THEY SEND FOR CLAIRE
I could only see the fellow's back, with hair hanging low over the
collar, but his voice was clear.
"Got here five minutes ago. The preacher is locked in the parlor."
"By God! Good! Now we can play out the game, eh, Captain? Or," turning
about suspiciously, and staring at the other, who sat with eyes shaded by
one hand, "are you weakening as the time draws near?"
"Hell's fire! No! We gave her a choice, and she only laughed at it. I'll
go on now to spite the wench; only I think we should bring in the boy
first, and prove to her that we've actually got him."
Fagin emptied the glass in his hand, giving utterance to an oath as he
replaced it on the table.
"Yer as chicken-hearted drunk as sober, Grant," he said coarsely. "Did
yer hear the fool, Jones, an' after all I've told him?"
The bearded man nodded silently, his eyes shifting from one face to the
other. Fagin grinned, and poured out another drink.
"Now listen again," he went on, half angrily. "That boy's worth money ter
us--a thousand pounds,--but it wouldn't do yer any good ter be mixed up
in the affair, would it? What chance would yer have in this estate, or
fer yer commission either, if Howe or Clinton got an inklin' of yer game?
Good Lord, man! they'd hang yer instead of the other fellow. You'll have
ter lie some as it is, I reckon, ter explain why yer left Sir Henry, an'
came down here. Have yer got that fact inter yer brains?"
Grant glared at him wickedly, but remained silent across the table.
"Yer already in bad enough, without huntin' more trouble. Better leave
the boy alone. I thought, at first, we'd have ter use him, but I don't
now. Let the girl believe he's deserted, and that yer in a position ter
help him. That will serve yer purpose better than the other scheme. It
may awaken her gratitude, her sweet love!"
"Damn her love!"
"So it isn't love, eh, that makes yer so anxious. I thought as much. What
is it, then--revenge?"
Grant held his breath a moment, his dull eyes on the faces of the two
men.
"Well, I might as well tell you," he snarled at last. "I loved her once,
I guess; anyhow I wanted her badly enough. I want her now, but not in
just the same way. I want to show her I'm the master. I want to give her
a lesson, and that cub brother of hers. I'd have got them all, the
Colonel with them, if that damned Colonial spy hadn't stolen my coat. I
had them, dead to rights, Fagin, and the papers to prove it. Now I don't
care how it's done, so I get her. I thought she'd marry me to save the
boy, but if she won't, why then, you carry out your plan--what is it?"
Fagin laughed, again emptying his glass.
"Easy enough. She's alone, except fer her father, and he can't get out of
bed. We've got Jenks here, an' the damned old coward will do whatever I
tell him."
"But she despises me--"
"Oh, no! We'll make you a victim. That will leave things in proper shape
between yer two. We'll play it off as a drunken lark--eh, Jones? My God!
it won't be the first time we've done the trick either. Do you remember
that love-sick couple over at Tom's River, Ned? Never laughed so much in
my life. This is a better one. Lord! but won't old Mortimer rave, an'
mighty little good it will do him. Come, what do yer say, Grant? Are yer
game?"
"Hell's fire--yes." He got to his feet, gripping the back of his chair.
"Bring--bring 'em in; this is a good place."
Fagin struck the table with his fist.
"Of course it is, drink ter the bride after the ceremony. Bill, bring in
the preacher."
It was growing daylight. I could perceive the glow of the sky out through
the window, but the candles still sputtered on the table, casting grim
lights and shadows on the faces of the three men. As Bill disappeared
into the parlor, I stole silently back to the library door. What could be
done was not entirely clear, but I proposed to defend Claire in every way
possible.
"Tom," I whispered briefly, "find the boys, and bring them in here,
through that broken window. They are in the orchard to the right, and
there are no guards in front. Move lively, but be quiet."
"What is it, Major?" asked young Mortimer, eagerly.
"I can't explain now. I must get back where I can see and hear. But there
is going to be a fight. Hold the men ready here until I call. See that
their weapons are in good order."
