THE FIGHT
Not often have the good people of Palermo seen three cabs pass through
the Corso Vittorio Emmanuele in such fashion. The sight made loiterers
curious, drove policemen frantic, and caused the drivers of other
vehicles to pull to one side and piously bless themselves.
Dubois had evidently offered his _cocchiere_ a lavish bribe for a quick
transit through the city, and the Italian was determined to earn it.
Although he had a good start, and his horse was accustomed to
negotiating the main thoroughfare at a rapid pace, nevertheless the
half-starved animal was not able to maintain a high rate of speed for
more than a few minutes.
By the time they reached the Corso Catafini, which carries the chief
artery of Palermo out into the country--crossing the railway and passing
the magnificent convent of San Francisco de Sale--the horse was
labouring heavily notwithstanding the frantic efforts of the cabman.
It was at this point, when mounting the bridge, that Dubois knew for
certain he was followed. Three hundred yards behind, he saw Talbot
whipping an equally unwilling, but better-conditioned steed than that
which carried his own fortunes. At the distance he could not recognize
the Englishman, but instinct told him that this impassioned driver was
an enemy.
Brett, of course, was not visible, being far in the rear.
"My friend," said Dubois, standing up in the small carriage and leaning
against the driver's seat, "I offered you twenty francs if you crossed
the city quickly. I will make it forty for another mile at the same
pace. See, I place the money in your pocket."
"It will kill my horse, signorina."
"Possibly. I will buy you another."
The _cocchiere_ thought that this was a lady of strange manner. There
was an odd timbre in her voice, a note of domination not often
associated with the fair sex. But she had given earnest of her words by
a couple of gold pieces, so he murmured a prayer to his favourite saint
that the horse might not die until the right moment.
Thus they swirled on, pursued and pursuers, until the villa residences
on the outskirts of the town were less in evidence, and fields devoted
to the pepper-wort, alternated with groves of olives and limes, formed
the prevalent features of the landscape.
Now it became evident that the leading horse could barely stagger
another fifty yards, notwithstanding the inhuman efforts of the
_cocchiere_ to make the most of the poor brute's failing energies. At
last the animal stumbled and fell, nearly pulling the driver off his
perch. It was sad, but he had more than earned his price, for Palermo
lay far behind.
"My horse is done for, signorina," cried the cabman. "It is marvellous
that he--_Corpo di Baccho!_ It is a man!"
Dubois felt that his feminine trappings were no longer a disguise, only
a hindrance. He had torn off jacket, skirt, hat and wig. The frightened
cabman saw his fare--changed now into an athletic young man, attired in
shirt and trousers, the latter rolled up to his knees--spring from the
vehicle and vault over a ditch by the roadside.
Some portion of the discarded clothing lay on the seat of the carriage,
but Dubois had thrown the skirt over his arm.
"Here! Come back!" yelled the Italian. "What about payment for my dead
horse?"
But Dubois paid little heed to him. He was fumbling with the pocket of
the skirt as he ran. Not until he had withdrawn a revolver from its
folds--whereupon he at once threw away the garment--did the maddening
remembrance come to him that he unloaded the weapon prior to the Customs
examination, and had forgotten to reinsert the cartridges.
They were in the pocket of his serge coat, the coat which Mademoiselle
wore. She, like a prudent young woman, had been careful to reload the
revolver she carried, and which she transferred to her new attire when,
at the last moment, Dubois suggested the exchange of clothing as a final
safeguard in the most unexpected event of police interference with their
landing.
Henri Dubois could not afford to expend his breath in useless curses.
But his eyes scintillated with fiery gleams. He, the man who took no
chances, who foresaw every pitfall and smiled at the devices of outraged
law, to compromise his own safety so foolishly!
For an instant he was tempted to fling the weapon away, but he
controlled the impulse.
"As it is," he thought, "this fellow who is pursuing me may not be
armed, and I can terrorise him if he comes to close quarters."
Moreover, this superlative scoundrel could feel tightly fastened round
his waist a belt containing diamonds worth over a million sterling. Such
a ceinture was worth fighting for, whilst his pocket-book contained
ample funds for all immediate necessities.
If the worst came to the worst he carried a trustworthy clasp knife, and
he was an adept in the savate--the system of scientific defence by using
hands and feet which finds favour with Parisian "sports."
