OMPERTZ FINISHES HIS NIGHT’S WORK
Captain von Ompertz, when the Chancellor had dismissed him, made very
natural haste to get clear of the palace precincts before his deception
should be discovered. He had not, however, gone far when he found he
was being caught up by one of his late associates, the Italian to whom
Rollmar had whispered. Judging it wiser to appear in no particular
haste, he turned and waited for the fellow to join him.
“Ah, you are going home, Capitano, after a pretty night’s work. May I
come with you as far as our ways lie together?”
Now if Ompertz had really carried out his late orders he would have
declined, with no complimentary language, the company of a man whom
he loathed and whose associateship he resented. But to-night he could
scarcely with prudence refuse the fellow’s proposal, so they went on
together.
“I am in haste to get to my lodging,” he said. “So step out, signore. I
hope to-night’s work has been more acceptable to you than it has to me.”
The Italian, edging his lithe body close to his companion’s shoulder,
as with quickly gliding steps he kept pace with the soldier’s stride,
threw out his arms with a deprecating gesture.
“_Basta!_ _Capitano mio_, such little affairs are common enough at our
Court. Our Chancellor ever takes the nearest way to his destination. A
wise man does not wait for a wasp to sting him before he crushes it.
And the Baron has the wisest head in Europe to-day.”
“And the reddest hand, eh?”
“Ah, _amico mio_, a kingdom is not to be maintained in safety without
the judicious spilling of a little blood. Better a few drops of rain
than a storm, a little blood-letting than a fever.”
“That is true enough,” Ompertz assented, not caring to express his
real views on the subject. “And we servants of the State, must regard
ourselves as the great surgeon’s lancets, eh?”
“Exactly,” grinned the Italian. “And we should have as little feeling
and curiosity as the scarifying knife, be as empty of scruples as is
the cupping glass of air.”
“Oh, I shall get used to it, never fear,” the Captain assured him.
They were making their way to one of the side gates of the park which
opened upon an outskirt of the town, and now had reached the outer belt
of woodland, near the spot where Ompertz had once lain concealed. It
was his intention, as soon as they should have passed through the gate,
to separate from his companion, not caring even at that time of the
night to be seen walking through the streets with him.
As they went quickly along under the trees Ompertz stumbled over a
projecting root and nearly fell, but managed to recover himself. But
the stumble made him aware of a peculiar action on the part of the
Italian which put him keenly on his guard. When his foot caught the
root the impetus of the quick pace at which they were walking sent him
headlong some yards before he could right himself. His companion made
a sudden spring after him, only to reach him just as he recovered his
balance. As Ompertz half turned, he fancied he caught a certain ugly
gleam in the other’s uplifted hand, but the Italian quickly lowered his
arm and threw out the other with a pretence of steadying him.
“_Davuero!_ That was nearly a bad fall, Capitano,” he observed with an
awkward laugh, and Ompertz told himself that if the stumble had sent
him a foot less far, and so just out of the other’s reach it would
indeed have been a fall from which he might never have risen. However,
he kept a wary eye on the Italian, grimly alert for his expected
attack, and so they passed out of the gate together.
Here he halted. “Which is your way, Signor Calosi?”
The Italian pointed townwards. “Surely we go to the city together,” he
suggested with feline courtesy.
Ompertz checked his first impulse which was unceremoniously to separate
from the fellow. He nodded, and they walked on together along the
gloomy road skirting the park wall. Very bitter and resentful thoughts
were in his mind as he realized his position and his employer’s
treacherous intention. It was plain enough. He was supposed to have
done his work, and so was to be incontinently put out of the way as
the possessor of a dangerous secret. And within the hour Rollmar had
flattered him, spoken of his honour and trustworthiness, and promised
him his absolute freedom as the price of his night’s work, while all
the time he was marking him down for the assassin’s knife. His blood
boiled at the idea, and he exulted fiercely in the thought of the
trick he had played on the treacherous old Chancellor and of a second
thwarting on which he was grimly resolved. So he kept on with the
Italian, having the object of giving that worthy a chance of repeating
his attempt It was not long in coming. This time it was Calosi who
stumbled, or pretended to do so. The spot was one which Ompertz had
shrewdly suspected he would choose for the attack; darker than the rest
of the obscure way by reason of the overhanging trees. Moreover, it was
the last convenient place for a dark deed before they should approach
the outlying houses of the city.
At Calosi’s stumble, Ompertz, who was on the watch for a trick, gave
a sudden spring forward and turned, at the same time whipping out his
sword already loosened in its scabbard. As he anticipated, he faced
round to meet the Italian’s dagger raised for the stroke he had so
cunningly avoided.
