El Dorado by Baroness Orczy (if you liked this book .txt) 📕

wreaking its mischievous freak for a while, then with a sigh of satisfaction die, murmuring among the pines.

Suddenly there was a halt, much shouting, a volley of oaths from the drivers, and citizen Chauvelin thrust his head out of the carriage window.

“What is it?” he asked.

“The scouts, citizen,” replied the sergeant, who had been riding close to the coach door all this while; “they have returned.”

“Tell one man to come straight to me and report.”

Marguerite sat quite still. Indeed, she had almost ceased to live momentarily, for her spirit was absent from her body, which felt neither fatigue, nor cold, nor pain. But she heard the snorting of the horse close by as its rider pulled him up sharply beside the carriage door.

“Well?” said Chauvelin curtly.

“This is the crossroad, citizen,” replied the man; “it strikes straight into the wood, and the hamlet of Le Crocq lies down in the valley on the right.”

“Did you follow the road in the wood?”

“Yes, citizen. About two leagues from here there is a clearing with a small stone chapel, more like a large shrine, nestling among the trees. Opposite to it the angle of a high wall with large wrought-iron gates at the corner, and from these a wide drive leads through a park.”

“Did you turn into the drive?”

“Only a little way, citizen. We thought we had best report first that all is safe.”

“You saw no one?”

“No one.”

“The château, then, lies some distance from the gates?”

“A league or more, citizen. Close to the gates there are outhouses and stabling, the disused buildings of the home farm, I should say.”

“Good! We are on the right road, that is clear. Keep ahead with your men now, but only some two hundred mètres or so. Stay!” he added, as if on second thoughts. “Ride down to the other coach and ask the prisoner if we are on the right track.”

The rider turned his horse sharply round. Marguerite heard the clang of metal and the sound of retreating hoofs.

A few moments later the man returned.

“Yes, citizen,” he reported, “the prisoner says it is quite right. The Château d’Ourde lies a full league from its gates. This is the nearest road to the chapel and the château. He says we should reach the former in half an hour. It will be very dark in there,” he added with a significant nod in the direction of the wood.

Chauvelin made no reply, but quietly stepped out of the coach. Marguerite watched him, leaning out of the window, following his small trim figure as he pushed his way past the groups of mounted men, catching at a horse’s bit now and then, or at a bridle, making a way for himself amongst the restless, champing animals, without the slightest hesitation or fear.

Soon his retreating figure lost its sharp outline silhouetted against the evening sky. It was enfolded in the veil of vapour which was blown out of the horses’ nostrils or rising from their damp cruppers; it became more vague, almost ghostlike, through the mist and the fast-gathering gloom.

Presently a group of troopers hid him entirely from her view, but she could hear his thin, smooth voice quite clearly as he called to citizen Héron.

“We are close to the end of our journey now, citizen,” she heard him say. “If the prisoner has not played us false little Capet should be in our charge within the hour.”

A growl not unlike those that came from out the mysterious depths of the forest answered him.

“If he is not,” and Marguerite recognised the harsh tones of citizen Héron⁠—“if he is not, then two corpses will be rotting in this wood tomorrow for the wolves to feed on, and the prisoner will be on his way back to Paris with me.”

Someone laughed. It might have been one of the troopers, more callous than his comrades, but to Marguerite the laugh had a strange, familiar ring in it, the echo of something long since past and gone.

Then Chauvelin’s voice once more came clearly to her ear:

“My suggestion, citizen,” he was saying, “is that the prisoner shall now give me an order⁠—couched in whatever terms he may think necessary⁠—but a distinct order to his friends to give up Capet to me without any resistance. I could then take some of the men with me, and ride as quickly as the light will allow up to the château, and take possession of it, of Capet, and of those who are with him. We could get along faster thus. One man can give up his horse to me and continue the journey on the box of your coach. The two carriages could then follow at foot pace. But I fear that if we stick together complete darkness will overtake us and we might find ourselves obliged to pass a very uncomfortable night in this wood.”

“I won’t spend another night in this suspense⁠—it would kill me,” growled Héron to the accompaniment of one of his choicest oaths. “You must do as you think right⁠—you planned the whole of this affair⁠—see to it that it works out well in the end.”

“How many men shall I take with me? Our advance guard is here, of course.”

“I couldn’t spare you more than four more men⁠—I shall want the others to guard the prisoners.”

“Four men will be quite sufficient, with the four of the advance guard. That will leave you twelve men for guarding your prisoners, and you really only need to guard the woman⁠—her life will answer for the others.”

He had raised his voice when he said this, obviously intending that Marguerite and Armand should hear.

“Then I’ll ahead,” he continued, apparently in answer to an assent from his colleague. “Sir Percy, will you be so kind as to scribble the necessary words on these tablets?”

There was a long pause, during which Marguerite heard plainly the long and dismal cry of a night bird that, mayhap, was seeking its mate. Then Chauvelin’s voice was raised again.

“I thank you,” he said; “this certainly should be quite