"Well!" thought Beauchamp, when the young sailor was gone--"Well, this
is a stupid business enough; and I certainly shall not particularly
like being shot for this young rascal's whim; but it can not be
helped, and my will being made, it is not so troublesome as it might
otherwise have proved. At all events, dear Blanche, I am periling
somewhat to fulfill your request, and clear your brother's name and
character."
It is wonderful how much this last thought reconciled Henry Beauchamp
to an undertaking which he had before looked upon as absurd, and in
some sort degrading. Such little collateral associations are strange
conjurors; and as Beauchamp thought over the whole matter, and mingled
up the idea of Blanche Delaware with every particular which he had
before considered in the abstract only, his expedition became bright
and chivalrous, and he lay down to sleep, anxious for the coming
morning.
The first eight hours after Beauchamp rose, on the following day, were
devoted to securing the assistance of the French police, in the
undertaking in which he was about to engage; and although this time
may appear long, yet every moment of it was employed in removing the
many difficulties which, with wise precaution, the French government
throw in the way of the arrest of aliens, for crimes committed in a
different country.
The previous proceedings, although they had smoothed the way, had not
entirely removed all obstacles; and the young Englishman, though
backed by the influence of the whole of the English diplomatic agents
at Paris, found the time barely sufficient to accomplish the necessary
arrangements.
The dull official forms must, of course, have no place here; and it is
only necessary to say that, after the necessary orders were given, the
French officers of police shrugged up their shoulders at the plan
which Beauchamp was obliged to propose in conformity with his
engagement to Walter Harrison, declared that Monsieur was perfectly
welcome to take the first brunt of the business upon himself, and
promised to meet him at the rendezvous a little before the time which
the young sailor had named.
All this being at length settled, Beauchamp returned to his hotel,
dined, loaded his pistols, took one glass of wine less than usual, for
fear of embarrassing his hand, and then sat waiting impatiently for
the appointed hour. By the time it arrived, the sky had got out of
humor, and it was raining furiously; but still there were a great many
Parisians afoot, all pattering along under their pink umbrellas, as
merry as crickets; and many a tender salutation did Beauchamp receive,
in his way to the house of the jeweler.
He reached the street a few minutes before the time; but the police
were at their post, and he found that six powerful men were in
readiness to back his exertions. Walter Harrison, had not appeared,
and a quarter of an hour elapsed without any sign of his keeping the
appointment he had made. The chief of the French police hinted
broadly, that beyond doubt he had deceived the English gentleman; and
Beauchamp himself began to suspect that the young culprit had repented
of his promise.
Before another minute had elapsed, however, the tall, athletic form of
the widow's son was seen coming quickly along on the other side of the
street, and Beauchamp instantly crossed over and spoke to him.
"All is right, sir," said the sailor. "They are both at home, and even
now are engaged in pigeoning a young greenhorn, whom they have
inveigled to play with them. If they do not get his money that way, I
should not wonder if they cut his throat--so, come along, and let us
make haste."
"I am ready," said Beauchamp; "but you promised to write down--"
"Ay, ay! there it is," said the young man, putting a paper into his
hand. "Give it to one of those fellows who are of the police, I
suppose--but make haste, and come along; for if they do not get the
poor lad's money by fair means they will by foul. I heard them talk
about throwing something into the Seine, and getting a sack ready--and
I do not like such words from such folks--"
"Nor I!" replied Beauchamp; "nor I! You walk on, and we will follow;"
and crossing over to the other party, he gave the paper he had
received to the commissary who headed them, and then followed as fast
as possible upon the steps of the young sailor. Walter Harrison
advanced rapidly; and, passing up one of the short streets that lead
from the Rue de Rivoli into the Rue St. Honoré, he turned to the right
in the latter, and then made his way to one of the smaller streets in
the neighborhood of the Rue St. Anne. At length he stopped; and,
pointing forward to a house of respectable size and appearance--"That
is the house," he said; "if these fellows halt in the passage, they
are sure not to lose their game, for there is no back entrance."
