SELLING A SECRET.
On a sunny day in January, a traveling coach crunched up the drive to
Castle Brand, and produced a visitor for Miss Walsingham.
The Waaste, so broad and rolling, looked well in its garb of snow, in
which the late New Year had wed it; and along the drive the phinny firs
and silver holly-bushes were piled with molded purity, while every
creamy nymph in stone or stucco wore a crown of brightness.
The turrets even of the hoary castle were fringed with diamond
stalactites, from which dropped liquid pearls upon the deep green ivy;
and the griffins at the door each upheld a cone of dazzling snow upon
his old stone forehead.
The visitor glanced about with many a smirk of approbation, and some
wise shrugs of the shoulder; but said nothing aloud, preserving his
breath for more important speech.
Margaret was sitting listlessly over her needle-work when the footman
brought her a card, upon which was discernible, amid flourishes of the
wildest fantasy, "_Ludovic, Chevalier de Calembours_."
She started up with a wild flush mantling her cheek, and a smothered cry
of wrath.
The elegant little gentleman clad in the Hungarian velvet costume,
beribboned, bejeweled, flaunting with many a badge of mystic
significance, got upon his crooked little legs, and held out his white
hands dramatically to the flashing, palpitating, queen-like creature who
swept through the great drawing-room to greet him for the first time.
"Chevalier de Calembours! accomplice of Roland Mortlake, I have heard of
you before!" she panted, not deigning to touch him.
"Mademoiselle Walsingham, champion of Colonel Brand, all the world has
heard of you before!" rasped the bland-faced Hun.
"Why have you come here, heartless man!" cried Margaret.
"To see the dear mademoiselle whose actions so wise, so unselfish, so
_heroique_, have won my heart?"
"Am I to accept praise from the enemy of St. Udo Brand? Never! You
murdered him among you!"
"Softly, my heroine! The chevalier was not on the field when the
admirable colonel was stabbed! _Ma foi!_ he was lying bleeding on his
litter amid his Southern friends, who had captured him for the second
time. The first, the dear mademoiselle knows, the chance of fortune
wooed me to the South; but the second, _mon Dieu!_ no one asked me my
will, but they hacked and hewed over my shackled body, and then the
South won me from my captors."
"Sir, I desire to hear nothing of your history. You were paid by the
murderer to dog the steps of St. Udo Brand; you were both leagued
against him. Had he ever harmed you, chevalier? Was he not too brave to
fall by treachery?"
Quite undaunted by her reproaches, M. le Chevalier listened to her
passionate praise of his quondam comrade with sparkling eyes, and threw
up his hands in ecstatic assent.
"Brave, did mademoiselle say?" he echoed; "_mon Dieu!_ he was gallant,
gay, free-hearted, _helas!_ that the ladies should love such an Apollo."
"And you betrayed him, knowing him to be all this?" she cried, bitterly.
"_Par la messe!_ mademoiselle is not just!" complained the chevalier,
with tears in his eyes. "I love _mon_ colonel, admire, believe in him; I
spit upon Monsieur Mortlake--laugh at, revile him! Mademoiselle must
have found out that I obeyed him--never; that I stuck to my colonel only
because I love him; and that I left him not until fortune beckoned me
away. If he had given me his dear company when I fled to Richmond, he
would not have been to-day where he is; but would he? not though I
prayed to him with tears in the eyes, with grief in the heart. No, no,
he was doomed; he would stay with the Yankees, and--Thoms!"
"Did you not suspect who Thoms was, especially as Mortlake sent him to
you?"
"Oh! I was blind. I was bewitched; the wretch was too cunning,
mademoiselle. But pray, what has all the cunning ended in? Bah!
simplicity, honesty for me; I still live, and walk abroad, a free man.
