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<h2> CHAPTER XXVI THE JEW </h2>
<p>It took Marguerite some time to collect her scattered senses; the whole of
this last short episode had taken place in less than a minute, and Desgas
and the soldiers were still about two hundred yards away from the "Chat
Gris."</p>
<p>When she realised what had happened, a curious mixture of joy and wonder
filled her heart. It all was so neat, so ingenious. Chauvelin was still
absolutely helpless, far more so than he could even have been under a blow
from the fist, for now he could neither see, nor hear, nor speak, whilst
his cunning adversary had quietly slipped through his fingers.</p>
<p>Blakeney was gone, obviously to try and join the fugitives at the Pere
Blanchard's hut. For the moment, true, Chauvelin was helpless; for the
moment the daring Scarlet Pimpernel had not been caught by Desgas and his
men. But all the roads and the beach were patrolled. Every place was
watched, and every stranger kept in sight. How far could Percy go, thus
arrayed in his gorgeous clothes, without being sighted and followed? Now
she blamed herself terribly for not having gone down to him sooner, and
given him that word of warning and of love which, perhaps, after all, he
needed. He could not know of the orders which Chauvelin had given for his
capture, and even now, perhaps . . .</p>
<p>But before all these horrible thoughts had taken concrete form in her
brain, she heard the grounding of arms outside, close to the door, and
Desgas' voice shouting "Halt!" to his men.</p>
<p>Chauvelin had partially recovered; his sneezing had become less violent,
and he had struggled to his feet. He managed to reach the door just as
Desgas' knock was heard on the outside.</p>
<p>Chauvelin threw open the door, and before his secretary could say a word,
he had managed to stammer between two sneezes—</p>
<p>"The tall stranger—quick!—did any of you see him?"</p>
<p>"Where, citoyen?" asked Desgas, in surprise.</p>
<p>"Here, man! through that door! not five minutes ago."</p>
<p>"We saw nothing, citoyen! The moon is not yet up, and . . ."</p>
<p>"And you are just five minutes too late, my friend," said Chauvelin, with
concentrated fury.</p>
<p>"Citoyen . . . I . . ."</p>
<p>"You did what I ordered you to do," said Chauvelin, with impatience. "I
know that, but you were a precious long time about it. Fortunately,
there's not much harm done, or it had fared ill with you, Citoyen Desgas."</p>
<p>Desgas turned a little pale. There was so much rage and hatred in his
superior's whole attitude.</p>
<p>"The tall stranger, citoyen—" he stammered.</p>
<p>"Was here, in this room, five minutes ago, having supper at that table.
Damn his impudence! For obvious reasons, I dared not tackle him alone.
Brogard is too big a fool, and that cursed Englishman appears to have the
strength of a bullock, and so he slipped away under your very nose."</p>
<p>"He cannot go far without being sighted, citoyen."</p>
<p>"Ah?"</p>
<p>"Captain Jutley sent forty men as reinforcements for the patrol duty:
twenty went down to the beach. He again assured me that the watch had been
constant all day, and that no stranger could possibly get to the beach, or
reach a boat, without being sighted."</p>
<p>"That's good.—Do the men know their work?"</p>
<p>"They have had very clear orders, citoyen: and I myself spoke to those who
were about to start. They are to shadow—as secretly as possible—any
stranger they may see, especially if he be tall, or stoop as if he would
disguise his height."</p>
<p>"In no case to detain such a person, of course," said Chauvelin, eagerly.
