the Abbaye, and had only left the guard-room a moment ago in order to
speak with the citizen Representative. He was going back now at once,
and would not move until the order came for the prisoner to be conveyed
to the Court of Justice and thence to summary execution.

For the nonce, Hebert concluded with a complacent chuckle, the
Englishman was still crouching dejectedly in a corner of his new cell,
with little of him visible save that naked shoulder through his torn
shirt, which, in the process of transference from one prison to another,
had become a shade more grimy than before.

Chauvelin nodded, well satisfied. He commended Hebert for his zeal,
rejoiced with him over the inevitable triumph. It would be well to
avenge that awful humiliation at Calais last September. Nevertheless, he
felt anxious and nervy; he could not comprehend the apathy assumed by
the factitious Mole. That the apathy was assumed Chauvelin was keen
enough to guess. What it portended he could not conjecture. But that the
Englishman would make a desperate attempt at escape was, of course, a
foregone conclusion. It rested with Hebert and a guard that could
neither be bribed nor fooled into treachery, to see that such an attempt
remained abortive.

What, however, had puzzled citizen Chauvelin all along was the motive
which had induced Sir Percy Blakeney to play the role of menial to Jean
Paul Marat. Behind it there lay, undoubtedly, one of those subtle
intrigues for which that insolent Scarlet Pimpernel was famous; and with
it was associated an attempt at theft upon the murdered body of the
demagogue...an attempt which had failed, seeing that the supposititious
Paul Mole had been searched and nothing suspicious been found upon his
person.