But I am a Chevalier of honor. I scorn a crooked policy. When for the
second time the South won Calembours, I found that perfidious fortune
had changed her mood; from filling my pockets with gold as commissary
general, she descended to thrusting me into that unwholesome residence
in Richmond, Castle Thunder. All because some head of wood suggested
that the Chevalier de Calembours was selling the North to the South, and
_vice versa_. But the chevalier is a Knight of Industry as well as of
Honor--he ever makes the honey where other bees would but starved
carcasses. I make the situation palatable even in Castle Thunder, for
there is a blue-coated soldier with me there. He is wounded, I nurse
him; he is hungry, I feed him from my wretched pittance; we mingle our
tears over the moldy crust and the muddy water--we console each other.
"When he is able to crawl, I file off his chains; together we dig our
tunnel through the dungeon floor. We have no tools but we use a broken
plate and a rusty key, and--patience. Night and day, mademoiselle, night
and day that invalid soldier and I gnaw through the baked earth; the
nails are torn from the fingers; see, _ma chere!_ the clothes are worn
from the bodies; _mon camerade_ faints often, almost dies; but one day
we see the sunny earth come crumbling into our rat-hole. _Mon Dieu!_ we
have penetrated beneath the wall--we are free.
"I drag him out that night--I drag him into the woods; he says he will
die joyfully a free man--he cannot die a captive. But we do not let him
die; we aid him day by day through the dismal swamps, cold, wet,
famished, but he lives to reach Washington, and he is received in a
hospital; while I, _morbleu_, they give me the cold shoulder, they point
the finger, they cry, 'Renegade!' My friend whom I have aided, grows
worse of his wound, and cannot speak for me; McClellan, Banks, Pope,
Stanton, are all down on poor Calembours for past injuries they dream
that he has done them with the South. So, mademoiselle must hear that
the republican rabble hoot me from their midst with vile names, and hard
usage, and ugly threats, just as the graycoats had done in Richmond,
because I believe in universal suffrage, and am a mad _cosmopolite_, and
see no difference between the greedy North and the hungry South. In vain
I confide my need to these dogs, in vain I remind the War Department of
past deeds of mine while serving under McClellan. They call my laurels
tarnished with treachery, they call my past services canceled by
succeeding bribery, they refuse me my little price, and order me to
leave their barbaric soil.
"So I turn the back upon the dogs who snarl so loudly over their
uninviting bone, and, although the tears gush from the eyes at parting
from the dear friend whom I aided, I am forced to leave him behind.
"What though I have thrown behind me an illustrious life, titles,
honors, pleasures, for to give these dogs my nameless services?
"Where Colonel Brand, the lion of chivalry raged, was not I, Colonel
Calembours, ever at his side, the unwearied partner of the perilous
speculation?
"But when I fall under the blind displeasure of the stupid bureau at
Washington, justice, nay, honesty, is forgotten--they mulct me of my
laurels.
"I go to New York, and turn into a dealer for horseflesh for the army.
In a few weeks I fill my wrinkled purse, and get rid of the last of my
consignment; and, before the wretched brutes have time to betray their
many infirmities, New York in turn loses Calembours. But ere I leave I
have the satisfaction of again greeting my invalid friend, who has been
sent North to a better hospital, and who is gradually convalescing. He
urges me to stay with him, that we may begin the world together; but I
have a sacred duty to perform, a slight to remember, an insult to
avenge. I am free, I have money, I have health, and I come here, to this
Castle Brand, to see mademoiselle, and (for revenge) to sell to her--_a
secret_."
The chevalier paused with _empressement_, and remained peering into his
listener's face with a gay, encouraging smile for two or three minutes.
Whiter Margaret could not be, nor colder.
"Proceed, monsieur," she breathed at last; "do not mock my anxiety."
"Mademoiselle understands that what follows is for sale?" quoth the
chevalier slyly.
"Yes, yes, you shall be satisfied. Proceed."
"_Mille mercies_, dear mademoiselle. _Eh, bien!_ I will do myself the
honor to keep you au courant with my history. History pleases
mademoiselle; she is a good listener--_ma foi!_ a very good listener.
"_Voila!_ I begin at the end of the volume. I begin, as do the Hebrews,
at the last page, and read from right to left, to meet this end of the
little tale which you have just heard.
