The man in grey; being episodes of the Chouan conspiracies in Normandy during the first empire

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Contents

FAGB

Proem g

I SILVEE-LeG ••••••• 12

Chapter I Silver-lbg

"Forward nowl And at foot-pace, mind, to the edge of the wood — or "

The ominous click of a pistol completed the peremptory command.

Old Grontrani the driver, shook his wide shoi^lders beneath his heavy caped coat and gathered the reins once more in his quivering hands; the door of the coach was closed with a bang; the postilion scrambled into the saddle; only the passenger who had so peremptorily been ordered down from the box-seat beside the driver had not yet climbed back into his place. Well ! old Gontran was not in a mood to fash about the passengers. His horses, worried by the noise, the shouting, the click of firearms and the rough handling meted out to them by strange hands in the darkness, were very restive. They would have liked to start off at once at a brisk pace so as to leave these disturbers of their peace as far behind them as possible, but Gontran was holding them in with a firm hand and they had to walk — ^walk ! — ^along this level bit of road, with the noisy enemy still present in their rear.

I j

The rickety old coacfa gave a lurch and started on' its way; the clanking of loose chains, the grinding of the wheels in the muddy roads, the snorting and travail of the horses as they finally settled again into their collars, drowned the coachman's muttered imprecations.

"A fine state of things, forsooth 1*' he growled to himself more dejectedly than savagely. "What the Emperor's police are up to no one knows. That such things can happen is past belief. Not yet six o'clock in the afternoon, and Alen;on less than five kilometres in front of us."

But the passenger who, on the box-seat beside him, had so patiently and silently listened to old GcMitran's florid loquacity during the early part of the journey, was no longer there to hear these well-justified lamentations. No doubt he had taken refuge with his fellow-sufferers down below.

There came no sound from the interior of the coach. In the darkness, the passengers — ^huddled up against one another, dumb with fright and wearied with excitement — ^had not yet found vent for their outraged feelings in whispered words or smothered oaths. The coach lumbered on at foot-pace. In the affray the headlight had been broken; the two lanterns that remained lit up fitfully the tall pine trees on either side of the road and gave momentary glimpses of a mysterious, fairy-like world beyond, through the curtain of dead branches and the veil of tiny bare twigs.

Through the fast gathering gloom the circle of light toyed with the haze of damp and steam which rose from the cruppers of the horses, and issued from their snorting nostrils. From far away came the cry of a screech-owl and the call of some night beasts on the prowl.

Instinctively, as the road widened out towards the edge of the wood, Gontran gave a click with his tongue and the horses broke into a leisurely trot Immediately from behind, not forty paces to the rear, there came the sharp detonation of a pistol shot. The horses, still quivering from past terrors, were ready to plunge once more, the wheelers stumbled, the leaders reared, and the team would again have been thrown into confusion but for the presence of mind of the driver and the coolness of the postilion.

"Oh! those accursed brigands!" muttered Gontran through his set teeth as soon as order was restored. "That's just to remind us that they are on the watch. Keep the leaders well in hand. Hector,'' he shouted to the postilion : "don't let them trot till we are well out of the wood."

Though he had sworn copiously and plentifully at first, when one of those outlaws held a pistol to his head whilst the others ransacked the coach of its contents and terrorised the passengers, he seemed inclined to take the matter philosophically now. After all, he himself had lost nothing; he was too wise a man was old Gontran to carry his wages in his breeches pocket these days, when those accursed Chouans robbed, pillaged and plundered rich and poor alike. Nol Gontran flattered himself that the rogues had got nothing out of him: he had lost nothing — ^not even

SILVEI;-LEG 16

prestige, for it had been a case of twenty to one at the least, and the brigands had been armed to the teeth. Who could blame him that in such circumstances the sixty-two hundred francs, all in small silver and paper money — ^which the collector of taxes of the Falaise district was sending up to his chief at Alen^on — ^had passed from the boot of the coach into the hands of that clever band of rascals ?

