THE TABLES ARE TURNED
As soon as the door was closed behind the messenger Thorne laid his
cigar down on the table. Then he picked up the despatch from the
Secretary of War which the messenger had just brought in, and folded it
very dexterously. Then with a pair of scissors which he found in a
drawer he cut off the lower part of the Secretary’s despatch containing
his signature. He put this between his teeth and tore the rest into
pieces. He started to throw the pieces into the waste basket but after a
moment’s reflection he stuffed them into his trouser pocket. Then he
picked up his coat from the back of the chair and took from the inside
breast pocket another document written on the same paper as that which
had just come from the Secretary of War. Spreading this out on the table
he cut off the signature and quickly pasted to it the piece of the real
order bearing the real signature. He carefully wiped this pasted
despatch with his handkerchief, making an exceedingly neat job of it.
As he did so, he smiled slightly. Fortune, which had dealt him so many
rebuffs had evened up matters a little by giving him this opportunity.
He had now in his possession a despatch bearing the genuine signature of
the Secretary of War. Even if he were interrupted the chances were he
would still be able to send it. So soon as he had doctored the despatch,
he sat down at the instrument and once more essayed to send the message.
Now during all this rapid bit of manipulation Thorne had been under
close observation, for Arrelsford and Edith Varney had come from the
Commissary General’s Office, where they had concealed themselves while
Thorne examined the porch, and had stepped back to the nearest window
and were intently watching. Fortunately, his back partially concealed
his actions and the watchers could not tell exactly what he had done,
although it was quite evident that he was in some way altering some kind
of a despatch.
Just as Thorne began to send the message, Arrelsford accidentally struck
the window with his elbow, making a slight sound. The instant he did so,
he and the girl vanished from sight. Once again Thorne released the key,
and his hand moved quietly but rapidly from the instrument to the
revolver. The instant it was in his hand he sprang to his feet, whirled
about, leaped to the gas bracket and turned off the light. The room was
left in darkness, save for the faint illumination of the moonlight
through the windows.
Immediately he turned off the light he ran to the doors leading into the
hall. They were provided with heavy old-fashioned bolts which he shot
swiftly, locking them on the inside. Then with the utmost caution he
edged around the wall until he came to the first window. He waited with
his left hand on the catch of the window, and with his right advanced
his revolver. After a moment’s pause he threw it open quickly and
stepped out on the balcony. It was empty as before.
He must have made a mistake, he thought, since no one was there, and he
blamed the whole incident to his over-agitated nerves. Indeed what he
had gone through in the preceding two hours would have shaken any man’s
nerves, might have broken most men’s. He was annoyed at having wasted
precious time, and turned to the table again, stopping on his way to
relight the light.
Once more he seized the key. He could telegraph equally well with either
hand. He did not lay down his revolver on the table this time, but kept
it in his right hand while the fingers of his left hand touched the
button. He had scarcely made a dot or a dash when there was a sudden
flash of light and the sound of an explosion, that of a heavy revolver,
mingled with the crash of shattered glass. Captain Thorne’s fingers fell
from the key and a jet of blood spurted out upon the table and the
papers.
He rose to his feet with incredible swiftness, his revolver in his right
hand, only to be confronted by Arrelsford at the front window. The
latter held in his hand, pointed fairly and squarely at Thorne, the
heavy service revolver with which he had just shot him in the left
wrist. Thorne made a swift motion with his right hand but Arrelsford was
too quick for him.
“Drop that gun!” he shouted. “Drop it quick, or you are a dead man!”
There was no possibility of disobedience. Thorne straightened up and
laid his revolver on the table. The two confronted each other, and if
looks could have killed they had both been dead men. The soldier
shrugged his shoulders at last, took his handkerchief out of his pocket,
put one end of it between his teeth, and with the other hand wrapped it
tightly around his wounded wrist.
The civilian meantime advanced toward him, keeping him covered all the
time with his revolver.
“Do you know why I didn’t kill you like the dog you are, just now?” he
asked truculently, as he drew nearer.
“Because you are such a damned bad shot, I suppose,” coolly answered
Thorne between his teeth, still tying the bandage, after which he calmly
picked up his cigar and began smoking again with the utmost
indifference.
Whatever fate had in store for him could better be met, he thought
swiftly at this juncture, provided he kept his temper, and so he spoke
as nonchalantly as before. Indeed his manner had always been most
irritating and exacerbating to Arrelsford.
“Maybe you will change your mind about that later on,” the latter
rejoined.
“Well, I hope so,” said Thorne, completing his bandage and tying the
knot so as to leave the fingers of his left hand free. “You see, it
isn’t pleasant to be riddled up this way.”
“Next time you’ll be riddled somewhere else beside the wrist. There’s
only one reason why you are not lying there now with a bullet through
your head.”
“Only one?” queried Thorne.
“Only one.”
“Do I hear it?”
“You do. I gave my word of honour to some one outside that I wouldn’t
kill you, and——”
“Oh, then this isn’t a little tête-à-tête just between ourselves. You
have some one with you?” asked Thorne, interested greatly in this new
development, wondering who the some one was who had interfered in his
behalf. Perhaps that evident friendship might be turned to account later
on. For a moment not an idea of who was there entered Thorne’s mind.
“Yes, I have some one with me, Captain Thorne, who takes quite an
interest in what you are doing to-night,” returned Arrelsford
sneeringly.
