I JOURNEY TO THE TYROL AND HAVE SOME
DISCOURSE WITH COUNT LUKSTEIN.
Dew jewelling the grasses in the fields, the chatter of birds among
the trees, a sparkling freshness in the air, and before me the road,
running white into the gold of the rising sun. But behind! On the top
of St. Michael's hill, outlined black against the pearly western sky,
rose the gaunt cross-trees of the gallows. 'Twas the last glimpse I
had of Bristol, and I lingered as one horribly fascinated until the
picture was embedded in my heart.
In London I tarried but so long as sufficed for me to repair the
deficiencies of my dress, since my very linen was now become unsightly
and foul, and, riding to Gravesend, took ship for Rotterdam.
I had determined to join Larke with me in my undertaking, for I
bethought me of his craving for strange paths and adventures, and
hoped to discover in him a readiness of wit which would counteract my
own scrupulous hesitancy. For this I implicitly believed: that it was
not so much the wariness that Julian bespoke which would procure
success, as the instinct of opportunity, the power, I mean, at once to
grasp the fitting occasion when it presented, and to predispose one's
movements in the way best calculated to bring about its presentment.
In this quality I knew myself to be deficient. 'Twas ever my
misfortune to confuse the by-ways with the high-road. I would waste
the vital moment in deliberation as to which was shortest, and alas!
the path I chose in the end more often than not turned out to be a
_cul-de-sac_.
In the particular business in which I was engaged such overweening
prudence would be like to nullify my purpose, and further, destroy
both Jack and myself. For beyond a description of Count Lukstein's
person which I had from Julian some while ago, I knew nothing but what
he had told me in the prison; and that knowledge was too scanty to
serve as the foundation for even the flimsiest plan. The region, the
Castle, the aggregate of servants, and their manner of life--it
behoved me to have certain information on all these particulars were I
to prearrange a mode of attack. As things were, I must needs lie in
ambush for chance, and seize it with all speed when it passed our way.
At Leyden I found Jack, very glum and melancholy, poring over a folio
of Shakespeare. 'Twas the single author whom he favoured, and he read
his works with perpetual interest and delight. "This is the book of
deeds," he would say, smacking a fist upon the cover. "There is but
one bad play in it, and that is the tragedy of _Hamlet_. The good
Prince is too speculative a personage."
"You reached Bristol in time?" he asked, springing up as I entered the
room.
"In time; but not a moment too soon," I replied, and sat mum.
"Then Sir Julian Harnwood is safe?"
"No! There was never a hope of that."
The old smile, half amusement, half contempt, flashed upon his lips;
the old envy looked out from his eyes. I, of course, had bungled where
a man of vigour might have accomplished.
"It was not for that end that he sent for me," I hastened to add, and
then I stuck. I had determined to relate to Jack forthwith the story
of my mission, and to engage his assistance, but the actual sight of
him overturned my intentions. I felt tongue-tied; I dared not tell him
lest my resolution should trickle away in the telling; for I read upon
his face his poor estimation of my powers, and I dreaded the ridicule
of his comments upon my unfitness for the task to which I had set my
hand. I had sufficient doubts of my own upon that score. Indeed, since
I had entered the room, they had buzzed about me importunate as a
cloud of gnats; for Larke had never been sparing of his homilies upon
my incapacity. I think every article I possessed, at one time or
another, had been twisted into a text for them; and now they all came
flocking back to me, as my eyes ranged over the familiar objects they
had been based upon. They seemed, in truth, to saturate the very air.
Hence, I confided to Larke no more than the fact of our journey into
the Tyrol; its reason and purpose I kept secret to myself. And to this
self-distrust, trivial matter though it was, I owed my subsequent
misfortunes. It was the first link in the chain of disaster, and I
forged it myself unwittingly.
"Jack," said I, "you were ever fond of adventures. One lies at your
door."
"Of what kind?" he asked.
"A journey into the Tyrol."
"For what purpose?"
"I cannot tell you. You must trust me if you come."
He looked at me doubtfully.
"Your life will be risked," I urged; "I can gratify you so far."
He closed the Shakespeare with a bang.
"When do we start?"
"As soon as ever we are prepared. To-morrow."
"'Twere a pity to waste a day."
I assured him that so far from wasting it, we should have much ado to
get off even the next morning. For there were a couple of stout horses
to be purchased, besides numberless other arrangements to be made. The
horses we bought of a dealer in the Rapenburg, and then, enlisting the
fencing-master to aid us, we sought the shop of an armourer in the
Hout-Straat. From him we bought a long sword and a brace of pistols
each, whereupon Larke declared that we were equipped cap-a-pie, and
loudly protested against further hindrance. I insisted, however, in
adding a pair of long cloaks of a heavier cloth than any we possessed,
and divers other warm garments. For we were now in the last days of
September, and I knew that winter comes apace in upland countries like
the Tyrol. Then there were maps to be procured, and a route to be
pricked out, so that it was late in the evening before we had
completed our preparations.