"Some months ago--perhaps eighteen--I, the illustrious Chevalier de
Calembours, arrived at Canterbury, on business of mine.
"In time I meet a very great man there; we play _rouge-et-noir_; _mon
Dieu!_ he cheats me at _rouge-et-noir_. Mademoiselle, _rouge-et-noir_ is
my own great weapon, _ma foi!_ I must have learned it in my cradle when
an infant; with it I have beat the world, with it I have cheated the
world--and this greatest of men cheats me!
"I stop the game, I contemplate him with exalted emotions, with
admiration, with awe; tears start to the eyes, I offer him the hand.
"Monsieur," I cry, with much enthusiasm, "tell me your name. You shall
be my great model in this noble game; I shall be your pupil."
"The great man glares at me through those cavernous eyes; his lips, so
thin and evil, smile sourly, and his long fingers make me the gambler's
sign. Ah! he is the gambler by profession, then--the sly sharper, the
hanger-on upon the young of the military. I marvel no more at his
proficiency in the art in which, beside him, I am but an amateur.
"'My name is Roland Mortlake,' he says, unwillingly; 'you are welcome to
any hints you think I can give you; but I was admiring your play all the
time. I've never seen it equalled.'
"Mademoiselle, this man had played in Germany, in Italy, in France, and
he had never seen my play equalled.
"I listen to the delicious praise; the heart swells with generous pride;
I rise, I embrace him as a brother.
"'You do me too much honor, Monsieur Mortlake,' I cry; 'you do the Count
of Santo Spirito, Turin, too much honor.'
"We became acquaintances, friends, inseparable brothers--we became
necessary to each other.
"We combine our forces, we cheat the world, and we reap a golden
harvest.
"The world is _so_ gullible _chere amie_. Why not glean the benefit
then?
"'I must go to London,' says my friend, in March; 'better come along. We
can always pigeon the subs, and they are always to be found there.'
"My friend was a great player, but he spoke ill, even coarsely at times.
"So be it, _camerade_!' I cry and we go.
"At first we do well; we enter humble circles, and we mount to higher
every day; the purse is very full, the heart is very merry, when,
_ouais!_ hush! Monsieur Mortlake becomes mysterious, close,
unjust--says:
"'Better keep out of sight for a while, Calembours; I can't be seen with
a notorious harpy like you just now; the circle I'm getting into won't
care for a dirty little Frenchman. They're exclusive.'
"'_Merci_, Monsieur Mortlake,' I return, 'Napoleon the brave thought
Calembours worthy of the Legion of Honor; but perhaps your circle are
right, and are exclusive of the nobility.'
"We part good friends, though, for are we not necessary to each other?
He goes his way and I go mine, but I set myself to know the reason why.
"I discover my Mortlake hovering about a great flame in the military
world--a Captain St. Udo Brand, of the Coldstream Guards, who has great
expectation of a wealthy grandmother dying and leaving him the sole
heir.
"My Mortlake wheels nearer and nearer this mighty captain, learns all he
can about his history and habits, and becomes an acquaintance of his.
What he intends to do with him I cannot tell; for he cannot pigeon _him_
as he pigeons weaker men. My faith, he dares not.
"Captain Brand treats the gambling Mortlake with that lofty insolence
which great men show to little men; he is indifferent to him, he forgets
his presence, he turns the back upon him at the mess-table when any of
the softer officers bring him there.
"My Mortlake does not like it; he grows very black when the captain is
not by, and he swears a great deal against him.
"I look on and laugh; it is a gay _comedie_ for me. I clasp the hands
and cry _encore_!
"Presently the great captain's grandmama's malady grows worse; messages
continue to arrive, and he must go to Surrey.
"Monsieur Mortlake comes to me with his curious green eyes gleaming.
"'Come Calembours,' he says; 'we may as well take a run down to Surrey
to see this wonderful castle.'
"'So be it!' I cry once more, and we go.
"We are living at a hotel in Regis when the sullen captain arrives; he
is accosted to his surprise by Monsieur Mortlake, who is of course quite
astonished to meet him there.
