El Dorado Baroness Orczy (dark academia books to read .txt) 📖

basket. I drove the Simons to their new lodgings⁠—the man still suspects nothing⁠—and there I helped them to unload the furniture⁠—with the exception of the linen basket, of course. After that I drove my laundry cart to a house I knew of and collected a number of linen baskets, which I had arranged should be in readiness for me. Thus loaded up I left Paris by the Vincennes gate, and drove as far as Bagnolet, where there is no road except past the octroi, where the officials might have proved unpleasant. So I lifted His Majesty out of the basket and we walked on hand in hand in the darkness and the rain until the poor little feet gave out. Then the little fellow⁠—who has been wonderfully plucky throughout, indeed, more a Capet than a Bourbon⁠—snuggled up in my arms and went fast asleep, and⁠—and⁠—well, I think that’s all, for here we are, you see.”

“But if Madame Simon had not been amenable to bribery?” suggested Lord Tony after a moment’s silence.

“Then I should have had to think of something else.”

“If during the removal of the furniture Héron had remained resolutely in the room?”

“Then, again, I should have had to think of something else; but remember that in life there is always one supreme moment when Chance⁠—who is credited to have but one hair on her head⁠—stands by you for a brief space of time; sometimes that space is infinitesimal⁠—one minute, a few seconds⁠—just the time to seize Chance by that one hair. So I pray you all give me no credit in this or any other matter in which we all work together, but the quickness of seizing Chance by the hair during the brief moment when she stands by my side. If Madame Simon had been un-amenable, if Héron had remained in the room all the time, if Cochefer had had two looks at the dummy instead of one⁠—well, then, something else would have helped me, something would have occurred; something⁠—I know not what⁠—but surely something which Chance meant to be on our side, if only we were quick enough to seize it⁠—and so you see how simple it all is.”

So simple, in fact, that it was sublime. The daring, the pluck, the ingenuity and, above all, the superhuman heroism and endurance which rendered the hearers of this simple narrative, simply told, dumb with admiration.

Their thoughts now were beyond verbal expression.

“How soon was the hue and cry for the child about the streets?” asked Tony, after a moment’s silence.

“It was not out when I left the gates of Paris,” said Blakeney meditatively; “so quietly has the news of the escape been kept, that I am wondering what devilry that brute Héron can be after. And now no more chattering,” he continued lightly; “all to horse, and you, Hastings, have a care. The destinies of France, mayhap, will be lying asleep in your arms.”

“But you, Blakeney?” exclaimed the three men almost simultaneously.

“I am not going with you. I entrust the child to you. For God’s sake guard him well! Ride with him to Mantes. You should arrive there at about ten o’clock. One of you then go straight to No. 9 Rue la Tour. Ring the bell; an old man will answer it. Say the one word to him, ‘Enfant’; he will reply, ‘De roi!’ Give him the child, and may Heaven bless you all for the help you have given me this night!”

“But you, Blakeney?” reiterated Tony with a note of deep anxiety in his fresh young voice.

“I am straight for Paris,” he said quietly.

“Impossible!”

“Therefore feasible.”

“But why? Percy, in the name of Heaven, do you realise what you are doing?”

“Perfectly.”

“They’ll not leave a stone unturned to find you⁠—they know by now, believe me, that your hand did this trick.”

“I know that.”

“And yet you mean to go back?”

“And yet I am going back.”

“Blakeney!”

“It’s no use, Tony. Armand is in Paris. I saw him in the corridor of the Temple prison in the company of Chauvelin.”

“Great God!” exclaimed Lord Hastings.

The others were silent. What was the use of arguing? One of themselves was in danger. Armand St. Just, the brother of Marguerite Blakeney! Was it likely that Percy would leave him in the lurch.

“One of us will stay with you, of course?” asked Sir Andrew after awhile.

“Yes! I want Hastings and Tony to take the child to Mantes, then to make all possible haste for Calais, and there to keep in close touch with the Daydream; the skipper will contrive to open communication. Tell him to remain in Calais waters. I hope I may have need of him soon.

“And now to horse, both of you,” he added gaily. “Hastings, when you are ready, I will hand up the child to you. He will be quite safe on the pillion with a strap round him and you.”

Nothing more was said after that. The orders were given, there was nothing to do but to obey; and the uncrowned King of France was not yet out of danger. Hastings and Tony led two of the horses out of the spinney; at the roadside they mounted, and then the little lad for whose sake so much heroism, such selfless devotion had been expended, was hoisted up, still half asleep, on the pillion in front of my Lord Hastings.

“Keep your arm round him,” admonished Blakeney; “your horse looks quiet enough. But put on speed as far as Mantes, and may Heaven guard you both!”

The two men pressed their heels to their horses’ flanks, the beasts snorted and pawed the ground anxious to start. There were a few whispered farewells, two loyal hands were stretched out at the last, eager to grasp the leader’s hand.

Then horses and riders disappeared in the utter darkness which comes before the dawn.

Blakeney and Ffoulkes stood side by side in silence for as long as the pawing of hoofs in the mud could reach their ears, then Ffoulkes asked abruptly:

“What do you want me to do, Blakeney?”

“Well, for the