“That is very kind, I am sure. Is the—er—gentleman going to stay out
there all alone on the balcony or shall I have the pleasure of inviting
him in here and having a charming little three-handed——”
The third party answered the question, for Edith Varney came through the
window with the shattered pane through which Arrelsford had fired and
entered. Thorne was shocked beyond measure by her arrival, not the
slightest suspicion that she could have been there had crossed his mind.
So she had been an eye witness to his treachery. He had faced
Arrelsford’s pistol with the utmost composure, there was something in
Edith Varney’s look that cut him to the heart, yet she did not look at
him either. On the contrary, she carefully avoided his glance. Instead
she turned to Arrelsford.
“I think I will go, Mr. Arrelsford,” she said in a low, choked voice.
“Not yet, Miss Varney,” he said peremptorily.
The girl gave him no heed. She turned and walked blindly toward the
door.
“I don’t wish, to stay here any longer,” she faltered.
“One moment, please,” said Arrelsford, as she stopped, “we need you.”
“For what?”
“As a witness.”
“You can send for me if you need me, I will be at home.”
“I am sorry,” said Arrelsford, again interposing, “I will have to detain
you until I turn him over to the guard. It won’t take long.”
The middle window was open and he stepped to it, still keeping an eye on
Thorne, and shouted at the top of his voice:
“Call the guard! Corporal of the Guard! Send up the guard to the
telegraph office!”
The note of triumph in his voice was unmistakable. From the street the
three inside heard a faint cry:
“What’s the matter? Who calls the guard?”
“Up here in the telegraph office,” said Arrelsford, “send them up
quick.”
The answer was evident sufficient, for they could hear the orders and
the tumult in the square below.
“Corporal of the Guard, Post Four! Fall in the guard! Fall in! Lively,
men!” and so on.
The game appeared to be up this time. Mr. Arrelsford held all the
winning cards, thought Thorne, and he was playing them skilfully. He
ground his teeth at the thought that another moment and the order would
have been sent probably beyond recall. Fate had played him a scurvy
trick, it had thwarted him at the last move, and Arrelsford had so
contrived that his treachery had been before the woman he loved. Under
other circumstances the wound in his wrist would have given him
exquisite pain, as it was he scarcely realised at the time that he had
been hurt.
Arrelsford still stood by the window, glancing out on the square but
keeping Thorne under close observation. The evil look in his eyes and
the malicious sneer on his lips well seconded the expression of triumph
in his face. He had the man he hated where he wanted him. It was a
splendid piece of work that he had performed, and in the performance he
sated his private vengeance and carried out his public duty.
On his part, Thorne was absolutely helpless. There was that in the
bearing of the woman he loved that prevented him from approaching her.
He shot a mute look of appeal to her which she received with marble
face, apparently absolutely indifferent to his presence, yet she was
suffering scarcely less than he. In her anguish she turned desperately
to Arrelsford.
“I am not going to stay,” she said decisively, “I don’t wish to be a
witness.”
“Whatever your feelings may be, Miss Varney,” persisted Arrelsford, “I
can’t permit you to refuse.”
“If you won’t take me downstairs, I will find the way myself,” returned
the girl as if she had not heard.
She turned resolutely toward the door. Before she reached it the heavy
tramping of the guard was heard.
“Too late,” said Arrelsford triumphantly, “you can’t go now, the guard
is here.”
Edith could hear the approaching soldiers as well as anybody. The way
was barred, she realised instantly. Well, if she could not escape, at
least she could get out of sight. She turned and opened the nearest
window and stepped out. Arrelsford knew that she could not go far, and
that he could produce her whenever he wanted her. He made no objection
to her departure that way, therefore. Instead he looked at Thorne.
“I have you just where I want you at last,” he said mockingly, as the
trampling feet came nearer. “You thought you were mighty smart, but you
will find that I can match your trick every time.”
Outside in the hall the men came to a sudden halt before the door. One
of them knocked loudly upon it.
“What’s the matter here?” cried the Sergeant of the Guard without.
The handle was tried and the door was shoved violently, but the brass
bolt held.
“Let us in!” he cried angrily.
Quick as a flash of lightning an idea came to Thorne.
“Sergeant!” he shouted in a powerful voice. “Sergeant of the Guard!”
“Sir!”
“Break down the door! Break it down with your musket butts!”
As the butts of the muskets pounded against the heavy mahogany panels,
Arrelsford cried out in great surprise:
“What did you say?”
In his astonishment, he did not notice a swift movement Thorne made
toward the door.
“You want them in, don’t you?” the soldier said, as he approached the
door. “It is locked and——”
But Arrelsford recovered himself a little and again presented his
revolver.
“Stand where you are,” he cried, but Thorne by this time had reached the
door.
“Smash it down, Sergeant!” he cried. “What are you waiting for! Batter
it down!”
The next moment the door gave way with a crash, and into the room poured
the guard. The grizzled old Sergeant had scarcely stepped inside the
room when Thorne shouted in tones of the fiercest authority, pointing at
Arrelsford:
“Arrest that man!”
Before the dazed Secret Service Agent could say a word or press the
trigger the soldiers were upon him.
“He got in here with a revolver,” continued Thorne more quietly, “and is
playing hell with it. Hold him fast!”