Meanwhile I inquired of Larke how it had fared with Swasfield. It
appeared that it was not until some hours after I had ridden off that
the man regained his senses, and then he was still too weak to amplify
his tidings; in fact, he had only recovered sufficiently to depart
from Leyden two days before I returned. Doubtless to some extent his
convalescence was retarded by grief for that he had not fulfilled his
errand. For he was ever lamenting the omission of his message, and
more particularly of that portion which referred to the road between
Bristol and London. For swift horses had been stabled at intervals of
fifteen miles along the whole stretch, and in order to make sure that
no one but myself should have the profit of them, as Swasfield said,
or rather, as I think, in order that my name might not transpire if
Count Lukstein's spies were watching the road and became suspicious at
this posting of relays, it was arranged that they should be delivered
only to the man who passed the word "Wastwater," that being the name
of the lake in Cumberland on which my lands abutted.
Of our journey into the Tyrol I have but faint recollections. We set
off the next morning with no more impediments than we could carry in
valises fixed upon our saddles. Even Udal, my body-servant, I left
behind, for he had neither liking nor aptitude for foreign tongues, a
few scraps of French and a meagre knowledge of Dutch forced on him by
his residence in the country, being all that he possessed. He would,
therefore, have only hindered our progress, and, besides, I had no
great faith in his discretion. I was minded, accordingly, to secure
some foreigner in Strasbourg who would think we were engaged upon a
tour of pleasure; which I did, and dismissed him at Innspruck.
For the rest I rode with little attention or regard for the provinces
through which we passed. The very cities wherein we slept seemed the
cities of a dream, so that now I am like one who strives to piece
together memories of a journey taken in early childhood. An alley of
trees recurs to me, the shine of stars in a midnight sky, or, again,
the comfortable figure of a Boniface; but the images are confused and
void of suggestion, for I rode eyes shut and hands clenched, as a
coward rides in the press of battle.
At times, indeed, when we halted, I would turn industriously to my
Horace. The book had fallen open at the Palinodia when I dropped it in
the prison, so that Julian's sketch was on the page opposite to the
date September 14. I append here the diagram which was to enable me to
find an entrance into the Castle, and it will be seen that I had much
excuse for studying it. In truth, I could make neither head nor tail
of its signification.
[Illustration: Outline of Lukstein Castle]
'Twas ever this outline of Lukstein Castle that I pondered, though
Jack knew it not, and when he beheld the book in my hands would gaze
at me with a troubled look of distrust. On the instant I would fall
miserably to taking count of myself. "Here are you," I would object to
myself, "a bookish student of a mean stature and a dilatory mind. You
have faced no weapon more deadly than a buttoned foil, and you would
compel a man of great strength and indubitable cunning to a mortal
encounter in the privacy of his own house, that is, supposing you are
not previously done to death by his serfs, which is most like to
happen." Then would my courage, a very ricketty bantling, make weak
protest: "You faced a blunderbuss and a volley of slugs, and you were
not afraid." "But," I would answer hotly, "you did not face them, you
were running away. Besides, you had called your assailant a potatoe,
and therefore had already a contempt for him. This time it is you who
will be the potatoe, as you will most surely discover when Count
Lukstein spits you on his skewer;" and so I would get me wretchedly to
bed.
There were, indeed, but two thoughts which served to console me. In
the first place, I was sensible that I had acquired some dexterity
with the foils, and if I could but imagine a button on the point of
the Count's sword I might hope to hold my own. In the second, I
remembered very clearly a remark of Julian's. "The man's a coward," he
had said, and I hugged the sentence to my breast. I repeated the
words, indeed, until they fell into the cadence of a rhythm and lost
all meaning and comfort for me, sounding hollow, like the tapping of
an empty nut.
Of what Larke suffered during that period I had no suspicion, but from
subsequent hints I gather that his distress, though based upon far
other grounds, was no whit inferior to my own. His behaviour, indeed,
when I came to consider it, revealed to me new and amiable aspects of
his character; for while he firmly disbelieved in my ability to
captain an expedition, he never once pestered me for an explanation. I
had entrusted the purse to his care, and at each town he made the
arrangements for our stay, looked after the welfare of our horses, and
in short, took modestly upon himself the troublesome conduct of our
travels. Knowing nothing of my purpose but its danger, and distrustful
of its achievement, he yet rode patiently forward, humming ever a
French song, of which the refrain ran, I remember:
Que toutes joies et toutes honneurs
Viennent d'armes et d'amours.
For he possessed that delicate gift of sympathy which keeps the friend
silent when the acquaintance multiplies his questions.
