In fact the proceedings by now had developed into a kind of duel between the accused and the principal judge; it was a duel made up of acrimonious accusations on the one hand, and of defence that weakened perceptibly as the accused became more and more confused through ever increasing terror. The other two only put in a word here and there. They wished to know how the adventure had finally come to an end.
“In a long, weary tramp to Orange,” Godet replied; “weary beyond what words can describe, footsore, hungry and thirsty we tramped.”
They had to cover three leagues. How they lived through it, they none of them knew. At one or two villages which they encountered, they obtained a little food, and some drink. For the space of a league and a half, he, Godet, and two others got a lift in a farmer’s wagon. On the way they asked news of the English spies. They had been seen marching merrily; but soon all traces of them had vanished.
“Had I been the traitor you say I am, Citizen Chauvelin,” Godet said in the end, “would I have come into Orange with my tale? I would have tried to run away and to hide. Made my way to Toulons, what? and joined the army there. You would not have found me then; months would have gone by before you heard of my adventure.”
“You underestimate the power which is in my hands, citizen lieutenant,” was Chauvelin’s curt comment. “Only one thing could save you from the consequences of your treachery, and that was to speak the truth and to redeem your crime.”
He paused a moment, and then addressing his two colleagues he said with slow deliberation:
“We all agree, I think, that Citizen Lieutenant Godet has been guilty of gross negligence, which today, when France is threatened by traitors within as well as by her enemies on her frontier, amounts to treason against the State. Silence!” he went on, throwing a stern glance on Godet who had uttered a violent word of protest. “Listen to what hope of indulgence it is in my power to give you. The State against whom you have sinned will grant you the chance of retrieving your crime. We will grant you full powers under the new Law of the Suspect. You shall go into the highways and the byways with full power to seize any man, woman or child, whom you as much as vaguely suspect of complicity in this affair. Do you understand?”
“I think I do,” Godet replied dully.
“The State,” Pochart put in sagely, “would rather have the English spies’ than your head, citizen lieutenant.”
“The State will have Citizen Godet’s head,” Chauvelin rejoined dryly, “or the English spies. The choice rests with Citizen Godet himself.”
There was a moment’s pause. The eyes of the soldier were fixed upon the pale, determined face of his ruthless judge. He knew that his life hung upon the decision uttered by those thin, bloodless lips. He was in the grip of a white terror; his teeth were clenched and his tongue clove, hard and dry, against the roof of his mouth. He was terrified, and in his wildly beating heart there was an immense hatred for the man who thus terrorized him. He longed to get at him, to grip him by the throat, to scream out insults into that pale, stern, colourless face. He longed to see that same fear of death which was paralysing him, dim the light of those pale eyes. His own impotence made that hatred more intense. It shone out of his eyes, and Chauvelin meeting them caught the glance like that of an enraged cur, ready to spring. Indifferent, he shrugged his shoulders and the ghost of a sneer curled round his thin lips. He was accustomed to hatred and desire for revenge.
“Citizen lieutenant,” he said at last, “you have heard the decision of the committee. It has been found expedient to withhold punishment from you, because it is in your power to serve the State in a way that no other man could do at this moment. You have seen the English spies face to face; you know something of their appearance, something of their mode of speech. Go then into the highways and byways, the men who with you were guilty of negligence shall go with you. It is for you to use the full powers which the Law of the Suspect has placed in your hands. Go scour the country. Yours is the power to seize any man, woman or child whom you suspect of treason to the State, make use of that power in order to track down to their lair the English foxes who have outwitted you. Only let me add a word of warning in your ear. Do not be led by the nose a second time. If you are, no power on earth will save you. The State may forgive incompetence once: the second time it will bear the ugly name of treason.”
He had risen to his feet, and just for a moment the muscles of his hand relaxed, and the scrap of paper which he had crushed into a ball rolled upon the table.
His colleague Pochart picked it up and idly opened and smoothed it out: he studied for a moment or two the close writing upon it, then looked inquiringly up at Chauvelin.
“Can you tell us what is written on this paper, citizen?” he asked.
And while he spoke he tossed the paper across to his colleague Danou.
“Is it English?” Danou asked puzzled.
“Yes,” Chauvelin replied curtly.
“It looks like poetry,” Pochart remarked.
“Doggerel verses,” commented Chauvelin.
“And you can’t read it?”
“No!”
“I thought you knew English.”
“Not I.”
“Strange why a bit of doggerel verse should