Beauchamp explained to the leader of the party the words of the young
sailor, and they now drew near the house in a body, keeping profound
silence. The men were then carefully stationed round the door; and
Beauchamp, with one pistol in his hand, and the other thrust into his
bosom, between his coat and waistcoat, followed his guide into the
house, the door of which, as is frequent in Paris, stood open as a
common entrance to all the different floors.
It were in vain to say that Beauchamp felt no sort of anxiety. The
very excitement of the whole business made his heart beat with a
quicker pulse than usual; and he listened eagerly, as they ascended
the stairs, for any sound that might announce their proximity to the
chamber of the murderers. He was not long kept in expectation. At the
first door they reached, after passing the _entresol_, the young
sailor paused, and rang the bell twice.
As soon as ever he had done so, he whispered to Beauchamp, "I will
take this one, whoever it is, that opens the door. You run on, and
secure the other in the room beyond. I will follow in a minute."
Almost as he spoke, the door was thrown open, and the coarse face of
Tony Smithson, the man who had gone down with him in the stage-coach
to Emberton, was exposed to Beauchamp's sight. He had a light in his
hand, and the moment he saw that there were two men on the stairs, he
would have started back, and retreated; but the young sailor sprang
upon him at once, grappled with him tight, and in an instant both
rolled together on the floor of the little ante-room. Beauchamp rushed
forward to a door which was standing ajar on the other side of the
chamber, and whence there issued forth an intolerable smell of
brandy-punch, together with the sounds of laughter. He reached it in a
moment, but not before the noise of the struggle without had caught
the ears of the tenants of the room; for when Beauchamp flung the door
wide open, he found the murderer Harding already, with a pistol in
each hand, retreating into one corner of the room, from a table
covered with bottles, glasses, and bowls, cards, dice, and markers;
while the unfortunate wretch, whom we have already seen as the dirty
maid of the old miser at Ryebury, now tricked out in all the gay
smartness of Parisian costume, stood by the table, with sudden terror
and agony in her countenance. The moment her eyes rested on
Beauchamp's face, she saw that her fate was sealed, and with a loud
scream, she fell, fainting, by the table. Harding, however, with
scowling determination in his brow, placed his back in the corner, and
pointed the pistol he held directly toward his former master.
Beauchamp paused, and leveled his own weapon at the villain's head,
exclaiming sternly, but coolly, "Throw down your arms, sir! You know I
never miss my aim!"
Harding paused for a moment, slightly dropping the point of his
pistol; and Beauchamp, as they stood face to face, at the distance of
half a dozen yards, could see the corners of his mouth draw gradually
down, into a sort of sneering smile. The next instant he replied, "I
know you never miss your aim. I do; and therefore, this is the best
use I can make of my bullet," and he rapidly turned the pistol toward
his own head.
Beauchamp heard the lock click as the murderer raised the weapon, and
seeing than the clear exculpation of William Delaware, which would be
gained by the trial of the real culprit, might be lost by the act
about to be committed, he brought the muzzle of his own pistol
slightly round, and pulled the trigger. The report rang through the
room, and the arm that Harding was raising against his own life, fell
powerless by his side. A slight cry of pain escaped from his lips at
the same moment, but the fury that the wound stirred up flashed forth
from his eyes; and, with the other pistol in his left hand, he rushed
forward upon Beauchamp, coolly calculating, even at that terrible
moment, that from the unsteadiness of his left hand, he could not
revenge himself as he wished, unless he brought the mouth of the
weapon close to his adversary. Beauchamp, eager to take him alive,
closed with him instantly; the young sailor, hearing the report of
fire-arms, left the other ruffian but half tied, and rushing into the
room, endeavored to wrench the pistol from Harding's hand, as he
strove with the strength of despair and hatred to bring the muzzle
close to Beauchamp's head. At the very moment that he seized it, the
murderer had in a degree succeeded in taking his aim, and was in the
act of pulling the trigger. The flash and report instantly followed
and the ball, cutting along Beauchamp's cheek, laid the cheek bone
bare, but passed through the hair on his temple without doing him
farther injury. Walter Harrison, however, at the same moment relaxed
his hold, started back, and catching at one of the chairs with a
reeling stagger, sunk down into it, while a torrent of blood spouted
forth from his right breast, a little below the collar. Beauchamp,
too, heated by the struggle, seized the murderer by the neck, and,
with a full exertion of his strength, which was not inconsiderable,
dashed him prostrate on the floor, then set his foot upon his chest,
and, drawing the pistol from his bosom, commanded him to be still, if
he would escape without another wound.
