RGL e-Book Cover 2019©
RGL e-Book Cover 2019©
"The Turmoil," Ward, Lock & Co., London, 1915. Dust Jacket.
"The Turmoil," Ward, Lock & Co., London, 1915. Book Cover.
Chapters I, II and part of Chapter III this e- book were extracted from the issue of The Camperdown Chronicle, Victoria, NSW, Australia, published on 10 September 1914. The rest of the text was taken from the installments of "The Turmoil" published in The Newcastle Morning Herald and Miners' Advocate, NSW, from 23 January to 13 February 1915.
Ladbroke (Lionel Day) Black (1877-1940) was an English writer and journalist who also wrote under the pseudonym Paul Urquhart. His life and career are summarised in the following entry in Steve Holland's Bear Alley blog:
Black, born in Burley-in-Wharfdale, Yorkshire, on 21 June 1877, was educated in Ireland and at Cambridge where he earned a B.A. He became assistant editor of The Phoenix in 1897 before moving to London in 1899 where he joined The Morning Herald as assistant editor in 1900. He later became assistant editor of the Echo in 1901, joint editor of Today, 1904-05, and special writer on the Weekly Dispatch, 1905-11. After a forgettable first novel, "A Muddied Oaf" (1902), co-written with Francis Rutter, Black collaborated on the collection "The Mantle of the Emperor" (1906) with Robert Lynd, later literary editor of the News Chronicle. He then produced a series of novels in collaboration with [Thomas] Meech under the name Paul Urquhart, beginning with "The Eagles" (1906). Black also wrote for various magazines and newspapers, sometimes using the pen-name Lionel Day. His books ranged from romances to Sexton Blake detective yarns. His recreations included sports (boxing and rugby), reading and long walks. He lived in Wendover, Bucks, for many years and was Chairman of the Mid-Bucks Liberal Party in 1922-24. He died on 27 July 1940, aged 63, survived by his wife (Margaret, née Ambrose), two sons and two daughters."
A DIRTY wad of cotton waste pressed close between my teeth prevented me from giving expression to my feelings. To judge from the exceedingly unpleasant taste, I should say that before doing duty as a gag, this material had been used for some months to mop up oil in a machine-room. I had no palate for oils, however; I could not guarantee to distinguish whether the oleaginous fluid that exuded from tho waste and trickled down my throat, was vegetable or mineral. I know it was infernally disagreeable.
Fortunately, I had retained my eyeglass throughout the ridiculously brief struggle with the five masked brigands. It enabled me to preserve some shred of self-respect. The very concentration of the muscles necessary to keep it in my eye helped me to retain that look of dignified calm which becomes a gentleman who is about to shake hands with death.
I am not certain whether death is symbolised by an old gentleman with a scythe and one of those implements for gauging to a nicety the boiling of an egg, or by a skeleton with an unpleasant grin. But whichever is technically correct, it seemed we were undoubtedly going to be better acquainted before long. One of the five brigands was for placing us on intimate terms there and then, but the leader, who looked least like an undesirable alien, was too interested in extricating some barrels from underneath the hearthstone of the hut to fix definitely the time for my departure from the world of the quick.
"Take the girl," he said in excellent French, "and let's get these barrels on board. We can settle with monsieur afterwards."
As I lay there, trussed up like a corn sack, squinting to the best of my ability to catch sight of all that was going on, I could not bring my mind to regard the affair seriously. The whole incident appeared to be altogether too romantic and unprosaic for the twentieth century. Even the cords that bit most abominably into my wrists failed to convince me that there was anything real about the situation. I lay there like a man who is waiting, in a state of semi-consciousness, to wake up from a nightmare.
Here was I, Hugh Purcell, fourteenth and youngest son of Lord Loughmore—for generations the members of the families of successive Purcells have always been in inverse proportion to their incomes—one of the officials in the Boot Department of the War Office, about to be done to death in a very dirty ramshackle hut in a lonely spot on the Essex coastline, by a party of French brigands, who had come there, the Lord knows how and the Lord knows why. It was a climax to a not unamusing day, which I could not bring myself to regard as having any part with actuality.
I had motored down from London that morning to assist in inaugurating one of the County Associations under the very newest of the Army Bills. I had made myself pleasant to mayors and volunteer colonels, impressing them with the fact that in the hour of trial England would have to look to them for support in the face of a foreign invader, and England, I added. I was sure would not look in vain. The beauty of dealing with the whole race en masse as a sort of separate entity. Is that you can ascribe to it—or is it her?—any sentiment you please. I don't really suppose that England will ever look to the mayors and volunteer colonels I had to ingratiate that day in the hour of her trial. Matters will have got to a pretty crisis if she does.
I believe I did what was required of me to the satisfaction of everybody. Several fat and pompous aldermen introduced me to their wives as the 'Onorable 'Ugh Purcell, and seemed to regard me as somebody even more important than the Major-General of the county. The function was a complete success. We worked up a tremendous enthusiasm on a lot of copybook patriotic sentiments and champagne, and a certain distinguished statesman was good enough to congratulate me on the part I played in the affair. I was glad when it was all over and I was able to get into my car and start for London.
I took the road by the sea, intending after a thirty-mile run to turn inland and so make London; but owing to a heavy sea fret that came up from the German Ocean and the darkness, for it was close upon midnight, I missed my way. The road was so narrow that I didn't care to turn back, but felt my way onward at about twelve miles an hour. Every moment the fog seemed to grow denser, and I was expecting every second to run myself into the sea which moaned drearily on my left, when the worst happened—my car, suddenly and unexpectedly, broke down.
I got out and stood in the road in the fog and said some very sharp things about the maker of my car, and George Lake, my chauffeur, valet and handyman, and, incidentally, my friend, who saved my life in South Africa. Had Lake been there he would have said something brief and to the point in broad Yorkshire, and then proceeded to make magic with a spanner, and in two minutes tho car would have been all right; but I had left Lake at home purposely, so that he might hear the band from his old village in the West Riding win the National Band Contest at the Crystal Palace. None the less, I cursed him for not being there. I knew he wouldn't mind, and it did my feedings good.
Taking one of the lamps, I proceeded to make an examination of the engine, and not finding anything wrong on top I laid myself on my back in the road and began trying to put things right at the bottom of the car. It was while I was in this horribly uncomfortable position that I heard above the moaning of the sea a voice coming down the road, crying louder every moment, "Help, help!" and the quick patter of feet I extricated myself as speedily as possible, and seizing the lamp, peered up the road.
The voice and the patter of feet came nearer and nearer, and I heard the Bound of somebody breathing hard, and then, where the broad beam of light from my acetylene lamp pierced the fog, I saw, running towards me, the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my life. I forget what she was dressed in, but I could tell you every detail of her head and face, from the glorious mass of black hair, all bedewed with fog-diamonds, the dark, lustrous eyes, the small shell-like-ears, the little refined nose, the red, tremulous lips and the delicately-moulded chin. She was divinely beautiful, and seeing her then as I saw her, her cheeks all rosy red with running, she looked like the spirit of some land where the sun always shines who had blundered through misfortune into the territory of King Fog.
The glare of the light brought her to a sudden standstill. She raised her hands to her eyes, dazzled and blinking. I put the lamp promptly on the ground, directing Its beams seawards.
"What is the matter?" I said, stepping forward.
She stretched out her hands imploringly, and as I looked into her face, tense with emotion, my heart, to use the language of the East, melted within me.
"Oh, come, sir, they are murdering grandpa! Please come." Her voice was soft and musical, and when she put out her little hand and clutched me by the arm, I felt I would have followed her unquestionably into the jaws of hell, so completely had the spell of her beauty enchanted we.
"Who are you?" I said, turning away my face, and seizing the heaviest spanner from my box of tools.
"I'm Joan, sir," she said, simply, "and grandpapa's 'old Dummy.' And five men are trying to kill him. On, please come quickly!"
I did not consider her brief outline of the persons of the tragedy, if tragedy it was, particularly lucid. But there was clearly not time for longer explanations. Seeing me armed she turned without more ado and began running back again up the road. I followed by her side,
A little wind had sprung up. The fog began to lift from off the land, and through the thin, gauze-like vapour that remained, a young wraith of a moon and a few friendly stars looked down. We must have run for about a quarter of a mile before she stopped. She put her finger to her lips. "Ssh!" she said. "They are there."
About a hundred yards away, a little way off the road, standing among the dreary waste of sand dunes and serge, I saw a miserable-looking hovel, built partly of stone and partly of wood, and hacked together, so it seemed, with the flotsam and jetsam of the shore. Through a dull, wretched window a little light twinkled.
"How many are there?" I whispered.
"Five," she answered. I re-adjusted my eye-glass, which had dropped during our run, and otherwise tried to pull myself together for what lay before me. Clearly, I was in for something very unpleasant, and wished more than ever that George Lake was with me. (He is certainly the handiest man in a scrap I have ever met.) But I didn't stop to consider how the girl could expect me to cope with five men, for I have always found that considerations of that sort are apt to hamper one's powers of action.
"We had better get on!" I said, assuming a business-like tone of voice.
Our feet making no sound on the sand, we crept slowly towards, the hut. As we drew near we could hear a sound of pickaxes tearing at hardened clay. I stepped up to the window and peered through.
Five villainous-looking men in blue shirts, and ill-fitting dark trousers, were collected round the large hearth that stood one side of the miserably furnished room. Two of them were wielding pickaxes, two others stood aside with shovels waiting their turn. The fifth man, to judge from the way he directed the work, seemed to be in command. My eyes-shifted from this little group to a figure lying on the ground behind the men.
I am not easily upset, but what I saw there shook me not a little. The figure was that of a very old man, past ninety, I should say, all withered and emaciated. He lay on his back with his eyes open, his arms stretched out stiff by his side, the fingers turned in as if clutching at the floor. On the top of his absolutely hairless head, blood trickled slowly from a ghastly wound, or had been trickling, I should say, for the man was clearly dead. It was not so much the blood that had flowed over his withered checks and run in crimson rivulets over his eyes and ears that appalled me; in South Africa I had seen many such sights, but it was his mouth that shook me. It was wide open, the lower jaw had sunk upon his chest. In the dim light I could see that the man had only the stump of a tongue, the rest had been torn off by the roots. It was unspeakably horrible.
I felt a movement by my side, and I turned quickly with the thought of shutting out the appalling sight from the girl. But she had seen the dead figure before I could stop her. She gave a little scream, and throwing all caution to the winds, rushed into the hut, and throwing herself down by the side of the dead body, kissing the face of the corpse, and crying out wildly, "Grandpapa, grandpapa!"
Instinctively I followed her. As I entered the room the five men turned. I stopped in the doorway.
"What does this mean?" I asked in my most commanding voice. I hoped by assuming an authoritative tone to perhaps awe the men into at least running away. It was a mad idea. They had their answer ready, and a very plain and decided answer it was. Three of them rushed straight at me without a word, one with a pick, the other two with shovels clubbed ready to brain me.
I stepped back out of the doorway into the open air to meet the onset of the first. His pick just missed my foot, and as he stumbled I caught him a welt with the spanner, which stretched him out senseless. Before I could use my weapon again, the second man, dropping his shovel, closed with me, slinging his arms round my waist. He knew nothing, not even the rudiments of wrestling, and in a second. I had him down on the floor.
Two of them were accounted for, and I was beginning to pluck up hope that I might be able, after all, to deal with the whole five, when I made a foolish mistake. I had forgotten the man I had laid out with the spanner. As I threw his companion he recovered himself sufficiently to put out a hand and seize me by the ankle. I stumbled over his leg and just managed to catch hold of the two sides of the doorway to prevent myself from falling full length.
While I was in this absurd position the third, man flung himself on me, and the man I had taken for the leader of the gang helped him. Between the four of them I was soon lying in the uncomfortable position I have already described, partaking unwillingly of all sorts of oily fluids.
The girl who called herself Joan. I saw to my dismay and alarm, had been treated in identically the same.
It was only after they had unearthed two barrels from below the hearth that they fell to discussing my fate. When the leader gave orders for the girl and the barrels to be taken on board, and announced that my departure from the world was to be delayed until the task had been accomplished, I felt strangely annoyed, instead of being glad, at this reprieve. The leader himself seized Joan, and lifting her, in spite of her struggles, carried her through the door. The four remaining men rolled the barrels out meeting me as they passed, and telling me pleasantly that they would not be long before they returned. In another moment I was left alone on the floor of the but, with only that ghastly corpse as a companion.
I tried my best to wriggle out of my bonds before the man should return, but my exertions only tended to tighten the cords which bound my wrists and arms, and so painful did the tension at last become that I desisted, and lay still.
A quarter of an hour must have elapsed before I heard, by the dulled plunging sound of their footsteps in the sand, the men returning. I tried to prepare myself for death according to the generally accepted plan. That is to say, I started making a sort of credit and debit account of my good and bad deeds. Had I continued this task I should have found, as we always find, I suppose, that my liabilities, or evil deeds, far exceeded my assets, or good deeds. I should have then made my petition to the Supreme Maker in Moral Bankruptcy, and so, awaiting Settling Day, have made ready for the business of dying.
I have yet to make this decent ending that I have pictured, for even as I heard the men come within a few yards of the house, one of them gave a little cry and the sound of their footsteps ceased.
"Look, look!" a voice exclaimed in French. "There, are two lights. They are coming from the village. We must run for it."
Clearly they turned incontinently and raced for the shore, for I heard their footsteps dying away in the distance. The lights of my motor car had saved me.
I LAY awake heroically for a matter of six hours, until the moonlight faded outside and a silver greyness began to spread Itself upon the little patch of sky that I could see from the window towards the south-east Then, In spite of the cramping discomforts, of my position, and the poor old gentleman's horribly mutilated remains by my side, I must have fallen into a doze.
At any rate, the next thing I recollected was a blow on the face, and I was looking up startled to see the sun streaming through the window in front of me. From outside I could hear the sound of a man's breathing, and on looking round to discover what had hit me. I saw a small pebble lying just by my shoulder, partly wrapped up in a twisted bit of paper. By jerking my body, I managed to bring the bit of paper on a level with my cheek, and by rubbing the little packet to shake the pebble out. There was something written on it in pencil, and by dint of squinting I managed to make out the following words:
Shud I begin walkin' out with Maria Thacker too of muther's eggs on the raintub.
Jos. Mudstone.
If I hadn't been so infernally uncomfortable—if those
confounded cords hadn't bitten their way into my flesh, and if,
moreover, my mouth hadn't been chock full of cotton waste, I
would have laughed. I couldn't help thinking of the son in the
parable who asked for bread and received a stone. Here was I in
desperate need of being released, in one of the most unpleasant
predicaments in which a man could very well be, having passed the
last eight hours, partly in the company of five murderous-looking
ruffians, and the whole time alongside a corpse, with my arms
strapped firmly behind my back, my legs bound together from the
hips downwards, and a clout over my mouth, and after having
endured the situation for eight hours, I was called upon to
settle there and then whether a gentleman of the name of Joe
Mudstone should walk out with a lady of the name of Maria
Thacker! And there was Joe Mudstone himself waiting for his
answer outside, for I could hear him snorting bashfully round the
corner of the window.
I made an effort to attract his attention, emitting through my nose some of the most heart-moving noises. At first Joe Mudstone took no notice, perhaps thinking that these inhuman sounds were inseparable from a proper consideration of the problem he had just enunciated. But after five minutes. I suppose it must have dawned upon him that even in settling such an important question as his future relations with Maria Thacker it was not necessary to give vent, to such smothered, painful sounds. At any rate. I saw a blushing, sunburnt face look shyly through the corner pane of glass. It would have been withdrawn again quickly had I not redoubled my grunts. I could see by the yokel's eyes that he suddenly realised that something was wrong, for his curiosity getting the better of his timidity, he had soon occasioned a complete eclipse of the daylight by pressing his moon-like face against the glass. I heard him give a little grunt of horror as- he took in the scene.
Then, in another moment be had burst in at the side door, and, kneeling down at my side, was busy cutting my bonds with a great jack knife. I was so stiff that I could hardly stand, and I had to have Joe Mudstone's assistance before I could stagger to the only chair that the room possessed. My jaw ached co when I removed the padding from between my teeth that I hesitated to speak. Joe Mudstone was clearly a reticent person, for he never uttered a single word till he had satisfied himself that the old gentleman on the floor was quite dead. Then he turned to me and said in a heavy Essex drawl—
"Oo's been a-murderin' old Dummy?"
The way he put it made it sound as if it was possible to murder the old gentleman more than once.
"The same people who bound and gagged me last night and left me like you found me just now," I contented myself with replying.
He scratched his head. "Be they anybody you know, sir?"
I replied In the negative and then anticipated the rest of his question by reciting to him the whole story of my adventure.
"They took Miss Joan along with them, too?" he said when I had finished.
The mention of the girl's name brought back to me that beautiful vision I had seen in the fog, and I suddenly felt very angry and disgusted with myself at the thought that this girl, the simple sight of whose face had bewitched me, had called upon my help in vain.
"I tried to stop them, but I could not," I said wearily. "They were one too many for me. But if these scoundrels are to be caught we must go and warn the police."
I rose to my feet and began to walk clumsily towards the door. Joe Mudstone gave me a friendly arm for the first few yards, and then the proper use of my muscles and limbs came back to me.
The village, so Mudstone told me, lay a mile and a half away—Castle Effingham, he called it—and during the course of our walk there he recounted to me the little he knew of the strange old man and the beautiful girl.
About twenty years before a foreign gentleman had come to the village with a little girl of four years old. He brought a great quantity of luggage with him, and seemed at first to be a man of affluence. Who he was or where he came from no one knew. It was impossible to elicit any information from him by ordinary questions, for he was not only stone deaf but also dumb, his tongue having been cut off in some mysterious way at the roots. Through the vicar of Castle Effingham he secured the cottage we had just left, a place that had long been considered unfit for human habitation. The arrangements were carried on by letter, and though both the vicar and the owner of the cottage did their best to persuade the old man from what they looked upon as his madness, they found him so determined that they at last allowed him to have his way.
The child, at first could only speak French; and by the time she had picked up enough English, to answer questions, all she could recollect of her past life was that papa was dead, and that grandpapa had brought her from a beautiful place across the sea. Inquiries were made privately, but from no source could, any information be obtained as to the identity of this strange couple. As the old gentleman had no name, the country people, with that knack of fastening upon a man's infirmities, had christened him "Old Dummy."
From all Joe Mudstone could tell me, "Old Dummy" must have been an exceedingly eccentric person. It appeared that though content to live in the miserable hovel I had just quitted, he was most particular about the comforts and appearance of his granddaughter. Joan was always dressed well and neatly, her clothes coming from London. Though apparently poverty-stricken, her grandfather insisted upon her being treated with the utmost respect, and grew almost demented if he detected any sign of familiarity on the part of the villagers. From what Mudstone had heard, even the girl's bedroom in the hut was furnished with an elaborate care and a degree of luxurious comfort not to be expected In such a place.
"Old Dummy's" eccentricities, and probably his infirmities as well, earned for him in the course of time the reputation of a "wise man," and reputation which he seemed to have done nothing to discourage. Villagers came to consult him first about their cattle, writing their questions on slips of paper, which they threw In through the window. The replies were delivered in a similar way, a scrap of paper in "Old Dummy's" handwriting suddenly making its appearance through the window.
Finally, it came about that he was consulted on everything, and was regarded as an oracle on love, courtship and marriage. He established such a reputation for wisdom that the country people for miles round flocked to the hut to consult him, and even visitors sought him out from curiosity. Payment for his oracles was made mostly in kind, but now and again some money was slipped under the doorway.
Joan, at the age of eleven, had been sent away to school, where she bad remained until she was eighteen, when she had returned to look after her grandfather, and had taken up her position in the miserable hut without any reluctance.
She was adored in the village, and was regarded not only as a prodigy of beauty and learning, but as a kindly, sympathetic soul who was always ready to help the sick and suffering, no matter at what personal inconvenience. She had learnt some of the elements of nursing in her school, and, on her return, had made herself nurse to the whole neighbourhood, giving all her services for nothing, and never sparing herself In the performance of her self-imposed tasks.
Joe Mudstone told me much more of the girl, of the cases she had treated, of the bravery she had shown when typhoid swept through the village, and, indeed, set the girl who had bewitched me in such an atmosphere of charming womanly grace and saintly heroism, that the spell she had cast upon me became intensified.
When we finally reached the village the news we brought created an Immense sensation.
The usual proceedings were taken. An inquest was held, and, on my evidence, a verdict of wilful murder was recorded against five unknown men who had landed on the coast from a boat. Rewards were offered for the detection of the criminals; inquiries were made in France. No one answering to the description of the five masked foreigners and Joan could be discovered anywhere. They had disappeared absolutely and completely.
I was glad when it was all over, and I was free to return with my car to town. Before leaving Castle Effingham I crushed a five- pound note into Joe Mudstone's hand for the services he had rendered me, impressing upon him as my parting advice that he should most certainly walk out with Maria Thacker, who I had discovered was a most estimable young lady, employed in a domestic capacity at the "Load of Mischief," where I had put up.
I found several urgent and important letters awaiting me when I once more got back to my quarters in town, but before attending to them, before indeed breaking the envelopes, I had to recite to George Lake a full story of my doings. Among other things, George Lake is supposed to be my valet. We once tried the experiment of putting him in the black clothes suitable to his position, but he looked so much like a Yorkshire farmer dressed for church that we decided we had better go back to his original tweeds.
I never called George Lake my valet. He gave himself the title, but I always treat him as my most valued and intimate friend. We went out in the first body of Imperial Yeomanry to the war, and so struck up an acquaintance which developed rapidly.
Lake is a typical countryman, exceedingly well educated in practical science and mechanics. He stands about five-feet-ten, weighs fourteen stone, played football for a Yorkshire team, and got his international cap for England. He worked in a worsted- spinning mill in Bradford before the war broke out in some engineering capacity, and any workshop in Great Britain would be glad of his services.
Some pretentious people objected to our intimacy as ridiculous, and have not hesitated to say that I, as son of Lord Loughmore, should only have such relations with Lake as befit a master and a servant. Then, of course, they don't know Lake. To begin with, he saved my life in South Africa, and, moreover, we were fellow officers together. When, after eight months of running after De Wet, our troop found that there was nobody left to sit down in the Officers' Mess, the Colonel, having great faith in our little Company, said we might elect two officers for ourselves, and the "boys" thereupon promptly chose Lake and myself. And a man who has held Her Majesty's commission is good enough to associate with anybody, to my reckoning. At any rate, those who think themselves too superior to associate with Lake need never trouble to associate with me.
When we returned from the war and were promptly reduced to the status of private persons, I begged Lake to come and live with me. He objected at first, saying that he could not earn anything in my company. I said that as commander of my one motor-car and general supervisor of my private affairs he would be inestimably useful. It was then that be solemnly suggested that he would "take the job on," if he were allowed to be my valet. The joke of it is that Lake hasn't the slightest idea of what a valet is.
When I had finished laughing we fixed up terms. I paid him £250 a year, and he looks after my motorcar, sees I am not robbed by tradesmen, manages all my financial operations, and where business is concerned Lake is a perfect genius and a thorough Yorkshireman, and generally acts as a sort of dry-nurse. He has full liberty to engage in any business he pleases, and this arrangement has always worked admirably.
In the course of reciting my narrative I purposely made but little reference to Joan, though while I was talking, my mind was occupied with her, and her alone. But I might just as well have said all that was in my heart as have attempted to conceal the truth from Lake.
"Happen 't lass was pretty, Purcell?" he said in his broad Yorkshire way, when I had finished. I confess I blushed.
"Yes, confound you, Lake, she was the most beautiful girl I have ever seen—her face absolutely haunts me—though how the dickens you guessed it I don't know."
Lake just grinned: "I could tell by your face, lad," he said, and with a quickness which one would never expect from a man of his tremendous build, dodged the cushion which I hurled at him.
Among my letters was an urgent communication from the Chief, bidding me report myself to him as soon as I returned to town. I changed my clothes quickly, and in under half an hour found myself closeted with one of the most prominent personages In our department.
"I have sent for you, Mr. Purcell," he said, after we had exchanged a few remarks about my adventures in Essex, which by then had, of course, become public property, "to undertake a mission of great importance and secrecy. I have selected you for several reasons; but, principally, because of your report on 'Aeronautics and the Army,' which, by the way, you must allow me to congratulate you upon."
I murmured something to express my gratification. Really. I know nothing about aeronautics, but I had, what we used to call at Harrow, "mugged the subject up," and, finding It rather more interesting, than I expected, had given the report an imaginative twist which had clearly appealed to my superiors.
My Chief went on to explain what in wanted me to do. If I were to set all he said, down here. It would take many pages, for the old gentleman was in the habit of talking like a legal document, and never spoilt a good rolling period for want of a "boss" word.
Briefly, he had obtained information from a secret source that experiments were being carried on in France by a certain Dr. Hamish MacClintock with a heavier-than-air machine, which had completely overcome all the difficulties of aerial navigation. The vessel had not yet been completed, but the experiments with a smaller airship, constructed on the same principle, had been wholly successful. The experiments were being carried on in the neighbourhood of a little village near St. Leger, standing on the edge of the forest of Rambouillet, some forty miles from Paris. I was to be specially told off to obtain information regarding this future conqueror of the air.
"Your informant is to be trusted, of course, sir?" I said.
"We have tested the accuracy of his statements so far that we know that experiments are being made with great secrecy at the place he indicates. Here is his first letter on the subject."
He handed me a sheet of paper covered with writing in a fine flowing hand. The writer demanded a thousand pounds for putting the British Government in touch with a certain important invention which closely concerned the safety of the Empire. In short the writer made it clear that he had some very valuable information to sell, if the Government cared to buy.
Through one of our secret agents in Paris the deal had been agreed upon, and the money had changed hands. It was now my business to see that the taxpayers of Great Britain got some value for their outlay.
"You are free, of course, Mr. Purcell, to decide whether you accept this task or not. If you decide to accept it, we shall place ample funds at your disposal: but I must warn you that we cannot recognise you as an accredited agent of the Government. That is to say, you will be running great risks. If anything unpleasant should happen, you will not be able to appeal to us for help. We shall know nothing of you, and, if necessary, I shall deny your existence. If you are successful it will mean immediate promotion, a great step in your career. Do you care to accept this duty?"
I did not hesitate for a moment. I was tired of the Boot Department My adventure in Essex had made me restless. The memory of Joan's face in the mist had awakened the wandering blood in my veins. The thought of the ordinary routine work in the office was unbearable.
"I accept, of course, sir," I said promptly.
OF course, I took Lake with me. In two days we had made all our arrangements, and, another twenty-four hours saw us safely installed at the Ritz in Paris. Lake proved his worth by getting for me, on a three months' hire a 60 h.p. Mercedes, on terms which appeared, almost ridiculous. I have already mentioned that Lake was a Yorkshireman.
We only stayed one day in Paris, and then, putting our luggage on the car, started for St Leger, leaving behind us our identities. For how long I could not say Hugh Purcell stepped out of the canvas and John Lovegrove—a pretty name which I got from an eighteenth-century comedy—appeared upon the scene.
We had first intended to put up at the one inn, or rather drinking shop, which St. Leger boosted. Lake had arranged a most elaborate breakdown to explain the long stay which we should have to make in the neighbourhood; but, fortunately, this rather clumsy scheme was obviated. The country around, St, Leger, and the hamlet of Le Perray, which supplies the nearest station, is given over entirely to various large horse-training establishments, and, in consequence, quite a considerable proportion of the population are English jockeys and stable-boys, for British traditions, as far as horse-racing goes, still pertain in France.
Fortune favoured us so far that we almost ran down a horsey- looking person with red hair, some two miles from our destination. He had to step out of our way with an alacrity which, clearly unsettled his nerves. I was awaiting a flood of French blasphemies when to our surprise he burst out into a flow of emphatic protests in the broadest Yorkshire. I am not sure, but I think he said something about wringing our necks. I had assumed a dignified air and was expecting Lake to proceed without more ado when he suddenly brought the car to a standstill and jumping out made straight for the indignant pedestrian.
"How is that, Mr. Holroyd?"
The horsey-looking person gazed at him in amazement. Gradually the apoplectic anger died from his face and a good-natured smile of wonder and pleasure took its place.
"Why, lad, who'd a thought of seein' you here," he exclaimed, and the next moment the two Yorkshiremen were warmly shaking hands.
It was the most fortunate thing that could have happened for us. James Holroyd was the manager of one of the biggest stables in the district, and having a large house and being a bachelor, he placed his establishment at our disposal. Indeed, he absolutely refused to hear of us going to an inn, solemnly assuring us that we wouldn't be able to get a decent bite of "soop" unless we came to him.
It was a fortunate incident in another respect. Mr. Holroyd was well-known in the district and was on intimate visiting terms with the French families who had brought themselves to live a part of the year away from Paris.
I had no difficulty therefore in locating the chateau and park which was to be the scene of my secret inquires. The Chateau de Lisle was one of the few old French properties that had withstood the dissolving tendencies of the Napoleonic laws. For five generations only one child had been born to the family of the de Lisles, and, therefore, instead of it having been divided up among numerous offspring, the family property remained intact. It was a magnificent early eighteenth-century building, abounding in all the architectural vagaries of that period—unexpected wings, mysterious-looking turrets, and that general appearance of disorder which a certain type of architect delights to give his plans when following out a perfectly orderly scheme. It stood in the centre of a high wall, which embraced within its circumference at least a square mile of land. A dense belt of poplars helped the wall to exclude all view of anything within.
The chateau itself stood within a hundred yards of the only entrance to the grounds. A high wall stretching from both sides of the house, and thereby dissecting the area of the grounds, completely shut off the largest segment of the park. So much I was able to observe myself. The rest of my information I obtained from James Holroyd.
The last male de Lisle had raised to himself an only daughter and to her in the course of nature this picturesque property descended. She had remained unmarried until she was eighteen, and then a M. Hanoteaux had laid siege to her heart and finally induced her to change her name and to make him lord of the de Lisle estates.
Beyond the fact that he was a scientist, nothing was known of M. Hanoteaux in the district. Although he mingled freely in the small social world of the neighbourhood, he maintained a perfect reticence about his doings and pursuits. He devoted the greater part of his time to scientific study, and that was all that was known of him.
I had an early opportunity of prosecuting my inquiries under conditions more pleasant than usually fall, I believe, to the lot of a Secret Service Agent. At a neighbouring house when I had been pressed to call, I see Madame Hanoteaux, a plump and pleasing brunette of the true French type. She could not have been more than twenty-two, and it was clear from the first that her marriage ill-assorted with her tastes. She coquetted with me from he first moment of our meeting at "five o'clock tea," and I had no hesitation in making myself as agreeable as possible. I adopted a languishing look, uttered high-sounding compliments, detained her hand at parting in mine longer than was absolutely necessary for the formal business of saying good-bye, and, in short, conducted myself after the manner of a young fop who is quite prepared to propose to any girl who may have taken his fancy after twenty-four hours' acquaintance. She was undoubtedly pleased, and I could see by the look in her eyes that she counted me a conquest.
After that we met with amazing frequency. Of her husband I could get her to say nothing except what was expressed by a shrug of the shoulders and a little discontented moue. I tried hard to obtain an invitation to, the chateau, and was surprised at first that my efforts were not crowned with success. But from mutual friends I gathered the reason of my failure. Madame Hanoteaux, it appeared, was, completely under the control of her husband, who, ordered and managed every phase of her life, and she would as soon dared to ask anybody to the house without the consent of her husband as have openly flouted him to his face.