On the whole, Henri Dubois made for a neighbouring wood in a state of
boiling rage at his momentary lapse concerning the revolver, but
conscious that he had many a time extricated himself from a worse fix. A
hundred yards in his rear ran Jack Talbot. The Englishman,
notwithstanding his recent imprisonment, was in better condition than
Dubois. He was a good golf player and cricketer, and although in
physique and weight he did not differ much from the Frenchman, his
muscles were more firmly knit, and his all-round training in athletic
exercises gave him considerable advantage.
Thus they neared the wood, neither man running at his top speed. Both
wished to conserve their energies for the approaching struggle. Talbot
could have come up with his quarry sooner, were it not for the paramount
consideration that he should not be spent with the race at the supreme
moment, whilst Dubois only intended to seek the shelter of the trees
before he faced his opponent. The Frenchman did not want witnesses.
Neither was aware that Brett and the Italian pilot had by this time
reached the place where the two leading carriages were halted in the
roadway. Without wasting a moment the barrister leapt the intervening
ditch and followed the runners across the field, whilst behind him,
eagerly anxious to see the end of this mysterious chase, came the
sailor.
On the edge of the wood Dubois halted and turned to face his pursuer.
Instantly he recognized Talbot, and for the first time in his career a
spasm of fear struck cold upon the Frenchman's heart. In the young
Englishman he recognized the only man who had cause to hate him with an
implacable animosity.
But the unscrupulous adventurer quickly recovered his nerve.
"So it is you who follow me so closely," he cried. "Go back, my friend.
This time I will not tie you on a bed. You are becoming dangerous. Go
back, I tell you!"
And with these words he levelled the revolver at Talbot's breast, for
the latter was now within fifty yards of him. But Jack was animated with
the mad elation of a successful chase, and governed by the fierce
resolve that his betrayer should not escape him. For an instant he
stopped. It was only to pick up a huge stone. Then he ran on again, and,
careless whether Dubois fired or not, he flung the missile at him.
The Frenchman barely succeeded in dodging, as it passed unpleasantly
close to his head. He instantly understood that here was a man who could
not be deterred by idle threats. To attempt to keep him at arm's length
by pointing an empty pistol at him would merely court disaster.
So now, with an imprecation of genuine rage, he flung the weapon at
Talbot, who, in his turn, was so surprised by the action that he did not
get out of the way in time. It struck him fair in the chest and
staggered him for a moment, whereupon Dubois ran off again into the
interior of the wood.
But Talbot's pause was only a matter of seconds. He did not trouble to
pick up another stone. He felt with a species of mad joy that his enemy
was unarmed--that he could throttle him with his hands, and wreak upon
him that personal and physical vengeance which is dearer to outraged
humanity than any wounds inflicted by other means.
Dubois reached a small glade among the trees before he comprehended that
his ruthless adversary was still close at his heels. He stopped for the
last time, resolved now to have done with this irritating business, once
and for all. Talbot too halted, about ten yards from him. He felt that
he had the Frenchman at his mercy, and there were a few things he wished
to say to him before they closed in mortal combat.
"This time, Henri Dubois," he panted, "I am not drugged and strapped
helplessly to a bed. You know why I am here. I have followed you to
avenge the stigma you inflicted on my reputation and at the same time to
recover the diamonds which you obtained by subterfuge and murder."
The Frenchman was quite collected in manner.
"I murdered no one," he answered. "I could not help the blundering of
other people. If I am regretfully compelled to kill you to-day, it is
your own fault. I am only acting in self-defence."
"Self-defence!" came the quick retort. "Such men as you are a pest. Like
any wild beast you will strive to save your miserable life! But, thank
Heaven, you must depend upon your claws. Lying and trickery will avail
you no further!"
"How can we fight?" demanded the Frenchman calmly.
"Any way you like, you villain. As man to man if you are able. If not,
as dog to dog, for I am going to try and kill you!"
"But you are probably armed, whereas I am defenceless? My revolver, as
you saw, was not loaded."
"We are equal in that respect, if in no other," retorted Talbot.
An evil smile lit up the Frenchman's pallid face. He pulled out his
knife with a flourish and hissed--
"Then die yourself, you fool!"
He advanced upon Jack with a murderous look in his face. Talbot awaited
him, and he, too, smiled.
"You are a liar and a coward to the end!" he cried. "But if you had
twenty knives, Henri Dubois, I will kill you!"
At that instant a cold, clear voice rang out among the trees, close
behind the two men.
"Halt!" it cried.
Both men involuntarily paused and turned their eyes to learn whence came
this strange interruption. Brett quietly came a few paces nearer.
He held a revolver, pointed significantly at Dubois' breast.
