THE CAPTAIN TRUMPS MY TRICK.
I AM now come to some grave adventures. Even at the remote hour at
which I here retail them, I hardly know whether to shudder or to smile,
so whimsical they were, yet so fraught with consequences of the gravest
sort. Indeed, their memory seems a quaint mingling of laughter and
dismay. There is, I think, scarcely an event in life that cannot be
made food for ridicule by the lightly-minded. In that category I count
one, my kind friends tell me, but of the strange duel that was fought
at which I presided in my person, of the conflict of wills and passions
that befell, of the hopes, the fears, the plottings, the contrivings,
the general foxiness of everyone, but most of all of me; the stern
contentions that appeared to some of us to turn the whole world
topsy-turvy, I could not at the time decide whether to grin or groan
at. And faith! even at this date, I am not come to a decision.
The very night of the Corporal’s detention and release was the date of
the first of these important matters. The hour was midnight, or rather
more, when I got into bed. The day with me had been so arduous that no
sooner did my head meet the pillow than I was asleep. I was aware of
nothing till consciousness was restored to me all at once, and I found
myself sitting up in the sheets and listening to strange sounds. It
was very dark, and the wind outside still seemed to be crying with a
night voice; but some unprecedented thing had surely taken place, else
I should not have thus awoke to find all my senses strained and tense
with apprehension. ’Twas a cold enough sensation to discover oneself
sitting thus, with the darkness and silence of death enveloping the
chamber. I was in the act of re-settling myself snugly for repose,
when the cause of my awakening became apparent. Several muffled but
heavy footfalls I heard just the hither side the curtains of my bed,
and while I was fearfully speculating upon the nature of these sounds,
for it was an eerie hour, I caught a noise as of the soft-closing of
my chamber door. At first the horrid, quiet gloom, and the mystery of
it all made a coward of me, and I drew the blankets convulsively about
my head, and sought to subdue the ticking of my heart. But hearing
them repeated in the corridor outside, curiosity managed to suppress
my fears, and I stole from my bed to satisfy it. Opening the door with
the tenderest care, I peeped cautiously across the threshold. The
landing window being uncurtained, the long corridor leading to the
stairs was sensibly lighter than my room. The cause of the alarm was
immediately made plain. A dim figure was creeping painfully towards
the stairs, and dark as it was, my excited eyes were keen enough to
identify its faint outlines and its singular condition. ’Twas a man’s
shape shuffling heavily along; one portion precariously supported by
a stick, the other by a hand pressed against the wall. As soon as I
discerned the details appertaining to him, I had read the riddle of his
apparition. It was none other than my good friend Captain Grantley!
I slipped back into bed with all the sleep banished from my eyes. A
remarkable trembling held me now in every joint. ’Twas a spasm of
downright, arrant fear. Yea, my good friend, Captain Grantley, was
verily the devil! Every day served to reveal in new and unexpected
ways the depth and audacity of his wit. This further manifestation of
it almost paralysed me. ’Twas no common cunning that had taught him to
conceal for what must have been several days the right condition of his
knee.
As I lay awake striving to find a means to check this latest move of
my subtle enemy’s, several bitter facts were writ upon my mind. First,
that I was not his match in craft, no matter how considerable my own;
farther, that if by any chance he had found his way this night to the
room of Prue, our game was lost. There was only one ray of comfort
that his nocturnal expedition brought. It was that whatever might be
his suspicions in regard to the prisoner’s presence in the house, he
held no evidence wherewith to confirm them, else he had not gone
night-walking to obtain it. But had this night-excursion given him the
knowledge? ’Twas a baffling problem. However, I hoped and believed that
he had been unable to visit the room of Prue, since for safety’s sake
I insisted that she should promise to lock her door. Yet in dealing
with a person of the Captain’s calibre, who shall make enough of an
allowance for the scope of his talents and activities? Faith, I had
learned to dread this subtle foe more utterly than anything since the
bogies of my childhood! I do not think I should have feared him so
could I only have killed the reluctant admiration that, in despite of
myself, his skill commanded.
You may be sure that at the dawn’s appearance I rose earlier than
my wont was; and while I made my toilette I sent a message to the
masquerader to induce him to come abroad as early as he could, for I
felt unable to enjoy any peace of mind until I had let him know his
latest danger. And I was the more eager to confide in him, inasmuch as
at a crisis he could display a fine intelligence.
I greeted him with this momentous question:
“Did you lock your chamber door last night, sir?”
“I did,” he answered.
“Then,” says I, “you may congratulate yourself on your escape.”
Therewith I retailed the remarkable experiences I had so lately
undergone. While I did this I noted that his face grew very stern and
ugly.
