I said not a word; but I sat by myself, and I matured, I think, the
maddest scheme that ever entered a sane man's head. Desperate diseases,
as everybody knows, ask for desperate remedies, and here I do not know
how it was possible for anybody to overestimate the urgency of the case.
Count Rossano has gone peacefully to his rest now this many a year, but
I had learned to love the man with a loyal affection and esteem, the
like of which I never felt for any human creature, except my wife and my
own children. It made for a good deal in my affection for him that I had
been instrumental in rescuing him from that living death he had suffered
for so many years, for I have found over and over again in my own
experience that one of the surest ways of learning to love a man is to
do him a good turn. And apart from my own affection for him, he was the
very apple of Violet's eye, and my affection for her I have never been
able to find words for. That her money should be employed to lure her
father to destruction was a thing altogether hideous and intolerable;
and when I hit upon the only method I could see to prevent so dreadful
a consummation, I accepted my own madness with a tranquillity which has
surprised me very often in remembering it. I thought it well, before
starting on the enterprise I had in hand, to set down my purpose in
writing, so that if it miscarried I might at least escape the mischief
of misconstruction. So I sat down and wrote deliberately that it was
my intention to rob Lady Rollinson of the sum of forty thousand pounds,
intrusted to her by Miss Violet Rossano for transmission to her father.
If I could have seen any other way out of it I would not have taken
this; but I had searched everywhere in my own mind, and until this one
extraordinary proposition disclosed itself I had been able to find
no road at all. I set down in the document I wrote my purpose in this
strange proceeding; I signed and sealed it in an envelope, and put it in
my pocket. Then I waited until the house was quite silent, and the
last waiter had shuffled along the corridor. It was one o'clock in the
morning before I was satisfied that the whole house had sunk to slumber,
and then I marched straight to the room in which Lady Rollinson had last
decisively refused to grant me a moment's interview. I remember very
well that there were three pairs of boots outside the door, that they
were all new and neat and fashionable, and that I thought, as I looked
at them, that in contrast with my own heavy and mud-stained footgear
they looked marvellously small and delicate. I turned the handle of
the door, and, to my surprise, it yielded. I found myself within a
dimly-lighted room, where the main illumination was refracted in a
ghostly fashion from the white ceiling, and came from the street-lamps
in the square below. I closed the door behind me, and found that I
had light enough to make my way about without difficulty. The room was
furnished in hotel fashion, and at one wall of it stood a ghostly piano,
its form revealed by mere hints of polish on its surface here and there.
On the opposite side was an escritoire with writing implements, and a
few scattered sheets of paper. In the centre of the room was a table,
and two or three disordered chairs were scattered about the apartment.
Faint as the light was, a cursory glance about the place made it evident
to me that so large an amount of money as the sum I meant to steal was
hardly likely to be there. There were two doors opening out of the room
apart from the one by which I had entered, and I was compelled to trust
to chance in my choice of the one to be next opened. I cannot in the
least tell why, but I walked without hesitation to the one on my left.
I tried the handle, and the door resisted me. I tried again more
strenuously, and I heard a voice from the other side cry out in sleepy
tones, asking who was there. I knew the voice for Lady Rollinson's.
I know very well that I am telling a queer story, but I must tell it
plainly. I set my sound knee against that door and threw my whole weight
with it, and in a second, with a horrible wrench at the injured wrist
and ankle, I stood inside the room. A faint scream greeted me, and I saw
a white figure in the act of scrambling upright in the bed.
“You will do well to be quiet,” I said, and the figure sank back with
a sort of moan and gurgle of astonishment. My own nerves were so
overstrung already that I discerned a comedy in a situation sufficiently
serious, and if I had given way to the impulse which assailed me I
should have broken into a shout of unreasoning laughter. This was only
a surface current, however, and I was as conscious of the serious import
of my business as I am now in recalling the incidents of that incredible
adventure.
“Your ladyship,” I said, with that odd sense of comedy still uppermost,
“will regard this as rather a curious intrusion. You have forty thousand
pounds belonging to Miss Rossano, and I am here to rob you of it. I
propose to do it with all delicacy; but if your ladyship will be good
enough to understand me, I mean to have the money.”
That she heard me I am sure, but the sole answer I received came in the
shape of a muffled scream from underneath the bedclothes.
