.

"Nay, Monsieur Chaubertin," said Sir Percy gaily, "but this is
marvellous... demmed marvellous... do you hear that, m'dear?...
Gadzooks! but 'tis the best joke I have heard this past
twelve-months.... Monsieur here thinks... Lud! but I shall die of
laughing.... Monsieur here thinks... that 'twas that demmed letter which
went to Paris... and that an English gentleman lay scuffling on the
floor and allowed a letter to be filched from him..."

"Sir Percy!..." gasped Chauvelin, as an awful thought seemed suddenly to
flash across his fevered brain.

"Lud, sir, you are astonishing!" said Sir Percy, taking a very much
crumpled sheet of paper from the capacious pocket of his elegant caped
coat, and holding it close to Chauvelin's horror-stricken gaze. "THIS is
the letter which I wrote at that table yonder in order to gain time and
in order to fool you.... But, by the Lord, you are a bigger demmed fool
than ever I took you to be, if you thought it would serve any other
purpose save that of my hitting you in the face with it."

And with a quick and violent gesture he struck Chauvelin full in the
face with the paper.

"You would like to know, Monsieur Chaubertin, would you not?..." he
added pleasantly, "what letter it is that your friend, Citizen Collot,
is taking in such hot haste to Paris for you.... Well! the letter is
not long and 'tis written in verse.... I wrote it myself upstairs to-day
whilst you thought me sodden with brandy and three-parts asleep. But
brandy is easily flung out of the window.... Did you think I drank it
all?... Nay! as you remember, I told you that I was not so drunk as you
thought?... Aye! the letter is writ in English verse, Monsieur, and it
reads thus:

"We seek him here! we seek him there! Those Frenchies seek him
everywhere! Is he in heaven? is he in hell? That demmed elusive
Pimpernel?

"A neat rhyme, I fancy, Monsieur, and one which will, if rightly
translated, greatly please your friend and ruler, Citizen
Robespierre.... Your colleague Citizen Collot is well on his way to
Paris with it by now. ... No, no, Monsieur... as you rightly said just
now... I really could not kill you... God having blessed me with the
saving sense of humour..."

Even as he spoke the third Ave Maria of the Angelus died away on the
morning air. From the harbour the old Chateau there came the loud boom
of cannon.

The hour of the opening of the gates, of the general amnesty and free
harbour was announced thro