Thus we journeyed for over a month. It was, I fancy, on the 12th
November that we reached the town of Innspruck, the weather very
shrewd and bitter, for snow had fallen in great quantities, and a
cutting wind blew from the hills. That night I told my companion of
our destination, but disclosed no more of the business than that I had
a private message for Count Lukstein's ear, which must needs be
delivered secretly if we were to save our lives. We stayed here for
two days that we might rest our horses, and early on the 14th set off
for Glurns, which lay some eighty miles away in a broad valley they
called the Vintschgau. The snow, however, was massed very deep, and
though the road was sound, for it was the highway into Italy, we did
not come up with the village until two o'clock on the third afternoon.
Beyond Glurns the road traversed the valley in a diagonal line through
a dreary avenue of stunted limes, which in their naked leaflessness
looked in the distance like a palisade. Into this avenue we passed,
and were well-nigh across the dale and under its northern barrier of
mountains, when Larke suddenly reined up.
"'Childe Roland to the dark tower came,'" he sang out. "Heaven send
there be no one to complete the quotation!"
I followed the direction of his gaze. Right ahead of us the Castle,
the rock whereon it was pinnacled, and the village, huddled on a
little plateau at its base, stood out from the hillside like a black
stain upon the snow. A carriage-way, diverging from our road a hundred
yards farther on, ran up towards it in long zigzags, and to this point
we advanced.
"Look!" suddenly cried Larke. "We are not the first to visit the
worthy Count to-day."
From both directions carriages or sledges had turned into this track,
so that the snow at its entrance was trampled by the hoofs of horses,
and cut by intersecting curves.
"'Tis not certain," I said, "that the marks were made to-day."
"It is," he replied, "else would the ruts have frozen."
The thought that the Count had company doubled my disquiet. For there
was the less chance of finding him alone, and I was anxious to have
done with the matter.
The first angle made by the zigzags was thickly covered with a boskage
of pines. Into this we led our horses, and fastening them in the heart
of it where the trees were most dense, we crept towards the west
corner. At this point the track bent back upon itself and mounted
eastwards to the border of the village, turned again, threading the
houses at the bottom of the cliff, struck up thence at a right angle
in a clear, open stretch beneath the west face of the rock, and
finally curved round at the back to the gates. For the entrance to the
Castle fronted the hillside and not the valley.
I took my Horace from my pocket, and in an instant the diagram became
intelligible to me. The long curving line represented the road, and
the way of ascent, marked by the cross, was to be found on the western
wall of rock, and above the open stretch of road. Of this we now
commanded an unimpeded view, for the corner of the road at which we
stood was situate to the west of the Castle.
"I see it!" I exclaimed, and I handed the book to Larke.
"So this is the secret of the poet's fascination," he answered. "But I
see no path. The cliff is as smooth as an egg-shell, save for that one
projecting rib."
"That is the path," I replied.
A shoulder of rock with a ribbon of snow upon its ridge jutted out
from the summit of the cliff, and descended in an unbroken line to the
road.
"'Tis impossible to ascend that," said he. "We should break our necks
for a surety or ever we were half-way up."
"It shows steeper than it is," I answered. "We are not well-placed for
judging of its incline; for that we should see it in profile. But
where snow lies, there a man may climb."
Jack raised no further objection; but ever and again I noticed him
gazing at me with a puzzled expression upon his face. We crouched down
in the undergrowth until such time as the night should fall, blowing
on our fingers and pressing close against each other for warmth's
sake. But 'twas of little use; my body tingled with cold, and I began
to think my muscles would be frozen stiff, before the darkness gave us
leave to move. The valley, moreover, looked singularly mournful and
desolate in its shroud of white. As far as the eye could travel not a
living thing could be seen, nor could the ear detect a sound. The
region brooded in a sinister silence. I verily believe that I should
have loosed my horse and fled but for the presence of my companion.
Jack, however, was in no higher spirits than myself, and from the
continual glances of his eyes I think that he was infected with a
wholesome fear of the rib of rock. At last the dusk fell; the lights
began to twinkle in the village and in the upper windows of the
Castle. For a wall, broken here and there by round turrets, circled
about the edge of the cliff and hid the lower storey from our sight.
We looked to the priming of our pistols, buckled our swords tighter
about the waist, shook the snow from our cloaks, and cautiously
stepped out on to the path. At the edge of the village we stopped.
'Twas but one street; but that very narrow and busy. Not a moment
passed but a door opened, and a panel of orange light was thrown
across the gloom, and the figures of men and women were seen passing
and repassing. The village was astir and humming like a hive. But
there was no other way. For on our right rose the tooth of rock in a
sheer scarp; on our left the ground broke steeply away at the backs of
the houses.
