He himself had never felt so calm.  The only thing he could regret was that he was alone.  Half a dozen men now, and this impudent foe could indeed be brought to his knees.  And this time there would be no risks taken, no chances for escape.  Somehow it seemed to Chauvelin as if something of the Scarlet Pimpernel’s audacity and foresight had gone from him.  As he stood there, looking broad and physically powerful, there was something wavering and undecided in his attitude, as if the edge had been taken off his former recklessness and enthusiasm.  He had brought the compromising papers here, had no doubt helped the Montorgueils to escape; but while Lucile Clamette and her family were under the eye of Lebel no amount of impudence could force a successful bargaining.

It was Chauvelin now who appeared the more keen and the more alert; the Englishman seemed undecided what to do next, remained silent, toying with the pistol.  He even smothered a yawn.  Chauvelin saw his opportunity.  With the quick movement of a cat pouncing upon a mouse he stooped and seized that packet of papers, would then and there have made a dash for the door with them, only that, as he seized the packet, the string which held it together gave way and the papers were scattered all over the floor.

Receipts for money?  Compromising letters?  No!  Blank sheets of paper, all of them—­all except the one which had lain tantalisingly on the top:  the one receipt signed by citizen Heriot.  Sir Percy laughed lightly: 

“Did you really think, my good friend,” he said, “that I would be such a demmed fool as to place my best weapon so readily to your hand?”

“Your best weapon, Sir Percy!” retorted Chauvelin, with a sneer.  “What use is it to you while we hold Lucile Clamette?”

“While I hold Lucile Clamette, you mean, my dear Monsieur Chambertin,” riposted Blakeney with elaborate blandness.

“You hold Lucile Clamette?  Bah!  I defy you to drag a whole family like that out of our clutches.  The man a cripple, the children helpless!  And you think they can escape our vigilance when all our men are warned!  How do you think they are going to get across the river, Sir Percy, when every bridge is closely watched?  How will they get across Paris, when at every gate our men are on the look-out for them?”

“They can’t do it, my dear Monsieur Chambertin,” rejoined Sir Percy blandly, “else I were not here.”

Then, as Chauvelin, fuming, irritated despite himself, as he always was when he encountered that impudent Englishman, shrugged his shoulders in token of contempt, Blakeney’s powerful grasp suddenly clutched his arm.