"Captain Brand swears a good deal at the idea of going down to that
'infernal dull hole,' his grandmother's handsome castle, which he
assures Mr. Mortlake is inhabited by old women and servants.
"'A note will do for to-night, by Jove!' vows Captain Brand, 'and I'll
send it over.'
"Monsieur Mortlake protests that he has heard so much of the antiquity
of Castle Brand that he would think it a boon if the captain would
permit him to carry that note, if it is only for the chance of seeing
such a castle.
"'By all means you shall, if that will please you,' says the captain.
"Mademoiselle, as these men stand together in the lobby, I looking down
from the staircase upon them--for has not monsieur ordered me not to
disgrace him by intruding upon the captain?--a very strange idea occurs
to me; it strikes me very forcibly. I watch the men with amazement, with
fear. As we ride away together in the moonlight, I say to my friend:
"'Monsieur le Capitaine is a most handsome man.'
"He only curses Monsieur le Capitaine.
"I say again:
"'_Mon ami_, do not execrate your own image.'
"He turns in his saddle with a savage oath--he glares like the hungry
wolf.
"'What's that, you jabbering idiot!' he roars, in his brutal way.
"'Captain Brand and Monsieur Mortlake seem like as twin dogs,' I reply;
'you might change names with our haughty captain, and no one be the
wiser, save that he has the _bel air_ which you want--the polish, the
courtesy, which those of the mob can never learn.'
"'Curse him! I have as good blood in my veins as he has any day!' hisses
the furious voice of my envious Mortlake.
"Then he turns sour and silent, and is very poor company. I sing
_chansonettes_ to the moon; I whistle operas; I talk to my horse; he
takes no notice; I rally him upon his temper, and he swears madly at me.
"So I light my cigar and smoke for company until we reach the great
Castle Brand, which towers like a vast cathedral under the moon.
"Mademoiselle, a magnificent statue waits him at the door. Mademoiselle
remembers the interview. Enough! My tripping tongue need not rehearse
the scene.
"Back comes Monsieur Mortlake, devil-possessed, and overwhelms me with a
terrible curse.
"I laugh at his slow-stepping wit.
"I have seen a pretty possibility for monsieur, even while mademoiselle
is speaking.
"'Stupid Englishman!' I cry, as we ride across the Waaste, 'don't you
see that you might get this fine English castle and estate to yourself
some day, if you could personate brave Captain Brand?'
"My romantic fancy is captivated by this little scheme. I go on amusing
myself by describing how it might be done. I give you my word,
mademoiselle, that it is all in jest--a freak of imagination nothing
more.
"My sour comrade listens with a serpent's guile; his clever brain is
twisting a rope out of my threads of fiction; he catches my bagatelle,
and transforms it into a plot--the plot which would have proved
successful but for Marguerite, the heroic.
"_Eh bien_, to continue:
"We ride away to the hotel at Regis that night, and monsieur had a
little interview with Captain Brand, and tells him the message which
Mademoiselle Walsingham has sent to him. Then is the captain furious,
and impatient, and self-reproachful for his cold-blooded neglect of the
poor fond grandmama, and he gallops off to the old castle on the wings
of the wind, and is too late, and remains moping at the castle, seeing
nobody but red-eyed Chetwode, for the magnificent Mademoiselle
Walsingham has locked herself within her room and will not see him.
"My careful Mortlake gathers all this from the footmen and servants from
the castle, and makes envious remarks upon the dog that has, and wants
it not, and the dog that wants, and has it not.
"In the evening of that day on which Madame Brand is interred, Monsieur
le Capitaine comes back to Regis choking with rage. Monsieur Mortlake
offers congratulations, and hears the whole of the will from our angry
captain, who utters a scornful fanfaronade against the brave
Mademoiselle Walsingham. Cries royally:
"'I won't interfere with the companion--she's free for me; I'll get out
of England as fast as I can, and try my luck abroad.'
"'Try the United States,' insinuates M. Mortlake.
"'Good! and join the army,' says our captain, with a war-glance which
sweeps the horizon and sees coming fame, 'and win glory, since I am
stripped of my fortune.'
