DEVLIN’S REVENGE
THERE came a night when Devlin’s men were called upon to clean out part
of a forest from which many snipers had been firing, and where machine
guns and their crews were known to be. It was work for picked men only
and Trent admitted Devlin made a courageous leader.
The Americans met unexpectedly strong opposition. It was only when half
their little company was lost that they were ordered to retreat. The way
was made difficult with barbed wire and shell splintered trees. It was
one of a hundred similar sorties taking place all along the Allied lines
hardly worthy of mention in the press.
Trent, when he had gained a clearing in the wood, saw Devlin go down
like an ox from the clubbed rifle in a Prussian hand. Trent had put a
shot through the man’s head almost before Devlin’s body fell to the soft
earth. He had an excellent chance of escape alone but he could not leave
the American officer who was his enemy to bleed to death among his
country’s foes. He was almost spent when he reached his own lines and
the Red Cross relieved him of his inert burden. They told him Devlin
still lived.
Three days later Trent was called to the hospital in which his officer
lay white and bandaged. Although Devlin’s voice was weak it did not
lack the note of enmity which ever distinguished it when its owner spoke
to Anthony Trent.
“What did you do it for?” Devlin demanded.
“Do what?”
“Bring me in after that boche laid me out?”
“Only one reason,” Trent informed him. “Alive, you have a certain use to
your country. Dead, you would have none.”
“That’s a lie,” Devlin snarled, “I’ve figured it out lying in this
damned cot. You saw I wasn’t badly hurt and you knew some of the boys
would fetch me in later. You thought you’d do a hero stunt and get a
decoration and you reckoned I’d be grateful and let up on you. That was
clever but not clever enough for me. I see through it. You’ve got away
with out-guessing the other feller so far but I’m one jump ahead of you
in this.” He paused for breath, “I’ve got you fixed, Mister Anthony
Trent, and don’t you forget it. You think I’m bluffing I suppose.”
“I think you’re exciting yourself unduly,” Trent said quietly. “Take it
up when you are well.”
“You’re afraid to hear what I know,” Devlin sneered. “You’ve got to hear
it sometime, so why not now?”
Trent spoke as one does to a child or a querulous invalid.
“Well, what is it?” he demanded.
“Never heard of any one named Austin, did you?”
“It’s not an unusual name,” Trent admitted. But he was no longer
uninterested. Conington Warren’s butler was so called. And this Austin
had met him face to face on the stairway of his master’s house on the
night that he had taken Conington Warren’s loose cash and jewels.
“He’s out here,” Devlin said and looked hard at Trent to see what effect
the news would have.
“You forget I don’t know whom,” Trent reminded him. “What Austin?”
“You know,” Devlin snapped, “the Warren butler. I was on that case and
he recognized me not a week ago and asked me who you were. He’s seen
you, too. We put two and two together and it spells the pen for you. He
was English and although he was over age the British are polite that
way. If he said he was forty-one they said they guessed he was
forty-one. I went to see him in a hospital before he ‘went west’ and he
told me all about it.”
Anthony Trent could not restrain a sigh of relief. Austin was dead.
“That don’t help you any,” Devlin cried. “Don’t you wish you’d left me
in the woods now? That was your opportunity. Why didn’t you take it?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Trent answered. “For one thing you dislike me
too much to see anything but bad in what I do. That’s your weakness.
That’s why you have always failed.”
“Well, I haven’t failed this time,” Devlin taunted him. “I’ve laid
information against you where it’s going to do most good.”
He hoped to see the man he hated exhibit fear, plead for mercy or beg
for a respite. He had rehearsed this expected scene during the night
watches. Instead he saw the hawk-like face inscrutable as ever.
“I’ve told the adjutant what I know and what Austin said and he’s bound
to make an investigation. That means you’ll be sent home for trial and
I guess you know what that means. I’m going to be invalided home and
I’ll put in my leave working up the case against you. They ought to give
you a stretch of anything from fifteen to twenty years. I guess that’ll
hold you, Mister Anthony Trent.”
The other man made no answer. He thought instead of what such a prison
term would do for him. He had seen the gradual debasement of men of even
a high type during the long years of internment. Men who had gone
through prison gates with the same instincts of refinement as he
possessed to come out coarsened, different, never again to be the men
they were. He would sidle through the gaping doors a furtive thing with
cunning crafty eyes whose very walk stamped him a convict. How could so
long a term of years spent among professional criminals fail to besmirch
him?
He took a long breath.
“I’m not there yet,” he said. “It’s a long way to an American jail and a
good bit can happen in three thousand miles.”
He was turned from these dismal channels of thought by a hospital
orderly who summoned him to the adjutant’s quarters.
In civil life this officer had been a well known lawyer who had
abandoned a large practice to take upon himself the over work and
worries that always hurl themselves at an adjutant.
He had heard of the rescue of Lieutenant Devlin by a man of his company
and was pleased to learn that it was an alumnus of his old college who
had been recommended for a decoration on that account. He looked at
Trent a moment in silence.
“When I last saw you,” he said, “you won the game for us against
Harvard.” He sighed, “I never thought to see you in a case of this
sort.”
“I don’t know what you mean, sir,” Trent answered him.
“For some reason or another,” the adjutant informed him, “Lieutenant
Devlin has preferred charges against you which had better been left
until this war is over in my opinion as a soldier.”
“I am still in the dark,” Trent reminded him.
Captain Sutton looked over some papers.