"We must make a dash for it," said Larke. We waited until the street
cleared for a moment, and then ran between the houses as fast as our
legs would carry us. The snow deadened the sound of our feet, and we
were well-nigh through the village when Larke tripped over a hillock
and stumbled forward on his face with a curse. The next instant I
dropped down beside him, and covering his mouth with my hand, forced
him prone to the ground. For barely twenty feet ahead a door had
suddenly opened, and a man dressed in the jacket and short breeches of
the Tyroler came out on to the path. He stood with his back towards us
and exchanged some jest with the inmates of the house, and I
recognised his voice. I had heard it no more than once, it is true,
but the occasion had fixed the sound of it for ever in my memories. It
was the voice of the spy who had tracked us in the streets of Bristol.
He turned towards the door, so that the light streamed full upon his
face, shouted a "God be with you," and strode off in the direction of
the Castle. The sight of him left me no room for doubt. That he had
outstripped us caused me, indeed, little surprise, for we had
travelled by a devious way, and had, moreover, delayed here and there
upon the road.
Larke commenced to sputter and cough.
"Quiet!" I whispered, for the man was yet within hearing.
"Loose your hand, then!" he returned. "Tis easy enough to say quiet,
but 'tis not so easy to choke quietly."
In my fluster I was holding his head tightly pressed into the snow, so
that he could only have caught the barest glimpse of the man.
"Who was it?" he asked.
"One of Lukstein's servants."
"You know him?"
"I have seen him, and he has seen me. Maybe he would know me again."
We got safely quit of the houses and turned into the upward stretch of
road, towards the buttress of rock. It jutted out across our path, and
was plainly distinguishable, for the night was pure and clean, and
appeared to be tinctured with a vague light from the snow-fields. I
noticed, too, that on the far side of the valley a pale radiance was
welling over the brim of the hills with promise of the moon. 'Twas a
very sweet sight to me, since climbing an unknown rock-ridge in the
dark hath little to commend it, unless it be necessity.
At the foot of the rib we halted and prepared to ascend. But nowhere
could I find a cranny for my fingers or a knob for my boot. The
surface was indeed, as Jack had said, as smooth as an egg-shell. I
stepped back to the outer edge of the road and examined it as
thoroughly as was possible.
For the first twelve feet it was absolutely perpendicular; above that
point it began to slope. It was as though the lowest portion of the
rib had been cut purposely away.
And then I remembered! Julian had spoken only of a descent. Now a man
may drop twelve feet and come to no harm, but once at the bottom he
must bide there. There was but one way out of the difficulty, and
luckily Larke's shoulders were broad.
"You must lend me your back," I said. "I will haul you up after me."
He planted himself firmly against the rock, with his legs apart, and I
climbed up his back on to his shoulders.
"You teach me mercy to my horse," he said quietly.
"Why? What have I done?" I asked. "Jabbed your spurs into my thighs
and stood on them," he replied in a matter-of-fact voice. "But 'tis
all one. Blood was meant to be spilled."
Being now more than five feet from the ground, I was able to worm my
fingers into a crack at the point where the ridge began to incline,
and so hoist myself on to an insecure footing. But it was utterly
beyond my power to drag Larke after me, for the snow was thin and
shallow, and underneath it the rock loose and shattered. I should most
surely have been pulled over had I made the attempt. I ascended the
ridge in the hope of discovering a more stable position, whence I
could lower my cloak to my companion. But 'twas all slabs at a pretty
steep slope, with here and there little breaks and ledges. I could
just crawl up on my belly, but I could do no more. There was never a
yard of level where you could secure a solid grip of the feet. So I
climbed back again and leaned over the edge.
"Jack," I said, "I can't give you a helping hand. It would mean a
certain fall."
"I shall need little help, Morrice--very little," he answered, in a
tone of entreaty.
"I can't even give you that. The ridge is too insecure."
"Ah! Don't say that!" he burst out "You have not come all these miles
to be turned back by a foot or two of rock. It is absurd! It is worse
than absurd. It is cowardly."
"Hush!" I whispered gently. For I could gauge his disappointment, and
gauging it, could pardon his railing, "I have no thought of turning
back."
"Then what will you do? Morrice, this is no time for dreaming! What
will you do?"
"Jack," I said, "you and I must part company. I must win through this
trouble by myself."
I heard something like a sob; it was the only answer he made.
"Wait for me by the horses in the wood! Give me till dawn, but not a
moment longer! If I am not with you then--well, 'tis the long good-bye
betwixt you and me, Jack, and you had best ride for your life."
Again he made no answer. For a moment I fancied that he had stolen
away in a fury, and I craned my head over the rock, so that I could
look down into the road. He was standing motionless with bent
shoulders just beneath me.