“Bab,” says he at the conclusion, “these playhouse tricks of ours will
do well to have an ending. This Captain man is too devilish ingenious
to be tolerated any more. He’s too early on the perch for us, Bab, and
that’s a fact. He must either have his wings clipped, else I must fly
away.”
“The time is not yet for you to fly, my lad,” says I; “you know very
well that I have decided to hold you here until I can have you carried
privily to London, and then shipped straightway from Deptford to the
Continent. But as to the clipping of the Captain’s wings, how shall you
set about it?”
“There is a way, you can depend upon it,” he replied with a
significance that startled me; “though to be sure ’tis not one that’s
very gentle.”
“What do you mean, sir?” says I, while a light came in his eyes and
made them shine like meteors.
“Well, I mean just this,” says he, “for me to fly from this house
to-day is certain death, as you remind me. But it is equally impossible
for me to be here abiding now that the Captain’s so alert. ’Twill not
be advisable for this house to hold us both another day. Therefore one
of us must go; and if the name of that one does not happen to be Dare,
then I think it’s Grantley.”
“A very pregnant and luminous piece of reasoning,” says I, “but
provided it is Grantley, how are you going to set the man in motion?”
“You think the man will need a spur?” says he.
“I do, indeed,” says I, “and one both sharp and covert.”
“I have here the very thing,” says he. Upon the word he fumbled in
his skirts, and presently produced a little leather case therefrom.
Plucking off the top, he showed me that a small venomous stiletto lay
twinkling in it. As you may suppose I took several seconds to recover
my breath, then cried:
“What, you bloody-handed rogue, have you murder in your mind?”
“Some may call it murder,” he meekly said, “and some may call it sin,
and as I’m not a learned man I shan’t dispute ’em. But the pith of the
affair is this. If Grantley can contrive to rattle the first blow in
among my ribs, then I shall be a corpse. Yet, on the other hand, if I
can get the first home I shan’t need to strike again.”
“Silence, wretch!” I commanded him with sternness. “Do you dare to talk
of murder to my face, then?”
“Some may call it murder,” he repeated, “but it never was a name of
mine. It’s a time of open war, you see; the rebel and the redcoat; and
I’m a rebel, as you are aware.”
“Well, at the best,” says I, “even if one can square one’s conscience,
’tis not the right English fashion, sir; and therefore I’ll none of it.”
“No,” says he, reluctantly, “perhaps it’s not. And certainly an open
fight would consort kinder with my temper; but how is one to be
arranged? Alas! it is impossible.”
“Impossible or not,” says I, “I am not the one to wink at murder.”
“None the less I would remind you, madam,” he insisted, “that one
there’ll be if once the man on whose behalf you are interfering can
set his hands on me. Tyburn Tree is murder as surely as is an inch of
steel.”
“I am not likely to forget it,” says I, “but I propose to select a
choicer instrument than the stiletto wherewith to save your life.”
But I found it easier indeed to avert than to perform. My interdict
against murder I rigidly enforced; but how to procure the advantages of
that extreme act without paying for them bloodily caused me to waste
hours in fruitless thought. Affairs were at a head, and something
demanded to be done. Captain Grantley was no more the tiger caged. The
fierce, intrepid animal had managed to break his prison, and now was on
the prowl. Small doubt that he was stealthy, savage, and vindictive.
Unless I took an immediate means to ensure the safety of the helpless
creature cowering beneath my promise of protection, he would be torn
limb from limb, and that despite my vows. And in good sooth things had
gone so far that I felt that if by a mischance the poor lad should
perish after all, my heart must perish too.
I now come to perhaps the strangest evening of my life. It behoves
me, therefore, to be respectful of all that did occur. As I have
said, supper was the meal when the family and any guests receiving our
hospitality were expected to assemble, that the evening might be spent
in cheerful intercourse. Ever a social being, the Earl, my papa, when
in the country, was a great stickler for this rule. Therefore, when
the bell summoned us to the board on this most eventful evening, any
tremors that we had we were compelled to lay aside, while we descended
to the supper-table. As our enemy had made no move during the progress
of the day, we were led to foster the opinion that, whatever his
suspicions, his dark errand had been barren, and that accordingly he
lacked a positive knowledge of the rebel’s sanctuary in our house.
I remember that both Miss Prue and I robed with particular care this
evening. Miss Prue heightened her complexion to an almost hectic hue,
for she reminded me that she was in a very “killing” humour. We dawdled
into the dining-room with arms about the waists of one another, as is
the fashion of dear friends. My aunt and my papa were there already;
the usual salutations were interchanged, and no circumstance suggested
that aught beyond the common would occur. But, indeed, an omen thrust
itself upon me a moment later when I noted that an extra chair was
ranged against the table, which was also laid for five instead of four.