I was driving slowly past the chateau at the beginning of our second week's stay when I first caught a glimpse of her husband. He was walking with his wife on his arm. He was a man of about forty, with a pointed beard and an immensely exaggerated moustache, elaborately waxed, and something in his appearance set me wondering where I had seen him before.
Madame Hanoteaux bowed to me and whispered something to her husband, and in another moment I was standing, hat in hand, going through the form of introduction.
M. Hanoteaux, I thought, eyed me somewhat suspiciously, and for the life of me I could not prevent myself staring almost rudely at him, so puzzled was I at something familiar in his features. It was not until he spoke that it suddenly flashed upon me where I had seen him before.
"I am very glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Lovegrove."
That was all he said. The sound of his voice brought back to me with a sudden vividness which was almost like an electric shock to that scene in that ramshackle hut on the Essex coast. I was certain of it—positive.
"Take the girl, and let's got those barrels on board, and we can settle with monsieur afterwards."
I could hear almost the very words being uttered again, and with difficulty, suppressed the excitement which thrilled me. I could hardly believe myself mistaken. Once more I saw the vision of Joan running through the fog. Perhaps, in trying to obtain the secret of the mysterious airship, I might solve the mystery of her disappearance. The very thought gave me inspiration.
"Awfully good of you, M. Hanoteaux," I replied, readjusting my eyeglass, and deliberately adopting the most dudeish drawl I was capable of. "So pleasant, don't you know, to make the acquaintance of the husband of so charming a wife." I gave an empty fatuous chuckle, of which Mr. James Welch need not have been ashamed.
The suspicion in his eyes gave way to an expression of undisguised contempt. "I hope I shall have the opportunity of seeing you at my house, monsieur," he retorted formally. "Are you making a long stay?"
"Only a few weeks. Wish I could stay longer. This is an awfully jolly country and all that sort of thing."
"Perhaps monsieur will come and take déjeuner with us." It was Madame Hanoteaux who spoke, and I could see by the quick little frown he gave, that her husband heartily disapproved of the suggestion, but I gave him no opportunity to cancel the invitation.
"So good of you, M. Hanoteaux," I said, purposely addressing myself to him. "Your chateau looks so jolly, and with the prospect of such charming company, don't you know, I couldn't possibly refuse, couldn't really."
After that, of course, there was nothing for him to do but to lead the way to the house.
We had déjeuner in a magnificent room furnished In the sumptuous white and gold of the first Empire period. It was an unspeakably dull affair. M. Hanoteaux was moody and reserved, and hardly opened his mouth except to blackguard the servants or to utter some biting sarcasm for the benefit of his wife. She, fortunately, did not possess sufficient intelligence to understand what he meant, and greeted his most bitter comments with a cheerful, fatuous smile which must have been peculiarly galling to her husband. Only the thought that I was possibly on the scent of the mystery into which I had blundered that dark, foggy night on the Essex coast kept me up to the scratch and enabled me to maintain the pose of foolish ingenuousness which seemed to disgust M. Hanoteaux and inversely to delight his wife.
I had about talked myself out and was heartily wishing that I could get away when a little incident occurred which changed the whole aspect of my visit. We had been seated at the table about half an hour when suddenly the door opened and one of the weirdest-looking persons I have ever seen bounced into the room. He was a man of about sixty, with an enormous head, covered with a luxuriance of what had once been red hair and which time had shaded down to the colour of an insipid carrot. His chin was covered with a stubbly beard of the same curious shade, and his lip with a moustache which seemed to have outstayed the passage of time, and retained its original red. He wore very strong spectacles which, coupled with the hollowness of his cheeks and his large flapping ears, added to the oddity of his features. This extraordinary head was set upon a body quite in keeping. Nature, I think, must have originally intended him for a tall man and then thought better of it, for she had given him immensely broad shoulders and long arms and a length of trunk in proportion as far as the hip. His legs, however, were absurdly small— bow legs into the bargain—and reduced his promising stature to scarcely five foot. This uncanny-looking goblin man was dressed in a frock coat, which had the appearance of having been made shortly after its owner as taken out of his cradle.
I said he bounced into the room, and that is really the only word to express the way in which he made his appearance-so sudden and grotesque was it. I almost expected him to say "Here we are again," in a sort of goblinesque parody of the clown in the harlequinade. What he did say was quite as grotesque.
"Am I, Hamish MacClintock, Ph. D., of Glasgow and Vienna, to be insulted by a dirty Godless Frenchman who has never even heard of the doctrine of predestination? Tell me that Monster Hanoteaux."
He spoke with a broadly Scotch accent, which I cannot attempt to depict. My host jumped like a man out of his wits from his seat and literally rushed at the little Scot.
"Certainly not, monsieur," he said, seizing him by the arm and taking him almost forcibly towards the door. "You shall not be insulted. Come, I will see to it at once."
In another moment the door had closed behind the two men, and I was left alone with Madame Hanoteaux.
I had seen quite enough for one day. I had come face to face with the inventor whose secret I was to obtain, and I was not likely to discover anything more to judge from M. Hanoteaux's uneasiness. For the space of ten minutes I made pretty speeches to the last of the de Lisles, and having stood bravely the whole battery of her languishing airs, I made my excuses and hurried away.
THOUGH I had got my first foot within the chateau, and took care that I found reasons enough for a daily visit, nothing could I find out about the secret which I had been sent to probe. Madame Hanoteaux had a thousand excuses to prevent my footsteps straying towards the back of the house, M. Hanoteaux bluntly told me that only the front portion of the chateau was considered the domain of his wife's guests. None of the windows of the rooms which I was allowed to frequent looked out on to the park at the back, and so, though I lived as it wore on the fringe of the secret, I learnt nothing.
As for M. Hanoteaux, whatever inquiries I set going, failed to connect with the girl, the beauty of whose face still lived in my memory. I told Lake what I suspected, but he laughed at me, assuring me that once a man took to dreaming about lasses, he fell an easy victim to illusions and suspicions. He persuaded me so far, that I began to incline to the opinion that I way have been mistaken. None the less, there lurked in my mind a Thomas- like craving for proof. I wanted definite evidence before I mentally absolved M. Hanoteaux for having had any share in the abduction of Joan.
The tantalising situation in which I was placed might have lasted for ever, had it not been for an Incident which helped me to do what I had in view. I was making a circuit, outside of the mysterious segment of the park, which I so longed to explore, hoping to find some loophole in the wall. Both Lake and myself examined every yard of the twenty-foot palisade without success, and even climbed a tree with the hope of getting a view, but the belt of poplars completely obscured all observation, and we were on the point of turning home when suddenly from the other side of the wall there came the sound of angry voices and of blows as of men beating cover.
"He's in there, Pierre, I saw him run," exclaimed a peasant's voice in angry, excited tones. "Beat him out!"
We stopped to Listen. The sound of the men's sticks systematically beating the undergrowth grow nearer. Whatever quarry they were after it was clear they soon put it up, for in a few seconds more there burst upon us a fury of execration, uttered to the accompaniment of guttural German. The storm of words gradually died down before a rising crescendo of blows. The men, whoever they were, were too busy fighting to talk. I turned to Lake.
"If we could get over we should have a reasonable excuse for interfering, for it's pretty clear there's one poor devil having a very thin time over there."
Lake looked about him with that alertness which I have always so admired. (He at all times acts before he talks). I saw him look at a long fir tree which had been recently cut down and left lying on the ground until the woodmen found time to cart it away.
"Lend us a hand, Purcell," he said shortly, going over to the tree.
We raised the long fir between us and propped it up against the wall. Then making a run I swarmed up it, and hand over hand until I reached the top. Lake followed quickly. In another moment we had dropped on the opposite side.
For many reasons the sight that presented itself struck me as humorous. A little German about forty-five was gallantly defending himself with as umbrella against two cutthroat-looking Frenchmen, in patchy blue trousers and shirts. The German was so solemn, and the Frenchmen were so fierce that I wanted to laugh badly, and my visible faculties were less tickled by my discovery that I knew the German well.
He was one of the most notorious Prussian spies or secret service agents—the terms I am sorry to say are really synonymous—and we had a special man at the War Office, whose sole business it was to look after him when he paid our shores a visit. No man, I am convinced, has ever acquired a larger stock of erroneous information than Von Bach, for that is the name I knew him by. The British Government always made a point of showing him everything that didn't matter, and allowed him to steal papers and discover secrets which had been carefully concocted beforehand, for his special amusement. On all these things Von Bach reported to his Government in voluminous despatches, thereby achieving no little reputation. In the service we all loved him. His presence there made it clear that the valuable information which we had bought had also been sold to the German Government. Evidently the seller had sound commercial instincts.
We took the Frenchmen in the rear just as they were overpowering Von Bach, and easily turned the tide of battle. Indeed Lake was so violent that he almost split the skull of one of the follows against a poplar tree. I let them pick themselves up before I said anything.
"By what night do you treat a defenceless stranger in this way?" I said with a fluent assumption of indignant anger. "I shall report your conduct at once to M. Hanoteaux. It is high time that somebody informed him of the conduct of his servants."
I turned to the perspiring Von Bach, who, of course, had no idea of my identity.
"I know, Monsieur, that M. Hanoteaux will be deeply grieved when he hears of the outrage to which you have been subjected." I dropped my voice to a confidential whisper, moving closer to him so that the two fellows should not hear my words. "You must allow us to help you over the wall at once. These are two mad fellows, and there are two others who usually go about with them. They are old servants of M. Hanoteaux's, who nearly lost their lives at the factory he used to have in Lyons. M. Hanoteaux told me the story. It was an explosion which unbalanced their minds. Usually thee are quiet and orderly, but when once they are roused—" I brought my little fiction to an end with a graphic shrug or the shoulders.
Von Bach did not want to go a bit, but we were so solicitous about his welfare that we almost threw him over the wall in our anxiety to spare his life. I had no intention of sharing any discovery I might make that morning with the agent of another Power.
When we had heard Von Bach drop with a guttural groan the full twenty feet on the other aide I turned to the two Frenchmen.
"And now," I said, "I shall go straight to M. Hanoteaux and report your conduct."
They would have barred our way, protesting that no strangers were allowed in that part of the park, but we brushed there aside, and forced our way out of the belt of poplars and undergrowth. Before us stretched a huge open park, elliptical in shape, with a diameter of about a mile, and a circumference, I should think, of nearly three. One side was flanked in by the chateau and the great wall, which, as I have already described, divided the de Lisle property into two segments. Near the house were some sheds roofed with corrugated iron, and as we strode across the grass with the two fellows hanging doggedly at our heels, protesting all the way, we got our first glimpse of the airship.
From a distance it looked for all the world like a ten-ton fishing boat with a flat keel and an immense pair of wings fastened on both sides. Whatever was the value of Dr. MacClintock's invention his airship was clearly not one of the flimsy butterfly machines that had struggled to fly on the manoeuvre grounds at Étampes.
As we came alongside the ship we saw the head of Hamish MacClintock dodging about in the bowels of the vessels. Bending over the side I wished him a good morning. He looked up at me angrily.
"Have you any experience, or are you just the same dirty ignorant foreigner as the man I sacked yesterday?"
He evidently mistook me for the mechanic he had been expecting, I did not allow such a good opportunity to be wasted. I winked at Lake, who without more ado scrambled over the side.
"Perhaps I can help you," he said to the little grotesque Scotchman.
"Are you an Englishman?"
"Aye, lad, I am that."
MacClintock gave a sigh of relief.
"Thank God for that," he exclaimed reverently. "Let me see if you can put this right. The engine hasn't gone since that scoundrel Decque meddled with it."
George Lake began making investigations with business-like alacrity, He screwed here and tapped there, and at the end of three minutes gruffly announced that "she ought to go."
"Pooh! Nonsense, man, you have too good a conceit of yourself," MacClintock remarked testily.
Lake without taking any notice of his comment seized the starting handle, twisted it round, and in another moment with a loud purring sound the engines were working smoothly and easily.
MacClintock bounced over to Lake's side and patted him on the back. "I apologise. You are the man I have been looking for this long while."
The Scotchman's disappointment when we had to tell him that Lake was not the new mechanic was very obvious. He chewed ferociously at his moustache, set all the hairs of his head standing on end with his hands, and bemoaned his lot in broad Scotch.
"I could come and help you if my master will let me," said Lake, giving me a quick look.
MacClintock turned to me imploringly.
"Man, ye'll let him come, won't ye?" was about to assure him that I should be very pleased, when the harsh voice of M. Hanoteaux put on end to our conversation.
"What the devil are you doing here?" I turned to my host with my most vacant grin and explained to him, drawlingly, the circumstances that had led to my visit. He seemed far from satisfied.
"My men did quite right. I will thank you not to meddle in my business. I never allow anybody in this part of the grounds. The way to the house is up there. You will find Madame Hanoteaux in the petit salon. I have some private affairs to talk over with this gentleman."
I took my snubbing and dismissal with the same empty vacant grin, and expressing my regrets in the most absurd way I could think of, turned with Lake towards the house.
The back part of the chateau was evidently formed of the original building, and must have been at least a hundred years older than the part which I was allowed to visit As we walked up the path I tried to memorise every detail of its odd-looking architecture, scanning every corner of the two wings. All the rooms seemed to be unoccupied, and no curtains or blinds gave indication that this portion of the house was inhabited.
Suddenly as my eyes wandered over the mouldering stonework, a movement at one of the windows in a turret in the west wing attracted my attention. I saw the window open, and through the two heavy iron bars a human face was pressed. For a moment my heart stopped beating. A sudden thrill seemed to stay the flow of blood in my veins. For the face that looked through the bars was the beautiful face of Joan.
I THOUGHT of shouting her a word of encouragement, and I half raised my hand to wave to her, but the recollection of M. Hanoteaux in the background stayed me. I even turned my eyes from the window, and with a placid countenance that masked the wild tumult in my brain, I entered the chateau.
Madame was in the petit salon, as her husband had stated, and I saw a rosy blush come to her cheeks when I made my appearance. She was doomed, however, to disappointment so far as enjoying a private interview with myself was concerned, for hardly had I taken my seat at her side than Hanoteaux and MacClintock came into the room. To my utter astonishment, Hanoteaux approached me with quite a conciliating smile.
"I must ask a thousand pardons for my rudeness just now, monsieur. My hasty temper is always leading me into impolite extravagances."
"Awfully good of you to say that, M. Hanoteaux," I replied, boring my glass tighter into my eye. "Very handsome, don't you know. Beastly sorry I should have put my foot into it and all that sort of thing. You've got such a jolly place here— didn't know you'd mind me looking. And then that poor devil of a German. 'Pon my soul, I thought your fellows were trying to kill him. You ought to have seen the old cock defending himself with his umbrella. Funniest thing I ever saw in my life."
I broke into a cackling giggle, which made Hanoteaux wince. He retained his unusually civil attitude towards me none the less.
"As you take such an interest in my little place, perhaps you will honour us by spending a few days here. Both Madame and myself would be delighted."
I turned, smiling fatuously, to Madame Hanoteaux. There was no questioning her pleasure, at any rate. She absolutely beamed with delight.
"I shall be charmed," I replied. "It's really awfully good of you after the silly ass I made of myself this morning."
"When will you come? We shall be glad to see you any time. How about to-morrow?"
I was racking my brains to discover a reason for this sudden access of friendliness on the part of Hanoteaux, when Dr. Hamish MacClintock gave me the cue.
"You'd have no possible objection, I take it, sir, to your man giving me some assistance while on your visit here?"
The weird little man rubbed his hands together, and blinked at me hopefully through his powerful glasses. It was Lake, of course, they wanted. It was most fortunate. Without any difficulty Lake could get to know everything there was to be known about the airship, without risk to either of us. I inwardly rained blessings on my friend's head for having proved himself so handy that morning with the engine of the airship.
"Rather! I shall be delighted," I retorted enthusiastically. "Awfully lazy fellow, my man. It will do him good to do some really hard work."
"Then that's all settled," retorted MacClintock. Without any pretence of desiring to talk to me further, now that he had got from me what he wanted, he abruptly left the room.
"A funny old fellow, that. A little bit balmy, I suppose." M. Hanoteaux, who spoke and understood English like a native, was for once at a loss.
"Balmy, was it that?"
I tapped my forehead knowingly. "A little bit cracked in the upper storey. Not quite sound in his mind, you know."
Hanoteaux smiled comprehensively.
"Ah, yes, poor uncle! My mother was a Scotch lady, and for her sake I keep her brother here. As you say, his mind is quite unhinged."
The man lied with distinction and grace.
"Thought so!" I exclaimed. "Couldn't understand what he was doing with that boat. Suppose he thinks he can sail over the grass. Funny delusions some people get."
M. Hanoteaux's, face assumed a look of mournful resignation. "It keeps him quiet," he explained. "He is quite happy and contented as long as he can potter about. He has conceived the most curious idea of constructing a boat that can sail over the land. Doctors have told me it is best to humour him, and I let his delusions have full play. If you will permit your man to assist him I shall consider it a great kindness."
As I went home with Lake half an hour later, I felt very pleased with myself. I had completely imposed upon M. Hanoteaux, who clearly took me for the brainless fool I affected to be. I had got myself into a position which would enable me to obtain possession of MacClintock's aeronautical secret, and, what to me was more important still, I had discovered Joan.
Mr. Holroyd was at first inclined to take our abrupt departure as an unfriendly act; but, after a few words in private with Lake, he returned quite conciliated. We drove down to the chateau early the next morning, and Lake was at once hurried away to MacClintock's workshop. I had explained to him fully what was wanted, and though he demurred at first to stealing another man's plans, I was able to put the matter in such a light as to win his consent to my proposals.
The very first night at dinner I was introduced to a new character in M. Hanoteaux's mysterious chateau. He was a young man with a very pasty, sallow face, the most abbreviated of black moustaches, and hair that stood up all round his head in the way in which only Frenchmen seem to grow it. His name was Louis Legros, and he acted as M. Hanoteaux's secretary and assistant in his scientific studies.
I can't say I liked Legros. There was something stealthy and cunning about his appearance, which offended me instinctively. The close set of his eyes and the limp flabbiness of his handshake aroused an almost uncontrollable dislike in my mind. Under other conditions I am afraid I should have been most offensive to him. Fortunately he did not give me any occasion to utter more than the usual introductory civilities. He took no part in the conversation at dinner, and as soon as he had had his coffee, retired with noiseless footsteps. I was glad when he was gone.
M. Hanoteaux followed soon afterwards, frankly bored with my company, and I found myself alone with the mistress of the chateau. Whether it was the unbearable dullness of everything, or the almost entire lack of conversation which prompted me to express admiration for the lady, I can't say; perhaps a little of both reasons had a share in it. With the ordinary arts of flattery I got her into such a mood that she began to make me her confidant. Little by little my sympathetic attitude induced her to unburden herself of all her fancied wrongs.
I took her hands in mine, and she was so moved by this little attention that she suddenly burst into tears, and throwing her arms round my neck, buried her face In my shoulder.
THE situation was not an altogether pleasant one as far as I was concerned. I did not care a snap of the fingers for Madame Hanoteaux, but I felt it was hardly playing the game to impose upon the woman in the way I was doing in order to get from her her husband's secret. But while I was in this frame of mind I recalled the face of Joan, looking through the bars of the turret window, and I hardened my heart.
"Madame Hanoteaux," I whispered, gently raising her tear- stained face, "what is the matter? Let me comfort you."
Her only answer was a renewed outburst of sobbing. "Tell me your troubles," I went on consolingly. "Perhaps I can help you."
"Ah, monsieur, no one can help me! I am doomed to bear my burden by myself. I must carry my broken heart to the grave. And I am so young."
The recollection of her youth seemed to cheer her immensely.
"That you with your youth and beauty should suffer is too cruel," I answered. "Who has been so harsh and brutal as to cause you this sorrow, Pauline?"
I called her by her Christian name, and the slightly increased pressure of her arms around my neck showed that she by no means resented the familiarity.
"Victor!" she murmured back between her sobs. She had no need to tell me that. From what I had heard, and from what I had seen, I had understood well enough that the Hanoteauxs were very far from being happily mated.
Having no definite opinion to offer on this pronouncement I merely heaved a deep, sympathetic sigh.
"He is so unkind to me. He treats me like his dog. He only married me to get this estate; he has dared to tell me that. All day long he leaves me alone. Sometimes he is away for weeks and weeks together. I know nothing of where he goes. He never writes to me. Perhaps when he returns, and I run to greet him he pushes me aside coldly, and tells me not to be foolish. I have to shut up all my emotions, to stifle all my feelings, all my affections. He would have me an absolute automaton, who would only speak when he wishes it to speak, and only move when he commands. Ah, it' is terrible, terrible!"
I quite believed all she said. I don't think I should have fancied M. Hanoteaux for a husband had I been a girl. I found myself growing curious.
"Why did you marry him?"
"Ah, why indeed? I was lonely down here, under the rule of my guardians, and he came to see me, and they wished the marriage, and so—well, there is the whole story."
"How inexpressibly tragic!" I remarked in a soothing tone to the ceiling. Fortunately she could not see my face. There was silence between us for the space of several seconds while she allowed the melting effect of my sympathy to have full play.
"Pauline," I said at last, gently taking one of the hands, "let me be your friend. Tell me everything. Let me help you if I can. Who knows If you tell me everything that I may not be able to show how I admire you by finding a way for you out of your difficulties."
She hung her head down, as if hesitating whether she should confide in me or not.
"My husband—he would be so angry if I told you." She uttered the words brokenly, dragging them out one after the other.
"But no one proposes to tell your husband. I should be the last person to tell him."
I could say this quite truthfully. I saw that she was going, to tell me everything. It is difficult enough for a woman to keep a secret at any time, but when she has gone as far as Madame Hanoteaux had gone, it would have been impossible for her to remain silent.
"I will trust in you," she exclaimed, looking up languishingly into my face.
"It has all happened in this last wretched three months. It is exactly that time since he went away with Legros, not telling me where he was going, or when he would return. 'You must expect me when you see me,' that is what he said to me—to me, his wife, who brought him everything he has—this chateau, this estate, my two hundred thousand francs a year—everything. I dared not question him. Two months and a week he stayed away, then he returned late one night. The unexplained absence was insult enough, but he did not stop there. The crowning infamy remained. He brought back with him a woman—"
I kept control of myself as well as I could.
"Yes, yes!" I muttered, "Go on."
"Barefaced and unashamed, he brought her back here, to the house, where I, his wife, live, where my ancestors, the de Lisles, have lived for generations. For the first time since we have been married I dared to speak my mind to him. I begged him to spare me this insult. I went down on my knees to him to plead with him. But no, the man had no heart. 'Get up, don't be a fool, Pauline.' That was all he said. I had to submit. He frightened, he terrified me. Sometimes I have seen him look so angry, so cruel, that I have thought he was the devil himself. And it was with this man that I have to live. Ah, it is cruel, cruel!"
She burst into tears again, but I was too impatient to hear the end of her story, to allow the usual interval for the play of her emotions.
"And this woman?" I asked. "She surely is not here still? He does not dare to insult you as much as that?"
"Yes, yes!" she moaned. "She is here still. He will not send her away. He keeps her up there In the west wing, in the old part of the house."
"But she cannot stay there always? She comes out sometimes, surely?"
"No. It is strange, but he keeps her to the west wing. She never gets out. He has the doors locked, and that quarter of the house is completely isolated. Only I, who know the secrets of the house, can find my way there."
"But surely, if she is the sort of woman you suspect she would never consent to live like that. It is imprisonment!"
Madame Hanoteaux shook her head mournfully and gravely.
"I do not understand it myself. I have asked my husband, and he has bidden me to be silent, while Mr. Legros refuses to open his lips when I mention the subject. I have only seen her twice, once when they brought her into the house front the car, when she was unconscious, in a dead faint, and once again, when, filled with anger and jealousy, I visited the west wing by the secret way."
"Did you speak to her?" I asked in a fever of excitement.
"No, l just looked at her. I had intended to speak to her face to face, and to tell her all that was in my mind, but when I saw her I couldn't. Much as I hate her, there was something— something which I can't describe—which kept me silent."
"But how could you see her without being seen?"
"It is a secret passage which my father showed me when I was a little girl. No one else here knows it, It runs round all the rooms of the west wing, I had only to look through a small hole in the wainscoting to watch her."
"But tell me, Pauline," I pressed, my curiosity urging me, "how is it you didn't speak to her?"
"She looked so sad and mournful and lonely that the thought came to me: 'Even if I speak to her in anger, even if I tell her plainly to her face what she is, it will be a relief for her to speak to a human being. It would lessen the torture of being silent and alone. It is right that she should suffer her punishment to the full.' And so I came quietly away."
The thought occurred to me that Pauline Hanoteaux was not exactly the kindly, sympathetic woman that I dare say many people imagined her.
"You wished her to feel some of the sufferings that you have had to endure? Is that not so, Pauline?" I murmured caressingly.
"Yes, yes, I would have her know what it is to be alone— what it is to endure the society of nobody but oneself. I would have her suffer to the full everything that I have suffered."
She looked as pretty a picture of a vixenish fury as ever I have seen. Her eyes had grown hard and emotionless: her closed pressed lips seemed to indicate that she was capable of any cruelty. I began to have a strong distaste for "my Pauline's" society. But the play had to be played through to the end. Only through her could I reach my beautiful Joan.
"You say she looked sad and mournful, as if being by herself was irksome?"
"It is true. She was walking up and down with the air of a prisoner. It has puzzled me."
"A prisoner, that's it!" I exclaimed. "M. Hanoteaux has brought her here by force. Who knows, she may be quite unwillingly subjecting you to this insult."
"Ah, I wish I could treat her as I would like!"
Madame Hanoteaux clenched her little hands, and made me clearly see that Joan, once in her power, would be shown little mercy.
"If you wish it, I call help you, Pauline. Listen. I am certain from what you say that this woman cannot be here of her own free will. Even if she came here freely, she cant have anticipated being immured up in these old rooms with no liberty to go outside, or see, or speak to anybody. It will be quite easy to rid yourself of her presence in the house."
She looked at inquiringly.
"Oh, if you could help me how I would thank you! But it is not possible. How could it be done?"
"Quite simply. We will go to this woman, and if, as I anticipate, she will be only too glad to obtain her liberty, we will help her to escape by your secret way."
"But what would my husband say?"
There was no doubt about Madame Hanoteaux being sincerely frightened of her husband.
"He need never know that you have had anything to do with it. You say that no one has knowledge of the secret way but yourself. We will break the locks on the inside and give the appearance that she has forced her own way out; M, Hanoteaux will suspect nothing."
She looked at me admiringly.
"How clever you are. But supposing she will not go, what then? When my husband sees her she will tell him everything, and it will be worse than before."
"I don't anticipate any difficulty from all that you I have told me of the circumstances, But we will take all precautions to prevent the matter coming to the ears of M. Hanoteaux; l will see her for your sake, and find out whether or no she desires her freedom. You need not appear in the matter at all. If I find that I am mistaken, and she refuses to go, I must take my chance with M. Hanoteaux. Believe me, my Pauline, I am prepared to undergo any suffering for your sake."
She pressed my hand tenderly by way of expressing her appreciation of my heroic attitude.
"But if he caught you, he would kill you without a moment's hesitation."
"To die for your sake would be no suffering."
My Irish blood enabled me to talk in this high-sounding melodramatic way without any effort. It was admirably suited to Madame Hanoteaux's taste. She found the situation both romantic and sensational.
"And you will take this risk for my sake?" she exclaimed, looking long and lovingly into my eyes.
"Indeed yes. For your smile I would die a thousand deaths," I retorted stoutly. There was something so enthralling about this sentiment, that the lady's emotion quite overcame her, and for the next few minutes her demonstration of affection was embarrassing.
"It would be best if we acted at once," I said, when at last it was all over. "No purpose can be served by delay. I cannot rest a moment until you have been relieved of the presence of this woman in the house."
She was rather frightened at first when it came t to the point, and wished to procrastinate. But l insisted that there was never time like the present. There would be no risk, as she took me to the room by the secret passage, and then returned quickly to the salon, so as to be at hand if her husband should make an appearance unexpectedly. She could explain my absence by saying that I had gone out to take the air. In the end I managed to persuade her to take my view of the matter.
With evident signs of nervousness she led the way to a little room which adjoined the salon. Carefully closing the door, she lit a candle that stood on the mantelpiece, and then going to the wall pressed what appeared to be a portion of the moulding of a large mirror that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. The mirror slowly revolved, disclosing a dark stairway. She motioned me to take the candle. I followed her through the aperture and waited while she closed the secret door again.
Then, climbing up the steps, we reached a narrow passage just broad enough for one person. The floor was covered thick with dust, which, mingling with the very close atmosphere, was rather trying. The secret way, evidently ran round every room in the house, for we came to several turnings where the passage branched to right and left. Now and again at hole in the wall emitted a straggling ray of light. But my mind was too occupied with the thought of my approaching meeting with Joan to allow me to take stock of anything on the way.
After we had gone some distance Madame Hanoteaux suddenly stopped, and put her eyes to one of the spy-holes in the wall. By the candle light I could see her face grow hard and cruel. Then she turned to me, and motioned me to look through the spy-hole. I was able to see nearly every detail of the room within. It was a high, walnut-like chamber, crudely furnished, but I paid no attention to any of these details at the time. My whole attention was centred on the figure of a girl who sat on a deep, window sill, with her head resting on her hands, staring with pathetic mournfulness at the sky of stars.
I could not bear to look for more than a moment. It seemed almost like sacrilege.
"Show me how the door opens," I whispered hoarsely to my companion, "And then leave me."
Obediently she pointed out the secret spring.
"I will wait for you in the little room near the salon. Keep the candle. I can find my way in the dark."
She would have retraced her steps alone, but I insisted on accompanying her on the pretext of lighting her way. I wished for no eavesdroppers. Having seen her safely out of the secret passage, l hurried back quickly, and with one more glance through the spy-hole at the lonely figure at the window I touched the secret spring. The panel moved silently on its hinges. With the candle in my hand I passed through the aperture into the room.
SO noiselessly had the secret door opened that the girl neither heard nor suspected my presence. Engrossed in her own sad thoughts, she sat in the widow-sill, her chin propped up on her hand, gazing across the starlit park into the dark mysterious forest beyond. She sat so motionless that she seemed almost to be a statue, carved to the semblance of life.
Now that the interview that I had so longed for had arrived, I hardly knew how to make my presence known. I was afraid of frightening her by speaking, realising that in her lonely state her nerves could ill stand the slightest shock. That her captivity had told on her was only too evident. The cheeks that l had seen through the fog, rosy with health and vigour, were now pale and thin. I gazed at her wistfully, longingly, moved more than I care ever to write by the pathetic figure of the girl. And as I watched her, wondering how best to introduce myself, I saw a tear tremble for a moment on her beautiful dark eyelash and roll down her cheek. In a second, forgetting all my caution, I stepped across the floor to the window sill.
"Joan!" I said in a choking voice, clutching her arm.
She spun around quickly on to her feet, shrinking against the wall, gazing at me with startled, wondering eyes. I cursed myself for my clumsiness, for the girl was clearly frightened at the sight of me.