"'Will you go, then?' pursues Monsieur Mortlake.
"'I'll think of it,' says Captain Brand.
"And he does think of it, and to such purpose that in an hour he has
left Regis and is posting back to London.
"Monsieur Mortlake comes to me and tells me all this.
"'Calembours, I have a job for you,' says my friend. His language is
never refined. _Ouf!_ how can it be? But I laugh, amused, and I applaud,
for my perception is swifter than Monsieur's tongue; it has skipped on a
mile of the plan, and turned to meet the tardy wit of my Mortlake.
"'So be it,' I cry, with smiles. 'You want me to put you in those
cavalry boots of Captain Brand, that you may win his castle and his
Marguerite.'
"To my surprise my friend writhes with anger--half chokes over this:
"'His castle and his Marguerite? Hang him! I have a better right than he
to them.'
"And becomes immediately mysterious, close as a mute.
"When we reach London, and find that Monsieur le Capitaine is really
selling his commission in the Guards, and going to America, my Mortlake
reveals his well-considered plot to me.
"'Calembours, you are such a plausible rogue,' says my coarse friend,
'that you might be a great help to me in the plan I've thought of.'
"'Dear friend, you flatter me,' I, smiling, reply. 'Command me.'
"'This fellow is in love with some woman of rank here in London,'
pursues my Mortlake. 'I can't find out her name, he's such a proud
fellow; but that's the reason why he throws off the woman at Castle
Brand and forswears the fortune. Now, d'ye see, Calembours, how we can
turn his tomfoolery to account?'
"I bow; I am interested, but not admiring.
"He can go off to the war, and somebody can go off with him, to keep an
eye on him that he doesn't balk, and to worm himself into all the
fellow's secrets and past history. Somebody gentlemanly and taking, and
with plenty of confounded jabber about 'em. You'd do first rate,
Calembours.'
"'So flattered,' I smile. 'The good opinion of my dear M. Mortlake is so
consoling.'
"'You could creep round him so nicely,' observed my friend; 'you could
get anything you liked out of him, you've got such an innocent look, you
dog; while I can't become the polished gentleman without practice, fact
being that I've forgotten the talk. I was once as swell as any of
'em--was in the army, bedad! an artillery officer; but luck changed,
curse it! and my company wasn't so high-flying, though we were a jolly
pack for all that, especially after the day's duties were over.'
"'Was monsieur a soldier or a knight of the pen?' I ask.
"He shows his long teeth in a snarling smile.
"'I was in a government office--served my country,' he replies; 'and,
getting home on furlough, I might as well feather my nest while I have a
chance, and then slip the cable on 'em. Pay isn't very good there, nor
victuals very plenty.'
"'Eh! prison fare?' I ask, scenting the jest.
"He scowls like an ogre at me.
"'You're a fool!' he growls. 'No; I was a Road Commissioner. Come, now,
will you go with Brand, and win some cool thousands by the speculation?'
"'What are my duties?' I cautiously reply.
"'To keep close by him through all his windings, until--'
"My Mortlake stops.
"'Until?' I venture.
"'Until the dog is killed,' whispers monsieur.
"I start back--I wave the vile insinuation from me.
"'_Pardieu!_' I scream; 'I am _chevalier d'honneur_! I pride myself upon
my illustrious reputation. Monsieur must seek another colleague.'
"'Idiot!' he roars, 'did I ask you to have anything to do with that? Do
I suspect _you_ of enough pluck to crush a snake? No, you fool, I don't.
The man will be killed in battle. All I want of you is to hear his
private business, so that you can post me up. If you want to make your
fortune, say so.'
"Mademoiselle, my dearest wish has always been to make my fortune. _Ma
foi!_ shall I refuse it when it comes begging at my door?
"'So be it. _Vive l'Amerique!_' I cry. 'Give me my instructions.'
"And monsieur does give me my instructions.