"Jack!" I called. For it might well be the last time I should speak to
him. We had been good friends, and I would not have him part from me
in anger. "There is no other way. It can't be helped."
He turned up his face towards me, but it was too dark for me to read
its expression.
"Very well, Morrice," he said, and there was no resentment in his
tone. "I will wait for your coming, and God send you come!"
And with a dull, heavy step he walked back along the path.
I turned and set my face to the cliff. After a while the ridge widened
out, and the snow overlaid it more firmly, insomuch that a surefoot
might have walked along by day. In the uncertain light, however--for
the moon as yet hung low in a gap of the hills--I dared not venture
it, and crept up on my hands and knees, testing carefully each tooth
of rock or ever I trusted my weight to its stability. Towards the
summit the rib thinned again to a sharp edge, and I was forced to
straddle up it as best I could, with a leg dangling on either side.
Altogether, what with the obstacles which the climb presented, and the
numbing of my fingers, since the snow quickly soaked through my
gloves, I made my way but slowly.
At the top I found myself face to face with the Castle wall, which was
some ten feet in height, and quite solid and uncrumbled. Between it
and the rim of the crag, however, was a strip of level ground about
half a yard broad, and I determined to follow it round until I should
reach some angle at which it would be possible to climb the wall. On
this strip the snow was heavily piled, and for security's sake I got
me again to my hands and knees, flogging a path before me with the
scabbard of my sword. I began to fear that I might be foiled in my
endeavour for want of a companion; for again I bethought me, Julian
only descended, and a man might drop from any portion of the wall,
whereas the scaling of it was a different matter. I proceeded in the
opposite direction to the Castle gates, and so came out above the
south face of the precipice. Below me the houses of Lukstein village
glimmered like a cluster of glow-worms; I had merely to roll over to
fall dump among the roof-tops. I could even hear a faint murmur of
brawling voices, and once I caught a plaintive snatch of song. For in
that still, windless air sounds rose like bubbles in a clear pool of
water.
The wall on my left curved and twisted with the indents of the cliff,
and a little more than halfway across the face I came to a spot where
it ran in and out at a sharp angle. Moreover, one of the turrets which
I had remarked from the wood bulged out from the line, and made of
this angle a sort of crevice. Into the corner I thrust my back, and
working my elbows and knees, with some help from the roughness of the
stones, I managed to mount on to the parapet. The Castle lay stretched
before me. In front stood the main body of the building; to my right a
shorter wing, ending in a tower, jutted off towards the wall on which
I lay. A broad terrace, enclosing in the centre a patch of lawn,
separated me from the building.
I fixed my eyes upon the tower. The window of the lower room was dark,
and, strangely enough, 'twas the only window dark in the house. From
the upper room there shone a faint gleam as of a lamp ill-trimmed. But
all the other windows in the chief facade and the more distant part of
this wing blazed out into the night. I could see passing figures
shadowed upon the curtains, and music floated forth on a ripple of
laughter, gavotte being linked to minuet and pavane in an endless
melody.
Every now and then some couple dainty with ribbons and jewels would
step out from the porch, and with low voices and pensive steps pace
the terrace until the cold froze the sweetness from their talk. They
were plain to me, for the moon was riding high, and revealed even the
nooks of the garden. Indeed, the only obscure corner was that in which
I lay concealed. For a little pavilion leaned against the wall hard by
me, and cast a deep shadow over the coping.
But I hardly needed even that protection to screen me from these
truants. I might have stood visible in the lawn's centre, and yet been
asked no question. For such as braved the frost came not out to spy
for strangers; their eyes sought each other with too intimate an
insistance.
I had indeed timed my visit ill. The revels of the village were being
repeated in the Castle.
The sharp contrast of my particular purpose forced its reality grimly
upon me, and made this vigil one long agony. I had planned to tell
Larke the true object of my coming during the hour or so we should
have to wait, and to draw some solace from his companionship. Now,
however, I was planted there alone with a message of death for my foe
or for myself, and the glamour of life in my eyes, and it seemed to me
that all the tedium of my journey had been held over for these hours
of waiting.
To cap my discomfort I found occasion to prove to myself that I was a
most indisputable prig. I had often discoursed to Larke concerning the
consolations to be drawn from the classics in moments of distress. Now
I sought to practise the precept, and to that end lowered a bucket
into the well of my memories. But alas! I hauled up naught but tags
about Cerberus and Charon, and passages from the sixth book of Vergil.
To tell the honest truth, I was dismally afraid. The very stars in the
sky flashed sword-points at my breast, and the ice upon the hills
glittered like breastplates of steel. Moreover, my hands were swollen
and clumsy with the cold, and I dreaded lest I might lose the nervous
flexibility of their muscles, and so the nice command of my sword. I
stripped off my gloves which were freezing on my fingers, and thrust
my hands inside my shirt to keep them warm against my skin.
