Complete works of a e w.., p.205
Complete Works of a E W Mason, page 205
However, I did not test the strength of my impulse; for while I stood upon the steps debating whether I should go or stay, I perceived one of Marston’s servants coming towards me down the street. With a grave deference, under which, rightly or wrongly, I seemed to detect a certain irony, he gave me his master’s compliments, and handed me a little stick of wood. There was a single notch cut deep into the stick. I understood it to signify that one day out of the four had passed, and — so strangely is a man constituted — this gibing menace determined me to stay. It turned my rage, with its fitful alternatives of passion and despair, into a steady hate, just as one may stir together the scattered, spurting embers of a fire into one glowing flame.
Late that evening came Lord Elmscott to see me, and asked me with a concern which I little expected, after his curt desertion of a few hours agone, what dispute had arisen between Marston and myself. I told him as much as I could without revealing the ground of our quarrel; that Marston had certain knowledge concerning myself which he was minded to impart to Countess Lukstein; that I was fully sensible the Countess ought to be informed of the matter, but that I wished to carry the information myself; that I doubted Marston would not speak the truth, but would distort the story to suit his own ends. The rest of the events I related to him in the order in which they had occurred.
“But it may be,” he objected, “that Marston has really fallen sick.”
For reply, I handed him the stick of wood, and told him how it had been delivered.
“The fellow’s cunning,” he observed, “for not only is he out of your reach, but he locks your mouth. You cannot urge that a man refuses to meet you when he lies abed with a fever, and you cannot prove that the sickness is feigned.”
For awhile he sat silent, drumming with his fingers on the table. Then he asked:
“How comes it that Marston knows of this secret?”
“His sister must have told him,” I replied.
“His sister!” he repeated. “Why, you never met her before this month.”
“I told her on the first occasion that I met her. She was in some measure concerned in it.”
He looked at me shrewdly.
“She was engaged to Sir Julian Harnwood,” said he.
I nodded assent.
He brought his fist down on the table with a bang.
“The trouble springs from that cursed journey of yours to Bristol. I warned you harm would come of it. Had Lady Tracy any reason to fear you?”
“None,” I replied promptly.
“Or any reason to fear Countess Lukstein?”
“None,” I replied again; but after a moment’s thought I added: “But she did fear her. I am sure of it.”
He sprang to his feet.
“Three days!” he cried. “Three days! We may yet outwit him.”
“How?” I asked, with the greatest eagerness.
“I’ll not tell you now. ’Tis no more than a fancy. Wait you here your three days. Keep a strict watch on Marston’s house. ’Tis unlikely that he will move before the time, since he would rather you spared him the telling of the story; but there’s no trusting him. On Thursday I will come to you here before midnight; so wait for me, unless, of course, Marston leaves before then. In that case, follow him, but send word here of your direction. You must be wary; the fellow’s cunning, and may get free from his house in some disguise.”
With that he clapped his hat on his head, and rushed out into the street. For the next three days I saw no more of him. About Marston’s house I kept strict watch as he enjoined. There were but two entrances: one in the façade of the building towards the Square, and the second in a little side-street which ran along a wall of the house. Few, however, either came in or out of these entrances, for the rumour of his sickness was spread abroad in the town, and even his tradesmen dreaded to catch the infection. I was, moreover, certain that he had not escaped, since each evening his servant came to my lodging and left a stick notched according to the number of days.
On the morning of the Thursday, being the fourth day and my last of grace, I doubled the sentinels about the house, hiring for the purpose some fellows of whom my people had cognizance. At the entrances, however, I planted my own men, and bidding them mark carefully the faces of such as passed out, in whatever dress they might be clothed, I retired to a coign of vantage at some distance whence I could keep an eye upon the house, and yet not obtrude myself upon the notice of those within it. In a little alley hard by I had stationed a groom with the swiftest horse that I possessed, so that I might be prepared to set off in pursuit of my antagonist the moment word of his departure was brought to me.
Thus, then, I waited, my heart throbbing faster and faster as the day wore on, and every nerve in my body a jerking pulse. At last my excitement mastered me; a clock in a neighbouring belfry chimed the hour of four, and I crept out of my corner and mingled with the gipsies and mountebanks who were encamped with their booths in the centre of the Square. Amongst this motley crowd I thought myself safe from detection, and moved, though still observing some caution, towards the front of Marston’s house. It wore almost an air of desertion; over many of the windows the curtains were drawn, and never a face showed through the panes of the rest. I could see that my men were still stationed at their posts, and I began to think that we must needs prolong our vigil into the night. Shortly after six, however, the hall-door was opened, and the same servant who brought me the sticks of an evening came out on to the steps. He looked neither to the right nor to the left, but without a moment’s hesitation stepped across the road, and threading the tents and booths, came directly towards me. It was evident that I had been remarked from some quarter of the house, and so I made no effort at further concealment, but rather went forward to meet him. With the same grave politeness which had always characterised him, he offered me a letter.
“My master,” said he, “bade me deliver this into your hand two hours after he had left.”
“Two hours after he had left!” I gasped, well-nigh stunned by his words.
