SOME ACCOUNT OF A HIGHWAYMAN
Mr. Dalroyd was a man of habit and of late it had become his custom to
take particular heed as to the lock and bolts of his chamber door of
nights and to sleep with his pistol beneath his pillow.
He had formed another habit also, a strange, uncanny habit of pausing
suddenly with head aslant like one hearkening for soft or distant
sounds; though to be sure his eyes were as sleepy and himself as
languid as usual.
But the stair leading to Mr. Dalroyd's bedchamber was narrow and
extremely precipitous and, descending in the gloom one evening, he had
tripped over some obstacle and only by his swordsman's quickness and
bodily agility saved himself from plunging headlong to the bottom. He
had wakened in the middle of the night for no seeming reason and,
sitting up in that attitude of patient listening, had chanced to glance
at the door lit by a shaft of moonlight and had watched the latch
quiver, lift silently and as silently sink back in place.
He had moreover become cautious as to how he took up his pistols,
having found them more than once mysteriously at full cock. So Mr.
Dalroyd continued to lock and double-lock his door at night and, in the
morning, seated before his mirror, to watch Joseph the obsequious
therein: as he was doing now.
"Sir," said Joseph, eyes lowered yet perfectly aware of his master's
watchful scrutiny, "everything is packed save your brushes and the
gillyflower water."
"Why then, my snail, you may pack them also."
"I will, sir."
"It is now half after ten, Joseph--we ride at eleven."
"To London, sir?"
"Order the horses to the door at that hour, Object."
"Yes, sir. Pray, sir," said he humbly, head bowed and big hands
twitching nervously, "regarding your promise of permitting me
to--to--quit your service--pray when is it to be?"
"I don't know, Joseph, I can't say."
"Sir--sir--d'ye mean----"
"I mean that I don't feel I can endure to part with you, Joseph."
"You mean--you--won't?"
"You interest me, Joseph. Yes, you amuse me vastly, there is about you
such infinite repression, Joseph, such latent ferocity. Yours is a
nature of great and unexpected possibilities. Ferocity, duly in check,
allures me, Joseph; so I shall continue to be your master and
to--master you, Animal. Reach me my pistols."
Joseph crossed the room to where they lay beside the bed.
"Sir," said he, taking up the weapons, "you won't let me go, then?"
"Are they loaded, Joseph?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are they cocked?"
"No, sir."
"Which is just as well, Joseph. With your hands shaking like that you
might have had the misfortune to shoot me and be infallibly hanged for
a deplorable accident."
Joseph's eyes flickered and he stood, still grasping a pistol in either
hand.
"Sir," said he thickly, "do you mean to let me go--yes or no?"
"Hanged, Joseph, for--knowing you as I do, Reptile, I am leaving behind
me a letter to the effect that should I meet with any sudden or
untoward misfortune on my journey, a knife in the back, say, or a
bullet, Joseph, justice may be done on the body of one Joseph Appleby,
alias Galloping Nick, already wanted for the murder of----"
The weapons thudded to the floor and Joseph cowered.
"For the love of God!" he whispered hoarsely. "Sir--sir----" And he
clenched and wrung his hands together.
"Pick up the pistols, Worm, and handle them carefully, they've taken to
cocking themselves of late, 'twould seem. And I, Joseph, I've taken to
locking and bolting my door a-nights and being particular how I tread
in the dark."
So saying, Mr. Dalroyd smiled and went downstairs humming softly, where
the company were gathered to see him off.
In due time the horses were brought to the door and Mr. Dalroyd,
pulling on his gauntlets, prepared to mount; but before doing so, drew
his pistols from their holsters and found that their primings had been
shaken out. Whereupon he beckoned Joseph smilingly--saw them re-primed
and, smiling still, kicked Joseph viciously.
Then he mounted, watched Joseph do the same, waved an airy farewell to
the company and rode gracefully away.
Reaching the open road, Mr. Dalroyd summoned his follower to ride
beside him.
"On the whole, Joseph," said he, "I prefer to have a man of
your--infinite possibilities beside me, at my elbow--within reach.
Besides, I'm in the mood for conversation, let us talk, creature."
Joseph's heavy brow grew rather more lowering and he kept his gaze bent
obsequiously on the dust of the way as he drew level with his master,
who had reined his horse to a gentle, ambling pace.
"You were educated above your station, Joseph--the law, I think?"
"Yes, sir."
"Owing to your mother's exertions--hence the extreme warmth of
your--ah--filial regard."
"She also shielded me from a father's brutality, sir."
"Hence, Joseph, as I say, the ardour of your regard for her. 'Tis
strange to find that even in the basest, most depraved natures the
softer qualities of gratitude and love may occasionally be remarked by
the philosophical observer, a fact sufficiently strange and
interesting!" Joseph's wolverine mouth twitched and he lifted his gaze
slowly as high as the top of the hedge and kept it there. "Your first
noteworthy exploit," continued Mr. Dalroyd good-humouredly, "was the
forgery of a bill----"
"Sir--sir," stammered Joseph, glance abased to the dust again, "pray
why must you----"
"My good Object, I would see that I have the facts sufficiently clear.
