“I’ve been an awful fool,” said Marguerite. “I’ve placed my own husband’s life in jeopardy.”
“You could not have known,” said Andrew, kindly.
She shook her head. “He had become so changed, so distant and secretive that I had actually convinced myself that something incredible had happened to Percy and that his place had been taken by some impostor who was his twin!” She laughed, feeling herself to be on the edge of hysteria. “Small wonder he seemed a different man to me! He was living a secret life, not daring to tell me he was the Pimpernel because he knew I had informed upon St. Cyr. Poor Percy! How it must have tortured him!”
“What matters is that now he knows the truth of the St. Cyr affair,” said Ffoulkes. “He doesn’t blame you. No one would. I can’t understand why you didn’t tell him what really happened earlier.”
“How could I? After what he must have heard, it would sound as though I were making feeble excuses. I was afraid that he might not believe me and…no, that isn’t true. I’m Lying to myself. It was pride, Andrew, foolish, stubborn, damnable pride! When I realized that he must have heard the stories, I was furious with him for not coming to me at once and asking to hear my side of it. I was too proud to go to him and offer an explanation; I thought that he should come to me. As a result, it has come to this. I have no one but myself to blame.”
“That isn’t true,” said Ffoulkes. “You could not help the fact that Chauvelin’s agents attacked us and stole Armand’s letter to the Pimpernel. Nor could you help giving aid to Chauvelin when your brother’s life hung in the balance. Have faith, we shall reach Percy in time. Chauvelin will not be certain where to look for him, while we know where he can be found.”
“That may be,” said Marguerite, “but there is still the matter of the Comte de Tournay and my brother.”
“If I know Percy,” Andrew Ffoulkes said, “he will see the matter through and rescue both of them.”
“That is exactly what I mean,” said Marguerite. “That will be dangerous enough, but now that Chauvelin is on his trail, how can he possibly hope to succeed?”
Ffoulkes smiled. “Don’t forget one thing,” he said. “In Percy’s own words, that Pimpernel is ‘demmed elusive.’ “
“You promised!” said the old man, angrily. “You promised that we would be safe, that there would be no reprisals!”
“In this world, no one is ever safe, Lafitte,” said Mongoose.
They were in a small house on the outskirts of Calais which Mongoose had purchased in his days as section chief of 18th-century France. Along with several other properties he owned spread out across the globe and throughout time, it was one of the places he used to get away from it all when he was given leave. It was one of several places where Lafitte knew he could find him or leave word for him in the unusual event that their regular procedure had to be abandoned and Lafitte had to get in touch with him, rather than the other way around. It was a simple house, with a slate roof and planked flooring that showed signs of age. It was sparsely yet comfortably furnished and, in the absence of its owner, it was kept up by an old woman whose husband had been lost at sea ten years ago. She was reliable and fiercely loyal, as were all of Mongoose’s indigenous employees, for he paid them very well and saw to it that their needs were taken care of in his absence. There was nothing about the house to set it apart from any other in Calais, save for the fact that it had one room in the cellar that was impregnable. It contained a number of items not native to that time; among them a chronoplate, which Mongoose kept for emergencies.
“They have Pierre!” said the old man.
“I know,” said Mongoose, whom the old man knew only as Monsieur l’Avenir. “I told you, there is no cause for concern. They will not harm him.”
“How can you know?”
“I give you my word that Pierre will not be harmed in any way. Have I ever let you down before, Lafitte?”
“No, Monsieur l’Avenir, but-”
“Then trust me. There is only one reason why they took Pierre and that is so they will have a hold on you. They do not want you or Jean helping me.”
“Then there is nothing you can do?” the old man said, crestfallen.
“For the moment, nothing. But only for the moment. However, rest assured that I will restore Pierre to you. I am certain that I know where he is. They will not harm him. They only mean to frighten you.”
The old man shook his head, miserably. “It is all my fault. I should never have allowed you to bring Jean into this. He is just a child.”
“But a remarkable child, you will admit,” said Mongoose.
“He is most resourceful. Already, at twelve, he is an accomplished liar, a gifted thief, an excellent marksman, and he is utterly without scruples. He has a brilliant future ahead of him.”
“You have perverted him,” Lafitte said, glumly.
“No. I have only helped him to discover himself. You are an old man, Lafitte. Face it, my friend, you are not long for this earth. You should be grateful to me for having helped Jean discover the innate abilities that he possessed. When it is time for you to die, you can do so knowing that the boys will not go hungry or uncared for. They will be quite able to fend for themselves.”
“I have served you faithfully, Monsieur l’Avenir,” said Lafitte. “Even though I do not understand these secret dealings of yours, I have done everything you asked me to do without question. If you can assure me of their safety, I shall do anything you ask, even give up my life, what little of it there is left to me.”
Mongoose smiled. “I can assure you not only of their safety, but of their prosperity,” he said. “They will both become very famous men. Jean, especially, will make his mark upon the world.”
“Where is Jean? I had hoped he was with you, but-”
“Jean was with me,” said Mongoose. “He does not know about Pierre and it is very important that you do not tell him should you see him. He will not be able to think clearly if he is concerned about his brother. At this moment, he is performing a service for me. I also have work for you to do, as well.”
“Say it and it shall be done.”
The weather cleared and Marguerite Blakeney and Andrew Ffoulkes were able to sail to Calais that afternoon. They knew that Chauvelin would be sailing at the same time, although they would probably beat him to Calais upon the Day Dream.
“A lucky break for us,” said Ffoulkes. “Percy and the others must have sailed on another boat, leaving the Day Dream in Dover. Perhaps he suspects that someone is on his trail and is being extra cautious. I certainly hope so.”
“Do you think that we shall reach them in time?” Marguerite said, anxiously.
“I have no doubt of it,” said Ffoulkes, although privately he was not so certain. He knew that Percy was to meet with him at Brogard’s inn in Cap Gris Nez; however, he was arriving a day early. He had left word for Tony Dewhurst to gather the others together and proceed on to Calais as soon as possible, but he had no way of knowing when Dewhurst would get the message. He knew that Percy was very secretive about his plans and chances were that he and the others might have gone on to Paris. If that would be the case, then there was little he and Marguerite could do. other than to wait for their return and try to get to him before Chauvelin could. Unfortunately, that would give Chauvelin all the time he needed to gather his forces together and by the time Percy and the others returned to Cap Gris Nez, it could well be crawling with soldiers. The advantage that they had was that they knew that Percy would go to Cap Gris Nez, rather than Calais. Chauvelin would waste valuable time searching for him in Calais. Still, it would not take very long for him to conduct his investigation and ascertain that no one had seen a party of English citizens loitering about. Once he came to the conclusion that Blakeney wasn’t in Calais, Cap Gris Nez would be the next logical place in which to search for him.