Daniel tiptoed past him then looked into the next cell. It was cold, bare and featureless. At the same time, it was more spacious than the cells below ground and was occupied by only one person. The candle burning in the corner shed enough light for him to see a body on the mattress, concealed by a sheet. When the man turned over in his sleep, Daniel's heart began to pound. Amalia had described her father's silver hair and beard. It had to be Emanuel Janssen. Daniel took a small stone from his pocket. Wrapped carefully around it was a message written in Dutch. Putting an arm through the bars, he tossed it at the man's head so that it grazed his temple.
Janssen came awake immediately, rubbing his head and trying to sit up. It took him time to open his eyes properly. When he did so, he saw Daniel outside the bars, holding a finger to his lips to enforce silence then using it to call him over. Janssen was bewildered. He was a sorry figure, stooping, round-shouldered and looking much older than Daniel had expected. He shuffled across to the door.
'Read the message I threw at you,' whispered Daniel.
Janssen rallied at the sound of his own language. 'Who are you?' he murmured.
'I'm a friend. Your daughter and the others are safe.'
'You've seen Amalia?'
'She sends her love.' Daniel glanced over his shoulder. 'I must go. I'll be back.'
Janssen reached through the bars to grab Daniel's shoulder and to ask the question that had troubled him throughout the whole of his incarceration.
'Where's the tapestry?'
Chapter Eleven
Alphonse Cornudet had worked on the river for many years, rowing passengers from one bank of the Seine to the other when they were too lazy to walk to the nearest bridge or when they preferred a more leisurely way of crossing the wide stretch of water that slid through the nation's capital like a capricious serpent. In spring and summer, he took families for a day out on the river or delivered small cargo to certain destinations or carried lovers to sheltered spots along the banks where romance could burgeon. Cornudet served all needs and tastes. He was a short, balding, barrel-chested man with a weather-beaten face that always wore the same sad, world-weary expression. Toughened by a lifetime of pulling on oars, his compact frame had deceptive power and stamina. Nothing short of a blizzard deterred him. For a tempting fare, he was ready to battle against the strongest wind or the heaviest rain.
After his third night as a turnkey, Daniel permitted himself a longer time in bed the following morning. He then had a late breakfast and went down to the river to make arrangements. Cornudet was sitting on the wharf with his legs dangling over the side. Moored below him was his skiff. Daniel could see the smoke coming from the old man's pipe. When he got closer, he could smell the tobacco.
'Good morning, Monsieur,' he said.
'Good morning,' returned Cornudet, looking up. 'Oh, it's you again, Monsieur Daron.'
'How are you today?'
'I'm still alive, as you see.'
'We may need your boat tomorrow.'
The old man grunted. 'Will you need it or won't you?'
'I can't be sure.'
'I have other customers, Monsieur.'
'Yes, I appreciate that.'
'I can't be at your beck and call.'
'I'll pay you to keep your boat free tomorrow morning,' said Daniel, taking out a purse. 'We may or may not make use of it then. I'm sorry that I can't be more definite, Monsieur Cornudet, but there are other people involved.'
'How many of them are there?'
'That, too, has yet to be decided.'
'Is there anything you do know?' asked Cornudet without removing the pipe from his mouth. 'Have you any idea in which direction you wish to go, for instance?'
'We'll go downstream and leave the city that way.'
'Am I to take you there and back?'
'No, you'll drop off your passengers at a given place.'
'And what place is that, Monsieur?'
'It's yet to be determined.'
'I like to know where I'm going,' said Cornudet, irritably. 'That's little enough to ask of a customer. Where exactly are you heading?'
'We're going to Mantes.'
The old man snatched the pipe from his mouth. 'You want me to row you all that way? he asked. 'I think you should hire a bigger boat and one with a sail. Mantes is too far for me.'
'You won't go anywhere near it,' Daniel assured him. 'You'll lose your passengers well before then.'
Mantes was over thirty miles away and he had no intention of visiting the pretty riverside town. It was a destination that he invented on purpose. If Daniel did manage to get Janssen out of prison and convey four fugitives out of Paris, pursuit would be inevitable. Guards at every gate would be questioned as would those who kept watch on the river. Boatmen were bound to be asked about passengers who'd recently hired them. Alphonse Cornudet would say that the people he'd rowed out of the city were on their way to Mantes. It would send the chasing pack in the wrong direction.
The old man was grumpy but Ronan Flynn had insisted that he was trustworthy. Once engaged, Cornudet was very dependable. He simply liked to be paid well for his services.
'Take this, Monsieur,' said Daniel, fishing in the purse for some coins. 'It will show you how keen we are to retain your services.'
'I'm the best boatman on the river.'
'Then you deserve to be well paid.'
'Thank you,' said Cornudet with something approaching a smile as Daniel pressed coins into his hand. 'You are very kind.'
'There'll be more when we get there.'
'I'll be interested to see where it is, Monsieur Daron.'
'I'll have made up my mind by tomorrow,' promised Daniel, 'though it may be the next day when we actually leave. Whatever happens, I'll be here to see you in the morning.'
Cornudet pocketed the money. 'I'll be waiting.'
Even a river veteran like the old man could not be expected to row five people downstream, especially as they would have luggage with them. In any case, Daniel reasoned, it would be foolish of them to try to escape from the city together. The party needed to split into two groups and leave by different means. To that end, he mounted his horse and rode towards the western gate. He was now dressed as Marcel Daron again. Challenged by the guards, he produced his forged documents and answered a volley of questions about how he'd spent his time while in the city and why he was leaving. There were far more guards than he'd encountered on his way into Paris and they were obviously on the alert. At length, he was given his papers and waved through. He cantered out the gates and went in the direction of the Seine.
After a couple of miles, he found a quiet spot on the river that seemed to fit all his requirements. Shielded by some trees, it was on a bend where it would be easy to unload passengers from a skiff. Travel by water was slow. To have a chance of outrunning any pursuit, they had to move fast by land. Having made his decision, Daniel rode back to Paris and took care to enter by a different gate so that he wouldn't be recognised by the guards who'd seen him earlier. There was far less trouble getting into the city. It was only those wanting to leave who were being questioned and, in some cases, searched. The hunt for Jacques Serval's killer was clearly still going on. When a guard stood back to let Marcel Daron go into the capital, he didn't realise that he had just let the wanted man slip through his fingers.