Another minute the match, spluttering in the damp night air, was
extinguished; but I had seen enough. To the amaze of my companion, to
the scandal of any legal or professional education I might have had,
indignation got the better of all discretion, and I burst through the
shrubbery and laid my hand on the rein.
"Mr. Peyton, I believe," said I, in a tone intended to be double-shotted
with sarcasm. "Think we had the pleasure of meeting at Judge----"
"Hell!" hissed a startled voice. "Quick,--drive on!" Crack! went the
whip; the horse plunged violently forward; the wheel struck me full on
the left leg and hurled me against the stout branches of some dripping
bush, and with a whirr of wheels and crushing of gravel the buggy
disappeared in the darkness. Mr. Parker ran to my assistance, and
together we rushed to our own cab.
"Follow that buggy! Be lively!" was all I could find breath to say to
our driver, and then we were off in pursuit. We heard their hoofs and
wheels thundering over the bayou bridge, and saw their light vehicle
flash under the lamps at the Canal Street end, and that was the last we
ever did see of them. Our old horse with his heavy load was no match for
theirs. Long before we reached the open road beyond the cemeteries, they
were spinning along hundreds of yards out of sight ahead, and gaining at
every stride. In hurried words I told the aide-de-camp who the youth was
and what I knew about him, and, like myself, he was eager to overhaul
him; but it was useless. Not a trace could we find of the precious pair
as we drove in town. Day was breaking, and all our thoughts now turned
to Amory. Where was he, and how had he escaped the trap?
In the cold, misty dawn we reined up at the Magazine Street warehouse.
The sentry, with his head wrapped in the cape of his overcoat, called
out the corporal of the guard, and of him we eagerly inquired. Yes. The
lieutenant had returned, about an hour ago, his horse covered with mud
and much "blown." The lieutenant seemed to have a chill, and had gone
right to his room. Thither we followed, and noiselessly ascending the
stairs, made our way out to the gallery. A dim light burned in the
window; the door was half open, and by the bedside sat a soldier, who at
sight of Mr. Parker rose and saluted respectfully.
"What has been the matter, orderly?" asked the aide-de-camp, in a
whisper.
"I don't quite know, sir. Lieutenant Amory came home with a bad chill
about an hour ago, and quick as he dismounted I came over with him, and
he took some quinine and got to bed. He's just gone to sleep. He hasn't
been to bed for forty-eight hours, sir, and must be used up."
We stepped forward and bent over him. He had removed his heavy
riding-boots and trousers; his cavalry jacket was thrown on the chair at
the foot of the bed; and, muffled up in blankets, he lay there, sleeping
heavily yet uneasily. He moaned in his slumber, and threw himself
restlessly on the other side as we raised the light to see his face.
Placing my hand lightly on his forehead, I found it burning; so were his
cheeks, his hands. Fever had certainly set in after his chill, but of
how severe a character we could not judge, and it would never do to
awaken him. We stepped out on the landing, and after a brief
consultation, decided that Parker should find the attending surgeon and
send him to us as soon as possible. Meantime, I would remain with Amory.
In less than an hour the doctor arrived. Very thoroughly, yet very
gently, he examined his patient as to pulse and temperature; closely
scrutinized his face, and then replaced the bed-clothing that in his
fevered tossing Amory had thrown off. Seeing the anxiety in my eyes, he
spoke,--
"Very feverish, and probably quite ill. You did right not to wake him.
He will not sleep long, and every little helps. I will stay for the
present, and be with him when he does wake, for until then I cannot
really judge of his condition. What a night you have had of it, Mr.
Brandon! Parker has been telling me something of it."
I glanced half reproachfully at Parker. We had agreed to keep the thing
to ourselves until I could see Harrod and consult with him. But the aide
promptly relieved me of any misapprehension. He had "named no names,"
nor had he spoken of the part played by Peyton. Then, at the doctor's
suggestion, we withdrew, to seek such rest as we could find after our
night in the rain. Leaving Parker at headquarters, with the promise to
meet him late in the afternoon, I went to my own rooms, gave my
suspicious-looking landlady directions that I was not to be disturbed
until noon, and, tired out, slept until after two o'clock.
