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Robespierre filled a glass which he handed to his guest and then poured a little for himself which he diluted with water. The Scarecrow’s mind worked quickly. Behind his inscrutable mask he smiled cynically. Here was a man guilty of spilling the blood of thousands of his countrymen yet afraid to taste the full-bodied wine of the country he had plundered. He waited to see if the man himself would prove as weak as the wine he drank, knowing full well he could afford to wait because of his own strength. Having thus summed up his character, a vain and mediocre man, he found it tallied with the outward show.
Robespierre, though not a dandy, was dressed fastidiously. A well-cut velvet coat of claret colour, white knee-breeches, stockings to match, all these the finest silk, while the large cravat and exquisite lace at his wrists proclaimed the salon and the boudoir — but not the bloody scaffold. Rising from a studious forehead, his hair was brushed back neatly and well powdered. His face, though capable of striking terror to his unfortunate victims, seemed to the Scarecrow to be the face of a clown with its tip-tilted nose and protuberant eyes.
Robespierre, scrutinizing in his turn, making little of what was before him, apart from fantastic clothes, and irritated that he could not see his opponent’s eyes and brow and so gauge the character of this man with whom he hoped to have dealings, politely requested him, since he was in the presence of a friend, to lay aside his mask.
To this the Scarecrow shook his head. ‘Your pardon, citizen,’ he said, ‘that I ca
‘Then keep your mask, citizen, for I am not experimenting. I have no inclination to be thus blasted into hell before my time. But come, let us to business. Barsard has worked swiftly, I see. Your request last night for an interview was sooner than I expected. He told you of my plan? Well, what do you think of it?’
‘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-ma
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 ru
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 pe