The clocks had gone midnight, when I parted from Mary at the door of
the house and groped my way upstairs to my room; where, throwing off
my clothes I lay down, not to sleep, but to resolve endlessly and
futilely the plans we had made, and the risks we ran and the thousand
issues that might come of either. Cogitation brought me no nearer to a
knowledge of the event, but only heated my brain and increased my
impatience; the latter to such a degree that with the first light I
was up and moving, and had my trunk packed. Nor did I fail to note the
strange and almost incredible turn which now led me to look for
support in my flight to the very person whose ominous entrance
twenty-four hours earlier had forced me to lay aside the thought.
Long before it could by any chance be necessary I opened my door, and
softly carrying out my box, placed it in a dark corner on the landing.
After this a great interval elapsed, during which I conjured up a
hundred mischances. At length I heard someone afoot opposite; and then
the stumbling tread of a porter carrying goods down the stairs. About
eleven I ventured to peep out, and learned with satisfaction that the
trunk had vanished; it remained therefore for me to do the same.
Bestowing a last look on the little attic which had been my home so
long, and until lately no unhappy home, I took up my hat and cloak;
and making sure for the fiftieth time that I had my small stock of
money, hidden in my clothes, I opened the door, and stealing out,
stood a minute to listen before I descended.
I heard nothing to alarm me; yet a second later I shrieked in
affright, and almost sank down under the sudden grip of a hand on my
shoulder. The hand was Ferguson's; who listening, at my chamber door,
had heard me move towards it, and flattened himself against the wall
beside it; and so, being in the dark corner farthest from the
staircase, had eluded my notice. He chuckled vastly, at his cunning,
and the fright he had given me, and rocking me to and fro, asked me
grimly what I had done with my fine clothes and my wig.
"Ay, and that is not all," he continued. "I shall want to know a
little more about that matter, my friend. And mind you, Mr. Price, the
truth! The truth, or I will wring this tender ear of yours from your
head. For the present, however, that matter may wait. I shall have it,
when I want it. Now I have other work for you. Come into my room."
"I am going to the tavern," I said desperately. And I hung back.
"Afterwards, Mr. Ferguson, I will----"
"Oh, to the tavern," he answered, mimicking me. "And for what?"
"My dinner," I faltered.
He burst into a volley of oaths, and seizing me again by the shoulder
ran me into his room. "Your dinner, indeed, you dirty, low-born
pedlar," he cried in a fury. "Who are you to dine at taverns when the
King's business wants you? Stand you there, and listen to me, or by
the God above me, you shall never take meat or drink again. Do you see
this, you craven?" and he plucked out his horrible horse pistol, and
flourished the muzzle in my face. "Mark it, and remember that I am
Ferguson, the famous Ferguson, Ferguson the plotter, and no little
person to be thwarted! And now listen to me."
I could have wept with rage and despair, knowing that with every
moment this wretch kept me, my chance of fulfilling the appointment at
Clerkenwell Gate was passing; and that if he detained me only one half
hour longer, I must be late. To the pistol, however, and his scowling,
truculent, blotched face that lacking the wig, which hung on a chair
beside him, was one degree more ugly than its wont, there was no
answer; and I said sullenly that I would listen.
"You had better," he answered. "Mark you, there is a gentleman coming
to see me; and to his coming and to what he says to me I will have a
witness. You follow me?"
"Yes," I said, looking round, but in vain, for a way of escape.
"And you are the witness. You shall go into that room, mark you, and
you shall be as mute as a mouse! I put this little cupboard open, the
back is thin and there is a crack in it; set your eye to that and you
will see him. And look you, listen to every word, and note it; and
keep still--keep still, or it will be the worse for you, Mr. Price!"
"Very well," I said obediently; hope springing up, as I thought I saw
a way of escape. "And what time must I be here?"
"You are here, and you will stay here," he answered dashing to the
ground the scarce-born plan. "Why, man, he may come any minute."
"Still--if I could go out for--for two minutes," I persisted. "I
should be easier."
"Go out! Go out!" he cried, interrupting me in a fury. "And dinners?
And taverns? And you would be easier! D'ye know, Mr. Price, I have my
doubts about you! Ay, I have!" he continued, leering at me with his
big, cunning eyes; and now thrusting his face close to mine, now
drawing it back again. "Are you for selling us, I wonder? Mind you, if
that is your thought, two can play at that game, and I have writing of
yours. Ay, I have writing of yours, Mr. Price, and for twopence I
would send it where it will hang you. So be careful. Be careful
or--give me that coat."
Wishing that I had the courage to strike him in the back, praying that
the next word he said might choke him, hating him with a dumb hatred,
the blacker for its impotence, and for the menial services he made me
do him, I gave him the long-skirted plum-coloured coat to which he
pointed, and saw him clothe his lank ungainly figure in it, and top
all with his freshly curled wig. He bade me tie his points and fasten
on his sword; and this being done to his liking--and he was not very
easy to please--he pulled down his ruffles, and walked to and fro,
preening himself and looking a hundred times more ugly and loathsome
for the finery, with which, for the first time, I saw him bedizened.