"I am to be hand and glove with Monsieur le Capitaine; I am to learn his
history off by heart and write it down for my Mortlake to study; and
when he falls in battle I am to win my reward, but not till then. I am
encouraged by every inducement to be the assassin myself. I am assured
that if Captain Brand does not die in the course of twelve months,
Monsieur Mortlake can do nothing for me; and I laugh to myself, and say:
"'I shall watch my Mortlake.'
"'And what will monsieur do until I return to England?' I say.
"'I'll pigeon the green hands in the gambling saloons,' he tells me,
'and have a neat little sum to carry us through the plot.'
"So we make up our plans, and I follow Captain Brand to Liverpool.
"The last act of friendship which my principal does for me is to send
after me a servant to attend me.
"'A trusty fellow,' writes M. Mortlake, 'who will help you with the
captain. He is an unscrupulous chap, and might do that little job for
you. Thoms is a cute fellow, and won't betray us.'
"Monsieur Mortlake has changed his mind at the last moment; he doubts
the villainy of his accomplice; he comes himself, in Thoms' disguise, to
watch how the game goes.
"He says to himself, 'Calembours may betray my plot to Captain Brand,
or, not betraying it, may fail to see him killed, and he may turn up
again when I am least prepared for him; then let _me_ accompany the pair
as Thoms, the valet; and Thoms shall remind Calembours of his duty; and
Calembours shall commission Thoms to deal the death-blow, if chance
withholds it in battle, and Calembours shall ever after be tied hand and
foot by that command of his to Thoms, and shall never dare to betray the
cunning Mortlake. Then when Brand is dead, Thoms shall disappear;
Calembours shall return to England with his report; Mortlake shall pay
him much or little, as he likes, and Calembours shall be gagged for life
with his share in the murder of Brand. Thus shall Mortlake cover up his
traces, and win fortune without one fear of discovery. And if Calembours
proves unfaithful in his compact, why then Thoms shall only have to use
his dagger twice instead of once, and perhaps that would be the best way
after all.'
"Was it not a wonderful plot, mademoiselle?
"So complete, so obscure, so complicated!
"And to think that I should not have been the first to conceive it!
"Bah! I told you that Monsieur Mortlake could cheat me at
_rouge-et-noir_; he was my mental superior.
"Mine was the intellect quick, daring, creative; but his was the sure,
silent, and wily brain that could view a scheme in all its bearings, and
twist it as he willed.
"Enough; Monsieur Mortlake accompanied us to the seat of war as Thoms,
and not once did I suspect the villain of being other than he seemed.
"Bah! to think of being served by such a worm!
"Mademoiselle, the soul of the knight of honor rises in wrath as he
recalls these days of foolish deception, when the brother colonels,
sitting by the camp-fire, laugh over poor old Thoms, and say, 'He's
mad.' Mademoiselle, the blood of an honest man boils as he recalls the
dastard pranks of his valet; when he rifles the pockets of brave Colonel
Brand; and sitting behind us, mimics the gestures of my friend,
rehearsing for his future character; and shoots at Brand and me from
behind our tent, and missing fire, stabs the innocent Confederate envoy,
who might betray him.
"When I forget my compact with Monsieur Mortlake, and show my affection
for the great colonel, Thoms is there to menace me with meaning looks;
and when I defy his hints and refuse to spy any longer upon my colonel's
life, a letter comes from Mortlake quickening me by threats and
promises. 'Tis penned, of course, by Thoms, and I never know it then.
"The history of those days you have discovered for yourself,
mademoiselle, in that important note-book, which you seized with such
high courage.
"Admirable woman! I bend the knee to you, for you rival in valor Joan of
Arc. Without your heart of steel and hand of silk, the wary, lying fox
might never have been lured from his hole and crushed; and the noble
Colonel Brand might have lain forgotten and unavenged.
"Thus I come to the middle of the volume. The stories have met; I take
up the ends of them; I twine them together, and, _voila!_ an
_eclaircissement_! When I have run my little race in the ungrateful
republic, I come home to England.
"I am free. I have money, health; I have a sacred duty to perform, an
insult to avenge; I hasten into England, and seek my principal.