“Two hours,” he replied. “But I have been a trifle remiss, I fear me, and for that I would crave your pardon. It is now two hours and a half since my master departed.”
He made a low bow and went back to the house, leaving me stupidly staring at the letter.
“My fever,” it ran, “is happily so abated that I am to be carried this instant into the country. There will be no danger, I am assured, providing that I am well wrapped up. Au revoir! Or is it adieu? — HUGH MARSTON.”
The sarcasm made my blood boil in my veins, and I ran to the sentinels I had posted before the entrances, rating them immeasurably for their negligence. They heard me with all the marks of surprise, and expostulated in some heat. No one, they maintained, who in any way resembled Mr. Marston had left the house; they had watched most faithfully the day long, without a bite of food to stay their stomachs. Somewhat relieved by their words, I took no heed of their forward demeanour, but gave them to understand that if their words were true, they should eat themselves into a stupor an they were so disposed. For I began to fancy that the letter was a ruse to induce me to withdraw my watchmen from the neighbourhood, and thus open a free passage for my rival’s escape.
With the view of confirming the suspicion, I ordered them to give me a strict and particular account of all persons who had come from the house that day. For those who had kept guard before the front-door the task was simple enough. A few gentlemen had called; but of them only one, whom they imagined to be the physician, had entered the hall. He had reappeared again within half an hour or so of his going in, and, with that exception, no person had departed by this way.
The side-door, however, had been more frequently used. Now and again a servant had come out, or a tradesman had delivered his wares. At one time a cart had driven up, a bale of carpets had been carried into the house, and a second bale fetched out.
“What!” I cried, interrupting the speaker. “A bale of carpets? At what time?”
He knew not exactly, but ’twas between three and four, for he heard a clock chime the latter hour some while afterwards.
“You dolt!” I cried. “He was in the carpets.”
“I know nought of that,” he answered sullenly. “You only bade me note faces, and I noted them that carried the carpets. You said nothing about noting carpets.”
The fellow was justly indignant, I felt; for, indeed, I doubt whether I should have suspected the bale myself but for Marston’s letter. So I dismissed the men from their work, and rode slowly back to my lodging. Marston had three hours’ start of me already; by midnight he would have nine, even supposing that Elmscott arrived with trustworthy intelligence. What chance had I of catching, him?
I walked about the room consumed with a fire of impatience. I seemed to hear the beat of hoofs as Marston rode upon the way; and the further he went into the distance, the louder and louder grew the sound, until I was forced to sit down and clasp my head between my hands in a mad fear lest it should burst with the racket. And then I saw him — saw him, as in a crystal, spurring along a white, winding road; and strangely enough the road was familiar to me, so that I knew each stretch that lay ahead of him, before it came in view and was mirrored in my imaginings. I followed him through village and wood; now a river would flash for a second beneath a bridge; now a hill lift in front, and I noticed the horse slacken speed and the rider lean forward in the saddle. Then for a moment he would stand outlined against the sky on the crest, then dip into a hollow, and out again across a heath. At last he came towards the gate of a town. How I prayed that the gate would be barred! We were too distant to ascertain that as yet. He drove his spurs deeper into the flanks of his horse. The gate was open! He dashed at full gallop down a street; turned into a broad lane at right angles; the beat of hoofs became louder and louder in my ears. Of a sudden he drew rein, and the sound stopped. He sprang from his horse, mounted a staircase, and burst into a room. I heard the door rattle as it was flung open. I knew the room. I recognised the clock in the corner. I gazed about me for the Countess — and Elmscott’s hand fell upon my shoulder.
“Why, lad, art all in the dark?”
“I have just reached the light,” I cried, springing up in a frenzy of excitement. “The Countess Lukstein lies at the ‘Thatched House Tavern,’ in Bristol town.”
“Damn!” said Elmscott. “I have just ridden thither and back to find that out.”
And he fell swearing and cursing in a chair, whilst I rang for candles to be brought.
CHAPTER XV.
THE HALF-WAY HOUSE AGAIN.
I HAD PREVIOUSLY given orders that my horse should be kept ready saddled in the stable, and I now bade the servant bring it round to the door.
“Nay, there’s no need to hurry,” said Elmscott comfortably, throwing his legs across a chair. “Marston will never start before the morning.”
“He has started,” I replied. “He has seven hours to the good already. He started between three and four of the afternoon.”
“But you were to follow him,” he exclaimed, starting up. “You knew the road he was going. You were to follow him.”
“He slipped through my fingers,” said I, with some shame, for Elmscott was regarding me with the same doubtful look which I had noticed so frequently upon Jack Larke’s face. “And as for knowing his road, ’twas a mere guess that flashed on me at the moment of your arrival.”
“Well, well,” said Elmscott, with a shrug, “order some supper, and if you can lend me a horse we will follow in half an hour.”
Udal fetched a capon and a bottle of canary from the larder, and together we made short work of the meal. For, in truth, I was no less famished than Elmscott, though it needed his appetite to remind me of the fact. Meanwhile, I related in what manner Marston had escaped me, and handed him the letter which the servant had delivered to me in the Lincoln’s Inn Fields.