"Who are you?" she asked breathlessly, her large dark eyes fixed earnestly on my face. Then, before I could answer, she added, "How did you get here?"
Now such is the vanity of man that I must confess her first question annoyed me. I have sworn to write a complete and impartial account of my adventures, and so I set this down knowing full well that whoever chances to read it will regard me as a conceited, self-satisfied young cub. But there is no getting away from the fact that her question as to my identity, and the obvious ignorance under which she laboured as to having seen me before angered me not a little. She did not remember me, and yet I, ever since that wild night on the Essex coast, had been filling my life, awake and asleep, with the memory of her beauty.
Had I considered for a moment I should not have thought the matter so surprising. Under the strain and stress of that terrible night it was unlikely that she would recall the face of the stranger whose assistance she had sought, but I never gave such considerations a thought. I only knew that I remembered her, and that her beauty was indelibly printed on my mind. To find that she had not even the slightest recollection of me was such a shock to my conceit that I felt the blood rushing to my cheeks with the annoyance of it.
"Some people have not such a bad memory for the faces of their friends."
I uttered the last word hesitatingly, realising all of a sudden that it was somewhat incongruous. After all, we had only met the once, and our intercourse then could not have lasted for more than ten minutes at the most.
"Friends!" she repeated, looking at me wonderingly with those deep, marvellous eyes of hers. "I am sure I've never seen you before."
She must have noticed that I looked dejected and abashed, for she hastened to add: "If you are a friend, though I do not know you, I cannot thank you enough for coming to help me. God knows I need help. Do you come from Castle Effingham?"
From anger and chagrin I passed to a mood of green Jealousy. What a fool I had been, I told myself. Of course there must have been several men in that abominable little hole of a village on the Essex coast, who worshipped the very ground upon which she walked. It was from them she expected succour. I was nothing to her except the chance stranger whose help might be asked, but whose very existence would be forgotten the next moment.
"No," I replied tartly, "I don't come from Castle Effingham."
I noticed a look of pathetic earnestness in her eye.
"Please forgive me for not knowing you," she said, and her voice trembled. "I need your help so much. Don't think me ungrateful, for I know what risks you must be running to come here."
In a second I was calling myself internally whatever bad names I could think of, and cursing myself for a clumsy, ignorant clown for considering only my own feelings, when my thoughts should have been for her, and for her alone.
"It was ridiculous of me to imagine that you would remember me," I said impetuously. "Please forgive my stupidity. I am the man with the motor-car, whose help you asked that awful night; and whose help, I'm afraid, wasn't of much use."
"Oh!" she said wonderingly, coming forward with her hands outstretched. "Are you the brave man who risked your life for my sake, and very nearly overcame those brutes who killed poor grandpapa."
I took her hand in mine, feeling myself repaid a thousand times by her words for the little I may have done.
"Perhaps I had better introduce myself," I said, when at last I had found my tongue. "My name is Purcell. Hugh Purcell. And yours?"
"You called me by it a minute ago, Mr. Purcell."
"Joan—Miss Joan, that's it. But surely you have another name at the end of it?"
"No, that is the only name by which I have ever been called, though it is true that people here call me something different. I have never been called by it before. But, Mr. Purcell, don't let us talk about myself. Tell me what happened after I was carried away."
To the best of my ability I narrated everything that had taken place. About her grandfather's funeral she pressed me for the minutest details. Not until I had described the situation of the grave, the flowers upon it; and the actual funeral service itself, would she allow, me to ask question in, my turn.
When taken from the hut she had been carried, it appeared, on board a small boat, which had been rowed out a few hundred yards to where another boat lay at anchor. Judging from the description of this latter vessel I suspect it must have been a motor-boat, and the speed with which she crossed from the Essex coast to France seemed to justify this deduction.
As soon as the boat was under way her captors removed the cords that bound her, and one of then, whose name she had since learnt was Hanoteaux, had spoken to her, addressing her at Mlle. de St. Egremont—why she could not say. He told her that they had killed her grandfather because he had stolen money belonging to a society in Paris of which he ("Old Dummy") had been a member. For more than twenty years the society had waited before they exacted reparation, and now they had struck. He went on to tell the girl that she would be treated well, but that until the society had completed certain arrangements which would place the world at their feet, she must remain a prisoner.
Overcome with grief at the cruel death of her grandfather, and impressed by the loneliness of her situation, Joan hardly listened to him. After they had been at sea for about eight hours, she was handed a cup of hot coffee by one of the men, which, as she was very cold, she drank with avidity. Evidently it had been drugged, for immediately afterwards she fell into a deep sleep, from which she did not wake till she found herself in the old wing of the chateau. The only persons who attended upon her were M. Hanoteaux and his secretary, Louis Legros.
Her prison, for it was nothing else, consisted of five rooms, but each day one of her two custodians conducted her down a steep stone staircase, which led into an old-fashioned high brick- walled garden. Here she was allowed to stay for two hours, her every movement, however, being watched. M. Hanoteaux, it appeared, never spoke to her at all, but with Louis Legros it was different. I pressed her to tell me what Legros talked about, but the sudden crimsoning of her cheeks enabled me to guess that the secretary, like myself, had fallen under the spell of her beauty. I admired the man's taste, but there and then swore a grim oath to myself that if ever an opportunity occurred I would put a spoke in the wheel of M. Legros.
"Then you have seen in opportunity of escape?" I said, when she brought her narration to an end.
"Not one—at least, not one that I could take advantage of."
"How do you mean?" I asked.
She cast her eyes down in pretty confusion.
"M. Legros has offered to help me to get away, but only on certain conditions, conditions that I could not accept."
"You don't mean to any that he has dared..." I began.
"He is a man, Mr. Purcell, without any feeling of sensibility. It was he who killed grandpapa. He told me so, calmly, while he smoked a cigarette. He seemed to consider it rather a fine deed. When I told him what he was in plain words, he simply shrugged his shoulders and smiled, and told me that I very naturally was unable to judge his action impartially. It was terrible to have to listen to the conversation of the brute who had killed the person I held dearest in all the world, but when he began to proffer me his love it became appalling."
She shivered as if terrified by the very recollection of his words.
"Every day his attentions have become more pronounced, and he frightens and terrifies me. When he begins talking I put my fingers in my ears so as not to hear his hateful words. In the garden I walk away from him. But now he has taken to writing to me. See here."
She took from the window-sill some crumpled bits of paper, which she handed to me. I smoothed one of them out, and read there the following words, written in a fine, flowing hand:
Mademoiselle, remember, I offer you freedom and love. My heart and your liberty are yours whenever you will to take them.
Be assured, Mademoiselle, of the undying adoration of
Louis Legros.
The contents of the other notes were of a similar nature,
composed of the same sententious expressions, and full of those
overdone gallantries which are so popular with low-class
Frenchmen. Another thing struck me with regard to these
billets-doux. The handwriting of the chivalrous lover
seemed familiar to me, and though I puzzled my brains, I could
not, for the time being, remember when or where I had, seen it
before.
"I will keep these, if you don't mind," I said to Joan. "They may enable me to deal with Monsieur Legros should he become troublesome. And now I want to hear you say that you believe in me end trust me, and will treat me as a fiend whose one object is to be of service to you."
She held out her hand to me with a smile.
"You look a good man Mr. Purcell; I trust you implicitly,"
"Thanks," I said, unable to find any more words to express my feelings. And then, briefly, I explained to her how I had entered her quarters by the secret passage, told her of the little drama I had played with Madame Hanoteaux, and sketched the means by which I hoped to effect her escape. She was puzzled to know why I did not immediately inform the police, and allow the law to deal with M. Hanoteaux, and it was only with difficulty that I could explain to her my own situation—how I was there as a secret representative of our Government, and how my duty prevented me, before all things, from having, any relations with the authorities. I, in my turn, was somewhat puzzled by what Joan had told me.
My Chief in London had clearly been under the impression that this new airship, which was to dominate the world, was being constructed by the French Government, but M. Hanoteaux's remark to Joan regarding a society, on the completion of whose arrangements her liberty depended, gave quite a new aspect to the affair. It was most unlikely that M. Hanoteaux, if he was the trusted servant of the Republic, would be occupying a portion of his time in marauding expeditions to England, in the murder of an old defenceless man, and in the kidnapping of a young girl.
While I was thinking about these matters I was suddenly startled by the sound of a key being slipped into the lock of one of the doors. Joan held up a warning finger, as if bidding me hide myself. I quickly stepped back into the secret passage, and had just time to close the panel-behind me and take up a position at the spy-hole when I say the door of the room open and the figure of Louis Legros enter.
HE stopped on the threshold for a moment to bow to Joan, then turned round, and locking the door, slipped the key in his pocket.
"I have come again, mademoiselle, to lay my heart at your feet," he exclaimed, striding across the floor, his pasty, sallow face creased to what he evidently considered was a killing smile.
Joan sat down in the window-sill, and deliberately turning her back upon him, looked out at the starlit night. Legros gave his shoulders a swaggering shrug, as if indicating that he was used to these attempts to fend off his attentions, but was quite confident that in the end he would gain his point. The man had seemed repulsive to me from the first, but now as he stood there all smirks and jerks, looking for all the world like a tenth-rate assistant in a foreign barber's shop in Whitechapel, I felt, that instinctive desire to stamp him out with which one is inspired by the sight of some objectionable insect or reptile.
"Mademoiselle cannot be so hard-hearted," he said, edging closer to her side. "'To-night,' I have said to myself, 'I will win her heart. I will make her understand the worth of my affection.' Do you make my task the harder. If you could only understand the strength and splendour of my love you should not try to freeze my passion to nothingness by the coldness of your looks."
Confound the man! I thought to myself. He was as full of words and mismanaged similes as any euphemist who ever entangled himself in a maze of language in the days of Good Queen Bess.
"As mademoiselle will not let me communicate her by speech I must teach her the warmth of my affection by the silent language of love."
I saw her shrink still further away from him as he suddenly bent forward, and before she could stop he put his lips to her cheek. The next moment Legros was staggering back with the impress of Joan's fingers on his face, while Joan herself stood before him, her eyes afire with anger and indignation and her whole attitude denoting how much she felt this crowning insult. Legros had staggered back, rubbing his cheek confusedly, evidently unable for the moment to find a weapon in the armoury of his experience with which to meet such an assault. But he was not long in recovering his self-assurance.
"For such a blow I must have recompense," he said, moving towards Joan, his arms outstretched.
She tried to slip away from him, but before she could do so he had caught bold of her and endeavoured to draw her face to his.
The sight of this outrage was too much for me. I fumbled for the spring, and swinging back the secret panel, jumped into the room. I didn't trouble much about how I handled the man, but seizing him by the slack in his trousers and the scruff of his neck, I flung him across the room.
Never have I seen a man so surprised and bewildered in my life. He looked at me in a dazed sort of fashion, and the at the open panel, and then back again at me, as if half wanting an explanation. But this quiescent mood only lasted a moment. It suddenly dawned upon him that he had been insulted, and picking himself up from the floor, he rushed at me with his head down, like a man essaying a collar at Rugby football. I caught him as he came by the front of my hand under his chin, and bringing him by this means to an upright position, flung him round against the wall, pinning him there with my hand at his throat. In that position I read him a long lecture on a variety of subjects, but bearing especially on his own abominable conduct and his utter unworthiness even to breathe the same air as Joan.
"I have no wish to kill you, M. Legros," I said, in conclusion, "but if you attempt any more of your abominable familiarities with this lady, whom you are keeping a prisoner here, contrary to all the laws of the land, I will so far demean myself as to wring your dirty little neck. Now go."
With that I loosed my grip of him, and he began fingering his windpipe as if to assure himself that it was still intact. After a few convulsive trials of his throat by swallowing, he found himself ready to talk.
"You shall pay for this insult, monsieur," he gasped. "By what right are you here. You are a spy. I suspected it from the first. You will find that we have a short way with such gentlemen as you in the Chateau de Lisle."
I looked at him coldly.
"What, may I ask, are the nature of the steps that you propose taking to prevent yourself making the acquaintance of a prison cell?"
"Monsieur will learn that soon enough," he retorted with a sneer.
"Perhaps," I replied, "but meanwhile, may I remind you that a few seconds ago I told you to go. I can't help noting, with regret for yourself, that the room is still encumbered by your objectionable presence. You can keep your threats for another occasion. Meanwhile, I distinctly advise you to go."
I pointed towards the door, but Legros, who was not without some spirit. I will say that for him, stayed where he was.
"When I go," he replied, "I go straight to Monsieur Hanoteaux, and then—and then—" He paused sententiously.'
"And then," I continued coldly, taking up his words "you will doubtless tell him how you proposed to give this lady her liberty—how you, one of her jailers, have been conniving at her escape. From what I have seen of M. Hanoteaux I should judge that he will be pleased, and will, doubtless, see his way to increasing the remuneration he at present gives you for your secretarial duties."
I always notice that when I am angry I drop unconsciously into an elaborate form of ironical expression, which is sometimes so elaborate that nobody understands me. In the case of Legros, however, I may be said to have "got home," to use the language of the ring.
His eyes lost their look of angry vindictiveness.
"What does monsieur mean?" he stammered.
"Oh, my meaning will be clear enough to Monsieur Hanoteaux," I retorted angrily, taking the notes Legros had written Joan out of my pocket and ostentatiously opening them. "When I show him these precious documents he will appreciate it once the value of your trusty services."
The little man actually shivered with rage; but, controlling himself, walked towards the door. As he put the key in the lock he turned to me.
"You have saved yourself from my vengeance in one direction, monsieur. I admit it. I cannot speak to Monsieur Hanoteaux and let him deal with you as I know he would deal with a spy. But you have insulted me and I can seek reparation, in the manner customary among gentlemen. And as for you, mademoiselle," he went on, bowing to Joan, "you will learn to regret that you have scorned my love for that of this clumsy Englishman."
With that he quickly, opened the door and stepped outside. We heard the key turn in the lock, and Joan and I were once more alone, I felt it was high time that I was going. I did not quite understand what Legros meant by saying that he would demand reparation, and it occurred to me that perhaps he might take it into his head to so arrange it that M. Hanoteaux would find me, by chance in his prisoner's quarters.
I explained the situation to Joan, begged her to keep a good heart, and promised to get her away from the chateau as soon as I had made all the necessary arrangements. Then I regretfully tore myself away, and stepping once more through the open panel, felt my way in the dark down the secret passage.
When I once again entered the little room adjoining the salon, I found Mme. Hanoteaux almost on the verge of a nervous breakdown, so terrified was she at my long absence and the thought of her husband's possible return. She hurled questions at me in breathless haste, and I gave her a story to quieten her which omitted all account of the incident with Legros.
"Alas, Pauline!" I said, taking her hand as we sat side by side on an Empire couch. "You are a most shamefully treated woman. It is too true that your husband has pursued this girl with his attentions. Because she would not listen to him he has brought her here—here, to this very house where you, his wife, live. It is abominable, disgraceful! I cannot understand your husband's execrable taste. To me it is incomprehensible that he should seek the society of this stupid, dull, insipid chit, when he possesses in you the most beautiful and brilliant wife in the world."
As I uttered those treasonable remarks about Joan, Mme. Hanoteaux squeezed my hand fondly.
"What are we to do?" she whispered. "'This girl, how shall we rid the house of her?"
"There will be no difficulty about that," I answered emphatically. "She is anxious enough to escape. Her little dose of imprisonment will do her no harm. It will be a good lesson for such a frivolous, empty-headed miss who goes flirting with another woman's husband. We only need the opportunity, and then, by the aid of the secret passage, we shall get her away easily enough, You can trust me implicitly, Pauline. I will devote my life to righting your wrongs."
It was with difficulty that I dragged myself away and at last got to bed. Once there, I slept a dreamless sleep in spite of the adventures I had gone through.
I was wakened in the morning by Lake taking a seat on my bed.
"Here, wake oop, lad," he remarked, as I opened my eyes wearily and looked at him.
"Hallo, Lake," I answered, stretching myself, "how's the airship going?"
"Well, I've got the hang of her engines, and I think I'll have got all the plans before another twenty-four hours is not. Yon MacClintock's a clever man, but he's clean mad. I think I've put a spoke in Monsieur Hanoteaux's wheel for him, anyway."
"How have you done that, Lake?" I asked.
"Asked the old chap what he was getting paid, and who was going to get the benefit of his invention when it was through. The question never seemed to have struck him before. He was quite took back and puzzled like. Then I hinted that it seemed to me that this 'ere Hanoteaux was bound to get everything there was out of it, and that by the arrangement he was working on MacClintock would do all the work and Hanoteaux would reap all the reward. I made him think that Hanoteaux was going to rob him of his discovery, and it's fair settled on his mind. He's as mad against Hanoteaux as anything, and somebody will be blown up one of these days. And what have you been doing, Purcell?"
I gave him a full and descriptive account of what had occurred the night before. Over any love passages with Pauline he laughed profanely, and when George laughs it's something like a miniature earthquake. He seems unable to laugh without every inch of his fourteen-stone body shaking. The effect is tremendous.
When I had finished my narration he put his hand in his pocket, and pulled out a note.
"Talking of that chap' Legros," he said. "I just mind that he gave me a letter this morning for you. Happen it's something to do with what happened last night."
I tore the envelope open, and read the contents of the enclosed letter.
Monsieur,
Last night you insulted me. The sword alone can wipe out that insult. Unless you are a coward, meet me at the gateway at ten o'clock, and I will conduct you to a place in the forest where, we may settle this affair without fear of interruption,
Louis Legros.
As I read this letter aloud to Lake, who seemed to regard it
as a very sporting event, I began again puzzling over where l had
seen that fine flowing penmanship before. Suddenly, I had an
inspiration. Diving under the bed I fished out my suit-case, and
from the false bottom with which it was made, I extracted the
letter which had been written to my Chief advising him regarding:
the matter of the airship. As I compared the hand writings I gave
vent to an exclamation of delight.
"What are you shouting about?" said Lake.
"Man, I've discovered that Legros is the man who sold our Government the information about MacClintock's airship. Now I'll be able to frighten him into doing whatever I want."
"But what about this 'ere challenge?" said Lake, "Lad's a sportsman, at any rate."
"Oh, I'll fight him first," I said, springing out of bed, "and after that I'll use him as I think fit."
"THOU ought to have been a Yorkshireman," said Lake as he helped me into my clothes.
This was the biggest compliment my companion and titular valet could pay any man. It meant that he regarded me as a sportsman; and he had a firm belief that no truly genuine sportsman could be any other than a Yorkshireman.
I am not an early riser by force of habit, and there was very little time to make any elaborate arrangements for my meeting with Legros; I am not a punctual man, in fact, I have none of the vices which a priggish world regards as virtues. But punctuality becomes a necessity when you have an appointment to fight a man.
I found Legros waiting for me at the lodge gates. He was walking up aid down beside a long oblong case which he regarded with an affectionate interest. He bowed low as I approached him, and looking at Lake remarked softly to me, "As monsieur had no friends here I did not bring a second. It is not customary for gentlemen to be accompanied by their servants in the settlement of affairs of honour."
It was a good thing that Lake was a few paces off, otherwise the tone in which he said the word 'servant' might have produced results that would have postponed all possibilities of his fighting a duel with a clear eye for some little time.
"This gentleman is my friend, not my servant." I replied. "I am willing to wait until you find a second."
I was no too sure of my ground in dealing with this cold- blooded assassin, and though I know Lake to be so severe a sportsman that he would see me spitted in a fight without interfering, I wanted to make sure it was going to be a fair fight.
Legros hesitated and tried to curl his miniature moustache. There was a look in his eye that told me I was in for no ordinary French duel with the flummery and pretence of a few more or less skilful passes, a prick, a drop of blood, and all round assistance of satisfied honour and eternal friendship.
"This is an affair between ourselves," he said, speaking in a soft tone, and still regarding Lake with an angry disapproval.
"You challenged me," I replied, adjusting my eye-glass, and looking at him with calm indifference; "but you seem to have arranged everything in your own fashion. You have not even left me the choice of weapons," I added, pointing to the case of swords lying on the grass.
"I assumed that monsieur would not eave weapons with him," he replied apologetically, "If monsieur has brought pistols and would prefer them—"
He said this with obvious reluctance, from which I gathered that he knew better how to handle a sword than to fire a revolver.
"I accept your weapons," I replied, still speaking with an easy indifference, "I have no particular desire to fight you at all, except to oblige you, and if you cannot secure a second—"
An exclamation of mingled joy and I surprise broke in on our interesting and concentrated discussion.
"Eh, mon, so there you are! Come away, come away! Ye'll no be troning your work this day. Listen, mon, I've been thinking over what you told me, and I've thocht of a way—whisht, lad, I'll tell you again, and we'll keep our thumbs on it."
The weird Scot MacClintock had rushed through the lodge gates and was shouting excitedly at Lake. He had not noticed us at first, and pulling himself up sharply, he nodded and blinked at the stalwart engineer with many mysterious jerks of his head towards Legros and myself.
The Frenchman, as though struck with a sudden inspiration, walked over to him, and lifting his hat, said in his most polite tone, "Monsieur MacClintock, will you do me a great favour? I wish you to act as my friend in an affair of honour."
The Scotchman did not hear him at first, he was so busily occupied making signs to Lake, but on realising that he was being addressed by somebody else, he peered up at the smirking foreigner through his powerful spectacles, and shook his head sadly.
"You're a civil-spoken man, but you're no engineer." MacClintock evidently divided men into two classes, those who were engineers and those who were not, and he had a profound disrespect for 'the latter.
"It is an affair of honour," repeated Legros, "and I wish you to act as my friend."
MacClintock turned inquiringly to Lake. The Yorkshireman took him kindly by the shoulder, and bending down to him shouted in his ear.
"The man wants to fight, and won't be happy till he's got his gruelling. The sooner it's over the quicker we'll get back to work. Come!"
With that he wheeled his eccentric colleague round and marched off with him into the forest. For a moment or two the Frenchman paused irresolutely.
"He will serve your purpose if you really want this absurd business to go on," I said. "I daresay he's no greater or less a fool than most people who go out on these ridiculous errands."
Legros, without another word, picked up the sword case and followed the two engineers. We walked for some distance without exchanging words. Then, when we reached a beaten path running off to the right, Legros himself took the lead and conducted us to a bare patch in the middle of a group of enormous trees with low, overhanging branches. The Frenchman unlocked the sword-case, and pointing towards it said to MacClintock:
"Will Monsieur oblige?"
The Scotchman bent over the box of weapons and picking one of them up, examined it critically.
"Mon, it's a dainty bit steel, but its no scientific. Any cutler could make you one like that. It's old-fashioned."
Legros watched him with a perplexed look and Lake burst into a loud laugh.
"You've got to pick the two of them out and offer Mr. Lovegrove the handles to chose from. That's the way 'twas done when they played 'The Corsican Brothers' in Bradford Theatre."
MacClintock still looked at the weapons with the eye of an expert in steel. Legros, getting impatient, thrust him aside, and picking out the finely tempered swords, held them by their tips and presented the handles to me. Getting my eyeglass tightly fixed I selected one of them.
We had both stripped to the waist by this time, and in a few seconds we were standing at the guard. The Frenchman insisted on going through all the preliminaries of measuring swords, and bowing, all of which antics Lake regarded with contempt, and old MacClintock with at quizzical interest.
Then, suddenly taking out his pocketbook the old gentleman began figuring out a series of rapid calculations which he insisted on muttering over to Lake. The Yorkshireman was by this time keenly weighing up the respective chances of Legros and myself. Out of the corner of my eye I could see his big, good- natured face assuming a look of intense anxiety. Legros evidently knew how tod handle a sword, The time I had spent in fencing had not been thrown away, skill of this sort is like the American's revolver. You may not often need it, but when you do, you need it badly.
My antagonist followed up a series of skilful passes with a smartly delivered attack which would have made an end of me had I not on made than one occasion practised this particular manoeuvre myself in the fencing school. I saw a look of fierce disappointment come into his eyes when he realised that he had not taken me by surprise. Then he tried another swordsman's trick, but this also I met, and recognising that he had a fencer to deal with, he went a little slower and waited for me to attack.
I had no particular desire, however, to kill him just yet, In the first place, I don't like bloodshed; it's untidy and disagreeable, and makes a mess of everything. And then Legros, now that I had found him out, was more likely to be useful to me alive than dead!
Lake was too good a sportsman to do any more than see that I got fair play; he would not shout instructions, but the nervous way in which he moved about instead of standing perfectly still as a second should, showed that he strongly disapproved of my methods, and was bursting to tell me to force the fighting. Legros deliberately made one or two mistakes to draw me on, and then cursing me below his breath, was about to adopt the defensive himself when his second toddled forward on his short legs with his notebook in his hand, and thrusting himself between us, began drawing miniature diagrams and explaining to Legros that the angles at which he was holding his sword were several degrees out, and altogether unscientific.
"This is intolerable," said the Frenchman, thrusting him aside. Lake, stepping forward, caught the old gentleman by the arm and led him back, protesting and expounding, some paces off.
After this interruption Legros bowed to me again, measured swords once I more, and with an evil look on his pallid face pressed me so hard that I had to retreat a few paces. Happily, I have a good wrist, and the Frenchman grew tired first. Once more he adopted the defensive, and in the heat of the conflict an overmastering desire crept over me to give him some sport. I attacked him sharply and drove him round the naturally formed ring. He fixed his beady black eyes on me, and once when I, in my recklessness, gave him an opening, his sword arm shot out like the head of a cobra. Another fraction of an instant and it would have been through my heart. As it was, I felt a stinging at my side and knew that he had got the point into my flesh. With a fiendish lust for blood on his evil-looking countenance he redoubled his energies.
Lake forgot the Scotchman, who had been pestering him with diagrams and figures, and MacClintock got between us gain. I was only just in time to ward off a furious thrust that Legros in his rage made at the little man, who, all unconscious of his narrow escape from death, began expounding his theory again.
"Get out of the way," yelled Legros, '"This is a plant. It is not fair. I see it, now," he added, with choking sarcasm, "why you wanted me to bring this person as my second."
"May I remind you that you chose him yourself?" I said, as calmly as I could, and turning to my second I added "for heaven's sake, Lake, do something with your friend."
Lake, with a quiet laugh, stepped forward, and picking up the scientist in his arms, swung and pushed him up the trunk of one of the huge trees till he got him straddle-legged on one of the overhanging branches.
"There, you've got a balcony seat for the show now," he said good-naturedly, "and if you try to get down till I help you, you'll hurt yourself."
Once more we measured swords, and Legros, to whom the rest had been really a Godsend, fought with the frenzy of despair. There was no doubt that he meant to kill. The slight flesh wound he had given me smarted a little and from the trickling feeling I had underneath my shirt I knew he had drawn blood. The movements of my body aggravated this, and I wasn't sure how far it was safe to risk any loss of blood in a fight with an antagonist who so severely taxed my nerve and strength.
Suddenly changing my tactics, I pressed the Frenchman again, and by a dexterous wrist turn sent his sword spinning out of his hand. He drew himself up stiff and resigned; I lowered the point of my sword, and, picking up his, handed it to him.
"Does that satisfy you?" I asked.
He grabbed the handle of the sword.
"No it does not," he snarled, and with a wicked movement lunged at me before I had the time to recover my own guard.
"You infernal cad!" shouted Lake, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and almost tearing his shirt off his back as I stepped swiftly aside. "Anyway you'll fight no more with a blackguard like this!" he shouted, as I tried to wave him back. "Fair's fair, and I'm bawned to see fair play."
Legros twisted himself like an eel in the Yorkshireman's grasp; and shortening his weapon lunged over his shoulder at the big man's throat.
"You would, would you?" said Lake, holding him by the back of his neck at arm's length and shaking him till his white teeth rattled like a dice-box.
"You're choking him," I shouted, "For heaven's sake let him alone!"
Lake flung the writhing figure round and let him drop flat on the grass, Then picking up the sword which had fallen a few feet off, he flung it into the thicket, and before I realised what he was doing, he had whipped mine out of my hand and served that in the same way.
"Na then," he said grimly, "If you want to go on with this bit of a scrap you'll have to do it with the raw uns, both of you. That p'raps ain't etiquette, but it's Yorkshire."
Panting and quivering, Legros rose to his feet.
"Monsieur was discreet in bringing his servant," he said with a sneer.
"I was," I replied grimly. "It was well for you that he intervened. I rarely lose my temper; but after that foul stroke I would have run you through like a caterpillar."
The Frenchman looked at me for a second with a malignant expression on his bloodless face.
"It is true you are the better swordsman," he said, "and you have the brute strength of your accursed countryman in your wrist, but I shall be revenged yet."
"All right, old chap!" I lisped, wiping my eyeglass on the front of my soft shirt and sticking it once more into my eye, just as M. Hanoteaux, with a questioning look on his face, stepped out from the narrow path.
"Ah, how do you do, Hanoteaux!" I added, adopting my most dudeish air, "Funny fellow, this friend of yours. Brought me out at a most inconvenient hour to play at swords with him. He has a peculiar sense of humour."
"What foolery is this?" asked Hanoteaux, sharply, turning to Legros, "Are you aware that this gentleman is my guest?"
"Your guest!" repeated Legros with a bitter sneer. "He is a—"
"Oh, he wrote me a letter asking me to meet him," I interjected. "He writes a nice letter."
"Ah, help me down, help me down. There is Hanoteaux. I'll have it out with Hanoteaux the noo!" cried a croaking voice from without the leaves of the big tree. We had forgotten MacClintock. Hanoteaux, looking in the direction from which the voice came; saw his other guest holding on to a branch of a tree with one hand, and frantically waving to Lake with the other, Our host moved towards the tree, and Legros, following, cried: "I denounce this man as a—"
Hanoteaux did not hear him, or took no notice of him. I caught my late antagonist by the shoulder and whispered in his ear.
"I have seen another interesting letter of yours written to certain people in England. Shall we discuss the whole matter with Hanoteaux now?"
THE fierce passion of Legros suddenly gave way to a terrorised agony. He glanced swiftly round at Hanoteaux, who was angrily demanding to know what MacClintock was doing in the tree, and only receiving for answer a jumble of incoherent threats.
"He has not heard," I said quietly. "He has other things on his mind. You had better not revive the subject."
"Help me down!" shouted the infuriated Scot, The poor man could not trust himself to swing off the tree to the ground. He was not so supple as he once had been.
"Wait a minute, old sport," said Lake. "Keep cool. You are better up there till you have got some of your steam off."
Hanoteaux twisted his huge moustache and pulled his pointed beard.
"Has everybody gone mad?" he gasped. "I found that Mr. MacClintock had wandered off somewhere for a walk and was told he had been seen going out of the lodge gates in the direction of the forest. It is as well I came to seek him. I presume you young men imagined it a merry jest to play cruel practical jokes on my poor old uncle. It may be your idea of humour," he added, swinging around and facing me, "but it is not, in my view, the conduct of a gentleman."
I had by this time stuffed my handkerchief over the flesh wound in my side, It was only a scratch, and I got into my clothes without any difficulty. Legros, too, had put on his coat and waistcoat, and was ready with a convenient lie.
"Monsieur MacClintock decided to take observation from a convenient altitude," he said. "Monsieur Lovegrove and I had an argument that we should test the point by actual demonstration. I admit that the pass he has learned from an English professor is a good one, though I did not think it practicable when he described it to me. Monsieur MacClintock's infirmity of sight and our own anxiety to test our skill almost brought him in dangerous proximity to our weapons, so his assistant enabled him to climb up for a safe view."
