EZRA MAKES UP HIS MIND TO A DANGEROUS VENTURE
The surly landlord of the “Indian’s Head” danced into the centre of his
public room, the expression of fear expanding upon his face.
“Gentlemen,” he cried, appealing to Ezra and Pennington, “I demand your
protection. I am beset by this man, who would kill me in my own house.”
“If you prefer to have it so,” spoke Scarlett with a swishing whir of
his heavy blade, “I will dispatch you upon the lawn if you are possessed
of one, or, in default of that, in the public road. I am of a liberal
nature, and would as well please you as not in the place of your taking
off.”
His agile point followed the churlish landlord in his caperings.
“Sir,” cried the man, addressing himself to Pennington, “I crave you to
speak a word to this mad villain, who seems bound to spill my blood.”
Pennington arose and was about to remonstrate with the young soldier;
but the latter stopped before he had well begun.
“Have the goodness to keep your place,” requested Scarlett, with a
quick, fierce, unmistakable look. “There are some things, perhaps, that
I can be crossed in,” here the look grew significant, “and made to
appear cheap. But be assured, sir, that this is not one of them.”
At once Pennington sank back upon the settle and again the landlord
resumed his capering before the swift-moving sword point.
“Now, rascal,” cried Scarlett, harshly, “will you do as I ask? Faith,
I’m playing you easily enough; in Muscovy they’d have had your life for
half this show of stubbornness.”
“I tell you I know no such gentleman,” cried the landlord. “How can I
tell that which I know not?”
He whirled away before the brisk flash of the blade; and at the same
time he continued, addressing Pennington, meaningly:
“I beg of you, sir, for the last time, to persuade this man to let be. I
am but flesh and blood. I cannot withstand everything.”
Again Pennington seemed about to interfere; but once more the fierce
glance of Scarlett awed him. Then the latter shortened his weapon and
glowered at the innkeeper.
“And I call upon you for the last time to tell me who this man
Pennington is!” he grated. “Quick now!”
The landlord’s eyes sought for a means of escape; but he was hard
pressed to make use of any that presented themselves.
“I will tell,” he at length cried, desperately. “The man you want is
there.”
His trembling finger indicated Pennington, who turned a shade paler, but
sat composedly enough. Scarlett’s sword point fell; he turned upon
Pennington and saluted him in a formal, military fashion, a satirical
smile curling his moustache points upward.
“Sir,” said he, “I am most pleased. I will not say that I expected as
much, but I can say that I am not at all surprised.”
Ezra watched the spy curiously. He saw him swallow once or twice in an
effort to speak. But finally he managed to resume control of his tongue.
“You have found me out, then,” said he, and he smiled in a sickly
fashion. “I was interested to see just how long it would take you.”
For all his speech faltered, his eyes were steady enough to threaten the
innkeeper for betraying him. But the man returned the look defiantly.
“I’ll not be sworded to death, and you sitting by at your ease, never
lifting a hand,” he declared sullenly.
Scarlett turned quickly upon the man.
“You have done your share to the furthering of the acquaintance of this
gentleman and myself, and I am obliged to you. So now, back to your
scullery and let us hear none of your protestations.”
The innkeeper went quickly enough; he had had a taste of the
adventurer’s quality, and clearly desired no more of it. After he had
vanished into his kitchen, Scarlett sheathed his blade, struck an
attitude with his feet very wide apart and hooked his thumbs into his
sword belt.
“So, so, good and excellent sirs,” said he with a lifting of his heavy
brows. “It would seem that you have been making a laughing-stock of me.”
“Nothing was further from my intention,” Pennington hastened to say.
Disbelief was plain in Scarlett’s face; he turned to Ezra saying:
“And what answer has your intimate?”
“None, other than that I am not his intimate. To the best of my
knowledge,” proceeded Ezra, “I have never met with this gentleman before
to-night.”
Gilbert Scarlett shot him a mingled glance of astonishment and regret.
“I was mistaken in you, then,” spoke he. “I took you to be an upstanding
youth of much character and straightforwardness.”
Ezra was about to speak in answer to this, but the young soldier waved
his hand.
“Let me have no denials. I have eyes,” and he gestured angrily. “Also, I
have perception, though you both seem to doubt it.”
“Sir,” spoke Pennington, in a soothing tone, “you much deceive yourself
if you fancy that we have in any way sought to mislead you.”
He leaned forward upon the settle, his legs crossed and his hands upon
his knees.
“Now,” he proceeded, “I leave it to you as a gentleman of wide
experience and much service, to pass judgment upon what I am about to
say.”
The adventurer unhooked his thumbs from his sword belt and twirled his
moustache. He said nothing in reply; but there was a sardonic look in
his face.
“I,” and Pennington tapped his chest, “am the person whom your young
friend here,” with a nod toward Ezra, “was to inquire for. I acknowledge
it.”
“It’s overlate for frankness,” said Gilbert Scarlett, grimly. “But, go
on.”
“I am able to say in perfect good faith,” went on Pennington, “that I
had no expectation of seeing him. Neither had I any notion that he knew
anything of the affairs of Abdallah. As for my failure to acknowledge a
connection with the story which you told me a while ago, you surely can
feel no resentment for that. When a man is engaged in”—he paused and
shrugged his shoulders—“well, in work of a more or less secret
character, it is not quite safe for him to speak freely with strangers.”
The adventurer unbent his brows and his face altered in expression.
“Now,” said he, “that is talk that holds much sense. It is clear to me
that you could not do other than you did.”