Somehow or another, however, the night wore through. The stars and the
moon shifted across the mountains, the music began to falter into
breaks, and the murmurs grew louder from the village. I heard sledges
descend the road with a jingle of bells, first one, then another, then
several in quick succession. Iron gates clanked on the far side of the
Castle, the windows darkened, and finally a light sprang up in the
lower of the chambers which I watched.
I turned over on my face and dropped on to the snow. But my spurs
rattled and clinked as I touched the ground, and I stooped down and
loosed them from my feet. I cast a hurried glance around me. Not a
shadow moved; the world seemed frozen to an eternal immobility. I
crept across the lawn, up the terrace steps to the sill of the window,
and peered into the room. It was small and luxuriously furnished, the
roof, panels, and floor, being all of a polished and mellow pine-wood.
Warm-coloured rugs and the skins of chamois were scattered on the
floor, and four candles in heavy sconces blazed on the mantel. Sunning
himself before the log-fire sat Count Lukstein. I knew him at once
from Julian's account: a big, heavy-featured man with a loose dropping
mouth. He was elaborately dressed in a suit of grey satin richly laced
with silver, which seemed somewhat too airy and fanciful to befit the
massive girth of his limbs. These he displayed to their full
proportions, and the sight did little to enhearten me. For he sat with
his legs stretched out and his arms clasped behind his head, the
firelight playing gaily upon a sparkle of diamonds in his cravat.
I noted the two doors of which Julian had spoken--that on my right
leading to the bedroom, that on my left to the hall--and in particular
a small writing-table which stood against the wall facing me. For a
silver bell upon it caught the light of the candles and reflected it
into my eyes. And I remembered Julian's story of his visit to the
Hotwell.
Whether it was that I rattled the frame of the window, or that chance
turned the Count's looks my way, I know not; but he suddenly turned
full towards me, My face was pressed flat to the glass. I drew back
hastily into the shadow of the wall. One minute passed, two, three;
the window darkened, and the Count, lifting his hands to his temples
to shut out the light at his back, laid his forehead to the pane.
Instinctively I clapped my hand to the pistol in my pocket and cocked
it. The click of the hammer sounded loud in my ears as though I had
exploded the charge. Count Lukstein flung open the window and set one
foot outside.
"Who is it?" he cried; and yet again, "who is it?"
I drew a deep breath, stepped quickly past him into the room, and
turned about. The two doors and the writing-table were now behind me.
He staggered back from the window, and his hand dived at the hilt of
his sword. But before he could draw it he raised his eyes to my face;
he let go of his sword and stared in sheer bewilderment.
"And in the devil's name," he asked, "who are you?"
'Twas a humiliating moment for me. He spoke as a master might to an
impudent schoolboy, and it was with a quavering schoolboy's treble
that I answered him.
"I am Morrice Buckler."
"An Englishman?" he questioned, bending his brows suddenly; for we
were speaking in German.
"Of the county of Cumberland," I replied meekly. I felt as if I was
repeating my catechism.
"Then, Mr. Morrice Buckler, of the county of Cumberland," he began,
with an exaggerated politeness. But I broke in upon him.
"I have some knowledge of the county of Bristol, too," I said, with as
much bravado as I could muster. But 'twas no great matter. The display
would have disgraced a tavern bully.
The words, however, served their turn. Just for a second, just long
enough for me to perceive it, a startled look of fear flashed into his
eyes, and his body seemed to shrink in bulk. Then he asked suddenly:
"How came you here?"
"By a path Sir Julian Harnwood told me of," says I.
He stretched a finger towards the window.
"Go!" he cried in a low voice. "Go!"
I stood my ground, for I noted with a lively satisfaction that the
quaver had passed from my voice into his.
"Have a care, Master Buckler!" he continued. "You are no longer in
England. You would do well to remember that. There are reasons why I
would have no disturbance here to-night. There are reasons. But on my
life, if you refuse to obey me, I will have you whipped from here by
my servants."
"Ah!" says I, "this is not the first time, Count Lukstein, that some
one has stood between you and the bell."
He cast a glance over my shoulder. I saw that he was going to shout,
and I whipped out the pistol from my pocket.
"If you shout," I said, "the crack of this will add little to the
noise."
"It would go ill with you if you fired it," he blustered.
"It would go yet worse with you," I answered.
And there we stood over against one another, the finest brace of
cowards in Christendom, each seeking to overcome the other by a wordy
braggadocio. Indeed, my forefinger so trembled on the trigger that I
wonder the pistol did not go off and settle our quarrel out of hand.
"What does it mean?" he burst out, screwing himself to a note of
passion. "What does it mean? You skulk into my house like a thief."
"The manner of my visit does in truth leave much to be desired," I
conceded. "But for that you must thank your reputation."