To begin again, you forged a bill on one Hilary Girard, he, discovering
your criminality, taxed you with the fact, whereafter poor Mr. Girard
suddenly died--misfortunate wight! Lead poisoning was it, or powdered
glass?" Joseph uttered a sound between a choke and a groan. "Nay,
after all, 'tis no matter which," continued Mr. Dalroyd, "suffice
it--he died. Thereafter you took to the highway, became famous for
your daring, were finally betrayed by a jealous beauty, were sentenced
to hang, escaped on a legal quibble, and were cast for transportation,
effected your escape and--Fortune sent you to me and I give you life,
Joseph, and a certain amount of freedom so long as you are of use to
me."
Joseph's mouth had become a twisted line and he moved in his saddle as
if undergoing some sharp, physical discomfort, while Mr. Dalroyd lapsed
into pleasant reverie as they rode on through the warm and fragrant air.
They held a course south-easterly staying only to change horses at the
various stages where Joseph, acting on his master's instructions,
ordered post-horses to be in readiness three nights hence. Towards
late afternoon Mr. Dalroyd halted at Tenterden for refreshment; after
an excellent meal he sauntered out into the yard and summoned Joseph,
but without avail, the obsequious Joseph was not to be found. Mr.
Dalroyd's modish languor changed to a sudden cold ferocity before which
ostlers, post-boys and stablemen quailed; within five minutes he had
roused the whole place and set everyone searching, from host to
pot-boy. Every hiding-place, likely and unlikely, was ransacked, the
inn, the stable and scattered outbuildings, but to no end, Joseph had
vanished. Finally he ordered his horse to be saddled and while this
was doing, stood, chin in hand, like one lost in vexed thought yet more
than once fell into that attitude of strained attention as though
listening for distant sounds. Roused by the clatter of his fresh
horse's hoofs on the cobbles of the yard as it was led from the
stables, he glanced up and surveyed the animal with quick, appraising
eye and prepared to mount; but, before doing so, stayed to lift his
holster-flaps and found that his pistols were gone. At this he laughed
suddenly--a strange laugh, at sound of which the fellow holding the
horse put up an elbow and cowered behind it as if expecting a blow; but
Mr. Dalroyd, laughing still, turned and beckoned to the landlord with
his gold-mounted riding-whip.
"Look'ee," said he, his mirth still distorting his features, "I've been
robbed by the rascal and among other things, of my pistols. I must
have another pair--at once!"
"Sir," began the landlord, bobbing apologetically, "there ain't a pair
in the house Lord love me, no such thing except a blunderbuss----"
"Blockhead!" exclaimed Mr. Dalroyd, pointing at the speaker with his
whip, "I said a pair of pistols, go get 'em--how and where you will,
but get them and bring 'em to me and don't keep me waiting, my good
oaf." So saying, Mr. Dalroyd turned and sauntered up and down the
shady side of the yard apparently lost in dreamy reverie. Very soon
the landlord came hurrying back triumphantly bearing a long-barrelled
weapon in either hand. Mr. Dalroyd took one, balanced it and cursed
its weight and clumsiness.
"Careful, sir," warned the landlord, flinching, "they're loaded."
Mr. Dalroyd glanced around; overhead a crow flapped heavily on lazy
wings. Mr. Dalroyd aimed the weapon and while the report still rang
and echoed, the crow turned over and over, a shapeless bundle of ragged
feathers and thudding down into the grassy ditch opposite the inn lay
there struggling and croaking dismally.
"They'll serve!" nodded Mr. Dalroyd, "have the thing loaded again and
hasten!" Watched by many awestruck eyes, Mr. Dalroyd crossed to his
horse, mounted, and oblivious of the interest he caused, sat awhile
with eyes half-shut and head aslant, listening, until the weapon was
brought; then he examined each with care, flint, priming and charge,
and thrust them into his holsters.
"Landlord," said he, as he put away his purse, "did you take any heed
to the general appearance of that runaway rogue of mine?"
"Aye sir, a tall chap wi' big hands and a way o' lookin' down his nose
and--come to think on't, a fresh-healed scar just over one eye-brow----"
"Caused by a cut-glass perfume bottle!" nodded Mr. Dalroyd. "A just
and fair description, landlord. Should you ever chance on such a
fellow anywhere at any time you will do well to apprehend him----"
"For robbery, sir----?"
"For murder, landlord!" As he spoke Mr. Dalroyd touched spurs to his
horse and cantered away, leaving the landlord to stare open-mouthed and
the crow to thrash broken wing and croak dismally in the ditch as,
reaching the highway, he spurred to a gallop.
All the afternoon he kept the road, and as the day waned he became ever
more alert, his quick eyes scanned the road before and behind and he
rode for long stretches with his head leaned to that angle of patient
listening for sounds afar. Now, as evening fell he had an unpleasant
feeling that he was being followed, more than once he fancied he caught
the faint throbbing of distant hoofs, now lost, now heard again, never
any nearer yet never any further off. Once he reined up suddenly to
hearken but heard nothing save the desolate sighing of wind in trees;
yet when he went on again he could have sworn to the distant beat of
galloping hoofs, wherefore, ears on the stretch, he loosed the flaps of
his holsters.
So day drew to evening and evening to night and with every mile the
fancy grew within him, little by little, until it became an obsession
and he spurred fiercely uphill and down, often turning to glance back
along the darkening road and with his pistols cocked and ready.