Who could blame him? I say. Surely, not the Imperial Government up in Paris who did not know how to protect its citizens from the depredations of such villains, and had not even succeeded in making the high road between Caen and Alen^crfi safe for peaceable travellers.

Inside the coach the passengers were at last giving tongue to their indignation. Highway robbery at six o'clock in the afternoon, and the evening not a very dark c«ie at that ! It were monstrous, outrageouSy almost incredible, did not the empty pockets and ransacked valises testify to the scandalous fact M. Fouche, Due d'Otrante, was drawing a princely salary as Minister of Police, and yet allowed a mail-coach to be held up and pillaged — ^almost by daylight and within five kilometres of the county town!

The last half-hour of the eventful journey flew by like magic : there was so much to say that it became impossible to keep count of time. Alengon was reached before everyone had had a chance of saying just what he or she thought of the whole affair, or of consigning M. le Due d'Otrante and all his m3rrmi-

16 THE MA.>f IN GREY

dans to that particular chamber in Hades which was most suitable for their crimes.

Outside the "Adam et five," where Gontran finally drew rein, there was a gigantic clatter and din as the passengers tumbled out of the coach, and by the dim light of the nearest street lantern tried to disentangle their own belongings from the pile of ransacked valises which the ostlers had unceremoniously tumbled out in a heap upon the cobble stones. Everyone was talking — ^no one in especial seemed inclined to listen — ^anecdotes of former outrages committed by the Chouans were bandied to and fro.

Gontran, leaning against the entrance of the inn, a large mug of steaming wine in his hand, watched with philosophic eye his former passengers, struggling with their luggage. One or two of them were going to spend the night at the "Adam et five" : they had already filed past him into the narrow passage beyond, where they were now deep in an altercation with Giires Blaise, the proprietor, on the subject of the price and the situation of their rooms ; others had homes or friends in the city, and with their broken valises and bundles in their hands could be seen making their way up the narrow main street, still gesticulating excitedly.

"It's a shocking business, friend Gontran," quoth Gilles Blaise as soon as he had settled with the last of his customers. His gruff voice held a distinct note of sarcasm, for he was a powerful fellow and feared neither footpads nor midnight robbers, nor any other species of those satanf Chouans. "I wonder you did

/i not make a better fight for it. You had three or four male passengers aboard '*

*What could I do?" retorted Gontran irritably. "I had my horses to attend to, and did it, let me tell you, with the muzzle of a pistol pressing against my temple/'

"You didn't see anything of those miscreants?"

"Nothing. That is "

"What?"

"Just when I was free once more to gather the reins in my hands and the order 'Forward' was given by those impudent rascals, he who had spoken the order stobd for a moment below one of my lanterns."

"And you saw him ?"

"As plainly as I see you— except his face, for that was hidden by the wide brim of his hat and by a shaggy beard. But there is one tiling I should know him by, if the police ever succeeded in laying hands on the rogue."

"What is.that?"

"He had only one leg, the other was a wooden one."

Gilles Blaise gave a loud guffaw. He had never heard of a highwayman with a wooden leg' before. "The rascal caimot run far if the police ever do get after him," was his final comment on the situation.

Thereupon Gontran suddenly bethought himself of the passenger who had sat on the box-seat beside him until those abominable footpads had ordered the poor man to get out of their way.

"Have you seen anything of him, Hector?" he queried of the postilion.

"Well, now you mention him," replied the young man slowly, "I don't remember that I have/*

"He was not among the lot that came out of the coach/'

"He certainly was not/'

"I thought when he did not get back to his seat ' beside me, he had lost his nerve and gone inside/'

"So did L"

"Well, then?" concluded Gontran.

But the puzzle thus propounded was beyond Hector's powers of solution. He scratched the back of his head by way of trying to extract thence a key to thfc^nigma.

*We must have left him behind," he suggested.

"He would have shouted after us if we had/' commented Gontran. "Unless " he added with

graphic significance.

Hector shook himself like a dog who has come out of the water. The terror of those footpads and of thdse pistols clicking in the dark, unpleasantly close to hif head, was still upon him.

"You don't think *' he murmured through chattering teeth.