When I opened my eyes, Harrod Summers rose from an easy-chair in the
sitting-room, and came forward to greet me with outstretched hand. One
glance at his face showed that he had something of lively interest to
tell me, and as I sat up half sleepily in bed and answered his query as
to whether I felt rested or any the worse for the night's adventures, I
could see plainly that there was some matter that worried him, and
divined quite readily that he wanted to speak with me. It all came out
while I was shaving and dressing, and, dovetailed with what was already
known to Mr. Parker and myself, "a very pretty quarrel" as it stood was
unfolded to my ears.
It seems that on leaving the theatre the night previous, Colonel Summers
had stepped ahead of Kitty and her friend, Lieutenant Turpin, and was
searching for me. Seeing nothing of me in the crowd around the entrance,
he looked in at one or two resorts along Canal Street, thinking it
possible that he might meet some officers who could tell him of Amory's
movements, and so enable him to judge of mine. Meantime, Turpin and
Kitty strolled homeward, arm in arm. On reaching the Clay statue, Harrod
decided to search no farther, but to go home, feeling sure that if
anything were wrong I would follow him thither. At the house Pauline met
him with anxious inquiry. Had he seen or heard anything of Mr. Amory?
Kitty had returned ten or fifteen minutes before; had bidden Mr. Turpin
a very abrupt good-night, and excused herself on the plea of fatigue and
headache; and Pauline, following her to her room, found her very pale
and nervous, and learned from her that Amory had been at the theatre,
looking "so strangely" she thought he was ill; and, as they came down
the street, two men in a buggy drove up close beside them, and leaned
out and stared at them. She was utterly upset by Amory's appearance,
perhaps, and thinking of him, did not notice this performance until Mr.
Turpin suddenly dropped her arm and strode fiercely towards the buggy,
as though to demand the meaning of the conduct of its occupants;
whereupon they had whipped up and dashed off around the first corner;
and one of them--though his hat and coat-collar concealed his face--one
of them looked, she said, strangely like Ned Peyton. Pauline, seeing her
nervousness and fright, had soothed her with arguments as to the
impossibility of Peyton's being there; but she very anxiously spoke of
the matter to Harrod. Then, after we had made our midnight visit, Kitty,
in her loose wrapper, white as a sheet and trembling with dread and
excitement, had stolen to Pauline's room. Her own window overlooked the
balcony and the street, and unable to sleep, as she told Pauline, she
was lying wide awake, when she heard rapid hoof-beats on the pavement
coming from Canal Street,--a horse at rapid trot, but with no sound of
wheels in company, and the horse halted before their door. Unable to
restrain her curiosity or anxiety, she had risen, stolen to the window,
and peered out through the slats of the blind. A gas-lamp threw its
light upon the street in front, and there, plainly illumined by its
glare, sat Frank Amory in the saddle, gazing up at her window. She
turned instantly, she knew not why, and stepped back. He could not have
seen her, yet, in another moment, rapidly as he came, he rode away,
turned to the left at the corner, and she heard his hoof-beats dying
away in the direction of Dauphin Street. That was all, until we came,
and not until I had gone had she courage to creep over to Pauline and
tell her what she had seen.
Early in the morning Harrod had gone to headquarters; found Amory's
address, and on going thither was told by a soldier that the lieutenant
was too ill to see anybody. But, on sending up his name, the doctor and
Mr. Parker came down, and from them he learned that Amory had a sharp
attack of fever; nothing like as serious as Vinton's, and one that would
soon yield to treatment, provided nothing else went wrong. "There has
been some sore trouble or anxiety which has been telling upon Amory,"
said the doctor, "and that complicates matters somewhat. He _may_ have
had some delirium last night, but not enough to cause such a freak as an
all-night gallop. In fact, Parker has confided to me that Mr. Brandon
and himself know something of the matter, and that they mean to have a
talk with you."
