The Leroux Tale

Oh, it was a sad business, to be sure, but what could one do? M. Leroux was always such a kind man, never turning a poor soul from his door, even when the hard times began and his own family became pinched with want. Even now, Mademoiselle Leroux--Petite Amele, she was called by all--did not refuse hospitality to the ragged outcasts who came to her door, though most now stayed away from the family. Indeed, who would have guessed that M. Leroux was a traitor to the Republic? Name of a name! Why, if old Leroux was a traitor, anyone could be!
Less than a week before, Citizen Chevier, one of the agents of the Committee of Public Safety, began investigations in the little town not three miles from Paris. He abused the people and inconvenienced the Citizen Commissary and generally made a nuisance of himself. But, as an agent sent from Paris, his word was law and so the people took it. When suspicion hovered over M Leroux, the people didn't murmur. When Citizen Chevier produced evidence that M. Leroux was actually the son of the dead ci-devant Duc de Montcreiffe, the gossips merely wagged their heads and said that they had known that something was wrong from the beginning. It made no difference that M. Leroux had been disowned by his father for falling in love with the daughter of a farmer and had lived like the common people for many years, no, aristos must be purged from the land, no matter how revolutionary thy appeared to be. Consider that supernatural agency, that called the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel! Consider how they appeared to be just like common folk. It was only after they disappeared that anyone discovered the mistake. Name of a name! Between M. Leroux and that band of caitiffs, one could hardly trust another soul!
Whispers blew through through the town that claimed that the real reason M. Leroux had been arrested was because he still believed in God. Bah! if the tale were true, the man deserved his fate. Imagine such treacherous and old-fashioned sentiments! The man had just as soon be given to the guillotine! He could not contribute to the wonderful Revolution in such a manner!
Some still pitied the Leroux family, though not one would admit of it. Faith! To say such things out loud would certainly bring the citizen commissary down upon one, not to mention Citizen Chevier. But poor Mme. Leroux, with all her sweetness, and little Henri with the crippled leg, and Andre and Louis and Petite Amele, who was the oldest and followed after her father in everything!

It was the third night after M Leroux had been questioned, arrested and taken off to the Concierge Prison in Paris. The family stayed behind, imprisoned in the house. The gendarmes had roughly granted Petite Amele to continue her ministry of generosity to the unkempt specimens of humanity who asked for it, but even they had deserted the Leroux family. These two tired, bedraggled men who could hardly be identified as such were the first since that awful day. Petite Amele offered them of what was available and they ate ravenously. A third lurched into view, obviously drunk, and leered at the girl and the two beggars. A shudder ran through Petite Amele and she made haste to retreat. No sooner had the door shut on her than the newcomer straightened up and said in a merry tone that was most definitely English, "I say, Dewhurst, Devinne, what are the others going to do when they hear what a feast you've been enjoying while the rest of us endure ordinary fare?" He beckoned his two officers to follow him down the street.
"Percy, there's got to be a way to get those poor people out of the clutched of that murderous citizen agent!" exclaimed the Hon. St. John Devinne, who perhaps was thinking more of a certain generous young lady than of the rest of her family.
Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart. Chuckled. They had turned into a dark alley. "Zounds, but of course, my dear chap, else we wouldn't be here. But the first thing to do is to explain to Ffolkes and Glynde why you are entitled to better vittles than the rest of us!"

The next morning, the Citizen Commissary was summoned to the desk of Citizen Chevier. The agent from Paris was pounding the table in front of him. When the Citizen Commissary entered, he turned to him with his face the color of the ink on the maddening paper.
"Look!" he nearly choked in his rage. "The Citizen Captain in charge of Leroux's house brought this to me this morning. It was pinned to the door, so he says. Parbleu!" and he went off in a string of oaths.
Citizen Commissary took the opportunity to read the impudent scrap of paper. In bold writing it ran,
"These innocent people will tonight be on their way to England."
It was signed with a small red flower.
The enraged Citizen agent gave immediate orders to have the Leroux family taken to the Concierge Prison like their father. It made no sense to leave them where they could so easily escape.

