Chapter 2

"MONSIEUR ROUGE IS CONFIDENTIAL."

At breakfast, under his own roof-tree, Aldean reviewed the events and incidents of the last six days. Without doubt, they had been fast and furious. But, even qualified as it was by the news of Boldini's trickery, his work had been largely successful--the more so, considering that four days out of the six had been spent in travelling. The telegram bringing such serious news of poor Mallow had made it absolutely impossible to take any steps towards following the Boldini pair. First and foremost, Mallow's position--whatever it might prove to be--demanded his entire energies. On arrival the previous evening, he had listened earnestly and anxiously to Mrs. Purcell's majestic account of Vraik's visit. But all that her ponderous periods succeeded in conveying to Aldean was the mere fact that Mallow was a prisoner. He felt he must know more at once, and he there and then despatched a wire to Vraik, which brought the little man to Campden Hill in an incredibly short space of time. From him Aldean learned all details, among them that Rouge had refused to move in the matter until brought into personal communication with himself. He arranged with Vraik to see Rouge the next morning between ten and eleven. He felt he could do no more that night save comfort Olive with the assurance that Mallow should be rescued at all costs. Moreover, for once in his life, Aldean felt physically exhausted. He hoped much from the mysterious Monsieur Rouge, though at first thought it was difficult to see how so red a sans-culotte was going to help him. As a devoted Anarchist, it was the duty, and no doubt the wish, of Rouge to keep Mallow in prison, and prevent all attempt at rescue rather than assist towards it. Yet Trall, who was plainly against the Brotherhood, had hinted that Monsieur Rouge could, and would, play the part of a beneficent Deus ex machin�. The more he thought of it, the more puzzled Aldean became at this dodge of Vraik's. He finished two pipes trying to solve the problem, and concluded by hoping, as usual, for the best.

"Monsieur Rouge," announced Lord Aldean's valet, just as he was filling a third pipe.

"All right; show him in." And Jim, standing with his back to the fire, was face to face with his enigmatic visitor from the depths.

Monsieur Rouge, thin, sad-faced, and more colourless than ever, glided into the room like an unquiet spectre. He saluted his host with grave dignity. Aldean nodded, and when the door was closed pointed to a chair.

"I am glad to see you," he said in French. "Sit down, please. Would you like to eat, or drink, or smoke?"

"If Monsieur permits, no; I come to talk."

"About Mr. Mallow?"

"But certainly, Monsieur, about myself also. I discharge myself of a mission in thus presenting myself."

Lord Aldean, who had not once taken his eyes off the white, haggard face, nodded again, and sat down. With easy grace his visitor slipped into a chair, and placed his peaked cap on the floor beside him. Then he looked fixedly at the young Englishman, and waited to be questioned. Evidently M. Rouge was a discreet personage, and not inclined to venture in further than he could withdraw. Nothing of the rash revolutionist about him.

"Did Vraik bring you here?" asked Aldean, settling himself.

"Assuredly, yes. He gave himself the trouble to lead me to the door. But," Monsieur Rouge waved his hand, "he is gone. I dismissed him. It is not for him to hear what I would say."

"What do you wish to say?"

"Monsieur, I would make you a confession; I would deliver myself of a story. But that later. Let us concern ourselves with Mr. Mallow."

"By all means. Is Mr. Mallow safe?"

"Safe and well. But what would you?" Rouge spread out his hands and shrugged. "He is in the power of Madame. She knows not mercy."

"Does she intend violence?" asked Aldean, hurriedly.

"But what can I say? As the votes go, so will Mr. Mallow be dealt with by the Brotherhood. Attention, Monsieur. Your friend is brave, but rash--oh, most terribly rash! He comes to Soho, and he tells Monsieur the doctor and Madame that he knows of their wickedness about this money, about this murder. Eh! they are afraid that he may tell too much, these brave ones, and they call out 'Spy! spy!' Mr. Mallow fights well, but he is conquered. Behold, Monsieur, your friend most dear is a prisoner in a little room on the top of the house in Soho."

"Have they ill-treated him?"

"But no; it is not necessary. Monsieur, your friend eats and drinks like one of the aristocrats. To-morrow night there is a great meeting of us in the cellar--oh, a very great meeting! Mr. Mallow will be taken down to be judged. All will be told; and if they say 'Kill!' Monsieur will disappear."

"You don't mean they will murder him!" cried Aldean, aghast.

"First, they will murder him," replied Rouge, significantly; "afterwards his body will disappear. We have chemists who do these things. Mr. Mallow will be no more."

"But the police?"

"Eh! what is it that can be done by them? No body, no murder, no trial. Madame and Monsieur the doctor they know well what to do. There is no one else who has seen Mr. Mallow enter--no one. Trall can speak, I can speak; but," with a shrug, "will he speak?"

"I hope so," said Jim, anxiously. "You came here to speak."

"Behold, Monsieur, I do so; and why? Figure to yourself the reason." Rouge rose slowly from his chair. "I--I am no Anarchist."

"You--are--no--Anarchist?" repeated Aldean, stupefied.

"No, I am become one to destroy them. It is my vengeance."

"Vengeance, Monsieur Rouge?"

"That is not my name. I am Emile Durand, citizen of Paris, who devotes himself to destroying those who would destroy the world. Ha! ha! Superb, magnificent. Monsieur," with a sudden solemnity of tone, "I avenge my wife and my child."