"And that," said Harrod, "is what brought me here four hours ago,
though I had the grace not to disturb you. Now, what is it? What do you
know? Has that young cub Peyton been at the bottom of this?"
And then I told Harrod the story of our night's adventures. He listened
at first with composure; but when it came to the description of the two
skulkers at Gaston's and the conversation I had overheard, he rose
excitedly and began pacing rapidly up and down the room, tugging
fiercely at his moustache. Every now and then some muttered anathema
fell from his lips. He was evidently powerfully and unpleasantly moved,
and when at last my prolix recital was brought to an end with the
discovery of Peyton, and our fruitless chase, Harrod burst out into
genuine imprecation,--
"The doubly damned young scoundrel!" he groaned. "Why, Brandon, I
believe there is no cowardly villainy of which that fellow is not
capable. I ought to have gone with you. I _knew_ I ought to have gone."
"Why so?"
"Then we could have secured him by this time. It is too late now, I
fear. He is off for Havana or Mexico."
"But what good would that have done? What could we prove? What would you
want him secured for now that we have Amory safe and warned against him
in the future? You would not care to have the thing made public, would
you?"
"Not if _that_ were all! By heaven! the easiest solution of the whole
thing would be to let him try to trap Amory once more, and let Amory
know all that--that we both know."
"Do you mean that he has been at other mischief than this mysterious
attempt at Amory?"
"Yes. We thought him safely out of the way,--in Cuba. He was there, but
must have come directly to this point when he heard of the verdict in
those Ku-Klux cases. You know they acquitted Smith. No jury could be
found that dared do otherwise, I suppose," he added gloomily.
"I knew that, of course; but why should that bring Peyton here?"
"He _had_ to leave Havana, Brandon. Don't you remember father's anxiety
at Sandbrook before we came away? and what he said about its perhaps
being too late for any effort on his part? I was to have told you, but I
couldn't bear to just yet. Why, that damned scoundrel forged father's
signature to a large draft, and got the money there where the bankers
knew them both. It was only discovered here in New Orleans when the
draft came to the Hibernia, and as the loss comes on these old
correspondents of father's in Havana, he feels bound to see them
reimbursed, for he cannot bear the thought of disgrace to his name or
that of a kinsman. By Peyton's arrest we might secure part of the money.
That is all, for he has taken every cent father had in the world."
"Then the sooner we get to the chief of police and acquaint him with
Peyton's movements and description the better it will be," said I, who
felt no scruples whatever against bringing master Ned to the bar of
justice.
"It's too late, Brandon, I'm afraid. He saw Amory yesterday and Kitty
last night; he knows by this time we are here, and he is miles away.
Father had telegraphed at once that he would refund the amount of
Peyton's forged raise, and so suspended pursuit or arrest. Peyton of
course has heard of this or he would not have ventured hither in the
first place; but he well knows that with me here it is no place for him.
We will go, of course, and start the detectives, but I fear we have lost
him. Do you think Amory can see us this evening and tell us what he
knows of this affair?"
"We must see him, unless the doctor prohibits it; but come first to the
City Hall," said I. And as we rode thither in a street-car, both deeply
engrossed in thought, Harrod turned suddenly towards me,--
"Brandon, this is the most extraordinary piece of cross-purposes to me.
For three weeks--for a month past, Frank Amory has been a mystery. We
all thought him growing very fond of Kitty, and after the affair on the
Tennessee, where he was hurt, she seemed very much interested in him.
Now for nearly a month he has avoided her, and she thinks that--well,
she gave me a message for him the night we started, which virtually
begged his forgiveness for something she had said or done to wound him.
