THE MAN ON THE STAIRS
For those wishing to leave Paris in a hurry, the Lion d'Or was a
dangerous place of call. The inn and its vigilant frequenters had
achieved a name in these days. An orator, waxing enthusiastic on
patriotism, had made mention of its doings in the Convention, and in
villages remote from the capital they were talked of. The King and Queen
would never have got as far as Varennes, it was said, had they been
obliged to travel by the Soisy road.
For travelers going toward Paris there was less danger, aristocrats did
not often make that journey. Monsieur Mercier appeared to have thought
there was no danger at all, and halted for the night, but there were
travelers on the road behind him who were more cautious. They made a
wide detour by devious bypaths, and came at length to a lane which
joined the Soisy road between the Lion d'Or and Paris. They had taken
care to avoid other travelers as far as possible, and even now the sound
of a horse upon the main road made them draw into the shelter of some
trees and wait. Through the trees, only a few paces up the lane, they
had a good view of the horseman as he came.
"Look, Seth!"
"Our swaggering friend of Trémont," was the answer. "There has been
devil's work along this road perchance."
"Sabatier," murmured Barrington.
There was no doubt of it. He passed them at no greater distance than a
stone's throw, and he was a man too marked in features to be mistaken.
He went his way, unconscious of their presence, to carry his good news
to the Rue Valette in Paris.
"There's something in that man's face which tells me that I shall
quarrel with him some day," said Seth. "I can't help feeling that I
shall live to see him a corpse."
"We must wait a little," said Barrington. "We must not run the risk of
overtaking him."
It was in no way a reply to or a comment on Seth's remark, but rather
the outcome of the recollection that Sabatier had said that all true
patriots must needs meet with him in Paris. Naturally, Sabatier was
closely associated in Barrington's mind with his self-imposed mission to
Beauvais, and his unexpected presence here on the Soisy road set him
speculating once more on the whole circumstances of his adventure. He
had had enough of women to last him a lifetime, he had declared to Seth,
and he meant it. Seth had smiled. His companion was not the first man
who had said the same thing, and yet before half the year was out had
been sighing for another woman's favor. Richard Barrington might hold to
his conviction longer than that, but there are many half years in a
lifetime, and the indefinite variety of women gave few men the chance of
escape. For the present, Seth never doubted that his master had had his
lesson, and was glad. There were periods in a man's life into which a
woman should not enter, either in reality or in thought; they were but
drags on the turning wheels of circumstance. This was such a period, and
Seth let a great load of anxiety slip from him as the distance between
them and Beauvais increased. Barrington's silence as they rode did not
undeceive him; his master was not a man who talked for the sake of
talking, yet from the moment they had driven spurs into their horses and
dashed from the wood end, Barrington had hardly ceased to speculate on
his adventure. A man does not easily forget a woman who has come to him
as a revelation even though she deceive him. The sight of Sabatier,
therefore, did not recall Jeanne St. Clair to his mind, she had hardly
been absent from his thoughts for a moment, but set him speculating in
another direction.
"How far do you suppose this inn, the Lion d'Or, is along the road
yonder?" he asked suddenly.
"Not a mile," was the answer.
Barrington nodded thoughtfully. Seth's opinion agreed with his own.
"Sabatier, no doubt, came from there," he said after a pause.
"Probably. We were wise to miss it. It would not have been convenient to
enter Paris in his company."
There was another pause of some duration.
"Has he been out hunting, stopping aristocrats?"
It was hardly a question, rather a speculation unconsciously put into
words.
Seth shrugged his shoulders.
"It does not concern us. They may fully merit the hunting and deserve
whatever fate they meet with. I am not in love with the patriots I have
encountered, nor do I like the aristocrats I have seen any better. For
my part I would as lief sail back to Virginia and let them fight out
their own quarrel. A dog of breed has no cause to interfere in a fight
between curs."
"I wonder whether we have passed mademoiselle and her escort upon the
road," said Barrington.
"What's in your mind, Master Richard?" asked Seth, sharply.
"I have thought it strange that we did not overtake them."
"Better horses, or better knowledge of the country would account for
that."
"Yes, but she may be at the Lion d'Or at this moment, and in the hands
of men like Sabatier."
There was no need for Seth to ask questions. The burden of anxiety which
had slipped from him was suddenly at his feet again and he took it up
reluctantly. Barrington understood.