Then he turned to Ezra once more.
“Chance and circumstance seem to have taken you for their very own,”
said he.
“Some things have befallen me of late days that make your saying seem
like the truth,” said Ezra. “But my experience must be but a trifle, as
compared with what yours must have been, sir. I have no doubt but that
chance has figured much in your life.”
“Why,” answered the adventurer, “now that you mention it, it is true
enough. What great matter is it for a lad to chance along a lonely
wagonway near to sundown, and meet with a horseman who has had an
accident befall him? And that you should chance to have the pleasure of
this gentleman’s acquaintance,” indicating Pennington, “is, upon second
thought, not a matter to marvel at. Why, I recall, how, when I served
the Turk at Cairo, I met with an adventure that must have seemed like a
miracle of chance. Moslems are a strange people, but they grow stranger
still in their dealings with a Christian; and when that Christian
happens to be in command of a squadron of them——”
But he stopped upon the very verge of the adventure. Pulling up a chair,
he seated himself in it and addressing Ezra, said:
“But let us come to this message which Abdallah gave you. As you came
here seeking Master Pennington, which I have no doubt you did, I suppose
you brought the writing with you.”
During all which followed Scarlett’s entrance with the innkeeper,
Pennington’s sharp glance kept shifting itself to Ezra. Now he spoke,
eagerly:
“In that you bring us to a matter of consequence, sir. During your
absence, we held some converse upon this very matter. And our young
friend informed me that the dispatch is no longer in his possession.”
Scarlett folded his arms across his chest in an easy sort of way, and
replied, lightly:
“I have no real knowledge of this affair, one way or the other, sir. But
from your manner, I take it that this circumstance is irritating.”
“It is more than that,” spoke Pennington. “It may be fatal. General Gage
was expecting——”
But here he checked himself after the manner of a cautious man who has
caught himself in the midst of a dangerous admission.
Ezra, however, smiled.
“It is somewhat late,” said he, “to try and conceal the dispatch’s
ultimate destination. Major Buckstone saw to my enlightenment at the
very start.”
Pennington’s hands clenched.
“You saw him then! The old idiot! He would discuss our plans with the
colonial council of war itself.”
“I have not the good fortune of this gentleman’s acquaintance,” spoke
Scarlett, “but I think I know the type. The bluff old officer—honest as
the sun—who knows nothing but his routine and the well ordering of his
command. But,” with a careless wave of the hand, “what matters it? We
are all friends, are we not? We are all fairly well gifted with
understanding. So a trifle of plain talk will do no harm.”
Pennington pondered and nodded reluctantly.
“In a way,” said he, “you are right.”
“A frank question or two, when needed, will have no bad result,” said
the adventurer. “And I think if they were applied here and now, we’d
come at something of profit, perhaps.”
Pennington’s face flushed.
“I am beholden to you, sir,” said he, a trifle bitterly. Then turning to
Ezra he said: “Perhaps you will now tell us how you came to so part with
the papers entrusted to you?”
“Is it any great wonder,” said Ezra, “that I did not safeguard a message
given me by people who later sought my life?”
He was determined to be as evasive as possible. If he hoped to come to
the true depth and breadth of this spy system, he knew that he must meet
craft with craft.
Pennington made no reply to this, but continued to sit and watch. The
situation must have puzzled him; clearly he did not understand it.
But Scarlett was ready enough.
“For my part, I blame you but little,” he said. “It was but a churlish
way to treat a messenger.”
There was a short pause; then the spy spoke.
“Might I ask,” he inquired, “who this mysterious person is to whom you
confided this paper?”
Ezra shook his head and remained silent.
“As a grandson of Seth Prentiss,” continued Pennington, “I am loth to
believe you other than a friend to honesty and good government.”
“And in that,” returned the boy, “you would be right.”
Scarlett here leaned forward.
“And was the gentleman to whom you entrusted the paper,” asked he, “of a
like inclination?”
“He was.”
“Why, in that case,” and the soldier of fortune laughed good-humoredly,
“I don’t think it any great matter. Let us but get word to the gentleman
and he’ll take it to Boston himself, perhaps.”
Pennington’s eyes searched Ezra’s face, and the boy replied:
“Perhaps so; I have heard him say that he meant to make his way into
Boston before long.”
The hidden meaning of this must have left its trace in Ezra’s voice, for
Pennington’s gaze, if it were possible, grew keener.
“That may, perhaps, serve,” said the man. Then he continued: “It so
chances that I am left in a most peculiar position by your unexpected
connection with this affair, Master Prentiss.” There was concern in his
voice as he went on. “It will be difficult for me to explain it to those
to whom I must make explanation. And it will be equally difficult for
them to understand.”
A thrill ran through Ezra. As plainly as day he read the purpose of the
man in his crafty eyes. And, so it flashed upon him, as that purpose
would help him in his own, he at once fell in with it.
“If I could but make my own explanation,” he said, “it would greatly
lighten your labor.”
The eyes of the spy snapped.
“To do that you must needs go into Boston,” he said. “Would you venture
that?”
“I have been there before,” answered the boy. “And why not again? And I
think this gentleman,” nodding smilingly at Scarlett, “would also make
the venture if it could be accomplished.”
“As well as not,” said the soldier of fortune, carelessly. “One place is
much like another to me.”
There was triumph in Pennington’s face as he arose.
“Excellent!” he cried. “Both of you shall cross the river to-night. I
have the means at hand. And I will present you to those,” here the
high-pitched, disagreeable laugh rang out, “who will be delighted to
welcome you.”