“You cursed, black-muzzled dastard!” he cried with a derisive laugh.
“You shall pay for that coystril’s trick,” and with that made a lunge
at him.
The Italian’s face at first showed an attempt to laugh the thing off,
but its futility was so apparent and the soldier’s blade so pressing,
that he speedily abandoned it and set to work to defend himself as best
he could.
“Ah, my poor Capitano, it is enough,” he exclaimed in terror as,
putting aside a thrust at his heart, he felt the blade pierce his
shoulder. “I will confess!” he screamed, as the irresistible attack
grew hotter. “I will give you--”
“Silence, you pest, you treacherous dog!” Ompertz cried, setting his
teeth. “If you choose to play your murderous tricks on a stronger man
you must be ready for the penalty.” And so, bearing down the Italian’s
desperate defence, he ran him through.
Calosi fell with a gasping cry and had expired ere he touched the
ground. Ompertz drew back his sword and wiped it on the dead man’s
cloak, shaking his head with a troubled countenance as he sheathed it.
“I’d as lief this had not happened,” he muttered, “but it was
necessary, and ’tis done. Well, my head can scarce be in greater
jeopardy now than it was before, and at least this gives me a few
hours’ start.”
Hastily he rolled the body into the ditch that ran under the park
wall, where it lay concealed by the over-growing grass and weeds.
“Well, there is one scoundrel the fewer walking the earth to-night,” he
commented. “If I hang for this I shall leave the world a trifle better
than I found it.” He effaced the blood marks from the path, and hurried
on to the city.
As he gained the narrow streets his devil-may-care humour, which had
been repressed by the events of the night, returned; he hummed a tune
and strode along with his characteristic jauntiness. Once he stopped
and seemed to debate with himself whether he should go on or turn back.
“No; I must do it,” he said. “A good turn from a stranger is worth six
from a friend; and, after all, my life is not of such wonderful value
or surety that I need think twice about risking it.”
So, starting on again with a more purposeful gait, he soon arrived at
the door of Ludovic von Bertheim’s lodging. As he looked up at the
windows for a light, the man he sought came round the corner.
“Well met, Lieutenant,” he said with a military salute. “I came on
my way to--who knows?--the gallows, probably, to give you a word of
warning.”
“Come in,” Ludovic replied, and led the way.
The soldier smacked his lips significantly and followed. “A glass of
that excellent brandy after this night’s work will not come amiss,” he
observed frankly.
In the room von Bertheim pointed to the suggested refreshment and his
guest lost no time in helping himself.
“I have to thank you, Captain, for my life.”
Ompertz gave a deprecating wave of the arm. “Pfui! ’Twas but a natural
_quid pro quo_, my friend,” he protested airily.
“It was more than that,” the other returned gravely.
“Well,” said the soldier, after a second draught, “time is short, and
were it not, I have not come hither to bandy words about that. I have a
sense of common honour and gratitude--that is nothing to boast of--and
am not a midnight bravo, although I admit that an hour ago I must have
looked uncommonly like one.”
“I can understand the matter,” Ludovic assured him with a smile.
“Can you? Then you will understand that you stay here in considerable
danger, my enterprising young friend.”
Ludovic smiled confidently. “I hope that is past.”
“Is it?” the other retorted. “You have a singular confidence, young
man, amounting almost to folly. Take my advice. You have had two
miraculous escapes. Are you mad enough to fancy that his Excellency,
our most noble Chancellor Rollmar, will fail a third time to brush you
out of his way?”
“Possibly not,” von Bertheim replied dryly. “But I do not think he is
likely to try it a third time.”
“Ah, you are not going to give him the chance? That’s right. I am off
now to save my skin. Suppose we go together?”
“With all my heart, Captain,” Ludovic laughed. “But I am not ready to
start just yet.”
“The devil you are not!” Ompertz exclaimed in surprise. “Why, you are
not, I take it, such a coxcomb as to trouble about packing your trunks
when the trunk that stands on your two legs is likely to have a hole
picked in it.”
“Hardly,” the other laughed. “Still, I can assure you, Captain von
Ompertz, that there is no such especial hurry for either of us to take
to our heels. I am quite safe, and will take you under my protection.”
Ompertz stared and then broke into a laugh. “_Alle Wetter!_ But you
have no mean opinion of yourself, my brave Lieutenant. To stand man to
man, or to a round half dozen, is one thing; to pit oneself against the
seven devils united in the scraggy person of our Chancellor is quite
another.”
