Succeeding his castigation, it was all of a week before Mr Swinton
could make appearance upon the streets--during daylight.
The discoloration of his cheeks, caused by the horsewhip, was slow of
coming out; and even the oyster kept on for twenty-four hours failed to
eliminate the purple crescent under his eye.
He had to stay indoors--sneaking out only at night.
The pain was slight. But the chagrin was intolerable; and he would have
given a good sum out of his spy pay to have had revenge upon the man who
had so chastised him.
This was impossible; and for several reasons, among others, his
ignorance of whom it was. He only knew that his chastiser had been a
guest of Kossuth; and this from his having come out of Kossuth's house.
He had not himself seen the visitor as he went in; and his subordinate,
who shared with him the duplicate duty of watching and dogging, did not
know him. He was a stranger who had not been there before--at least
since the establishment of the picket.
From the description given of his person, as also what Swinton had
himself seen of it through the thick fog--something, too, from what he
had felt--he had formed, in his own mind, a suspicion as to whom the
individual was. He could not help thinking of Maynard. It may seem
strange he should have thought of him. But no; for the truth is, that
Maynard was rarely out of his mind. The affair at Newport was a thing
not easily forgotten. And there was the other affair in Paris, where
Julia Girdwood had shown an interest in the Zouaves' captive that did
not escape observation from her jealous escort.
He had been made aware of her brief absence from the Louvre Hotel, and
conjectured its object. Notwithstanding the apparent slight she had put
upon his rival in the Newport ball-room, he suspected her of a secret
inclining to him--unknown to her mother.
It made Swinton savage to think of it; the more from a remembrance of
another and older rivalry, in which the same man had outstripped him.
To be beaten in a love intrigue, backed out in a duel, and finally
flogged with a horsewhip, are three distinct humiliations any one of
which is enough to make a man savage.
And Swinton was so, to the point of ferocity.
That Maynard had done to him the two first, he knew--about the last he
was not so certain. But he conjectured it was he who had handled the
horsewhip. This, despite the obscurity caused by the fog, and the crape
masking the face of his chastiser.
The voice that had accosted him did not sound like Maynard's, but it
also may have been masked.
During the time he was detained indoors, he passed a portion of it in
thinking of revenge, and studying how he was to obtain it.
Had his patron seen him, as he sat almost continually behind the
Venetian, with his eyes upon Kossuth's gate, he would have given him
credit for an assiduous attention to his duties.
But he was not so honest as he seemed. Many visitors entered the
opposite house--some of them strange-looking characters, whose very
stride spoke of revolution--entered and took departure, without being
dogged.
The spy, brooding over his own private resentment had no thoughts to
spare for the service of the State. Among the visitors of Kossuth he
was desirous of identifying Captain Maynard.
He had no definite idea as to what he would do to him; least of all that
of giving him into custody. The publicity of the police court would
have been fatal to him--as damaging to his employer and patron. It
might cause exposure of the existence of that spy system, hitherto
unsuspected in England. The man, who had got out of the hansom to
horsewhip him, must have known that he was being followed, and
wherefore. It would never do for the British public to know it Swinton
had no intention of letting them know; nor yet Lord --, and his
employer. To the latter, calling occasionally of evenings, he told the
same story as that imparted to Sir Robert Cottrell--only with the
addition that, the footpads had set upon him while in the exercise of
his avocation as a servant of the State!
The generous nobleman was shocked at his mishap; sympathised with him,
but thought it better to say nothing about it; hinted at an increase of
pay; and advised him, since he could not show himself during daylight on
the streets, to take the air after night--else his health might suffer
by a too close confinement.
The _protege_ accepted this advice; several times going out of an
evening, and betaking himself to a Saint John's Wood tavern, where
"euchre" was played in the parlour. He had now a stake, and could enjoy
the game.
Twice, returning home at a late hour, he found the patron in his own
parlour, quietly conversing with his wife. His lordship had simply
called up to inquire after his health; and having also some instructions
to communicate, had been impatiently awaiting his return.
The patron did not say impatiently. He would not have been so impolite.
It was an interpolation proceeding from the lips of "Fan."
And Swinton saw all this; and much more. He saw new bracelets
glistening upon his wife's wrist, diamond drops dangling from her ears,
and a costly ring sparkling upon her finger--not there before!
He saw them, without inquiring whence they had come. He cared not; or
if he did, it was not with any distaste at their secret bestowal. Sir
Robert Cottrell saw them, with more displeasure than he.