"It is this way, my lord," he continued after a pause. "Lord Middleton
said some things over there in your Grace's name--that would be four
years back; but you never acted on them, though it was whispered you
paid dearly for them here. In the interval it has been the aim of a
good many to get something more definite from your Grace; the rather
as you stand almost alone, the main part of the Court, and more than
you know, having made their peace. But the efforts of those persons
failed with your Grace because they went about it in the wrong way.
Now, I, Robert Ferguson," the plotter continued, patting himself on
the chest, and bowing with grotesque conceit, "have gone about it in
the right way; and I shall not fail. The position is this. You must
either arrest the Duke of Berwick, or you must let him go. That is
clear. If you do the former, you offend beyond pardon, and your head
will fall at the Restoration, whoever goes clear. On the other hand,
if you let the Duke escape and it comes to the Prince of Orange's ears
that you knew of his presence, you will be ruined with your present
party. The only course left to you, therefore, is to let him go, but
to purchase my silence--that it may not reach the Prince's ears--by
signing a few words on a paper, which shall be sealed here, and opened
only by His Majesty in his closet. Now, my lord, what do you say to
that?"
"That you are a fool as well as a knave!" was the Duke's unexpected
reply. He had recovered his equanimity, and took a pinch of snuff as
he spoke.
The plotter's eyes sparkled. "Why?" he cried with an oath. "And is
that language for a gentleman?"
"A gentleman? Faugh!" cried my lord. "And why? Because you suppose
your word to be of value. Whereas you should know that were you to go
to Kensington and tell the King that you had informed me of this or
that or the other, and were I to deny it, you would to Newgate for
certain, and to the pillory perhaps--but I should be not a penny the
worse. Your word forsooth! Why, man, you are crazed!"
"Ay, but if I had you followed here?" the other answered savagely. "If
I can produce three witnesses to prove that you were with me to-day,
and by stealth! And by stealth, my lord? What then?"
"Why, then this!" the Duke answered with composure. "And it is my
answer. I shall go hence to the King and tell him all; and on your
information, Mr. Ferguson, the Duke of Berwick will be arrested.
Whatever my fate or his after that, I shall have done my duty and kept
my oath as a privy-councillor, and the rest I leave to God! But for
you," he continued, slowly and with solemnity, "who to gain a hold on
me have betrayed the son of your King, your fate be on your own head!"
The plotter, who, I think, had expected any answer but this, and, it
may be, had never considered his own position, should the Duke stand
firm, roared out a furious "You lie!" And then again in a frenzy, as
the consequences rose more clearly before him, "You lie!" he cried,
striking his hand on the table. "You will not do it! You will not dare
to do it!"
"Mr. Ferguson," the Duke answered haughtily, "I do not suffer persons
of your condition to tell me what I dare, or do not dare; or persons
of any condition to give me the lie. Be good enough to open the door!"
"Sign the paper!" the conspirator hissed. His face, at no time
sightly, was now distorted by fear and the rage of defeat; while the
chair on the back of which he leaned his left hand, jerked this way
and that as if the palsy had him. "Sign the paper, will you? Or your
blood be on your own head!"
The Duke's only answer was to point to the door with his cane. "Open
it!" he said, his breath coming a little quickly, but his manner
otherwise unmoved. "Do you hear me?"
But either Ferguson's rage had so much the mastery of him that he
could no longer control himself, or he was desperate, seeing into what
an abyss the other's firmness was pushing him; or from the first he
had determined on this course in the last resort. At any rate at that
word, and instead of complying, he fell back a step and with a dark
face drew a pistol from the pocket of his long coat. "Sign!" he cried,
his voice whistling in his throat, as he levelled the arm at my lord's
head. "Sign, you Roman spawn, or I'll spill your brains! Sign, or you
don't go out of this room alive! Has the Lord's foot been put on the
neck of his enemies that such as you should divide the spoil!"