Such was the situation of all parties, when three of the French
police, warned by the report of fire-arms that a severe contest was
going on above, and thinking they had waited quite long enough, rushed
up the stairs and entered the apartments. The first that they found
was the man whom Walter Harrison had left, and who was now calmly
untying himself, and about to decamp. He, however, was soon better
secured, and committed to the charge of the officers below, while the
others advanced into the room beyond, and found the young sailor
bleeding profusely, while Beauchamp with some difficulty kept his
prisoner to the ground, as Harding, aware of the fate that ultimately
awaited him, strove, by means of struggles and imprecations, to make
his former master shoot him on the spot.
The moment, however, that he beheld the officers of justice, he become
perfectly quiet; and it surprised even Beauchamp to see how easily he
relapsed into that calm, cold taciturnity which he had formerly
displayed. The first care of every one was the young sailor, for whom
a surgeon was immediately procured; and, after some difficulty, the
bleeding was stopped. The unhappy woman, who had fainted, was then
recalled to life, and the wound in the chief culprit's arm was
dressed. A process-verbal of all the events was then taken and
attested, for the purpose of being transmitted to England, and the
three prisoners were removed, though not without a warning from
Beauchamp, that it would be necessary to withhold every thing from
Harding which might enable him to commit suicide.
"Diantre, monsieur!" cried the commissary, who was a small wit in his
way--"you are going to hang him when he gets to England; why should
you care if he saves you the trouble by hanging himself here?"
"Simply, sir," replied Beauchamp, who, though he could treat great
events with indifference, had a sovereign aversion to jesting upon
serious subjects; "simply, because it may be necessary to exculpate
the innocent, as well as punish the guilty."
There now only remained Beauchamp, two police officers, who kept
possession of the apartments, the surgeon, and the young sailor. The
latter was immediately removed to the bed-room he had occupied since
his arrival in Paris, and there, by Beauchamp's directions, the
surgeon agreed to sit up with him all night.
The lad had never uttered a word since he had received his wound,
although Smithson had poured forth a torrent of abuse upon him, which
the murderer's situation rendered at least excusable. When he saw
Beauchamp's anxiety for his comfort and welfare, however, he said, in
a faint voice--"You are very kind, sir--you always were kind; and I am
glad I got the shot--that I am; for, do you see, if I had not turned
the pistol my way, it would have gone through your head. So that is
some comfort, though it would need a many good actions to make up for
all the bad ones I have done. But, however, don't trouble yourself
about me, for I shan't die, just yet--I am sure of that. All my work
is not done, yet. I shan't live long when it is done, even if they do
not hang me when I get to England."
"As I assured you before," replied Beauchamp, "there is no chance
whatever of such a thing; and I trust you are beginning to think too
properly of your own situation to dream of attempting your life."
"Oh, no! I was not thinking of that," replied the young man. "I one
time thought that I should be glad almost that they did hang me, just
to show those d--d rascals that I had not turned king's evidence
against them with any thought of myself. But I think differently now
I've got this shot. But, mind, I do not make any bargain. I will go
over as a prisoner, and they shall do with me as they like. I'll not
flinch--no, no, I'll not flinch!"
Here the surgeon, who did not understand a word that was said, and of
course did not like the conversation, laid his hand upon Beauchamp's
arm, and gently hinted that perfect quiet was absolutely necessary to
any hope of the wounded man's recovery; and that gentleman accordingly
left him, with a few kind and consolatory words. He then called the
surgeon into one of the other rooms, and making him dress the wound on
his cheek, which had been hitherto neglected, he gave him a
substantial earnest of after reward, explaining to him that the life
of the young man under his care was of the most immense importance as
a witness; and begging him, at the same time, to watch every turn
which the injury he had received might take, in order that his dying
declaration might be drawn up, if recovery were to be found
impossible. He then left his address, and returned home; but although
extremely fatigued, both by exertion and excitement, he did not lie
down to rest till he had seen a courier dispatched to London, bearing
the news of the capture of Harding and his accomplices, and begging
that, without a moment's delay, officers, properly authorized, might
be sent over to convey the prisoners to England.
