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|Part III||Baroness Emmuska Orczy|
XXXV The Last Phase
|Page 7 of 8||
"Little Capet, Sir Percy," he said, meeting the other's threatening glance with an imperturbable smile, "tell me where to find him, and you may yet live to savour the caresses of the most beautiful woman in England."
He had meant it as a taunt, the final turn of the thumb-screw applied to a dying man, and he had in that watchful, keen mind of his well weighed the full consequences of the taunt.
The next moment he had paid to the full the anticipated price. Sir Percy had picked up the pewter mug from the table--it was half-filled with brackish water--and with a hand that trembled but slightly he hurled it straight at his opponent's face.
The heavy mug did not hit citizen Chauvelin; it went crashing against the stone wall opposite. But the water was trickling from the top of his head all down his eyes and cheeks. He shrugged his shoulders with a look of benign indulgence directed at his enemy, who had fallen back into his chair exhausted with the effort.
Then he took out his handkerchief and calmly wiped the water from his face.
"Not quite so straight a shot as you used to be, Sir Percy," he said mockingly.
The words came out in gasps. He was like a man only partly conscious. The lips were parted, the eyes closed, the head leaning against the high back of the chair. For the space of one second Chauvelin feared that his zeal had outrun his prudence, that he had dealt a death-blow to a man in the last stage of exhaustion, where he had only wished to fan the flickering flame of life. Hastily--for the seconds seemed precious--he ran to the opening that led into the guard-room.
"Brandy--quick!" he cried.
Heron looked up, roused from the semi-somnolence in which he had lain for the past half-hour. He disentangled his long limbs from out the guard-room chair.
"Eh?" he queried. "What is it?"
"Brandy," reiterated Chauvelin impatiently; "the prisoner has fainted."
"Bah!" retorted the other with a callous shrug of the shoulders, "you are not going to revive him with brandy, I imagine."
"No. But you will, citizen Heron," rejoined the other dryly, "for if you do not he'll be dead in an hour!"
"Devils in hell!" exclaimed Heron, "you have not killed him? You--you d--d fool!"
He was wide awake enough now; wide awake and shaking with fury. Almost foaming at the mouth and uttering volleys of the choicest oaths, he elbowed his way roughly through the groups of soldiers who were crowding round the centre table of the guard-room, smoking and throwing dice or playing cards. They made way for him as hurriedly as they could, for it was not safe to thwart the citizen agent when he was in a rage.
Heron walked across to the opening and lifted the iron bar. With scant ceremony he pushed his colleague aside arid strode into the cell, whilst Chauvelin, seemingly not resenting the other's ruffianly manners and violent language, followed close upon his heel.
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Baroness Emmuska Orczy
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