AT THE FOOT OF THE CLIFF
The next morning, after again cautioning Jacqueline not to leave her
room until I returned, I went to the house of Captain Dubois on Paul
Street, in the Lower Town.
I was admitted by a pleasant-looking woman who told me that the captain
would not be home until three in the afternoon, so I returned to the
château, took Jacqueline for a sleigh ride round the fortifications,
and delighted her, and myself also, by the purchase of two fur coats,
heavy enough to exclude the biting cold which I anticipated we should
experience during our journey.
In the afternoon I went back to Paul Street and found M. Dubois at
home. He was a man of agreeable appearance, a typical Frenchman of
about forty-five, with a full face sparsely covered with a black beard
that was beginning to turn grey at the sides, and with an air of
sagacious understanding, in which I detected both sympathy and a
lurking humour.
When I explained that I wanted to secure two passages to St. Boniface,
his brows contracted.
"So you, too, are going to the Château Duchaine!" he exclaimed. "Is
there not room for two more on the boat of Captain Duhamel?"
I disclaimed all knowledge of Duhamel, but he looked entirely
unconvinced.
"It is a pity, _monsieur_, that you are not acquainted with Captain
Duhamel," he said dryly, "because I cannot take you to St. Boniface.
But undoubtedly Captain Duhamel will assist you and your friend on your
way to the Château Duchaine."
"Why do you suppose that I am going to the Château Duchaine?" I
inquired angrily.
He flared up, too. "_Diable_!" he burst out, "do you suppose all
Quebec does not know what is in the wind? But since you are so
ignorant, _monsieur_, I will enlighten you. We will assume, to begin
then, that you are not going to the château, but only to St. Boniface,
perhaps to engage in fishing for your support. Eh, _monsieur_?"
Here he looked mockingly at my fur coat, which hardly bore out this
presumption of my indigence.
"_Eh bien_, to continue. Let us suppose that the affairs of M. Charles
Duchaine have interested a gentleman of business and politics whom we
will call M. Leroux--just for the sake of giving him a name, you
understand," he resumed, looking at me maliciously. "And that this M.
Leroux imagines that there is more than spruce timber to be found on
the seigniory. _Bien_, but consider further that this M. Leroux is a
mole, as we call our politicians here. It would not suit him to appear
openly in such an enterprise? He would always work through his agents
in everything would he not being a mole?
"Let us say then that he arranges with a Captain Duhamel to convey his
party to St. Boniface to which point he will go secretly by another
route and that he will join them there and--in short, _monsieur_, take
yourself and your friend to the devil, for I won't give you passage."
His face was purple, and I assumed that he bore no love for Simon,
whose name seemed to be of considerable importance in Quebec. I was
delighted at the turn affairs were taking.
"You have not a very kindly feeling for this mythical person whom we
have agreed to call Leroux," I said.
Captain Dubois jumped out of his chair and raised his arms passionately
above him.
"No, nor for any of his friends," he answered. "Go back to him--for I
know he sent you to me--and tell him he cannot hire Alfred Dubois for
all the money in Canada."
"I am glad to hear you say that," I answered, "because Leroux is no
friend of mine. Now listen to me, Captain Dubois. It is true that I
am going to the château, if I can get there, but I did not know that
Leroux had made his arrangements already. In brief, he is in pursuit
of me and I have urgent reasons for avoiding him. My companion is a
lady----"
"Eh?" he exclaimed, looking stupidly at me.
"And I am anxious to take her to the château, where we shall be safe
from the man----"
"A lady!" exclaimed the captain. "A young one? Why didn't you tell me
so at first, _monsieur_? I'll take you. I will do anything for an
enemy of Leroux. He put my brother in jail on a false charge because
he wouldn't bow to him--my brother died there, _monsieur_--that was his
wife who opened the door to you. And the children, who might have
starved, if I had not been able to take care of them! And he has tried
to rob me of my position, only it is a Dominion one--the rascal!"
The captain was becoming incoherent. He drew his sleeve across his
eyes.
"But a lady!" he continued, with forced gaiety a moment later, "I do
not know your business, _monsieur_, but I can guess, perhaps----"
"But you must not misunderstand me," I interposed. "She is not----"
"It's all right!" said the captain, slapping me upon the back. "No
explanations! Not a word, I assure you. I am the most discreet of
men. Madeleine!"
This last word was a deep-chested bellow, and in response a little girl
came running in, staggering under the weight of the captain's overcoat
of raccoon fur.
"That is my overcoat voice," he explained, stroking the child's head.
"My niece, _monsieur_. The others are boys. I wish they were all
girls, but God knows best. And, you see, a man can save much trouble,
for by the tone in which I call Madeleine knows whether it is my
overcoat or my pipe or slippers that I want, or whether I am growing
hungry."