Later that morning, having seen his orders carried out, Chevier left instructions to be notified of any change. As he exited the prison, he met another agent of the Committee, a sly looking man with fox-like eyes, who was reputed to have had several unsuccessful engagements with the supernatural agency of the Scarlet Pimpernel, Citizen Armand Chauvelin by name. Chauvelin fell into step beside Chevier and inquired into the reason for the sudden incarceration of the Leroux family.
"Certainly, Citizen," he continued slyly, "You received no threatening note? No warning that prompted you to such a quick decision?" His pale blue eyes probed the face of Citizen Chevier as they walked together, causing the latter to become slightly nervous. He made an attempt at a brave laugh.
"Oho, Citizen, you need have no ear. A warning arrived only this morning from that devilish Scarlet Pimpernel, but we are taking the appropriate measures." Citizen Chevier's manner became more confidential. "The Scarlet Pimpernel will never make off with a single member of the Leroux family, and I'd stake my reputation on that."
Chauvelin nodded. "But," he asked smoothly, "What if you could, at the same time, capture that elusive Englishman? Working together, we can prevent the Leroux family from escaping and outwit the Englishman. Do you see what gratitude we could gain? We would be the toast of France!"
Chevier looked down at the small man beside him. "Ah, Citizen Chauvelin," he sneered, " It is easy for you to offer your help when the work is done." He turned to enter his house set back from the Rue Dauphine, but Chauvelin clutched at his sleeve. In a low tone that sounded threatening to Chevier, he reiterated, "Working together, we can prevent the Leroux family from escaping and outwit the Englishman. Alone, believe me, they will slip from your grasp. And then what will you tell the Committee?"
The threat of the Committee seemed to have an effect on Citizen Chevier. Somewhat skeptical still, he turned back from the door and turned toward Chauvelin.
"Inform me, Citizen Chauvelin," he attempted to bluster, for in truth the combination of the Scarlet Pimpernel and the Committee of Public Safety had shot him through with a nameless terror, "Why should I want to catch that elusive being who so plagues France? Those who set out to catch him," he looked meaningfully at Chauvelin, "not only lose their quarry, but anything else they thought they had. So tell me, citizen, why should I get mixed up in such matters?"
Because, Citizen Chevier, if you do no set to catch that d--- Englishman, he will deprive you of the Leroux family. Of do not make the mistake of thinking that they are safe in the prison."
A superstitious shudder ran through the citizen agent. He nodded wordlessly, unlocked his door and then he and Chauvelin entered.
When two great minds come together over such a matter as touches them both, a grand plan is in order. A very grand plan. No, this time the Scarlet Pimpernel would not succeed, of that Chauvelin was sure. Part of the grandness of their plan, he thought as he walked unobtrusively back to the prison, was its very simplicity. Under cover of an inspection, Citizen Chevier would take a group of friends--good, loyal French citizens--into the Concierge Prison. Escorted inside by the gendarmes, they would trade places with the Leroux family, who would be escorted out in the same manner and driven back to the house of Citizen Chevier. It was a scheme as daring as that of the Scarlet Pimpernel himself! To hide the arrested aristos in a common house instead of a heavily guarded prison! And the gendarmes had been informed to be alert for the signal from the false M. Leroux to spring the trap upon the meddlesome band! Ah, citizen Chauvelin walked into the room where he had felt such frustration in times past and almost felt the satisfaction of his hate. Only a nagging doubt at the back of his mind said, "It has been impossible before, and yet he has escaped." With a cruel smile, citizen Chauvelin, chief agent for the Committee of Public Safety, summoned a messenger.
The dark of a winter's night had fallen. The sky showed not a star or a glimpse of the moon and a light drizzle began to fall. A guard, glad for the easy task of keeping an eye on the Leroux family in the back of Citizen Chevier's house, hunkered down for his vigil. Chauvelin and Chevier sat up together in the front room, each wrapped up in their thoughts. Over at the Concierge Prison, the citizen commandant walked around the cells one last time before turning in. The false Leroux family slept peacefully. It was the young woman supposed to pass for Petite Amele who awoke not long after, just in time to see a scrap of paper flutter into the cell. She rose to retrieve it, unsure whether this was not a dream, and held it up to a ray of lantern light from the corridor.
"The Leroux family is safely away," it read.
In minutes, the alarm had reached the house in the Rue Dauphine. Chevier started up with an oath; Chauvelin grew pale. He brusquely ordered the messenger to check on the prisoners in the back room. The man dashed back with the news Chauvelin had expected. The Leroux family had disappeared and the guard set to watch them was lying, drunk, across the dooway.
Before Chevier had regained his composure, a ragged soldier appeared at the door, dripping and surly, for by this time the drizzle had turned into something of a downpour.
"I'm looking for Citizen Chevier," he grumbled.
Chevier took a breath. "Your errand, citizen? I am Chevier."
The man mumbled under his breath. To be sent out on a night like this! "Sergeant Lecre at the West Gate sent me to inform Citizen Chevier that some suspicious travelers are trying to leave the city."
Chauvelin darted up. "On a night like this, citizen, we should take your closed carriage". It was said to jar Chevier back into the present.
"Yes, yes, of course," replied Chevier. He felt that the Englishman's luck could not hold out any longer. He was all but arrested even now!
Chevier's carriage was quickly made ready. The messenger from the West Gate sat up ahead with the driver and one of the footmen. Chevier and Chauvelin sat inside. Chauvelin was seething with vengeful plans and said nothing until they arrived, though Chevier, with the happiness which a close shave gives when one has come out unscathed, talked incessantly.
Upon reaching the West Gate, Chauvelin put his head out of the window. "Sergeant Lecre!" he barked.
"I am here, citizen," came a tired, irritable reply.
"The travelers�where are they?"
The man stammered. "Oh, citizen. I--well, I--I couldn't detain them long--their papers were in order-I sent the messenger before one of the gendarmes recognized them as citizen Chevier's guests. They said they had business outside Paris. I--I--" The Sergeant got no further. Chevier turned purple.
"Open that gate," he cried. "We'll track those d--- aristos if we have to go to England to do it! Drive on!"
Again they tore through the night. Chauvelin's pale eyes searched out Chevier's face and he seemed to approve of what he saw. Before long, they heard a shout. The carriage jerked abruptly to a stop and Chauvelin jumped out. Chevier was only a second behind. In front of them, wet and bedraggled, stood the false Leroux family.
"How--what--" sputtered Chevier.
Chauvelin retained his calm. "What are you doing here?"
The false Mme. Leroux replied, "We received word that we were to meet you here, so we came as fast as we could. The mud, citizen--" she began to explain.
Suddenly something dawned in the mind of citizen Chauvelin. Tall, broad shoulders, driving�driving. He turned to the carriage driver, but he, the messenger who had not had time to get off and the four footmen had disappeared.