Hanoteaux either accepted or pretended to accept the explanation. Legros locked the sword case, held it under his arm though it still contained: the weapons. He wanted no further argument on the question of the duel.
Lake clambered up the trunk of the tree, and helping MacClintock along the branch, gave him a back and deposited him safely on the ground.
"It's time to get back to our work, Mr. Maclintock," he said, talking the old gentleman by the arm. "These young gents think of nothing but play. They've got no serious business in life like us."
"I want to talk to Hanoteaux," protested the scientist. "Let me get to him. I tell you I will—"
"Now that will do," said Lake soothingly. "We have wasted enough time, and if you want me to help you finish the job you will have to hurry up. I'm not bawn to stop here in this foreign land for ever. And about that check action on that cog. I've been thinking it over while those young men have been at their game, and from what I can see it will mean—"
He led MacClintock off, explaining his theory, and the little gentleman forgetting everything else in the fascination of an argument on a technical point of mechanics, took no further notice of Hanoteaux, who, satisfied that the Scot was getting back to his operations, strolled leisurely along with Legros and myself.
"Exciting sport, fencing, don't you know? At times, too deucedly exciting," I murmured. "Did you never go in for fencing, Monsieur Hanoteaux? It keeps one in form, I mean."
Hanoteaux shrugged his shoulders, and talked of wasting one's time in playing at things.
He put up with my meandering small talk till we got out of the narrow path, and then, with ill-concealed contempt, he walked off in another direction, leaving Legros with me.
"Hanoteaux takes life seriously. He doesn't like being bored. Do you know, Legros, I sometimes think that serious persons have an awful time of it, and that life must be very dull for them, I mean."
Legros watched Hanoteaux till he was well out of hearing; and then, turning to me, said with a meaning look.
"Suppose I told him what I have myself discovered—that you are not such a fool as you make everybody believe."
I measured my companion up and down through my eyeglass, and then, letting it drop, I answered nonchalantly—
"It is a waste of energy to suppose anything so unlikely."
"Unlikely," he repeated, tugging at his little moustache, "and why is it so unlikely? Do you suppose I intend to keep silent, to suffer insult and injury at your hands, to allow you to roam undisturbed and unchecked as the trusted guest of a man who believes you to be a guileless fop, and who entertains you merely because he wants the services of that big hulking brute you call your valet? You think you hold me In your power, because you have meanly obtained from Mlle. Joan letters, which, in the excess of my love for her, I was induced to write; but do not deceive yourself into supposing that you will baulk me for ever with that threat. A cold-blooded man like you cannot understand what a man who loves as I do would dare."
"Oh, yes, I understand a few things about you, I think, and I also give you to understand that in the event of your continuing to impose your unwelcome attentions on the lady of whom I have constituted myself the guardian, it will be my duty to deal with you a little less tenderly than I did on the last occasion that we had the honour to meet in the room where Mlle. Joan is imprisoned."
"You threaten me!" he hissed, his white face growing paler.
"No, I never threaten. I merely give you a friendly warning. What a remarkably characteristic hand you write, by the way."
"What do you mean?" he said, clutching me by the coat sleeve, and gazing into my eyes as though he would read my soul.
"Oh, nothing! Which way are you going? I am ready for a second breakfast. Coffee is not sufficiently sustaining for an exciting morning like this."
"Stop, stop!" he said hoarsely, following me as I turned towards the lodge gates. "You said something in the forest about letters written to persons in England. What do you mean?"
"Yes, I rather thought you were trying to lead up to that," I replied with a coolness that maddened him. "Perhaps it is as well that we should understand each other. I have seen your handwriting in England. Sometimes I drop into the War Office there when the season is dull and I have nothing better to do."
"Traitor, spy, agent provocateur!" he snarled.
"Very pretty names," I retorted blandly, "but do they apply to me or to yourself? I at all events have not demanded money or sold the secrets of my Government."
"The Government? What has M. Hanoteaux to do with the Government?"
For one moment I became excited. My eyeglass tumbled out of itself this time, and I allowed my lips to form themselves for a soft whistle. I had formed the impression that Hanoteaux and Legros were in the secret service of the French Government, but I had stumbled on easier game. If it was Hanoteaux's private venture I could act more boldly. Legros was a scoundrel, and I was justified In throwing him over. With him out of the way my anxiety over Joan would be considerably lessened.
"Monsieur Legros," I said abruptly, "we have been mutually supposing things for each other's edification until I am intolerably hungry. Let us come to plain facts. You have betrayed M. Hanoteaux's confidence. We have paid you for that, and perhaps neither of us have any just ground for affecting superior virtue on that count, but as you have proved yourself a person not safe to be trusted, and as Monsieur Hanoteaux is possibly open to treat with any reasonable purchaser, since you say he does not hold the information on behalf of the French Government, I think the simplest plan I can adopt is to seek him out forthwith, tell him exactly what I want, and how much I am prepared to give for it."
With that I turned this time in the direction M. Hanoteaux had taken. The man positively leapt after me.
"For God's sake, no!" he cried in a voice trembling with terror. "Listen, listen! It is true Hanoteaux is not in the pay of the French Government. The invention has nothing to do with them, but if you breathe a word to him of what has passed between us it is death to me. Our private quarrel is nothing, It is an affair between gentlemen in love with the same woman. You have no right to use your position to forward your cause in that."
"I assure you I am doing nothing of the kind." I said. "I am separating business from personal affairs entirely. If you have sold Hanoteaux's secret, keep out of his way. In fact, keep out of everybody's way. Quit the country and be hanged to you. He can't follow you everywhere."
"No, but his comrades can. Listen. Listen!"
He pulled me right away from the trees, looked everywhere and all around, and then with his trembling lips close to my ear he went on hurriedly, "Hanoteaux is the head of the 'League Universal.' Its ramifications extend throughout the civilised world. I am a sworn member of it. Our comrades are in all lands. If you breathe but a word to him that you know anything of his design for the construction of an aeroplane which is to dominate the world, and rain death upon rulers in all States, he will suspect that I have told you. To be suspected is to be dead. Wherever I go the vengeance of the League will follow me. By poison, bullet, or knife, I shall assuredly die within a week."
"But why suspect you?" I said, trying to gain time to think out this new situation and incidentally pump more out of my man.
"I am the only person with whom you have come in contact who knows."
"But MacClintock—"
"MacClintock is a scientific tool. He is not of the Brotherhood. He thinks he is producing a great invention which will make him famous. He knows nothing of the purpose to which it will be put. So soon as you declare yourself interested, Hanoteaux will suspect you. Within a few hours he will have discovered all about you. He has not taken the trouble up to now because he despises you. Be advised, do not whisper a word to him. He would kill us both. Your life will be no more sacred than mine."
There was something in this, although I did not propose to let Legros know I saw it from that point of view.
"Oh, I can take care of myself," I said with a smile, "and as to you—well, we will leave matters where they are for the moment. I will get to my breakfast, which with all due respect I want very badly."
"But you will not speak to Hanoteaux. You will never speak to him, never! never! I implore you," said the terrified man, still clutching me by the arm.
"Well, never is a long day, but I promise you this much. The next move rests with you. If you keep quiet, and remain at a respectful distance from the west wing, you will probably hear no more about it."
With that I shook him off, and made straight for the house. Things were getting decidedly complicated. I was right in the very heart of a hornets' nest of the most dangerous and unscrupulous and most powerful secret revolutionary society the world had ever known.
I GOT through déjeuner as quickly as I could. Legros, who sat at table with us, never opened his lips, and Monsieur Hanoteaux was more reserved even than usual. Madame Hanoteaux and I therefore, had all the conversation to ourselves, such conversation as it was. I was nervous during the whole time we sat at table, lest the two men should rise from their seats and leave Madame Hanoteaux and myself alone. Each day, and each hour of each day, I found it harder to maintain the attitude of devout lover towards my host's wife, and in the mood I was then, excited and unstrung by the events of the morning, I felt that a private interview with Madame Hanoteaux would place too great a strain upon my powers of acting. It was difficult enough to sit there and maintain my pose of dude and fool with Legros' eyes watching me furtively across the table, and Monsieur Hanoteaux taking no pains to disguise the utter contempt in which he held me. I wanted to be alone—quite alone, to figure out my position carefully.
I hurried therefore through my meal, and as soon as I had satisfied the cravings of nature I made some excuse about writing letters, gave my hostess a look which I knew she would translate as one full of mystery and meaning, and left the room. Finding my cap and stick I slipped from the house, and passing through the park gates, plunged into the forest beyond, and after walking for about a mile through a long green cutting, settled myself down with a pipe against the trunk of an old oak tree.
Legros' confession in the morning had cast quite a new light upon my undertaking. It was clear that my chief in London had imagined, when entrusting me with the task, that I should have to deal with the French Government, that it was an international secret which I had to discover. It was obvious now, from what Legros had told me, that we had all been grievously mistaken. It was the Central Organisation of Combat, that mysterious and awe- inspiring committee of unknown men who guide the cause of anarchism, who were building this airship, and their cause was a very different one to that of France.
I felt a certain delight in the fact that I had to deal not with a friendly government, who after all were entitled to construct whatever weapons of destruction they pleased for their legitimate protection, but an organisation which had for its avowed object the ruin of all decently constituted human society. It gave my task quite a different aspect. I felt that I was no longer a secret agent prying upon tile secrets of another nation, but the participant in a crusade against the enemies of mankind.
In the glow of my idealistic enthusiasm I overlooked the fact that it increased my dangers tenfold. True, I need expect no interference from the French Government They would be far from taking it amiss if I dragged to the light of day the secret of this terrible weapon of destruction, which was being built in the park of the Chateau de Lisle by a half-mad Scotchman. But I should make myself the avowed enemy of the Central Committee of the Organisation of Combat, whose emissaries had before now defied the military forces of Europe, and struck down monarchs in the very heart of their capitals. But if ever man had an incentive to perform an unpleasant duty, it was myself. I was strongly opposed to the anti-social doctrines of the anarchists, and for their propaganda of wholesale murder and outrage I had the most bitter hatred. Added to these feelings, which would alone have tempted me to dare all in discovering Monsieur Hanoteaux's carefully preserved secret, there was my love of Joan and my indignation of the suffering she was enduring.
Sitting there in the forest smoking furiously, I racked my brains for a plan of escape. So engrossed was I in my reflections that I never noticed a man who came wobbling down the long green forest road until his shadow, coming between me and the sunlight, made me look up. It was Von Bach—blue spectacles, black tangled moustache, umbrella and all!
"My young preserver!" he exclaimed, "I am glad to see you. You saved my life the other day. I am everlastingly grateful."
He beamed on me with such an affectation of warmth, that had I not been perfectly satisfied in my own mind that my insistence on his taking his departure from the park had irritated him beyond words, I should really have believed him.
"To have been of such small service to you, sir, makes me hardly worthy of so much thanks."
"Ah, but I am grateful to you. I have been wanting ever since then to see you and thank you. You rest here, nicht wahr?"
He sat clumsily down by my side, and taking off the little round green cloth hat that he wore, proceeded to mop his brow with a large bandanna handkerchief. Von Bach always overdid the part he way trying to play. He was endeavouring now to be a simple German citizen with rural manners.
"Perhaps you will wonder, my good sir, what I am doing in M. Hanoteaux's park the other day. I say to myself that you must think it curious."
"I thought it jolly unwise, don't you know," I replied. "But I suppose you wanted to see that funny ship they are building here?"
My frank statement of the motives which I knew had prompted him to undertake that little adventure rather took him aback. But he recovered himself quickly. "You are quite right. It was my curiousness, I had heard them talk about it in the neighbourhood, and I went in to have a peep. Perhaps these things do not interest you?"
"Not a bit! All these tubes and cylinders and things are a fearful bore."
"Ach! that is a pity." His genuine look of disappointment puzzled me. I wondered what he was driving at, and regretted that in my haste to disguise the object of my presence in the neighbourhood, I had pretended a complete lack of interest. I endeavoured to make amends for my blunder.
"By Jove, you are like my friend who was here the other day. He is never happy when he is more than a few inches away from a carburettor, and all those sort of things. He has been miserable down here, till he managed to get permission to help on the construction of that silly machine."
The look of disappointment vanished quickly from Von Bach's face. He hesitated a moment before he spoke, prodding at the ground with the point of his umbrella. "Your friend, I wonder, would be prepared to do a little service for me, for money—what is your word?—remuneration, that is it—for remuneration, of course."
"I shouldn't think he'd mind a bit: but of course, it depends on what you wanted doing."
Von Bach became suddenly very confidential, edging up more closely to my side.
"I will tell you a little story, my friend. I am not what I seem."
I was quite aware of that not even Clarkson could have disguised Von Bach. But as the dramatic pause that he made seemed to denote a certain anxiety on his part for an expression of amazement on mine, I raised my eyebrows with astonishment, and uttered a "really," which was as good as a call before the curtain to Von Bach.
"It is a fact you see me here, a plain German country fellow, but I am more than that. I am an inventor. I have a head." He tapped his forehead significantly, as if he were a geologist tapping at a rock to make certain of its nature. I kept my look of astonishment fixed upon my face.
"Now listen here. I invent an airship. It is the work of a lifetime. I do it all out on paper, and when it is complete this wonderful ship that is to conquer the heaven, I have all my papers and plans stolen. I say nothing to nobody, but I go, and I search, and I search until I discover the thief. It is this Scotchman, MacClintock. He is using my plans to build my ship. I cannot go to him and say, 'You are a thief, give me my plans,' for I have nothing to show that they are mine. I must get them back by stealth. If your friend would take them for me, I would pay him well. What say you?"
He scanned my face eagerly through his blue glasses. For once he had lied quite artistically.
"You have been treated jolly badly," I said. "I feel for you awfully, you know. Still, a fellow does not like to be mixed up in that sort of thing, does he?"
Von Bach got very excited.
"But I tell you, I will pay him," he said, stamping his umbrella viciously into the ground. "I will pay him well."
I had a sudden inspiration. Why should I not make use of Von Bach? We were opponents in a game, and the rules of the game permitted me to take every advantage possible. I should want some assistance in helping Joan to escape, and what better man than this German, whose relations with in were unsuspected.
"I couldn't really take any money, you know. It wouldn't look well, but if you would be prepared to do me a service, he might do the same for you."
"Anything, my friend," he said eagerly. "Anything that will get me back my plans."
"Well, look here," I said, breaking into the subject quickly, "the fact is that I am in love. That's why I am down here, doncher know. The lady is a sort of ward of Monsieur Hanoteaux's—won't let her out of his sight: hardly allows her to go out of the house. Now, I want to got her away, and you can help me. If you go up to Paris, and get the fastest car you can find, and be at the gates of the chateau to-morrow at midnight, we will get you back your plans."
Von Bach was enthusiastic.
"Ach! It is a romance, my friend. The young lady shall be yours. Today—now, I go to Paris to find the car, and to- morrow night I will be at the chateau gates, and you will bring me the plans. Is that not so?"
"We had better not take the originals," I said cautiously. "It would be best for my friend to copy them. Then there would be no suspicion. But my friend will be able to give you information as well, about what is being done. He knows all about these sort of things."
Von Bach rose to his feet, and held out his hand.
"That is good," he said, as he shook mine warmly, "I go now. Tomorrow at midnight."
He stumped up the long green road, swinging his umbrella excitedly. I watched him—a curiously comic figure— until he had disappeared from view. Then I rose also, and made my way back to the chateau.
IT was not until after dinner that I had an opportunity of seeing Madame Hanoteaux alone—Legros took good care of that. The fellow watched me like a cat watches a mouse. He met me on my return from the forest, and he shadowed me for the rest of the day. In the presence of Madame Hanoteaux I could say nothing. When by way of relief from his attention I sought the privacy of my bedroom, he must have remained outside in the passage, for I found him there two hours later. He would have made his escape had I not stopped him.
"Look here, M. Legros," I said, screwing my eyeglass into my eye, "your attentions are becoming too deucedly trying. Suppose you deny yourself the pleasure of being constantly in my society, until to-morrow morning?"
I have never seen so much hate and terror concentrated in a man's fade before.
"Ah!" he said, "you cannot stop me watching you; remember, monsieur, if I fear, I also love."
"A very admirable sentiment, M. Legros, very happily expressed; but the point is, that I dislike those attentions of yours, and I beg you to relieve me of them. I don't wish to have the trouble of having a certain letter sent through the post to M. Hanoteaux. It might have such very unpleasant consequences for you."
The man's face was livid. "I can also threaten, monsieur. If I suffer, there will be others who will suffer with me."
"My dear amiable slayer of helpless old men, I will reply to you in your own polite epigrammatic style. Remember, if I love, also I do not fear."
But all my threats were in vain. Nothing would persuade Legros to leave me alone with Madame Hanoteaux, and had it not been for the fact that he had to attend to his secretarial duties after dinner at the request of his employer, I should never have been free to lay my plans before my hostess.
As soon as we were alone I had to go through the inevitable formula of taking her hands in mine, and of listening to her wearisomely reiterated terms of endearment.
"Pauline," I said at last, "we have no time to waste. Your husband and Legros may return at any moment. I made all plans for relieving you of this great insult that your husband has placed upon you. To-morrow this girl shall be got out of the house. I have arranged for a motor-car to be in readiness at the gates, and we will bring her out by the secret way, and through these windows. Once she is in the car, all will be well. Not till then shall I feel that I have fulfilled my promise to you, and helped to make some recompense to you for all the indignities you've had to endure. Perhaps, after that your husband will learn how to treat the most charming woman in the world."
My flow of melodramatic ranting brought the tears to her eyes. I felt almost sorry for her until I recalled her treatment of Joan.
"Ah, M. Lovegrove," she said, letting her head droop over my shoulder. "If only fate had been more kind to me, if only we had met before, then these years of torture would never have been."
What more she might have said of a similar kind was cut short by the sound of approaching footsteps, and in another moment her husband and Legros returned.
No other opportunity occurred that evening of saying anything more, for Legros absolutely refused to leave. At about half-past ten I went up to my room, where I was shortly afterwards joined by Lake, who had been working overtime on the airship. I told him of all that had occurred, and of how I proposed to use Von Bach.
"What dost tha want me to give yon chap, then? I don't mind taking plans away from yon Hanoteaux, but it don't seem fair to MacClintock to let Von Bach have them. I've gotten tracings of all there is to be got. MacClintock gave them me himself. He's scared lest Hanoteaux should collar them and leave him in the lurch. But I tell you straight, Purcell, it don't seem straight to hand them to Von Bach!"
"My dear. George, don't be an ass. Von Bach is the very last person I want to have them. Give him any old thing you like. I don't believe he knows a spanner from a pulley, and as long as there's something more or less reasonable about what you give him, so as to keep his people quiet, he'll be as pleased as anything. Keep the tracings carefully, for with luck we shall be out of this place to-morrow."
I then launched into an explanation of all my plans for Joan's escape. Lake was to got MI. Hanoteaux and Legros out of the way, by persuading MacClintock that he must consult them on some matter or other connected with the airship. It about eleven- thirty. Madame Hanoteaux would have seen to the gates of the park being left unlocked. I was to take upon myself the pleasant duty of releasing Joan by means of the secret passage, and providing everything wont well, I felt convinced that we should get away without any trouble. During the pause that followed the recital of my plans a faint sound at the other side of the door attracted my attention.
I rose from my chair, motioning to Lake to remain still, and stepping softly across the floor, suddenly flung open the door. The noise of scurrying footsteps and the soft banging of a swing door at the other the of the passage, assured me that somebody had been playing the eavesdropper, and I felt particularly satisfied that the person was Legros. But it was too dark to distinguish anyone.
"What's the matter, Purcell?" said Lake.
"Legros has been listening at the door," I said. "We should have been more careful."
"It's a pity we didn't stick him this morning and get rid of him. Yon chap'll cause a deal of mischief afore we're through."
"Oh, I don't think so, George, old chap," I replied airily, "he's too frightened for his own skin."
But none the less, when Lake had taken his departure after saying good-night, I hardly felt the same confidence as my words seemed to indicate, and I spent a restless night, crowded with unpleasant dreams, which were but the reflection of the anxieties that obsessed my mind for the morrow. I was thankful when the day slid, pallid and cold, over the sea of forest trees. I rose as soon as the earth was bathed in sunlight, and having dressed, packed two of my three portmanteaux, taking care to include the very few important papers I had got with me, and made my way quietly out of the chateau.
The park gates were locked. Having thrown my luggage over in advance, I managed to climb through. In half an hour I had reached Mr. Holroyd's house, and though it was scarcely four o'clock I had the good fortune to find the sturdy Yorkshireman already up and about. He greeted me heartily, showed no inquisitiveness as to my movements, and consented, without a question, to take care of my luggage till I should call for it that night.
I managed to get back to the chateau before anybody was up, and as I had a long day before me I turned again into bed, where I dozed until nearly eleven-o'clock. I was finally awakened by Lake coming into my room, and I took the opportunity of giving him my final directions in case no other chance should offer.
"If any trouble should occur tonight, George, remember you've got to get Miss Joan in the car, and get moving as quickly as you can. Never mind about me. If necessary, you must leave me to take care of myself. The main thing is to get Miss Joan away to a place of safety in Paris. If I am compelled to stay behind, go straight to Paris, and place those plans in the keeping of the Crédit Lyonnais. Then you can come back here and see how I'm getting on."
"I shouldn't like to leave thee, lad, alone among these foreign cutthroats."
"I'll pull through all right, George; don't you worry about that, I've as many lives as a cat, and there's only been one in jeopardy up till now, the Joan you saved in South Africa. The other eight are to come."
George's face flushed up to the roots or his hair, and with a muttered "I'll see all's done as tha said, Purcell," he stamped out of the room.
Nothing annoyed George more than reminding him of his good deeds. I am sure he would suffer an accusation of murder with greater equanimity than any reminder of his many acts of heroism.
The day passed slowly and wearily away. Madame Hanoteaux was anxious and distraught, and hid her feelings indifferently. I kept a close eye upon Legros, but though he shadowed me with the same persistence as he had shown the day before, I detected no signs that he suspected the little coup we had arranged for that night. I purposely kept away from Madame Hanoteaux lest any conversation we had on the subject that occupied our minds might chance on the watchful ears of the secretary.
We sat late that night after dinner, and M. Hanoteaux, who was in an unusually expansive mood, insisted on having some music in the salon afterwards. Madame Hanoteaux, whose voice was of the feeble and flutey order, sang one or two songs with highly embroidered accompaniments, and Legros, who was an accomplished pianist, kept us in a condition of rapt enthusiasm, while he filled the salon with the wild passionate notes of Tchaikovsky's great military tragedy, "1812."
Madame Hanoteaux then pressed me to sing, and I could see by the fever in her eyes that her nerves could not well stand any pause in the proceedings. It was already twenty minutes past eleven, and the moment of action had almost arrived. So wild folly prompted me to select a passionate love song, one out of the collection of Indian songs by Laurence Hope.
As I sung, the salon with its Empire furniture—Madame Hanoteaux, with her discontented, coquettish face, the pitiless sardonic personality of M. Hanoteaux, the furtive treacherous glances of Legros—all vanished from my mind. I sang the song of Joan—to my beautiful Joan, sad and lonely in her cruel prison in the west wing. My thoughts were of her, and of her only.
"Ah, I would the hours were fleet,
As her silver-circled feet.
I am weary of the day-time and the night.
Oh, my rose with jasmine breath,
With this longing for your beauty and your light."
As I brought the haunting accompaniment to a gradual
diminuendo to the soft, almost silent last note, the spell was
broken. I looked up quickly, with the affectation of a laugh.
Legros was leaning on the piano looking at me, and the
concentrated hatred and anguish in his face made me bitterly
regret the song I had selected. I was a fool to have tampered
with the man's emotions. There was no time to repair the
mischief.
It had already passed the half hour. Lake entered the room and begged M. Hanoteaux and Legros to go to MacClintock at once. Legros, I saw, would have stayed, but a peremptory order from M. Hanoteaux made him follow his master.
We set about our respective duties at once. Madame Hanoteaux retired to her bedroom. Lake made his way through the French windows to the park gates, and I, seizing a candle, entered the secret passage. As I stepped into the room in the west wing I found Joan sitting as before at the window, her beautiful head resting on her hand, looking out sadly at the starlit sky. She started as I pushed back the panel.
"What is the matter?" she said.
"I've come to release you. We haven't a minute to lose."
She was a sensible girl, and stopped to ask no questions, though if the truth be told, I should have been the better pleased if she had shown greater gratification. She flew to get her hat and coat, while I, with a spanner secured from Lake, broke open the lock of the door to give M. Hanoteaux the impression that she had escaped by that route. In less than a minute all had been accomplished. I carefully closed the swing door behind us, so as to avoid involving Madame Hanoteaux in the escape, and holding Joan's hand I conducted her quickly down the long dark passage. As we passed through the salon into the night air, I heard her give a little sigh, as of relief. Without a word, we hurried down the long drive. As we neared the gates I could hear the rhythmical pounding of a motor. Von Bach had kept his word. Still holding Joan's hand, we broke into a run.
The open gates were not more than five yards away, when suddenly from within the shadow of the trees, six men dashed out across the drive. M. Hanoteaux and Legros were two of them, the rest I could not distinguish for the darkness. No word was spoken as they closed in upon us quickly. Joan, with a little cry of terror and despair, clung desperately to my side. Maddened with rage and irritation, I lunged out fiercely with my disengaged arm at the first man who touched me. He went down. But I knew how the struggle must end. There were too many for me, I felt them trying to drag Joan away. But I held on to her arm savagely.
"George, George," I yelled at the top of my voice.
A MAN sprung on me from behind. Another was trying to pull my feet from under me, and I did not dare to kick at him lest I should lose my balance, and fall dragging Joan with me. Somebody clutched my arm tightly, and though I managed to shake him off the first time, at the second attempt he got a hold that left me powerless, but I still clung to Joan's arm with grim determination. Someone tried to make me release my grip by bending hack my fingers. I felt that I could not long sustain single-handed the combat I heard Joan give a cry of pain as they endeavoured to wrench her free from my grasp. I was in despair, when suddenly, through the gateway, I dimly discerned the burly form of George Lake come bullocking up the drive.
I have said that my friend George Lake weighs fourteen stone, concentrated into a body not more than five foot ten in height. Moreover, he is an old international Rugby football player, and his pace an agility are things to wonder at in a man of such a build. Once I am told, that in playing against Wales he came through a scrum, that had been formed within a few yards of the English goal-line, picked up the ball, and running the whole length of the field, scored a "try," the seven backs who tackled him in turn falling off him like particles of matter off a revolving flywheel. It is a feat that still remains famous in the records of sport.
I merely mention it here that I may not be considered guilty of exaggeration, when I describe the subsequent events of our struggle with the anarchists. There was a shock like an avalanche. Some irresistible force seemed suddenly to have hurled itself into the struggle. The man at my feet, suddenly loosed his hold with a groan. In the darkness I could not see, but I think George must have used his feet, thinking rightly that the circumstances justified any method of attack. The man who was grappling with my arm was bowled over by the momentum of his rush. I felt the hands that grasped me round my neck suddenly relaxed, the fellow evidently being not over anxious to receive George's attentions.
Lake ran round behind me, where the three remaining men were trying to tear Joan from my grasp. He fell upon them like Samson upon the Philistines, and they literally fled before his onslaught.
"Run and get into the car," I yelled to Joan. She obeyed me none too soon. Hardly had she passed through the gates when the six men who had been thrown into disorder by Lake's fierce rush, came at us together out of the darkness in a compact body.
"Get to the car, Lake," I shouted, "you know what to do. I'll hold them back."
But, for once George took it upon himself to disobey my instructions. I think, as a matter of fact, his Berserker blood had got the better of him, and he was physically incapable of leaving the fight. "Nay, I'se not bound to go' wi'out thee, lad. Let's back slowly to the gate, and we'll give 'em summat, before we've finished with 'em."
It was too late to say anything more, for they were already on us, Legros came at me with his head down savagely, and I gave him an undercut which made him drop like a stone. The rest of the fighting was a mere melee. As we slowly backed toward the gate, they closed on us again and again, and they did not lack spirit. Our chief difficulty was to keep them in front of us, and prevent an attack from the roar.
Every now and again Lake cleared our flanks with a vicious rush which the Frenchmen eluded as well as they could. Foot by foot we backed, until at last we stood at the open gate. Fortunately only one side of the gateway had been opened, had we were thus able to hold the passage without risk of being surrounded. Lake tried to swing the gate back, but it had been fixed by a hook which it was impossible to reach and loosen.
All this time I was consumed with anxiety for Joan. Her safety was the one thought in my mind.
"Make a rush for it!" I shouted to Lake, as I shook myself free from one of the Frenchmen who had come to grips with me.
"Nay, I'se not bound to, leave thee." Lake was stubbornly defiant. "The girl' safety is the first' consideration," I shouted back, "If you are my friend, do as I tell you, for heaven's sake."
It was an appeal which I never knew to fail, and it did not fall now. For a second, he took up the offensive, causing our antagonists to scatter. Then, turning, he ran to the car and jumped in. I would have followed him, had not one of the Frenchmen at that moment suddenly flung himself full length at me, grasping me firmly round the knees. I strove to release myself, dragging him with me towards the car. The others came pouring through the gate. I tried to stop them, but in vain. One of them attempted to board the car. I saw Lake's arm raised with a spanner in his hand, then suddenly the man sank limp on the road. The sixth fellow, who had been left behind in the drive, suddenly rushed through the gate, armed with a stick. I saw him coming, and tried to ward off the blow, somebody grabbed my arm from behind. I almost watched the stick descending.
"Go on," I shouted, "go on!"
Then the stick fell with stunning force on my brow. I reeled before it, and fell, The stars in the sky seemed to roll themselves into a dazzling circle of dancing, sparkling lights. But even as consciousness left me, I heard the sound of a clutch being put in and the sudden jarring of machinery, a noise that rapidly dwindled down to a soft musical purring sound that grew fainter and fainter. Then I remembered nothing more.
IT must have been something like five hours later that I recovered consciousness. To my surprise, I found that I was lying on the sofa in the salon—a not very comfortable sofa, for the First Empire furniture was constructed with a view rather to deportment than ease.
In spite of my splitting headache, and my aching limbs. I was sensible enough to feel surprise at finding myself there. After what had taken place I had expected at least the prison quarters that Joan had occupied. If these men were anarchists, prepared to take my life for fear lest I should betray their secrets, they were undoubtedly setting about their unpleasant duty with a humanity I hardly expected. No bonds confined my limbs; there was no suggestion of the condemned cell about the salon. Indeed, my head was bandaged, and turning on my side, I saw a table with a carafe of water, and a bottle of cognac, evidently intended for my use. It puzzled my very confused thoughts, but in my then physical condition, I concluded that these little attentions and humanities were such as are extended to a prisoner about to be hanged.
I eat up unsteadily, and pouring myself out nearly half a tumbler of brandy, laced it with a little water, and drank it off. I felt the immediate effects. The strong dose revived my strength and brought my brain back to a condition approaching clarity. I stood up on the floor and stretched myself to get the stiffness out of my limbs, As I did so, the door opened, and M. Hanoteaux and his secretary entered. I was glad I had the brandy then, for it gave me back some of my usual coolness and small powers of calculation. I had to decide there and then, on the spur of the moment, what part I was to play. I had to decide whether I dared any longer pose before M. Hanoteaux as the brainless dude after the events of the previous night, or just be my natural self, A quick glance at M. Hanoteaux's face helped to make up my mind. I pulled out my eyeglass, and fingered it nervously, looked abashed at the floor, and assumed, to the best of my poor dramatic ability, the look of a schoolboy, caught in flagrante delicto.