“You are charged,” he said, “with being a very remarkable and much
sought after criminal. Devlin asserts you purloined a ruby owned by Mr.
Dangerfield worth a hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars, and an
emerald worth almost as much.”
“What a curious delusion,” Trent commented with calmness.
“Delusion?” retorted the adjutant.
“What else could it be?” the other inquired.
“It might be the truth,” the officer said drily.
“Does he offer proofs?”
“More I’m afraid than you’ll care to read,” Captain Sutton told him.
“You understand, I suppose, that there are certain regulations which
govern us in a case like this. I should like to dismiss it as something
entirely irrelevant to military duties. You were a damned good football
player, Trent, and they tell me you’re just as good a soldier, but an
officer has preferred charges against you and they must be given
attention. Sit down there for a few minutes.”
Devlin, feeling the hour of triumph approaching, lay back in his bed
gloating. The hatred that he bore Anthony Trent was legitimate enough in
its way. By some accident or another Devlin was enlisted on the side of
the law and his opponent against it. One was the hunter; the other the
hunted. And the hunter was soon to witness the disgrace of the man who
had laughed at him, beaten him, cheated him of a coveted position.
Naturally of a brave and pugnacious disposition, Devlin saw no lack of
chivalry in hounding a man over whom he had military authority. If Trent
had been his friend he would have fought for him. But since he was his
foe he must taste the bitterness of the vanquished.
So engrossed was he over his pleasurable thoughts that he did not see
the distress which came over the face of the nurse who took his
temperature and recorded his pulse beat. Nor did he see the hastily
summoned physician reading the recently marked chart over the bed.
Instead he was filled with a strange and satisfying exaltation of
spirit. Catches of old forgotten songs came back to him. He felt himself
growing stronger. He was Devlin the superman, the captor of Anthony
Trent who had beaten the best of them. It was almost with irritation
that he opened his eyes to speak with the doctor, a middle-aged, gray
man with kindly eyes.
“Lieutenant,” the doctor said gently, “things aren’t going as well with
you as we hoped. You should not have exhausted yourself talking. It
should not have been allowed.”
Devlin saw the doctor put his hand under the coverlet; then he felt a
prick in his arm. Dully he knew that it was the sting of a hypodermic.
Then he saw coming toward him a priest of his race and faith and knew he
came in that dread hour to administer the last rites of the church.
“Doc,” he gasped, “am I going?”
It was no moment to utter lying comfort.
“I’m afraid so.”
Then he saw an orderly bringing the screen that was placed about the
beds of those about to die.
* * * * *
When Captain Sutton and Anthony Trent came into the ward the priest had
finished his solemn work and was gone to console another dying man and
the physicians to make one of those quick operations unthinkable in the
leisurely days of peace.
Trent had no knowledge of what had taken place during his absence. He
saw that his enemy was more exhausted. And as he looked he noticed that
the eyes of Devlin lacked something of their hate. But it was no time
for speculation. Trent saw in the sick man only his nemesis, the
instrument which fate was using to rob him of his liberty. He was not to
know that here was a man so close to death that hate seemed idle and
vengeance a burden.
“Lieutenant,” Captain Sutton began, “I have here a copy of your
statements and the evidence given by Sergeant Austin of the British
army. I will read it to you. Then I shall need witnesses to your
signature.”
“Let me see it,” Devlin commanded and drew the typewritten sheets to
him. Then, with what strength was left him, he tore the document across
and across again.
Captain Sutton looked at him in amazement.
“What did you do that for?” he asked.
But Devlin paid no heed to him. He gazed into the face of Anthony Trent,
the man he had hated.
“I made a mistake,” said Devlin faintly. “This isn’t the man.”
And with this splendid and generous lie upon his lips he came to his
life’s end.
FINIS
* * * * *
Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:
A little aften ten=> A little after ten {pg 11}
patroling city sidewalks=> patrolling city sidewalks {pg 37}
a champaign-drinking adventuress=> a champagne-drinking adventuress {pg
90}
recited Brigg’s evidence=> recited Briggs’s evidence {pg 95}
said Trent a minute later, “It is the=> said Trent a minute later, “it
is the {pg 157}
His grievance, is seemed=> His grievance, it seemed {pg 172}
a twenty-foot put=> a twenty-foot putt {pg 173}
a women I hardly know=> a woman I hardly know {pg 203}
we found the the big living room door=> we found the big living room
door {pg 205}
“Knowing Andrew Apthorpe it does not,” he answered=> “Knowing Andrew
Apthorpe it does not,” she answered {pg 206}
Most woman hate=> Most women hate {pg 214}
other friends were to be Trent’s guest=> other friends were to be
Trent’s guests {pg 222}
Assuredly a a timid=> Assuredly a timid {pg 239}
so report ran=> so the report ran {pg 243}
starling a contrast=> startling a contrast {pg 244}
a certain sublety about=> a certain subtlety about {pg 248}
In the billard room=> In the billiard room {pg 251}
furniture Weens had gathered=> furniture Weems had gathered {pg 267}
looms inaccessibles=> looms inaccessible {pg 294}
when it’s owner spoke=> when its owner spoke {pg 310}
Conington’s Warren’s loose cash=> Conington Warren’s loose cash {pg 311}
the adjustant’s quarters=> the adjutant’s quarters {pg 312}
* * * * *
End of Project Gutenberg's Anthony Trent, Master Criminal, by Wyndham Martyn