"That impudent Scarlet Pimpernel would slip through clumsy fingers. We
must let him get to the Pere Blanchard's hut now; there surround and
capture him."</p>
<p>"The men understand that, citoyen, and also that, as soon as a tall
stranger has been sighted, he must be shadowed, whilst one man is to turn
straight back and report to you."</p>
<p>"That is right," said Chauvelin, rubbing his hands, well pleased.</p>
<p>"I have further news for you, citoyen."</p>
<p>"What is it?"</p>
<p>"A tall Englishman had a long conversation about three-quarters of an hour
ago with a Jew, Reuben by name, who lives not ten paces from here."</p>
<p>"Yes—and?" queried Chauvelin, impatiently.</p>
<p>"The conversation was all about a horse and cart, which the tall
Englishman wished to hire, and which was to have been ready for him by
eleven o'clock."</p>
<p>"It is past that now. Where does that Reuben live?"</p>
<p>"A few minutes' walk from this door."</p>
<p>"Send one of the men to find out if the stranger has driven off in
Reuben's cart."</p>
<p>"Yes, citoyen."</p>
<p>Desgas went to give the necessary orders to one of the men. Not a word of
this conversation between him and Chauvelin had escaped Marguerite, and
every word they had spoken seemed to strike at her heart, with terrible
hopelessness and dark foreboding.</p>
<p>She had come all this way, and with such high hopes and firm determination
to help her husband, and so far she had been able to do nothing, but to
watch, with a heart breaking with anguish, the meshes of the deadly net
closing round the daring Scarlet Pimpernel.</p>
<p>He could not now advance many steps, without spying eyes to track and
denounce him. Her own helplessness struck her with the terrible sense of
utter disappointment. The possibility of being the slightest use to her
husband had become almost NIL, and her only hope rested in being allowed
to share his fate, whatever it might ultimately be.</p>
<p>For the moment, even her chance of ever seeing the man she loved again,
had become a remote one. Still, she was determined to keep a close watch
over his enemy, and a vague hope filled her heart, that whilst she kept
Chauvelin in sight, Percy's fate might still be hanging in the balance.</p>
<p>Desgas left Chauvelin moodily pacing up and down the room, whilst he
himself waited outside for the return of the man whom he had sent in
search of Reuben. Thus several minutes went by. Chauvelin was evidently
devoured with impatience. Apparently he trusted no one: this last trick
played upon him by the daring Scarlet Pimpernel had made him suddenly
doubtful of success, unless he himself was there to watch, direct and
superintend the capture of this impudent Englishman.</p>
<p>About five minutes later, Desgas returned, followed by an elderly Jew, in
a dirty, threadbare gaberdine, worn greasy across the shoulders. His red
hair, which he wore after the fashion of the Polish Jews, with the
corkscrew curls each side of his face, was plentifully sprinkled with grey—a
general coating of grime, about his cheeks and his chin, gave him a
peculiarly dirty and loathsome appearance. He had the habitual stoop,
those of his race affected in mock humility in past centuries, before the
dawn of equality and freedom in matters of faith, and he walked behind
Desgas with the peculiar shuffling gait which has remained the
characteristic of the Jew trader in continental Europe to this day.</p>
<p>Chauvelin, who had all the Frenchman's prejudice against the despised
race, motioned to the fellow to keep at a respectful distance. The group
of the three men were standing just underneath the hanging oil-lamp, and
Marguerite had a clear view of them all.</p>
<p>"Is this the man?" asked Chauvelin.</p>
<p>"No, citoyen," replied Desgas, "Reuben could not be found, so presumably
his cart has gone with the stranger; but this man here seems to know
something, which he is willing to sell for a consideration."</p>
<p>"Ah!" said Chauvelin, turning away with disgust from the loathsome
specimen of humanity before him.</p>
<p>The Jew, with characteristic patience, stood humbly on one side, leaning
on the knotted staff, his greasy, broad-brimmed hat casting a deep shadow
over his grimy face, waiting for the noble Excellency to deign to put some
questions to him.</p>
<p>"The citoyen tells me," said Chauvelin peremptorily to him, "that you know
something of my friend, the tall Englishman, whom I desire to meet . . .
MORBLEU! keep your distance, man," he added hurriedly, as the Jew took a
quick and eager step forward.</p>
<p>"Yes, your Excellency," replied the Jew, who spoke the language with that
peculiar lisp which denotes Eastern origin, "I and Reuben Goldstein met a
tall Englishman, on the road, close by here this evening."</p>
<p>"Did you speak to him?"</p>
<p>"He spoke to us, your Excellency. He wanted to know if he could hire a
horse and cart to go down along the St. Martin road, to a place he wanted
to reach to-night."</p>
<p>"What did you say?"</p>
<p>"I did not say anything," said the Jew in an injured tone, "Reuben
Goldstein, that accursed traitor, that son of Belial . . ."</p>
<p>"Cut that short, man," interrupted Chauvelin, roughly, "and go on with
your story."</p>
<p>"He took the words out of my mouth, your Excellency: when I was about to
offer the wealthy Englishman my horse and cart, to take him wheresoever he
chose, Reuben had already spoken, and offered his half-starved nag, and
his broken-down cart."</p>
<p>"And what did the Englishman do?"</p>
<p>"He listened to Reuben Goldstein, your Excellency, and put his hand in his
pocket then and there, and took out a handful of gold, which he showed to
that descendant of Beelzebub, telling him that all that would be his, if
the horse and cart were ready for him by eleven o'clock."</p>
<p>"And, of course, the horse and cart were ready?"</p>
<p>"Well! they were ready for him in a manner, so to speak, your Excellency.
