“Bloodthirsty little savage, aren’t you?” Finn said. “Who gave you the fifty francs?”
“I do not know his name,” said Jean. “He called himself the Scarlet Pimpernel.” Suddenly, the boy looked alarmed and he clapped his hand to his waist, his bravado gone for the moment.
“We didn’t take your money,” Finn said.
“It is for my brother and myself,” said Jean, submissively. “Please, monsieur, Pierre and I have not eaten for days.”
“Where are your parents?” Lucas said.
“Dead.”
“And your brother?”
“I will not tell you! You can kill me, but I will not tell you where Pierre is!”
“Relax,” said Finn. “We’re not interested in you or your brother. I want to know about the man who gave you that money.”
“There is not much that I can tell you, monsieur.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” said Finn. “What did he look like?”
“About his size,” said Jean, indicating Lucas with a jerk of his head. “Not thin, not heavy. Dark hair, dark eyes, a moustache like so,” he said, indicating by pantomime a generous handlebar moustache. “Thick eyebrows meeting in the center of his forehead. He was dressed like a gentleman and he favored his left side, as though he were injured there.”
“No beard?” said Lucas.
Jean shook his head.
“The kid’s got sharp eyes,” said Finn. “It was him, all right. The hair was probably a disguise, but that injured side is where I got him with the sword cane. Go on,” he said to Jean.
“There is not much more to tell,” said Jean. “I met him yesterday. I tried to pick his pocket and he caught me. He said that he would let me go and give me fifty francs as well if I was not afraid. He said that I could either lose my head for being a thief or do as he said and make some money.” Jean shrugged. “The choice was simple. He took me up to that room where you found me. The man inside was asleep upon the bed. He struck this man, knocking him senseless, then bound and gagged him. He then took out some pistols and asked me if I knew how to shoot them. I told him that I did not. He showed me how and then I watched him load the pistols. He told me to wait in that room until the next day, when the Marquis de Leforte would be brought past the house on his way to the guillotine. He laid the pistols out and told me to shoot out the window and to aim high so that I would not hit the marquis. He said that the soldiers would come and that I was to hide beneath the bed, leaving the pistols out upon the floor. They would see the man tied up on the bed, think that the one who shot the pistols escaped, and not bother to look for a small boy. He said that if I did well, he would find me again and give me more money.”
“But the man inside the room was dead,” said Lucas.
“Yes, I killed him,” said Jean.
“You killed him? Why?”
“It was a good plan, but I thought of a better one,” said Jean. “If I shot high, then the soldiers would come into the room, looking for me. They would have untied that man and questioned him. They might have found me beneath the bed. I decided to try to kill the soldiers or as many of them as I could. I aimed very carefully,” he said with pride. “I made it easier for him. This way perhaps he will give me more money if I see him again. I killed the man inside the room because then I could say he was my father. A dead man cannot be questioned and no one would bother with a small boy, crying for his father.”
Finn glanced at Lucas. “Can you believe this?” he said. “This kid is diabolical. He never shot a gun before and he picked off those soldiers like a pro.”
“I should not have kept those pistols,” Jean said, morosely. “You would not have caught me, then. That was my one mistake.”
“Incredible,” said Fitzroy. “Absolutely incredible. The boy’s a born cold-blooded killer. Look at him! No trace of remorse!”
“And why should I care about them?” shouted Jean. “They are all the same! My father was run down in the street by an aristo in his coach! My mother died of hunger, giving my brother and me what little morsels she could find! Pierre and I roamed the streets like dogs, picking through the garbage. I am not sorry for what I have done and I never shall be!”
“Well, Delaney, you brought him here, now what are we supposed to do with him?” said Fitzroy.
“Hell, let him go,” said Finn. “What else can we do?”
“You are Finn Delaney?” Jean said.
Finn glanced at the boy, then at Lucas. “Well, if we had any doubts about who hired this kid, that takes care of them. Yes, I’m Finn Delaney. He gave you a message for me, didn’t he?”
“He said that if I met a man named Finn Delaney or one named Lucas Priest, I was to give him this,” said Jean, producing a folded up piece of paper.
Finn unfolded the note and read it aloud. “The marquis will be delivered to the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel in Boulogne-sur-Mer. No one will be the wiser, except yourselves. That’s one for me. The game continues. Tell Cobra he’s out of his league.”