Gontran shrugged his shoulders.

"It won't be the first time/' he said sententiously, "that those miscreants have added murder to their other crimes."

"Lost one of your passengers, Gontran?" queried Gilles Blaise blandly.

«1

"If those rogues have murdered him ** quoth

Gontran with an oath.

"Then you'd, have to make a special declaration before the chief commissary of police, and that within an hour. Who was your passenger, Gontran?"

"I don't know. A quiet, well-mannered fellow. Good company he was, too, during the first part of the way."

"What was his name ?"

"I can't tell. I picked him up at Argentan. The box-seat was empty. No one wanted it, for it was raining then. He paid me his fare and scrambled up beside me. That's all I know about him." 'What was he like ? Young or old ?" 1 didn't see him very well. It was already retting dark," rejoined Gontran impatiently. "I cotiSan't look him under the nose, could I ?"

"But sacrebleul Monsieur le Commissaire de Police will want to know something more than that. Did you at least see how he was dressed?"

"Yes," replied Gontran, "as far as I can recollect he was dressed in grey."

"Well, then, friend Gontran," concluded GjJJes Blaise with a jovial laugh, "you can go at once to Monsieur le Commissaire de Police, and you can tell him that an industrious Chouan, who has a wooden leg and a shaggy beard but whose face you did not see, has to the best of your belief murdered an unknown passenger whose name, age and appearance you know nothing about, but who, as far as you can recollect, was dressed in grey And we'll see," he added with a touch of grim humour, "what Monsieur le Commissaire will make out of this valuable information."

II

The men were cowering together in a burrow constructed of dead branches and caked mud, with a covering of heath and dried twigs. Their heads were close to one another and the dim light of a dark lanthom placed upon the floor threw weird, sharp shadows across their eager faces, making them appear grotesque and almost ghoulish — ^the only bright spots in the surrounding gloom.

One man on hands and knees was crouching by the narrow entrance, his keen eyes trying to pierce the density of the forest beyond.

The booty was all there, spread out upon the damp earth — small coins and bundles of notes all smeared with grease and mud; there were some trinkets, too, but of obviously little value : a pair of showy gold earrings, one or two signets, a heavy watch in a chased silver case. But these had been contemptuously swept aside — it was the money that mattered.

The man with the wooden leg had counted it all out and was now putting coins and notes back into a large leather wallet.

"Six thousand two hundred and forty-seven francs," he said quietly, as he drew the thongs of the wallet closely together and tied them securely into a knot. "One of the best hauls weVe ever had. Tis Madame who will be pleased."

"Our share will have to be paid out of that first/' commented one of his companions.

"Yes, yes!'* quoth the other lightly. "Madame will see to it She always does. How many of you are there?" he added carelessly.

"Seven of us all told. They were a pack of cowards in that coach."

"Well!" concluded the man with the wooden leg, "we must leave Madame to settle accounts. Fd best place the money in safety now."

He struggled up into a standing position — ^which was no easy matter for him with his stump and in the restricted space — ^and was about to hoist the heavy wallet on to his powerful shoulders, when one of his mates seized him by the wrist.

"Hold on, Silver-Leg!" he said roughly, "we'll pay ourselves for our trouble first Eh, friends?" he added, turning to the others.

But before any of them could reply there came a peremptory command from the man whom they had called "Silver-Leg."

"Silence!" he whispered hoarsely. "There's someone moving out there among the trees."

At once the others obeyed, every other thought lulled to rest by the sense of sudden danger^ For a minute or so every sound was hushed in the narrow confines of the lair save the stertorous Weathing which came from panting throats. Then the look-out man at the entrance whispered under his breath:

"I heard nothing."

"Somethinif moved, I tell you," rejoined Silver-

M THE MAN IN GREY

Leg curtly. 'It may only have been a beast on tht prowl." .

But the brief incident had given him the opportunity which he required ; he had shaken off his companion's hold upon his wrist and had slung the waUet over his shoulder. Now he stumped out of the burrow.