Reuben's nag was lame as usual; she refused to budge at first. It was only
after a time and with plenty of kicks, that she at last could be made to
move," said the Jew with a malicious chuckle.</p>
<p>"Then they started?"</p>
<p>"Yes, they started about five minutes ago. I was disgusted with that
stranger's folly. An Englishman too!—He ought to have known Reuben's
nag was not fit to drive."</p>
<p>"But if he had no choice?"</p>
<p>"No choice, your Excellency?" protested the Jew, in a rasping voice, "did
I not repeat to him a dozen times, that my horse and cart would take him
quicker, and more comfortably than Reuben's bag of bones. He would not
listen. Reuben is such a liar, and has such insinuating ways. The stranger
was deceived. If he was in a hurry, he would have had better value for his
money by taking my cart."</p>
<p>"You have a horse and cart too, then?" asked Chauvelin, peremptorily.</p>
<p>"Aye! that I have, your Excellency, and if your Excellency wants to drive
. . ."</p>
<p>"Do you happen to know which way my friend went in Reuben Goldstein's
cart?"</p>
<p>Thoughtfully the Jew rubbed his dirty chin. Marguerite's heart was beating
well-nigh to bursting. She had heard the peremptory question; she looked
anxiously at the Jew, but could not read his face beneath the shadow of
his broad-brimmed hat. Vaguely she felt somehow as if he held Percy's fate
in his long dirty hands.</p>
<p>There was a long pause, whilst Chauvelin frowned impatiently at the
stooping figure before him: at last the Jew slowly put his hand in his
breast pocket, and drew out from its capacious depths a number of silver
coins. He gazed at them thoughtfully, then remarked, in a quiet tone of
voice,—</p>
<p>"This is what the tall stranger gave me, when he drove away with Reuben,
for holding my tongue about him, and his doings."</p>
<p>Chauvelin shrugged his shoulders impatiently.</p>
<p>"How much is there there?" he asked.</p>
<p>"Twenty francs, your Excellency," replied the Jew, "and I have been an
honest man all my life."</p>
<p>Chauvelin without further comment took a few pieces of gold out of his own
pocket, and leaving them in the palm of his hand, he allowed them to
jingle as he held them out towards the Jew.</p>
<p>"How many gold pieces are there in the palm of my hand?" he asked quietly.</p>
<p>Evidently he had no desire to terrorize the man, but to conciliate him,
for his own purposes, for his manner was pleasant and suave. No doubt he
feared that threats of the guillotine, and various other persuasive
methods of that type, might addle the old man's brains, and that he would
be more likely to be useful through greed of gain, than through terror of
death.</p>
<p>The eyes of the Jew shot a quick, keen glance at the gold in his
interlocutor's hand.</p>
<p>"At least five, I should say, your Excellency," he replied obsequiously.</p>
<p>"Enough, do you think, to loosen that honest tongue of yours?"</p>
<p>"What does your Excellency wish to know?"</p>
<p>"Whether your horse and cart can take me to where I can find my friend the
tall stranger, who has driven off in Reuben Goldstein's cart?"</p>
<p>"My horse and cart can take your Honour there, where you please."</p>
<p>"To a place called the Pere Blanchard's hut?"</p>
<p>"Your Honour has guessed?" said the Jew in astonishment.</p>
<p>"You know the place? Which road leads to it?"</p>
<p>"The St. Martin Road, your Honour, then a footpath from there to the
cliffs."</p>
<p>"You know the road?" repeated Chauvelin, roughly.</p>
<p>"Every stone, every blade of grass, your Honour," replied the Jew quietly.</p>
<p>Chauvelin without another word threw the five pieces of gold one by one
before the Jew, who knelt down, and on his hands and knees struggled to
collect them. One rolled away, and he had some trouble to get it, for it
had lodged underneath the dresser. Chauvelin quietly waited while the old
man scrambled on the floor, to find the piece of gold.</p>
<p>When the Jew was again on his feet, Chauvelin said,—</p>
<p>"How soon can your horse and cart be ready?"</p>
<p>"They are ready now, your Honour."</p>
<p>"Where?"</p>
<p>"Not ten meters from this door. Will your Excellency deign to look."</p>
