It seemed as though fate had decreed that there should be but two more
acts in the career of Lord Farquhart. All London knew that he was to
be condemned to death for highway robbery at ten o'clock on the Friday
morning. All London knew that his hanging would quickly follow its
decree, and all London, apparently, was determined to see, at least,
the first act in the melodrama. The court was crowded with society's
wits and beaux, with society's belles, many of the latter hooded and
masked, but many revealing to all the world their ardent sympathy for
the prisoner at the bar.
Lord Farquhart's habitual pose of indifference, of insolent
indifference to the world and its opinions, stood him in good stead on
that October morning. He had passed through moments of blackest agony,
of wild rebellion against the doom in store for him. He had gibed and
mocked and railed at fate, at the laws of his country that could
condemn an absolutely innocent man to so grewsome a death. He had
struggled and fought with his jailers; he had appealed in vain to man
and God, but now he sat quite calm and still, determined only that the
world that had so incomprehensibly turned from him should not gloat
over his despair. Only once had his lips twitched and his eyelids
contracted, and that was when he recognized in a figure hooded,
cloaked and masked in black, the Lady Barbara Gordon. He had turned
his eyes from her instantly, but not quickly enough to miss, the sight
of the pathetic white hands she'd stretched toward him. Was she asking
for pardon, he wondered. No word from Barbara had reached him in his
confinement.
A moment later a faint smile flickered across Lord Farquhart's face.
He had caught sight of Harry Ashley occupying a prominent place near
the judge's stand, and his conviction that Ashley was responsible for
his imprisonment and for the sentence that was so soon to be
pronounced strengthened his determination to hide his anguish from the
world. For the rest, his eyes traveled impersonally over the crowded
room. He would greet no one of the intimate friends who crowded as
close as they dared to the place where he sat.
Lord Grimsby had not yet entered the room, but from behind the
curtains that covered the door of Lord Grimsby's private apartment
rolled Lord Grimsby's sonorous voice. It reached the first circle of
inquisitive ears, and the meaning of his words slipped through the
courtroom.
"Ay, but I tell you it was the same. I've had dealings with the fellow
before. I've seen him at close quarters before. I know his voice and
his touch and his manner. He's like enough to Lord Farquhart in size
and build, but he's not like him altogether."
"And you say he stopped you, my lord?"
"Stopped me not two hours' ride from Padusey!" roared Lord Grimsby.
"On the darkest bit of the road, the fellow sprang from nowhere and
brandished his sword in front of my horse. And then he took my purse
and my seal and my rings. You've questioned all the guards most
carefully? They're sure that the prisoner did not leave his quarters
last night? That no one entered his room or left it?"
"Why, yes." The answer was low and deferential. "He had visitors
asking for him in plenty, some with permits and some without, but no
one saw him save the guard."
"And the guard is sure he did not leave his room?" Lord Grimsby's roar
was heard again.
"They're sure, my lord. And, in very truth, would the prisoner have
returned had he once escaped? Lord Farquhart's presence here argues
Lord Farquhart's innocence of this latest outrage."
"One can argue little of the devil's doings," raged Lord Grimsby.
"But will this not free Lord Farquhart?" asked the deferential voice.
"How can it free him, fool?" demanded the roaring voice. "How could I
prove that the fellow I met was not the devil trying to save one of
his own brood? And would there not be fools a-plenty to say that I'd
met no one, that I'd invented the tale to save myself from the devil's
clutches, if I freed Lord Farquhart on such evidence? The whole affair
from the beginning has savored of the devil's mixing. Who else would
have driven his majesty on to demand such hot haste against the
fellow? 'Tis all most uncanny and most unwholesome. I'll be thankful,
for one, when my part in it's over."
"I wonder on what we wait. 'Tis surely long after ten o'clock!"
It was Ashley's voice that made this statement loud enough for all the
room to hear, loud enough to penetrate even to Lord Grimsby's ears;
loud enough to force that timorous jurist back into a judicial calm.
It was then that Lord Farquhart's lips parted in a second smile. It
was then that some fifty hands sprang to their swords, for there were
fifty gentlemen there who resented Ashley's unseemly eagerness to
hurry on Lord Farquhart's fate.
"And 'tis like the devil, too, to make me finish his black work,"
commented Lord Grimsby's natural voice, ere his judicial voice took up
the opening formalities of the sentence he was to pronounce.
'Twas well known that the crown left naught to the court save the
announcement of the crown's decree. Thus was Lord Grimsby hiding
himself behind his majesty, the king, in order to protect himself from
his majesty, the devil, when he was interrupted by a commotion that
would not be downed, by the cries of silence from the court's
servants.
"I tell you I must speak! I will be heard! I will speak! Will you all
stand by and hear an innocent man sentenced to be hanged merely for
the sake of custom, of courtesy to the court; merely on a question of
privilege to speak? I should have been here before. I was detained.
Now I will speak. I will be heard, I say. Will be, _will be_, _will
be_!"
It was a girl's voice that rang out sharp and clear. To Lindley it
seemed faintly familiar, and yet the girl who spoke was a stranger to
him; a stranger, apparently, to everyone in the room. She stood in
front of Jack Grimsby. It was Jack Grimsby she was haranguing. She
was, evidently, a woman of rank and quality, for she carried herself
as one accustomed to command and to be obeyed. She was gowned in blue
velvet, and her russet hair, drawn high in a net--a fashion in favor
in France--was shaded by a blue velvet hat, over which drooped heavy
white plumes. A thin lace mask veiled her eyes. Only her small, red
mouth and delicate chin were visible.
"Is an oath nothing to you, then?" she cried, impetuously, still
addressing Jack Grimsby. "You've sworn to do all in your power to save
this highwayman. Now is your chance! Gain me but five minutes and I'll
have Lord Farquhart freed from, this absurd charge against him."
And then it was Lord Grimsby's voice that answered her.
"Ay, madam, the court will willingly grant you five minutes. Nay, I
will grant you ten, in the cause of justice, for I like not the way
this matter has been handled." And even Lord Grimsby himself could not
have told whether it was the devil who had prompted him to so
interfere with the decorum of the law.
The girl bowed her thanks with informal gratitude, then hurried from
the room. She passed so close to Lindley that he seemed enveloped in a
strange perfume that floated from her, and after she had passed he,
and he alone, saw a tiny scrap of paper lying at his feet. As
carelessly as possible he picked it up, and saw that it was written
on. He read as follows:
Mistress Judith's Star is at Cavanaugh's inn, three squares
away. Fetch him to the end of the lane with what speed you may.