The treasure was in the chapel, at least the bulk of it. The rest was in the safes of the économe, who had his bureaux opposite. That wing, therefore, of the college must be held against all comers, while with chisel and file, jemmy and dynamite the "expropriators" were busy with their task. So little did these men trust each other that one man from each company was nominated to see the enumeration of the plate and to watch the opening of the safes.
One man they trusted, Chanot, and their respect was heightened by his declaration that he desired no part of the spoil for himself. They had followed him faithfully, and if he could reward those who had stood by him when the majority drew back to save their skins, he was content.
A base of simplicity and even sentimentality underlies the brutality of many criminals. One has only to note the songs which are applauded at a penitentiary or reformatory concert. These men believed Chanot, and preferred his self-abnegation to the rhodomontades of Barrès, who repeatedly declared that he, and he alone, would lead them to victory.
The black half-hour of waiting was horribly trying to the nerves. They were quite on the top of things, and though the night was so dark, they could see the walls of St. André cutting the sky and shutting out the stars. The woods through which they had come were now retired farther back-or at least so it seemed. The plateau stretched out behind, mysteriously grey, gradually descending towards Nîmes and St. Gilles, but almost imperceptibly. Indeed, to the eyes of those town birds of prey, it seemed a plain. That was their path of safety. By it they would make good their retreat, laden with a golden spoil.
The signal was to be the striking of the Mairie clock, the golden, illuminated dial of which, almost beneath their feet, testified in the tranquillity which had not ceased to reign in Aramon le Vieux. The old conservative and Protestant town had known how to keep its gates closed, its inhabitants safe (if not very prosperous), and always behind the dial of its Mairie clock was to be seen the equal shining of the mellowest and gentlest light in the world.
During ten minutes the hand of Chanot pushed Matteo steadily before him into the dusky covert of the wood. At the same moment three men at different parts of the attacking line glided away unnoticed. The hands of the clock moved on. Though the figuring of the dial was too distant to be made out, the black lines of the minutes and hour hands could be seen approaching one another.
It was time for Chanot to be elsewhere. He had other work and Matteo must guide him. They slipped in Indian file through the wood, Chanot still with his hand upon the Left Handed man's shoulder. For an instant Matteo seemed to hesitate. He had ascended from the other side and Gobelet was hard to find, but at last he struck the main road between the town and the lycée above. It appeared to be perfectly empty, but Chanot whispered angrily in his guide's ear. They must get back into shelter. Here they were exposed to any passers-by-nay, to the first faint-hearted deserter from the attack above.
A thrill passed through Matteo's heart. He gave thanks to his patron saint and promised candles for his altar when he should be rich. Before him was the bombed forehead of the gatehouse of Gobelet. The gate itself was padlocked securely, and the top adorned with spikes, but Chanot made no attempt there. He only skirted the wall till he found a place which pleased him. Then he ordered Leduc and Violet to make a ladder up which the light Chardon climbed. Then came Matteo and Chanot himself. Lastly the ladder was dissolved into its elements and all found themselves on the inner side of the garden wall of Gobelet.
Matteo now advanced with more certainty. Yes, the house lay there through this gate, along this path. There was the well-shelter he had seen, and above them rose the dark side of the house, where was the kitchen entrance and all the apartments of service.
"BONG-BONG-BONG!" Solemnly, and with an air of detachment from merely worldly affairs, the big hammer gave out the twelve strokes of midnight. Just so had it once called holy nuns to prayer in the Convent of the Visitation, and it tolled just the same to let loose a pack of the worst ruffians on earth upon the chapel of St. André.
Anton Chanot listened carefully. He knew that now the fossés would be crossed and the scaling-ladders laid against the walls. But sudden and startling there came down the hill a wild yell, mingled of pain and anger. Rifles ripped and crashed. A light filtered through the tree-tops, which faintly illuminated the covered well-stoop under which the five were hiding.
