cried in a passion of fury, ‘have done with this interference. Have done, I say. I have nothing to do, I tell you, with your satanι Scarlet Pimpernel. My concern is with…’
‘With the duc de Kernogan,’ broke in Chauvelin calmly, ‘and with his daughter; I know that well enough. You want to be even with them over the murder of your father. I know that too. All that is your affair. But beware, I tell you. To being with, the secrecy of your identity is absolutely essential to the success of your plan. What?’
‘Of course it is. But…’
‘But nevertheless, your identity is known to the most astute, the keenest enemy of the Republic.’
‘Impossible,’ asserted Martin-Roget hotly.
‘The duc de Kernogan…?’
‘Bah! He had never the slightest suspicion of me. Think you his High and Mightiness in those far-off days ever looked twice at a village lad so that he would know him again four years later? I came into this country as an ιmigrι stowed away in a smuggler’s ship like a bundle of contraband goods. I have papers to prove that my name is Martin-Roget and that I am a banker from Brest. The worthy bishop of Brest—denounced to the Commitee of Public Safety for treason against the Republic—was given his life and a safe conduct into Spain on the condition that he gave me–Martin-Roget—letters of personal introduction to various high-born ιmigrιs in Holland, in Germany and in England. Armed with these I am invulnerable. I have been presented to His Royal Highness the Regent, and to the ιlite of English society in Bath. I am the friend of M. le duc de Kernogan now and the accredited suitor for his daughter’s hand.’
‘His daughter!’ broke in Chauvelin with a sneer, and his pale, keen eyes had in them a spark of malicious mockery.
Martin-Roget made no immediate retort to the sneer. A curious hot flush had spread over his forehead and his ears, leaving his cheeks wan and livid.
‘What about the daughter?’ reiterated Chauvelin.
‘Yvonne de Kernogan has never seen Pierre Adet the miller’s son,’ replied the other curtly. ‘She is now the affianced wife of Martin-Roget the millionaire banker of Brest. To-night I shall persuade M. le duc to allow my marriage with his daughter to take place within the week. I shall plead pressing business in Holland and my desire that my wife shall accompany me thither. The duke will consent and Yvonne de Kernogan will not be consulted. The day after my wedding I shall be on board the Hollandia with my wife and father-in-law, and together we will be on our way to Nantes where Carrier will deal with them both.’
‘You are quite satisfied that this plan of yours is known to no one, that no one at the present moment is aware of the fact that Pierre Adet, the miller’s son, and Martin-Roget, banker of Brest, are one and the same?’
‘Quite satisfied,’ replied Martin-Roget emphatically.
‘Very well, then, let me tell you this, citizen,’ rejoined Chauvelin slowly and deliberately, ‘that in spite of what you say I am as convinced as that I am here, alive, that your real identity will be known–if it is not known already–to a gentleman who is at this present moment in Bath, and who is known to you, to me, to the whole of France as the Scarlet Pimpernel.’
Martin-Roget laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
‘Impossible!’ he retorted. ‘Pierre Adet no longer exists…he never existed…much…Anyhow, he ceased to be on that stormy day in September, 1789. Unless your pet enemy is a wizard he cannot know.’
‘There is nothing that my pet enemy—as you call him–cannot ferret out if he has a mind to. Beware of him, citizen Martin-Roget. Beware, I tell you.’
‘How can I,’ laughed the other contemptuously, ‘if I don’t know who he is?’
‘If you did,’ retorted Chauvelin, ‘it wouldn’t help you…much. But beware of every man you don’t know; beware of every stranger you meet; trust no one; above all, follow no one. He is
‘With the duc de Kernogan,’ broke in Chauvelin calmly, ‘and with his daughter; I know that well enough. You want to be even with them over the murder of your father. I know that too. All that is your affair. But beware, I tell you. To being with, the secrecy of your identity is absolutely essential to the success of your plan. What?’
‘Of course it is. But…’
‘But nevertheless, your identity is known to the most astute, the keenest enemy of the Republic.’
‘Impossible,’ asserted Martin-Roget hotly.
‘The duc de Kernogan…?’
‘Bah! He had never the slightest suspicion of me. Think you his High and Mightiness in those far-off days ever looked twice at a village lad so that he would know him again four years later? I came into this country as an ιmigrι stowed away in a smuggler’s ship like a bundle of contraband goods. I have papers to prove that my name is Martin-Roget and that I am a banker from Brest. The worthy bishop of Brest—denounced to the Commitee of Public Safety for treason against the Republic—was given his life and a safe conduct into Spain on the condition that he gave me–Martin-Roget—letters of personal introduction to various high-born ιmigrιs in Holland, in Germany and in England. Armed with these I am invulnerable. I have been presented to His Royal Highness the Regent, and to the ιlite of English society in Bath. I am the friend of M. le duc de Kernogan now and the accredited suitor for his daughter’s hand.’
‘His daughter!’ broke in Chauvelin with a sneer, and his pale, keen eyes had in them a spark of malicious mockery.
Martin-Roget made no immediate retort to the sneer. A curious hot flush had spread over his forehead and his ears, leaving his cheeks wan and livid.
‘What about the daughter?’ reiterated Chauvelin.
‘Yvonne de Kernogan has never seen Pierre Adet the miller’s son,’ replied the other curtly. ‘She is now the affianced wife of Martin-Roget the millionaire banker of Brest. To-night I shall persuade M. le duc to allow my marriage with his daughter to take place within the week. I shall plead pressing business in Holland and my desire that my wife shall accompany me thither. The duke will consent and Yvonne de Kernogan will not be consulted. The day after my wedding I shall be on board the Hollandia with my wife and father-in-law, and together we will be on our way to Nantes where Carrier will deal with them both.’
‘You are quite satisfied that this plan of yours is known to no one, that no one at the present moment is aware of the fact that Pierre Adet, the miller’s son, and Martin-Roget, banker of Brest, are one and the same?’
‘Quite satisfied,’ replied Martin-Roget emphatically.
‘Very well, then, let me tell you this, citizen,’ rejoined Chauvelin slowly and deliberately, ‘that in spite of what you say I am as convinced as that I am here, alive, that your real identity will be known–if it is not known already–to a gentleman who is at this present moment in Bath, and who is known to you, to me, to the whole of France as the Scarlet Pimpernel.’
Martin-Roget laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
‘Impossible!’ he retorted. ‘Pierre Adet no longer exists…he never existed…much…Anyhow, he ceased to be on that stormy day in September, 1789. Unless your pet enemy is a wizard he cannot know.’
‘There is nothing that my pet enemy—as you call him–cannot ferret out if he has a mind to. Beware of him, citizen Martin-Roget. Beware, I tell you.’
‘How can I,’ laughed the other contemptuously, ‘if I don’t know who he is?’
‘If you did,’ retorted Chauvelin, ‘it wouldn’t help you…much. But beware of every man you don’t know; beware of every stranger you meet; trust no one; above all, follow no one. He is
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