Barode Baruche was excited. He had sure hope of defeating Carnac with
the help of Luzanne Larue. The woman had remained hidden since her
coming, and the game was now in his hands. On the night before the
poll he could declare the thing, not easy to be forgiven by the
French-Canadian public, which has a strong sense of domestic duty.
Carnac Grier was a Protestant, and that was bad, and if there was added
an offence against domestic morality, he would be beaten at the polls as
sure as the river ran. He had seen Luzanne several times, and though he
did not believe in her, he knew the marriage certificate was real. He
had no credence in Carnac’s lack of honour, yet it was strange he had
not fought his wife, if his case was a good one.
Day by day he had felt Carnac’s power growing, and he feared his triumph
unless some sensation stopped it. Well, he had at hand the sufficient
sensation. He would produce both the certificate of marriage and the
French girl who was the legal wife of Carnac Grier. That Luzanne was
French helped greatly, for it would be used by Carnac’s foes as an
insult to French Canada, and his pulses throbbed as he thought of the
possible turmoil in the constituency.
Fortunately the girl was handsome, had ability, and spoke English with
a French accent, and she was powerful for his purposes. He was out to
prevent his own son from driving himself into private life, and he would
lose no trick in the game, if he could help it.
Sentimental feeling--yes, he had it, but it did not prevent him from
saving his own skin. Carnac had come out against him, and he must hit as
hard as he could. It was not as though Carnac had been guilty of a real
crime and was within the peril of the law. His offence was a personal
one, but it would need impossible defence at the moment of election.
In any case, if Carnac was legally married, he should assume the
responsibilities of married life; and if he had honest reason for not
recognizing the marriage, he should stop the woman from pursuing him.
If the case kept Carnac out of public life and himself in, then justice
would be done; for it was monstrous that a veteran should be driven into
obscurity by a boy. In making his announcement he would be fighting his
son as though he was a stranger and not of his own blood and bones. He
had no personal connection with Carnac in the people’s minds.
On the afternoon of the day that Junia had had her hour with Luzanne, he
started for the house where Luzanne was lodging. He could not travel the
streets without being recognized, but it did not matter, for the house
where the girl lodged was that of his sub agent, and he was safe in
going to it. He did not know, however, that Denzil had been told by
Junia to watch the place and learn what he meant to do.
Denzil had a popular respect of Barode Barouche as a Minister of the
Crown; but he had a far greater love of Carnac. He remained
vigilant until after Junia and Luzanne had started in a cab for the
railway-station. They left near three-quarters of an hour before the
train was to start for New York; and for the first quarter of an hour
after they left, Denzil was in apprehension.
Then he saw Barouche enter the street and go to the house of his
sub-agent. The house stood by itself, with windows open, and Denzil did
not scruple to walk near it, and, if possible, listen. Marmette, the
subagent, would know of the incident between Junia and Luzanne; and
he feared. Barouche might start for the station, overtake Luzanne and
prevent her leaving. He drew close and kept his ears open.
He was fortunate, he heard voices; Marmette was explaining to Barouche
that Junia and Luzanne had gone to the station, as “Ma’m’selle” was
bound for New York. Marmette had sent word to M. Barouche by messenger,
but the messenger had missed him. Then he heard Barouche in anger say:
“You fool--why did you let her leave! It’s my bread and butter--and
yours too--that’s at stake. I wanted to use her against Grier. She was
my final weapon of attack. How long ago did she leave?” Marmette told
him.
Denzil saw Barode Barouche leave the house with grim concern and talking
hard to Paul Marmette. He knew the way they would go, so he fell behind
a tree, and saw them start for the place where they could order a cab.
Then he followed them. Looking at his watch he saw that, if they got
a cab, they would get to the station before the train started, and he
wondered how he could retard Barouche. A delay of three minutes would
be enough, for it was a long way, and the distance could only be covered
with good luck in the time. Yet Denzil had hope, for his faith in Junia
was great, and he felt sure she would do what she planned. He had to
trot along fast, because Barouche and Marmette were going hard, and he
could not see his way to be of use yet. He would give his right hand to
help Carnac win against the danger Junia had suggested. It could not be
aught to Carnac’s discredit, or Junia would not have tried to get the
danger out of Montreal; he had seen Luzanne, and she might be deadly, if
she had a good weapon!
Presently, he saw Barouche and his agent stop at the door of a
livery-stable, and were told that no cabs were available. There were
none in the street, and time was pressing. Not far away, however, was
a street with a tram-line, and this tram would take Barouche near the
station from which Luzanne would start. So Barouche made hard for this
street and had reached it when a phaeton came along, and in it was one
whom Barouche knew. Barouche spoke to the occupant, and presently both
men were admitted to the phaeton just as a tram-car came near.
As the phaeton would make the distance to the station in less time than
the car, this seemed the sensible thing to do, and Denzil’s spirits
fell. There remained enough time for Barouche to reach the station
before the New York train started! He got aboard the tram himself, and
watched the phaeton moving quickly on ahead. He saw the driver of the
phaeton strike his horse with a whip, and the horse, suddenly breaking
into a gallop, slipped and fell to the ground on the tramtrack. A moment
later the tram came to a stop behind the fallen horse, and Denzil saw
the disturbed face of Barode Barouche looking for another trap--in any
case, it would take three or four minutes to get the horse up and clear
the track for the tram. There was no carriage in sight--only a loaded
butcher’s cart, a road-cleaner, and a heavily loaded van. These could be
of no use to Barouche.
