that Francis should be made to believe that nothing mattered to her now but Adelaide, not so as to save the money, which Arcadius was still holding on to so grimly, but in order to render Lord Cranmere harmless in future. It was true that her future from now on would probably belong to Jason Beaufort but, just as she had recoiled in horror from the thought of involving Napoleon in a scandal of her making, so did she jib at offering Beaufort a wife who was an object of public infamy. It was bad enough to bring him one already pregnant by another man.
Lord Cranmere spoke suddenly.
'I wish I could return the old battle-axe to you. Unfortunately I have not got her.'
'What!'
Marianne and Arcadius spoke simultaneously. Francis shrugged sulkily.
'She has vanished. Slipped between my fingers. Escaped, if you prefer it.'
'When?' Marianne asked.
'Last night. When her supper was taken to her – her room, she was not there.'
'Do you expect me to believe this?'
All Marianne's hidden fears and anxieties exploded suddenly in one outburst of anger. That was too easy! Did Francis take her for a fool? He would collect the money and give nothing in return, except a dubious promise.
Equally angry, Francis flung back at her: 'You have no choice! I was obliged to believe it. I swear to you that she had vanished from the place where she was kept.'
'You are lying! If she had escaped she would have returned home.'
'I can only tell you what I know. I learned of her flight only a moment ago. And I swear, on my mother's grave —'
'Where had you hidden her?' Jolival interposed.
'In the cellars of the Epi-Scie, next door to here.'
Jolival gave a shout of laughter. 'With Fanchon? I had not thought you such a fool! If you want to know where she is, ask your accomplice. I'll swear she knows. No doubt she thinks her share of the profits are unworthy of her appetite!'
'No,' Lord Cranmere said curtly. 'Fanchon would not try such tricks on me. She knows that I should know how to punish her, once and for all. In any event, her anger at the old fidget's escape told its own tale. If you care for her, my dear, take care she does not fall into Fanchon's hands again. She certainly did her best to drive her to a fury.'
Marianne was well enough acquainted with Adelaide to guess how she had taken her abduction and imprisonment. Bold and cynical Fanchon Fleur-de-Lis might be, but it was, after all, possible that the unconquerable old maid had succeeded in making her escape. But if so, where was she? Why had she not made her way back to the rue de Lille?
Francis was growing impatient. For some time he had been glancing with increasing frequency towards the entrance where an enormous grenadier of the guard had now appeared, his head in its tall, red-plumed shako adorned with such a luxuriant growth of beard, such long, drooping moustaches, that it seemed to belong to some strange, hairy animal.
'An end to this,' Francis growled. 'I have wasted enough time already. I do not know where the foolish creature may have got to, but you will surely find her. The money!'
'No,' Marianne said firmly. 'You shall have that when I have my cousin.'
'Is that so? I think that you will give it to me now. Come, hand me that wallet, little man, at once, or it will be the worse for you.'
Marianne and Jolival had a sudden glimpse of the black muzzle of a pistol aimed from the shelter of Francis's coat directly at the girl's stomach.
'I knew you would make trouble over the old woman,' Lord Cranmere muttered grimly. 'Now, the money, or I fire. And do not move, you.' He nodded at Jolival.
Marianne's heart missed a beat. She read death in Francis's suddenly haggard face. Such was his lust for gold that he would not hesitate to kill, yet she refused to let him see her fear. She took a deep breath and drew herself up to her full height.
'Here?' she said scornfully. 'You would not dare.'
'Why not? There is no one here but that soldier, and he is too far off. I should have time to get away.'
The tall grenadier was ambling peacefully among the wax figures, his hands clasped behind his back. At that moment, he was making for the imperial table and his head was turned away from them. Francis would have time to fire more than once.
'Suppose we strike a bargain,' Arcadius said suddenly. 'Half now and half when we have Mademoiselle Adelaide again.'
'No. It is too late and I have no more time. I must have the money to return to England. I have business there. So hand it over quickly, before I take it by force, and before I distribute my little yellow pamphlets. We'll see what their effect is. It is true, of course, that it will not interest you very much, being dead.'
The pistol waved menacingly in Francis's hand. Marianne looked round desperately. If she could only shout to the soldier – but he seemed to have disappeared. Francis had won. They would have to give in.
'Give him the money, Arcadius,' she said helplessly. 'And then let him go to hell.'
Arcadius held out the wallet in silence. Francis seized it eagerly and thrust it inside his driving coat. To Marianne's relief, the pistol also vanished. For an instant she had read madness in Francis's eyes and feared that he would shoot in spite of all. She did not want to die, least of all so needlessly. For some reason, life had grown very dear to her. She had still too much to give, beginning with the child, to resign herself to dying like this, by the hand of a maniac.
'Don't count on it,' Francis said with a sneer, answering her last words. 'I am the sort that clings to life, as you should know. We shall meet again, Marianne my sweet. Remember, this grants you a year of peace, no more. Make the most of it.'
Insolently, he raised the brim of his hat a fraction, then turned and began to move away between the waxen figures, frozen in their ceremonial attitudes, when all at once he staggered and fell under the weight of the grenadier, who had stepped suddenly from behind the massive figure of Marshal Augereau.
Marianne and Arcadius gazed in astonishment as the two men rolled on the ground, locked in a desperate struggle. The grenadier had the advantage of height and weight but Francis, like most Englishmen of his class, was a skilled sportsman and possessed above average strength and agility. He fought, moreover, with all the fury and desperation of a man cornered with a fortune in his grasp, just as he was about to return home to enjoy the fruits of his labour. He uttered short, inarticulate cries of rage but the other man fought in silence, using his superior weight to hold down an adversary who was as slippery as an eel. Both men were on their feet now, heads together, arms locked inextricably, panting and groaning like two fighting bulls.
A treacherous thrust with his knee gave the Englishman his chance. The grenadier folded up with a grunt of agony and collapsed on his knees, holding his stomach. Before he could recover his breath, Francis had made a grab for the wallet which was lying near the door and struggled, gasping, out into the open. Instantly, Marianne and Arcadius ran to the assistance of his unfortunate opponent, but the man was already putting a whistle to his lips and blowing a shrill blast before he had even risen to his feet.
'I must be getting rusty, or drinking too much,' he remarked cheerfully. 'At all events, he won't get far. Still, I should have preferred to pick him up myself. That was a foul blow, not to mention the dance he's led me up to now. Well, never mind. It's good to see you again, my pretty.'
Marianne stared at him unbelievingly as he rose, recognizing with incredulous joy the familiar voice emerging from the whiskery apparition before her.
'It can't be?' she said uncertainly. 'Am I dreaming?'
'No, no. It's me all right. So you've not forgotten your Uncle Nicolas? I don't mind telling you, it came as a surprise to me to see you here just now. I wasn't expecting that.'
'Nicolas! Nicolas Mallerousse!' Marianne sighed happily as the 'grenadier' began to divest himself of his superfluous hair. 'But where have you been? I have thought of you so often.'
'And I of you, little one. As for where I have been, why, in England, as always. I have spent a long time trailing the little rat who has just slipped so neatly through my fingers. But I dare say my colleagues will be holding him fast by now. He's clever, though, and cunning. To tell you the truth, I'd lost him in England and I had some