"I cannot go on leaving her in such hands," he said. "Think what it may
mean. We know something of Sabatier."
Seth nodded, but with no encouragement. Had he known more of Jacques
Sabatier, could he have seen the heap of ashes which had once been the
inn at Trémont and known what was hidden beneath them, his attitude
would have been different.
"There may be much to excuse her for not believing in me," Barrington
went on. "We know only a little of the story. We may have been the
bearers of a lying message. With her knowledge of facts, every word I
uttered may only have convicted me of greater villainy. We have hardly
been just, Seth."
"I can find no excuse for her sending us to the wood."
"I can, Seth. Such a scoundrel as she may have thought me was not fit to
live. More than her own safety was at stake."
"Well, Master Richard?"
"I am going to the Lion d'Or."
Seth moved his shoulders, it was not a shrug, but as though he would get
the burden he carried into as easy a position as possible.
"We are hardly likely to meet with such good luck a second time. We
escaped from the wood end, but"
"There is no trap set for us this time," Barrington said. "She may be in
no need of help, in that case we ride on to Paris, and she will be none
the wiser. The plan is simple. We stay here till dark. I shall go back
on foot, you will wait for me here with the horses. An hour should
suffice. If she is in danger I must do what I can to help her. It is
impossible to say what action I shall take, but wait here for me, Seth,
all night. If I do not return by the morning, ride into Paris, inquire
for Monsieur de Lafayette, and tell him what has happened."
"Let me come with you, Master Richard. We could tether the horses here.
It is most unlikely they would be found."
"One man may go unnoticed where two could not," Barrington returned.
"You must remain here, Seth."
There was a point beyond which Seth never ventured to argue, not quickly
reached, as a rule, for Richard valued his companion's opinion and was
ready to listen, but on this occasion it came almost at once. Seth
looked into his face, saw the fixed purpose in his eyes and the sudden
set of the determined mouth, and said no more. They talked presently of
other things, but not a word of the business in hand until it was dark,
and Barrington suddenly rose from the Stump of a tree on which he was
seated.
"You quite understand, Seth."
"Yes. I shall let the sun get well up before I start for Paris."
"I hope we shall start together," said Richard, holding out his hand.
"Good fortune," said Seth, as their hands were grasped for a moment.
Then Richard passed into the lane and turned along the Soisy road in the
direction of the Lion d'Or.
The inn and its outbuildings stood back from the road, and isolated. The
village was beyond it, hidden by a turn in the road. Two or three wooden
tables stood on the space before the door, used no doubt on balmy summer
evenings, but deserted to-night. The sound of laughter and much talking
came to Richard as he approached, and he stood for a moment under a tree
by the roadside to look at the front of the building, at the windows
through which the sound of merrymaking came, and at the windows above
which showed no light. Crossing the road, he found a gap in the hedge
and went round to look at the back of the house. There was a garden,
mostly of vegetables and not ill kept, a low, wooden fence, broken down
in one place, enclosing it from the field in which he stood. A dim light
came from two windows on the ground floor, but above every window was
dark. If Mademoiselle St. Clair were there she must be without lamp or
candle, or the windows must be closely shuttered. He took careful note
of the back of the house and how the road lay in regard to it, for there
was no knowing what difficulties the next few minutes might bring. Then
he went back to the front of the house, and approaching quietly, looked
in at the window across which the curtains were only partially drawn. He
was prepared for any eventuality, and his hand in the pocket of his
coat held his pistol, but he was startled at what he saw. Facing him sat
Monsieur le Comte and his friend. These men had probably robbed him of
the gold star, Seth was of the same opinion; certainly they had done
their utmost to prevent his finding mademoiselle at the ball. Were they
aristocrats? If so, they were playing with fire among this crowd of
savage-looking patriots.
Monsieur le Comte was drunk, or feigning to be, and Barrington saw him
take up the wine bottle and smash it on the table, and heard him declare
that the only way to get the emigrés into their power was to lie to them
and cheat them. He stayed to hear no more. Surely this man's presence
there, and his words, meant that he had lied to some purpose, meant that
Mademoiselle St. Clair was in the inn. Her danger was great, for there
was no doubt about the savage temper of the crowd in that room.
The door stood open, there was no one in the entrance, and Barrington
slipped in.
