The Launching of Roger Brook rb-1

by Dennis Wheatley

  "Yes; since the one is strong and united, while the others are weak and divided against themselves. Britain is a sea-power, so I would leave her to develop overseas and make her our friend by becoming her biggest customer. France is a land-power, and she should seek new wealth through the expansion of her frontiers."

  "Even with England as our ally, 'twould mean a long series of most costly campaigns," demurred the Marquis.

  "Not necessarily. Europe is suffering from fin de siecle and every country in it now seethes with political unrest, which we could turn to our own ends if we played our cards skilfully. The Catholics of the Austrian Netherlands intensely resent the reforms forced upon them by the Emperor Joseph, and the country is ripe to break away from him. The States-General of Holland is already in open revolt against the Stadtholder and contemplates an attempt to replace his regime with a republic. The King of Prussia is, as we know, on his death-bed. The Great Frederick will wage no more victorious campaigns and there is a strong party that regards his heir-apparent with considerable aversion. The Princelings who rule the German States can always be played off against one another. The Italian States and the two Sicilies are rotten to the core. Hungary is in a state of acute unrest owing to the Emperor's passion for uniformity and his attempt to force German administration and the German language upon it. Russia alone presents no weakness and, like England, should be left to develop outwardly; in her case towards Asia and the dominions of the Grand Turk, whose measure she seems already to have taken."

  "And what do you deduce from all this?" the Marquis inquired.

  "Why, that France should use the discontented elements in all these countries as her stalking-horse. We should fan the flames of revolt in each until civil war breaks out; then qn the pretext that we intend to 'protect' their inhabitants from oppression we should send troops to their assistance. Once in they would not find it easy to turn us out and we could ensure in them the establishment of new governments favourable to our own designs. They would keep their independence, nominally, but, henceforth, they would actually be protectorates, with rulers dependent on the good will of France. By this means, in a dozen years, we could gain control of the greater part of Europe. It would be necessary to support the discontented minorities financially and to supply them in secret with arms; but we should regard each of them as though they were French armies already established in the heart of the countries we mean to dominate. They would, in fact, be the secret columns of France."

  There was a moment's silence, then the Marquis said: "What a subtle brain you have, my dear Abbé. You should have been a diplomat instead of a churchman and I wonder that you do not seek office with a view to becoming a minister of the Crown."

  The Abbé de Talleyrand-Perigord's voice came again and it was bitter. "I thank you, M. le Marquis, but I have no wish to serve a Court that has already treated me so scurvily."

  "To what do you refer?"

  "Surely you must have heard of the manner in which I was deprived of my promised Cardinal's Hat. Madame de Brionne obtained the interest of the King of Sweden on my behalf. Gustave III used his influence with the Pope and His Holiness agreed that the vacant Hat should be bestowed upon me. Then the Queen learned of the affair. She instructed the Comte de Mercy to press her brother that he should insist 'twas Austria's turn to receive the dignity; and Pius VI, weakling that he is, gave way to the Emperor. Queens who behave so to their subjects cannot expect their loyal service."

  "You must remember," said the Marquis coldly, "that her Majesty is a model wife and mother; and that to maintain a high moral tone at her Court is a thing very near her heart. Your private life, Abbé, is no recommendation to a Cardinal's Hat, and no doubt the Queen quashed it on that account."

  "Nay; my life is no worse than that of many another whom family considerations forced into the Church against their will. 'Twas the Queen's vindictiveness, and this accursed affair of the Diamond Necklace. She is not content to have banished de Rohan to an Abbey in Auvergue, although he was declared innocent by his judges; she pursues all who stood by him with her hate. Madame de Brionne is a Rohan by birth, so even I, as her protege, must suffer for the folly of the King in ever making the matter public. I repeat, I have no further mind to serve a half-witted man and a capricious woman."

  When the Marquis next spoke the listening Roger could tell that he was very angry but striving hard to control his temper, as he said:

  "A Cardinal's Hat is no small thing to lose, and I sympathise with your disappointment. But, Monsieur l'Abbé, I wish that you would reconsider your decision. We live in most troubled times and 'tis of great importance that, whatever our personal feelings may be about the Sovereigns, we noblemen should give them our fullest support. Otherwise the whole, regime may be brought into jeopardy."