“The money,” I said, “is Violet's property, and to her I shall be
perfectly willing to account for it. You must tell me where it is, and I
shall take it, and shall keep it until she comes to claim it.” I waited,
and no answer came at all. I was bubbling with subdued laughter, and
fully alive at the same time to the serious side of my own position.
“Where is the money?” I asked, in a voice as stern as I could make it.
“Tell me, and tell me without delay!”
The blinds of the room were drawn, and even that faint illumination
which had guided my steps in the sitting-room was missing here. I could
see nothing but the dull gray gleam of the white counterpane and the
hangings of the bed.
“Tell me at once,” I said. “You may ask me for any explanation in the
morning, and I will give it Where is the money?”
I waited, and a dead silence reigned. I repeated my question once, and
twice, and thrice: “Where is the money?” Then I heard a muffled voice
say: “Here!” I groped forward in the darkness until my hand encountered
hers, and took from her grasp a chamois-leather bag, which was all crisp
to the touch above and solid below.
“That will do,” I said. “You have forced me to do this. You can raise an
alarm if you will; I am willing to defend myself, and I have taken the
only step that was left me to save the life of Violet's father.”
With that I withdrew, stumbling here and there against the furniture in
the thick darkness of the room. The sitting-room beyond seemed light by
comparison, and the corridor, with its solitary sickly gleam of gas, was
as clear as it would have been in broad daylight. I ran to my own room,
and flung the bag upon the table. Then I untied the cord which bound it
at the neck, and counted its contents. There were twenty notes of the
Bank of England for one thousand pounds each, tied up in one little
ladylike bundle with a bit of narrow pink silk ribbon. There were
thirty-eight notes of five hundred pounds each, tied in the same
delicate and feminine fashion. Then there were notes of one hundred and
of fifty, to the value of seven hundred pounds. And at the bottom of
the bag was a great loose handful of gold, all in bright sovereigns and
half-sovereigns, fresh from the Mint. I estimated this little mass of
coined gold at three hundred pounds; but just as I was in the act of
counting it, the ring of a bell in violent motion tingled through the
midnight silence of the house, and I paused. I heard a door thrown
open, and an urgent voice at an incredible pitch shrieked, “Thieves!”
“Murder!” Then the bell sounded again and yet again, until I heard it
fall with a crash upon the stone floor of the corridor below. The wild
voice, once loosed, went on shrieking, “Murder!” “Thieves!” I hurried
the money I had stolen back into the bag, tied it as I had found it, and
awaited the result with perfect equanimity. In less than half a minute
doors were banging all over the house, and hurrying feet charged
up-stairs and down-stairs. The voice of alarm never ceased for a moment.
I stepped out into the corridor, and faced the manager, who was the
first man to arrive upon the field.
“Lady Rollinson is alarmed,” I said; “you had better send some of your
women to her. I have just robbed her of forty thousand pounds, and the
money is in my room.”
The man glared at me with an expression of profound astonishment. Words
were utterly beyond him, and he could only gasp at me.
“Tell Lady Rollinson,” I continued, “that the money is quite safe. I
shall surrender it to Miss Rossano, to whom it belongs, but to no other
person. Now go!”
The corridor by this time was full of half-clad people, who were staring
in each other's faces with the bewilderment natural to startled sleep.
I returned to my own room, closing the door behind me, and awaited the
progress of events. I heard excited voices outside, but could make out
nothing of their purport. Thirty or forty people made a very babel of
noise outside my door; but by-and-by Hinge came in, wide-eyed, in a very
short night-shirt.
“I have saved the count,” I said, very quietly. “There is the money
which was to have betrayed him.”
“Good Lord, sir,” Hinge cried, “how did you get hold of it?”
“I stole it,” I responded; “it was the only thing to do.” While Hinge
still stared at me in wordless amazement the outer door was flung open,
and the manager appeared, ushering in a policeman.
“This is the man!” he cried.
“Yes,” I answered, “I have not the slightest doubt that I am the man you
want. You are an officer of the police?” The man said “Yes,” bustling
forward with a brace of handcuffs in his hand. “I claim this money,” I
said, laying my hand upon the bag which rested on the table. “There need
be no doubt about the matter, officer. I have become illegally possessed
of this, but I claim it, and I shall surrender it only to the hands
of your inspector. He will keep it until its rightful owner comes to
receive it.”
“Lady Rollinson claims it!” cried the manager.
“Lady Rollinson,” I answered, “has no more right to it than I have. This
money is the property of Miss Rossano. It must be handed to her, and I
have taken it in order that it may be put into the hands of the legal
authorities until such time as she appears to claim it.”