M. Hanoteaux came towards me, his brows furrowed with that severe judicial frown, which a Danton might have worn during the reign of terror. Legros hung behind, his face more sallow and vindictive than ever.
"Well, sir, I have come to hear what explanation you have to proffer me for your outrageous conduct last night." He spoke to me in the manner of a schoolmaster about to punish a naughty boy. His tone eased my mind absolutely.
"Don't know what to say, I'm sure," I murmured brokenly, "Awfully sorry doncher know and all that sort of thing." I purposely made several abortive attempts to stick my eyeglass in my eye. M. Hanoteaux's cruel feline lips seemed to curl with contempt.
"I ask for an explanation, monsieur, not an apology."
"Don't know what to say, I'm sure," I murmured, "It's so jolly hard to say anything."
The Danton-like frown deepened upon his brow.
"I will assist you. Perhaps you will tell me why you dared to release my ward, and to carry her off?"
"Ah—you see—what is a fellow to do? Women are the very devil."
I mouthed those meaningless words with as absurd an air as I could muster, taking a quick look over M. Hanoteaux's shoulder at Legros. He was standing there, white and terror-stricken, and his face gave me some inkling of the part I must play.
"You are not very lucid, monsieur. I will endeavour to extract the information I wish to arrive at in another way. Where and how did you meet my ward?"
It was a difficult question to answer. I knew nothing of what Legros had told M. Hanoteaux. That he had told him something was obvious from the preceding night's adventures. But that he had not told him the whole truth was partly proved by the fact that I was still alive. At any rate, it was certain that he know that I was there as a spy, and was possessed of his secret, he would not be talking to me in this way. But what had Legros told him? Unless my story corroborated his, there would be the very devil to pay. But there was no means of avoiding the question, I took the plunge.
"Why here, of course," I said, beaming inanely. "Climbed into that walled garden of yours, you know, by mistake. Saw her there several times: devilish fine girl—got doocedly fond of her. Couldn't help it, you know."
Much to my relief, M. Hanoteaux did not seem to regard my explanation as too grossly improbable. In fact, he seemed to hear it without surprise.
"May I ask what she told you about herself?"
"I don't know, 'pon my soul. The usual sort of stuff, you know, weather and things."
"Did she tell you the reason of her presence here?"
I pressed my hand to my head, like a man trying to collect his thoughts.
"Yes she did," I said suddenly. "She told me you'd brought her here from England, and that you were keeping her here against her will. By Jove! Now I remember, she spoke rather warmly about you, M. Hanoteaux."
"What did she say about me?" He asked the question with a certain dangerous grimness. I went on airily:
"'Pon my soul, I don't exactly remember, but it was hot, deucedly hot, Yes, deuce take it, she said you were wicked—devilish wicked!"
I caught sight of Legros' face, a picture of amazement at my daring.
"Did she particularise? Did she support her statements with any evidence?"
"Not that I remember. She said that you had brought her here, and kept her here against her wish. But you know women, M. Hanoteaux, devilish hot on throwing accusation about. Bless my soul, they'd accuse their own grandmothers of murder, if they felt in the mood."
I saw a little smile gather upon his lips, and my confidence increased.
"Why, then, with all this knowledge of the other sex, M. Lovegrove, and seeing that you were my guest, did you assist her to escape?"
"Well, she asked me to, you know, and Gad! you know, she was so devilish pretty. What was a fellow to do? I'm awfully sorry, you know."
"You can best show your regret for your outrageous conduct by informing me where she has been taken to, then may bring her back at once."
"That's the difficulty," replied I ingenuously. "You see, you didn't let me go with her. If you'd let me go, I could have told you—"
"But didn't you give your man any instructions as to where she was to be taken? Didn't you make any arrangements beforehand."
"No, I was simply going to take her to an hotel for the night, and see her off the following morning to England. That's what she asked me to do! It was her own idea entirely. I'm an awful duffer at arranging these things, you know."
"What hotel do you usually stay at?"
"The Bristol. George is sure to have taken her there. 'Pon my soul, you can wire to her there, and have her brought back."
Monsieur Hanoteaux shook his head meditatively. "No," he said, "we won't trouble to do that. What time do you expect your servant back?"
"To-morrow, for certain," I replied promptly.
His seeming innocent question had shown me the real reason of his attitude. He did not dare to put me out of the way, however much he might suspect me, while George was still at large. If anything happened to me, George would bring the police force about his ears. I chuckled inwardly at his dilemma.
"Mr. Lovegrove," he said sternly, "you have been guilty of a great piece of insolence; you have betrayed my hospitality, you and your man have severely injured several of my men, and you have forcibly abducted my ward. I am inclined to believe that your conduct was dictated by officious stupidity, and a certain romantic inanity. I shall be able, however, the better to judge your professions of regret when my ward is once more safely in my charge."
"I'm jolly sorry to upset you in this way, M. Hanoteaux; let me go up to Paris and fetch her."
"No," he replied quietly. "We will wait until your man returns. Meanwhile you may remain in this house. I would suggest that you go to your bedroom and rest."
He bowed stiffly to me, and left the room. I was left alone with Legros, We looked at each other fixedly for a few' seconds. Then I smiled.
"You scoundrel, you dirty English pig!" His face, already disfigured by the blow I had given him in the midnight melee, was so distorted by the passions of hate and anger that it looked almost diabolical. I crossed the room quietly, and stood in front of him.
"Look here, Legros," I said, tapping him on the shoulder, "you've tried to baulk me once. Take my advice and don't try it again. Next time you shall pay for it even if I have to be blown up with one of your precious master's infernal bombs. I'm beginning to get tired—very, tired—of you, M. Legros."
He recoiled a step from me, and I saw his hand suddenly go into the pocket of his coat. I made a dive at him, and was just in time to catch his wrist, as he, drew out a revolver. I wrenched It easily from his grasp, and gave him a push that sent him backwards on to the floor.
"These are toys, M. Legros, that are not suitable for persons of your excitable temperament. I will keep it until you are old and sane enough to use it. Besides, I may find it useful."
He picked himself up, a sorrowful object of a man, and without even a look at me, slunk away.
Having drunk a little more brandy, for even the slight struggle over the revolver had brought on the pains in my head with renewed vigour, I went up to my bedroom, and, carefully locking the door, got between the sheets. As a precaution, I slid Legros' revolver under the bolster.
I have a very confused recollection of how the day passed. I suppose that the blow I had received on the head had given me a slight concussion of the brain. At any rate, I only dimly remember waiting up at about midday, dressing myself in a sort of haze, and going downstairs.
I partook of déjeuner in lonely state. Madame Hanoteaux, so the servant told me, was confined to her bedroom, suffering from slight indisposition, the exact nature of which I had no difficulty in guessing. Monsieur Hanoteaux had already lunched. I recollect also having some confused idea of going for a walk, and of mounting to my bedroom again, with the intention, I suppose, of putting on my boots. There an uncontrollable drowsiness must have overcome me. I lay down on my bed with the intention of resting for a second or two, and incontinently dropped oft to sleep.
I awoke with a start. The room was in pitch darkness. A gale had sprung up, accompanied by a drowning torrent of rain. I had an overpowering sensation of there being somebody near me—of somebody watching me. I cannot attempt to explain the sensation, which I suppose must be due to telepathic causes. I was wide awake sitting up in my bed. It was no dream delusion, but a real wide awake sensation. I think there is nothing more physically unpleasant than a combination of darkness and mystery. The very acts of straining one's eyes to see nothing, and of listening with all the powers of one's aural faculties to hear nothing, are not conducive to a condition of normal composure.
For a time I sat perfectly still, and then, as the utter lack of light and sound were becoming almost unbearable, I slipped my hand into my coat pocket, and drew out the revolver I had taken from Legros. The feel of a destructive weapon in one's hand is strangely consoling, and I became suddenly braced up and alert.
Very quietly I moved off the bed, and in my stockinged feet crept silently across the floor to the switch that controlled the electric lighting of the room. As my hand found it, I heard a slight sound above the fury of the gale. I paused and listened. It was not in the room—of that I was certain; it seemed to come from outside. It was a slight scraping noise, which for some seconds I was at a loss to diagnose. Then I realised that it came from the window which faced the side of the house. The sound continued, quietly but persistently.
All of a sudden, in a flash of inspiration, I understood what was happening. Somebody was trying to force the window from the outside. Now, my bedroom was situated on the second floor, and was between thirty and forty feet from the ground. There were no means by which a human being could climb up the wall. I had already surveyed it with the very object of seeing whether such a thing was possible in case I should desire to leave the chateau without going through the formality of saying good-bye to my host and hostess. It puzzled me therefore, how the man, if man it was, could have got himself into such a position.
Without a moment's thought I switched on the electric light, thinking to get a good view of my strange visitor, but I forget in the excitement of the moment, the very common-place fact that a man standing in a blaze of light, cannot see an object in the darkness. I realized at once the mistake I had made, that the sole result of the illumination of my bedroom was to make me clearly visible to the person outside. But it was too late to remedy the error.
I walked calmly over to the window, holding the revolver in my hand. I could see nothing. I felt certain that nobody was there. I opened the window, letting In the full fury of the gale. Putting out an arm, I groped about on the window sill. My hand came in contact with an object which I had no difficulty in recognising as the end of a ladder. It trembled under my touch. Somebody had beet outside and was even then descending as fast as he could. I half thought of trying a shot after him, but thought better of it and quietly closing the window, began to make a rapid toilet.
When I descended to the dining salon, I found my host and hostess sitting at the table with dinner half finished. Legros Was not present. Monsieur Hanoteaux bowed to me stiffly, while Mme. Hanoteaux, who was very pale, greeted me with a smile, and floe assumption of being ignorant of all that had taken place during the last twenty-four hours, I could, see that she was longing for an opportunity to hear from my own lips the story of my adventures, but I was not anxious to gratify her wish.
With the arrival of the coffee I made the excuse of fetching some English cigarettes, and hurried upstairs. I had a plan in my head which I wished to execute.
Without turning on the light, I changed my shoes for a pair of boots and, putting on a thick overcoat and cap, I went to the window, Opening it, I put out my-hand. The ladder was still there. Here was a means of escape which the enemy had thoughtlessly provided me. Grasping the window sill, I stepped out.
I cannot give any explanation of my conduct, beyond saying that I was guided by a sort of overpowering intuition. It may be that I am suspicious by nature, or that my lump of caution is somewhat abnormally developed for a man of my race. At any rate, I had not descended for more than a dozen steps, when I began to ascend again with as much speed as possible.
As soon as I had the window sill once more safely within my grasp, I began ascending and descending alternately the rungs on which my feet rested. I had not performed this seemingly ridiculous operation more than half a dozen times before my conduct received startling justification. Suddenly the ladder was thrown from under my feet, to fall crashing on the ground below. For a second I was left swinging in mid-air. I pulled myself quickly back into the room, and closing the window, divested myself rapidly of my coat and boots, Then, without delay, I proceeded to make my way downstairs. Before I left my bedroom I could hear cries and shouts from below. I allowed myself the gratification of a smile as I descended the grand staircase. Legros had once more over-reached himself.
AS I turned the corner of the stairs, before taking the last flight, Hanoteaux came out of the dining-room and hurried across the hall. The crash of the falling ladder, the noise of the men's voices outside—four Frenchmen seem constitutionally incapable of facing any incident out of the ordinary without volumes of talk—and I may suppose my absence from the room had evidently aroused his misgivings. I heard him open the front door, and pass out into the drive, and add his voice to the babel that was going on.
As I came down Into the hall, possessed of that contentment of mind which arises from the outwitting of one's enemies, I was startled by the sudden appearance of MacClintock. He came through the swing door which communicated with the back portion of the chateau, and seemed to bounce his way up to me, as if he were some predatory creature that had not yet quite rid itself of its simious methods of progression. His long arms, with their hands swinging half way down his short bow-legs—his eyes beaming fiercely behind his powerful glasses, the unusual pallor of his cheeks—made him look more goblinesque than ever.
"What have ye done we' your man," he shouted, as a final bounce brought him to a standstill in front of me, "Have ye no conscience, to be spoilin' the greatest invention of the age, taking away the one respectable assistant I've had!"
His tone was high-pitched and aggressive, and it was clear that he was labouring under great excitement. "I assure you, Dr. MacClintock, it is very far from my wish to delay the progress of your work."
"Send the man back, then. I can do nothing until he returns. Why did'ye send him away? Tell me that now, if it wasn't ter hinder me?"
"Who told you that I cent him away, Dr. MacClintock."
"The Frenchman, Hanoteaux. Ye ken very well that it's you that's done it. Have I done you any harm, mon, that ye should seek ter treat me so ill?"
I regarded him meditatively for a moment or two. "Ah, so it was Hanoteaux told you that, was it, Dr. MacClintock?"
He swayed the over-long trunk of his body towards me, as if to get a better view of my face. "Yes, it was Hanoteaux; what of it?"
"Nothing,"' I drawled out, "Just nothing at all, Dr. MacClintock."
"Dinna play wi' me, mon; ye have it in your head that the man lied to me?"
"Monsieur Hanoteaux is my host, and I should not allow myself—" I began, but he interrupted me quickly.
"I ken all about that verra well, but what I want to know is, was it you or he that sent your man away, and so, wilfully delayed my work?"
I fenced the direct question. "Do you think that you have been treated particularly well over this great invention of yours, Dr. MacClintock? Do you think that you are likely to get the fame and wealth, that should rightly belong to the man who first accomplished the conquest of the air?"
My question seemed to act upon him like a galvanic shock. The muscles of his face became distorted like one suffering from convulsions. His long, hairy hands opened and shut, and his whole body seemed to be shaken.
"What are you suspicious?" he asked in a hoarse treble.
"I will say nothing," I answered cautiously. "I only ask you to draw your own conclusions, from certain well-accredited facts, before charging me with being concerned in a conspiracy to hamper your work."
"Don't speak to me in riddles, man!" His suppressed excitement was almost painful to witness. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. His whole attitude was that of a man whose nerves were strung up to breaking point.
"You have brought your invention to such a pitch that it could be completed by a skilled engineer without your superintendence. Is that not so, Dr. MacClintock?"
It was a chance shot, but it told.
"He could, as ye say, if he had my plans to work from."
"And in whose possession are those plans? Who keeps them?"
His face, hitherto unnaturally pale, became suddenly diffused with crimson. The veins stood out like knots upon his forehead.
"Hanoteaux," he muttered with unnatural calm, "Hanoteaux!"
"Oh!" I said quietly.
"Go on," he said in the same quiet, persistent tone.
Only the fact that I knew for what purpose M. Hanoteaux was building this invention, and that no particular attention, I am sure, would be shown the inventor when once it was complete, made it possible for me to go on. Otherwise, it would have been the grossest cruelty. The man was suffering the tortures of the damned.
"Has M. Hanoteaux provided you with efficient workmen of late, Dr. MacClintock?"
"None but the scum of the Paris workshops," he muttered, "There was the man you lent me, but he's gone."
"Yes, and he's gone too," I repeated slowly.
A sudden change came over his face. In a flash all the anger and suspense that had been written there seemed to disappear. Even the look in his eyes altered. He put out a hand and clutched my arm, and he turned his head with a little peering, inquisitive movement, towards all the corners of the hall, as if to assure himself that no one was watching us.
"I dinna rightly ken your name, mon," he said, speaking in a soft, confidential tone, "but I trust ye. I'll tell ye what's in my mind. Their trying to rob me of my invention—the thing, mind you, I've worked and starved for, for these twenty years. That Hanoteaux now, thinks he can do without me. He thinks he's sapped the brains of Hamish MacClintock, and that he's no more use to him, He has the ship—the wonderful ship, mark you, that I have dreamed of night and day for years, Now that he has my ship, he thinks that he can do without me; it's borne on me that he is sadly mistaken."
His tone and general manner, were so strange that I began to feel uneasy.
"What steps do you propose taking Dr. MacClintock?"
He cocked his head on one side, and putting a finger to his nose nodded at me meaningly.
"You'll see, my pretty man. The mills of God, ye ken, grind slow but exceeding small."
There was no extracting any meaning from his vague ranting. I pressed him to explain himself, but to all my questions he gave the same reply, "You'll see."
I tried him on another track. "If you could get the plans he could do nothing, of course."
"I have the copies," he replied slowly, "that man of yours has them to keep, but it's predestined that I deal with this Hanoteaux another way than exposing him as a client."
I would have questioned him further, but just then I heard the sound of scraping feet at the front door, and I had no wish to be caught in close intercourse with the Scotchman.
Now, the hall was built on the same scale as a T, the horizontal running from the hall to the foot of the grand staircase, while the perpendicular to it finished at the swing- door through which MacClintock had made his appearance. This section was limited on one side by the staircase, and on the other by the door and wall of the grand salon. I stepped back hastily from the transverse section of the hall, and opening the door of the salon, stood there on the threshold in the shadow completely hidden from the sight of the persons who were coming in. MacClintock remained where I had left him, muttering quietly to himself.
I heard the front door open, and from the stamping of many feet I judged that M. Hanoteaux was leading back into the chateau the search party that had so considerately been trying to find my mangled remains. MacClintock seemed to be unaware of their presence, and it was not until M. Hanoteaux came up to him, and touched him on the shoulder that he ceased his strange mumbling, and looked up.
"Have you been looking for me, monsieur? I can come and see you now, if you wish."
MacClintock stood where he was, without moving. I could not see his face, for he had his back to me, but I saw a look of puzzled surprise come over the features of M. Hanoteaux.
"Do you ken that saying in the Holy Book, that the wheels of God grind exceeding small. Have ye any recollection of the words, M. Hanoteaux?" The Scotchman's voice was pitched all on one note.
"I don't think I quite understand your meaning," replied M. Hanoteaux.
"Ye'll understand me well enough before long. I've had it borne in upon me that I'm predestined to be a Judgment to you."
Used, as he was, to the eccentricities of the man whom he had taken from a life of poverty that he might build him a terrible weapon for the destruction of human society, he had clearly never came across this particular phase of oddity before.
"Come, come, Dr. MacClintock," he said, touching his arm, "let us go to your work-room and have a talk."
The Scotchman shook himself free with such violence that Hanoteaux went reeling back a step or two.
"Lay not your hands upon me, for you are unclean."
"Dr. MacClintock!" There was no mistaking M. Hanoteaux's surprise. It was the first time that I had seen the man shuffle off the slough of his reserve, and the first time I had seen him express an genuine emotion. Up to now Dr. MacClintock had stood perfectly motionless, but on a sudden he had begun to swing his great arms about and to roll his head on his shoulders after the manner of Dr. Johnson.
"Hanoteaux, I accuse ye at the bar of your fellow creatures of being a miserable thief. Ye would have robbed me of my invention. Ye had it in your mind to use me for your own purpose—to use the knowledge I had scraped together through years of suffering, from the very gutter of experience; you would have drawn my very life from me for your own ends, and left me, a husk of a man, in the outer darkness. But you shall not reap the fruits of your villainies. There is a vengeance prepared for you."
The tirade of nonsense, uttered in the broadest Scotch, which I am utterly unable to reproduce, came to an abrupt close. For the space of a second no one spoke; amazement seemed to have deprived Hanoteaux of his powers of speech. MacClintock was still swaying about on his ridiculously short legs, like a restless child. On a sudden his gyrations stopped, his body became stiff and tense.
"Prepare to meet your Maker." The words seem trite and melodramatic enough, written down here, but in the strange silence that prevailed in the hall, and uttered in MacClintock's grotesquely piping voice, they sounded terrible. And what followed lacked nothing of the horrible. As soon as he had uttered the words, MacClintock sprang with a sibilant shriek straight at Hanoteaux.
I saw his huge hands clutch madly at the other's throat. They went to the floor, the Scotchman uppermost. It was not like a fight between human beings. It was more like a struggle between a man and one of those terrible hybrids in the story of Dr. Moreau's Island. MacClintock was raving mad, and with the unsettling of his brain, he seemed to have shed every human characteristic. His grossly deformed body, and the gruesome way in which he sought to destroy the life of the man he imagined to have robbed him, made the scene the most sickening I had ever witnessed. He had dug his fingers deep into the other man's throat, and was trying to tear his windpipe out as a man plucks the core out of an orange. I heard Hanoteaux give one stifled shriek of pain and then we were all running to where the two men lay struggling on the floor.
It was all over in a moment. One of the men employed by Hanoteaux in the park raised a heavy cudgel of knotted wood and brought it down with all his force on MacClintock's head. As he did so, he uttered an execration such as a man might use in stamping out some venomous snake. Cruel though the confession may seem, the word and the attitude of mind that it expressed appeared at the time strangely appropriate, for the Thing that lay on the floor plucking ferociously at Hanoteaux's throat, had ceased to he human.
There was no necessity to repeat the blow. There was a smothered cry, and then M. Hanoteaux flung the body from off him, so that it lay on its back, its face distorted in the last grimaces of death, and staggered to his feet. They took the body away through the swing door in the forbidden wing of the house. Hanoteaux, fingering his throat, followed with the rest. I was left alone. In the excitement of the terrible tragedy we had just witnessed, my presence had been passed over. With my mind seething with horror and disgust, I walked across to the dining salon, and opening the door entered the room.
MADAME HANOTEAUX was still seated at the table, with a cup of coffee and a green chartreuse in front of her.
I will do her the justice to suppose that she knew nothing of the tragedy that had taken place in the hall not minute before. To see her sitting there complacently, surrounded by all the evidences of commonplace sensualness, aroused in my overwrought mind a feeling of uncontrollable disgust and hostility. When, moreover, she rose with her coquettish smile, and came towards me with outstretched hands, I forgot all about the part I had to play. All that I know was, that my dislike of her amounted almost to hatred, and the very thought of continuing the little comedy that I had started for my own ends, seemed like an act of treason towards my beautiful Joan.
"Ah, M. Lovegrove, at last I see you alone!" she said, coming up close to me, and putting her hands on my shoulders, looking languishingly into my eyes. "How can I ever thank you for all you have done! My husband told me all last night. How brave you were! How you must have suffered! And you endured it all for me. Is it not so?"
I removed her hands from my shoulders with as much gentleness as I was master of.
"I did nothing which any gentleman would not have done under similar circumstances."
In her ardour, the coldness of my voice and attitude passed unnoticed. She walked across to a couch, and settling herself there motioned to me to take a seat by her side. I was ill- inclined to comply, but the habit of fulfilling the trivial requests of the opposite sex made me do as she wished. I allowed, however, some distance to separate us, but to little purpose, for Mme. Hanoteaux deliberately moved close to my side.
"Where have you taken her?—what have you done with her?" She laid one of her hands on mine, and in my then mood, her touch gave me a feeling akin to physical nausea.
"Taken whom?"
Of course, I knew well enough to whom she referred, but I chose rather to prolong the subject in conversation than to engage in those lover-like amenities which I knew she expected from me.
"That girl with whose presence in the house M. Hanoteaux chose to insult me."
"Oh, yes," I said, nonchalantly, as if the subject was one of such little importance that I had forgotten all about it in the press of more important matters. "I have sent her to Paris, and from there she will go to England."
I saw her eyes narrow as she scanned my face. "Why are you sending her to England."
"It is her country; her home is there."
"Yes, but could she have got there by herself? Had she enough money to pay her fare?"
"I am not sure," I replied slowly, calmly returning the close scrutiny of her eyes. "But I fancy she had no money at all."
"Then you are paying for her, you are giving her your protection!"
I nodded in confirmation of her statement.
"Why?"
"I told you she had no friends in this country, and I believe she is altogether without means. What else would you have had me do?"
She withdrew her hand suddenly from the top of mine.
"Do!" she exclaimed, with that evil look of cruelty in her eyes that. I had noticed before, "I would have let her rot in the streets of Paris like the strumpet that she is."
I had always disliked the woman. I hated her now.
"You use hard words, Madame."
"Are they too hard for the woman who has made me suffer as I have suffered. I would have her endure all the tortures I have had to endure a thousand times over. If I saw her dying at my feet I would not stretch out a hand to save her."
"You are expressive at least. But for my own part, I always look for gentleness in a woman. I consider it the chiefest charm of your sex."
I could see she was baffled and suspicious. So used had she been to seeing me playing the part of her devout admirer, that the change in my attitude was only just beginning to drawn upon her mind.
"M. Lovegrove," she stammered, "you—you of all people—you, cannot wish this creature well!"
"On the contrary," I replied, "I wish her the very best of fortunes!"
My words took her completely aback. She sat upright on the couch, staring at me wildly, and when next she spoke her words came from her lips in little gasps. "You—you—cannot mean it—"
"Certainly I do. Any man would, This unfortunate girl was brought here against her will by your husband. She was shut up like a convicted person in those dreary rooms in the west wing; she was quite friendless and alone. There was no one here to protect her or help her. She was subjected to every form of insult, and you think that when I find her like this that I should not pity her; that I should not do everything in my power to assist her. I am afraid you must be greatly mistaken in me if you imagine that I could be capable of such callousness."
"Yes, I think I have been greatly mistaken in you."
Save for a little hectic flush on her cheeks, she was now quite composed. It was the calm before the storm. For myself, I had grown reckless. The woman's frank confession of the evil she wished Joan—my beautiful Joan—had scattered the last remnants of my caution.
"Your attitude of mind does not surprise me, Mme. Hanoteaux. It would be impossible for any woman to live in such an atmosphere as pertains in this house without losing, much of her womanly charm."
My tone was deliberate and cutting, She was no longer looking at me, but was sitting there stiffly with downcast eyes.
"How long is it since monsieur discovered this atmosphere, which must be very peculiar, seeing that it has made him change so suddenly!"
"I have known it all along," I retorted rashly, it not with absolute veracity. She looked up quickly.
"So you've been deceiving me all along as well?"
I was in a white heat of anger and disgust. My meagre stock of diplomatic gifts I threw to the winds.
"Yes," I answered abruptly, "all the time."
Her eyes now cold and dispassionate, never wavered a moment from mine.
"And whet Is the peculiar atmosphere of this house about which monsieur speaks with such agreeable frankness?"
"If you ask me the question I will tell you," I said, folding my arms and leaning back on the couch, "The house is peopled with as precious a lot of cut-throats and blackguards as ever walked the earth, It. contains the cream of the criminal quarters. It is a miniature hell, and your husband—"
"Yes, and my husband?" she interrupted, "What of him?"
"Your husband," I continued, unable top in my perilous narrative now that I was fully embarked on it, "is the arch-devil himself!"
"Monsieur is delightfully frank," she murmured, "You shall judge whether my criticism is deserved or not, I do you the credit to believe that you know nothing of what has been going on. I would have spared you this had not your cruelty and callousness towards a helpless and innocent girl—"
"Whom monsieur loves?"
"Yes, whom I love, as you rightly say, and for whom I would have gone through fire and water to rescue from this den of infamy. Listen, Mme. Hanoteaux, you will find my narrative instructive. Your husband is an anarchist—one of the chief of those ill-conditioned creatures who lurk in crowds to kill and mutilate innocent persons with the insane object of destroying the foundations of society. He has on his hands the blood of an old and helpless man, whom one of his precious gang murdered in England. That old man was the grandfather of the girl whose escape from her prison here I managed last night. You know what they are building in the park at the back of the chateau with so much secrecy? It was an airship that was to sail over the world dealing out death and destruction, and heralding by wholesale massacre the commencement of the beautiful era of Individualism. It was the invention of a half-crazed Scotchman who met his death not ten minutes ago a few yards from here in the hall outside, while you were sipping your coffee and petit verre."
I saw her make a little motion with her hand at the narration of MacClintock's tragedy.
"And how does monsieur know all this?" she asked in the same dangerously composed voice.
"I have made it my business to find out."
She rose abruptly from her seat, Suddenly her face seemed to awaken into a glow of hate and revenge. "This man is a spy!"
I looked round hurriedly. There at my very elbow was standing M. Hanoteaux. In the excitement of my foolish talk I had never noticed his entrance into the room.
"Yes," he said, in his deep emotionless voice, "so I would gather from M. Lovegrove's exceedingly interesting narrative. You will find we have a short way of dealing with Government spies."
AS M. Hanoteaux stood there, looking, with his lips half parted in a sinister smile, and his brows lowering over his cruel, passionless eyes, like one of Milton's fallen demons, I thought it was a case of checkmate, And then there occurred to me that perhaps, after all, my position was not as hopeless as it appeared to me. I recollected that there was still in my pocket the revolver with which Legros had attempted my life. In a flash I had pulled it out. The game was not yet up.
"Monsieur," I said, pointing it at him, as he recoiled quickly towards the door, "you will oblige me by staying where you are, and you must forgive me if I further trouble you to held your hands above your head. Your charming wife, if she will take up her position by her devoted husband's side in a similar attitude, will add yet another favour to the many she has conferred upon me."
They obeyed me, M. Hanoteaux with a certain sullen alertness, his wife with all the evidences of terror.
"Thank you! And now, will you add yet another obligation to the many you have conferred upon me by turning round and walking side by side to the door. When you are there, if M. Hanoteaux will kindly open the door and remain on the threshold till I ask him to proceed, I shall esteem it a great favour. I am afraid I shall be under the unpleasant necessity of using this little toy unless my directions are carried out implicitly. Come, let us march."
Side by side, with their hands over their heads they walked towards the door, a somewhat ridiculous-looking couple. I had it in my mind to make my host and hostess conduct me through the house to the park gates, and from there to some distant spot in the forest, where I proposed leaving them, while I made the best of my way to Mr. Holroyd's house. But many a good plan is spoiled by over-confidence. In being able to turn the tables so suddenly upon M. Hanoteaux, my mind had become imbued with a belief in my own good fortune and the certainty of winning through all the difficulties in which I had become entangled. My attitude towards the Fates was insolent and overbearing, and as was their custom in the mythological days, they punished me properly for my lack of humility.
According to my directions M. Hanoteaux, who was walking to the left of his wife, and therefore, came directly in front of the handle, opened the door. In so doing his wife had to step backwards, and for a second he was shielded from the line of fire by the body of Mme. Hanoteaux. With an absolute contempt for the safety of his wife, for which I had not allowed, he took advantage of this momentary cover, Instead of halting, as l had told him, on the threshold, he made a bolt into the hall, and was in a place of safely before I could get clear of his wife to try a pot-shot. I fired, but the bullet only hit the banisters of the staircase.
With a little scream of terror, Mme. Hanoteaux fell forward on the door, thereby closing it, and preventing me following up her husband. When I went to move her, I found that she was in a dead faint. I am afraid I showed but little gentleness in removing this obstacle from my path. By the time I had half-dragged, half- carried, her to the couch at the other side of the room, several valuable seconds had been lost.
When I opened the door and stepped out into the ball, there was no one to be seen. The house was wrapped in silence. I stood for a while listening, almost in the very spot where poor MacClintock had met his death, fearing a trap. But seeing and hearing nothing I advanced cautiously towards the front door. It was not only bolted, but locked, and the key had been taken away. Frustrated at making my escape In that direction, I hurried into the grand salon, thinking to pass out by the windows. I had no sooner, however, set foot in the room than a crash of glass, and the shriek of a bullet past my ears, showed me that this exit was also guarded.