  "And what if it is?" The Abbé's voice was tinged with a mocking cynicism. "You, Monsieur le Marquis, are now, I fear, too old to adjust yourself to new conditions. But that does not apply to me. Whatever changes may occur I shall find my level at a place for which my abilities fit me; and it may well be that under new masters I shall find the scope to serve France far more effectively."

  "So be it then," replied the Marquis in a frigid tone. "Let us revert to the business that brought you here. You persuaded M. de Calonne to send the Comte de Mirabeau to Berlin, on a special mission to report on how long King Frederick can be expected to live, and how Prussian policy may be affected by his death. You arranged that M. de Mirabeau should send you his despatches for transmission to M. de Calonne, and agreed with me that, for a certain price, you would provide me with copies of those despatches before the Minister has sight of them. Are you prepared to carry out our bargain?"

  "Yes; since I gave my word upon it and need the money. But 'tis the last thing I'll do which may benefit the Queen."

  "Have you the despatches with you?"

  "No. They are at my house in Passy. I am come from the Palais

  Royale and learnt of their arrival only from a servant who came to find me there upon another matter. But I am told that the packet is a bulky one, so someone may have to give several hours to copying its contents to-night—if the copy is to be of any value—since I must lodge it with M. de Calonne not later than midday to-morrow. I have to return to the Palais to sup with His Royal Highness; and, in any case, I have no mind to copy lengthy documents. My coach is below and I came here to suggest that you should send one of your secretaries back with me to Passy, to do the copying."

  "That, I can easily arrange," agreed the Marquis, and he rang a bell on his desk.

  Treading gingerly, Roger stepped out of the closet, closed the door of the press and hurried round into the Marquis's room by its main door.

  "Where is d'Heury?" the Marquis asked with a frown. "He is still at supper, Monseigneur," Roger replied. "Shall I fetch him for you!"

  "Yes—no! Wait one moment. L'Abbé de Perigord requires some copying to be done at his house in Passy. 'Tis thought it may take several hours and I am anxious to receive the copy as soon as possible. 'Twould halve the time if you and d'Heury both go, and divide the work between you. Tell d'Heury my wishes when you get downstairs."

  "Your servant, Monseigneur," Roger laid the letters he was still carrying on the Marquis's desk as the two noblemen took leave of one another; then, adjusting his pace to that of the lame Abbé, he followed him from the room.

  Having collected d'Heury they entered the Abbé de Perigord's coach and set out for Passy. It was now about a quarter to ten and, although near the longest day in the year, a bluish dusk obscured the streets except where corner lanterns were already lit. The two Abbes were occupying the rear seat of the coach with Roger seated opposite them, his back to the horses. He knew that they had a drive of between two and three miles before them and while the other two talked in low voices he settled down to think about the long conversation he had just overheard.

  It was more than a year since he had sent intelligence of M. de la Perouse's project of coloni
sing New Zealand to Mr. Gilbert Maxwell, and since doing so he had not encountered anything that he felt might be likely to interest that mysterious gentleman. Then, for an exciting few moments to-night, he had thought that chance was about to reveal to him the inner secrets of France's policy towards Britain. Yet, on consideration, he realised that he had actually learnt nothing. He had already gathered that the Marquis was a rabid imperialist, but he held no official position and represented only the opinion of a small clique of nobles at Court; while the Abbé de Perigord was even further removed from being a Government spokesman, and the full potentialities of his extraordinary scheme for developing "secret columns" devoted to France's interest in other countries had not, as yet, impinged on Roger's mind.

  Whatever the Queen's motive for preventing the Abbe1 from receiving his Cardinal's Hat, Roger could not help feeling that he was no fit candidate for it. Rumour had it that he had recently been caught out using Government funds for improper purposes and that only his great influence with many highly placed ladies had saved him from being consigned to the Bastille. And Roger now knew for certain that he was flagrantly betraying M. de Calonne's confidence by selling copies of secret documents which were intended for the Minister's private eye. Yet, all the same, Roger could not help feeling attracted to the lame Abbé; he was so kind, so gay, so witty, and altogether such a fascinating personality.