The messenger was ordered to spare no expense, and to lose no time;
and he certainly performed his task with very great rapidity. In the
mean while the news of Beauchamp's adventure spread through Paris, as
if it had been a country town; and, as it may well be supposed that
the hotel in which he lodged was one of the first places in which the
story developed itself, Mrs. Darlington received it at her toilet the
next morning, and instantly wrote a billet to Mr. Beauchamp,
beseeching him to let her see him as soon as he was up. This, folded
in the newest fashion, and sealed with the newest seal, reached
Beauchamp as he was concluding his breakfast; and, in order to quench
the worthy lady's thirst, he at once walked down to her apartments.
Mrs. Darlington was as delighted as _bienseance_ would permit her to
be, at the sight of Henry Beauchamp, with a black patch on his cheek,
which confirmed all the pretty story she had heard before he came; and
her questions, though excessively small and quiet, were, like the
little hairy savages that scaled Sinbad's ship, innumerable, and
attacking him on all sides.
Beauchamp detailed the whole events; and, if he had been a little
bored by the lady's interrogatories, the joy and satisfaction which
Mrs. Darlington expressed on hearing that the exculpation of Captain
Delaware could now be fully made out--the sincere personal
gratification she seemed to feel, made up for all, and placed her high
in his good graces. The assurance that, among the culprits, one at
least of the personages who had set fire to her house was more than
probably included, did not seem to interest her half so much as the
proofs obtained of William Delaware's innocence; and she returned
again and again to the subject, declaring that nothing would be so
delightful as to write to dear Blanche, and give her the whole
details.
"Pray, are you in possession of her address?" demanded Beauchamp,
assuming as indifferent a tone as it was possible for a man in his
situation to affect.
"No indeed!" replied Mrs. Darlington; "but she will write to me soon,
of course."
Beauchamp was mortified; for he had caught at Mrs. Darlington's words
at once, as if they gave the full assurance of discovering the abode
of her he loved, without farther search or uncertainty. After musing
for a moment, however, he said, "I hope, my dear madam, when you do
write, you will offer my best compliments to Miss Delaware--who, I
dare say you know, is my cousin--and tell her that I have endeavored,
as far as was in my power, to obey the commands with which she favored
me. As I doubt not that you will give her the details of all this
story, you may assure her in the most positive manner, from me, that
her brother's character will at once be cleared of every imputation,
and that all who know him will hail his return to England with the
utmost joy."
Now Mrs. Darlington perceived, as plainly as woman could perceive,
that Henry Beauchamp was in love with Blanche Delaware. She had long
ago seen it would be so, and now she saw it was so; but yet, for one
half of Europe, she would not have let Beauchamp understand that she
saw any thing of the kind. She had known so many excellent
arrangements of the sort spoiled outright by some impolitic,
good-natured, stupid friend, jesting upon the subject, or insinuating
his mighty discoveries, before Cupid was bound hand and foot--which is
never the case ere the matter has come to a declaration--that
she answered in the most common-place way it is possible to
imagine--assured Beauchamp that she would give his message
correctly--declared that she doubted not Blanche and her father would
travel for a year or two; and then began to speak of the beautiful
bonnet brought out by Madame ---- of the Fauxbourg St. Germains.
Beauchamp, though he would have seen through every turning of the good
lady's tact, had any body else been concerned, was completely blinded
in his own case--like all the rest of the world--and, after having
given a scientific opinion upon the _brides de blonde_ and the
_bordures_, he rose and took his leave, fully persuaded that Mrs.
Darlington was as ignorant of his love for Blanche Delaware as he
himself was of millinery.