I caught the glint of his eye, but could wait no longer. Indeed I was
scarcely back, snuggled under the stairs, when Bill came forth, gripping
the collar of his prisoner's coat, and urging him down the hall. I
crouched lower, the morning light threatening to reveal my hiding place,
yet with mind more at ease, now I knew the men were close at hand. Within
five minutes the entire squad would be crowded into that room, eager for
trouble to begin. Probably Fagin did not have a half-dozen fellows in the
house. If we could strike swiftly enough we might overpower them all,
without creating alarm outside, where the main body lay. Some
carelessness had brought us good luck in having the front of the house
left unguarded. These thoughts swept over me, and left me confident. The
time had come when I was to serve her, to prove my own worthiness. I felt
ready and eager for the trial.
I caught a glimpse of Jenks's face, as Bill jerked him forward. The man
was gray with terror, his parchment-like skin seamed and contorted. He
was a tall, loose-jointed creature, wearing a long black coat flapping
about his knees. The guard fairly held him up in the doorway, and both
Fagin and Jones laughed at the pitiful sight, the former ending his roar
with an outburst of profanity.
"Go on back ter the front door, Bill," he ordered roughly. "This
fellow'll never run away; his legs wouldn't carry him. Now, Mr.
Preacher," glowering savagely at the poor devil across the bottle-strewn
table, "do yer know who I am?"
Jenks endeavored to answer, from the convulsive movement of his throat,
but made no sound. Fagin cursed again.
"If it wasn't such a waste of good liquor I'd pour some of this down your
gullet," he exclaimed, shaking a half-filled bottle in his fist. "Then
maybe you could answer when I spoke to you. Now, see here, you canting
old hypocrite, I'm Red Fagin, an' I guess you know what that means. I'm
pisen, an' I don't like your style. Now you're goin' to do just what I
tell you, or the boys will have a hangin' bee down in the ravine. Speak
up, an' tell me what you propose to do."
Jenks wet his dry lips with his tongue, clinging to the sides of the door
with both hands.
"I--I am the Lord's servant," he managed to articulate, "and have taken
no part in this unholy war."
"You're a cheerful liar, but don't try snivelling on me. You are too big
a coward to go out yourself, but you're hand in glove with Farrell. Oh, I
know you, sneaking saint; I've had my eyes on you a long while. Now it's
do as I say, or hang; that's all, Jenks, an' I'm cussed if I care very
much which you choose."
"What--what is it you wish of me?" his uncertain gaze wandering over the
three faces, but coming back to Fagin.
"You are to marry this officer here to a young lady."
"What--what young lady?"
"Mortimer's daughter--Claire is the name, isn't it, Grant? Yes, Claire;
you know her, I reckon."
I could hear the unfortunate man breathe in the silence, but Fagin's eyes
threatened.
"Is--is she here?" he faltered helplessly. "Does she desire the--the
ceremony?"
"That doesn't happen to be any of your business," broke in Fagin bluntly.
"This is my affair, an' the fewer questions you ask the better. If we
want some fun, what the hell have you got to do with it, you snivelling
spoil-sport! I haven't asked either of them about it. I just decided it
was time they got married. Stand up, man, and let go that door," he drew
a derringer from his belt and flung it onto the table. "There's my
authority--that, an' fifty hell-hounds outside wondering why I don't loot
the house, an' be done. Do you want to be turned over to them? If you
don't, then speak up. Will you tie them, or not?"
Jenk's eyes wandered toward Jones, who stared blankly back at him, yellow
fangs showing beneath his beard.
"Why--of course--yes," he faltered weakly. "I--suppose I must."
"Don't seem much chance to get out, does there, parson? Well, I reckon it
won't hurt your conscience particularly. Bill! Where's Bill?"
"You sent him to guard the front door," explained Jones.
"That's right, I did. You'll do just as well. Go up stairs, an' bring the
girl down. She's with the old man, an' Culberson is guarding the door.
Better not say what she's wanted for. Just tell her Captain Grant wishes
to speak to her a moment."
Jones straightened up, and pushed past the preacher, the stairs creaking
under his weight as he went up over my head. Grant arose, and stood
looking out the window into the glow of the sunshine, and Jenks dropped
into the nearest chair, still staring across the table at Fagin. For the
first time I seemed to entirely grasp the situation. I got to my feet,
yet dare not move so much as a step, for Fagin was facing the hallway. It
apparently would be better to wait until after the girl came down stairs,
until those in the house were all together, before we struck. I wanted to
know what she would say, how she would act, when she understood what was
proposed. The time allowed me for decision was short, as it seemed
scarcely a minute before I heard their footsteps above.