"Oui. Il est un monstre."
"So I understand," Dare muttered, agreeing that Caliban was a monster.
"I did not want to kill anyone," the baron whimpered. He gazed up at Lord Castlereagh through streaming eyes. "Forgive me, please, forgive me. Je suis desole.…" His face suddenly crumpled in agony. "Je sais... you cannot save my daughter."
He bowed his head and began to weep brokenly, hopelessly, his face in his hands.
Castlereagh drew Dare aside to ask what had happened.
"I suspect," Dare answered, "that Caliban sent this wretch in his place because he knew we were watching him."
"Is it Perrine, do you think?"
"Undoubtedly. But we still must prove it."
Castlereagh frowned down at the sobbing man. "The poor sod. He didn't stand a chance against Caliban. I would imagine his daughter is dead."
Dare nodded grimly, but his mind had already shifted to Julienne. Glancing up, he searched the gallery above, expecting to see her. Perhaps she w
as making her way down to the lower floor. Then again…
A stark foreboding gripped him. Was it possible Perrine had feared discovery and somehow taken her as leverage? Dear God.
He had to find Julienne at once. His interrogation had taken no more than two minutes…
Snapping out a harsh order, he told Castlereagh to deal with the baron's arrest. "And keep him safe. He can identify Caliban."
Not waiting for a reply, Dare snatched a musket from the hands of the nearest British soldier. "I need to borrow this, if you please."
Spinning on his heel, he practically ran from the room.
To his left was a stairway leading to the gallery. The stairs were empty but for an object lying near the bottom.
Needles of panic drove deep into his chest when he recognized the pistol he had given Julienne. The thought of her in Caliban's clutches made him wild with fear.
Frantically his gaze moved about the hall. He doubted Perrine would still be in the palace, and they might have taken any one of a dozen exits. Making an instant decision, Dare broke into a run, heading for the nearest door, which faced south.
Another object lay on the marble floor nearby. Julienne's reticule. They had passed this way, Dare was now certain. In fact she might have dropped it deliberately to give him a clue to follow.
He burst through the door, wincing at the bright sunlight, and nearly stumbled over two bodies.
The king's troops.
Lying in a pool of blood.
Both their throats slit.
The fear that tore through Dare was tangled up with fury and fierce self-recrimination. Cursing himself for having allowed Caliban to dupe him, for allowing Julienne to become exposed to such lethal danger, he sprinted across the lawns, through the gardens.
The crowds were thinner on this side of the palace. In front of him lay the River Seine and one of its many arched bridges-the Pont Royal. Beyond the stone quay he could see gaily decorated barges plying the river, along with several small sailing vessels.
If he were Perrine, he would have arranged a method of escape, Dare thought; perhaps more than one. He might have crossed the bridge and disappeared in a closed carriage. Or he could have planned to leave by river, thinking no one would suspect that mode of transportation.
Dare ran to his right, along the upper level of the quay, perhaps a hundred yards past the bridge, seeing nothing suspicious in the milling crowds or on the lower level below him. Retracing his steps, he went east another hundred yards beyond the bridge-and saw exactly what he dreaded.
Twenty yards ahead, beside a skiff that was tied up at the quay, a man and woman struggled.
The sight made Dare's heart go ice cold. Perrine held a pistol to Julienne's head as she resisted getting in the small craft, while the boatman looked on uncertainly.