"Why, did the Anarchists kill----"

"Yes." Rouge covered his face, and dropped back into the chair, sobbing. "Ah, yes, alas! My dear Sophie, my little child! the good God was silent, and they died--died, and I--I still live."

Lord Aldean looked with pity on the frame of the man, shaken with the violence of his grief. He succumbed to a veritable nerve-storm which swept over him. He wept, he cried aloud, he rolled in his chair, until, beaten and prostrate, he fell back limply.

"My poor fellow, I am sorry for you. Some wine----"

"No, no; Monsieur need not give himself the trouble. No wine." After a time a faint colour came back to him. With an effort his muscles reasserted themselves, and he pulled himself together. But he kept his eyes fixedly on the floor, and spoke rapidly, though almost inaudibly. "Monsieur, five years ago I was a chemist in Paris--Rue Flaubert--and, my faith, what a charming shop! Sophie, my dear wife, was there, and the little one, an adorable little one of four years. Ah, how I loved them--how happy we were! Monsieur, that she-devil of a Madame commanded that Paris should be terrorized by bombs. She wished for a revolution. Close by my little shop a bomb was thrown one night. It burst. Oh, most terrible name of names! Shall I ever forget the bursting of that hell-bomb? It killed my Sophie and my dear little Therese." His voice broke with a dry sob. "They were buried in the ruins of our happy home. I lived; conceive to yourself, Monsieur, I lived. Yes," his voice rose, "to destroy those who destroyed them."

Rouge flung up his arms with a theatrical gesture of despair, and paced hurriedly to and fro. Aldean did not speak. He did not know what to say in the face of such grief.

"Yes, Monsieur, I lived to plot vengeance. I was ill long, long. When I was again myself; I was not myself--not Emile Durand, but Monsieur Rouge, the Anarchist, as you see me now. I joined the Brotherhood, I took the oath. I used my knowledge of chemistry to invent explosives. I wormed myself into their confidence, their counsels, their secrets. Now I am the friend of that she-devil. Figure to yourself, Monsieur, the dear friend of Madame. I make the bombs; I place them. I work, work, work--not for them, but for myself. They shall all die to-morrow."

"Good Lord!" cried Aldean, in horror. "Do you intend, then, to blow them up?"

With an insane light in his eyes Rouge turned on him.

"Monsieur seeks to know what I care not to tell. Holy blue! I know when to be silent. To you I speak of Monsieur Mallow; to him I have related the story of Emile Durand, and he knows that Emile Durand will rescue him. But Rouge--ha ha!"--he broke into a peal of laughter not good to hear, "he will not rescue Madame, or Monsieur the doctor. No, no, not death in life for the innocent, but death in life for her. Ah! ha! it will be a pretty sight."

Frankly speaking, after the first natural feeling of horror, Jim did not care two straws if the Anarchists were blown to atoms or not. On the whole, he considered that some such wholesale destruction might be beneficial. It would assuredly rid the world of a lot of these pestilential wretches, and frighten the others. Moreover, there was something ironically just in their being hoist on their own petard.

"But about Monsieur Mallow?" he observed.

"I shall save him," replied Rouge. "He is in a little room on the top, with a skylight window on the slope of the roof. In the next house I have a room, with a little window, too, through which I can climb. Behold, Monsieur, I take a rope, well strong, and to its end I fasten a stone. I climb on the roof opposite to my window, and throw the stone at the skylight on the slanting roof. Crash! It falls in, and Monsieur Mallow will knot it to his bed. Then he will climb up, like the little cat, along the slanting roof and round its corner, until he slips into my window. Then I will lead him down the stairs to the door, to the street. There you will be, Monsieur, and receive this unfortunate."

The plan of escape appealed to Aldean as simple and skilful and safe enough. Forgetting their relative positions, he sprang to his feet, and shook Rouge heartily by both hands.

"Thank you! thank you!" he cried. "Neither Mr. Mallow nor myself will ever forget your kindness."

"Bah!" Rouge shrugged his shoulders. "It is nothing. What would you have? Monsieur Mallow has been good to me. He has given me money and kind words. No, Monsieur, I am no ingrate to permit one so beneficent to perish. Death is for the evil, not for the good."

"Suppose his escape is discovered?"

"Only when it is too late for them," said Rouge, with a cruel smile. "They will not care for Monsieur Mallow's escape. No, my faith!"

"But what of yourself?"

"That shall be as the good God designs. Ask me no more, Monsieur, but be you in that street at eight o'clock to-morrow night. I will bring your friend to your arms. I swear it! I, Emile Durand, by the head of my Sophie, by my little Therese But when you have your friend, go far--there will be danger."

"If we can ever repay you----"

"Repay me?" Rouge seized Aldean by the hand, and looked into his face with earnest eyes. "Monsieur, have masses said for the repose of the dear ones. It is all I ask, If the good Lord give me death in my vengeance, buy a mass for the poor Emile Durand."

He sighed, dropped Aldean's hand, but still looked at him.

"I promise," said Jim, earnestly. "Masses shall be said for Sophie and the little one; but I hope you will escape."

"It is as the good God wills," sighed Rouge, and walked to the door. As he put on his peaked cap he looked back. "Not a word of this to a soul," said he, hoarsely, "or your friend is lost."

"I understand."

"Good. At eight o'clock to-morrow night in the street of Poplaire. There you shall see your friend, and my vengeance."

When the man glided out, Jim turned to the mantelpiece, and rested his forehead on his clasped hands.

"Thank God!" he muttered. "Mallow will be saved. I must tell Olive."