I ran quickly down the room, into the little salon beyond, thinking to try the window there, that opened on to the side of the house; but here, again, a sudden fusillade, from which chance alone saved me, brought me to a halt. I was now between two fires, an easy mark for any of the scoundrels outside. The electric light was full on, and thus, though I was clearly visible to everybody outside, I could see nothing of my antagonists. I made a rush at the switch which regulated the lighting of the "petit salon," and turning it off stepped back into that recess where the entrance to the secret passage was situated. Here I was protected from the bullets of Hanoteaux and his men, at least for a while.
The grand salon was still flooded with light, and where I stood I had a full view of the room. From outside a faint whispering came to my ears, but I could distinguish no words. Clearly, the enemy were holding a consultation. For the space of a minute, perhaps, there was a cessation of hostilities. Then, suddenly, with a crash of breaking glass and splintering wood, the large French windows in the grand salon were burst open, and eight men, led by Legros, sprang into the room.
They were all armed, the men with sporting rifles, M. Hanoteaux and Legros with revolvers. My chances of escape seemed to be winnowing down rapidly to zero. They were clearly determined to capture me, dead or alive, at all costs, and regardless of all risks. They poured in a compact body into the room in which I was. It is true that in the darkness, they could not see me; I might easily, I had I chosen, accounted for five of them, perhaps, supposing that every one, of the five remaining cartridges in my revolver had found its mark. But before this could have been accomplished, some one of them would: have been able to turn on the light and I should then have been at their mercy.
In this predicament I determined to hold my fire and to make use of the secret passage, if not as a means of escape, at least, as a means of temporary protection. I felt quietly for the spring, and as the mirrored panel swung back I stepped into the recess beyond. But here again, my luck was out. While I yet fumbled in the darkness to pull the panel back, the light was turned on and my place of retreat was discovered.
With a hoarse shout, three of the men, led by Legros, sprang towards me, I fired once, and I saw Legros fall, but the others came on unchecked. I had to abandon my purpose of closing the panel, and step back further into the darkness of the passage.
I have said that the passage was so narrow that two persons could not walk abreast. Moreover, the long dead architect who had constructed this secret way, may have had in his mind some such situation as had now occurred, for the stairway at the entrance, instead of mounting upwards direct, was constructed on a curve for the first ten yards or so, so that anyone standing round the corner of the bend was completely protected from the attack of assailants in the cop below.
I heard a man fumble his way cautiously up the stairs, stopping every now and again to listen. In the pitch blackness I could just distinguish the faint outline of his form coming up the steps, with his rifle well forward, When he was within a yard of me, I bent over until the mouth of my revolver almost touched his head and fired. He fell forward on his face with a clatter, and then his limp body began to slip slowly backwards. With a strong feeling of revulsion, even at that moment, I bent down and snatched his rifle from the nerveless fingers that still grasped it. Then, gripping his coat collar to stay his descent, I extracted from the pocket of his coat all the cartridges I found there.
As I returned to my old position I felt I had every reason to congratulate myself. Of my eight assailants two were already accounted for. One was dead; the other, Legros, was at least hors de combat. Moreover, in the nick of time I had managed to replenish my means of defence. Before, I had only three cartridges left in my revolver, now I had a rifle and at least sufficient ammunition to carry me on for a good while.
The death of their companion had a sobering effect upon the party of my opponents, for, for a time no one else ventured up the stairway. They evidently withdrew farther from the entrance to the secret passage to consult together over some new plan of campaign, for only the indistinguishable mutterings of their conversation reached my ears. I bean to think they were going to abandon the attack and to starve me out, when of a sudden, there was a clatter of feet on the stones, and the whole party charged in single file up the stairway.
It was a mad piece of folly, dictated, I can only guess, by their complete ignorance of the construction of the secret passage, the existence of which had hitherto been known only to Mme. Hanoteaux. The foremost man fired as he came, but the bullet ricocheting on the outer curve of the stairway, passed upwards into the regions beyond. I fired twice, and the leader fell backwards on his comrade, my second bullet finding a billet somewhere in the body of one of the men below. They retreated hurriedly, taking the wounded man with them, and once more I was left alone in the darkness of the passage. For a quarter of an hour—one of the longest fifteen minutes I have ever known in my life—I remained there without molestation. Then the enemy opened a parley.
"M. Lovegrove," exclaimed the voice of M. Hanoteaux, at the foot of the staircase, "are you there?"
"Yes, monsieur, I am still here, waiting patiently to rid the world, if necessary, of some more of your cut-throats."
"Do not let us bandy words, monsieur, it can serve little purpose. I come to offer you terms."
"I can at least listen to what you have got to say," I replied, "whether I accept them or not is a different matter. Continue, Monsieur Hanoteaux!"
"If you will tell me the name of the place to which you have taken Mlle. de St. Egremont, and return her to my custody without hindrance, and if, further, you will take an oath not to disclose anything you may have discovered here, I will allow you to leave the chateau, without further molestation."
"And supposing I do not accept these terms, M. Hanoteaux?"
"You are a sensible man, M. Lovegrove, and it is scarcely necessary for me to point out to you that though it may be impossible to dislodge you from your present position by force, we have only to wait long enough to make you our prisoner. The want of food and drink will compel you, sooner or later, to surrender, and I tell you frankly, monsieur, that I shall not be as merciful then as I am inclined to be now."
"You are exceedingly good, M. Hanoteaux, but in the flush of your unusual generosity you have overlooked one or two little matters. Let us suppose, for the sake of illustration, that I refuse to accept your terms, remain here, and ultimately compelled by starvation, surrender myself. You suggest that under, these circumstances you will make short shrift of me—in short, add another murder to the number I do not doubt you have already committed. You think, doubtless, you hold all the cards; but I would remind you that my friend is still at large, and that he is conversant with all the facts concerning yourself and your precious anarchist organisation. If I do not return to Paris to-morrow, he will most certainly inform the authorities, and— well, you know best, M. Hanoteaux, whether or no you would care for the police to investigate your affairs."
M. Hanoteaux paused a second before he replied to me. Then I heard him laugh.
"It may be true all this you say, monsieur; but what happens to me after you refuse my terms can merely be a matter of academic interest as far as you are concerned."
"You mean I should not live to see you guillotined, monsieur? That, I admit, will be a disappointment; but a man can die but once, and I shall die with almost satisfaction, knowing that you would so soon follow."
How much longer we might have gone on exchanging this sort of badinage without coming to any definite settlement I do not know. At any, rate, the discussion was brought to an abrupt close, for suddenly I heard a footstep behind me, and a man flung himself upon me from above before I could turn round. The force of the compact sent me hurtling down the staircase. I could not recover my feet, and I fell full length into the petit salon. Men flung themselves on me, ropes were twisted round my body and a gag was thrust into my mouth. In almost less space of time than it takes to tell, I was lying there on the floor absolutely helpless. They did not bandage my eyes, so that I was not long in discovering the real cause of my undoing; for shortly afterward there stepped from the secret passage Mme. Hanoteaux. It was she who had arranged the attack from the rear which had ended in my disaster.
THERE was no mistaking the look of cruel vindictiveness in her eyes. Could she have had her way, there is no doubt she would have subjected me to a process of torture nothing worth of the darkest days of the Inquisition. As she passed she literally spurned me with the point of her high-heeled French shoe.
'"So, you spy, you have met with your deserts, after all."
I could make no reply to her; all I could do was to regard her with as much indifference, as I could muster to my eyes. There is no such demoniacal creature as the vain woman scorned, add I veritably believe that in her anger she would have stamped upon my face as I lay there helpless on the ground.
But M. Hanoteaux intervened.
"Go! Go!" he said, pointing to the next room. She hesitated a moment, between her desire to witness any suffering I might have to endure and fear of her husband.
"You will kill him, Victor?" Mme. Hanoteaux was a delightfully gentle, feminine creature.
"I believe I requested you to go, Madame. Be pleased to obey me. This is no place for you." It was quite true; It was no place for a woman with any ordinary feminine susceptibilities. As she unwillingly retired I looked round the place for the first time as far an I could.
The room, what I could see of it, presented the appearance of a miniature battlefield. The body of the man I had killed lay in a pool of blood at the side of a gorgeous gilt Empire chair. Another man, attended by one of his comrades, was groaning out his life on a sofa. A third man, a bloody bandage round his head, was leaning against the marble mantelpiece smoking a cigarette. Legros stood looking down at me with his arm in a sling made out of a serviette. I completed the scene of carnage, lying on the floor bound up like a dummy.
The very fact that they had gone to the trouble of putting me in bonds showed that they had no immediate intention of taking my life. A conversation between Hanoteaux and Legros satisfied me on this point.
"What are we to do with him?" asked Legros, casting a contemptuous look in my direction.
"To Versailles, to the rendezvous."
"Why not settle with him now?"
M. Hanoteaux shrugged his shoulders, as if the stupidity of the question bored him. "It would not be politic. The other is still at large; he must be secured first, otherwise—"
"I suggest that we finish this one now."
M. Hanoteaux turned a glance of haughty contempt upon his secretary.
"You suggest!" he exclaimed; "and why? Since when have you had the right to make suggestions to me?"
Lying there I longed to be allowed o speak, and had it not been for that infernal gag, I would have related a little anecdote about M. Legros which would have silenced for ever his capacity for making unpleasant suggestions. I noticed the secretary flush and bit his lip as it from vexation.
"I consider that I have every right, monsieur, to make such a suggestion," he replied, in rather a heightened voice. "The risk is the same for all of us. It is not only you who will suffer if we are caught. I should be held equally guilty with yourself. I advise you to make an end of this spy now."
Clearly, this display of spirit on the part of his usually meek, secretary took Hanoteaux somewhat aback. He was a strong man, I should say, accustomed to rule and direct others, who usually tendered him unfaltering obedience. This unexpected opposition, in all probability, made him realise for the first time that in a criminal organisation, where the shadow of the scaffold lies equally on all, no one can be master.
When he next spoke his tone was no longer that of a man who commands, but that of a man who was prepared to give careful consideration to the opinions of his equals.
"You must have some reasons for suggesting this course. What are they?"
"Simply because it is best to destroy the obstacles in one's path as one comes across them. This spy, I know, knows enough to send us all to the guillotine. If we kill him now, there is at least one danger removed. We can deal with the other promptly and effectually when the occasion arises."
"Your suggestion would be admirable but for one fact, which I don't think you have taken into consideration. It may be too late to stop his man from making everything known to the authorities. If we take this fellow here to Versailles we shall be able to induce his man to follow him. He would never trust himself here. Once we have him at Versailles we can kill two birds with one stone." I saw him smile grimly at the sinister appropriateness of his quotation.
After some more conversation of a like cold-blooded sort, all dealing with the question as to the best time and place for putting me out of the world, Legros yielded the point with a very ill grace. I quite understood his anxiety to have done with me at once, He feared lest I should have any opportunity of disclosing to M. Hanoteaux his own share in the events that had brought me to the chateau.
"Well, when do we start?" he asked sullenly.
"Now, at once. We must get into Versailles while it is still dark. Be good enough to see that the motor is brought round at once. If your arm hurts you too much you need not accompany me."
"Oh, no, it is nothing; it is but a scratch!" Legros answered eagerly. "I will certainly accompany you."
The secretary had no intention of leaving me out of his sight for a moment. For fear lest M. Hanoteaux should insist upon his remaining behind on the grounds that he was unfit to travel, Legros hurried out of the room with an alertness and briskness which I am sure he was far from feeling. M. Hanoteaux followed him from the room leaving me alone. A few moments later I heard a motor-car draw up outside, and presently two men entered, and seizing my head and feet, carried me out through the debris of the broken window and placed, or rather threw, me into the bottom of the car, where I lay like a sack.
The car was an open one, and I could see the black clouds above me racing across the watery moon, for the gale had not subsided. Soon after l heard M. Hanoteaux come out of the hall door, Legros got into the tonneau with me, carrying with him a large tin box, rather like a despatch box, which he placed under the seat. I heard M. Hanoteaux get into the front; and then, with a jolt, we were off.
I could see nothing but what lay above but the sudden slowing of the car and the break in the interlaced branches of the trees, told me when we had reached the end of the drive. Once we were out on the open road M. Hanoteaux got on to his third speed, and the car began to race towards Paris. Neither of the men spoke as we rushed through the night. The purring of the machinery, and the roar of the wind, for we were travelling against the gale, were the only sounds that reached me as I lay at Legros' feet. Had it not been for my uncomfortable position I am sure I should have fallen fast asleep, for the terrible excitement of the last few hours had left their mark upon me. I know nothing better than the gentle swaying of my car and the regular rhythmic music of the motor engine to induce sleep. As it was, I several times felt myself fall into that semi-conscious stupor that precedes sleep.
I amused myself by trying to estimate the course of our journey. The village of St. Leger, I knew was about twenty-two miles south-west from Versailles as the crow flies. The chateau was about a mile from the village. By making an allowance for the detours necessitated by the forest I calculated that we had about twenty-five miles to cover. We were making a good fifty miles an hour, and forty minutes, therefore, I estimated, would see us at our destination. I began mentally to tick off the seconds, counting from one to sixty as near the beat of a watch as I could get. I had counted the second hand round for about the sixteenth time, when Legros suddenly moved up the seat towards M. Hanoteaux, and began to talk to him in sharp, abrupt sentences.
"Look monsieur! There's a car coming up behind us. It is travelling too fast. We are being pursued."
"Your nerves are unstrung, Monsieur Legros," returned Hanoteaux's voice, "You should not have accompanied me; I advised you not to. It is simply some fool of a driver trying to get to Paris before dawn at the risk of his neck."
"I do not like it, monsieur," retorted Legros in his sullen voice. "Nobody but a lunatic would travel at that speed along a dark road like this, unless with the object or overhauling us. It must be going at least seventy-five miles an hour."
In his excitement he stood up, until a sarcastic rebuke from M. Hanoteaux caused him to sink back upon the cushions. I strained my ears to, try and catch the sound of the approaching car which had so upset the nerves of at least one of my companions. But the gale blowing against us for some seconds prevented any sound reaching my ears. Then suddenly, out of the darkness two great glaring eyes appeared, which grew bigger and brighter. Nearer and nearer they came, overhauling us rapidly. At last faintly there fell upon my ears the hum of another engine, on a different key to ours. By the motion of Legros' legs I could see that he lad turned again to Hanoteaux. He whispered to him excitedly, something I could I not distinguish. The front wheels of the car that followed us were now on a level with our back wheels, for the glare from its acetylene lamps fell like a sheet of white paper across the section of the tonneau nearest the driver. Then, suddenly, above, the gale and above the roar of the two cars there came a voice that sent my heart thumping vigorously and the blood tingling in my veins.
"They've got Purcell there! I've seen him. Bring t' car along side: and we'll give them summat to think of."
There was to mistaking those tones or that broad tongue. It was the voice of George Lake.
I COULD see nothing but the windblown night sky, Legros' legs and the streak of white light from the lamps of the pursuing car. But a few moments before I had been in the depths of despair, lying there helpless and incapable of doing anything. Then suddenly out of the night there had come the voice of my trusted friend, and at once my whole outlook had changed.
There was something so helpful and inspiring, such absolute confidence in the broad tones of Lake's voice, that I felt all was well. It was galling to lie there unable to help, but it never entered my mind to doubt the certainty of Lake's accomplishing my release.
I was only able to guess at the manner in which this strange struggle progressed. It was something like a naval war on dry land, the two cars were racing side by side as if manoeuvring for a position in which to commence the fight. Legros crouched down, almost sitting on my chest.
A shot rang out, then another, and another. Then l heard Mr. Holroyd's voice.
"Clout yon chap over the head, Lake, or he'll be doing us a mischief. Can'st tha' get at him? I mustn't, go 'no nearer."
Something struck the side of the car, missing Legros, who ducked hurriedly, and bouncing off the opposite seat, fell on my chest. It was an empty petrol can. George was using whatever weapons lay handy. Legros fired again, but as he had to use his left arm, his right being useless, his aim was uncertain oven at that short range. He changed his tactics. Standing up to his full height in the car, he called out to the two Yorkshiremen "You come nearer, I will shoot your friend."
As an earnest of his intention he pointed the revolver down at me. I had the unpleasant sensation of watching the muzzle of the revolver wavering backwards and forwards about three feet from my head. I was reduced to calculating the exact spot in which it would hit me, when Legros' legs shot from under him, and he sat down heavily on my body. At the same moment Lake, who had jumped into the car, fell upon him. Legros had fallen with the hand that held the revolver underneath him, and before he could extricate it, Lake had wrenched the weapon from his grasp..
"Bide a bit, Purcell, lad, and I'll set thee loose. Slow down and drop behind, Holroyd."
Now, all this time M. Hanoteaux had been driving the car, as if he had no share or interest in the fight. Indeed, had we passed any casual wanderer on the road, he would hardly have noticed, in the darkness, that anything was amiss; but when Lake touched him on the shoulder and gruffly told him to stop, the man's usually imperturbable coolness left him. So much was I able to gather from the erratic manner in which the car began to twist and turn across the road like a drunken thing. It was well that Lake had warned Holroyd to let the other car drop behind, otherwise there must have been a very unpleasant spill.
"Pull up, do'st the hear me? or I'll make a hole through thy head."
The threat proved effective, and in a second or two with a protesting groan from the brakes, we stopped dead. Holroyd pulled up a few yards behind, and getting out, joined his companion. The Yorkshire horse-trainer seemed to regard the whole business as the most amazing joke he had ever been fortunate enough to have a share in.
"By Goom, Lake, that was a rare bit o' fun. I'll bet they have nought better at Brooklands than that run of yours—running 'em down and boarding 'em and all. What's tha going to do wi' them now?"
"Make 'em stand over there till you've got Purcell free, he mun decide what's to be done. Pull t'other chap off the floor, and put him up against yon tree. Now, mister, get off that seat, and move alongside of him; and don't go over quick, or it will be the worse for yer."
While Lake shepherded the two Frenchmen to the side of the road, and held them there under the cover of his revolver, Holroyd hastened to release me from my very uncomfortable trappings. As soon as the cords were unwound, and the gag was out of my mouth, I got stiffly out of the car, glad enough to stretch some of the cramp out of my limbs.
"Now, what does thee want done wiv 'em, Purcell?" George asked. "If tha takes my advice, tha'll run 'em up to the nearest police station and leave 'em there."
I shook my head. Under ordinary circumstances it would have been, of course, the only possible thing to do; but the circumstances were not ordinary, I was still a secret servant of my government, bound by a solemn pledge to keep the nature of my mission secret, and although I was dealing with anarchists, and not with the French Government, it still behoved me to avoid the inquisitive inquiries of the authorities. If I handed. Hanoteaux and Legros over to the police, there would be a public trial, and the reason of my visit to the chateau would be thoroughly investigated. Moreover, my duty was plainly limited. I had to hand over the plans of the airship to my chief and conduct Joan safely to England, and until so things were accomplished I must leave the exposure of the anarchists alone. Afterwards I could deal with them through the ordinary official sources.
"No, I don't think we'll fall with them like that just yet, Lake," I replied, "For the present we, will just tie them up against this tree and let them have the pleasure of seeing the dawn rise. When they are found I will trust to their ingenuity to explain away their curious situation, They are not likely to relate the real facts of the case."
Lake smiled grimly, and without wasting any time on words, set about carrying out my directions. Holroyd brought the ropes that had bound me out of the car, and we tied them up the tree, side by side, with as much science as we were capable of. Neither of the men spoke. M. Hanoteaux appeared to take the situation with philosophic resignation, only too pleased, I expect, that I had not followed the advice of Lake, and called the police to my assistance.
Legros was inclined to struggle, but in Holroyd's hands he was like a child.
"Now, gentlemen," I, said, when that task was accomplished, "I am going to bore you with a little advice. I don't suppose you will follow it, but it is the cheapest commodity in the world, and I make you a present of it. As soon as you are released I should take a long journey to somewhere a good way off; relieve Europe of your presence. At any rate, don't cross my path again, for the next-time I shall not be so lenient."
I was about to turn away when an idea occurred to me. I owed my friend Legros something for all he had forced me to endure. Also I knew that there was nothing like dissension in the camp of one's opponents to paralyse their actions.
"Before we part, MI.. Hanoteaux, I am going to place you in possession of a little secret. If you could turn your head to look at your secretary's face you would probably guess its import."
Legros was limp and shaken with fear, and the beseeching look in his eye almost persuaded me to remain silent, but remembering the mischief that the man had already done me, and his conduct towards Joan, I hardened my heart.
"I do not know what emoluments M. Legros receives for his secretarial duties, but it is clear that they have been insufficient to satisfy his tastes. You will perhaps be surprised to hear that he has been adding considerably to his income by selling the secrets of his employer. Indeed, it was owing to M. Legros' kindness, and the information that he placed at my disposal, that I visited the Chateau de Lisle."
I saw a sudden flush mantle Hanoteaux's face and the passionate anger which burned in his eyes boded ill for the trembling secretary at his aide, once he was free.
"I will now leave you, gentlemen to your meditations. You will have much to occupy your thoughts between now and sunrise. I trust there will be no break in the amicable relations that have existed between you both when you are once more at liberty." Judging by the general appearance of M. Hanoteaux I anticipated a very thrilling time for Legros in the immediate future.
We made our arrangements for leaving as quickly as possible, and Holroyd consented to come up with us to Paris in the car. We shoved M. Hanoteaux's automobile into the ditch, and took our seats, Holroyd sitting at the wheel. We were just off when I recollected the large tin box that M. Hanoteaux had brought with him from the chateau. I jumped quickly out and secured it. It was as well to have in my possession as much documentary evidence about M. Hanoteaux's goings-on as possible, and the box, I suspected, contained some very interesting material which the police would value.
AS the car swept up the miles on the Paris road, Lake related to me what had taken place after he had left me in the fight at the hate of the chateau. Following my directions he had induced Von Bach to drive direct to the capital, With Von Bach as her guardian, keeping an eagle eye on her for fear he should lose her, and thereby the plans of the airship, she had been safely installed in an old-fashioned hotel in the Quai d'Orsay. Having satisfied himself that she was quite safe, Lake had taken the copies of the plans of the airship and deposited them, according to my instructions, at the Crédit Lyonnais. The delay, that these movements necessitated had evidently galled him considerably. He was consumed with anxiety about me, and as soon as he had rid himself of the plans, he took the car Von Bach had provided—a very powerful 60 h.p. Mercedes—and returned post haste to St. Leger.
"I was fair fashed about you, Purcell; and t' job was I couldn't see how I could help thee, I didn't like to risk coming up to the chateau after you, so I reckoned them chaps would do you no harm as long as I was at large to inform the police. If they had taken me as well, it might have been a different tale. So I goes to Mr. Holroyd here, and tells him everything, so that he could tell the police if it were necessary. Then we sent some of his stable lads, not liking to be seen ourselves; to watch the gates to see if aught happened. One of them sees car come out, and being stationed up a tree sees you lying there on t' floor, t' lad came back and told as soon as t' coast was clear, and we comes after you."
In my turn I related all that had taken place in the chateau, of the death of poor MacClintock, at which Lake was very grieved, for he had a kindly spot in his heart for the old mad Scotchman—of my insane folly in telling everything to Madame Hanoteaux, and of the flight into the secret passage. I think Lake was quite sorry he had not been there.
But while we were exchanging these notes of our experiences, I was really burning to ask after Joan. Lake must have known that, for I fancy he kept off the subject deliberately; that's one of his ideas of humour.
At last I asked him point blank.
"How was Miss Joan when you left her?"
"Right enough." There was a sort of finality about the answer, as if Lake were incapable of adding another syllable to his description if he were to die for it, which was extremely galling. I wanted him to tell me how she looked, how she had borne, the journey, whether she was frightened, or had asked for me, or had seemed at all concerned about my welfare. But Lake's "right enough" seemed to dry up my interrogations at the very fount. I found that I could not cross-examine him on all these nice points; he should have told me what I wanted to know himself, without pressing. I was quite well aware that he knew what I wanted to know, and his utter lack of communicativeness was most provoking. I tried him with another feeble question.
"Did you have any conversation with her, Lake?"
"'Appen just a few words."
I turned on him with a laugh, the darkness hiding my blushes.
'"George, you're an old swab; you know well enough what I want to hear, and you're just stone-walling me with that confounded Yorkshire of yours, out of cussedness."
A sort of miniature earthquake at my side informed me that George was laughing.
"Well, Purcell, what am I to tell you?" he said at length, when the upheaval had come to an end. "T lass is still bonny; she is prettiest lass I've seen this long while. She were a bit upset at your not coming with us, and she blamed me for leaving you behind, though I didn't take much notice of what she said, for they're unreasonable things are lasses. She cottoned on to old Von Bach at once, because he looked so fatherly and safe, I expect; promised me not to go outside the hotel until I returned. That's all l can tell thee, Purcell."
The dawn had already broken over Paris when we came down the Champs Élysées, and so to the Place Vendôme, and our old quarters at the Bristol, I was for going straight to the private hotel, but on George pointing out that it was no use waking up decent people at such an hour, I consented to turn into bed, where I slept liked a log.
As soon as I was awake and dressed, and had partaken of a solid English breakfast, George and I took the car to the Crédit Lyonnais, collected the plans, and then drove direct to the Embassy. I left George outside while I, taking Hanoteaux's dispatch-box with me, interviewed the Ambassador's secretary. I had to wait a good twenty minutes, however, before I could see the Ambassador himself. When I did at last obtain an audience of Great Britain's representative in France, related to him as succinctly as I could all that had taken place, in very much the same order of events as I have set it down here. He heard me with not a little interest, and I fancy surprise. Of course, in my narrative it was necessary to introduce Joan's name, but though I put as little emphasis as possible on the part she had played in my adventures, the Ambassador seemed to fasten on this aspect of my story with more interest than on any other.
"Where is this young lady now?" he asked when I had finished.
I told him.
"Let me see, what did you say the young lady's name was?"
"She went by no other name than Joan at Castle Effingham in Essex, but this man Hanoteaux called her Mlle. de St Egremont."
The Ambassador started as I mentioned the name.
"That is very curious. How old is this young, lady?"
"About twenty-five."
"And her grandfather, was he a very old man?"'
"I should say almost over ninety."
"This is very curious indeed, Mr. Purcell. I have known many people in France, but I have only known two members of the St. Egremont family. They were father and son, the last descendants of their race. The father was a curious figure during the days of the Second Empire. The Marquis de St. Egremont—that was his style and title—was reputed to hold strange political views; no one knew exactly what they were, but insomuch as they were neither Legitimist, Buonapartist, Orleanist, nor Republican, that fact was sufficient to earmark them. In 1883 the was an old man of more than seventy. If my memory serves me rightly it was in that year that the St. Egremont family vanished from France. The son, who was, a widower with one child, was killed by an anarchist bomb, which was intended for some foreign potentate on a visit to Paris. The old Marquis, when he saw the mutilated body, almost went demented. The next day he disappeared, taking the little girl with him. Nobody knew where he went. I don't say that there is any connection between this young lady and the Marquis's grandchild, but the similarly of names is certainly curious—very curious."
I was very interested in the Ambassador's story, but I was burning with impatience to have a sight of Joan.
"I will leave these plans in your possession, sir, if I may, and this box also. Perhaps we may find something in it to elucidate the mystery of which you have spoken," The Ambassador smiled. "Yes; Mr. Purcell, on some other occasion we will investigate the contents of the box, I quite appreciate your anxiety to be off. Let me give you a little advice. Leave. Paris as soon as you can, and get Mlle. de St. Egremont to England, out of the way. I am afraid you have made some very dangerous enemies." Then, after paying me some very pleasant compliments, he bade me good-day.
I hurried out to where Lake was waiting with the car, feeling like a schoolboy who is just retuning from the holidays. I was now free of all official cares. The plans I had been sent to obtain were safely in the hands of the Ambassador, and nothing more remained to be done. I could now devote myself entirely to Joan.
Lake had secured two private sitting-rooms in the hotel, one for the use of Joan, and the other for Von Bach and ourselves, and it was in the latter that I waited while a servant took my name to Mlle. de St. Egremont.
Now, man at, best is a fool in his dealings with women. He does not understand them. He may have tried to be of service to one of them, to have helped her, to have run great risks on her account; and faced even death in her cause, and yet she may meet him with disdain and coldness. But let some coarse-brained brute beat the lady whom he condescends to admire, let him constantly maltreat her and neglect her, and she will cling to him with a faithfulness and persistence worthy of a Mrs. Micawber.
These are the merest generalities, but at any rate they are partially true. I pretend to no knowledge of the opposite sex. I am always prepared to maintain that there is no fool like the man who pretends he knows women. Though I attempt to be philosophically agnostic on the subject, my feelings towards them are much as other men's. Now, in the present instance I had imagined to myself quite a pretty scene, in which I was to play the part of the conquering hero, and then was to rewarded for all the labours I had undertaken on her behalf, with the gift of her love. I had feasted my mind on that scene ever since the night of her escape from the Chateau de Lisle. She would come to me, hall me as her preserver, and press her gratitude and thanks upon me, and I, with the air of Caesar, putting aside the trice-offered crown, would declare myself unworthy of her praise. And so by gradual and dignified steps we would come to the stage where we should best express our feelings with silent lips.
It was a pretty little scene, but outside my imagination it never took place. I sprang up when Joan came into the room, all eager to receive my guerdon. She stood for a moment on the threshold, framed in the open doorway, as perfect a picture of womanhood as I have over seen. A good night's rest, and, I may suppose, the first sense of security she had known for weeks, had given her back her colour. The beauty of her hair, her eyes, her every feature, enthralled and bewitched me. She seemed to me at least the incarnation of all the world's loveliness—"the essence of all the blue lotuses," as the Oriental romances have it. My admiration and delight must have been written clearly in my eyes as I stood there spellbound.
She was the first to speak, coming into the room and closing the door behind her.
"I have to thank you, sir, for all you have had to suffer and endure on my account, for all your kindness to me."
There was no doubting the sincerity of the words, but in my then mood, the formality acted on me like a cold douche. I would have held the little hand she put out to me longer perhaps, than was necessary, but she withdrew it hastily, as if anxious to clearly mark the distance she wished kept between us.
"I hope you are quite rested," I said lamely, feeling in some indefinite way I had been snubbed.'
"Quite, thank you," she replied quietly, gravely studying my face with those beautiful eyes of hers. Our conversation seemed to have come to an abrupt and final close. Ridiculous as it may seem for a man ordinarily so loquacious as myself, I could hardly find anything more to say.
"Your journey the other night, I hope it was not very tiring," I gulped, feeling myself blush like a schoolboy.
"Oh, no, not at all!"
Another full step. There seemed to way out of the conversational impasse this time. This was not at all like flowing talk of my dream interview. She had not even asked me to relate to her what had taken place at the chateau after her departure. She seemed to be bent on maintaining that attitude of icy reserve, for which I could find no explanation.
"What do you wish to do now," I asked imitating her reserve.
She hesitated a moment before replying, as if afraid to say what was in her mind.
"I want to get back to England, but I have no money. If you will lend me enough to got to Essex I have friends in Castle Effingham who I am sure would repay you. Grandpapa was very poor, and I'm afraid he can't have left me anything, but I intend to take a position as a governess, and I could repay them then."