"The woman upstairs! The peasant woman!" These were the words that
greeted him. Horrible in their suggestion, they were a guide to him. He
was upon the dark staircase when the rush from the room came, and the
man fell upon the threshold. He drew back to the wall lest he should be
seen, and touched some one. In a moment, for his own safety, he had
grasped the arm beside him and then, as he realized that it was a woman
he held, put his hand quickly over her mouth to prevent her crying out.
He could not see her clearly, close as she was to him, but touch brought
conviction.
"For your life, silence!" he whispered.
Mercier's threat to shoot the first man who attempted to go to the
woman upstairs had its effect, no one was inclined to run the risk, yet
several remained about the doorway instead of going back to their wine.
Barrington quickly calculated all the chances. To leave by the inn door
without being seen was impossible; another way must be found, and there
was not a moment to lose. Directly the wine fumes overpowered the man
who, for an instant, dominated the situation, these bloodthirsty
wretches would certainly rush upon their prey. The intention was visible
in their sullen faces.
"You know me, will you trust me?" he whispered. He still held her arm,
his hand was still over her mouth.
She nodded her head.
"Go up, quietly," he said, releasing her.
Jeanne knew him. Few moments had passed since her arm had been gripped
in the darkness, but she had lived a long time in them, and exactly when
she realized who it was who touched her she did not know. It never
occurred to her to think it strange that he should be alive. She did not
ask herself whether she really trusted him. At least, he was different
from those men below, and she obeyed him.
"Is there another staircase?" he asked when they were in the passage
above.
"I do not know."
"There must be," he said, as though their dire necessity would compel
one. "Walk close behind me and tread lightly."
Comparative silence had reigned, only the uneasy shuffling of feet and
the chink of a glass, now the noise of voices broke out again, angry
voices, raised in argument and quarrel. Each moment Barrington expected
a rush up the stairs. If it came, what could he do?
He remembered the position of the windows through which a dim light had
shown in the rear of the house. The kitchen was probably there. If
another staircase existed it would be in the direction of the kitchen.
He turned along a passage to the left, his hand stretched out before
him, lest he should stumble in the darkness. The noise below was
deadened here.
"Might we not climb from a window?" Jeanne whispered.
He had thought of it. He tried to remember whether a tree or roof of an
outbuilding against any of the windows made this means of escape
possible. He felt sure such a way did not exist. He might have dropped
from one of the windows in safety, but the woman could not do so. He had
not answered her question when there was a new sound close beside them,
a heavy tread.
"Stand close to the wall," he said. "Keep near, and whatever happens do
not speak."
Some one was coming up stairs which were close to them, and in the dark.
Barrington strained his ears to locate the position. If they were not
seen escape was possible.
A thin, straight line of light was suddenly drawn perpendicularly, just
in front of him, and then a door was opened. A man, one of the inn
servants, carrying a candle, stepped into the passage. The light fell
directly on the figures standing by the wall. The man was startled. So
sudden an encounter was unusual, and in these days the unusual was
dangerous. Only a fraction of time was necessary to bring him to this
conclusion, but in it, Barrington had also reached a conclusion equally
definite. As the man opened his mouth to call out, his throat was seized
in a viselike grip and only the ghost of a sound gurgled and was lost.
The candle fell to the floor. The noise of its fall seemed horribly
loud.
"Stamp out the light," Barrington said in a low tone.
Jeanne did so, obeying him promptly.
The man was a child in Barrington's hands. His efforts to unloose the
gripping fingers at his throat were feeble and futile. He was borne
backward and downward to the floor, a knee was upon his chest, bending
and cracking his bones, and then came oblivion.
"Come," said Barrington.
She was close behind him and they went down the narrow stairs which had
a bend in them. There was a door at the bottom which was open, a light
beyond.
Pistol in hand, Barrington stepped quickly into the kitchen. It was
empty. There was a door between the windows, and the next moment they
were in the garden. He took the woman's hand, guiding her to the broken
place in the wooden fence. There he paused, looking back and listening.
There was no sound of an alarm yet, no cries to suggest that the fiends
had rushed up the stairs to wreak their savagery on a defenseless woman.
For a moment Barrington contemplated taking a horse from the stable, but
he dared not run the risk of the delay. Chance must bring them the means
of entering Paris in safety.
"We must run, mademoiselle. My servant is waiting for me."
She gathered her skirts about her.
"Give me your hand again--it will help you."
So they ran across the fields, making for the road and the clump of
trees in the lane where Seth waited.