She would never have sent it if she did not believe he cared for her. Of
course I have never delivered it, because she was here to speak for
herself, and told me not to; but he has treated her with something like
aversion, and she resents it, and now she's flirting with young Turpin,
and then there will be more trouble. Great heavens! what a world of
misunderstandings it is!" And Harrod laughed despite his anxiety.
Having some inkling by this time as to the secret of Amory's hesitancy
and strange conduct towards Kitty, I told Harrod that a solution of the
matter had occurred to me. There was an explanation, I believed, and a
satisfactory one, and it would appear very shortly I thought. This, in
profound wisdom and some mystery of manner, I imparted to the perplexed
colonel. He gazed at me in bewilderment, but was polite enough to press
the matter no further.
"A few days will straighten that matter," said I. "We will see when he
is well enough to be about again." And in my purblind idiocy I really
fancied that letter of mine to Bella Grayson was going to settle
everything.
Our visit at police headquarters was brief and not particularly
satisfactory. It was already past steamer time for both Havana and Vera
Cruz. If Peyton were "wanted," a telegram to the quarantine station,
with his full description, might establish whether or no he was on
board; but there were no officers there to make the arrest, and an
arrest was not wanted in any event,--it was the recovery of the money.
If he had not left town it was just barely possible they might nab him;
but dozens of river boats left New Orleans for a dozen different points
every evening, and there were hundreds of hiding-places in the city
itself. He would try, said the chief, and one or two solemn-looking men
in civilian's dress came in at his call and listened attentively to our
description of Peyton and his companion; but, one and all, they said
they would like to hear Lieutenant Amory's account of what he had had to
do with the pair. So, taking one of the detectives, we drove up to
Amory's lodging.
The doctor was there and came down to meet us. I told him our dilemma,
and asked if it were possible to hear Amory's story. He looked grave for
a moment, and considered well before answering.
"You might see him, Mr. Brandon, if that will do. I would much rather he
did not talk until to-morrow, but if there be an emergency, why, he can
stand it. He is doing well, has slept well since his medicine began to
take hold this morning, and now he's awake and inclined to be fretful.
Something worries him, and perhaps it may be a benefit to see you."
So Harrod and the detective waited, while I went up to interview Mars.
Bless the boy's face! It brightened so at sight of me that I felt like
an uncle towards him. He was very pale, rather feeble, but eagerly
grasped my hand and welcomed me.
"Mr. Brandon has come to see you on business of some importance, Mr.
Amory," said the doctor, "and you can talk with him, but talk as little
as possible. We want to get you up and ready to travel, if you are bound
to go North, so quiet will be necessary for a day or two."
With that he vanished, taking the nurse with him. Then I told Amory that
Parker and I had been in search of him late at night, and fearing he was
taken ill, as Vinton had been, we trailed him out to the shell road, and
there came upon Peyton and a burly stranger, from whose conversation we
found they were lying in wait for him. The moment they were discovered
they drove off in a hurry. Could he give any clue by which we could find
them? Peyton was "wanted" for a grave crime.
"What?" asked Amory, flushing, and excited.
"Forgery," I answered. "Now let me be brief as possible, Amory. I hate
to excite you at such a time. Have you any idea where he is to-day, or
who the other man is?"
"None whatever."
"Tell me, quietly as you can, how you came to go out there alone on
horseback last night. Were you ill then?"
"Not so ill but that I knew what I was about. I had had some fever all
day, probably, and--and was worried about something,--a letter from
mother. She wants me to come North at once, and I would have gone but
for this. Perhaps it worked on me a good deal. It was late when we got
back from Jeffersonville. I wrote a note to Parker, and left it at
headquarters, and went on down-town, hoping to see Vinton, and intending
to dine with you at Moreau's. I did not feel well, but I wanted to see
you. Right there by the City Hotel a passing cab splashed me with mud,
and I turned into the barber-shop to have it rubbed off. Quite a number
of men were in there, talking a good deal, and seemed to have been
drinking, but I paid no particular attention to them, until just as I
was leaving one of them said, 'There's the ---- ----d Yank now, Peyton.
