FOILED.
“The marquis!” gasped Spenser Churchill, and he sank back, still
staring at the haggard and wasted face, from which the piercing eyes
glared down at him like ardent coals, with a fearful, horrified gaze.
Then he half-rose, and, with a grotesque attempt at a smile, wagged his
head at Percy Levant, who stood erect and alert.
“This--this--is a very pretty little plot, my dear Percy,” he said;
“but you don’t imagine that the dear marquis will take your word
against mine? Marquis,” and he managed to raise his eyes to the fierce
face with a ghastly attempt at a smile, “I am sorry that you should
have been deceived by what was palpably an attempt on my part to lure
this gentleman into a trap. He is--you don’t know him, but I do, and I
must introduce him. This man is an adventurer, a scamp who would sell
his soul for a ten-pound note. You won’t let his word weigh against
mine--against Spenser Churchill’s!”
“It is quite true, my lord,” said Percy Levant. “As this man says--I
am an adventurer. I have been willing to sell my soul for a ten-pound
note; I am utterly unworthy of belief,” his voice grew hoarse and
broken, “and it is only the influence of a woman’s pure and spotless
nature that has, at the eleventh hour, induced me to stop short in the
villainous work to which this man tempted me. I am as bad as he--up to
this point. I ask for no mercy, no indulgence, no credit; from his own
lips you shall judge him, and from the papers you have in your hand.”
The marquis just glanced at him--no more, then turned his fierce eyes
upon Spenser Churchill again.
“Very good,” said Spenser Churchill, shrugging his shoulders, and
stretching a trembling hand toward his hat. “I--I leave the whole
business to you, my dear marquis. I will not condescend to--to answer
the accusations which--which----” He shuffled nearer to the door, and
his heart rose as he saw that neither Percy Levant nor the marquis made
any attempt to stop him--“which my character will enable me to--to
repel. I wish you success, Mr. Percy Levant, and--and good-morning.”
He made an ironical bow as he backed toward the door, and was turning
to make a rush for it, when Lord Cecil stepped before him.
At sight of him Spenser Churchill’s face grew livid, and he put up his
hand as if to ward off an expected blow; but Lord Cecil scarcely looked
at him, and passed to the marquis’ side.
“Is--is this true, my lord?” he demanded, hoarsely.
The marquis dropped into a chair, and, still clutching the papers,
gazed up at him with a wild despair which would have touched even Lord
Cecil if he had not loved Doris too well to think of any one but her.
“It is true, my lord!” said Percy Levant, solemnly and sorrowfully.
“Would to Heaven that both he and I had lied! It is true, every word
of it! The separation between Miss Marlowe and yourself was worked by
Spenser Churchill. He did, by word and deed, sell her to me.”
Lord Cecil made a movement as if to strike him, but Percy Levant stood
patient and unresisting.
“And yet more, my lord! It was he who set the trap which caught you and
handed you, fettered and bound, to his accomplice.”
“Grace! It is--it must be--a lie!” broke from Cecil’s white lips.
A hollow laugh rang out behind him, and Lady Grace glided from
her dressing-room. All eyes were fixed upon her as she stood, her
exquisitely-clad form posed in an attitude of contemptuous defiance.
A hectic flush burned on her cheeks, and she swept the group with a
disdainful glance, as she fanned herself.
“Permit me to bear my testimony to this gentleman’s veracity,” she
said. Spenser’s face, which had cleared suddenly at her appearance,
fell again, and he shrank back and leaned against the wall, where he
stood, nervously passing his hands over each other. “What he states is
quite correct. I don’t know how he discovered it, but he seems to have
made a tool of ‘dear’ Mr. Churchill, while ‘dear’ Mr. Churchill was
under the pleasing delusion that he had got a submissive and willing
dupe in him. It is probable that he knows the whole scheme. For it was
a scheme, Cecil, and,” with a disdainful smile, “a very good one. Any
but the most trustful of men would have seen through it. I compliment
you, my dear Cecil--I suppose I must say Lord Cecil now!--upon your
credulity.”
Cecil looked at her; then hung his head with shame--for her, seeing her
utter shamelessness.
“I am utterly at a loss to conceive why my dear Mr. Churchill should
have exerted himself on my behalf. Of course, I knew it was from no
love he bore me--but I understand it all now!”
Cecil turned his back upon her, and, leaning his elbow on the
mantel-shelf, covered his eyes with his hand.
“Mr. Spenser Churchill is really and truly a remarkably clever man;
but, like some other clever men, he has chosen his tools badly. I
can’t understand why he should have confided in a person of Mr.
Levant’s character!” and she shot a contemptuous glance from under her
half-closed lids at his pale face. “But having done so, he has, of
course, been betrayed. ‘Put not your trust in--adventurers’ will for
the future be an excellent motto for him!” She laughed, and the fan
moved a little more quickly. “And now, having borne my testimony to the
truth of Mr. Levant’s assertions, I have only to express my sympathy
for ‘dear’ Mr. Churchill’s discomfiture, and your disappointment, my
dear Cecil”--her face grew red, and her delicately-molded nostrils
expanded with a malignant enjoyment--“your terrible disappointment! If
you had only known all this a few hours earlier, why, you would have
thrown off your new love, and been on with the old! But as it is, Mr.