I felt curious. Her evident determination to accept no financial favours from me, her very independence, irritated me intensely.
"Come, Miss Joan, have you found me so poor a friend in the past that you talk in this way about the loan of a few pounds? After all that has occurred, I am sorry that you should think a small loan an obligation not to be endured." I spoke as I felt, with bitterness. Her air of reserve seemed to become intensified.
"I am very much obliged for all you have done, and if you will add to your kindness by lending me the money to get to Essex I will repay you at once."
"Very well," I said shortly, angered at all this talk of pence, "you shall pay me every penny. We will keep a duplicated account in detail. We will not let you buy a penn'orth of hairpins without accounting for it. I hope that will satisfy you, Miss Joan."
She looked at me with pained surprise.
"I should feel more comfortable if you arranged it so," she said.
"Very good. You shall travel by the mid-day train to-morrow. I regret the necessity which will compel me to force my company upon you, but I am afraid you must consent to my travelling with you. Until you are in England you will not be perfectly safe. I must ask you to remain carefully in the hotel until it is time to go to the station."
Just then the door of the sitting-room burst open, and Von Bach rushed in.
"Ach, my friend, I am glad to see you! So you have escaped the brigands! Your friend, Herr Lake, his told me all. You see I have bring the young lady safe. I have kept my promise. Where are my plans for the airship?"
I had quite forgotten all about Von Bach's story of the stolen plans, and the piece of chicanery by which I had induced him to help me to release Joan. It was best, I thought, to disillusion him at once.
"I am sorry to confess it, Herr von, Bach, but I haven't got them."
The look of genial good-nature vanished quickly from his face. He took a stop backwards, as if recoiling from a blow.
"You have not got them? What do you mean?"
I WAS sorry for Von Bach. He looked not only angry but shocked. His solid almost stupid face presented a variety of emotions. Anger, disappointment, suspicion, and surprise.
"You have not got the plans?" he repeated. "What do you mean?"
The tone of his voice made me regret the shabby part the force of circumstances had compelled me to play. Von Bach had been very kind to Joan. He had fulfilled his part of the contract with absolute fidelity. According to Lake, he had arranged everything with the thoroughness characteristic of his race. He had spared nothing to make Joan comfortable, and his whole attitude towards her had been of fatherly consideration. True, the motives that prompted him to act in this way were purely those of self interest. He had wanted to secure the plans of the airship for his Government, and he had set about it without any particular regard for those nice points of honour which regulate the ordinary relations of human society. He played "all he knew." That was the recognised rule of the game in which we both were taking part.
The fact that I had the advantage of him, in so much as I knew his cards, did not require me to allow him any points. I had been kind to Joan, and for that, as a man, I felt grateful to him. In his private capacity I should have liked to make him some return, but to Herr Von Bach the German Secret Agent, I had of intention of yielding anything.
"I'm sorry," I said calmly; "but I really haven't got them. I feel I owe you an apology for not being able to fulfill my part of the bargain, but the death of MacClintock upset all my arrangements."
He was purple in the face with anger.
"You play with me; you deceive me; you have the plans of my airship, and you will not give them to me—no, though I help to get the young Fräulein away—though I do everything for her comfort and convenience—" His English broke down with a splutter of German gutturals. For a second or two he became unintelligible. "Give me the plans of my airship; you have them." He stood a step towards me, almost threateningly.
"My dear sir, please do not get excited. Nothing, I assure you, would give me greater pleasure than to satisfy your reasonable wishes, but in this matter the Fates have been too hard for both of us. I can't give you the plans, for I repeat—I have not got them."
Nothing I said seemed to affect him; he continued, to repeat, "give me my plans," with a persistent doggedness which seemed to suggest that he hoped to wear down my resolution with words.
"If it gives you any relief," I said at last, "please continue your assertion that I have the plans. But beyond gratifying your tastes I really cannot see what good purpose is being served by the continuation of this rather monotonous conversation."
"You have my plans," he said passionately, for about the fiftieth time, "and you will not glove them me. You are a thief, Mr. Lovegrove—I say it you are a thief!"
"Those are hard words, Herr von Bach," I said coldly.
"I do not care how hard they are; I do not care what I say; you are a thief; you have stolen my plans, and you will not give them to me."
The time had come for me to counter the German's attack. He was becoming altogether too obstreperous, and I had no desire to figure before Joan as a man who was accused of theft and put forward no defence.
"For the moment I will take no notice of your insults, Herr von Bach. I will make allowances for your disappointment, and because you have been so kind as to look after this young lady: but as you charge me with being a thief, I should like to make a few remarks about you in my turn. You will perhaps, recollect that when we entered into our arrangement you told me that you were the inventor of the airship, that 'your' plans had been stolen by Dr. Hamish MacClintock, and that the ship which owed its conception to your brains was being built at the Chateau de Lisle. Is not that so?"
"Yes—yes—yes!" he spluttered. "That MacClintock, he steals my plans—you promise to get them back for me if I do something for you—I do the something—you get the plans—and then you will not give them me!"
"You hurry on too fast, Herr von Bach. You must permit me to go more slowly. You told me, as you have just now admitted, that MacClintock stole the plans from you. It would seem you are quite fond of making charges of felony in your looser moments. Unfortunately it has been proved to me beyond the possibility of contradiction, that you never invented this airship, and that the plans were never stolen from you. What have you to say to that?"
I have said that Von Bach was the most transparent actor that ever walked; but he had one histrionic gift to perfection. He could personate the appearance of an honest, truthful, self- respecting citizen, incapable of the arts of chicanery and deception, to perfection.
I admired the splendid indignation with which he dismissed my true version of the affair.
"Ach, you can talk!" he said with a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders, "But I do not concern myself with your lies. I say you have the plans of my airship; give me them, If you do not give me them you are a thief."
"Sometimes, Herr von Bach," I murmured, "you are quite brilliant."
"Do not attempt to go to hide your crime with words!" he replied, getting somewhat involved in his English Idiom. "You are a scoundrel, Mr. Lovegrove, and you shall pay for it."
Suddenly he turned to Joan.
"My dear young Fräulein, this man here is a common thief. He would seek to rob me of the labours of the brain. He has stolen the plans of my airship with which I conquer the air. Do not you trust yourself with him. You tell me the other day, that you hardly know him. It is well perhaps. Do not know more of him; do not trust yourself to him. He can talk, but every scoundrel can talk."
I saw that his words really had an effect upon Joan. She looked at me with a kind of wondering suspicion, which hurt me far more than Von Bach's ridiculous accusations. I began to wonder whether she would believe these things of me. I was still angry and bitter with her coldness towards me a moment before, so that I held my tongue, allowing von Bach to continue.
"He has got my plans—he has got them by cheating me— and now he will not give them to me, I will tell you why. He goes to sell them—to sell my plans—to make money out of my brains. But I will stop him; I stand not quiet and am robbed."
With a scowling glance at me he turned abruptly and left the room. Joan and I remained facing each other.
For a second or two neither of us spoke. Joan's beautiful eyes seemed to search my face. Then of a sudden she flushed a little and, looked down.
"Is this true?" she asked.
For me it was almost the last straw. I loved this girl. Twice at least I had risked my life to be of service to her. I had failed to be of much assistance to her in Essex, but in France I had succeeded in rescuing her from her Imprisonment. I had never counted the cost in trying to help her, and I had helped her to some purpose, I had taken her literally by force from the hotbed of the most dangerous collection of criminals in Europe. And here she was asking me whether or no it was true that I was a thief? It was a bitter pill to swallow.
"Is what true?" I put the question with an assumption of calmness that I was very far from feeling.
"What Herr von Bach says," she retorted.
"You mean whether I am a thief or not?"
She did not, answer, but the blush, I thought, deepened a little on her cheeks."
"You know nothing of me," I went on bitterly. "You are quite right to distrust me. You needed somebody to help you, and very properly took advantage of the first assistance that came along. I have absolutely no claim upon your consideration, and in case you should feel any burden of obligation, I hasten to tell you that Herr von Bach is quite correct; I did steal the plans, and moreover, instead of handing them over to him, as I had bargained to, if he undertook to look after you in Paris, I have handed them to somebody else."
She looked at me in absolute blank astonishment.
"You—a thief!"
"I am no great adept at the English language, but isn't that what you call a person who steals something, that isn't his?"
"You can't mean that you stole these plans from Herr von Bach- that you robbed him of his invention, and sold it to somebody else?"
She was quite pale now, and her distress was very patent.
"I didn't steal the plans from von Bach, and I haven't robbed him of anything worse than his time."
"I don't understand," she said slowly, her forehead creased into a little pucker of confusion. "It should be quite simple to understand. I am a thief. The fact that I didn't steal the plans from von Bach makes no difference, I stole them from somebody else. It is quite natural you should believe von Bach's story, in preference to mine. He is middle aged and a German, and I am sure he is, or ought to be, the father of a family, while I have nothing to commend me in your eyes except a very short acquaintance under circumstances so painful that you very properly wish to forget all about them."
"You don't understand—you are unkind—I didn't mean that I thought you a thief!—I only—" Her sentences fell disconnectedly from her lips; she came to an abrupt stop, scarlet in the face, and with tears, so I thought, gathering in her eyes.
"O, yes, I understand. You are more inclined to believe Herr von Bach's story than mine; you think it within the range of possibility that I might be a thief. You don't quite understand how it comes about that I accuse myself of having stolen the plans, not from von Bach, whose property, they are—he has said they were his property. You are quite ready to think the very worst of me, in short." I put as much vinegar into my words as possible. The bitterness of my mood seemed to increase the more I gave it expression.
"I am sorry if I hurt you, I don't quite understand. It all seems so contradictory."
"Is it worth understanding? After all, are the morals of an utter stranger, who has just chanced to come into your life, a matter of great moment?"
She shot an appealing glance at me from her eyes. "Don't be angry with me."
"I am not angry. I have made a mistake—that is all. I thought because you twice trusted me—once in Essex and again at the Chateau de Lisle—that you might have some confidence in me. But I forgot, of course, that circumstances alter cases."
Suddenly she put her hands to her eyes and burst into tears. I stood watching her, the strange mixture of my emotions—my anger and my love—keeping me from consoling her. She walked sobbing towards the door. As she opened it Lake entered, and seeing her, stopped. She walked past him still sobbing, and I heard her mount the stairs to her bedroom. Lake turned a perplexed face to me.
"Why, whatever's tha been doin' to t' lass, Purcell?"
"'Pon my soul, I don't know, Lake. I suppose I've been making a fool of myself, as usual, I don't understand women!"
"There's nobody but a fool who ever said as they did."
"AND talkin' of yon lass," continued George, "I'd be more easy in my mind when we've gotten her back to England. I don't like this 'ere city. They call it gay, and so it may be when you coom over for a spree, but for them as 'as been messing about as we have, fashen themselves with things that aren't their business exactly, it's not the sort of place I fancy."
"Why, what's the matter, George?" Lake was not the kind of man, I knew, to express an opinion or show any sign of trepidation without good cause.
"Well, I don't like it, Purcell," he remarked slowly, "and that is a fact. There's too many rum-looking customers banging about the neighbourhood of this house. I won't swear to it, but I thought I saw that there Hanoteaux as I was comin' across the Pont des Arts. I tried to follow 'im, but it wer no use. You should have taken my advice, Purcell, and handed him over to the police."
"I couldn't. The terms of my commission practically forbid my calling in the assistance of the police, at any rate, as far as I am personally concerned. Now, of course, that the plans are safely in the hands of the Ambassador, I can seek the protection of the police like any other stranger, and if there is any trouble about Miss Joan's safety, I won't hesitate to ask their assistance. By the way, was Legros with him?"
Lake chuckled. "No fear. I reckon he'd put as much country between himself and Hanoteaux as he could after he was let loose this morning. But who's this?"
The door suddenly opened, and Von Bach and another man entered. The stranger was a tall, military-looking man with a thick black moustache turned up Kaiser fashion, a pair of steel- blue eyes, set, deep beneath straight, shaggy eyebrows, a long finely-pointed nose, and a rather heavy brutal jaw completed the picture of a very conventional type of German soldier. Without a word he looked from Lake to myself, surveying us with a sort of haughty indifference as if we were articles of furniture. Then he turned to von Bach.
"Which of these men is it?" His voice was harsh and commanding, and I was not a little amused at the great deference—the almost cringing humility—with which von Bach replied to him, addressing him as "Herr General," and pointing to myself.
The stranger crossed the room to me, and began to speak to me with military abruptness, in perfect English.
"I am General von Klotz. You are, I believe, a Mr. Lovegrove?" The man's manner was deliberately offensive—so, at least, it seemed to me. I adjusted my eye-glass carefully and returned his stare with patient nonchalance.
"You have my name with absolute accuracy. It was good of you to come here and convince me you were so well informed. Might I now suggest that as you have completed the only ostensible object of your visit, you should retire. These happen to be my private apartments, and I usually require more formality before receiving an entire stranger."
The General frowned. "I have not come here to bandy words with you. You can relieve yourself of my presence immediately if you wish. You know very well the object of my visit."
I smiled blandly at him, for I foresaw it would not be difficult to make him angry.
"Strange as, it may seem, General von—von—what did you say your name was?"
"Von Klotz."
"Ah, yes; Von Klotz! Strange as it may appear, General von Klotz, I am utterly unable to guess at either the object of your visit or the reason why you should intrude yourself upon my company uninvited."
He frowned at me more heavily than ever, and then finding that he obtained no satisfaction from this course of conduct, he turned to von Bach.
"Is this man a fool?" he asked in German.
"If you wish to continue this interview, General," I, retorted, before von Bach could reply, "I must beg of you to be a little less abusive."
He turned on me quickly, "Ah, so you understand German!"
"Are you proposing to conduct an examination? First, you elicit my name, then you settle yourself to discover my linguistic abilities. Is there any other information I can give you? The date of my birth? Or the blameless record of my boyhood? I beg of you to continue, General, Don't allow the shortness of our acquaintance to hamper or discourage your thirst for information."
He treated my somewhat heavy-footed badinage with a fine assumption of haughty indifference.
"You know perfectly well the object of my visit, The pretence will not help you, my good young men. You have stolen some, valuable plans belonging to Herr von Bach, and I demand their immediate restoration."
I could see a look of delightful anticipation steal over the face of von Bach. He evidently considered that the General was handling me the proper way.
"I thought you were a German," I said, like one who has made an amazing discovery.
"You are correctly informed."
"Ah, indeed, General, then may I ask what locus standi you hold in the capital of a foreign country, and by what right you come to me here in Paris and make demands?"
He laughed contemptuously. "The question of right we will discuss later on, Mr. Lovegrove. What is more to our immediate purpose is that you will hand me at once the plans belonging to Herr von Bach."
"And if I refuse?" I asked.
"You will not refuse," he replied grimly. "I am not a man to be thwarted. It is true I might have resource to the ordinary methods of recovering what you have stolen, in the French law courts, but the delay would be inconvenient. I demand that you give me the plans at once."
"But I thought the plans belonged to von Bach? This is the story he told me. Is he incapable of conducting his own affairs?"
"The plans which you have in your possession, it is true, belong to my friend here, but the invention which they summarise has been bought by my Government. That in the reason why I am here."
"A very interesting reason," I remarked,
"I demand that you give me those plans at once."
I took my eyeglass out of my eye, carefully polished it in my handkerchief, readjusted it with deliberation, and once more focussed the glowering countenance of the German general.
"Before discussing this matter any further, might I ask what proof you propose to offer me that what you say is true?"
General von Klotz drew himself up. "You have my word for it!"
I suppressed a smile with difficulty. His attitude towards me was hardly flattering; he must have thought he was dealing with a man whose stupidity flowed well over the mark of imbecility.
"I should never think of doubting the word of so distinguished an officer as you doubtless are, General von Klotz. I am ready to believe that you are a very George Washington among generals. But von Bach there—well, you know, he's different, isn't he?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well—I don't want to be personal, of course, but he looks as if he could lie, doesn't he? You see, he's not a general, there's no guarantee of veracity attaching to his social position. He might be a journalist in disguise. If you could produce any testimonials as to his character—a letter from his vicar or something of that sort—"
General von Klotz exploded. I haven't the slightest idea what he said, but I have always considered the German language quite the best vehicle of expression in the world for really strenuous swearing. I continued calmly. From the corner of my eye I could detect the grinning face of George Lake at the other end of the room.
"This story of von Bach's, now, General, is what I should call distinctly thin. He says that Dr. MacClintock stole the plans and started building on the lines laid down there. He offers as a proof of this his bare statement. His account differs so widely from the account given me by the late Dr. Hamish MacClintock that I am really at a loss to know which of them I am to believe. I should like to satisfy everybody, but you see my difficulty, General, don't you?"
General von Klotz came very close to me, almost thrusting his angry face into mine.
"Those plans belong to Herr von Bach, sir. I told you that; it is enough for you. They were stolen by Dr. MacClintock, you recovered them by arrangement with Herr von Bach, and I now demand that you return them to me instantly. I am not to be trifled with. I will give you five minutes to make up your mind, and then I will act."
"Make it seven minutes, General; there's something mystical about the number seven."
The General kept silent with an effort, and took out his watch. I lit a cigarette and sank hack into the only comfortable chair in the room. The General kept his eyes glued on the dial. At the end of five minutes he shut the lid of his watch with a click and put it back in his pocket.
"Now," he said, drawing himself up, and advancing towards me. "Those plans—give me them!"
"I can't!"
"You can't? Why?"
"Do you know the story of the Governor of Gibraltar? He was asked once why he hadn't fired a salute. He replied that he had one hundred reasons, the ninety-ninth was that he hadn't any gunpowder. I have likewise, a hundred reasons why I cannot give you the plans, General, the ninety-ninth being that I haven't got them!"
"You lie, you scoundrel, you lie!" I was only just out of my chair in time for the General, purple in the face, literally hurled himself on me, and it was only by slipping quickly sideways to the floor that I managed to avoid him. I saw George come across the room with the lust of fight in Irish eyes.
"Liar tha'sen," was all he said, and I daresay the General understood him, for there is some dim resemblance between the Yorkshire dialect and German. At any rate, his actions admitted of no understanding. For in a second he had the General by the scruff of his neck and the slack of his trousers, had bullocked him across the room, upsetting von Bach in his passage, and with a kick had dropped him to the bottom of the first flight of stairs.
I helped von Bach to his feet. "I am sorry to part with you like this, Herr von Bach," I said politely. "Let me assure you that those plans will never find their way to the German War Office!"
He looked at me gaspingly for a moment, and then like a man bemused, tottered out of the room, almost a pathetic figure.
I HAVE never seen anything of General Klotz from that day to this. Von Bach also has gone completely out of my life. I have never heard that he has fulfilled another mission to England to excite the nerves of the National Review, and to cause the War Office a great deal of amusement. I suspect that the General must have closely questioned him after that little interview in my rooms on the Quai D'Orsay, and elicited the humiliating information that he had been bamboozled from first to last. The incident, I imagine, brought von Bach's official career to an abrupt close. At any rate, I have seen nothing more of him.
The departure of my visitors found me in a better temper. There is nothing like a mild quarrel to brace the nerves and to give one that sense of optimism which blurs one's troubles and eases one's mind. True, I could not bring myself to approach Joan with a view to re-establishing my credit with her. I still felt somewhat sore at the suspicions she had cast upon me and the attitude of aloofness towards me which she had chosen to adopt. But I sent Lake with a message to her, hoping thereby to break the ice. Although I was too proud to go myself—if it was really pride which held me back—I confess I was weak enough to stand on the stairs within earshot, to catch the sound of her voice and to hear what she had to say.
Acting on my instructions, George went to her bedroom door and knocked. At first there was no reply, but after, some more thundering blows-there was no modulated tapping about George's knocks—I heard a very soft voice exclaiming, "Who is there?"
"I'm George Lake, Miss Joan, and I've coom wi' a message from Purcell."
"Well, what is it?"
"Won't you come out on t' landing, or does tha want me to shout through t' keyhole?"
"Why can't Purcell deliver his own messages?"
"Nay, I can't say lass. Happen he's a bit daft-like about yer, and doesn't like to talk hissen, in case he'd look silly. Anyway, he asked me to step oop and speak for him."
I cursed George inwardly. He was far exceeding my instructions, and the worst of it was I knew that the old scoundrel was enjoying himself immensely. I could almost hear him grinning from my post on the stairs. There is no hyper-delicacy about George. I believe that for two pins he would there and then have proposed marriage for me.
"What has Mr. Purcell got to say?"
"It's just this, Miss Joan; he says he doesn't want to force hissen on yer, which ain't true, for he's fair longing for a sight of you—but that as circumstances have placed you under his protection—an' a lot more of some kind of grand language, which Purcell can talk when he's put out about summut—he wants you to promise not to leave the house unless he tells yer to. Yon chap Hanoteaux is bound to coom after you, if only to save his own neck, and tha can't be too careful."
"Please thank Mr. Purcell for the trouble he is taking on my behalf, and assure him that I will do as he wishes."
There was a pause for a moment, and I prayed that Lake would come away. I dared not call him myself, it would have looked too undignified. But George, usually the most silent of men, seemed on this occasion to be devoured with an itch for talking. I heard him knock again on the door, and Joan's voice answering him with an interrogative "Yes?"
"Don't fret thasen, lass. He'll coom all right. He's got thee out of a nasty mess—he's fair taken oop with yer—ever since he saw you in Essex—and if he do fratch a bit, he'll coom all right in t' end. Cheer oop, lassie!"
I met George in the sitting-room, to which I descended quickly, as I heard him coming down the stairs. For the first time in my life I was really angry with him.
"What the devil do you mean by talking to Miss Joan like that?" I exclaimed furiously. "Couldn't you keep your confounded familiarities to yourself?"
He regarded my angry stare with a maddening calmness and equanimity that was peculiarly galling.
"Happen!" he said shortly and stopped. I opened the floodgates of my wrath. There is nothing more irritating than that habit Yorkshireman have of using the word "happen" when they want to adopt a perfectly non-committal attitude. It is the ideal stone- walling word, signifying just nothing at all. The agonistic point of view on matters of' religion is no more exasperating to the devout believer than is this word "happen" to a man in the state of mind in which I then was. I attacked him with a bitterness which would have' moved most men to some physical expression of their annoyance. I called him "impertinent," "insolent," "objectionable," "officious," and laced this mixture of epithets with adjectives of a more violent and reprehensible order. When I stopped for want of breath and for lack of anything more to say, he was still as calm and unmoved as ever.
"Has tha finished, lad?" he questioned, looking at me with those untroubled blue eyes of his as if I was some naughty child who didn't know any better.
"Yes," I replied shortly. "You can go to—"
"I expect tha'll feel a deal better now, Purcell?" he said in a tone of friendly commiseration. I dropped back into a chair, struggled for a moment to be angry and dignified, and then burst out laughing.
"Confound you, George, you'd drive a man demented! Why the dickens must you go and talk that rubbish to Miss Joan?"
"Well, it was true, wasn't it, Purcell?"
"Was what true?"
"Why, that you're 'fair taken oop' with her—that you're longing to have sight of her—that you're a bit nasty just because t' lass doesn't throw hersen into yer arms first kick off."
"Yes, but—" I began weakly, and then stopped, finding myself absolutely incapable of coping with George.
He came over to my side and put a friendly, hand on my shoulder. "It'll all coom right, lad. Lasses are all the same. She'll be glad enough to have you, but she's holding off out of contrariness. You should have soon her that night when we left you behind at the chateau. She was fair mad to go hack to yer, no matter what was waiting for her there. She thinks same way of you as you think of her. Don't tha tak any notice of a bit of fratching; it's allus the same. I nobbut told her the truth, and if tha could see her, I'll back thee lad there's no tears in those bonnie eyes of hers now, she'll be smiling as pleased as owt."
I found it impossible to say anything more to him. Never were a man's love affairs taken so completely out of his hands and in such a matter-of-fact way.
"All right, George," I said resignedly, "You meant well, and it may be that you are right, But, 'pon my soul, I never dreamt of having to court my girl through you as my deputy, There's nothing Cupid-looking about you, Lake!"
George smiled, "Nay, there's nothing fancy about me," he said with innocent pride and genuine gratification. I believe he thought I had paid him the highest compliment that one man can pay to another.
"Have you got the car outside, Lake?" I said, changing the subject, "I think I'll go round to the Embassy and have a look through those papers we took from Hanoteaux."
The Ambassador was very amused when I told him of my interview with General von Klotz, and indulged in an altogether undiplomatic chuckle when I described Lake's share in that Incident.
"I suppose you have called, Mr. Purcell," he said, when I had concluded my narrative, "to examine that despatch-box. I have already opened it, and certain of the papers dealing with the little exploits of M. Hanoteaux and his anarchist society are already in the hands of the police. I think they will find them interesting." He paused a moment, eyeing me keenly, with a half- humorous expression on his face. "There were some other papers in the box, which I have not sent to the police."
I jumped up eagerly. "Have they anything to do with—" I began, and then hesitated.
The Ambassador smiled, "With the young lady you so gallantly rescued from the Chateau?"
"Yes," I retorted, blushing a little. "Do they throw any light on the curious mystery that seems to surround her?"
"They throw considerable light; in fact, they establish her identity beyond dispute."
"Is she Mlle. de St. Egremont as that man Hanoteaux called her? Is she any relation to the St. Egremont that you mentioned?"
I was burning with curiosity, the more so as his Excellency seemed Inclined to hold back his information as long as possible.
"Yes," he said, speaking very slowly and precisely, "they prove beyond dispute that she is Joan de St. Egremont, and that she is the grand-daughter of the Marquis de St. Egremont, whose complete disappearance from Paris and the world in which he cut no small figure, created such a sensation in the year 1883."
I kept my feelings as well in control as possible.
"May I look at the papers?"
"Certainly. Not only shall you look at them, but you shall have the plea sure of returning them to the young lady whom they chiefly concern."
He went to a side table on which stood the despatch box I had taken from M. Hanoteaux. Opening it, he took out a bundle of papers, roughly tied together with string, and very dirty and crumpled.
"These are the papers," he said, tapping them, "and they contain one of the most curious and tragic narratives I have ever road, and during the course of my career I have seen and heard much that the rest of the world never sees or hears of. You will understand something of my feelings on reading those documents when I tell you that I knew the Marquis de St Egremont well—that he cut a considerable figure in Parisian society for more than half a century, and that the part he chose to play in this mad world was never even suspected."
He handed me the papers.
"Take them and read them. You may if you like read them here; I have no engagements for the next half-hour, and you perusal will not take you long."
Sitting down, I untied the string that bound the bundle together, and smoothed out on my knee the dozen or so sheets, torn from some penny copy-book, of which the dossier was composed. Each sheet was scrawled over with long spidery hand- writing, clearly that of a very old man, for the alignment was erratic, and the writer had a habit of changing the direction of his words from the horizontal to the perpendicular at the end of each line. It was written in French, and at the top of the first sheet was a blob of sealing wax, impressed with a boar's head and they motto "Esto Quod Esse Videris." The document was directed to "My grand-daughter, Joan de St. Egremont, to be read by her and her alone after my death, and then burnt."
I looked up questioningly at his Excellency.
"You may read it with a clear conscience," he replied to my unspoken question. "The circumstances which induced the late Marquis to take those precautions have entirely changed. There is no need any longer to preserve his secret inviolate. We two at least may know it, whether it would be advisable to place Mlle de St. Egremont in possession of the information the dossier contains, after you have read it you will be the better able to judge."
Without more ado I began to read.
"THIS is the confession of Charles August Phillippe, Marquis de St. Egremont, written only for the eyes of Joan de St. Egremont. I write it that she may know of the dangers which she has to avoid. I am now an old man. I was born in the year 1810, and I lived my early life when ideals and systems of government occupied the mind of France. Like many another young man, my views changed with the changing of the various constitutions that ruled France. I was anti-constitutional when Louis XVIII sat upon the throne, anti-absolutist when Charles X. succeeded him, and opposed to all government when, the revolution of July made Louis Phillippe King of the French.
"I became an individualist, and claimed the right for every man to live out his life in his own way without interfering with the liberties of his fellow creatures. It was a fashionable pose, this theoretical anarchism. I had great wealth, a clever tongue, and I collected round me men of my own class, who professed the same extravagant view as myself. When after the revolution of 1848 the second republic was founded under the presidency of Louis Napoleon, I still clung to the creed I had adopted only as a theory. I resolutely refused to have anything to do with an active propaganda. The coup d'état, by which Louis Napoleon made himself Emperor, made me alter my view.
"I saw with my own eyes the unfortunate people being shot down in the streets of Paris on the night of December 4th, 1851, and I went home burning with indignation against the organisation of human society, which necessitated such scenes as I had witnessed. From that moment I became an active anarchist. I spent money freely in the cause, and in the course of time was elected to the innermost committee of the anarchists—the Central Committee for the Organisation of Combat. No one suspected me; my wealth and title gave me an undisputed position in Parisian Society. The Emperor, like his uncle, desiring to surround himself with families of the ancient regime, courted my society. I was a welcomed guest at the Tuileries, and all the time I plotted the murder of kings and princes—those innocent persons who symbolised what we hated most. I lent my countenance to the attempt made by Orsini on the Emperor in 1886, and many other crimes—I did not consider them so then—have blotted my conscience.
"I was to have a bitter awakening. In the year 1882, my only son, Felix, Viscount de St. Egremont, married. In the following year a child was born to him. That child was you, Joan. Your mother died in giving you birth, and your father and yourself came to live with me.
"At this time I was the treasurer of the Central Committee. All the funds, amounting to almost a quarter of a million, all in gold, were kept in the cellars of my house. In the year 1885 the visit of some foreign monarch to Paris determined us to attempt his assassination. Everything was arranged. The man who was to throw the bomb which was to rob the world of another monarch, was selected. He was a half-crazed Italian, the very type of man we required. The bomb was to be thrown from a café on one of the principal boulevards through which the foreign potentate had to pass from the station.
"At this time your father was a major in the Cuirassiers, and, as fate would have it, he was entrusted with the command of the escort attending the royal carriage. The bomb was thrown, but for some reason it failed to explode. The carriage drove on hastily; your father, with the courage worthy of the best traditions of our family, dismounted from his horse to pick it up. As he did so, it exploded in his hands. He succeeded in saving the lives of many innocent persons; he himself was killed. I witnessed his death from the balcony of a house, which I had taken for quite another purpose. I think then that I went mad."
"I loved my son, and the sight of his mangled body drove all other thoughts from my mind. I first saw to his remains being taken to my house, and then made my way to where the Central Committee for the Organisation of Combat was sitting in full assembly.
"I tell you, I was mad, or I would not have done what I did, I rose in my place, and denounced them for the murder of my son, and in my folly declared that I would make their names known to the police. At first they told me that I should never leave the room alive, but at the suggestion of a young man of twenty-one, a certain Victor Hanoteaux, who had been admitted to the Central Committee on account of his considerable scientific knowledge. My tongue was cut out, and the drums of my ears were pierced. Then, with the assurance that if I communicated with the police I should meet with certain death, I was set at liberty.
"I staggered home burning with a desire for vengeance. At first I thought I would go straight to the authorities, but I remembered you and the disgrace which would attach itself to you throughout your life if such revelations were made. I determined upon a more subtle vengeance. I had charge of the funds of the Committee. I would flee away to another country, taking them with me. Within an hour the four casks in which they were contained were on their way to England. I accompanied them with you in my arms. In London I dared not stay. I had to find some lonely spot far from the world of people, anyone of whom might recognise me. Chance brought me to Castle Effingham, and this house. Here I have lived since, and here I shall die.
