Adventure, August 3, 1919 — page 64: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

: > ul 54 Adventure our shame and that of your precious col- gues upon the housetops,” Chauvelin’s whole nervous system was writhing with the feeling of impotence. Mechanically, unresisting now, he followed his enemy down the main staircase of the chateau and out thro the wide open gates, He could not bring himself to be- lieve that he had been so completely foiled— that this impudent adventurer had him once more in the hollow of his hand. “In the name of Satan, bring us back those papers!” Robespierre had com- manded, and now he—Chauvelin—was left in a maze of doubt, and the vital alterna- tive was hammering in his brain, ““The Scar- let Pimpernel—or those papers.” Which, in Satan’s name, was the more important? Passion whispered, “The Scarlet Pimper- nel!” But common sense and the future of his party, the whole future of the Revolu- tion mayhap, demanded those compro- mising papers. And all the while he fol- lowed that relentless enemy through the avenues of the park and down the lonely Jane. Overhead the trees of the forest of Sucy, nodding in a gentle breeze, seemed to mock his perplexity. He had not arrived at a definite decision when the river came in sight and a carriage- lantern threw a shaft of dim light through the mist-laden air. Now he felt as if he were in a dream. He was thrust unresist- ing into a closed chaise, wherein he felt the presence of several other people—children and an old man who was muttering cease- lessly. As in a dream he answered ques- tions at the bridge to a guard whom he knew well. “Vou know me: Armand Chauvelin, of the Committee of Public Safety!’’ As in a dream he heard the curt words of command— Pass on, in the name of the republic!”’ And all the while the thought hammered in his brain: “Something must be done! This is im- sible! This can not be! It is not I— Chauvelin—who am sitting here, helpless, unresisting. It is not that impudent Scarlet Pimpernel who is sitting there before me on the box, driving me to utter humilia- tion!” And yet it was all true, All real. The Clamette children were sitting in front of him, clinging to Lucile, terrified of him even now. The old man was beside him—im- cious adventurer, whose broad back ap- to Chauvelin like a rock on which all is hopes and dreams must forever be oho chats tled phan The chaise rattled trium thro the Batignolles. It was then rie fo light. A brilliant early Autumn day after the rains. The sun, the keen air, all mocked Chauvelin’s helplessness, his hu- miljation. Long before noon they St. Denis, Here the chaise turned off the main road, halted at a small wayside house—nothing more thanacottage. After which everything seemed more dreamlike than ever. All that Chauvelin remem- bered of it afterward was that he was once more alone m a room with his enemy, who had demanded his signature to a number of safe-conducts ere he ly handed over the packet of papers to him. “How do I know that they are all here?” he heard himself vaguely muttering while his trembling fingers handled that precious packet. “That's just it!” his tormentor retorted airily. ‘You don’t know. I don’t know myself,’ he added with a light laugh. “And personally I don't see how either of us can possibly ascertain. In the meanwhile I must bid you au rewir, my dear M. Chambertin. I am sorry that I can not provide you with a conveyance, and you will have to walk several kilometers ere you meet one, I fear me. We, in the mean- while, will be well on our way. to Dieppe, where my yacht, the Day-Dream, lies at anchor, and I do not think that it will be worth your while to try to overtake us. I thank you for the safe-conducts. They will make our journey exceedingly pleasant. Shall I give your regards to M. le Marquis de Montorgueil or to M, le Vicomte? They are on board the Day-Dream, you know.” Oh! I was forgetting! Lady Blakeney de- sired to be remembered to you.” The next moment he was gone. Chau- velin, standing at the window of the way- side house, saw Sir Percy Blakeney once more mount the box of the chaise. This time he had Sir Andrew Fioulkes beside him. The Clamette family were huddled together—happy and free—inside the ve- hicle. After which there was the usual clatter of horses’ hoofs, the creaking of wheels, the’ rattle of chains. Chauvelin i comicbooks.com Cas Mee