“I must trouble you to go with me, sir,” said the officer, advancing
with the handcuffs in his hand.
“I will go with you,” I answered, “and I will go quite quietly on one
condition: you will take charge of this.”
“You bet I will!” the officer answered, facetiously; and I saw a glance
pass between him and the manager which said “madman,” as plainly as the
spoken word itself.
I had done too much already to permit myself to be foiled at the end. I
took the bag of money in both hands, and held out my wrists towards the
officer.
“You will handcuff me,” I said, “if you think that necessary. I shall
submit to anything which you conceive to be within the limits of your
duty. But I shall not part with this until I meet your inspector.”
The man answered nothing, but he fettered me clumsily enough, keeping
so wary an eye upon my face meanwhile that he manipulated the handcuffs
without guidance, and pinched me in fixing them. I winced at this, and
he got back from me as if he thought I was about to strike him.
“Ha! would ye?” he said, and laid a hand upon his truncheon. I stood
still, with the handcuffs still dangling from my wrists, and the man,
reassured by my manner, completed his task. The door was open, and any
number of dishevelled heads and staring eyes crowded in at us.
“Let somebody find a cab,” I said. “Lady Rollinson is naturally a good
deal disturbed, and will not wish to make a charge to-night. She can
appear against me in the morning, and in the meantime we can see that
the money is made safe.”
“Make no mistake about that,” said the officer. “We'll see that the
money is kept safe. You hand that bag over to me; I'll take charge of
that.”
“No,” I answered; “it goes into your inspector's hands. You can send for
him, if you like, or you can take me to him.”
On a sudden I looked up, and there, among the faces at the door, I
caught sight of Roncivalli and Brunow.
“Gentlemen,” I said, “I take you to witness why I have done this thing.
Here is the money which was to have been handed to you to-morrow. I have
told the Brotherhood. I spared you once,” I added, to Brunow; “you may
go now and take your chance in earnest.”
Roncivalli was a man of daring, and had more than once given proofs of
courage; but he turned white at my words, and Brunow shrank back in the
crowd with a face all ghastly gray, with his teeth gleaming behind his
trembling lips. Through all the hurry and bustle of the scene the hotel
manager was vainly urging the startled occupants of the house to return
to their own chambers. Then, with a sudden leap of the heart, I heard a
voice outside:
“Be good enough to make way for me.”
“Come along!” cried the officer; “hand me that bag, and have done with
it. I know my duty, and I've got force enough behind me.”
“Wait a moment,” I answered; “here is the owner of the money. Make way
for Miss Rossano, and drive all those curious people away.”
I saw the crowd divide, and Violet came in, looking about her
wonderingly. I stood there manacled, holding out the stolen money in my
extended hands. She gave one swift glance of astonishment, and closed
the door, leaving us alone, except for the officer and the hotel
manager. Hinge, conscious of his dishabille, had retreated at the moment
of her entrance.
“My aunt has been robbed, John,” she said, looking at me with wondering
eyes-- “robbed of forty thousand pounds!”
“And I,” I answered, “am the thief, and here is the money.”
“You the thief!” She fixed me with her eyes that have always seemed like
stars of fate to me, and I saw a shadow of dreadful pain and wonder on
her face. “You the thief!” she repeated.
“Yes,” I answered; “I stole this money from Lady Rollinson five minutes
ago.” What with the certainty of triumph in my purpose, the surety of
being immediately understood, and the joy of seeing her so unexpectedly
again, I laughed outright. “I hand you back your own, dear. Take charge
of it till you have heard my story. Sit down, and I will tell you
everything.”
“Is this your property, mum?” the officer asked, setting both hands on
the bag as I set it on the table.
“I believe so,” said Violet. “I gave the sum of forty thousand pounds
into the charge of my aunt, Lady Rollinson, yesterday morning?”
“Then of course,” said the policeman, “you give the person in charge?”
Violet looked at me with dancing eyes, and never in all my life have
I known such pride and joy as that glance afforded me. There I stood
before her, taken red-handed in the act, handcuffed, and openly
confessing with my own lips my own deed; but any doubt of me was
impossible to her true heart. I sounded at that moment the superb
loyalty of her nature, and my pride in her seemed to lift me into
heaven.
“In charge?” she asked, with a little tender, mirthful tremor in her
voice. “No, I shall not give the gentleman in charge. Tell me what it
means, John.”
