THE AWAKENING
La Boulaye awakened betimes next morning. It may be that the matter on his mind and the business that was toward aroused him; certainly it was none of the sounds that are common to an inn at early morn, for the place was as silent as a tomb.
Some seconds he remained on his back, staring at the whitewashed ceiling and listening to the patter of the rain against his window.
Then, as his mind gathered up the threads of recollection, he leapt from his bed and made haste to assume a garment or two.
He stood a moment at his casement, looking out into the empty courtyard. From a leaden sky the rain was descending in sheets, and the gargoyle at the end of the eaves overhead was discharging a steady column of water into the yard. Caron shivered with the cold of that gloomy February morning, and turned away from the window.
A few moments later he was in Tardivet's bedchamber, vigorously shaking the sleeping Captain.
"Up, Charlot! Awake!" he roared in the man's ear.
"What o'clock?" he asked with a yawn. Then a sudden groan escaped him, and he put his hand to his head. "Thousand devils!" he swore, "what a headache!"
But La Boulaye was not there on any mission of sympathy, nor did he waste words in conveying his news.
"The coach is gone,"he announced emphatically.
"Coach? What coach?" asked the Captain, knitting his brows.
"What coach?" echoed La Boulaye testily. "How many coaches were there? Why, the Bellecour coach; the coach with the treasure."
At that Charlot grew very wide-awake. He forgot his headache and his interest in the time of day.
"Gone?" he bellowed. "How gone? Pardieu, it is not possible!"
"Look for yourself,"was La Boulaye's answer as he waved his hand in the direction of the window. "I don't know what manner of watch your men can have kept that such a thing should have come about.
Probably, knowing you ill a-bed, they abused the occasion by getting drunk, and probably they are still sleeping it off. The place is silent enough."
But Tardivet scarcely heard him. From his window he was staring into the yard below, too thunderstruck by its emptiness to even have recourse to profanity. Stable door and porte-cochere alike stood open. He turned suddenly and made for his coat. Seizing it, he thrust his hand in one pocket after another. At last:
"Treachery!" he cried, and letting the garment fall to the ground, he turned upon La Boulaye a face so transfigured by anger that it looked little like the usually good-humoured countenance of Captain Tardivet "My keys have been stolen. By St. Guillotine, I'll have the thief hanged."
"Did anybody know that the keys were in your pocket?" asked the ingenuous Caron.
"I told you last night."
"Yes, yes; I remember that. But did anybody else know?"
"The ostler knew. He saw me lock the doors."
"Why, then, let us find the ostler," urged Caron. "Put on some clothes and we will go below."
Mechanically Charlot obeyed him, and as he did so he gave his feelings vent at last. From between set teeth came now a flow of oaths and imprecations as steady as the flow of water from the gargoyle overhead.
At last they hastened down the stairs together, and in the common-room they found the sleeping company much as La Boulaye had left it the night before. In an access of rage at what he saw, and at the ample evidences of the debauch that had reduced them to this condition, Charlot began by kicking the chair from under Mother Capoulade. The noise of her fall and the scream with which she awoke served to arouse one or two others, who lifted their heads to gaze stupidly about them.
But Charlot was busy stirring the other slumberers. He had found a whip, and with this he was now laying vigorously about him.
"Up, you swine!" he blazed at them. "Afoot, you drunken scum!"
His whip cracked, and his imprecations rang high and lurid. And La Boulaye assisted him in his labours with kicks and cuffs and a tongue no less vituperative.
At last they were on their feet - a pale, bewildered, shamefaced company - receiving from the infuriated Charlot the news that whilst they had indulged themselves in their drunken slumbers their prisoners had escaped and carried off the treasure with them. The news was received with a groan of dismay, and several turned to the door to ascertain for themselves whether it was indeed exact.
The dreary emptiness of the rain-washed yard afforded them more than ample confirmation.
"Where is your pig of an ostler, Mother Capoulade?" demanded the angry Captain.
Quivering with terror, she answered him that the rascal should be in the shed by the stables, where it was his wont to sleep. Out into the rain, despite the scantiness of his attire, went Charlot, followed closely by La Boulaye and one or two stragglers. The shed proved empty, as Caron could have told him - and so, too, did the stables. Here, at the spot where Madame de Bellecour's coachman had been left bound, the Captain turned to La Boulaye and those others that had followed him.
"It is the ostler's work," he announced. "There was knavery and treachery writ large upon his ugly face. I always felt it, and this business proves how correct were my instincts. The rogue was bribed when he discovered how things were with you, you greasy sots. But you, La Boulaye," he cried suddenly, "were you drunk, too?"
"Not I," answered the Deputy.
"Then, name of a name, how came that lumbering coach to leave the yard without awakening you?"
"You ask me to explain too much," was La Boulaye's cool evasion.
"I have always accounted myself a light sleeper, and I could not have believed that such a thing could really have taken place without disturbing me. But the fact remains that the coach has gone, and I think that instead of standing here in idle speculation as to how it went, you might find more profitable employment in considering how it is to brought back again. It cannot have gone very far."
If any ray of suspicion had begun to glimmer in Charlot's brain, that suggestion of La Boulaye's was enough to utterly extinguish it.