"What fools!" said Chanot, cursing his late companions. "They have begun firing too soon! And the light? Can they have already set fire to the chapel?"
He did not know that fate and a message from Dennis Deventer had served him well-that is, so far as his immediate purpose was concerned. The missive which Hugh Deventer received at Gobelet contained these words in his father's hand: "St. André to be attacked to-night. Go up and see what you can do. I send you some arms-also Brown with an electric-light plant which you may find useful."
Hugh was compelled to go, and though he hated to leave Gobelet and Alida, he dared not disobey his father. Besides, hidden among its woods and showing no façade to tempt plunderers, he did not believe that my father's house was in any great danger.
In this he was right so far as the Band of the Mairie was concerned, but he had not taken into account the vendetta of Matteo, the ambitions of Chanot, and the plot against the person of Alida.
The noise on the hill-top seemed rather to increase than to diminish, volley responded to volley, and to the yells of the brigands another cry, shriller and more piercing, replied.
Chanot had altered his plans and taken his cue while he stood listening. He had some remarkable qualities and this readiness was one of them. He had intended to break his way into Gobelet before the noise of the assault brought up the swarming town or the National Guard of Aramon le Vieux. But this (he saw now) would not do. Already on the Place Beauvais they were beating to arms. Well, he must make the more haste. So without an alteration of his determined bearing he walked round the house and knocked loudly at the main door.
My father, who as usual was not yet in bed, threw open a first-floor window (for those on the ground floor had been closed and strengthened by the hand of Hugh Deventer). "What can I do for you?" my father inquired courteously.
"Let us in for God's sake, they are killing everyone up at the lycée. We have escaped-my friends and I, pions, and the others, three honest fellows from the gardens, whom we picked up on our way."
"Wait a moment, gentlemen," my father called out, "and if you will pardon the delay, you shall have all the shelter and succour my house can give you!"
"What a lamb!" murmured Chanot, "he presents us with his fleece. Are all foreigners fools?"
"All English are," snarled Matteo. "In my country we give them to our children to cheat-to prove their teeth upon."
The door opened, and there before them, a lamp in his hand, stood the gentle scholar, Gordon Cawdor, with a smile of welcome on his face. The less instructed four would have leaped upon him immediately, but Chanot held them back. I can see my father standing there before his potential butchers, inviting them to enter with a single large movement of the hand, infinitely noble and touching to me to think of to-day. He precedes them with an apology. They tramp after him, treading on one another's heels in haste to see the sacks of coin reported by Matteo. That worthy has drawn his knife from its sheath. The others have made ready their revolvers. Only Chanot has the education and the strength of will to keep a hold upon himself-which in turn gives him a hold upon his comrades.
A stern gesture bade them put up their arms. They must play out their parts and follow his lead. In the study they found lights, a fire, and tier upon tier of books climbing to the ceiling-a marvellous place, undreamed of by any of them. But where were the bags of coin, the wallets stuffed with bank-notes with which they were to flee across the wilderness of the Camargue?
"Seat yourselves, gentlemen, a welcome to you," said the host. "You are well out of the trouble and safe with me."
And he set before them meat and drink, such as he could find in the cupboards of Saunders McKie.
"I do not disturb my servants for what I can do myself," he added smilingly, "but you are welcome and-here is Madame Keller and her daughter Alida-which means that our dear invalid goes better. Madame, Mademoiselle, let me introduce to you some new friends who have taken refuge with us. The lycée has been beset by brigands and these gentlemen have come to claim, what Gobelet has never refused, the right of asylum."
At sight of Alida in her white, gauzy robes, standing in the doorway, a thrill ran through the blood of Chanot. Never had he looked on such beauty. His heart beat thick, and instinctively he glanced sideways at his followers. Matteo sat bent forward, almost crouched as for a spring, his eyes small and glowing red like those of a wild boar before he charges. Chardon was open-mouthed, but watchful of his leader. Leduc and Violet showed their teeth and fingered the hilts of their revolvers.