“In a bale of carpets!” cried Elmscott, with a fit of laughter which promised to choke him. “Gadsbud, but the fellow deserves to win! Well wrapped up! Morrice, Morrice, I fear me he’ll trip up your heels!”
Elmscott’s hilarity, it may easily be understood, had little in it which could commend it to me, and I asked him abruptly by what means he had discovered that the Countess Lukstein was visiting in Bristol.
“I’ll tell you that as we go,” said he, with a mouth full of capon. “At present I have but one object, to fill my stomach.”
After we had set forth, which we did a short while before midnight — for I heard a clock tell that hour as we rode through the village of Knightsbridge — he explained how the conjecture had grown up in his mind.
“Marston came to you in the early morning, a week after the Countess had left London. He was muddied and soiled, as though he had ridden hard all night. In fact, he told you as much himself, and gave you the reason: that he had been fighting out his battle with himself. I reasoned, therefore, that he had only heard of this secret, whatever it may be, which put you at his mercy, the evening before. Now that information came from his sister. It concerned Countess Lukstein. Lady Tracy, you told me, for some reason feared the Countess. I argued then that it could only be this fear which made her write to her brother. But then she had been in England a month already. How was it that she had not revealed her anxiety before? And further, how was it that Marston knew what you and every one else was ignorant of — where Countess Lukstein was staying? Lady Tracy, I was aware, had gone down to the family estate near Bristol; and I inferred in consequence that she had seen the Countess in the neighbourhood, that her alarm had been increased by the sight, and that she had promptly communicated her fears to her brother; which fears Marston made use of as a weapon against you. The period of Countess Lukstein’s departure jumped most aptly with my conjecture, and I thought it would be worth while to ride to Bristol and discover the truth.”
The notion seemed to me, upon his recounting it, so reasonable and clear that I wondered why it had never occurred to me, and expressed as much to Elmscott.
He laughed in reply.
“A man in love,” said he, “is ever a damned fool. He smothers his mind in a petticoat.”
The night was very open, the moon being in the last quarter, and the road, from the dry summer, much harder than when I had travelled over it in the previous year; so that we made a good pace, and drew rein before the “Golden Crown” at Newbury about seven of the morning. There we discovered that two travellers had arrived at the inn a little after midnight with their horses very wearied; but, since Thursday was market-day, and the inn consequently full, they had remained but a little while to water their beasts, and had then pushed on towards Hungerford. Elmscott was for breakfasting at the “Golden Crown,” but I bethought me that Hungerford was but nine miles distant, and that Marston was most like to have lain the night there. Consequently, if we pressed forward with all speed, there was a good chance that we might overtake my rival or ever he had started from the town; in which case Elmscott, at all events, would be able to take his meal at his leisure. To this view my companion assented, though with some reluctance, and we set off afresh across Wickham Heath. In a short time we came in view of the “Half-way House,” and I related to Elmscott my adventure with the landlord. As we rode past it, however, I perceived the worthy man going towards the stable with a bucket of water in his hand, and I hastily reined up.
“What is it?” asked Elmscott.
“The fellow has no horses of his own,” I replied. “It follows he must needs have guests.”
I dismounted as I spoke, and hailed the man.
“Potatoe!” I cried to him.
For a moment he looked at me in amazement, and then:
“Dang it!” he shouted. “The play-actor!” And he dropped the bucket, and ran towards me doubling his fists.
“I have a pass-word for you,” I said, when he was near. “It lags a year behind the time, it’s true — Wastwater. So you see the mare was meant for me no less than your slugs.”
He stopped, and answered doggedly:
“Well, ’twas your fault, master. You should have passed the word. The mare was left with me in strict trust, and you were ready enough with your pistol to make an honest man believe you meant no good.”
Elmscott broke in impatiently upon his apology with a demand for breakfast. His wife, the landlord assured us, was preparing breakfast even now for two gentlemen who had come over-night, and we might join them if they had no objection to our company. I asked him at what hour these gentlemen had ridden up to the inn, and he answered about one of the morning. I could not repress an exclamation of joy. Elmscott gave me a warning look and dismounted; he bade the landlord see the horses groomed and fed, and joined me in the road.
“Their faces will be a fine sight,” said he, rubbing his hands, “when we take our seats at the table. A guinea-piece will be white in comparison.” And he fell to devising plans by which our surprise might produce the most startling effect.
Strangely enough, it occurred to neither of us at the time that the surest method of outwitting Marston was to leave him undisturbed to his breakfast and ride forward to Bristol. But during these last days the anxiety and tension of my mind had so fanned my hatred of the man, that I could think of nothing but crossing swords with him. We were both, in a word, absorbed in a single quest; from wishing to outstrip, we had come to wish merely to overtake.
Elmscott gave orders to the innkeeper that he should inform us as soon as the two travellers were set down to their meal; and for the space of half an hour we strolled up and down, keeping the inn ever within our view. At the end of that time I perceived a cloud of dust at a bend of the road in the direction of Hungerford. It came rolling towards us, and we saw that it was raised by a berlin which was drawn at a great speed by six horses.
“They travel early,” said Elmscott carelessly. I looked at the coach again, but this time with more attention.