I told her first, briefly and rapidly, the story of poor old Ruffiano's
betrayal, and how I had let Brunow go. Then I told her of Hinge's
recognition of Sacovitch, of the meeting in Richmond Park, of what
Hinge had heard at the cottage; and, finally, of what we had both heard
together. I had called for Hinge at the very beginning of my narrative,
and by the time I came to his share in it he was present, hastily
muffled in an overcoat, and divided between a desire to stand immovably
at attention and a contradictory attempt furtively to smooth his hair,
which rayed out all round his head in disorderly spikes, and gave him a
look of having been frightened out of his life.
“But why,” she asked me, “did you take such an extraordinary action? Why
not communicate with me?”
Then I had to tell her the story of that wretched Constance, which would
have been an awkward thing to do under any circumstances, but was
made more awkward still by the presence of the hotel manager and the
constable. I went through it, however, without flinching, and I told her
most of what has been set down in the latter part of these pages,
though of course with less detail than I have given here. She scarcely
interrupted me by a word, and when I had done she drew her purse from
her pocket, and taking from it a sovereign, tendered the coin to the
constable.
“You have done your duty, officer,” she said. “But you understand that
your services will not be required any longer.”
The constable took the coin and pouched it.
“Do I understand, mum,” he asked, with a droll stolidity, “that you're
satisfied with the prisoner's story?”
“Yes,” returned Violet; “I am quite satisfied. You will not be wanted
any more.”
The man took out a key from his pocket, and unlocked the handcuffs
which confined my wrists. He said not a word, but looked at me in a
mute admiration and wonder which spoke volumes. He and the hotel manager
withdrew together, and I sent Hinge to bed.
“Suppose,” said Violet, “that I had been away, as you thought I was, you
would have gone to prison.”
“Not for long,” I answered. “I should have told my story, and you would
have believed it all the same.”
“I should have believed it all the same,” she said. “Do you know, John,
I should think myself and the whole world all mad together rather than
believe that you were not true and honest.” A second later she laughed
and blushed divinely. “As if there were any need of saying that!” she
cried, and then and there she gave me the first kiss I had not had to
pray for.
She had endured the whole strange position until then with the pluck
and steadfastness of a man, but there she broke down and cried a little,
realizing all the perils which had beset her father, and his strange
escape from it.
“We will take the money ourselves,” she said, when she had recovered
from this natural emotion. “There shall be no further danger of the poor
darling being trapped by those wicked Austrians if we can help it.”
And there I saw an inspiration, and hailed it with delight, and took
immediate advantage of it.
“My darling,” I said, “we can't travel together by ourselves, and
Lady Rollinson, I am afraid, is hardly likely to consent to be my
fellow-traveller for some time to come.”
“I hadn't thought of that,” she answered. “Of course we can't travel
together. But will you go alone, or shall I? I could take my maid, and I
am used to travelling.”
“Let us go together, my dear,” I urged her. “Let us never be parted
again. Let us give no more chances to well-meaning but foolish old
ladies to divide us.”
She put me aside, and found a host of reasons; but though I am not
strong in argument, I managed to combat and confute them all, and she
said “Yes” at last. And so I not only turned burglar in her cause,
but won my wife by it; for within five days we were married by special
license.
Thus this queer story comes to an end, or, rather, like all the stories
I have read and heard, glides off into a new one. Everybody knows the
history of the last glorious war for Italian independence. I was in the
thick of it, I thank Heaven, and so was the Count Rossano, and so was
good old Hinge; and while we marched and fought, my dear Violet took
her share; for there was no ministering hand in the camp hospitals more
constant or more tender, no voice and face better loved and known than
hers. We are old folks now, and have lived to prove each other as only
married people can; but the greatest pride I have is that at this hour
she is no more assured of the righteousness of my intent than she was at
the instant when she found me with confession on my lips and every sign
of guilt openly displayed about me.
Love is a great treasure. Truth and loyalty are among man's greatest
possessions. But the truest solace to the human soul is perfect trust.
THE END
By DAVID CHRISTIE MURRAY.
Mr. Christie Murray is a kindly satirist who evidently delights in
the analysis of character, and who deals shrewdly but gently with the
frailties of our nature.... There is a spontaneity in his pen which is
extremely fascinating.--Saturday Review, London.
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End of Project Gutenberg's In Direst Peril, by David Christie Murray