Preparations so unusual, by awakening my curiosity as to the visitor
in whose honour they were made, diverted me from my own troubles; to
which I had done no more than return when a knock came at the outer
door. Ferguson, in a flush of exultation that went far to show that he
had entertained doubts of the visitor's coming, thrust me into the
next room; a mere closet, ill-lighted by one small window, and bare,
save for a bed-frame. Here he placed me beside the crack he had
mentioned; and whispering in my ear the most fearful threats and
objurgations in case I moved, or proved false to him, he cast a last
look round to assure himself that all was right; then he went back
into his own apartment, where through my Judas-hole I saw him pause.
The girl's departure with the luggage had left the room but meagrely
furnished; whether this and the effect it might have on his visitor's
mind struck him, or he began at the last moment to doubt the prudence
of his enterprise, he stood awhile in the middle of the floor gnawing
his nails, and listening, or perhaps thinking. The drift of his
reflections, however, was soon made clear; for on the visitor's
impatiently repeating his summons, he moved stealthily to one of the
windows--which being set in the mode of garret windows, deep in the
slope of the roof, gave little light--and by piling his cloak in a
heap on the sill, he contrived to obscure some of that little. This
done, and crying softly "Coming! Coming!" he hastened to the door and
opened it, bowing and scraping with an immense show of humility.
The man, who had knocked, and who walked in with an impatient step as
if the waiting had been little to his taste, was tall and slight; for
the rest, a cloak, and a hat flapping low over his face, hid both
features and complexion. I noticed that Ferguson bowed again and
humbly, but did not address him; and that the gentleman also kept
silence until he had seen the door secured behind him. Then, and as
his host with seeming clumsiness, brushed past him and so secured a
position with his back to the light, he asked sharply, "Where is he?"
The plotter leant his hands on the back of the chair and paused an
instant before he answered. When he did he spoke with less assurance
than I had ever heard him speak before; he even stammered a little.
"Your Grace," he said, "has come to see a person--who--who wrote to
you? From this house?"
"I have. Where is he?"
"Here."
"Here? But where, man, where?" the newcomer replied, looking quickly
round.
Still Ferguson did not move. "My lord Duke, you came here, in a
word--to see Lord Middleton?" he said.
It was easy to see that the visitor's gorge rose at the other's
manner, no less than at this naming of names. But with an effort he
swallowed his chagrin. "If you know that, you know all," he answered
with composure. "So without more, take me to him. But I may as well
say, sir, since you seem to be in his confidence----"
"It was my hand wrote the letter."
"Was it so? Then you should know, sir, that a madder and more foolish
thing was never done! If my Lord Middleton," the stranger continued
coldly, his tone inclining to sarcasm rather than to feeling, "desired
to ruin his best friend and the one most able to save him in a certain
event--if he meant to requite, sir, one who has already suffered more
than was reasonable in his service, by consigning him to his
destruction, he did well. Otherwise he was mad. Mad, or worse, to send
such a letter to a place where he must know of his own knowledge that
nine letters out of ten are opened by others' hands!"
"Your Grace is right," Ferguson answered drily, and in his natural
voice; at the sound of which, either because of its native harshness
or because it touched some chord in his memory, the other started.
"But the fact is," the plotter continued hardily, and with a smack of
impertinence, "my Lord Middleton, so far as I know, is still with the
King at St. Germain's."
"At St. Germain's?" the stranger cried. "With the King?"
"Yes, and to be candid," Ferguson answered, "I was not aware, my lord,
that you had sent him a safe conduct."
"You villain!" the Duke cried, and stepped forward, his rage excited
as much by the man's manner as by the trick which had been played him.
"How dared you say, then, that he was here?" he continued. "Answer,
fellow, or it will be the worse for you."
"I said only, your Grace," Ferguson replied, retreating a step, "that
the writer of the letter was here."
For a moment the Duke, utterly dumfounded by this, stood looking at
him. "And you are he?" he said at last, with chilling scorn, "and the
author of this--plot!"
"And of many plots besides," my master answered jauntily. And then,
"My lord, do you not know me yet?" he cried.
"Not I! Stand out, sir, and let me see your face. Then perhaps, if we
have met before----"
"Oh, we have met before!" was the quick and impudent answer. "I am not
ashamed of my face. It has been known in its time. But fair play is a
jewel, my lord. It is eight years since I saw your Grace last, and I
have a fancy to learn if you are changed. Will you oblige me? If you
would see my face, show me yours!"
With a gesture between contempt and impatience the Duke removed the
hat, which at his entrance he had merely touched; and hastily lowering
the cloak from his neck, confronted his opponent.