“You are right enough, my friend; and I admit that I have run a couple
of very foolish risks. But now I do not mean to fight, to oppose myself
to this incarnation of the seven devils.”
“That’s well,” Ompertz hastily replied. “Discretion is virtue, even
in a soldier, when the odds are against him. Boldness is for the big
battalions, as I have learnt often enough. So you are going to retreat
and fall back upon a less dangerous wooing. Good! We may as well go
together, at least part of the way.”
“You mistake me,” von Bertheim said quietly. “I do not intend to leave
Waldenthor, at least just yet.”
“Then I do,” Ompertz exclaimed, catching up his hat and taking a stride
towards the door. “I have warned you, and, as it seems, to no purpose.
I am sorry, but that your brandy is a good viaticum, to have wasted so
much time over the business.”
Ludovic made a restraining gesture. “Stay here with me for the next
twenty-four hours and we will start together. In the meantime I will
guarantee your safety.”
The soldier looked at him curiously. “You speak very confidently, young
sir; and I am loath to disbelieve you. But you will pardon me if I am
inclined to set more store by the practical and cogent evidence of
Chancellor Rollmar’s ill-will than by the pleasanter but less tangible
proofs of Lieutenant von Bertheim’s good-will.”
“And yet,” replied the other, “I could easily convince you.” He stopped
and seemed to debate with himself, taking a turn across the room. His
manner evidently puzzled Ompertz, who stood with his hand on the door,
his departure just restrained by curiosity. But the chance of safety
by staying seemed too doubtful. “I must wish you farewell, and a safe
slipping out of old Rollmar’s clutches,” he said, pulling open the door.
Ludovic turned. “You will not go?”
“While my feet can touch _terra firma_.”
“You will go to your death. Whereas----”
The sound of a horse’s hoofs came up the street, and suddenly ceased
under their window. Then came a knock at the street door. Ompertz let
an oath slip through his teeth. “Too late! I have stayed to my death.
But----” He set himself hard, taking his stand in a corner of the room
with drawn sword. Von Bertheim laughed but made no remark. Both men
kept silence, in which they could hear the door being opened. Next
moment a man’s figure appeared in the doorway, and a good-humoured
face looked with amused wonder at the room’s two occupants and their
strangely contrasted attitudes, one loungingly expectant, the other
desperately militant.
Checking the visitor’s exclamation of surprise, Ludovic went forward
with a cry of welcome.
“Anton! You, my dear fellow, at this time of the night! You bring me
news?”
“Or I should scarcely have risked finding you so very wide awake at
this hour. Yes; I bring you news, and have ridden hard with it.”
He glanced significantly at Ompertz, who, half reassured, had lowered
his point.
Von Bertheim answered the look. “My good friend, Captain von Ompertz,
who has just rendered me an important service at some risk to himself.”
“Then,” the newcomer observed dryly, “as we are all friends and it is
late, Captain von Ompertz may put his sword to bed.”
“If his sword were afraid of late hours,” the free-lance retorted,
as with a laugh he sent the weapon home in its scabbard, “Captain
von Ompertz would not have the honour of standing before you at this
moment. It is hard to tell friends from foes in this city, and I but
waited Lieutenant von Bertheim’s word before disguarding.”
“Now, Anton, your news. You may speak before our friend,” said Ludovic.
“Your uncle has met with an accident, a fall out riding.”
“He is dead? No?”
“When I left he was as far through death’s door as a man can be to have
any chance of drawing back.”
“Then there was a chance, Anton?”
He gave a shrug. “He was alive. I did not tarry to hear the result of
the putting together of six scientific craniums. It was enough that
the patient had a breakage in his; so I came post-haste to tell you.”
“It was what I might have expected of you, Anton. Now I will have a bed
made ready for you and----”
Anton opened his eyes. “A bed? My dear friend, you are not going to
sleep on it?”
“I cannot start till to-morrow.”
“Then I cannot help thinking that you run a grave risk. You have been
away over long already.”
“The risk is mine, not my uncle’s,” Von Bertheim returned. “To-morrow
evening I will start at latest.”
Anton looked serious. “I would not like to answer for the
consequences,” he said warningly.
“Nor I,” chimed in Ompertz. “I have been telling our friend as much for
the last half-hour. If he stays here till to-morrow I would not like to
wager that he survives his uncle with the smash on his skull.”
“What keeps you here?” Anton asked.
“Never mind,” Ludovic replied.
Ompertz laughed.