
“À outrance!”
Up and down the corridors it echoed as they rushed for the door, cheering, shouting, cursing. They bore the news along the hall and out into the court, whence, in a moment, again came the cry,—
“À outrance!”
And the good people of Montauban, hearing it, hurried to their homes and barred their doors, for they knew that the hounds of Cadillac were loose again.