"Drop that knife," he said, with an icy determination in tone and manner
that sent a cold shiver through his hearer's spine.
"Drop it, or, by God, I will shoot you this instant!"
Dubois felt that the game was up. He flung down the knife and tried even
then to laugh.
"Of course," he sneered, "as I am cornered on all sides I give in."
Brett still advanced until he reached the spot where the knife lay. He
picked it up, and at the same instant lowered the revolver. Then he
observed, with the easy indifference of one who remarks upon the
weather--
"Now you can fight, monsieur. My young friend here is determined to
thrash you, and you richly deserve it. So I will not interfere. But just
one word before you begin. Two can play at the game of bluff. This is
your own pistol. It is, as you know, unloaded."
Dubois' cry of rage at the trick which had been played on him was
smothered by his effort to close with Talbot, who immediately flung
himself upon him with an impetuosity not to be denied.
Luckily for the Englishman he had clutched Dubois before the latter
could attempt any of the expedients of the savate. Nevertheless the
Frenchman sought to defend himself with the frenzy of desperation.
The fight, while it lasted, was fast and furious.
The two men rolled over and over each other on the ground--one striving
to choke the life out of his opponent, the other seeking to rend with
teeth and nails.
This combat of catamounts could not last long.
From the writhing convulsive bodies, locked together in a deadly
struggle, suddenly there came a sharp snap. The Frenchman's right arm
was broken near the wrist.
Then Talbot proceeded to wreak his vengeance on him. Unquestionably he
would have strangled the man had not Brett interfered, for with his left
hand he clutched Dubois' throat, whilst with the right he endeavoured to
demolish his features. But the barrister, assisted by the Italian
pilot--whose after-life was cheered by his ability to relate the details
of this Homeric fight--pulled the young man from off his insensible foe.
Talbot regained his feet. Panting with exertion, he glared down at the
prostrate form, but Brett, being practical-minded, knelt by the
Frenchman's side, tore open his shirt, and unfastened the precious belt.
"At last!" he murmured.
Peering into one of the pockets, which by the way of its bulging he
thought would contain the "Imperial diamond," he looked up at Talbot
with the words--
"Now, Jack, we are even with him."
It was the first time he had addressed Talbot by his familiar and
Christian name. The very sound brought back the other man to a conscious
state of his surroundings, and in the same instant a great weakness came
over him, for the terrible exertions of the past few minutes had utterly
exhausted him.
"I cannot even thank you, for I am done up. But I owe it all to you, old
man. If it had not been for you we should never have found him."
Brett's grave face wrinkled in a kindly smile.
"I think," he said, "we are even on that score. If you had not followed
this rascal he might have escaped us at the finish, and my pride would
never have recovered from the shock. However, go and sit down for a
minute or two and you will soon pull yourself together again. I wish to
goodness we had some brandy. A drop would do you good, and our prostrate
friend here would be none the worse for a reviver."
The Italian pilot caught the word "brandy." Being a sailor he was equal
to all emergencies. He produced a small flask with a magnificent air.
"Behold!" he declared. "It is the best. It is contraband!"
Brett forced his companion to swallow some of the liquor; then he gently
raised Dubois' head and managed to pour a few drops into his mouth.
The Frenchman regained consciousness. Awakening with a start to the
realities of existence, he endeavoured to rise, but sank back with a
groan, for he had striven to support himself on his broken arm.
"Be good enough to remain quite still, M. Dubois," said Brett
soothingly. "You have reached the end of your rope, and we do not even
need to tie you."
With the aid of some handkerchiefs and a couple of saplings cut by the
Italian he managed roughly to bind the fractured limb. Then he assisted
Dubois to his feet.
"Come," he said, "we are regretfully compelled to bring you back to
town, but we will endeavour to make the journey as comfortable as
possible for you. In any event, the horses will certainly not travel so
fast."
In the roadway they found the carriages where they had left them, whilst
three wondering _cocchieri_ were exchanging opinions as to the mad
behaviour of the foreigners.
Brett and the Frenchman entered one vehicle, Talbot and the Italian
pilot the other.
"But, gentlemen," moaned the disconsolate cabman who had headed the
procession from Palermo, "who will pay me for my dead horse?"
"I know not," replied Brett. "In any event you had better occupy the
vacant seat and drive those two gentlemen to the city, where you can
secure the means of bringing back your carriage."
In this guise the party returned to Palermo, evoking much wonderment all
the way through the Corso Vittorio Emmanuele, whence no less than six
outraged policemen followed them to the Hotel de France to obtain their
names and addresses.