There was nothing to sign, for he had not produced the paper. But in
the delirium of fear and excitement into which he had fallen, he was
unconscious of this, and of all except that he was in danger of
falling into the pit he had digged for another. His hand shook so
violently that every moment I expected the pistol to explode, with his
will or without it; his fears no less than his despair putting my lord
in danger. What he, who stood thus exposed to naked death thought in
his heart while his existence hung on a shaking finger, I can not say,
nor if he prayed; for no man talked less of religion, to be, as I
trust he was, a believer; while the pride which supported him in that
crisis was as powerful to close his lips after the event. "Put that
down!" was all he said; and met the other's eyes without blenching,
though I think that he was a trifle paler than he had been.
"Sign!" answered the madman with an oath.
"Put it down!" repeated the Duke; and doubtless his courage by
imposing a restraint on the other's headiness postponed, though it
could not avert, the catastrophe.
For, every second they stood thus fronting one another, Ferguson
grinning and gibbering to him to sign, I looked to see the pistol
explode, and my lord fall lifeless. My knees shook under me; horrified
at this murder to be committed under my eyes, scarce conscious what I
did or would do, I fumbled for the handle of the door--which luckily
was beside me; and found it precisely as the Duke, with a twirl of his
cane, as swift as it was unexpected, knocked the pistol aside and
sprang bodily on the villain, striving to bear him down. He had no
time to draw his sword.
He was the younger man by twenty years and the more active, if not the
more powerful; so that for an instant it seemed to me that the danger
was over. But I counted without Ferguson; who leaping back before the
other could grapple with him, with a nimbleness beyond his years put
the table between them, and levelling the pistol afresh with a snarl
of rage, pulled the trigger. The flint snapped harmlessly!
More than that I could not bear, and, by heaven's mercy, the movement
had brought the wretch close to the door at which I stood, and which I
had that moment opened. As he aimed the pistol a second time, and with
a fresh execration, I flung my arms round him from behind, and with my
right hand jerked up the pistol; which exploded, bringing down a rush
of plaster, and filling the room with smoke and brimstone.
[Illustration: I FLUNG MY ARMS ROUND HIM FROM BEHIND, AND WITH MY
RIGHT HAND JERKED UP THE PISTOL]
An interposition so sudden and timely must have been no less a
surprise to the Duke than to Ferguson. Nevertheless, the former,
without the loss of a moment, flung himself on his antagonist; and
seizing the pistol, while I clung to him behind, in a twinkling he had
him disarmed. Yet, even when this was done, so furious were the man's
struggles, and so inhuman the strength he displayed (even to biting
and foaming in a fury that could only be called maniacal) that it was
as much as we could both do to conquer him; though we were two to one,
and younger. Nor would he be quiet or resign himself to defeat until
we had him down on his back, with my lord's sword-point at his throat.
Then it was that while we stood over him, panting and trembling with
the exertions we had made, my lord turned his eyes on me. "My friend,"
he said, "who are you?"
I could not speak for emotion; and though he was calmer, I could see
that he was deeply stirred, both by the risk he had run, and the
narrowness of his escape. "My lord," I cried, at last, "take me away."
"From here?" he said.
"Yes," I said, "for God's sake, for God's sake, take me away," and I
burst into an uncontrollable fit of sobbing; so overcome was I by what
had happened, and what had almost happened.
He looked at me, his lip twitching a little, and his breast heaving.
"Be easy, man," he said. "Were you set to watch me?"
"Yes," I said.
"And you heard all?"
"All."
"Who are you?" he said again.
"Two months ago I was an honest man," I answered bitterly, "and then I
got into _his_ clutches. And he has ridden me. Ah, how he has ridden
me!"
"I see," he said, nodding gravely. "Well, his riding days are over.
Hark you, Mr. Ferguson," he continued, turning to the prostrate man,
who, grovelling before us--I had taken the precaution of tying his
hands with my garters--acknowledged his attention by a hollow groan,
"I am no thief-taker, and I shall not soil my hands with you. But
within an hour the messengers will be here; and if they find you, look
to yourself; for I think that in that case you will indubitably hang.
In the meantime I will take your pistol." Then to me, "Come, my man,"
he said, "if you wish to go with me."
"I do," I cried.
"Well, I owe you more than that," he answered kindly. "And I need you,
besides. Mr. Ferguson, I bid you farewell. You have proved yourself a
more foolish man than I thought you. A worse you could not. The best I
can wish you is that you may never see my face again."