"Friend Hare-Lip," he said before he went, in the same commanding tone wherewith he had imposed silence awhile ago on his turbulent mates, "tell Monseigneur that it will be 'Corinne' this time, and you, Mole-Skin, ask Madame to send Red-Poll over on Friday night for the key."

The others growled in assent and followed him out of their hiding-place. One of the men had extinguished the lanthom, and another was hastily collecting the trinkets which had so contemptuously been swept aside.

"Hold on, Silver-Leg !" shouted the man who had been called Hare-Lip; "short reckonings make long friends. I'll have a couple of hundred francs now," he continued roughly. "It may be days and weeks ere I see Madame again, and by that time God knows where the money will be."

But Silver-Leg stumped on in the gloom, paying no heed to the peremptory calls of his mates. It was marvellous how fast he contrived to hobble along, winding his way in and out in the darkness, among the trees, on the slippery carpet of pine needles and carrying that heavy wallet — six thousand two hundred francs, most of it in small coin — ^upon his back. The

SILVER-LEG US

others, however, were swift and determined, too. Within the next minute or two they had overtaken him, and he could no longer evade them; they held him tightly, surrounding him on every side and clamouring for their share of the spoils.

"We'll settle here and now, friend Silver-Leg/' said Hare-Lip, who appeared to be the acknowledged spokesman of the malcontents. "Two hundred francs for me out of that wallet, if you please, ere you move another step, and two hundred for each one of us here, or ^"

The man with the wooden leg had come to a halt, but somehow it seemed that he had not done so because the others held and compelled him, but because he himself had a desire to stand still. Now when Hare-Lip paused, a world of menace in every line of his gaunt, quivering body, Silver-Leg laughed with gentle irony, as a man would laugh at the impotent vapourings of a child. *

"Or what, my good Hare-Lip?" he queried slowly.

Then as the other instinctively lowered his gaze and mumbled something between his teeth, Silver- Leg shrugged his shoulders and said with kind indulgence, still as if he were speaking to a child :

"Madame will settle, my friend. Do not worry. It is bad to worry. You remember Fear-Nought : he took to worrying— just as you are doing now — wanted to be paid out of his turn, or more than his share, I forget which. But you remember him ?"

"I do," muttered Hare-Lip with a savage oath. "Fear-Nought was tracked down by the police zn4

S4 THE MAN IN GREY

dragged to Vincennes, or Force, or Bicetre — ^wc never knew/*

"To the guillotine, my good Hare-Lip," rejoined Silver-Leg blandly, "along with some other very brave Chouans like yourselves, who also had given their leaders some considerable trouble."

"Betrayed by you," growled Hare-Lip menacingly.

"Punished — ^that's all," concluded Silver-Leg as he once more turned to go.

"Treachery is a game at which more than one can play."

"The stakes are high. And only one man can win," remarked Silver-Leg dryly.

"And one man must lose," shouted Hare-Lip, now beside himself with rage, "and that one shall be you this time, my fine Silver-Leg. A moi, my mates!" he called to his companions.

And in a moment the men fell on Silver-Leg with the vigour bom of terror and greed, and for the first moment or two of their desperate tussle it seemed as if the man with the wooden leg must succumb to the fury of his assailants. Darkness encompassed them all round, and the deep silence which dwells in the heart of the woods. And in the darkness and the silence these men fought — ^and fought desperately — for the possession of a few hundred francs just filched at the muzzle of a pistol from a few peaceable travellers.

Pistols of course could not be used; the police patrols might not be far away, and so they fought on |{i silence, i^rim and determined, one man agfainst half a dozen, and that one halt, and weighted with the spoils. But he had the strength of a giant, and with his back against a stately fir tree he used the heavy wallet as a flail, keeping his assailants at arm's length with the menace of death-dealing blows.

Then, suddenly, from far away, even through the dull thuds of this weird and grim struggle, there came the sound of men approaching — ^the click of sabres, the tramp and snorting of horses, the sense of men moving rapidly even if cautiously through the gloom. Silver-Leg was the first to hear it.

"Hush!" he cried suddenly, and as loudly as he dared, "the police !"

