THE GREAT SECRET
I found the patroon in much the same position as Louis had found him
earlier that day. A few red drops showed on the scattered papers;
otherwise all signs of the henchman’s death had disappeared. The patroon
was seated in his leather chair with his sword in his hand when I
entered.
“Close the door, Vincent,” he said.
I turned to do so, and almost immediately I heard a quick step behind
me. A mirror on the wall warned me of my danger. I sprang aside just in
time to avoid a vicious thrust of the patroon’s sword.
“Coward!” I cried. “From behind.”
“What have you to say of ‘from behind?’ I strike cowards and dogs from
behind when they won’t show their faces—why not spies as well? Answer me
that, Michael Le Bourse.”
So he, too, had found me out. I dare say he had overheard my
conversation with his daughter from some secret passage. He stood before
me now, glaring at me with pent up passion.
“Draw your sword, Mike. You have an Irish name, but a fool’s wit. Don’t
you see the humor of it? The Earl and I must wait a while. But you and
I, our time has come. You shall never have my daughter while I live.
Draw, man, draw, or I’ll spit you like a dog.”
Our swords were out and crossed in the twinkle of an eye. He fought
wildly, bent upon taking my life, and careless of his own. His all
depended on it, yet he was man enough not to call for help. I meanwhile
stood upon the defensive and nothing more.
Had we both been in earnest it would have been short shrift for the
patroon. I had the advantage, both in years and strength, as well as in
skill with my weapon. From the first I was as cool as if drilling on
parade. My very coolness seemed to exasperate him further. After a few
passes his manner began to change. I saw the scared look in his face and
the flush of blood that always came before one of his mad seizures. Then
he began to grow unsteady. The swiftness of his blows redoubled. He left
his body unguarded twenty times. I could, had I been so minded, have run
him through with my eyes shut. Still he fought on with blind
desperation.
Then we heard someone coming down the hall. There was a woman’s cry of
terror. The next moment Miriam, unmindful of her own danger, dashed
between us and caught her father in her arms.
She gave me one glance of withering contempt.
“On top of all you would murder him before my eyes. Be gone.”
I went out and down the corridor, minded to go back to Yorke. At the
door two guards stopped me and turned me back. Miriam had told me that I
was a prisoner in the house; this confirmed what she had said and showed
that my chance of escape was gone.
“We have strict orders,” said one of the guards who turned me back, “No
one is to pass out.”
I tried both of the other doors with the same ill success. But I did not
care much, I was so miserable. I felt that the end had come, and that it
mattered little how the blow fell. I went to my room—that was not
guarded away from me. As I closed the door I bethought me of the second
of Louis’s packets, which was still in my pocket unopened. I took it out
and broke the seal. As my eyes fell upon the writing, I could not
repress a cry at the startling news that was contained in the first
line.
“Sir Evelin Marmaduke is starving to death in the cave beneath the
Hanging Rock.”
Sir Evelin Marmaduke, he whom all the city mourned as dead? Could he be
still alive? Louis’s narrative was short and clear.
“Colonel Fletcher granted the Marmaduke estate to Patroon Van Volkenberg
upon the death of Sir Evelin. One day his boat was caught in the tide
about Hell Gate. The patroon and I discovered him, half drowned and
unconscious, upon the shore. The patroon wanted to let him die, but I
insisted otherwise. So he was imprisoned in the cave beneath the rock.
By accident Ruth Le Bourse discovered our secret. We tried to keep her
silent. But she would not consent. I repent now that we handled her so
roughly, but she is better off.”
Brief as the narrative was, how clear it made everything. I remembered
the many tales I had heard from Annetje Dorn of victuals disappearing
from the larder at the dead of night; and of comings and goings from the
patroon’s part of the house in the small hours. But what could I do? He
was starving to death and must be rescued at once. The doors below were
all shut tight to me. I fell to cursing my luck and the villainy of the
patroon. I raged back and forth like a tiger in a cage. What could be
done? Suddenly the answer came. The door swung open and Miriam stood
before me. Her haughty bearing was all gone. Her eyes were red with
weeping.
“I come to be forgiven,” were her first words.
“I did not mean to kill him.”
“I know it; forgive me. He has been talking in his madness and I know
all. God forgive me; how I have been deceived. Will you go with me to
the Hanging Rock?”
I followed her outside my door to where stood Annetje. The three of us
proceeded through the crooked halls. At the outer door we were stopped
by the guards.
“Not go out?” cried Miriam. “Out of my way! I am mistress here.”
