AN ENFORCED INTERVIEW
_En, garde, Messieurs_! And if my hand is hard,
Remember I’ve been buffeting at will;
I am a whit impatient, and ’tis ill
To cross a hungry dog. _Messieurs, en garde_.
—W. Lindsey.
“Monsieur Chauvenet!”
Armitage uncovered smilingly. Chauvenet stared mutely as Armitage paused
with his back to the Claiborne gate. Chauvenet was dressed with his usual
care, and wore the latest carnation in the lapel of his top-coat. He
struck the ground with his stick, his look of astonishment passed, and he
smiled pleasantly as he returned Armitage’s salutation.
“My dear Armitage!” he murmured.
“I didn’t go to Mexico after all, my good Chauvenet. The place is full of
fevers; I couldn’t take the risk.”
“He is indeed a wise man who safeguards his health,” replied the other.
“You are quite right. And when one has had many narrow escapes, one may
be excused for exercising rather particular care. Do you not find it so?”
mocked Armitage.
“My dear fellow, my life is one long fight against ennui. Danger,
excitement, the hazard of my precious life—such pleasures of late have
been denied me.”
“But you are young and of intrepid spirit, Monsieur. It would be quite
surprising if some perilous adventure did not overtake you before the
silver gets in your hair.”
“Ah! I assure you the speculation interests me; but I must trouble you to
let me pass,” continued Chauvenet, in the same tone. “I shall quite
forget that I set out to make a call if I linger longer in your charming
society.”
“But I must ask you to delay your call for the present. I shall greatly
value your company down the road a little way. It is a trifling favor,
and you are a man of delightful courtesy.”
Chauvenet twisted his mustache reflectively. His mind had been busy
seeking means of turning the meeting to his own advantage. He had met
Armitage at quite the least imaginable spot in the world for an encounter
between them; and he was not a man who enjoyed surprises. He had taken
care that the exposure of Armitage at Washington should be telegraphed to
every part of the country, and put upon the cables. He had expected
Armitage to leave Washington, but he had no idea that he would turn up at
a fashionable resort greatly affected by Washingtonians and only a
comparatively short distance from the capital. He was at a great
disadvantage in not knowing Armitage’s plans and strategy; his own mind
was curiously cunning, and his reasoning powers traversed oblique lines.
He was thus prone to impute similar mental processes to other people;
simplicity and directness he did not understand at all. He had underrated
Armitage’s courage and daring; he wished to make no further mistakes, and
he walked back toward the hotel with apparent good grace. Armitage spoke
now in a very different key, and the change displeased Chauvenet, for he
much affected ironical raillery, and his companion’s sterner tones
disconcerted him.
“I take this opportunity to give you a solemn warning, Monsieur Jules
Chauvenet, alias Rambaud, and thereby render you a greater service than
you know. You have undertaken a deep and dangerous game—it is
spectacular—it is picturesque—it is immense! It is so stupendous that
the taking of a few lives seems trifling in comparison with the end to be
attained. Now look about you for a moment, Monsieur Jules Chauvenet! In
this mountain air a man may grow very sane and see matters very clearly.
London, Paris, Berlin, Vienna—they are a long way off, and the things
they stand for lose their splendor when a man sits among these American
mountains and reflects upon the pettiness and sordidness of man’s common
ambitions.”
“Is this exordium or peroration, my dear fellow?”
“It is both,” replied Armitage succinctly, and Chauvenet was sorry he had
spoken, for Armitage stopped short in a lonely stretch of the highway and
continued in a disagreeable, incisive tone:
“I ran away from Washington after you told that story at Claiborne’s
supper-table, not because I was afraid of your accusation, but because I
wanted to watch your plans a little in security. The only man who could
have helped me immediately was Senator Sanderson, and I knew that he was
in Montana.”
Chauvenet smiled with a return of assurance.
“Of course. The hour was chosen well!”
“More wisely, in fact, than your choice of that big assassin of yours.
He’s a clumsy fellow, with more brawn than brains. I had no trouble in
shaking him off in Boston, where you probably advised him I should be
taking the Montreal express.”
Chauvenet blinked. This was precisely what he had told Zmai to expect. He
shifted from one foot to another, and wondered just how he was to escape
from Armitage. He had gone to Storm Springs to be near Shirley Claiborne,
and he deeply resented having business thrust upon him.