Levant, with all his newly-born penitence, has been clever enough to
secure Miss Marlowe, otherwise the marquis’ daughter, for his wife, and
you are tricked. It is a vulgar word, Lord Cecil, but it is the only
suitable one.” She laughed again, and her fan moved rapidly. “Won’t you
see--or do you?--this penitent and remorse-stricken gentleman’s game?
You don’t! Why, you observe that he has married the lady he wanted,
and by his betrayal of his accomplice saved his ten thousand pounds.
Mr. Levant, I congratulate you upon your dexterity,” and she made him
a sweeping curtsey. “Mr. Spenser Churchill is clever, I admit. I, too,
always had an idea that I possessed a turn for intrigue; but you--oh,
you are a genius, and the honors remain in your deserving hands.”
Percy Levant remained as silent, as impressive, as a statue; but
Spenser Churchill, whose face had reflected every word Lady Grace had
uttered, began to draw himself upright, and a low, chuckling laugh
broke from him.
“You are right,” he said, half-gloatingly, half-fearfully; “you and I
are out of the game, dear Lady Grace; but I think--I really do think
that dear Lord Cecil is in the same boat! Yes, Mr. Levant has been
one too many for us all. All! My dear Cecil, you have my profound
sympathy in the loss of the young lady you had set your heart on. My
dear marquis, if I may be permitted to offer a word of humble advice,
I should recommend you to forgive your newly found daughter, the
ballet girl--no! pardon, the actress; and welcome as a son-in-law the
gentleman upon whom she has bestowed her hand. It is true that he is
an adventurer; that he sprang from the gutter; that he bought her and
captured her by a plot; but he is her husband after all, and, really,
he is no worse than the stock from which she sprang. He will be a
worthy addition to the house of Stoyle! Forgive the young couple--the
adventurer and the actress--and make them happy with your blessing. Do!
my dear marquis.”
Lord Cecil’s hand closed spasmodically, but he kept it at his side;
Percy Levant stood silent and impassive, and the marquis merely raised
his eyes from the paper upon which they had been fixed.
“I--I really don’t think we need remain any longer, dear Lady Grace,”
murmured Spenser Churchill. “I really don’t think we have any right
to intrude upon this happy family party. We must leave them to
settle their little differences, eh? Allow me to escort you to your
hotel. I have to preside at a charitable meeting in London the day
after to-morrow, alas! or I should like to remain and see the mutual
reconciliation; but duty--duty.” He crept nearer the door and offered
his arm, but Lady Grace, with a haughty gesture, waved him off.
“No? You would like to linger till the denouement? Yes? Then I must go
alone----”
“Stop!” said Percy Levant, quietly.
Spenser Churchill pulled up and looked at him sideways. “I--I beg your
pardon.”
“Move at your peril,” said Percy, sternly.
Spenser Churchill sidled toward the window, and with a quick movement
threw it open.
“You mean to threaten me, detain me, offer me violence, my dear Percy,”
he said, with a leer. “I think not. If any person--any person,” and he
glanced at Lord Cecil, “presumes to prevent my departure, I shall call
for assistance. There are police in the street, who will protect me, an
English gentleman of unblemished character and honorable repute. There
are police, I say.”
“There are,” said Percy Levant, quietly and incisively. “There is an
English detective at the door ready to arrest you.”
Spenser Churchill shrank back from the window.
“Indeed! On what charge, pray?”
“Conspiracy, and robbery from the dead!” and he pointed to the papers
which had been stolen from Jeffrey Flint’s body.
Spenser Churchill’s face grew white, but he forced a laugh.
“Conspiracy, eh? The other is nonsense, utter nonsense! Who’s to
prove--ahem! But, conspiracy? With whom? With Mr. Percy Levant?”
“With Mr. Percy Levant,” repeated Percy, grimly. “Your fellow criminal!
One step, one cry for assistance, and he arrests us both.”
Spenser Churchill clutched the curtain.
“You--you--traitor!” he gasped.
Percy Levant turned to Lord Cecil.
“I have simply stated the truth, my lord. A detective is waiting
outside. It rests with you; it is for you to decide whether you will
charge us. One thing remains for me to do.”
He went to the door of the anteroom, and taking Doris’ hand led her
toward the group.
“Doris,” he said, in a low voice that trembled and broke for the first
time. “Doris--your father!”
With pale face, wet with tears, Doris stood for a moment, irresolute.
The old man, who had raised his head as her name smote upon his ear,
made an effort to rise; then sank back with outstretched hands and
piteously pleading face.
“My child, my child!” he cried, hoarsely.
It would have required a harder heart than Doris’ to resist such an
appeal, an appeal for forgiveness, a cry of penitence and remorse. She
hesitated a moment, while one could count twenty. Then she was at his
knee, and his weak, quivering hands were upon her head.