The men gave back—there was no gainsaying her when her spirit was fully
aroused—and we passed out. She bore herself with a fierce calmness that
was terrible to see. I wondered whether she could stand the strain
produced by this shattering of her idol; or whether she would go mad.
“Do you know why we are going?” she asked in a low, painful voice.
“Spare me,” I replied. “I know it all.”
“How long have you known it?”
“But just now. I learned it from a paper that Louis left behind.”
“You must have known many other things. I begin to understand why you
have not betrayed us long ago. I have misjudged you. Forgive me, but
there is small time for undoing now. Let me take your hand. Come, we
must run; it is a matter of minutes now. He may die while we are
coming.”
When we reached the cave Miriam produced a key which she had secured
from her father. It fitted the door of the cave which had been walled up
and turned into a dungeon. Within, upon short examination, we discovered
Sir Evelin. He was a fearful sight; thin, lank, nothing but skin and
bones. He was so weak that he could neither speak nor walk. He looked
blankly into the lantern like one who cannot see. Annetje poured a
spoonful of liquor which he took mechanically, but he showed no sign of
intelligence.
“Oh, this is terrible, terrible, terrible,” sobbed Miriam.
I lifted him up—he was as light as a child—and carried him to the
landing. We loosened a boat and got ready to take him to Yorke by river.
“Good-by,” said Miriam. “You and Annetje must attend to this. My place
is with my father.”
“Miriam,” I cried, taking her hand.
“No, no,” she said, putting me back, “not now. Go at once and save his
life.”
I began to remonstrate, but she would not hear a word. Soon we were
aboard the boat, and then in a minute we were out upon the black river,
where we could no longer see the silent figure on the shore. Annetje
held Sir Evelin’s head in her lap and shielded his face from the chill
wind. I worked the oars. Before long we were abreast of the first
scattered lights of the town north of the wall.
Ever since I had left Yorke, I had kept the two keys the governor had
given me. I resolved now to go to the little postern gate in the west
palisade rather than to rouse the watch at the city gate in the wall.
Ever since the fright over an invasion of the French, these gates had
been locked, and I feared difficulty and delay from an attempt to enter
in that manner. So, by way of the postern, we got him speedily to
Marmaduke Hall. But the mistress was not at home.
“Where is she?” I asked.
“At the governor’s ball.”
Ah, yes; I, too, had been invited to that ball, and by the governor
himself. So I set out at once for the fort, to see the Earl and to warn
my lady of her husband’s safety.
As was natural they refused me entrance at the gate because I had no
card of introduction. But I still possessed the other key that the
governor had given me on the night before I set out from New York upon
my adventures at the manor-house. In five minutes I was inside the fort
with the wicket gate locked behind me. As I approached the governor’s
house, I thought of what an unusual request I was about to make, and
whether the guard would deliver it or not. The earnestness of my manner,
however, must have affected him, for he did my bidding after a little
persuasion. Soon he returned with an answer that the Earl would see me.
He conducted me to an inner room, and a moment later the governor
appeared.
He recognized me at once. “Ah, St. Vincent, I am glad to see you. You
are a welcome guest.”
There was a cordiality in his manner that an observer would not have
suspected. I was surprised myself, for he thought me a follower of the
patroon. In later times I understood him better. Whatever faults he may
have had, Earl Bellamont was a gentleman to the heart.
I put my finger upon my lips and glanced about the room.
“Leave the room,” said the Earl to the guard who had accompanied me.
“What is it that you have to say that requires such secrecy?”
“My name is not St. Vincent, sir. I am Michael Le Bourse.”
His astonishment knew no bounds, and it grew as I told my tale. As soon
as I had finished he broke out with an expression that showed how he
always thought of others before himself.
“We must send Lady Marmaduke home at once.”
He dispatched a messenger to fetch her from the ball room. He told her
what had happened with a gentleness that won my heart more than anything
he had ever done before. She had but one word to say.
“Let me go to him; take me to my husband.”
“Accompany her, Le Bourse. At midnight, when this ceremony is over,
return to me. I shall leave orders at the gate for your admission.”
We set out immediately in a chair. Lady Marmaduke spoke hardly a word.
Now and then she tapped the side of the chair impatiently, and often
there came a struggling sob. But she gave no other sign of her great
fear lest she come too late.
Thanks to kind Annetje’s care, Sir Evelin was much improved. He was able
to recognize his wife when she appeared, and I was glad to note that the
blank expression in his eyes had gone somewhat. I waited till it was
time to return to the fort. The mistress saw me for a moment before I
went.
“Tell him that all is well. And for you, my Michael, you have my
gratitude beyond the power of words. Now go. I shall hear your tale
through to-morrow.”