A Tatter of Scarlet Part 38

"They are as good as you will get," said Chardon, "and we shall be more than their match in any case. They cannot get the boat without you, and without a boat on the coast of Les Saintes a man is like an eel in a trap. He can get in but he cannot get out."

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII

THE LAST ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK BAND

The last hours of the Black Band in Aramon were marked by many exploits still remembered in the town. Citizens, even men marked for their former devotion to the cause of the workmen, were stopped in the streets and relieved of all they had about them, to their very watches and chains.

Shopkeepers were given the alternative of executing an immediate forced loan or having their premises burnt over their heads. Some, running too complacently to the hiding-places of their wealth, found themselves despoiled of all. The two banks were threatened and squeezed alternately. A poll-tax was levied on the population and exacted at the point of the bayonet.

Underground reaction growled and raged in Aramon, and if the Committee of Public Safety had remained a few days more, it is likely that they would have found themselves hunted and shot like mad dogs.

But they had no such intentions. They acted precisely as does a fraudulent bankrupt who lays his hand on every s.h.i.+lling in preparation for an immediate flight. They did not intend ever to set eyes on Aramon again, and they cared nothing for the dissatisfaction caused by their last measures of rapacity.

But the favour accorded to Matteo le Gaucher by the chief of the band at the Mairie had not escaped the notice of his compatriots. The little hunchback one day appeared sunning himself on the bridge wall, with his wrist displaying a gold bangle, which everyone recognised as that which had been worn by Chanot. Instantly the quick Italian suspicions were aroused--and in all Italy none are so silent and shrewd as the men of Tuscany. But though they tried this way and that for a good clue, they were beaten. All they could learn was that Le Gaucher was in the pay of the Bad Men, and that boded no good to their master. So, because they were fond of the big, slow-moving, kindly man, they went back and told him. Arcadius served out a litre of wine apiece to mark his sense of their good-will, but as for any danger from Matteo, he merely shrugged his shoulders.

But Arcadius, as he moved in his garden with his dainty mattock in his hand, and in his pocket his garden-scissors, which were strong enough to cut through a branch the thickness of his own thumb, had a vast deal of time for thinking. And generally Arcadius thought to some purpose.

He was persuaded that neither Chanot nor any other would trouble their heads about him. They would leave him with his flower seeds, his tree plants, and his brussels-sprouts in peace between the great gate of the cemetery and the rush of the river waters to the sea.

But for what, then, would so selfish and insolent a dog as Chanot not only be willing to be openly on good terms with an impossible reptile like Matteo, but actually present him with the gold bangle which he was supposed to wear in memory of an ancient love affair?

Arcadius delved and thought. He pruned and snipped and thought, and finally he finished by coming to a conclusion. A wise man was Arcadius, and like all who cultivate the ground his thoughts were longer and wiser than his speech--though that was wise, too, when the slow sluices were raised and Arcadius, under the influence of friends.h.i.+p or wine, let his talk run free.

The night of the 24th May, when at Paris the whole city seemed to be burning, was one of great quiet in Aramon. The Band at the Mairie seemed to have tired of their house searchings and the town had rest behind the bolted doors and barred windows which garnished every house, yet in spite of which no man felt safe.

With many doubts the burgesses drew on their night-caps, and before climbing into bed, looked out back and front to see if the horizon were lit by the torches of burning houses in the suburbs, and to listen if the gun-b.u.t.ts were not beating some neighbour's door in, trembling all the while lest their time should come next.

But for that night the grocer and the wineseller, the grain merchant and the locksmith might sleep in peace beside their coiffed and bonneted spouses. The Black Band had left the Mairie empty and resonant. A part had pa.s.sed the river in boats. Others had stolen one by one across the bridge, but instead of continuing down the main street of Aramon le Vieux, had twisted sharply round to the left, pa.s.sed under the railway embankment, threaded a beautiful but difficult pathway overlooking the river, and so at length, a mile below the town, found the boating-parties waiting for them.

The four of the inner circle, Chanot, Chardon, Leduc, and Violet, with the necessary Matteo, kept together and avoided any conspicuous part in the arrangements.

But Barres did the talking for everybody. He was most anxious to distinguish himself. He had been taunted with his careful inaction, and now against schoolboys and their professors, mostly men of the peaceful robe, he had suddenly grown very brave indeed.