What better chance do you want?' Of course I turned quickly and went
right up to the fellow. One or two others sprang forward. Some one said,
'Shut up, you fool!' but it was too late. The man was drunk, probably,
and having put his foot in it, had bravado enough not to back out
entirely. He was in one of the chairs, his face covered with lather, and
as I inquired if he referred to me, he replied, with drunken gravity,
that his friend, Mr. Peyton, had expressed a desire to meet me, and
'there he was.' Sure enough there was young Peyton, stepping out from
between the chairs to his right, his face black as thunder. I was mad as
a hornet, of course, and never stopped to think. 'Are you responsible
for this gentleman's language?' said I. 'Just as you please,' said he;
and with that I struck him full under the jaw, and knocked him back
among the shaving-cups and bottles. Of course there was a terrible row.
He drew his pistol, but it was yanked out of his hand by some stranger.
A dozen men jumped in and separated us. I didn't know one of them, but
they seemed bent on having fair play. He raved about satisfaction, and I
said any time and any place. Then a gentlemanly-speaking fellow
suggested that the friends or seconds meet at the Cosmopolitan, at ten
o'clock; that would give plenty of time, and obviate any trouble there.
And before I fully realized the situation it was agreed that we were to
settle the thing according to the code, and our friends were to meet at
ten o'clock. With that he was led off, and I went out to think the
matter over. Of course there was nothing to do but fight. I had knocked
him down and was bound to give him satisfaction. But this was no cadet
fisticuff; it was a serious matter, and I needed a friend. Of course it
ought to be an officer, and now that Vinton was ill, I had no one with
whom to advise. I went down to the depot to find Turpin. He was a
classmate, and the very fellow to back me; but Turpin wasn't there. I
went to Moreau's in search of him, and--well, he was busy, and I
couldn't ask him. Then I went up to headquarters for Parker. He was
years ahead of me at the Point, but I knew he would see me through; but
Parker was out. He lived way up-town, and when I got there they told me
he had gone to the theatre. That is what brought me to the Varieties. It
was getting late, and I had nobody to act for me. All those infantry
fellows were strangers, and at ten o'clock I had to go to the
Cosmopolitan myself. Not a soul was there whom I knew, though one or two
men dropped in who looked curiously at me, and whom I thought I had seen
during the row.
"It was nearly eleven o'clock, and I was wellnigh crazy with excitement
and nervousness, fearing that I had made some mistake, and they could
say I shirked the meeting. But just about eleven a man came in, who
looked closely at me, said 'Captain Amory?' and handed me a note.
There's the note, Mr. Brandon; read it."
Read it I did. It was as follows:
"LIEUTENANT F. AMORY, U.S.A.:
"SIR,--In some way for which _we_ find it impossible to account,
the authorities have got wind of our affair, and threatened me with
arrest; but I learn from a friend that you are at the Cosmopolitan
unattended. The gentlemen who were present at the time of your
outrageous affront this afternoon were total strangers to me, with
one exception, but I cannot believe that they have betrayed me to
the police.
"As an officer you must be aware that there can be only one
reparation for a blow, and, if a gentleman, you cannot refuse it.
You said you would meet me any time and any place, and I hold you
to your word. I demand instant satisfaction, before the police can
interfere, and there is one place where, if alone, we can be sure
of quiet. That is a shooting- and fencing-gallery on the shell
road, where there is a room where gentlemen can settle such affairs
with swords, and where every attention is paid and inviolable
secrecy observed.
"Leaving my friend here with the policeman who is watching our
rooms, I shall slip out by the back way and go out on horseback. If
you are a man of honor you will follow. Keep on out Canal Street to
the end, cross the canal on the bridge, and then turn to the south.
I will watch for your horse and conduct you to the spot. The bearer
of this will bring a verbal answer, all that is necessary.