"Burn this as soon as you have read it. So far I have escaped the clutches of the Central Committee, but any chance circumstance may bring their vengeance down on my head, and if not on mine, on yours when I am dead.
"My estates are still in France. I have never dared to sell them or to claim their revenues. Beware, lest you are ever induced to do so either, for cruel death awaits any St. Egremont who is known to be alive in France. The money which lies buried beneath the hearthstone you may use. It will enable you to live in the manner becoming a member of my family.
"This I leave you, and my blessing. When my polluted soul leaves this mangled body, bury me in the churchyard among the people who have befriended me. Place no name upon my tombstone, but inscribe this motto, which served the like purpose to another sinful and misguided man—'Qui nunquam quiescit, quievit. Tace!'"
AS I finished the last sheet I looked up at his Excellency.
"Well, what do you think of it," he asked gravely.
"I think it is the most tragic human document I have ever read."
"I agree with you. You will remember that I already warned you to get Mlle. de St. Egremont out of Paris as seen as possible. It is clear that the Central Committee, in spite of the unfortunate Marquise's precautions, discovered his whereabouts and struck at once. That they spared his granddaughter we must regard as some mental aberration on their part; one cannot use the words pity and mercy in such a connection; but they would not be likely to spare her a second time, and on that account I took the liberty of informing the police without mentioning any of the circumstances of the case—simple saying that the girl who was your ward was in danger of molestation. They will keep an eye on her, but none the less I beg you to leave Paris at once. You have performed the task with which you were entrusted with admirable discretion. I shall take care that my opinion is known in the proper quarters and there is no reason now why you should stay any longer here."
"I will take your Excellency's advice, and go by to-night's boat train. But what shall I do with these papers?"
"I will entrust them to your keeping, Mr. Purcell. You may if you think wise, and the circumstances permit it, give them to Mlle. de St. Egremont. If the police succeed in stamping out this nest of criminals—and the information I have been able to send them should make it not difficult—the young lady should have very little difficulty in establishing her claim to her grandfather's property."
Putting the papers In my pocket, I took my leave of the Ambassador, and hurried out to where George was awaiting me in the car.
"Where to now, Purcell?" he asked, as I got in by his side,
"Back to the Quai d'Orsay; we've got to pack—we leave for England tonight."
"And I, for one, shan't be sorry. I'm fair stalled wi' these foreigners."
In a few minutes we were back at our rooms. As the concierge opened the front door for us I inquired, for no particular reason, whether Mlle. was still at home. His reply staggered me.
"Why, no, Monsieur; she left to join you some ten minutes ago, directly after your letter arrived."
"My letter!" I exclaimed, dumbfounded. "What do you mean?'
"I do not know that it was your letter, monsieur," replied the man with a leer, for which I could have knocked him down, "But Mlle. said it was from you, and set out with the greatest haste."
I pushed past the man and raced up the stairs, Lake at my heels. I made straight for Joan's bedroom, and without going through the formality of knocking, burst open the door. Nobody was there.
"Good heavens, what does it mean, Lake?" I asked, turning to my comrade in an agony of fear. "It means they've been after her, as I thought they would. They've got her to meet them by a trick."
I cannot properly describe my feelings at that moment. I felt like Lucifer must have felt when he stood at the confines of hell and looked back at the distant glories of the Paradise he was never to know again. I was completely crushed. It seemed then that I had lost her for over.
The Ambassador's, words recurred to me. "They are not likely to spare her a second time"—and now they had caught her again. Why hadn't I remained by her side! Why had I quarrelled with her that morning? I cursed myself bitterly for a self- sufficient ass and careless fool. To have had the greatest treasure in the world in my possession and to lose it—the thought of it was almost unbearable. I turned helplessly to George.
"What are we to do?" I asked feebly.
"Fetch t' lass back again, of course; where's yon letter that the man spoke of? She may have left it behind her. Aye, there it is."
He picked up a letter from the dressing-table and handed It to me. I read it eagerly.
Dear Miss Joan,
On receipt of this please come at once to the Cabaret de l'Universe, and the Rue Vivin, Boulevard Montparnasse. I dare not explain my reasons in this letter, for fear it may go astray, but it is of the utmost importance that you should come at once.
Yours sincerely,
Hugh Purcell.
It was the most impudent piece of forgery, for there had been
no attempt to imitate my hand, They had evidently counted on the
fact that Joan was not familiar with my writing. The letter
brought back to me my powers of action.
"Come on, George!" I said, rushing from the room, shouting out my directions to him as we hurried down the stairs. "You go to the Prefect of Police I'll join you there afterwards when I have been to the Rue Vivin—they are not more than twenty minutes ahead of us, and we may catch them yet."
"We'll have a good try, Purcell," muttered George behind me.
THE Rue Vivin is a dirty narrow little street leading, from the Boulevard Montparnasse to the Luxembourg Gardens, frequented mostly by young men with a hankering to follow in the footsteps of Henri Murger's heroes in La Vie de Bohème, and succeeding only so far as their morals and their general uncleanliness are concerned. So narrow is the street at one end, that I nearly had a nasty accident as I swept recklessly into it at a good thirty miles an hour. There were shouts and cries and the raucous grunting of a huge motor horn, as a long blue motor-car, with a closed in tonneau, rushed towards me from the opposite direction.'
There was no chance of our passing in the Rue Vivin itself, so I had to draw up dead, with all my brakes on, and a skid of several yards, which did not improve my tyres. I pulled up only just in time, for the driver of the blue car refused to reduce his speed for a moment, and scraped round the corner of the street, grazing the pavement on one side, and just avoiding the axle of my front wheel by a hairsbreadth on the other. It was almost out of sight before I sufficiently recovered myself to look after it, with the intention of expressing my feelings to the chauffeur. The cabaret, rejoicing in the title of l'Universe, I found to be the ordinary kind of lower-class French drinking- shop. It had a short zinc-covered bar near the entrance, from which the one waiter fetched supplies for the customers, and behind which the inevitable Madame—a fat, elderly dame, with a squint and a moustache, which many a young man might have envied, sat knitting, with an eye on the till, had a general appearance of being the waiter's gaoler, so closely did she seem to watch his every movement, especially when any cash transaction look place between them. Some artists with big black hats and flowing ties and baggy corduroy trousers were sitting at one of the tables playing cards, the rest of the place was empty. It did not look as if the Cabaret de l'Universe could be a profitable undertaking, if its proprietor depended simply for his earnings on the drink industry, and my heart sunk within me when it occurred to me that in all probability this was just the sort of place where the proprietor would seek to make some extra profit by less honest means. Probably the moustached Madame would engage in any little enterprise, from receiving to kidnapping, at a price.
"Good-day, monsieur," exclaimed the syren behind the bar, as I hesitated on the threshold, uncertain how to set about my inquiries. I saluted her with my hat, and going up to the bar, leant over far enough to indicate to her, without attracting the attention of her customers, that I desired to have a word in secret with her.
"What does monsieur desire?" she asked, speaking low, with a quick, suspicious glance first in the direction of the unfortunate waiter.
"A young lady has been here, Madame. I wish you to tell me where she is now, and if she is not here, where she has gone to?"
A frown puckered Madame's brow.
"For what does monsieur take this establishment? I know nothing of any young lady."
"Very good, Madame, I have no time to waste; the young lady I know was induced to come her—I have proof of it. Here are a couple of twenty-franc pieces; they are yours if you tell me the truth at once. If you refuse I shall have resource to less pleasant methods of persuasion."
She drew away from me quickly, her face alive with fear and suspicion.
"I do not understand," she muttered, "I know nothing of what monsieur speaks."
"You'd better know quickly, Madame, for I am impatient. See, I am willing to pay for your information; though there is hardly any necessity. The police will be here shortly, and I doubt if they will prove so generous."
The mention of the police, acted like magic. From sullen, silence she passed to extreme garrulity.
"Ah, monsieur jokes with me," she exclaimed, gathering up the two gold pieces with which I had baited the counter. "I will tell him everything he wants to know. But, of course, one must not talk to every chance customer that comes in—that is so, is it not?—and I said to myself when you spoke to me first, 'I will say nothing till I know more of him.' That was right, was it not?"
"Yes, yes, but never mind about your motives; tell me what you know of the young lady."
"There was a young lady here," she said, bending further forward, and speaking more softly still. "It happened all within the last hour. Three men come in, and tell Pierre to bring them paper and a pen, and they sit over there, and together they write some letter, many times over till it satisfy them. Then one of them goes out: half an hour later the young lady arrives. 'She seem surprised at the place, glancing up and down the room as if looking for somebody. I ask her what she desires, and she replies that she expected to meet a tall young Englishman here. At that one of the two men remaining rose from his seat, and coming forward with a bow, said that he had been sent by a Mr Purcell. That was all I overheard, for he took her over to the table and made her sit down. I could see that she was very uneasy. Presently a large blue motorcar drew up at the door. The two men rose, spoke to the young lady for a moment; and then after some hesitation, she followed them outside. I saw her get in, and the car drove off, and that is all I know, monsieur."
I did not wait to hear more. I felt I had wasted too much time already. All unconscious l had passed the very car in which Joan was being hurried away to some horrible fate. Without even a farewell to Madame, I dashed from the cabaret, and regardless of all rules of speed, made for the headquarters of the police. I found Lake awaiting me there.
He saw at once by my face that something had happened, and without troubling me with any questions conducted me straight to the Prefect of Police. That celebrated little man, who exercises a power in France, compared to which the immutable will of the Czar is as nothing, already knew my name and my business.
"Yes, Monsieur Purcell, I had been expecting you. I received a request from his Excellency about two hours ago for special attention to be paid to the safety of the young lady under your protection. Unfortunately it would seem—so l gather from your friend here—that the warning came rather too late. What fresh news have you to tell me?"
I quickly related the account of my visit to the cabaret in the Rue Vivin. The Prefect rang a bell, and an official appeared like magic at his side.
"M. Roquier, a large blue automobile visited the Cabaret de l'Universe in the Rue Vivin at about half-past five—twenty minutes ago—that is, it passed down to the Luxembourg Gardens, and so, by the Rue Buonaparte. Obtain information at once as to where it has gone. It has some bearing on that case I mentioned to you this morning. It probably took the direction of Versailles. You will accompany these two gentlemen in their automobile in pursuit of it. Have it stopped, if possible, on the road; you had better take four men with you."
M. Roquier retired as swiftly as he had come. The Prefect handed me a cigarette, and for five minutes I made a pretence of chatting calmly with him on a variety of subjects, though really I was in a frenzy of anxiety and impatience. At the end of the five minutes M. Roquier appeared again.
"A car answering your description, monsieur, has passed along the road to Versailles. It has been seen at three points, the last time at Sèvres, travelling at a high rate of speed. It will be stopped at Versailles. If these gentlemen are ready—?"
I waited for no second bidding, and with a hasty farewell to the commissionaire I got into the car. George was already in the driver's seat. M. Roquier and four gendarmes, who looked as if they would not have been surprised if the angel had appeared with the last trump, took their places in the tonneau.
Once underway, Lake pressed the engines for all they were worth. Travelling as we were under the aegis of the law, there was no necessity to take any account of speed limits, and within a quarter of an hour we were at Versailles, having done the ten miles at the rate of about forty-five miles an hour.
We drew up at the police bureau. M. Roquier, without waiting to open the door, vaulted over the side of the car, and disappeared with yet another gendarme.
"This man," he said to me, "will take the wheel, if monsieur pleases; we have found the house to which the car has gone, and we shall go the quicker if one who drives knows the way."
George gave up his position at the wheel at once, and sat down on the floor with his feet on the step. There were now eight passengers on the car, and we attracted considerable attention as we rolled back up the wide street of the famous town. Once clear of the main thoroughfare we turned to the left down a long road, lined at either side with chestnut trees. It was already dusk, and beneath the canopy of leaves it was almost dark. A turn to the left, and we were in a little lane. Here the driver stopped, and we all got out.
At a sign from M. Roquier, the four gendarmes fell into marching order: he himself led the way, accompanied by the man we had picked up at Versailles. Without a word we began to march at the double down the lane. A long curve In the lane, and then suddenly from among the trees there came into view a small villa surrounded on every side by a high wall. We stopped for a moment, and M. Roquier and his guide held it muttered conversation for a few moments, then we marched on again more quickly. When we arrived at the villa M. Roquier made his dispositions with the celerity of a general of cavalry. The four gendarmes were sent to scale the wall at the back, while the remainder of our party paid our attention to the front door.
It was a curious door, curious not only on account of the fact that it was the only opening on that side of the house, for there were no windows overlooking the lane, but curious in its structure. It was not one of those light flimsy doors, in keeping with the chalet-like appearance of the villa. An attempt had been made to give it an innocent appearance by painting it a sky-blue, but I needed no experienced eye to see that it was made of metal, and that that metal was in all probability steel. In the middle of the door there was a small grating, such as is used at monasteries, with a sliding panel that could be opened or closed by, the gate-keeper inside.
In spite of my acute anxiety, I could not help admiring the calm sort of swagger—l can think of no other word which so accurately expresses his attitude—with which M. Roquier set about his duties. Stevenson has said that every great action is the better for a dash o' purple, and even the somewhat sordid work of the policeman can be raised to a respectable level by the manner in which it is performed.
With a preparatory twist of his moustache, M. Roquier took a large jack-knife from his pocket, opened it, and forced the blade deeply into the wood of the sliding panel, close to the framework of the door. He motioned to the Versailles gendarme to hold it. Then he pressed the electric bell.
We could hear a tinkle from within the house. For a second or two there was silence. Then, as we listened, holding our breath, we distinctly heard footsteps softly and stealthily approaching the door. M. Roquier looked quickly at his comrade, and the man gripped the knife that held the panel more firmly. For the fraction of an inch the panel was moved, the man within was trying to catch a glimpse of us before answering our summons. The fact that he could not move the panel seemed to trouble him, for he went away, returning a few seconds later, so we gathered from a muttered conversation with a companion. We could distinguish no words, but it was clear from the efforts that were made to move the panel, that the persons inside were not a little troubled as to who we might be. M, Roquier rang again. There was another pause. Then we heard the sound of a well-oiled bolt being shot back, and the door swung softly open to the distance of some ten degrees and there stuck. The persons inside had taken the precaution of keeping the chain fastened.
WITHOUT a moment's hesitation, M. Roquier whipped a revolver from his pocket, and placing its muzzle close to the ring by which the chain was attached to the door-post, fired. At the same instant Lake and I flung ourselves against the door. The chain snapped, and the door, swinging back, precipitated us into a long passage. The two men who had thought to bar our entrance had been knocked down by the precipitancy of our rush. With womanlike adroitness M. Roquier had slipped a pair of handcuffs on each of them before they had quite realised what had happened. We could hear a sound of uproar in the house; evidently our one shot had created considerable disturbance.
"Shut and bar the door," shouted M. Roquier, and I turned to obey him. The noise and confusion in the house increased. A shot rang out, then another, then another, and a cry, as of someone in pain. The attack by the four gendarmes at the rear of the house had evidently commenced.
M. Roquier leading the way, we ran down the passage, all of us with revolvers in our hands except Lake, who had armed himself like some Hercules with the largest spanner in the car. At the end of, the passage was a door, which as we approached opened, and a man ran out, white-faced and terrified with a smoking revolver in his hand. He gave a cry as he saw us and tried to step back into the room. M. Roquier raised his arm. There was a shot, and the man flung up his hands, spun sillily on his feet and dropped, face forwards his arms stretched out and his fingers clutching spasmodically at the coconut matting with which the passage was carpeted.
We stepped over him without so much as a thought for his condition, and rushed headlong into the room. There a sight met our eyes which I hope never to see again. The room was brilliantly lit with electric light. Down its whole length ran a long common deal table on either side of which were placed rows, of chairs. Some of them were pushed back as if their late occupants had arisen in haste, others lay on the floor, tumbled there in the excitement of the first alarm. Beyond this table and these chairs there was no other furniture. A heavy portiere curtain half pulled back and disclosing a door, was at our right as we, entered the room, Opposite were a pair of French windows, wide open, leading to a stretch of lawn, fringed by the high wall I have, already mentioned.
There were figures on the lawn, and every now and again in the gathering darkness we caught sight of little spurt of light, and heard the sound of a shot. Following M. Roquier's lead, we poured out on to the lawn—I for one was only too glad to leave the room, for like the others, I had seen something on the table, which had filled me with physical nausea.
It was the scarred, mangled, tortured body of a man, quite naked. It was lying in the centre of the table, full length, its flesh scarred with crimson gashes, and a great ugly raw furrow of a wound around its neck. Its distorted, pained face, with the glazed, terror-stricken eyes, was the face of Legros. He had paid the price—the terrible price of his treachery and his crime.
With that awful vision in my eyes, I rushed on to the lawn, only too glad of applying the anodyne of action to my horror- stricken nerves. There were nine men on the lawn, keeping up a running fight with the four gendarmes. As we look them in the rear, they broke and scattered. One I accounted for with a shot, and another fell to M. Roquier's revolver. Lake, plunging in amongst them like a lion, felled three with his spanner. Four others we swept to bay in a corner of the wall. There they surrendered, and having been handcuffed, were taken back into the house.
Where was Joan? That was the one thought that was in my mind.
"M. Roquier," l said, pulling him by the sleeve, "where is Mlle. de St. Egremont?"
Without waiting to answer me he led the way to the door behind the curtain. It was locked. He tried to force it, and failed. Lake came up, and motioning M. Roquier away, charged the door. It burst before his impact like a piece of paper. There was a staircase within, leading to the rooms upstairs. Lake sprang up it, I close at his heels. As we reached the first landing I heard a cry. It was a woman's voice crying for help, and the sound of it sent me into a mad frenzy of rage. For it wan Joan's voice.
"Joan, Joan, I am coming!" I cried, outpacing Lake and rushing at the door behind which the pitiable cry came.
Though it was locked I burst it open as though there had been no bolts there at all. For a moment I seemed possessed of superhuman strength. In the middle of the room there was a couch, over which two men stooped holding down by force the struggling figure of a girl; that girl was Joan. Standing by the side of one of the men was a third man; it was M. Hanoteaux. He stood there with a long, evil-looking knife in his hand, raised ready to plunge into the body of the helpless girl. My entrance arrested him in the very moment of action.
He turned swiftly as I burst my way in, and at the sight of me something like a cry of terror broke from his lips. I sprang at him recklessly. He stepped back and lunged at me with the knife as quick as lightning. I think at that moment I must have been given some unnatural powers, for I defy any man to stop the thrust of a dagger when delivered by such an expert as M. Hanoteaux was; the bow was delivered with the celerity of a snake's attack, straight at my heart.. I cannot say how I did it but even as it glided swiftly towards me, I caught his wrist, and the knife passed into the flesh of my shoulder.
I think I broke his wrist, but the whole fight was so confused and the details of it so blurred in my memory, that I can say nothing of it for certain. All I can remember is this wild, brutal joy—the inhuman lust for blood, born of my hatred for him, which obsessed me, as my fingers clutched his throat and we want down to the floor together.
I was like a mad beast—God forgive me, I rained blows upon his face, till he hung limp and senseless in my arms. I dug my fingers into his throat and dashed his head again and again against the floor.
I have no reason to remember that incident with pride. Shame and disgust fill my mind when I recall it. This only can I say in palliation, I loved Joan and the man that attempted to kill her—to butcher her, rather, and her piteous cry for help had for the time rendered me a maniac.
I don't know how the rest of the fight progressed. In my wild lust to stamp the life out of Hanoteaux I forgot everything else. It was Lake who pulled me off my foe. When he did so, the man was dead.
I staggered to my feet. The wild passions that had obsessed me had disappeared leaving me weak and unstrung. I tottered like a drunken man, looking stupidly from the distorted face of Hanoteaux to Lake and back again like one puzzled at some curious enigma. He drew me away. As he did so I caught sight of Joan lying on the couch, pale and motionless. With a little cry I shook off Lake's restraining hand. In a moment I was on my knees by her side, and had taken her in my arms.
"Joan, Joan, my love, my darling! They have killed her! They have killed her!"
I covered her beautiful face with kisses, hardly knowing what I was doing, crying out the full passion of my love, caring not who heard; for it seemed to me that the world had come to an end, that there was nothing more worth living for now that Joan— my beautiful Joan—was dead. Somebody tried to pull me away—I know not who it was, but I turned on him with an oath, swearing that I would kill anyone who tried to separate me from my love. I knelt there, half holding her in my arms, now kissing her, now stroking her face with my hand—and all the while whispering my love in her ear that I thought could not hear it. Then suddenly in the midst of my frenzy, it seemed to me that something touched my cheek; it seemed to me that a pair of little arms slipped round my neck, and I felt my head gently pulled downwards. Something brushed my cheek, and a voice so small and so far away it seemed, whispered: "My darling!"
I looked down at her. Her eyes were wide open, and they gazed back on mine:
"Joan, Joan, my darling! You're not dead! Oh, thank God!"
And so it was that we plighted our troth.
LAKE and I helped her down the stairs, for she was still weak with all the terrible experiences she had gone through. Somebody, with great thoughtfulness, had covered up the thing that had once been Legros, which lay on the table in the room through which we had to pass. Joan clung to my arm desperately until we were safe out in the lane, and under the friendly stars. I was for driving straight back to Paris, but the law required that we should go first to the bureau of police at Versailles, and there make our preliminary depositions. I would have spared Joan this, but M. Roquier, with many apologies, pointed out to me that it was impossible, and we had therefore to comply.
The officials were as courteous and ceremonious as only Frenchmen can be, and as soon as we had been accommodated, and the Mayor, who is an indispensable official on those occasions, had arrived, we were bidden to recount the story of our adventures. I took the matter out of Joan's hands, wishing for her sake as well as my owns to keep as much in the background as possible, and to confine our narrative simply to those facts which concerned the police.
"The young lady's name?" the Mayor asked, turning to me.
"Mademoiselle Joan de St. Egremont."
"A French citizen?"
"She was born a French citizen, but she has lived all her life, except the first two years, in England."
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Joan looking at me in amazement, wondering no doubt how I had become acquainted with facts of which even she was ignorant. I expected to surprise her a good deal more before I had finished.
"Mademoiselle's parents were French you say. Who were they?"
"Her father was the Vicomte de St. Egremont, only son of the Marquis de St. Egremont."
The Mayor looked puzzled. "I seem to recollect the name, but I cannot for the moment recall where and under what circumstance I have heard it before, Perhaps monsieur can enlighten me?"
"The Vicomte de St. Egremont was killed by an anarchist's bomb in the year 1883. The same day the Marquis, his father, fled the country, fearing his own life was in danger, taking with him mademoiselle here, then a child of two. He never returned to France again. He allowed none of his former acquaintances to know that he was alive; he left his property to take care of itself, and vanished entirely from those circles in which he had formerly moved. He took up his abode in a remote village on the east coast of England, where he resided in peace for twenty-five years. Then the man, Victor Hanoteaux, who lies dead in the house we have just left, arrived in a motor-boat with some of his companions in crime and foully murdered him. They carried mademoiselle here back with them to France, where she was kept a prisoner in the Chateau de Lisle, near the village of St. Leger."
I then went on to relate most, of the facts that I have set down here, of course, keeping carefully in the background the real reason of my mission to France.
The Mayor was frankly astonished and punctuated my narration with ejaculations of amazement. "And now," I said, when I had brought my part of the story to an end, "l can tell you no more. The rest is known only to Mlle. de St Egremont."
The Mayor turned to Joan, '"Will you be pleased to tell me, Mademoiselle, how you fell again into the hands of these canailles, who seem to have had a curious aversion for your family and yourself."
I saw that Joan was about to protest that the family history she had just listened to was quite new to her, and motioned to her to say nothing on the subject. I did not want the mystery of the St. Egremont family inquired into at this juncture.
"We were to have gone to England to-night," she began, interpreting my glance directly, "and I was occupying myself with putting together some few things that I had purchased in Paris. Mr. Purcell had made me promise not to leave the private hotel on the Quai d'Orsay except at his suggestion. He was frightened that I might fall again into the hands of M. Hanoteaux. At about five o'clock this afternoon the concierge brought me a letter. It was addressed to me and purported to be written by Mr. Purcell, begging me to come at once to the Cabaret de Universe, in the Rue Vivin. I never dreamed that there was anything wrong about the letter. My one thought was to follow his instructions implicitly."
She hesitated a moment, and the Mayor, with a kindly "Continue, ma chérie!" begged her to proceed.
"We had lad a little misunderstanding," she went on, turning smiling to me, "and I was anxious to show that I was sorry for my part, in it by following his instructions promptly, so without a thought I hurried off to the cabaret. I was surprised to find that Mr. Purcell was not there, and more surprised still when a man got up from a seat aid coming up to me, asked me in excellent English whether I was looking for a Mr. Purcell.
"On my telling him that I was, he said that he had been commissioned by Mr. Purcell, who had been unable to come at the last moment owing to an important business engagement, to meet me there and accompany me to the Gare St Lazare. Mr. Purcell, he explained, had got word of some conspiracy which would render it highly dangerous for me to remain any longer at the hotel. 'He wants you to wait at the station,' he said, 'until the time of the departure of the boat train, when he will join you.'
"I thought the whole business somewhat mysterious, but consoled myself with the reflection that Mr. Purcell must know best. I did say something about my luggage, but the man assured me that that would be all right. Mr. Purcell would bring it from the hotel. He then introduced me to his companion, and induced me to take a seat at the table at which they were sitting.
"I had not been there more than three or four minutes when a large blue motor car came up to the door. The men accompanied me to it, getting in with me. At first I had no suspicion, but when, after ten minutes we came no nearer the station, I began to grow anxious. I looked out of the window and saw that we were no longer in the streets of Paris. The men noticed my uneasiness and laughed.
"'We are not going to the station,' I exclaimed, 'where are you taking me?' I arose to my feet and tried to open the door. They dragged me back. One of them pulled the blinds across the window, while the other held me down on the seat. I screamed, and the man who held me put his hand over my mouth. I was very frightened and struggled to free myself, but the men were too strong for me. During part of the journey we had to slow down; since we stopped altogether, I suppose there must have been something on the road. The two men were very uneasy, and held me the more firmly for fear, I suppose, that I should attract somebody's attention if I managed to cry out.
"At the and of half an hour, I should say, we stopped at that terrible house, I was carried inside. M. Hanoteaux met me in the passage. He didn't say anything, but he looked at me in a way which terrified me.
"I was taken through a room full of men who were sitting at a long table. One of them stood up as I entered, as if to hide something from me. I heard somebody, remark, 'The traitor a grand-daughter,' and some of them laughed. I was taken straight in to the room beyond, through some folding doors.. There I remained with the two men who had accompanied me in the motor- car. Something terrible was happening in the other room. Horrible screams of pain, and cries for mercy reached my ears, and they seemed to afford the two men with me immense amusement. I almost fainted from terror.
"At the end of ten minutes M. Hanoteaux entered, and gruffly ordered the men to take me upstairs. I was carried into the room in which Mr. Purcell found me. M. Hanoteaux followed them, and locked the door behind him. My terror gave me strength for a few moments, I managed to wrest myself free from the men. At that moment there was a shot, and then an awful uproar in the house and outside, I could see that the men were very frightened. They stopped and listened, forgetting about me.
"I think they must have debated among themselves what they should do, for they seemed to get very excited, but they were talking in a language I could not understand. I crouched down in a corner of the room, unable to move. All my strength seemed to have gone from me. Several times the men pointed to me, as if debating what they should do.
"At last M. Hanoteaux wheeled a couch into the middle of the room, and told the two men in French to lay me out. As they approached me I screamed for help. They dragged me across the floor. I clutched at the furniture desperately, and it was quite a minute before they got me on the couch. Standing one on each side of me they held me down there.
"I saw M. Hanoteaux take a large knife and approach me. I screamed more loudly than ever for help. He stood over me, with the knife raised, looking at me. Then I think I fainted, for I remember nothing more until—"
Our eyes met, and there was no need to tell the rest of the story.
The Mayor and M. Roquier smiled paternally; and the one gendarme present gave me a daring wink, as if meaning to say, "You dog, you! I also have made my conquests." As soon as these formal proceedings were over, we were allowed to take our departure for Paris. The Mayor, in an access of paternal affection, insisted upon kissing Joan, assuring me as a guarantee of good faith that he also had had his romance. M. Roquier, with more dignity, kissed her hand with a bow that would have done credit to any court in Europe, and the gendarmes, as we rolled away, raised a cheer, whose heartiness there was no mistaking.
IT was three weeks before the trial of the anarchists was
completed, and all of them condemned to penal servitude for life.
We had to attend most of the time, and it would have been a very
wearisome business except for the fact that we had one another's
company.
I wired for my mother, who was charmed with Joan from their very first meeting. I installed them in rooms at the Bristol, close to those which George and l had occupied. During my spare time I occupied myself by establishing Joan's claim to the St. Egremont property, and by the end of the month she entered into her kingdom—quite a considerable kingdom, with a revenue that made me feel ashamed of my own comparative poverty.
WE are married now!
Sometimes I am unable to realise my own happiness, and I have to seek Joan out to assure myself that it is not a dream. Both of us received storms of congratulations from my friends and acquaintances, but I count none of them as worth very much in comparison with the ovation we received when we visited Castle Effingham. That was a genuine tribute of love to Joan.
The church bells pealed; the one street was decorated with flags; the whole population met us at the station, and the vicar made us a speech, of which I am sure I do not recollect a word, but which caused the old gentleman to use his pocket handkerchief on several occasions, and the villagers to fill up the amazing blanks in his eloquence with wild hurrahs.
It was all for Joan—God bless her! They remember her kindness, her tenderness towards the suffering, her heroism when she nursed the village through a dreadful epidemic; and they rejoiced whole-heartedly in the turn or the wheel of fortune, which had raised her from poverty to wealth.
I kept well in the background, not wishing to detract one iota from the reward which her goodness had won her. It was only at her request that together we visited house after house and shook hands with horny-handed fishermen and labourers did their wives and children, who still insisted upon calling her "Miss Joan."
In the dusk of the evening we want to visit the grave of "Old Dummy," the last Marquis of St. Egremont, and we read there the epitaph which he himself had chosen:
"Qui nunquam quiescit, quievit. Tace."—"He who never rested now rests. Keep silent."
SOMETIMES, now, in the evenings we sit together, looking into
the fire, and our talk wanders to all our strange adventures. We
see again in the embers the sardonic face of Victor Hanoteaux,
the vain cruel features of the unfortunate Legros; the odd
goblinesque form of Dr. Hamish MacClintock seems to come bouncing
out of the glowing coal, and we hear the crackling guttural
German of poor old von Bach.
Every night there is a chair by our fireside, which is filled by a very burly form. George Lake says that I am a lucky man, but Joan has also told me that he has frequently informed her that she is a lucky wife, with many remarks concerning myself which my modesty forbids me to set down here.
And so, with a dear wife and a faithful friend beside me, I look forward to what the fates may hold for me, fearless and content, for as George once said in an unusually communicative mood: "Tha's not got much to fash about; that's a fine good lass for a wife and by goom, Purcell, laad, I'll always stand by thee."