brought to Paris, formally tried on a charge of
conspiring against the Republic and guillotined as English spies, but
Boulogne shall have the greater glory and shall reap the first and
richest reward.

And armed with the magnanimous proclamation, the orders for general
rejoicings and a grand local fete, armed also with any and every power
over the entire city, its municipality, its garrisons, its forts, for
himself and his colleague Chauvelin, Citizen Collot d'Herbois starts for
Boulogne forthwith.

Needless to tell him not to let the grass grow under his horse's
hoofs. The capture of the Scarlet Pimpernel, though not absolutely an
accomplished fact, is nevertheless a practical certainty, and no one
rejoices over this great event more than the man who is to be present
and see all the fun.

Riding and driving, getting what relays of horses or waggons from
roadside farms that he can, Collot is not likely to waste much time on
the way.

It is 157 miles to Boulogne by road, and Collot, burning with ambition
to be in at the death, rides or drives as no messenger of good tidings
has ever ridden or driven before.

He does not stop to eat, but munches chunks of bread and cheese in the
recess of the lumbering chaise or waggon that bears him along whenever
his limbs refuse him service and he cannot mount a horse.

The chronicles tell us that twenty-four hours after he left Paris,
half-dazed with fatigue, but ferocious and eager still, he is borne
to the gates of Boulogne by an old cart horse requisitioned from some
distant farm, and which falls down, dead, at the Porte Gayole, whilst
its rider, with a last effort, loudly clamours for admittance into the
town "in the name of the Republic."

Chapter XXI: Suspense

In his memorable interview with Robespierre, the day before he left for
England, Chauvelin had asked that absolute power be given him, in
order that he might carry out the plans for the capture of the Scarlet
Pimpernel, which he had in his mind. Now that he was back in France he
had no cause to complain that the revolutionary government had grudged
him this power for which he had asked.

Implicit obedience had followed whenever he had commanded.

As soon as he heard that a woman had been arrested in the act of
uttering a passport in the name of Celine Dumont, he guessed at once
that Marguerite Blakeney had, with characteristic impulse, fallen into
the trap which, with the aid of the woman Candeille