Chauvelin was quiet during the ride back to Citizen Chevier's house in the Rue Dauphine. For his part, Chevier was terrifies of that supernatural personage who had spirited his catch out from under his very nose and name of a name! What was worse was to have aided them in escaping! The difference between his feelings toward the Scarlet Pimpernel and Chauvelin's in previous situations was that Chevier dreaded the Englishman while Chauvelin hated him. Chauvelin's was a maddening, burning rage; Chevier's an icy, dehabilitating horror.
The two agents reached the Rue Dauphine and exited the carriage. Inside, Chevier poured the wine with shaking hands and set a glass before his guest. Chauvelin refused--he had need of his wits--while Chevier downed his. After he had refilled his tumbler, Chauvelin removed the bottle from the table.
"Listen to me," he commanded. "I've been against this accursed band a number of times and I've learned to have many ways of catching him. You must think like he does. Ah, some of my most humiliating moments were when I stayed with one plan! But now, Chevier, now," his voice sunk to a whisper, "We have caught him!"
Chevier looked across at his companion in amazement. Had the "accredited agent" gone mad? The Scarlet Pimpernel and the Leroux family had escaped, and yet here was citizen Chauvelin, chief agent to the Committee of Public Safety, proclaiming that he was caught!
Chauvelin continued, his eyes glittering with unearthly hate. "Citizen Chevier, that if you had just escaped with a smuggled family of aristos, thwarting an excellently laid plan? Would you not rejoice, trusting to our fortune, your disguise, and the fact that miles lay between you and any pursuer?" he stood and paced around the table. "Now, citizen, what if someone know where you would turn up and had laid a trap there to detain you until a regiment from Paris arrived? What then?"
Chevier looked up with hope dawning in his bloodthirsty countenance. "Speak on, citizen," he said.
Chauvelin leaned over the table, his palms resting on the surface, and spoke close to the other's face.
"I know this man," said he; "His yacht anchors just off the coast, at Calais. I have notified the authorities there to keep close watch on it and if there is any activity aboard or any appearance of flight, to stall them with an investigation. When that investigation occurs, citizen, the Englishman and the aristos will be aboard--caught!" The last word was spoken with a sort of ghoulish glee. "My official investigator is on his way to arrest them formally and bring them back to Paris. Now, tell me that we do not have them!" He finished with a triumphant bang of fist on table.
Chevier sat back in his chair. So simple! Of course! To outwit the elusive Pimpernel, one needed not force, but strategy! It was impossible for the man--he could not be more than flesh and blood--to escape such a perfect plan! How glad he was that he had allowed Chauvelin to join him in the venture. It would be dreadful, to say the least, to face the Committee with things in their present state of disarray.

