quickly as might be. No one was to take any risks this time; there must
be no question either of discrediting his famous League or of obtaining
other more valuable information out of him. Such methods had proved
disastrous in the past.

There were no safe Englishmen these days, except the dead ones, and it
would not take citizen Fouquier-Tinville much thought or time to frame
an indictment against the notorious Scarlet Pimpernel, which would do
away with the necessity of a prolonged trial. The revolutionary
government was at war with England now, and short work could be made of
all poisonous spies.

By order, therefore, of the Committee of Public Safety, the prisoner,
Paul Mole, was taken out of the cells of the depot and conveyed in a
closed carriage to the Abbaye prison. Chauvelin had the pleasure of
watching this gratifying spectacle from the windows of the Commissariat.
When he saw the closed carriage drive away, with Hebert and two men
inside and two others on the box, he turned to citizen Commissary
Cuisinier with a sigh of intense satisfaction.

"There goes the most dangerous enemy our glorious revolution has had,"
he said, with an accent of triumph which he did not attempt to disguise.

Cuisinier shrugged his shoulders.

"Possibly," he retorted curtly. "He did not seem to me to be very
dangerous and his papers were quite in order."

To this assertion Chauvelin made no reply. Indeed, how could he explain
to this stolid official the subtle workings of an intriguing brain? Had