Earlier she had disconnected the drapery cords, and she used them to tie his wrists and ankles. Another length secured him to the legs of the heavy table. She also tore a length of fabric from the drapery lining and gagged him.
Then she searched his pockets. Besides the key to her room, he had a ring with several other keys in his coat. Not knowing which was for the closet in the embassy, she took them all.
After unlocking the door, she peered cautiously into the corridor. It was deserted. She gave the black cat pressing against her ankle a quick glance. "Come on,
Rexie darling. We're going to find Robin."
At Silves' cafe Roussaye settled at the table of a man he had served with in Italy, Raoul Fortrand. As soon as he could, he raised the subject of Henri Lemercier.Fortrand spat on the floor. "The swine. He was always a swine, and before his death he proved it."
His pulse speeding up, the general leaned forward. "What was he doing? And for whom?"
Fortrand shrugged. "God knows-something illegal, no doubt. I heard that he was working for Count de Varenne. They say Varenne expected to be prime minister after Talleyrand, and that he was furious when the king picked Richelieu. Maybe Varenne wanted Lemercier to assassinate the new prime minister."
Roussaye thought for a moment. Varenne's estate lay scarcely an hour outside Paris, convenient for plots and prisoners. Perhaps Roussaye was wrong, but his soldier's instinct demanded he investigate, and do it in force.
Rising to his feet, he looked around the cafe at the two dozen men there, many former comrades-in-arms. In a battlefield voice he called, "Mes amis!"
Quiet settled on the room as everyone turned to him.
Roussaye climbed onto his chair so that he could be seen by all. "My friends, I have evil news of a royalist plot against the Duke of Wellington, a soldier second only to Bonaparte himself. They say the Iron Duke will be assassinated, and the Bonapartists will be blamed. Men like us who have faithfully served our country will be persecuted, and France herself may be driven to the brink of civil war."
The silence was absolute. Roussaye looked at the familiar faces: at Moreau, who had lost his arm at Waterloo; at Chabrier, one of the handful of survivors of the disastrous Moscow campaign; at Chamfort, with whom he had shared a billet in Egypt. His voice soft, he said, "We may find the answers, and perhaps even a beautiful lady to rescue, at Chanteuil, the estate of the Count de Varenne. Will you come with me?"
Men began to rise to their feet, coming to him and offering their arms. Pitching his voice above the babble, Roussaye said, "All of you who have horses and weapons, follow me. Together we will make one last ride for France."
Helene Sorel had run two blocks before fatigue and common sense made her slow down. She was sure that Varenne was Le Serpent, and his lack of obvious motive had shielded his activities. But merciful heaven, what should she do now?
As she stood on a corner of Faubourg St. Germain, agonized indecision on her face, the clattering hooves of a passing horse suddenly stopped beside her. She looked up to see Karl von Fehrenbach swinging down from his mount, an uncertain expression on his face.
"Madame Sorel, I'm glad to see you. I have been thinking…" Then he registered her distraught face and said sharply, "What's wrong?"
Logically Helene knew the colonel lived nearby, and it was mere chance that he was passing by. Yet when she looked at his broad, capable shoulders, it was hard not to think that he had been sent by heaven. The colonel was an influential man, and since he knew of her spy work he might believe her story.
After pausing a moment to organize her thoughts, she poured out the story of the conspiracy: the disappearance of the three British agents, her realization that Varenne must be the master plotter, and her belief that Chanteuil contained the answers.
The colonel listened without interrupting, his light blue eyes intent. When Helene came to the end of her story, he swung onto his horse, then extended his hand to her. "There is a Prussian barracks near the St. Cloud road. I will be able to get some men there to search Varenne's estate."
As Helene hesitated, he said impatiently. "To save time, you must come with me and show us the way to Chanteuil. If you are right, there is no time to be wasted."
Helene took his hand, and he lifted her easily onto the horse. As she settled sideways in front of him, she said anxiously, "But if I am wrong?"
"If you are wrong, there are compensations." The grave Prussian colonel did not quite smile, but he had a mischievous glint in his eyes. For the first time since they had met, it was possible to believe that he was really only thirty-four years old, the same age as she.
Helene became abruptly conscious of how close she was to his lean, athletic body, and how warm was the arm that held her steady. For a moment, the serene and worldly widow disappeared, and she blushed like a girl.
This time von Fehrenbach actually did smile. Then he put his heels to the horse, and they were away.
Chapter 23
Though they knew the odds were poor, Rafe and Robin decided that they would attempt to break out the next time anyone entered their cell. Not long after the midday meal, the key rattled in the lock. Immediately they took the positions previously agreed on. Since Robin was in poor shape to fight, he lounged innocently in the straw while Rafe concealed himself in the corner behind the door so that he could attack whoever entered.
The door swung open with a squeal, and Rafe prepared to jump. Then Margot hurtled into the cell, saying urgently, "Robin, are you here?"
Barely in time Rafe checked his leap. Not seeing him, Margot darted across the cell and dropped beside Robin, enfolding him in a heartfelt hug. "Thank God you're all right! I was so frightened…"
Though he winced as she jarred his injured arm, Robin hugged her back. "I'm well enough, Maggie. We have reinforcements, too." He glanced at his fellow prisoner.
Margot turned to follow his gaze. "Rafe!"
They stared at each other for an eternity that lasted for perhaps two heartbeats. With her golden hair loose around her shoulders, she looked like a Valkyrie. Rafe took an involuntary step toward her, then forced himself to stop when he saw alarm flash across her face.
He wondered if she feared that he would do something that would embarrass her in front of Robin. Kiss her, perhaps, or start babbling about how much he loved her. Swiftly he said, "I'm glad to see that you're uninjured, Countess. I'm even gladder that the dungeon key was hanging outside." It was an inane comment, but he hoped that it would convey the message that he didn't intend to cause her any problems.
She must have understood, for her expression smoothed out. "I'm not sure whether I should be glad to see you, or sorry that you're a prisoner, too."
Looking back at Robin, she frowned at the sling. "You aren't looking your best, love. What happened to your arm?"
Though they were all impatient to be away, the next few minutes were spent exchanging vital information. When Margot described how the gunpowder was set to explode that afternoon, Rafe exclaimed, "Damnation! Robin, is there any chance that someone will smell the candle smoke and find the gunpowder before it's too late?"
Face grim, Robin replied, "Virtually none. That closet is on a corridor that's almost never used. Even if someone became suspicious, time would probably be wasted searching for a key, and Margot may have the only one."
Rafe took a quick look at his watch. As he shoved it back in his pocket, he said, "We have about two hours to get out of here and reach the embassy." He thought for a moment. "I have a general idea of the layout of the grounds. Have either of you seen enough of the castle to know the best way to escape?"