"_Ouais!_ are not the journals teeming with great news? '_The Great
Castle Brand Plot_ meets my astonished eyes in every journal. The vile
imposture is divulged, the daring murderer is condemned; his serpentine
guile is held up; and with passion I read that my valet Thoms and my
employer Mortlake are one. I foam, I sweat with rage and shame, that he
should have cheated me.
"Oh, _mon Dieu!_ that I should live to be cheated by _Thoms_! Why did I
not saber him in those days in Virginia?
"I swear that I will have honorable satisfaction; the dog shall die for
his treachery to a knight whose honor is more valued than his life.
"I know the old disguise of my Mortlake. I remember his haunts, I say.
England, I will find your criminal for you, but I shall have my little
account settled with him before I pass him over to you.
"I hasten to Canterbury, where I have seen him first, and in his old
haunt, plying his modest profession as gambler, I find my
bird-of-the-jail, with the eye upon Paris when tracked to Canterbury,
there to hide from angry England.
"I penetrate to his _cafe_, where he consorts with blacklegs, sharpers,
and barmaids, and I gain a private audience of the great man in his
exile.
"I snap the fingers in his face. _Tonnere!_ how white it grows! I cry:
"'Monsieur, you are no gentleman--you are _un fripon_, a rogue, a
speaking cur! Monsieur, I spit upon you for a cur! Will you have pistols
or sabers?'
"'Calembours, by all the devils!' groans my rat in the trap. 'Why, man,
I thought you were dead long ago. If I hadn't thought so, I should have
had you to help me through with that accursed plot, and paid you well
for it, too----'
"'Liar!' I cry, 'I don't believe you! You are Thoms, and Thoms was a
traitor. _Allons_, monsieur, will you meet me in the court out there?'
"'Calembours,' whines the slave, 'why need you trample on a down man?
Nobody knows me here, and I'll give you my purse, my jewels, and a fine
blood-horse which I have out there in the stable, if you'll let me
escape to Dover to-night.'
"I weigh the purse, not so light, considering; the jewels--_par la
messe!_ a million francs would not purchase them.
"But I do not falter; he has cheated me with a paltry trick, he has
practiced upon my credulity--my credulity, mademoiselle, and a
_chevalier d'honneur_ never forgives that.
"'Dog! you think to buy me!' I screamed, in my high indignation--'you,
who have played your vile trick upon me, who have laughed under the hood
at me. _You_, Thoms! Never, Monsieur Mortlake; but I will have your
blood! Fox! beast! you shall be honored for the first time in your
plebeian life--you shall fight with Calembours!'
"The slave recoils, for he knows the accuracy of the chevalier's aim, he
knows the perfection of the chevalier's passes; he loathes pistol and
saber as a means of settling the dispute.
"Glaring at me, eye to eye, he casts about in his wily brain how to
cheat me to my face--he was ever my superior in juggling tricks,
although he had no bravery, except what paid him.
"But he is late in achieving his last throw for freedom--angry England
has tracked the fugitive. A posse of _gens d'armes_--what you call
police--pour into monsieur's private saloon, and advance to take my
Mortlake.
"He glares at them with eyes of horror, gathers himself for a tiger's
bound through their midst, and nearly gains the door.
"But he is caught--mid air; he is hurled to the floor; the shackles are
on his wrists, the gyves are on his feet, and, with foam on his lips and
murder in his eyes, he looks up at his captors.
"'Ha, ha! my bird!' jests a _gen d'armes_; 'you're caged at last. Your
ticket of leave won't do any longer--it's out many a month ago; and,
since you don't go in for road-work, in Tasmania, you can try the
shortest road to glory.'
"The convict says never a word, but shuts his eyes and succumbs; and so
they carry him away, and I have bade my last adieu to Monsieur Mortlake.
"_Ma chere_, there are ups in this world, and there are downs; I have
seen both--I have been elevated to the highest pinnacle of fortune, and
again thrown under fortune's wheel--but, mademoiselle, my honor has
never been impugned, for it was above reproach.