Chanot had his reasons for thinking otherwise. He was playing a game so quaintly double and triple to-night that he smiled as he thought it over, and admired the intricate subtlety of his own brain as compared with the simple criminal instincts of his coadjutors.

All the way he kept a hand on the collar of Matteo. The hunchback of Arqua did not fill him with confidence. Indeed, he trusted only Chardon, whose innocent admiration he had long proven sincere. Leduc and Violet were better than the rest, but taken because strictly necessary for the business in hand. After that he, Chanot, would attend to their case.

They could not expect to share equally with him. He had discovered Matteo. He had wormed his secret out of him. His was the idea of the masking attack on the Lycee St. Andre, which would make a noise and occupy the attention of the National Guard of Aramon le Vieux. He had thought of the boat at Les Saintes, and had arranged for it to be in time to meet them there. What had Leduc and Violet to do with these things? Nothing whatever, they were simply privates called from the ranks, and he would see to it that they did not interfere with the perquisites of the Commander-in-Chief.

He had even permitted himself to drop a hint of the proposed attack upon Mont St. Andre in quarters which would ensure a prompt transmission of the news to Dennis Deventer.

Chanot only waited the proper moment to disa.s.sociate himself from the brigands whom he despised for their ignorance and almost (but not quite) pitied for their simplicity.

The scaling party would have lost itself among the trees if it had not been for Chanot. He had been born in the neighbourhood and, if he had chosen, could have led them blindfold. But for his own purposes he allowed them to stumble on, bruising and buffeting themselves against the rocks and trees, losing nerve and temper. Then, just when they were worn out, he found the well-trodden path by the boat-hirer's house, guided them along it, and with encouraging words adjured them to greater silence and caution. In fact, he behaved in every way like the model leader of an expedition. If any had doubted him before, he had repented in dust and ashes when Anton the wise, Anton Chanot, turned over the leaders.h.i.+p to Barres, who, as his manner was, grasped it eagerly, without thanks, and simply as a right too long withheld.

The attack had been timed for midnight, when the ditches of the old fortress were to be crossed, the scaling-ladders which they had carried applied to the walls, and they would find themselves inside.

The treasure was in the chapel, at least the bulk of it. The rest was in the safes of the _econome_, who had his bureaux opposite. That wing, therefore, of the college must be held against all comers, while with chisel and file, jemmy and dynamite the "expropriators" were busy with their task. So little did these men trust each other that one man from each company was nominated to see the enumeration of the plate and to watch the opening of the safes.

One man they trusted, Chanot, and their respect was heightened by his declaration that he desired no part of the spoil for himself. They had followed him faithfully, and if he could reward those who had stood by him when the majority drew back to save their skins, he was content.

A base of simplicity and even sentimentality underlies the brutality of many criminals. One has only to note the songs which are applauded at a penitentiary or reformatory concert. These men believed Chanot, and preferred his self-abnegation to the rhodomontades of Barres, who repeatedly declared that he, and he alone, would lead them to victory.

The black half-hour of waiting was horribly trying to the nerves. They were quite on the top of things, and though the night was so dark, they could see the walls of St. Andre cutting the sky and shutting out the stars. The woods through which they had come were now retired farther back--or at least so it seemed. The plateau stretched out behind, mysteriously grey, gradually descending towards Nimes and St. Gilles, but almost imperceptibly. Indeed, to the eyes of those town birds of prey, it seemed a plain. That was their path of safety. By it they would make good their retreat, laden with a golden spoil.

The signal was to be the striking of the Mairie clock, the golden, illuminated dial of which, almost beneath their feet, testified in the tranquillity which had not ceased to reign in Aramon le Vieux. The old conservative and Protestant town had known how to keep its gates closed, its inhabitants safe (if not very prosperous), and always behind the dial of its Mairie clock was to be seen the equal s.h.i.+ning of the mellowest and gentlest light in the world.

During ten minutes the hand of Chanot pushed Matteo steadily before him into the dusky covert of the wood. At the same moment three men at different parts of the attacking line glided away unnoticed. The hands of the clock moved on. Though the figuring of the dial was too distant to be made out, the black lines of the minutes and hour hands could be seen approaching one another.