"It does, in truth," he returned, ignoring my last words. "It leaves
much--very much. You see that yourself, Mr. Buckler. So, to-morrow!
Return by the way you came, and come to me again tomorrow. We can talk
at leisure. It is over-late to-night."
"Nay, my lord," said I, drawing some solid comfort from the wheedling
tone in which he spake. "Your servants will be abroad in the house
tomorrow, and, as you were careful to remind me, I am not in England.
I have waited for some six hours upon the parapet of your terrace, and
I have no mind to let the matter drag to another day."
His eyes shifted uneasily about the room; but ever they returned to
the shining barrel of my pistol.
"Well, well," said he at length, with a shrug of the shoulders, and a
laugh that rang flat as a cracked guinea, "one must needs listen when
the speaker holds a pistol at your head. Say your say and get it
done."
He flung himself into a chair which stood in the corner by the window.
I sat me in the one from which he had risen, drawing it closer to the
fire. A little table stood within arm's reach, and I pulled it up
between us and laid my pistol on the edge.
"I have come," said I, "upon Sir Julian Harnwood's part."
"Pardon me!" he interrupted. "You will oblige me by speaking English,
and by speaking it low."
The request seemed strange, but 'twas all one to me what language we
spoke so long as he understood.
"Certainly," I answered. "I am here to undertake his share in the
quarrel which he had with you, and to complete the engagement which
was interrupted on the Kingsdown."
"But, Mr. Buckler," he said, with some show of perplexity, "the
quarrel was a private one. Wherein lies your right to meddle with the
matter?"
"I was Sir Julian's friend," I replied. "He knew the love I bore him,
and laid this errand as his last charge upon it."
"Really, really," said he, "both you and your friend seem strangely
ill-versed in the conduct of gentlemen. You say Sir Julian laid this
errand upon you. But I have your bare word for that. It is not enough.
And even granting it to be true, my quarrel was with Sir Julian, not
with you. One does not fight duels by proxy."
He had recovered his composure, and spoke with an easy
superciliousness.
"My lord," I answered, stung by his manner, "I must ask you to get the
better of that scruple, as I have of one far more serious, for, after
all, one does not as a rule fight duels with murderers."
He started forward in his chair as though he had been struck. I seized
the butt of my pistol, for I fancied he was about to throw himself
upon me.
"I know more than you think," said I, nodding at him, "and this will
prove it to you."
I drew the oval gold box from my fob and tossed it on to his knees.
His hands darted at it, and he turned it over and over in his palms,
staring at the cover with white cheeks.
"How got you this?" he asked hoarsely, and then remembering himself,
"I know nothing of it. I know nothing of it."
"Sir Julian gave it into my hands," said I. "I visited him in his
prison on the evening of the 22nd September."
He stared at me for a while, repeating "the 22nd September" like one
busy over a sum.
"The 22nd September," said I, "the 22nd September. It was the day of
his trial."
At the words his face cleared wonderfully. He rose with an
indescribable air of relief, flung the box carelessly on the table,
and said with a contemptuous smile:
"Ah, Mr. Buckler! Mr. Buckler! You would have saved much time had you
mentioned the date earlier. How much?" and he shook some imaginary
coins in the cup of his hand.
"Count Lukstein!" I exclaimed.
I had not the faintest notion of what he was driving at, and the
surprise which his change of manner occasioned me obscured the insult.
"Tut, tut, man!" he resumed, with a wave of the hand. "How much?
Surely the farce drags."
"The farce," I replied hotly, "is one of those which are best played
seriously. Remember that, Count Lukstein!"
"Well, well," he said indulgently, "have your own way. But, believe
me, you are making a mistake. I have no wish to cheapen your wares.
That you have picked up some fragments of the truth I am ready to
agree; and I am equally ready to buy your silence. You have but to
name your price."
"I have named it," I muttered, locking my teeth, for I was fast losing
my temper, and feared lest I might raise my voice sufficiently to be
heard beyond the room.
"Let me prove to you that you are wasting time," said he with insolent
patience. "You have been ill-primed for your work. You say that you
visited Sir Julian on the night of the 22nd. You say that you were Sir
Julian's friend. I would not hurt your feelings, Mr. Buckler, but both
those statements are, to put it coarsely, lies. You were never Sir
Julian's friend, or you would have known better than to have fixed
that date. But two people visited him on the 22nd, a priest and a
woman, the most edifying company possible for a dying man." He ended
with a smooth scorn. I looked up at him and laughed.
"Ah!" said he, "we are beginning to understand each other."
I laughed a second time.
"She was over-tall for a woman, my lord," said I, "though of no great
stature for a man."
I rose as I spoke the words and confronted him. We were standing on
opposite sides of the little table. The smile died off his face; he
leaned his hands upon the table and bent slowly over it, searching my
looks with horror-stricken eyes.
"What do you mean?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.
"I was the woman. How else should I have got that box?"
"You, you!" He spoke in a queer matter-of-fact tone of assent. All his
feeling and passion seemed to have gathered in his eyes.
So we stood waging a battle of looks. And then of a sudden I noticed a
crafty, indefinable change in his expression, and from the tail of my
eye I saw his fingers working stealthily across the table. I dropped
my hand on to the butt of my pistol. With a ready cunning he picked up
the gold box and began to examine it with so natural an air of
abstraction that I almost wondered whether I had not mistaken his
design.
"And so," says he at length, "you would fight with me?"
"If it please you, yes," says I.
"Miss Marston, it seems, has more admirers than I knew of," he
returned, with a cunning leer which made my stomach rise at him.
He seemed incapable of conceiving a plain open purpose in any man. Yet
for all that I could not but admire the nimbleness of his wits. Not
merely had he recovered his easy demeanour, but he was already, as I
could see, working out another issue from the impasse. I clung fast to
the facts.
"I have never seen Miss Marston," said I. "I fight for my friend."
"For your friend? For your dead, useless friend?" He dropped the words
slowly, one by one, with a smiling disbelief. "Come, come, Mr.
Buckler! Not for your friend! We are both men of the world. Be frank
with me! Is it sensible that two gentlemen should spill honest blood
for the sake of a feather-headed wanton?"
"If the name fits her, my lord," I replied, "who is to blame for that?
And as for the honest blood, I have more hope of spilling it than
faith in its honesty."
The Count's face grew purple, and the veins swelled out upon his ample
throat. I snatched up the pistol, and we both stood trembling with
passion. The next moment, I think, must have decided the quarrel, but
for a light sound which became distinctly audible in the silence. It
descended from the room above. We both looked up to the ceiling, the
Count with a sudden softness on his face, and I understood, or rather
I thought I understood, why he had not raised the alarm before I
produced my pistol, and why he bade me subsequently speak in English.
For the sound was a tapping, such as a woman's heels may make upon a
polished floor.
I waited, straining my ears to hear the little stairway creak behind
the door at my back, and cudgelling my brains to think what I should
do. If she came down into the room, it was all over with my project
and, most likely, with my life, too, unless I was prepared to shoot my
opponent in cold blood and make a bolt for it. After a while, however,
the sound ceased altogether, to my indescribable relief. The Count was
the first to break the silence.
"Very well, Mr. Buckler," said he; "send your friends to me in the
morning. Let them come like men to the door and give me assurance that
I may meet you without loss of self-respect, and you shall have your
way."
"You force me to repeat," said I, "that the matter must be disposed of
to-night."
"To-night!" he said, and stared at me incredulously. "Mr. Buckler, you
must be mad."
"To-night," I repeated stubbornly. For, apart from all considerations
of safety, I felt that such courage as I possessed was but the froth
of my anger, and would soon vanish if it were left to stand. The Count
began to pace the room between the writing-table and the window. I set
my chair against the wall and leaned against the chimney, and I noted
that at each turn in his walk he drew, as though unconsciously, nearer
and nearer to the bell.
"Mr. Buckler," he said, "what you propose is quite out of the
question. I can but attribute it to your youth. You take too little
thought of my side of the case. To fight with one whom I have never so
much as set eyes on before, who forces his way into my house in the
dead of night--you must see for yourself that it fits not my dignity."
"You are too close to the bell, Count Lukstein, and you raise your
voice," I broke in sharply. "That fits not my safety."
He stood still in the middle of the room and raised a clenched fist to
his shoulder, glaring at me. In a moment, however, he resumed his
former manner.
"Besides," he went on, "there is a particular reason why I would have
no disturbance here tonight. You got some inkling of it a moment ago."
He nodded to the ceiling.
I blush with shame now when I remember what I answered him. I took a
leaf from his book, as the saying is, and could conceive no worthy
strain in him.
"The good lady," I said, "whom you honour with your attentions now
must wait until the affairs of her predecessor are arranged."
The Count came sliding over the floor with a sinuous movement of his
body and a very dangerous light in his eyes.
"You insult my wife," he said softly, and as I reeled against the hood
of the fireplace, struck out of my wits by his words, he of a sudden
gave a low bellowing cry, plucked his sword from his sheath, and
lunged at my body. I saw the steel flash in a line of light and sprang
on one side. The sword quivered in the wood level with my left elbow.
My leap upset the table, the pistol clattered on the floor. I whipped
out my sword, Count Lukstein wrenched his free, and in a twinkling we
were set to it. I think all fear vanished from both of us, for Count
Lukstein's face was ablaze with passion, and I felt the blood in my
veins running like strong wine.