Reminding you once more of the outrage you have committed upon a
gentleman, and of your promise to render full satisfaction at such
time and place as I should demand, I am, with due respect,
"Yours, etc.,
"EDWARD HARROD PEYTON."
I read it through twice before speaking, Amory narrowly watching my
face.
"And do you mean to tell me, Frank Amory, that you could be led into a
snare by such a transparent piece of rascality as that?" I asked at
last.
"How should I know?" said Amory, flushing. "The letter _reads_ straight
enough. The barbers or somebody might have told the police, and I knew
only that Mr. Peyton was a relative of gentlemen and supposed him to be
a gentleman. Of course I went."
"All the young scoundrel wanted was to get you there alone and unarmed,
and then turn you over to that great bully he had for a terrible
beating. _He_ would never dare fight you fairly. This thing is a fraud
on its face; no Southern gentleman would ask such a thing of a stranger
as a midnight meeting without seconds in an unknown spot. Why, Amory, it
is absurd, and as I tell you, and as their talk proved, he only wanted
to lure you there and see you brutally pounded and mutilated. The
scoundrel knew he must leave town at once, and, hating you, he wanted
this low revenge first."
"Why should he hate me?" asked Amory.
"Because of your fight with those villains of Hank Smith's last
December, for one thing. He was hand in glove with them all. Because
of--well, another reason occurs to me that need not be spoken of just
now. I ought not to let you talk so much as it is. Tell me one thing,
however. You are anxious to go North, the doctor says. Can I serve you
in any way?"
Amory hesitated. "Mother is very anxious that I should come, if
possible," he faltered; "and she is right. There--there are reasons why
I ought to go and settle a matter that has given me much distress. I
told her of it, and she writes that only one course is open to me." And
the deep dejection and trouble in his face upset me completely.
"Youngster," said I, impulsively. "Forgive me if I appear to intrude in
your affairs, but you have become very near to me, if you know what I
mean, in the last few months. We have learned to regard you as something
more than a friend, the Summers' and I, and lately it seems to me that
an inkling of your trouble has been made known to me (who _would_ have
said, 'I have been prying into your affairs?')--and--Frank, don't worry
if it is about Bella Grayson. She is my own niece,--you may not
know,--and I had a letter from her the other day."
Amory almost started up in bed (capital nurse Mr. G. S. Brandon would
make for a fever patient ordinarily, you are probably thinking), but
though his eyes were full of eager inquiry and astonishment, he choked
back the question that seemed to rise to his lips and simply stared at
me, then with flushing cheeks turned quickly away.
"I cannot explain just now; try and be content with what I tell you for
a day or two," I went on. "You can hear more when you are better. One
thing I want to ask you for the benefit of the detectives who are
looking for Peyton. How do you suppose you were so fortunate as to
escape missing him and the other blackguard? We found them just below
the bridge to the right."
"I don't know," was the weary reply. "Things were all in a whirl after I
got that note. I remember telling that fellow to say that I would be
there without fail. Then it took some time to hurry up here and get my
horse, and to write a line to mother; then I did not go straight out
Canal Street. There were one or two things that had to be done; but I
rode like the devil to get there, and there wasn't a soul that I could
see anywhere around the far end of the bridge."
"But didn't you go down towards the lake,--to the right hand, I mean?"
"To the right? No, of course not," said Amory. "He said to the south;
look at the note again and you'll find it; and I had that little compass
there on my watch-chain. South was to the left, man, and,--why, it seems
to me I rode all night; found myself in town and rode back to the
swamps; then gave it up and came home somehow; I don't know. It was all
a blur."
Then, fortunately, the doctor came back, and, with one glance at Amory's
face, motioned to me that enough or more than enough had been said. I
bent over Amory and said, with the best intentions in the world of being
reassuring, "Remember, do not fret about going North or about anything
else of that kind; _that_ is coming out all right." And with the
profound conviction that it _was_ coming out all right through his
ministration, the recorder of this curious tangle took his leave.