Lady Grace, panting with the suppressed fury of jealousy, glanced at
the picture which nearly moved two of the spectators to tears.
“How--how charming!” she said in a harsh voice. “Father and daughter.
You have only to extend your blessing to the husband, my lord!” and she
swept a contemptuous courtesy on Percy Levant.
“Yes, don’t forget the wily adventurer, the music teacher of Soho, your
son-in-law, dear marquis!” pursued Spenser Churchill, sardonically.
The marquis started, and looked up at Percy Levant piteously.
“Are you--are you her husband?” he managed to articulate.
Percy Levant turned his haggard face toward him. “No, my lord,” he
said, hoarsely, “we are not, and never shall be, married.”
The marquis drew a long breath. “No!”
“No,” said Percy Levant, almost inaudibly. “If I had loved her
less----” he stopped. “My love for her has saved her, my lord. Miss
Marlowe--Lady Mary--is free from any claims from me.”
Lady Grace’s fan came to a sudden stoppage.
“Not married!” she gasped.
“Not married!” echoed Spenser Churchill, in accents of malignant
disappointment.
Percy Levant looked at them both with a steady gaze. “Not married,” he
said. “You may go now, Spenser Churchill.”
“No!” cried a grave voice. It was Lord Cecil’s; and he sprang to the
window. “Not till justice----”
Percy Levant folded his arms and stood resigned and patient.
“Not till justice has been satisfied. I charge you, Spenser Churchill,
with conspiracy----”
“And--and--Levant, and Lady Grace!” said Spenser Churchill, with a leer.
“I am ready,” said Percy Levant, quietly.
But as he spoke Doris sprang to her feet, and, gently putting her
father’s arm aside, stood in front of Percy Levant.
“No!” she cried, panting; “I say no!”
Percy Levant drew a long breath. “Let the law take its course, Lady
Mary!” he said, in a low voice. But she still stood in front of him as
if to shield and protect him.
The marquis held out his hand to her as if he could not bear her to
leave his side.
“Come to me, come to me. Let them--let them go,” and he glanced in the
direction of Lady Grace and Spenser Churchill.
The latter did not wait for the permission to be repeated. With an air
of long-suffering patience and saintly resignation, he shook his head
reproachfully at Percy Levant.
“Judas!” he murmured, “we shall have a day of reckoning, we two, Judas!”
Percy Levant scarcely glanced at him; and Spenser Churchill as he
moved slowly to the door, smiled a ghastly smile at Lady Grace. “Let
me escort you from this exclusively family party, dear Lady Grace,”
he said, sardonically. But, like most conspirators when the plot has
failed, she drew back and eyed him scornfully.
“Thanks, Mr. Churchill; but I have no further use for you.”
At this turning of the tables, at this repudiation by the woman he had
regarded and used as a tool and dupe, Spenser Churchill was almost
overcome, and his light eyes flashed viciously; then, with an effort
that must have caused him a great deal of self-restraint, he checked
himself, and stretching out his hand and casting up his eyes to the
ceiling, said decorously, and proudly:
“I forgive you, Lady Grace. I pity you, and I shall not forget to
remember you in my prayers. Poor woman!”
Now, Lady Grace ought to have turned her back upon him in silent
contempt, but she had been sorely strained, and this, the hypocritical
taunting of the worm who had a few moments ago been ready to crawl at
the feet of his accusers, was the last straw which broke the back of
her self-restraint, and as Mr. Spenser Churchill passed her, I regret
to say that she closed her fan sharply and struck him across the face
with it. Lady Grace possessed a magnificent arm; the fan was a large
one, of carved ivory, with many sharp corners. Mr. Spenser Churchill
uttered a howl of pain, and fled.
Lord Cecil approached her and offered her his arm. She had merely, if
not quite, wrecked his life, she had caused pain and suffering to the
girl he loved, she was unworthy of one moment’s pity, but he remembered
that she was a woman, and that she would have been his wife, and he
offered her his arm in silence. She looked up at his face with a quick,
almost agonized, questioning, then turned from him, her face white, her
lips quivering.
“No!” she said, almost inaudibly, “there can be no half way for us.
Friend or foe, Cecil! Will you keep your promise to me?” She had no
need to go further; his face, grave and grim, answered for him. With
a swift compression of her lips she caught up a shawl that hung on a
chair, and without lifting her eyes to his face, again slowly left the
room.
Percy Levant took up his hat and went to Lady Despard, who was standing
beside Doris.
“Will you--will you stay with her and--and help her? She was never more
in need of your love than now,” and he glanced significantly at the
white face of the old man at whose knees Doris knelt.
She nodded silently, and Percy Levant, as he passed Lord Cecil, said in
a low voice:
“I hold myself at your disposal, my lord, completely, entirely,
without any reservation.” Then he stopped and looked at Doris--a look
impossible to describe, easy enough to imagine--and seemed about to
speak, but with a sigh he turned and walked out, and Doris scarcely
knew that he had gone.