  At a fast trot the horses drew the well-sprung coach along the north bank of the Seine and right round the great bend of the river to the west of the city, until the streets gave place to tree-lined avenues and big houses set in private gardens. Across the river the lights of the Invalides and the Ecole Militaire could be seen, then, as they came opposite the Isle of Swans, they turned west entering the semi-open country that lay about the Uttle village of Passy.

  They were within a few moments of their destination and passing a dark belt of trees when they heard a shout, the horses reared and the coach was brought to a sudden halt.

  "Mort dieu! We are beset by footpads!" exclaimed de Perigord.

  He had scarcely spoken when masked faces appeared at both windows of the coach, the doors were wrenched open and two evil-looking ruffians covered the occupants with their pistols.

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE ATTACK ON THE COACH

  THE moon had not yet risen and, owing to the overhanging branches of the trees, the afterglow of the summer night did little to lighten the darkness in the lane where the coach had halted. The light was only just sufficient for Roger to make out the faces of the two Abbes opposite him as whitish blurs in the blackness; but he could see a little more of the men who had held them up, as each stood framed in one of the doorways of the coach. Both were masked and each was threatening one of the Abbes with a brace of pistols.

  "Out with your purses!" growled the taller of the two, who was standing on d'Heury's side of the vehicle.

  D'Heury made a movement to obey; but de Perigord rapped out another oath, and snapped: "Have a care, rogues! I am no rich bourgeois whom you can rob with impunity. Lay a hand on me and I'll have M. de Crosne's police search all Paris for you, and come to see you broken on the wheel for it."

  Roger tensed himself. He was unarmed, but if de Perigord meant to put up a fight he was ready to join him in it. He did not think that either of the highwaymen had yet noticed him and kept very stfll, hoping to be able to take the man nearest him by surprise when the time came to fling himself into the fray.

  De Perigord had hardly uttered his threat before the spokesman of the pair took him up.

  "So you resist!" he rasped; and, without more ado, pulled the trigger of one of his pistols. A streak of flame issued from its barrel towards d'Heury. By the flash Roger saw the fear in the Abbé’s eyes; then heard him cry out. Throwing himself forward he knocked up the other man's pistol, just as he fired, and the bullet thudded harm­lessly into the upholstery above de Pe'rigord's head.

  With a curse the footpad turned his second pistol on Roger. His companion fired again at d'Heury. Again, by the flash, Roger caught an instant's glimpse of the interior of the coach. D'Heury lay slumped in his corner. De Perigord had pressed a spring in the handle of his cane and was in the act of drawing from it a long, glittering poignard.

  As Roger's glance switched, a second before the blackness descended again, he found himself staring down the barrel of the pistol. He jerked himself aside and, at the very second it went off the Abbé's deadly weapon sank into the man's neck. A blinding flash eclipsed Roger's sight, and he felt a blow on the head like a hit from a hammer. It threw him violently backwards, then he seemed to be falling into a pit of blackness.

  When he regained partial consciousness he knew that he was lying in a comfortable bed, but he had no idea how he had got there. His head ached intolerably, and someone was adding to its pain by moving it about. From a long way off the voice of the Abbé de Perigord reached him.

  "Nay, surgeon," the voice said, "I'll not let you shave off one hair of his head more than is absolutely essential. He is a handsome fellow and those blue eyes of his must play the very devil with the women. But I'd have you know that he saved my life a while back. 'Twould be an ill return on my part to allow his appearance to be spoilt and. maybe, lose him his latest mistress."

  Blackness then again engulfed Roger and when next he came to it was morning. On opening his eyes he saw that he was in a pleasant room with a tree outside its low window. Beside his bed sat a rosy-cheeked woman who was busy sewing. When she noticed that he was awake she smoothed out his pillows, gave him a drink of milk and bade him go to sleep again. He obediently shut his eyes and, before he had had time for any but the vaguest thoughts, he dropped off.