A day and a half later in Calais, the trap was sprung. Seeing a small boat carrying four people to the carefully watched Daydream, the soldiers, with Chauvelin's messenger at the fore, sprang into action. Rowing to the yacht, they boarded and summarily arrested all the occupants until the special investigator arrived from Paris.
The hours crawled for the prisoners. What thoughts and fears crossed the mind of Devinne! Where was the chief? Faith! it was better that he had not yet arrived! Who would warn him? The Scarlet Pimpernel could not allow those callots to reclaim the Leroux family! He must not! Think of Petite Amele! Alas, there was no way to signal to any of the League left on shore. Poor man! He had not yet learned to trust the brave adventurer fully. That was for those of the band who underwent the most trying of situations, where the night never had looked blacker, and yet, as Sir Percy said in his quaint manner, "You know my belief in bald-headed Fortune with the one solitary hair�"
Before the shadows lengthened into evening, the investigator was seen rowing from the beach out to the despondent Daydream, accompanied by several gendarmes. Those meddlesome English, if such they really were, would soon be taken care of under the investigator. Citizen Chauvelin would be pleased with the outcome this time! Although the prisoners did not look like Englishmen and seemed to know nothing anent smuggling aristos, the Citizen could not have made a mistake.
The investigator boarded the Daydream and bellowed for the citizen in charge. The messenger sent by Chauvelin stepped forward.
"Citizen, these miserable wretches were arrested--" The investigator cut him off sharply.
"Do you know what has occurred since you arrested these citizens? Englishmen? Bah!" He leaned toward the messenger. "You! The Citizen Chauvelin trusted you! To have been decoyed!"
The messenger turned grey. He couldn't speak.
The investigator continued. "Detaining honest citizens and gendarmes when the d--- band escaped on the other side of the harbour!" His face was a mottled purple now. He indicated the captain of the gendarmes. "You! I can trust you! Take this letter," he was hastily writing, "to Citizen Chauvelin to inform him of the conduct of his subordinate. And hurry, before you are all arrested for treason!"
The gendarmes fairly tumbled into the boat in their haste to obey the fearsome investigator. Those on board watched silently as they rowed away. "Odd's fish!" exclaimed the investigator with a quaint laugh. "Those Frenchies fall for anything, eh, Tony?"
Devinne joined in the laugh. "La, Percy, I really didn't recognize you and the rest of our friends."
For there they were, every one safe, even crippled Henri, who had been hidden behind the carriage in the flight from Paris.
But back in Paris, citizen Chauvelin had just received the news that his trap had failed. He mechanically opened the letter directed to him from the investigator. It contained a single, four-line couplet.
Six months later, London was a-buzz with the news that the Hon. St. John Devinne was engaged to marry a French immigrant, Mlle. Amele Leroux. It was indeed odd that they should have met, being of different circles, but then, London was the place for odd things.


(c) October 1999 Kirsty MacAlister

Return to the Veranda or the Study.



This page hosted by Geocities.