"Yet this dog of a Mortlake had ventured to amuse himself at my
expense--had outwitted me in my own game; can the depths of misfortune
be too profound for such a traitor? _Pardieu!_ no, a thousand times no!
"So that when my Mortlake was dragged to prison, I, the insulted man of
honesty, felt only joy that there was a rogue less to find.
"Most illustrious heroine, shall I resume the chronicles?
"Your face answers with eloquence: 'Yes, my friend, and be brief;' but
your great heart trembles, and shrinks from the deep cup of vengeance
which I offer, although you long have sought to taste it.
"No? you deny the imputation? But, mademoiselle, you tremble and are
pale as the winter moon; wherefore? Ah, you apprehend my halting
meaning; you perceive the mists of possibility with those keen eyes, and
you urge, 'Haste, haste, and assure me of the truth!'
"_Eh, bien!_ you shall taste of a cup more mellow than this one of
revenge. I hasten to hold it to the lips of Margaret _la Fidele_!
"I learn as much of my Mortlake's history as my interest in him prompts
me to search out.
"I hear that he was banished to Tasmania twelve years ago for a daring
act of forgery; that he has come back with a ticket of leave two years
since, and, seizing the first opportunity, has presented himself with
freedom, and escaped from the espionage of the law.
"That the detectives sent on the track of Roland Mortlake have met the
detectives on the track of the fugitive ticket of leave man, and that
O'Grady has confessed that they are identical.
"O'Grady, being a companion-convict, and having shared in that
enterprise for freedom, is well qualified to put the detectives upon his
track, and does so. Thus our friend Mortlake vanishes from the scene;
one month ago the prosperous heir of Castle Brand--to-day, the convict
waiting sentence for the murder of the true heir of Castle Brand.
"But, mademoiselle, the little tale is not complete without the
_eclaircissement_; permit me to draw aside the curtain from my secret.
"You shall give the word that draws the bolt, and drop out Mortlake into
a murderer's grave; or you shall raise the warning hand that stays the
doom upon the felon's platform, and waves him back to Tasmania for life
in the chain-gang.
"How you have that power is my secret, mademoiselle; shall I tell it you
for one thousand pounds?"
Grave, keen, penetrating, the Chevalier de Calembours bent forward and
waited breathlessly the answer to this momentous question.
The great eyes of Margaret Walsingham still met his in a fascinated
gaze; her electric face kept its spell-bound attention. With lips apart
and bosom heaving she waited for the end of the story.
"Mademoiselle, shall I tell it you for one thousand pounds, or shall I
go back to America, and bury the secret in oblivion?" asked the
chevalier.
"Tell me all," breathed Margaret, faintly.
"Mademoiselle will remember my modest request?"
"Yes, yes, monsieur, I will pay you what you ask!" she cried,
hysterically; "go on to the end."
"_Milles mercis!_" cried he, cheerfully, "mademoiselle is magnificent!
Mademoiselle does not wish M. Mortlake to escape with his life?"
"No," shuddered Margaret, "he must not live."
"So perfidious!" aspirated the chevalier; "he stole St. Udo's history,
he stole his identity, and then he stole his life. Fiendish Mortlake!"
"He shall die, monsieur, be content," groaned Margaret.
"Even if he had not succeeded in killing St. Udo, his intention would
make him worthy of death," remarked the chevalier.
"Ah, yes, worthy of twenty deaths!" cried Margaret, wringing her hands.
"Mademoiselle loves the brave man who was murdered?" insinuated the
chevalier, in softest accents.
She grew white as death, and the great tears rushed from her eyes.
"What does it matter now?" she moaned. "I do love him--ah, I do love
him!"
Then did the little man rise and expand with warm enthusiasm--then did
his handsome face glow with rapture and with pride.
He put on a smile of most gracious benevolence, he drank in the rich
love-light upon her eloquent countenance, and then he cried, joyfully:
"Incomparable mademoiselle! you deserve good news. We shall hang the
dog, and then resurrect the master; for, _Viola! Colonel Brand is not
dead yet_!"