Again, with that blind instinct bom of terror and ever-present danger, the others obeyed. The common peril had as swiftly extinguished the quarrel as greed of gain had fanned it into flame.

The cavalcade was manifestly drawing nearer.

"Disperse!" commanded Silver-Leg under his breath. "Clear out of the wood, but avoid the tracks which lead out of it, lest it is surrounded. Remember *Corinne' for Monseigneur, and that Red-Poll can have the key for Madame on Friday."

Once again he had made use of his opportunity. Before the others had recovered from their sudden fright, he had quietly stumped away, and in less than five seconds was lost in the gloom among the trees. For a moment or two longer an ear, attuned by terror or the constant sense of danger, might have perceived the dull, uneven thud of his wooden leg against the soft carpet of pine needles, but even this soon died away in the distance, and over the kingdom of darkness which held sway within the forest there fell once more the pall of deathlike silence. The posse of police in search of human quarry had come and gone, the stealthy footsteps of tracked criminals had ceased to resound from tree to tree; all that could be heard was the occasional call of a night-bird, or the furtive movement of tiny creatures of the wild.

Silence hung over the forest for close upon an hour. Then from behind a noble fir a dark figure detached itself and more stealthily, more furtively than any tiny beast it stole along the track which leads to the main road. The figure, wrapped in a dark mantle, glided determinedly along despite the diffictdties of the narrow track, complicated now by absolute darkness. Hours went by ere it reached the main road, on the very spot where . some few hours ago the mail-coach had been held up and robbed by a pack of impudent thieves. Here the figure halted for awhile, and just then the heavy rain clouds, which had hung over the sky the whole evening, slowly parted and revealed the pale waning moon. A soft light gradually suffused the sky and vanquished the impenetrable darkness.

Not a living soul was in sight save that solitary figure by the roadside — b. man, to all appearances, wearing a broad-brimmed hat casting a deep shadow 9irer his face; the waning moon threw a cold light upon the grey mantle which he wore. On ahead the exquisite tower of the church of Notre Dame appeared vague and fairylike against the deep ,;saK>hire of the horizon far away. Then the solitary figure started to walk briskly in the direction of the city.

ni

M. le Procureur Imperial, sitting in his comfortable armchair in the well-furnished apartment which he occupied in the Rue St. Blaise at Alengon, was surveying his visitor with a quizzical and questioning gaze.

On the desk before him lay the letter which that same visitor had presented to him the previous evening — Si letter penned by no less a hand than that of M. le Due d'Otrante himself, Minister of Police, and recommending the bearer of this august autograph to the good will of M. de Saint-Tropeze, Procureur Imperial at the tribunal of Alengon. Nay, more! M. le Ministre in that same autograph letter gave orders, in no grudging terms, that the bearer was to be trusted implicitly, and that every facility was to be given him in the execution of his duty: said duty consisting in the tracking down and helping to bring to justice of as many as possible of those saucy Qiouans who, not content with terrorising the countryside, were up in arms against the government of His Imperial Majesty.

A direct encroachment this on the rights and duties of M. le Procureur Imperial; no wonder he surveyed the quiet, insignificant-looking individual before him, with a not altogether benevolent air.

M. le prefet sitting on the opposite side of the high mantelpiece was discreetly silent until his chief chose to speak.

After a brief while the Procureur Imperial addressed his visitor.

"Monsieur le Due d'Otrante," he said in that dry, supercilious tone which he was wont to affect when addressing his subordinates, "speaks very highly of you. Monsieur — Monsieur — By the way, the Minister, I perceive, does not mention your name. What is your name, Monsieur ?" '

"Femand, Monsieur le Procureur,*' replied the man.

"Femand? Femand what?"

"Nothing, Monsieur le Procureur. Only Fernand."

The little Man in Grey spoke very quietly in a dull, colourless tone which harmonised with the neutral tone of his whole appearance. For a moment it seemed as if a peremptory or sarcastic retort hovered on M. le Procureur's lips. The man's quietude appeared like an impertinence.