  When he woke some hours later he felt perfectly well except for a dull pain in his head. He sat up and with a smile at his nurse told her that he felt hungry. She propped his pillows round him, warned him to remain quiet and left him for a while, to return with a light meal of eggs and fruit upon a tray.

  After he had eaten he dozed for a little, and when he roused again it was at the rattle of rings as the nurse drew the curtains across the window, so he knew that it was evening. Soon afterwards the Abbe1 de Perigord came into the room. With a smiling word to the woman he sent her outside; then, leaning gracefully on his cane, he looked down at Roger, and said, slowly:

  " 'Ow—do—you do? I 'opes you are better."

  It was just on three years since Roger had heard a single word of English spoken, but the reflexes in his still woolly brain caused him to reply in that language: "Thank you; I'm none too bad except that my head still aches."

  Only after the words were out did he suddenly jerk forward and, staring up at the Abbd, cry in French: "What was that you said?"

  The Abbess delicately modelled mouth twitched with unconcealed humour as he replied in his native tongue: "I only asked you how you were, and I am delighted to see that you are well on the way to recovery."

  "But you spoke in English," Roger muttered accusingly.

  "What if I did? I do not speak it very well but I know a little of that language. I have English friends. Lord and Lady Grey came to stay with me last year. Also I saw quite a lot of your Prime Minister, Mr. Pitt, when he was over here. He and I had good fun giving one another lessons in our languages. You are an Englishman. I know it, since you raved for a solid hour in that tongue when you were unconscious last night."

  "Did I?" faltered Roger lamely, as he strove to grasp the results which this unmasking of his long deception might have upon his fortunes.

  "Indeecl'you did," went on the Abbé, carefully lowering himself ino a chair beside the bed. "But please do not distress yourself on that account. It is clear that for some reason of your own you prefer to pass as a Frenchman, and I would never abuse a confidence obtained in such a manner."

  Somewhat reassured, Roger murmured his thanks; then asked the outcome of the affray with the footpads.

  "After I had wounded one the other fled," replied the Abbé", "but they
were no footpads; they were hired bravos who set upon us in a deliberate attempt to kill me. Of that I now have little doubt. Footpads never use their weapons unless positively forced to it, and those ruffians fired on us before we'd even had a chance to produce our purses. I've a shrewd idea, too, who primed them to it. Unless I'm much mistaken, 'twas the Comte de Caylus."

  Roger looked up quickly. "You mean that revolting-looking half-breed who is a close friend of M. de Rochambeau?"

  "I do. But let me warn you, my young friend, not to use such expressions in front of anyone who is likely to carry them to M. de Caylus's ears. The fact that his mother was a mulatto does not invalidate his ancient lineage on his father's side, and he is both power­ful and vindictive. He is also rich as Croesus, so 'twas no small triumph on my part to win away from him Mademoiselle Olympe, who is, I think, the loveliest of all our Opera girls."

  "You underrate your own good looks, M. le Abbé' Roger laughed. "Between them and M. de Caylus's money how could a woman hesitate, since I can scarce imagine a more horrid fate for any girl than to have to suffer his embraces."

  De Perigord bowed. "I thank you for the compliment. He is certainly an oafish fellow and, since my being a churchman prevents his calling me out, he is just the morbid sort of person who might seek redress by attempting to have me murdered. By God's grace those villains cannot have known me by sight, and thinking that every Abbé wears a cassock mistook poor d'Heury for myself; so killed him instead."

  "What! Is d'Heury dead!" exclaimed Roger.

  "Aye! Shot through the heart. I would

  be dead, too, had it not been for your prompt action in knocking up the other rogue's pistol. So I owe you a debt that I doubt ever being able to repay. And, believe me, I count my life mighty precious as I get endless amusement from it. I trust that henceforth you will regard me as your friend and allow me to be of service to you whenever occasion offers."

  Roger smiled, realising his good fortune in having earned the gratitude of so influential a protector, and said: