THE FLOOD ON THE RIVER
That Paul de Roustache came to the rendezvous, where he had agreed to
meet the Count, in the company and apparently in the service of M.
Guillaume, who was not at all concerned with the Count but very much
interested in the man who had borrowed his name, afforded tolerably
conclusive evidence that Paul had been undeceived, and that if either
party had been duped in regard to the meeting it was Captain Dieppe.
Never very ready to adopt such a conclusion as this, Dieppe was none
the less forced to it by the pressure of facts. Moreover he did not
perceive any safe, far less any glorious, issue from the situation
either for his companion or for himself. His honour was doubly
involved; the Countess's reputation and the contents of his
breast-pocket alike were in his sole care; and just outside the hut
were two rascals, plainly resolute, no less plainly unscrupulous, the
one threatening the lady, the other with nefarious designs against the
breast-pocket. They had joined hands, and now delivered a united
attack against both of the Captain's treasured trusts. "In point of
fact," he reflected with some chagrin, "I have for this once failed to
control events." He brightened up almost immediately. "Never mind,"
he thought, "it may still be possible to take advantage of them." And
he waited, all on the alert for his chance. His companion observed,
with a little vexation, with more admiration, that he seemed to have
become unconscious of her presence, or, at best, to consider her only
as a responsibility.
The besiegers spoke no more in tones audible within the hut. Putting
eye and ear alternately to the crevice between door and door-post,
Dieppe saw the lantern's light and heard the crackle of paper. Then he
just caught, or seemed to catch, the one word, said in a tone of
finality, "Five!" Then came more crackling. Next a strange, sudden
circle of light revolved before the Captain's eye; and then there was
light no more. The lantern had been lifted, swung round in the air,
and flung away. Swift to draw the only inference, Dieppe turned his
head. As he did so there rang out a loud oath in Guillaume's voice; it
was followed by an odd, dull thud.
"Quick, behind the trusses!" whispered Dieppe. "I 'm going out."
Without a word she obeyed him, and in a moment was well hidden. For an
instant more Dieppe listened. Then he hurled the wooden block away,
its weight, so great before, seemed nothing to him now in his
excitement. The crack of a shot came from outside. Pulling the door
violently back, Dieppe rushed out. Two or three paces up the slope
stood Guillaume, his back to the hut, his arm still levelled at a
figure which had just topped the summit of the eminence, and an instant
later disappeared. Hearing Dieppe's rush, Guillaume turned, crying in
uncontrollable agitation, "He 's robbed me, robbed me, robbed me!"
Then he suddenly put both his hands up to his brow, clutching it tight
as though he were in great pain, and, reeling and stumbling, at last
fell and rolled down to the bottom of the hollow. For an instant the
Captain hesitated. But Guillaume lay very still; and Guillaume had no
quarrel with the Countess. His indecision soon ended, Dieppe ran, as
if for his life, up the slope to the top of the hill. He disappeared;
all was left dark and quiet at the hut; Guillaume did not stir, the
lady did not stir; only the door, released from its confinement, began
to flap idly to and fro again.
The Captain gained the summit, hardly conscious that one of those
sudden changes of weather so common in hilly countries had passed over
the landscape. The mist was gone, rain fell no more, a sharp, clean
breeze blew, the stars began to shine, and the moon rose bright. It
was as though a curtain had been lifted. Dieppe's topographical
observations stood him in good stead now and saved him some moments'
consideration. The fugitive had choice of two routes. But he would
not return to the village: he might have to answer awkward questions
about M. Guillaume, his late companion, there. He would make in
another direction--presumably towards the nearest inhabited spot, where
he could look to get more rapid means of escape than his own legs
afforded. He would follow the road to the left then, down the zigzags
that must lead to the river, and to some means of crossing it. But he
had gained a good start and had the figure of an active fellow. Dieppe
risked a short cut, darted past the Cross and straight over the road,
heading down towards the river, but taking a diagonal course to the
left. His intent was to hit the road where the road hit the river, and
thus to cut off the man he pursued. His way would be shorter, but it
would be rougher too; success or failure depended on whether the
advantage or disadvantage proved the greater. As he ran, he felt for
his revolver; but he did not take it out nor did he mean to use it save
in the last resort. Captain Dieppe did not take life or maim limb
without the utmost need; though a man of war, he did not suffer from
blood fever. Besides he was a stranger in the country, with none to
answer for him; and the credentials in his breast-pocket were not of
the sort that he desired to produce for the satisfaction and
information of the local custodians of the peace.
The grassy slope was both uneven and slippery. Moreover Dieppe had not
allowed enough for the courage of the natives in the matter of
gradients. The road, in fact, belied its cautious appearance. After
three or four plausible zig-zags, it turned to rash courses and ran
headlong down to the ford--true, it had excuse in the necessity of
striking this spot--on a slope hardly less steep than that down which
the Captain himself was painfully leaping with heels stuck deep in and
body thrown well back. In the result Paul de Roustache comfortably
maintained his lead, and when he came into his pursuer's view was no
more than twenty yards from the river, the Captain being still a good
fifty from the point at which he had hoped to be stationed before Paul
came up.
"I 'm done," panted the Captain, referring both to his chances of
success and to his physical condition; and he saw with despair that
across the ford the road rose as boldly and as steeply as it had
descended on the near side of the stream.
Paul ran on and came to the edge of the ford. Negotiations might be
feasible since conquest was out of the question: Dieppe raised his
voice and shouted. Paul turned and looked. "I 'm a pretty long shot,"
thought the Captain, and he thought it prudent to slacken his pace till
he saw in what spirit his overtures were met. Their reception was not
encouraging. Paul took his revolver from his pocket--the Captain saw
the glint of the barrel--and waved it menacingly. Then he replaced it,
lifted his hat jauntily in a mocking farewell, and turned to the ford
again.
"Shall I go on?" asked the Captain, "or shall I give it up?" The
desperate thought at last occurred: "Shall I get as near as I can and
try to wing him?" He stood still for an instant, engaged in these
considerations. Suddenly a sound struck his ear and caught his
attention. It was the heavy, swishing noise of a deep body of water in
rapid movement. His eyes flew down to the river.
"By God!" he muttered under his breath; and from the river his glance
darted to Paul de Roustache. The landlord of the inn at Sasellano had
not spoken without warrant. The stream ran high in flood, and Paul de
Roustache stood motionless in fear and doubt on the threshold of the
ford.
"I 've got him," remarked the Captain simply, and he began to pace
leisurely and warily down the hill. He was ready for a shot now--ready
to give one too, if necessary. But his luck was again in the
ascendant; he smiled and twirled his moustache as he walked along.
If it be pardonable--or even praise-worthy, as some moralists
assert--to pity the criminal, while righteously hating the crime, a
trifle of compassion may be spared for Paul de Roustache. In fact that
gentleman had a few hours before arrived at a resolution which must be
considered (for as a man hath, so shall it be demanded of him, in
talents and presumably in virtues also) distinctly commendable. He had
made up his mind to molest the Countess of Fieramondi no more--provided
he got the fifty thousand francs from M. Guillaume. Up to this moment
fortune--or, in recognition of the morality of the idea, may we not say
heaven?--had favoured his design. Obliged, in view of Paul's urgently
expressed preference for a payment on account, to disburse five
thousand francs, Guillaume had taken from his pocket a leather case of
venerable age and opulent appearance. Paul was no more averse than
Dieppe from taking a good chance. The production of the portfolio was
the signal for a rapid series of decisive actions; for was not Dieppe
inside the hut, and might not Dieppe share or even engross the contents
of the portfolio? With the promptness of a man who has thoroughly
thought out his plans, Paul had flung away the lantern, hit Guillaume
on the forehead with the butt of his revolver, snatched the portfolio
from his hand, and bolted up the slope that led from the hut to the
summit; thence he ran down the road, not enjoying leisure to examine
his prize, but sure that it contained more than the bare ten thousand
francs for which he had modestly bargained. A humane man, he
reflected, would stay by Guillaume, bathe his brow, and nurse him back
to health; for with a humane man life is more than property; and
meanwhile the property, with Paul as its protector, would be far away.
But now--well, in the first place, Dieppe was evidently not a humane
man, and in the second, here was this pestilent river flooded to the
edge of its banks, and presenting the most doubtful passage which had
ever by the mockery of language been misnamed a ford. He was indeed
between the devil and the deep sea--that devil of a Dieppe and the deep
sea of the ford on the road from Sasellano. What was to be done?
The days of chivalry are gone; and the days of hanging or beheading for
unnecessary or unjustified homicide are with us, to the great detriment
of romance. Paul, like the Captain, did not desire a duel, although,
like the Captain, he proposed to keep his revolver handy. And, after
all, what was called a ford must be at least comparatively shallow.
Give it a foot of depth in ordinary times. Let it be three or four
now. Still he could get across. With one last look at the Captain,
who advanced steadily, although very slowly, Paul de Roustache essayed
the passage. The precious portfolio was in an inner pocket, the hardly
less precious revolver he grasped in one hand; and both his hands he
held half outstretched on either side of him. The Captain watched his
progress with the keenest interest and a generous admiration, and
quickened his own pace so as to be in a position to follow the daring
pioneer as rapidly as possible.
As far as depth was concerned, Paul's calculation was not far out. He
travelled a third of his way and felt the ground level under him. He
had reached the bottom of the river-bed, and the water was not up to
his armpits. He took out the portfolio and thrust it in between his
neck and his collar: it gave him a confined and choky feeling, but it
was well out of water; and his right hand held the revolver well out of
water too. Thus prepared, yet hoping that the worst was over, he took
another forward step. Breaking into a run, the Captain was by the edge
of the stream the next moment, whipped out his revolver, pointed it at
Paul, and cried, "Stop!" For although one does not mean to fire, it is
often useful to create the impression that one does.
The action had its effect now, although not exactly as Dieppe had
anticipated. Flurried by his double difficulty, Paul stopped again and
glanced over his shoulder. He saw the barrel aimed at him; he could
not risk disregarding the command, but he might forestall his pursuer's
apparent intention. He tried to turn round, and effected half the
revolution; thus he faced down-stream, and had his back to the full
force of the current. Although no deeper than he had feared, the river
was stronger; and in this attitude he offered a less firm resistance.
In an instant he was swept off his feet, and carried headlong
down-stream, dropping his revolver and struggling to swim to the
opposite bank.
"I can't afford to have this happen!" cried Dieppe, and, seeing how the
current bore his enemy away, he ran swiftly some fifty yards down the
bank, got ahead of Paul, and plunged in, again with the idea of cutting
him off, but by water this time, since his plan had failed on land.
Here it is likely enough that the two gentlemen's difficulties and
activities alike would have ended. Paul went under and came up again,
a tangled, helpless heap of legs and arms; the Captain kept his head
above water for the time, but could do nothing save follow the current
which carried him straight down-stream. But by good luck the river
took a sharp bend a hundred yards below the ford, and Dieppe perceived
that by drifting he would come very near to the projecting curve of the
bank. Paul was past noticing this chance or trying to avail himself of
it. The Captain was swept down; at the right instant he made the one
effort for which he had husbanded his strength. He gathered his legs
up under him, and he stood. The water was only half-way up his thigh,
and he stood. "Now for you, my friend!" he cried. Paul came by, quite
inanimate now to all appearance, floating broadside to the current.
Leaning forward, the Captain caught him by the leg, throwing his own
body back in an intense strain of exertion. He lost his footing and
fell. "I must let him go," he thought, "or we shall both be done for."
But the next moment he felt himself flung on the bank, and the tension
on his arms relaxed. The current had thrown the two on the bank and
pursued its own race round the promontory, bereft of its playthings.
Drenched, huddled, hatless, they lay there.
"A very near thing indeed," said the Captain, panting hard and
regarding Paul's motionless body with a grave and critical air of
inquiry. The next moment he fell on his knees by his companion.
"Perhaps he carries a flask--I 've none," he thought, and began to
search Paul's pockets. He found what he sought and proceeded to
unscrew the top.
Paul gasped and grunted. "He 's all right then," said the Captain.
Paul's hand groped its way up to his collar, and made convulsive
clutches. "I 'd better give him a little more room," mused Dieppe, and
laid the flask down for a minute. "Ah, this is a queer cravat! No
wonder he feels like choking. A portfolio! Ah, ah!" He took it out
and pocketed it. Then he forced some brandy down Paul's throat, and
undid his collar and his waistcoat. "A pocket inside the waistcoat!
Very useful, very useful--and more papers, yes! Take a drop, my
friend, it will do you good." Thus alternately ministering to Paul's
bodily comfort and rifling his person of what valuables he carried,
Dieppe offered to the philosophic mind a singular resemblance to a
Finance Minister who takes a farthing off the duty on beer and puts a
penny on the income tax.
The moon was high, but not bright enough to read a small and delicate
handwriting by. The Captain found himself in a tantalising position.
He gave Paul some more brandy, laid down the packet of letters, and
turned to the portfolio. It was large and official in appearance, and
it had an ingenious clasp which baffled Dieppe. With a sigh he cut the
leather top and bottom, and examined the prize.
"Ah, my dear Banque de France, even in this light I can recognise your
charming, allegorical figures," he said with a smile. There were
thirty notes--he counted them twice, for they were moist and very
sticky. There was another paper. "This must be--" He rose to his
feet and held the paper up towards the moon. "I can't read the
writing," he murmured, "but I can see the figures--30,000. Ah, and
that is 'Genoa'! Now to whom is it payable, I wonder!"
"What the devil are you doing?" growled Paul, sitting up with a shiver.
"My friend, I have saved your life," observed the Captain, impressively.
"That's no reason for robbing me," was Paul's ungrateful but logically
sound reply.
The Captain stooped and picked up the bundle of letters. Separating
them one from another, he tore them into small fragments and scattered
them over the stream. Paul watched him, sullen but without resistance.
Dieppe turned to him.
"You have no possible claim against the Countess," he remarked; "no
possible hold on her, Monsieur de Roustache."
Paul finished the flask for himself this time, shivered again, and
swore pitifully. He was half-crying and cowed. "Curse the whole
business!" he said. "But she had twenty thousand francs of my money."
The Captain addressed to him a question somewhat odd under the
circumstances.
"On your honour as a gentleman, is that true?" he asked.
"Yes, it's true," said Paul, with a glare of suspicion. He was not in
the mood to appreciate satire or banter; but the Captain appeared quite
grave and his manner was courteous.
"It's beastly cold," Paul continued with a groan.
"In a moment you shall take a run," the Captain promised. And he
pursued, "The Countess must not be in your debt. Permit me to
discharge the obligation." He counted twenty of the thirty notes and
held them out to Paul. After another stare Paul laughed feebly.
"I am doing our friend M. Guillaume no wrong," the Captain explained.
"His employers have in their possession fifty thousand francs of mine.
I avail myself of this opportunity to reduce the balance to their
debit. As between M. Guillaume and me, that is all. As between you
and me, sir, I act for the Countess. I pay your claim at your own
figures, and since I discharge the claim I have made free to destroy
the evidence. I have thrown the letters into the river. I do not wish
to threaten, but if you 're not out of sight in ten minutes, I 'll
throw you after them."
"If I told you all the story--" began Paul with a sneer.
"I 'm not accustomed to listen to stories against ladies, sir,"
thundered the Captain.
"She 's had my money for a year--"
"The Countess would wish to be most liberal, but she did not understand
that you regarded the transaction as a commercial one." He counted
five more notes and handed them to Paul with an air of careless
liberality.
Paul broke into a grudging laugh.
"What are you going to tell old Guillaume?" he asked.
"I'm going to tell him that my claim against his employers is reduced
by the amount that I have had the honour to hand you, M. de Roustache.
Pardon me, but you seem to forget the remark I permitted myself to make
just now." And the Captain pointed to the river.
Paul rose and stamped his feet on the ground; he looked at his
companion, and his surprise burst out in the question, "You really mean
to let me go with five and twenty thousand francs!"
"I act as I am sure the lady whose name has been unavoidably mentioned
would wish to act."
Paul stared again, then sniggered again, and pocketed his spoil.
"Only you must understand that--that the mine is worked out, my friend.
I think your way lies there." He pointed towards the road that led up
from the ford to Sasellano.
Still Paul lingered, seeming to wish to say something that he found
difficult to phrase.
"I was devilish hard up," he muttered at last.
"That is always a temptation," said the Captain, gravely.
"A fellow does things that--that look queer. I say, would n't that odd
five thousand come in handy for yourself?"
The Captain looked at him; almost he refused the unexpected offer
scornfully; but something in Paul's manner made him cry, quite
suddenly, almost unconsciously, "Why, my dear fellow, if you put it
that way--yes! As a loan from you to me, eh?"
"A loan? No--I--I--"
"Be at ease. Loan is the term we use between gentlemen--eh?" The
Captain tried to curl his moist, uncurlable moustache.
And Paul de Roustache handed him back five thousand francs.
"My dear fellow!" murmured the Captain, as he stowed the notes in
safety. He held out his hand; Paul de Roustache shook it and turned
away. Dieppe stood watching him as he went, making not direct for the
Sasellano road, but shaping a course straight up the hill, walking as
though he hardly knew where he was going. So he passed out of the
Captain's sight--and out of the list of the Countess of Fieramondi's
creditors.
A little smile dwelt for a moment on Dieppe's face.
"I myself am very nearly a rascal sometimes," said he.
Crack! crack! The sound of a whip rang clear; the clatter of hoofs and
the grind of a wheel on the skid followed. A carriage dashed down the
hill from Sasellano. Paul de Roustache had seen it, and stooped low
for a moment in instinctive fear of being seen. Captain Dieppe, on the
other hand, cried "Bravo!" and began to walk briskly towards the ford.
"How very lucky!" he reflected. "I will beg a passage; I have no fancy
for another bath to-night."