“Why, aunt,” cries I, “who is to be our visitor?”
“Patience, child,” my aunt replied, with such an amiable air that
forthwith I suspected her of treachery. And, straight, a pang went
through me, for I was almost sure that we had been lured into a trap
from which it was now too late to escape. And even as this thought
afflicted me, suspicion became dire fact. The door appeared to open and
a commotion arose the other side of the screen. A sound of shuffling,
accompanied by a painfully slow gait, published to me the worst ere
even the ubiquitous Captain hove in view. He came to the table leaning
on the shoulder of a servant, and was propped up also by a stick.
You can suppose that every detail of the Captain’s mien and conduct is
writ down in my mind. First he advanced in the most unincriminating
manner, bowed profoundly over my aunt’s extended hand, accepted the
kind words and congratulations of my lord with an air of admirable
courtesy and pleasure, put his palm across his heart and smiled, and
bowed to me as gracefully and deeply as his predicament allowed, and
generally held himself with a sweeping ease that was sublime. Nor was
I much behind him there. I turned to the poor masquerader who was
sustaining the ordeal nobly, and said in a full, clear tone:
“Prue, dear, permit me to present to you Captain Grantley, of the
Thirty-third, one of my oldest and most cherished friends.”
Bows were exchanged by both parties with a gravity that would have been
enjoyable had one’s fears been quieter. Without more ado we assumed
our chairs, and the meal began. My appetite was gratified with a mere
pretence of eating, and even this Barmecidal course was begrudged it by
my heart. Here I was sensibly the poorest actor of the three, for the
Captain laughed, joked, drank, and supped with a military heartiness,
while Miss Prue requested him to pass the salt with the demurest
smile you ever saw. It was quite on the cards, of course, that the
Captain was still in ignorance of the Honourable Prudence Canticle’s
true identity, as her disguise really was without a shade of doubt
ingenious. Yet, on the other hand, to accept this as a fact would be
the height of assumption. The Captain was a terrible variety of man to
whose depth it was impossible to put a limit. He was a master of the
art of concealing what he knew. He had the trick of wooing one into the
comfortable notion that he was pretty well an ignoramus, when he had
practically taken all knowledge for his province. Thus, his present air
of candour notwithstanding, I was woefully afraid.
The conversation was unceasing. The Captain kept up a rattle of the
delightfulest inconsequence, made jests upon his leg that actually
enticed the dowager into a smile, and seemed most magnanimously
inclined to forget the injuries to his person and his reputation, let
bygones be bygones, and pardon even me, the arrantest rebel that had
yet to grin through hemp.
Later, on retiring to the withdrawing-room, we had cards as usual.
Going from one apartment to the other, I was able to secure a short
aside with Prue.
“Suppose,” says I, “you now contract a headache, and retire for the
evening? The less you are exposed the better.”
“Not I,” says she; “I’ll see it through. If he hath already smelled me
out, nought can avail me. If he hath not, but is lingering in doubt, he
will take the fact of my seizing the first chance of escaping from his
scrutiny as an important evidence, and will feed his suspicions on it.”
I had to admit that this in the main was shrewd. Prue came therefore
and bore a hand at cards. The play was continued pretty late. All
things were amicable as could be, and gradually, as the hours passed,
our dark suspicions of the early evening were considerably laid. The
dowager retired at the sound of twelve, as was her custom. The best
part of an hour later, growing drowsy and uncertain in his play, the
Earl rose, gave us good-night, and also went to bed.
On the withdrawal of my lord my spirits rose remarkably, for I judged
that all our doubts were about to be resolved. If the Captain was
still our dupe he would remain, of course, quiescent; or if he had
spied our deception out it was natural to expect him by word or deed
to betray something of his knowledge. But he continued playing with
such an imperturbable and easy mien, his voice remained so candid and
so clear, his eye so open and indulgent, and his manner so frank and
unrestrained, that soon reassuring glances were exchanged between the
masquerader and myself.
For what followed I am, perhaps, to be in a measure blamed. Lulled into
security by the conduct of our enemy, to some extent I gave the rein
to my own desires. From the first I had been winning steadily, and my
appetite for play, always vigorous, seemed to increase as my guineas
grew. True, half of these gains had originally been money of my own,
Prue having been furnished with means for this diversion from my purse,
but the Captain was undoubtedly a loser.