<p>"I don't want to see it. How far can you drive me in it?"</p>
<p>"As far as the Pere Blanchard's hut, your Honour, and further than
Reuben's nag took your friend. I am sure that, not two leagues from here,
we shall come across that wily Reuben, his nag, his cart and the tall
stranger all in a heap in the middle of the road."</p>
<p>"How far is the nearest village from here?"</p>
<p>"On the road which the Englishman took, Miquelon is the nearest village,
not two leagues from here."</p>
<p>"There he could get fresh conveyance, if he wanted to go further?"</p>
<p>"He could—if he ever got so far."</p>
<p>"Can you?"</p>
<p>"Will your Excellency try?" said the Jew simply.</p>
<p>"That is my intention," said Chauvelin very quietly, "but remember, if you
have deceived me, I shall tell off two of my most stalwart soldiers to
give you such a beating, that your breath will perhaps leave your ugly
body for ever. But if we find my friend the tall Englishman, either on the
road or at the Pere Blanchard's hut, there will be ten more gold pieces
for you. Do you accept the bargain?"</p>
<p>The Jew again thoughtfully rubbed his chin. He looked at the money in his
hand, then at this stern interlocutor, and at Desgas, who had stood
silently behind him all this while. After a moment's pause, he said
deliberately,—</p>
<p>"I accept."</p>
<p>"Go and wait outside then," said Chauvelin, "and remember to stick to your
bargain, or by Heaven, I will keep to mine."</p>
<p>With a final, most abject and cringing bow, the old Jew shuffled out of
the room. Chauvelin seemed pleased with his interview, for he rubbed his
hands together, with that usual gesture of his, of malignant satisfaction.</p>
<p>"My coat and boots," he said to Desgas at last.</p>
<p>Desgas went to the door, and apparently gave the necessary orders, for
presently a soldier entered, carrying Chauvelin's coat, boots, and hat.</p>
<p>He took off his soutane, beneath which he was wearing close-fitting
breeches and a cloth waistcoat, and began changing his attire.</p>
<p>"You, citoyen, in the meanwhile," he said to Desgas, "go back to Captain
Jutley as fast as you can, and tell him to let you have another dozen men,
and bring them with you along the St. Martin Road, where I daresay you
will soon overtake the Jew's cart with myself in it. There will be hot
work presently, if I mistake not, in the Pere Blanchard's hut. We shall
corner our game there, I'll warrant, for this impudent Scarlet Pimpernel
has had the audacity—or the stupidity, I hardly know which—to
adhere to his original plans. He has gone to meet de Tournay, St. Just and
the other traitors, which for the moment, I thought, perhaps, he did not
intend to do. When we find them, there will be a band of desperate men at
bay. Some of our men will, I presume, be put HORS DE COMBAT. These
royalists are good swordsmen, and the Englishman is devilish cunning, and
looks very powerful. Still, we shall be five against one at least. You can
follow the cart closely with your men, all along the St. Martin Road,
through Miquelon. The Englishman is ahead of us, and not likely to look
behind him."</p>
<p>Whilst he gave these curt and concise orders, he had completed his change
of attire. The priest's costume had been laid aside, and he was once more
dressed in his usual dark, tight-fitting clothes. At last he took up his
hat.</p>
<p>"I shall have an interesting prisoner to deliver into your hands," he said
with a chuckle, as with unwonted familiarity he took Desgas' arm, and led
him towards the door. "We won't kill him outright, eh, friend Desgas? The
Pere Blanchard's hut is—an I mistake not—a lonely spot upon
the beach, and our men will enjoy a bit of rough sport there with the
wounded fox. Choose your men well, friend Desgas . . . of the sort who
would enjoy that type of sport—eh? We must see that Scarlet
Pimpernel wither a bit—what?—shrink and tremble, eh? . . .
before we finally . . ." He made an expressive gesture, whilst he laughed
a low, evil laugh, which filled Marguerite's soul with sickening horror.</p>
<p>"Choose your men well, Citoyen Desgas," he said once more, as he led his
secretary finally out of the room.</p>
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