A kind of revulsion of feeling passed over Chanot, perhaps as much akin to what we in Scotland would call conversion as can be imagined of a trained and thorough-paced French scoundrel.
Under his breath he bade Leduc and his companion to keep their seats, and kept his own hand hard on the shoulder of Matteo.
"We thank you, ladies, for your presence," he said, with his pleasantest manner. "We had not expected so great an honour."
But Alida, glad of new faces and eager for news of Hugh Deventer, whose desertion had left her companionless, asked many questions, to some of which it took all Chanot's readiness to answer. She was, however, called off by Linn, who presently issued from the kitchen with a dish of eggs hastily cooked.
"There is bread on the sideboard, cut it for these gentlemen!" said Linn. And Alida hastened to serve each in turn, with a smile that was an accomplishment in flattery.
Then followed a strange hour. The sound of shouting and continuous firing could be heard from above. On the road outside the hoofs of horses clattered, and more than once Chanot thought that he heard the jingle of harness.
But with my father at the head of the table talking gently and equably, and Alida at the foot with her chin on her clasped hands, the men sat and listened. Chardon answered when he was spoken to, but he kept looking at his chief for guidance. Leduc and Violet drank steadily, though Chanot tried to kick them under the table. Matteo alone could not be still. His breath whistled between his teeth. He leaned over to Chanot and whispered, "Kill, kill-if you do not, I shall!"
But even for him the influence of these peaceful surroundings had its power. The richly carpeted floor, the table with many flowers, the rows on rows of beautifully bound books, were so much powerful necromancy to the Man from Arquà. But it could not last. The wolf must spring, and Chanot watched him with an anxious eye.
"Kill-kill!"
The words came like the hiss of a poison snake. They had come to the end of the meal now and were trifling with their wineglasses-that is, Chanot and Chardon did so. Leduc and Violet looked on stupidly, but not yet ready for any movement against their chief. Only Matteo had become intractable. He at least would not be done out of his prize by a handful of fine words. So Chanot should know. Matteo was in the house of the treasure, and he meant to have his fingers among the clinking pieces.
"Kill, man, kill, or I shall kill!"
Chanot looked about apprehensively. Surely this time they must have heard. But my father continued his talk upon the early art of Provence and from her end of the table Alida placidly listened, all her thoughts intent on the speaker.
Matteo rose unsteadily and stumbled towards her. She sat back in her chair with a gesture of fear. For the big hairy hands of the Arquàn were groping to seize her.
"Oh, take him away," she cried, turning to Chanot as the leader, perhaps also because of the human qualities she had seen in his eyes-not exactly good, but with the capacity for good.
"I shall take the donzella!" cried Matteo, and caught her about the neck. Linn was beside her in a moment, but even her powerful hands could not disengage that hairy clutch. The fierce visage frothing at the lips was close to Alida's face. She moved her head this way and that.
"Save me-save me!" she cried out in an agony of fear.
"Kill-kill-lay out the others-take your gold-the gold I found for you-the girl for me!"
All were now on their feet. Chardon was watching his chief. Chanot's face was pale as wood ash, but there was on it a kind of joy-the strength of a new resolve.
"To the door-Leduc, and you, Violet," he ordered, "wait for me outside. I have something which will satisfy you!"
The men moved uncertainly away. Things were turning out strangely. Was Chanot turning traitor? If so-they would see. But the power of the stronger will was upon them, and they were soon in the garden. They came out on a dark, shadowy world, in which all things seemed of the same colour, but scented of flowers and the full bloom of the tilleul, the bee-haunted lime tree of the south.
Above them they heard the irregular rattle of musketry, and the din of combat. A fierce light beat upon the tree-tops at intervals. No fire could pierce like that. The gleam was far too steady. It looked like the beam of an electric arc-lamp, but how could the Jesuit professors of St. André have come into possession of such a thing?
Within the house of Gobelet they heard the voice of Matteo uplifted.