I thought that the captain's hunger voice must shake the rafters of the
old building.
"And now, _monsieur_," he continued seriously, when we had left the
house, "I am going to take you down to the pier and show you my boat.
And I will tell you as much as I know concerning the plans of that
scoundrel. In brief, it is known that a party of his friends has been
quartered for some time at the château; they come and go, in fact, and
now he is either taking more, or the same ones back again, and God
knows why he takes them to so desolate a region, unless, as the rumour
is, he has discovered coal-fields upon the seigniory and holds M.
Duchaine in his power. Well, _monsieur_, a party sails with Captain
Duhamel on tonight's tide, which will carry me down the gulf also.
"You see, _monsieur_," he continued, "it is impossible to clear the ice
unless the tide bears us down; but once the Isle of Orleans is past we
shall be in more open water and independent of the current. Captain
Duhamel's boat is berthed at the same pier as mine upon the opposite
side, for they both belong to the Saint-Laurent Company, which leases
them in winter.
"We start together, then, but I shall expect to gain several hours
during the four days' journey, for I know the _Claire_ well, and she
cannot keep pace with my _Sainte-Vierge_. In fact it was only
yesterday that the government arranged for me to take over the
_Sainte-Vierge_ in place of the _Claire_, which I have commanded all
the winter, for it is essential that the mails reach St. Boniface and
the maritime villages as quickly as possible. So you must bring your
lady aboard the _Sainte-Vierge_ by nine to-night.
"I shall telegraph to my friend Danton at St. Boniface to have a sleigh
and dogs at your disposal when you arrive, and a tent, food, and
sleeping bags," continued Captain Dubois, "for it must be a hundred and
fifty miles from St. Boniface to the Château Duchaine. It is not a
journey that a woman should take in winter," he added with a
sympathetic glance at me, "but doubtless your lady knows the way and
the journey well."
The question seemed extraordinarily sagacious; it threw me into
confusion.
"You see, M. Danton carried the mails by dog-sleigh before the
steamship winter mail service was inaugurated," he went on, "and now he
will be glad of an opportunity to rent his animals. So I shall wire
him tonight to hold them for you alone, and shall describe you to him.
And thus we will check M. Leroux's designs, which have doubtless
included this point. And so, with half a day's start, you will have
nothing to fear from him--only remember that he has no scruples.
Still, I do not think he will catch you and Mlle. Jacqueline before you
reach Château Duchaine," he ended, chuckling at his sagacity.
"Ah, well, _monsieur_, who else could your lady be?" he asked, smiling
at my surprise. "I knew well that some day she must leave those wilds.
Besides, did I not convey her here from St. Boniface on my return, less
than a week ago, when she pleaded for secrecy? I suspected something
agitated her then. So it was to find a husband that she departed thus?
When she is home again, kneeling at her old father's feet, pleading for
forgiveness, he will forgive--have no fear, _mon ami_."
So Jacqueline had left her home not more than a week before! And the
captain had no suspicion that she was married then! Yet Père Antoine
claimed to have performed the ceremony.
To whom? And where was the man who should have stood in my place and
shielded her against Leroux?
I made Dubois understand, not without difficulty, that we were still
unmarried. His face fell when he realized that I was in earnest, but
after a little he made the best of the situation, though it was evident
that some of the glamour was scratched from the romance in his opinion.
By now we had arrived at the wharf. It was a short pier at the foot of
one of the numerous narrow streets that run down from the base of the
mighty cliff which ascends to the ramparts and Park Frontenac. On
either side, wedged in among the floes, lay a small ship of not many
tons' burden--the _Claire_ and the _Sainte-Vierge_ respectively. The
latter vessel lay upon our right as we approached the end of the wharf.
"Hallo! Hallo, Pierre!" shouted Dubois in what must have resembled his
dinner voice, and a seaman with a short black beard came running up the
deck and stopped at the gangway.
"It is all right," said Dubois, after a few moments' conversation.
"Pierre understands all that is necessary, and he will tell the men.
And now I will show you the ship."
There was a small cabin for Jacqueline and another for myself
adjoining. This accommodation had been built for the convenience of
the passengers whom the Saint-Laurent Company, though its boats were
built for freight, occasionally accepted during its summer runs. I was
very well satisfied and inquired the terms.
"If it were not for the children there should be no terms!" exclaimed
the captain. "But it is hard, _monsieur_, with prices rising and the
hungry mouths always open, like little birds."
He was overjoyed at the sight of the fifty dollars which I tendered
him. However, my generosity was not wholly disingenuous. I felt that
it would be wise to make one stanch friend in that unfriendly city; and
money does bind, though friendship exist already.