In his corner, Denzil saw the play with anxious eyes.
It was presently found that the horse had injured a leg in falling and
could not be got to its feet, but had presently to be dragged from the
tram-lines. It had all taken near five minutes of the time before the
train went, and, with despair, Barouche mounted the steps of the tram.
He saw Denzil, and shrewdly suspected he was working in the interests of
Carnac. He came forward to Denzil.
“You’re a long way from home, little man,” he said in a voice with an
acid note.
“About the same as you from home, m’sieu’,” said Denzil.
“I’ve got business everywhere in this town,” remarked Barouche with
sarcasm--“and you haven’t, have you? You’re travelling privately, eh?”
“I travel as m’sieu’ travels, and on the same business,” answered Denzil
with a challenging smile.
The look Barouche gave him then Denzil never forgot. “I didn’t know you
were in politics, mon vieux! What are you standing for? When are you
going to the polls--who are you fighting, eh?”
“I’m fighting you, m’sieu’, though I ain’t in politics, and I’m going to
the polls now,” Denzil answered. Denzil had gained in confidence as he
saw the arrogance of Barode Barouche. He spoke with more vigour than
usual, and he felt his gorge rising, for here was a man trying to injure
his political foe through a woman; and Denzil resented it. He did not
know the secret of Luzanne Larue, but he did realize there was conflict
between Junia Shale and Barouche, and between Barouche and Carnac Grier,
and that enlisted his cooperation. By nature he was respectful; but
the politician now was playing a dirty game, and he himself might fight
without gloves, if needed. That was why his eyes showed defiance
at Barouche now. He had said the thing which roused sharp anger in
Barouche. It told Barouche that Denzil knew where he was going and why.
Anger shook him as he saw Denzil take out his watch.
“The poll closes in three minutes, m’sieu’,” Denzil added with a dry
smile, for it was clear Barouche could not reach the station in time,
if the train left promptly. The swiftest horses could not get him there,
and these were not the days of motor-cars. Yet it was plain Barouche
meant to stick to it, and he promptly said:
“You haven’t the right time, beetle. The poll closes only when the train
leaves, and your watch doesn’t show that, so don’t put on airs yet.”
“I’ll put on airs if I’ve won, m’sieu’,” Denzil answered quietly, for he
saw people in the tram were trying to hear.
Barouche had been recognized, and a murmur of cheering began, followed
by a hum of disapproval, for Barouche had lost many friends since Carnac
had come into the fray. A few folk tried to engage Barouche in talk, but
he responded casually; yet he smiled the smile which had done so much
for him in public life, and the distance lessened to the station. The
tram did not go quite to the station, and as it stopped, the two men
hurried to the doors. As they did so, an engine gave a scream, and
presently, as they reached the inside of the station, they saw passing
out at the far end, the New York train.
“She started five minutes late, but she did start,” said Denzil, and
there was malice in his smile.
As he looked at his watch, he saw Junia passing out of a door into the
street, but Barode Barouche did not see her--his eyes were fixed on the
departing train.
For a moment Barouche stood indecisive as to whether he should hire a
locomotive and send some one after the train, and so get in touch with
Luzanne in that way, or send her a telegram to the first station where
the train would stop in its schedule; but presently he gave up both
ideas. As he turned towards the exit of the station, he saw Denzil, and
he came forward.
“I think you’ve won, mon petit chien,” he said with vindictiveness, “but
my poll comes to-morrow night, and I shall win.”
“No game is won till it’s all played, m’sieu’, and this innings is
mine!”
“I am fighting a bigger man than you, wasp,” snarled Barouche.
“As big as yourself and bigger, m’sieu’,” said Denzil with a smile.
There was that in his tone which made Barouche regard him closely.
He saw there was no real knowledge of the relationship of Carnac and
himself in Denzil’s eyes; but he held out his hand with imitation
courtesy, as though to say good-bye.
“Give me a love-clasp, spider,” he said with a kind of sneer. “I’d like
your love as I travel to triumph.” A light of hatred came into
Denzil’s eyes. “Beetledog--wasp--spider” he had been called by this big
man--well, he should see that the wasp could give as good as it got. His
big gnarled hand enclosed the hand of Barode Barouche, then he suddenly
closed on it tight. He closed on it till he felt it crunching in his own
and saw that the face of Barode Barouche was like that of one in a chair
of torture. He squeezed, till from Barouche’s lips came a gasp of agony,
and then he let go.
“You’ve had my love-clasp, m’sieu’,” Denzil said with meaning, “and when
you want it again let me know. It’s what M’sieu’ Carnac will do with
you to-morrow night. Only he’ll not let go, as I did, before the blood
comes. Don’t be hard on those under you, m’sieu’. Remember wasps and
spiders can sting in their own way, and that dogs can bite.”
“Little black beast,” was the short reply, “I’ll strip your hide for
Hell’s gridiron in good time.”
“Bien, m’sieu’, but you’ll be in hell waiting, for I’m going to bury you
here where you call better men than yourself dogs and wasps and spiders
and beetles. And I’ll not strip your ‘hide,’ either. That’s for lower
men than me.”
A moment later they parted, Denzil to find Junia, and Barouche to
prepare his speech for the evening. Barouche pondered. What should he
do--should he challenge Carnac with his marriage with Luzanne Larue? His
heart was beating hard.