‘Since I do not know your Barsard, citizen, he could hardly have told me of your plan.’
‘Then why are you here?’ Robespierre sprang to his feet and put out his hand to seize a bell upon the table. But the Scarecrow’s hand was already there, as with a note of irony he said, ‘Do not fear, citizen. I beg you not to be alarmed, although perhaps it is excusable. This meeting, I assure you, is entirely my idea. I also have a plan. It is a strange coincidence, this — each having a plan and thinking of the other. Now which shall be unfolded first — yours or mine?’
Robespierre had been plainly agitated on hearing that this man knew nothing of his agent. Then why was he here if Barsard had not sent him? Was it assassination? Since July the thirteenth, when Marat had been struck down, he had been haunted by the dread of sudden death. Had he not stood with Danton and Desmoulins hoping to see on Charlotte Corday’s face what fanaticism looked like, so that he might know it when he met it? Was it even now behind that mask? Was this the reason for the mask? Was it even now upon him? And so he remained standing, his own face now resembling a death’s head mask, from which his eyes alone showed life. But the Scarecrow spoke again. ‘I beg you, citizen, compose yourself. I assure you I have no designs upon your life.’ Then, as the cheering of the mob outside grew louder, he waved his hand in the direction whence it came and added: ‘You and I, citizen, have no need to resort to those methods, for I am here on your account as well as on mine own. But who is this Barsard? It seems I am indebted to him for this meeting.’
The Revolution leader seemed to be reassured and sat down once more in the gilt chair which seemed so out of place in this great empty room. He did not speak, but poured himself another glass of wine, this time without the water.
The Scarecrow, watching his reactions, was amused. It was so exactly what he had expected, and to satisfy the other’s curiosity and put himself in a stronger position, he assumed the air of a man who is about to put his cards on the table.
‘Since I have the idea that your plan may be similar to mine own, I will unfold mine first,’ he said. ‘I am not so modest as to assume that you have never heard of me on both sides of La Manche. You must know then that my organization is vast and unassailable. The fleet I have built up is well-manned and easily manœuvred. In fact the only thing that crosses the Channel safely is my contraband. I have lived, as you know, for the people, and my love for my countrymen is England is as great as yours for the people of France. Therefore I come to place myself by your side. Together we can do much.’
Robespierre was amazed. His great eyes protruded still further, as, thumping the table, he said excitedly: ‘But, citizen, that is my plan! ’Tis almost as though you have come straight from Barsard. I told you of my hopes that Liberté and Egalité would spread. Together we could make it spread to England. Keep running the blockade; you shall have every assistance on my side. Keep sailing with your contraband, but give me constant passage for my agents, who can spread our ideas of freedom in your land.’
He leant over the table eagerly and, taking up a dossier, he showed the Scarecrow the names of six of his best agents, who already had their orders. They would, he said, throw the country into confusion, and if more were sent every time there was a run of contraband, very soon they would achieve their object. He had already perfected a plan to overthrow the Government, the monarchy and that sacré English Pitt. With the unfolding of his plan his face too became the face of a fanatic, so infatuated with his own inspiration that he did not notice that his visitor had laughed. For indeed the Scarecrow could not suppress it as he had a sudden vision of another Mister Pitt, and of what Miss Agatha would have to say to that.
But Robespierre, now intoxicated by his own conceit, gave full rein to his imagination, and painted such a fabulous picture of a united republic with himself as head that the Scarecrow marvelled at the man’s audacity.
Robespierre went on: ‘Your ships are fast, my men are ready, our tide is at the flood, so let us take it. Without your help this plan collapses. When can you sail?’
‘Immediately!’ The Scarecrow’s prompt decision pleased the madman, little thinking that the masked smuggler had already formed a plan as mad as his. Robespierre showed promptness too. To augment the dossier in the Scarecrow’s hand, he found six others, each proving what a hold he had upon these trusted agents. Damning evidence, indeed, were it to be produced against a spy by England now at war. On that score, however, Robespierre had no qualms. Agents were well paid. If they were caught they knew the consequences, and took them. What he had already learned about this citizen L’Épouvantail assured him that such a man with everything to lose would never range himself upon the side of a Government that had put so high a price upon his capture. No, the English Crown would pardon any of the Scarecrow’s men who turned King’s Evidence, but for its very dignity could not be tolerant towards the man himself. His defiance of the Law had been too flagrant. This was one English rogue that Robespierre knew he could trust, and as he listened to the rascal’s chuckling over the descriptions of the spies, the arch-schemer was satisfied that this agents were in safe hands.
Details were then arranged. Three of the men would meet him at the Somme. The other three would ride with him from Paris, and, much to the Scarecrow’s satisfaction, Robespierre penned a letter empowering the Citizen L’Épouvantail to commandeer whatever form of transport he required. For him all Barriers were to be open without examination, no one was permitted to unmask him. In short, this citizen rode on the Republic’s business and was neither to be hampered nor asked inquisitive questions. Robespierre’s signature sufficed.
‘’Tis well to know the background of the lives of people you work with,’ remarked the Scarecrow as he placed the documents in his breast pocket. ‘There is but one thing more, I think. How do I get in contact with this Barsard, since he is already over there? In case of a mistake which might prove fatal to our schemes, I must ask you for his dossier too, for whatever credentials he may offer, I shall feel safer if I can put questions to him — dates, places, any fact that he must answer in detail, so that I can know he is your man.’
Robespierre nodded and went to a cabinet, as he answered: ‘I rejoice to see that my Lieutenant-General in England is so thorough.’ He selected a paper and handed it to the Scarecrow, adding: ‘There, citizen, read this with the others at your convenience. You will find there a most original career — a character that you would hardly credit in fiction. He is a man I should not choose to be an enemy.’
The last drop of the Knife for that day sounded outside the window, and a howl of enthusiasm mixed with disappointment that the curtain had fallen. The Scarecrow jerked his head in the direction. ‘The Citizen Robespierre has a quick answer to any enemy. I think you need not trouble yourself on any such score. I will now leave you this promise — that you shall hear of quick results upon this matter’ — and he touched the outside of his breast pocket in which the papers were concealed. ‘And what you hear will make you say, “That Citizen L’Épouvantail accomplishes all that he sets out to do”.’
Then, after drinking a toast to the success of this same citizen, Robespierre graciously accompanied his mysterious guest as far as the postern gate.
Having me the three who were to ride with him from Paris at a little tavern off the Rue St. Honoré, and in which a good dinner was served, the Scarecrow ordered the others to mount and await him, for he had a little private business of his own to attend to with the proprietor, who for many years had been one of the Cognac procurers for the contraband supplies. This merry rogue, after receiving his next order, whispered: ‘Two of those Robespierre agents are but dull dogs, citizen, bred in the Paris sewers until they saw there was a profit in being able to speak the English tongue. Oh, they’re useful enough, if throats are to be cut, but their intellects are not enlightening. The other is a different proposition. He was once a favourite at Versailles. Amusing. He will make you laugh.’