M. de Saint-Tropeze belonged to the old Noblesse. He had emigrated at the time of the Revolution and spent a certain number of years in England, during which time a faithful and obscure steward jidministered his property and saved it from confiscation.

The blandishments of the newly-crowned Emperor had lured M. de Saint-Tropeze back to France. Common sense and ambition had seemingly got the better of his antiquated ideals, whilst Napoleon was only too ready to surround himself with as many scions of the ancient nobility as were willing to swear allegiance to hitn. He welcomed Henri de Saint- Tropeze and showered dignities upon him with a lavish hand; but the latter never forgot that the Government he now served was an upstart one, and he never departed from that air of condescension and high breeding which kept him aloof from his more plebeian subordinates and which gave him an authority and an influence in the province which they themselves could never hope to attain.

M. le prefet had coughed discreetly. The warning was well-timed. He knew every word of the Minister s letter by heart, and one phrase in it might, he feared, have escaped M. le Procureur's notice. It ordered that the bearer erf the Ministerial credentials was to be taken entirely on trust — no questions were to be asked of him save those to which he desired to make reply. To disregard even the vaguest hint given by the all-powerful Minister of Police was, to say the least, hazardous. Fortunately M. de Saint- Tropeze understood the warning. He pressed his thin lips tightly together and did not pursue the subject of his visitor's name any farther.

"You propose setting to work immediately, Monsieur— -er — Fernand?" he asked with frigid hauteur.

"With your permission, Monsieur le Procureur," replied the Man in Grey.

"In the matter of the highway robbery the other night, for instance?"

"Iq that and other matters, Monsieur le Procureur."

tr

"You wert on the coach which was attacked by those damnable Chouans, I believe?"

"Yes, Monsieur le Procureur. I picked up the coach at Argentan and sat next to the driver until the vehicle was ordered to halt."

"Then what happened?"

"A man scrambled up on the box-seat beside me, and holding a pistol to my head commanded me to descend."

And you descended?"

Yes," replied the man quietly. He paused a moment and then added by way of an explanation: "I hurt my knee coming down; the pain caused me to lose some measure of consciousness. When I returned to my senses, I found myself on the roadside — ^all alone — there was no sign either of the coach or of the footpads."

"An unfortunate beginning," said M. de Saint- Tropeze with a distinct note of sarcasm in his voice, "for a secret agent of His Majesty's Police sent down to track some of the most astute rascals known in the history of crime."

"I hope to do better in- the future. Monsieur le Procureur," rejoined the Man in Grey simply.

M. de Saint-Tropeze made no further remark, and for a moment or two there was silence in the room. The massive Louis XIV clock ticked monotonously; M. de Saint-Tropeze seemed to be dissociating his well-bred person from the sordid and tortuous affairs of the Police. The Man in Grey appeared to be waiting until he was spoken to again, and M. le pref et r had a vague feeling that the silence was becoming oppressive, as if some unspoken enmity lurked between the plebeian and obscure police agent and the highly connected and influential Procurator of His Majesty the Emperor. He threw himself blandly into the breach.

"Of course, of course," he said genially. '*You, Monsieur — er — Femand, are lucky to have escaped with your life. Those rascals stick at nothing nowadays. The driver of the coach fully believed that you had been murdered. I suppose you saw nothing of the rogue?"

But this was evidently not one of the questions which the Man in Grey had any desire to answer, and M. Vimars did not insist. He turned obsequiously to M. le Procureur.

"The driver," he said, "spoke of one having a wooden leg. But the worthy Gontran was very vague in all his statements. I imagine that he and all the male passengers must have behaved like cowards or the rascals would never have got so clean away."

"The night was very dark, . Monsieur le Pref et," observed the Man in Grey dryly, "and the Chouans were well armed."

: -''Quite so," here broke in M. le Procureuf impatiently, "and no object can be served now in recriminations. See to it, my good Vimars," he continued in a tone that was still slightly sarcastic but entirely peremptory, "that the Minister's orders are obeyed to the last letter. Place yourself and all your personnel and the whole of the local police at Monsieur