“There!” he cries at last, “that completes the second hundred. And
under your leave, madam, ’tis high time, I think, the loser called,
‘hold, enough!’”
“Then you do not care to work your evil vein out, sir?” says I.
“I should be only too glad to try, dear lady,” he replied, “if I had
not other work to do. Besides, you will observe that, strive as I may,
I cannot scrape together another guinea or another bank-bill.”
As a proof he fumbled with his pockets mightily. He exposed the linings
of those in his coat, and playfully remarked:
“You see, quite empty!”
But how little did we divine his strategy! The next moment showed that
this search for money was but a pretext; and a spasm of mingled rage
and horror seared me when his true intention was unmasked.
Suddenly, as he sat opposing Prue and me the other side of the little
card-table, his right hand was shot across in the direction of my
companion, and a pistol was exposed and rigidly presented within six
inches of her face.
“Stir a muscle, Anthony Dare,” says the Captain, “and you’re dead.”
I could almost feel the poor lad flinch under his heavy rouge. He said
not a word, though, but only trembled and stared dumbly at the iron.
For myself I gave one look at these enemies, and then rose in a tempest
of rage and pity.
“Man,” I says, “are you mad? Anthony Dare? What do you mean?”
“A neat deception, an elegant deception,” says the Captain, “and I give
you my compliments upon it, madam; but now I think it’s at an end. I’ll
confess ’tis pretty enough for boozy troopers; therefore, madam, again
my compliments upon it.”
My reply would have been a fury had he not silenced me with his glance.
“Hush, madam,” says he, “unless you desire to have the house aroused.
To spare you an exposure I have submitted to some inconvenience and
run a certain risk by moving in the matter at this unseasonable hour,
when broad daylight would be greater to my profit. For, believe me, I
am beyond all things anxious to serve your interests so far as my duty
will permit.”
“Or your inclination,” says I, harshly.
“Mr. Dare,” says the Captain to his prisoner, “I would have you
place both your open hands upon the table-cloth, for, Mr. Dare, in
my opinion you are as skilful as they’re grown, allowing for your
years and opportunities. Let me admit at once, sir, that I entertain
a considerable opinion of you. But if, Mr. Dare, I might venture to
advise you, I should make as little noise to-night as possible or the
reputation of her ladyship will be undoubtedly in peril.”
’Twas rather like being choked with a surfeit of strawberries and
cream, or maddened with a brook of silver melody to hear the Captain
use this complimentary tenderness with the subtle notes of triumph
ringing underneath it. And his face! His eyes appeared to overflow with
admiration and solicitude. But there was a quiet curl about his mouth
that made him wholly hateful. The prisoner was the next to speak.
“Captain,” he said, “I’m squarely ta’en. And if you will promise to
spare her ladyship I’ll yield unreservedly. If you will not, you will
have to put a bullet through me, for ’tis more to my taste than Tyburn
in the cart.”
Here, despite himself, the poor wretch shivered.
“Willingly,” says the Captain, “and that’s a bargain. Give me your word
upon it, sir, and then I can put this bit of iron up.”
Thereon the prisoner bowed in assent to his captor, who quietly
replaced the pistol in his coat.
“Mr. Dare,” says the Captain with great suavity, “might I suggest that
you change your clothes before my men can note them.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Dare,” says I, “I would suggest, for my part,
that you advertise yourself before them in this attire. For I do not
doubt that they will rejoice to learn what handsome fools they are.”
“My Lady Barbara is surely hard upon them,” says the Captain.
“Something should be allowed for her powers of deceit.”
“Would you insult me, sir?” I cries, dying to pick a quarrel with the
man. There are periods when one would forfeit willingly one’s figure
in the world to have a virago’s privileges for a short five minutes.
However, I saw full bitterly that railing could not avail.
Perforce I kept my gaze from the white-faced prisoner. I could not
endure to see the lad. Not that he took the matter ill. He was
outwardly as calm as was his foe. But there was something in his mien
that made a dreadful coward of me at a time when I could have wished to
be most brave.
A horrid silence presently ensued. The Captain had said his say
already. And I had much to speak, but for my life I could not speak it
then. As for the prisoner, when I stole a look at him, he was staring
with grim eyes at Sir Peter Lely’s picture of my mother, hung upon
the wall. But he stood as silent as the tomb. Then it was that our
enemy, the Captain, acted in the strangest way--but one, I think, that
honoured both his heart and his intelligence.
“I will withdraw,” says he, looking tenderly at me. “For I fear it will
be your last hour together.” Then looking at the prisoner, “When you
are ready, Mr. Dare, if you will step into the library you will find me
at your service.”
Saying this he rose and hobbled out upon his crutch.