“He is a wise man who wields the knife himself, Monsieur Chauvenet. In
the taking of poor Count von Stroebel’s life so deftly and secretly, you
prove my philosophy. It was a clever job, Monsieur!”
Chauvenet’s gloved fingers caught at his mustache.
“That is almost insulting, Monsieur Armitage. A distinguished statesman
is killed—therefore I must have murdered him. You forget that there’s a
difference between us—you are an unknown adventurer, carried on the
books of the police as a fugitive from justice, and I can walk to the
hotel and get twenty reputable men to vouch for me. I advise you to be
careful not to mention my name in connection with Count von Stroebel’s
death.”
He had begun jauntily, but closed in heat, and when he finished Armitage
nodded to signify that he understood perfectly.
“A few more deaths and you would be in a position to command tribute from
a high quarter, Monsieur.”
“Your mind seems to turn upon assassination. If you know so much about
Stroebel’s death, it’s unfortunate that you left Europe at a time when
you might have rendered important aid in finding the murderer. It’s a bit
suspicious, Monsieur Armitage! It is known at the Hotel Monte Rosa in
Geneva that you were the last person to enjoy an interview with the
venerable statesman—you see I am not dull, Monsieur Armitage!”
“You are not dull, Chauvenet; you are only shortsighted. The same
witnesses know that John Armitage was at the Hotel Monte Rosa for
twenty-four hours following the Count’s departure. Meanwhile, where
were you, Jules Chauvenet?”
Chauvenet’s hand again went to his face, which whitened, though he sought
refuge again in flippant irony.
“To be sure! Where was I, Monsieur? Undoubtedly you know all my
movements, so that it is unnecessary for me to have any opinions in the
matter.”
“Quite so! Your opinions are not of great value to me, for I employed
agents to trace every move you made during the month in which Count von
Stroebel was stabbed to death in his railway carriage. It is so
interesting that I have committed the record to memory. If the story
would interest you—”
The hand that again sought the slight mustache trembled slightly; but
Chauvenet smiled.
“You should write the memoirs of your very interesting career, my dear
fellow. I can not listen to your babble longer.”
“I do not intend that you shall; but your whereabouts on Monday night,
March eighteenth, of this year, may need explanation, Monsieur
Chauvenet.”
“If it should, I shall call upon you, my dear fellow!”
“Save yourself the trouble! The bureau I employed to investigate the
matter could assist you much better. All I could offer would be copies of
its very thorough reports. The number of cups of coffee your friend
Durand drank for breakfast this morning at his lodgings in Vienna will
reach me in due course!”
“You are really a devil of a fellow, John Armitage! So much knowledge! So
acute an intellect! You are too wise to throw away your life futilely.”
“You have been most generous in sparing it thus far!” laughed Armitage,
and Chauvenet took instant advantage of his change of humor.
“Perhaps—perhaps—I have pledged my faith in the wrong quarter,
Monsieur. If I may say it, we are both fairly clever men; together we
could achieve much!”
“So you would sell out, would you?” laughed Armitage. “You miserable
little blackguard, I should like to join forces with you! Your knack of
getting the poison into the right cup every time would be a valuable
asset! But we are not made for each other in this world. In the next—who
knows?”
“As you will! I dare say you would be an exacting partner.”
“All of that, Chauvenet! You do best to stick to your present employer.
He needs you and the like of you—I don’t! But remember—if there’s a
sudden death in Vienna, in a certain high quarter, you will not live
to reap the benefits. Charles Louis rules Austria-Hungary; his cousin,
your friend Francis, is not of kingly proportions. I advise you to cable
the amiable Durand of a dissolution of partnership. It is now too late
for you to call at Judge Claiborne’s, and I shall trouble you to walk on
down the road for ten minutes. If you look round or follow me, I shall
certainly turn you into something less attractive than a pillar of salt.
You do well to consult your watch—forward!”
Armitage pointed down the road with his riding-crop. As Chauvenet walked
slowly away, swinging his stick, Armitage turned toward the hotel. The
shadow of night was enfolding the hills, and it was quite dark when he
found Oscar and the horses.
He mounted, and they rode through the deepening April dusk, up the
winding trail that led out of Storm Valley.