It was time for Chanot to be elsewhere. He had other work and Matteo must guide him. They slipped in Indian file through the wood, Chanot still with his hand upon the Left Handed man's shoulder. For an instant Matteo seemed to hesitate. He had ascended from the other side and Gobelet was hard to find, but at last he struck the main road between the town and the _lycee_ above. It appeared to be perfectly empty, but Chanot whispered angrily in his guide's ear. They must get back into shelter. Here they were exposed to any pa.s.sers-by--nay, to the first faint-hearted deserter from the attack above.

A thrill pa.s.sed through Matteo's heart. He gave thanks to his patron saint and promised candles for his altar when he should be rich. Before him was the bombed forehead of the gatehouse of Gobelet. The gate itself was padlocked securely, and the top adorned with spikes, but Chanot made no attempt there. He only skirted the wall till he found a place which pleased him. Then he ordered Leduc and Violet to make a ladder up which the light Chardon climbed. Then came Matteo and Chanot himself. Lastly the ladder was dissolved into its elements and all found themselves on the inner side of the garden wall of Gobelet.

Matteo now advanced with more certainty. Yes, the house lay there through this gate, along this path. There was the well-shelter he had seen, and above them rose the dark side of the house, where was the kitchen entrance and all the apartments of service.

"BONG--BONG--BONG!" Solemnly, and with an air of detachment from merely worldly affairs, the big hammer gave out the twelve strokes of midnight.

Just so had it once called holy nuns to prayer in the Convent of the Visitation, and it tolled just the same to let loose a pack of the worst ruffians on earth upon the chapel of St. Andre.

Anton Chanot listened carefully. He knew that now the _fosses_ would be crossed and the scaling-ladders laid against the walls. But sudden and startling there came down the hill a wild yell, mingled of pain and anger. Rifles ripped and crashed. A light filtered through the tree-tops, which faintly illuminated the covered well-stoop under which the five were hiding.

"What fools!" said Chanot, cursing his late companions. "They have begun firing too soon! And the light? Can they have already set fire to the chapel?"

He did not know that fate and a message from Dennis Deventer had served him well--that is, so far as his immediate purpose was concerned. The missive which Hugh Deventer received at Gobelet contained these words in his father's hand: "St. Andre to be attacked to-night. Go up and see what you can do. I send you some arms--also Brown with an electric-light plant which you may find useful."

Hugh was compelled to go, and though he hated to leave Gobelet and Alida, he dared not disobey his father. Besides, hidden among its woods and showing no facade to tempt plunderers, he did not believe that my father's house was in any great danger.

In this he was right so far as the Band of the Mairie was concerned, but he had not taken into account the vendetta of Matteo, the ambitions of Chanot, and the plot against the person of Alida.

The noise on the hill-top seemed rather to increase than to diminish, volley responded to volley, and to the yells of the brigands another cry, shriller and more piercing, replied.

Chanot had altered his plans and taken his cue while he stood listening.

He had some remarkable qualities and this readiness was one of them. He had intended to break his way into Gobelet before the noise of the a.s.sault brought up the swarming town or the National Guard of Aramon le Vieux. But this (he saw now) would not do. Already on the Place Beauvais they were beating to arms. Well, he must make the more haste. So without an alteration of his determined bearing he walked round the house and knocked loudly at the main door.

My father, who as usual was not yet in bed, threw open a first-floor window (for those on the ground floor had been closed and strengthened by the hand of Hugh Deventer). "What can I do for you?" my father inquired courteously.

"Let us in for G.o.d's sake, they are killing everyone up at the _lycee_.

We have escaped--my friends and I, _pions_, and the others, three honest fellows from the gardens, whom we picked up on our way."

"Wait a moment, gentlemen," my father called out, "and if you will pardon the delay, you shall have all the shelter and succour my house can give you!"

"What a lamb!" murmured Chanot, "he presents us with his fleece. Are all foreigners fools?"

"All English are," snarled Matteo. "In my country we give them to our children to cheat--to prove their teeth upon."

The door opened, and there before them, a lamp in his hand, stood the gentle scholar, Gordon Cawdor, with a smile of welcome on his face. The less instructed four would have leaped upon him immediately, but Chanot held them back. I can see my father standing there before his potential butchers, inviting them to enter with a single large movement of the hand, infinitely n.o.ble and touching to me to think of to-day. He precedes them with an apology. They tramp after him, treading on one another's heels in haste to see the sacks of coin reported by Matteo.