"By the way," I said, "do you know a priest named Père Antoine?"
"An old man? A strong old man? Why, assuredly, _monsieur_," answered
the captain. "Everybody knows him. He has the parish of the Rivière
d'Or district, and the largest in Quebec. As far as Labrador it is
said to extend, and he covers it all twice each year, in his canoe or
upon snowshoes. A saint, _monsieur_, as not all of our priests are,
alas! You will do well to make his acquaintance."
He placed one brawny hand upon my shoulder and swung me around.
"Now at last I understand!" he bellowed. "So it is Père Antoine who is
to make you and mademoiselle husband and wife! And you thought to
conceal it from me, _monsieur_!" he continued reproachfully.
His good-humour being completely restored by this prospective
consummation of the romance, the captain parted from me on the wharf on
his way to the telegraph-office, repeating his instructions to the
effect that we were to be aboard the boat by nine, as he would not be
able to remain later than that hour on account of the tide.
It had grown dark long before and, looking at my watch, I was surprised
to see that it was already past six o'clock. I had no time to lose in
returning to the château.
But though I could see it outlined upon the cliff, I soon found myself
lost among the maze of narrow streets in which I was wandering. I
asked the direction of one or two wayfarers, but these were all men of
the labouring class, and their instructions, given in the provincial
patois, were quite unintelligible to me.
A man was coming up the street behind me, and I turned to question him,
but as I decreased my pace, he diminished his also, and when I
quickened mine, he went faster as well. I began to have an uneasy
sense that he might be following me, and accordingly hastened onward
until I came to a road which seemed to lead up the hill toward the
ramparts.
The château now stood some distance upon my left, but once I had
reached the summit of the cliff it would only be a short walk away.
The road, however, led me into a blind alley, the farther extremity
being the base of the cliff; but another street emerged from it at a
right angle, and I plunged into this, believing that any of the byways
would eventually take me to the top of the acclivity.
As I entered this street I heard the footsteps behind me quicken and,
looking around, perceived that the man was close upon me. He stopped
at the moment I did and disappeared in a small court.
There was nothing remarkable in this, only to my straining eyes he
seemed to bear a resemblance to the man with the patch whom I had
encountered at the corner of Sixth Avenue on that night when I met
Jacqueline.
I knew from Leroux's statement to me that the man had been a member of
his gang. I was quite able to take care of myself under normal
circumstances.
But now--I was afraid. The mighty cliff before me, the silence of the
deserted alleys in which I wandered helplessly, the thought of
Jacqueline alone, waiting anxiously for my return, almost unmanned me.
I felt like a hunted man, and my safety, upon which her own depended,
attained an exaggerated importance in my mind.
So I almost ran forward into the byway which seemed to lead toward the
summit, and as I did so I heard the footsteps close behind me again.
I had entered one of the narrowest streets I had ever seen, and the
most curious. It was just wide enough to admit the passage of a sleigh
perhaps; the crumbling and dilapidated old houses, which seemed
deserted, were connected overhead by a succession of wooden bridges,
and those on my left were built into the solid rock, which rose sheer
overhead.
In front of me the alley seemed to widen. I almost ran; but when I
reached it I found that it was merely a bend in the passage, and the
alley ran on straight as before.
On my left hand was a tiny unfenced courtyard, not more than six yards
in area, and I turned into this quickly and waited. I was confident
that the bend in the street had hidden me from my pursuer and, as I
anticipated, he came on at a swifter rate.
He was abreast of me when I put out my hand and grasped him by the
coat, while with the other I felt in my pocket for my automatic pistol.
It was not there. I had left it in the pocket of the overcoat which I
had changed at the furrier's shop and had sent to the château. And I
was looking into the villainous face of the ruffian who had knocked me
down on Sixth Avenue.
"What are you following me for?" I cried furiously.
He wrenched himself out of my grasp and pulled a long knife from his
pocket. I caught him by the wrist, and we wrestled to and fro upon the
snow. He pummelled me about the face with his free hand, but though I
was no match for him in strength, he could not get the knife from me.
The keen steel slashed my fingers, but the thought of Jacqueline helped
me.
I got his hand open, snatched the knife, and flung it far away among
the stunted shrubs that clung to the cliffside. And we stood watching
each other, panting.
He did not try to attack me again, but stood just out of my reach,
grinning diabolically at me. His gaze shifted over my shoulder.
Instinctively I swung around as the dry snow crackled behind me.
I was a second too late, for I saw nothing but the looming figure of a
second ruffian and his upraised arm; then painless darkness seemed to
enfold me, and I was conscious of plunging down into a fathomless abyss.