The Unspeakable Gentleman

by John P. Marquand

  VIII

  Of all the people I had expected to see that morning he was the last.Almost unconsciously I recalled the little kindnesses he had rendered me.Busy as he had been with commercial ventures, there was never a time whenhe had not stood ready with his help. And even my father's name--he hadnever recalled it, except with regretful affection in his sad littlereminiscences of older, pleasanter days.

  I thought I detected a trace of that affection, a trace of appeal,almost, in the look he gave us as we entered. They made a strangecontrast, my uncle, and my father, in his gay coat and laces, hisslender, upright figure, and his face, almost youthful beneath hispowdered hair. For my uncle was an older man, and years and care hadslightly bowed him. The wrinkles were deep about his mouth and eyes. Hisbrown hair, simply dressed, was gray already at the temples. His plainblack coat and knee breeches were wrinkled from travel. As he often putit, he had no time to care for clothes. Yet his cheeks glowed from quietliving, and there was a sly, good humored twinkle in his brown eyeswhich went well with his broad shoulders and his strongly knit body. Hisreputation for genial good nature was with him still.

  He stretched forth a hand, but the moment was inopportune. My father hadgiven his undivided attention to the shutters on the east windows. Hewalked swiftly over and drew them to, snapping a bolt to hold them inplace. Then he turned and rubbed his hands together slowly, examining myuncle the while with a cool, judicial glance, and then he bowed.

  "You are growing old, Jason," he said, by way of greeting.

  "Ah, George," said my uncle, in his deep, pleasant voice. "It does megood to see the father and the son together."

  My father joined the tips of his fingers and regarded him solemnly.

  "Now heaven be praised for that!" he exclaimed with a jovial fervor,"though it is hard to believe, Jason, that anything could make you betterthan you are. It was kind of you not to keep my son and me apart."

  My father came a pace nearer, his eyes never for a moment leaving theman opposite. His last words seemed to make a doubtful impression on myuncle. He looked quickly across at me, but what he saw must haverelieved him.

  "Ah, that wit!" he laughed. "It has been too long, George, too long sinceI have tasted of it. It quite reminds me of the old days, George--withthe dances, and the races and the ladies. Ah, George, how they wouldsmile on you--and even today, I'll warrant! Ah, if I only had the receiptthat keeps you young."

  "Indeed? You care to know it?" My father quite suddenly leaned forwardand tapped him on the shoulder. As though the abruptness of the gesturestartled him, my uncle drew hastily back. And still my father watchedhim. Between them was passing something which I did not understand. Thesilence in the room had become oppressive before my father spoke again.

  "Lead a life of disrepute," he said gravely. "I cannot think of a bettercosmetic."

  "George!" cried my uncle in quick remonstrance. "Remember your son iswith you?"

  "And seems amply able to look out for himself--surprisingly able, Jason.Have you not found it so?"

  "Thank heaven, yes!" he laughed, and glanced hastily at me again.

  My father's coat lapel was bothering him. He straightened itthoughtfully, patted it gently into place, and then said:

  "Surely, Jason, you did not come here to discuss the past."

  "Perhaps not," Uncle Jason replied with another laugh, which seemedslightly out of tune in the silence that surrounded him, "but how can Inot be reminded of it? This room and you--indeed Henry here is all thatbrings me back. He is like you, George, and yet--" he paused to favor mewith another glance--"he has his mother's eyes."

  My father flicked a speck of dust from his sleeve.

  "Suppose," he suggested, "we leave your sister out of the discussion. Letus come down to practical matters and leave the dead alone."

  It was the first time he had mentioned her. His voice was coldly aloof,but his hand began moving restlessly again over his coat in search of animaginary wrinkle.

  "You understand me?" he inquired gently after a second's pause. "Prayremember, Jason, I have only two cheeks, and I can recall no biblical lawto follow if you should strike again."

  "God bless me!" gasped my uncle in blank amazement. "I did not come hereto quarrel. I came because you are in trouble. I came as soon as I hadheard of it, because you need my help--because--" he had regained hiscordial eloquence from the very cadence of his words. He paused, and Ithought his eye moistened and his voice quavered, "because blood isthicker than water, George."

  At the last words my father inclined his head gravely, and wasmomentarily silent, as though seeking an adequate reply.

  "I thought you would come," he said slowly. "In fact, I dependedupon it before I set sail from France. Ha! That relieves you, doesit not, Jason?"

  Yet for some reason the statement seemed to have an opposite effect. Myuncle's heavy brows knitted together, and his mouth moved uneasily.

  "See, my son, how the plot thickens," said my father, turning to me witha pleasant smile. "And all we needed was a hero. Who will it be. Iwonder, you or your uncle?"

  But my uncle did not laugh again. Instead, he squared his shoulders andhis manner became serious.

  "It is not a time to jest, George," he said ominously. "Don't youunderstand what you have done? But you cannot know, or else you would notbe here. You cannot know that the house is watched!"

  If he had expected to surprise my father, he must have felt a poignantdisappointment; but perhaps he knew that surprise was a sentiment heseldom permitted.

  "I know," replied my father, "that since my arrival here I have been theobject of many flattering attentions. But why are you concerned, Jason? Ihave broken no law of the land. I have merely mixed myself up in Frenchpolitics."

  Uncle Jason made an impatient gesture.

  "You have mixed yourself up in such an important affair, in such aridiculous way, that every secret agent that France has in this countrywill be in this town in the next twelve hours. That's all you havedone, George."

  My father tapped his silver snuff box gently.

  "I had hoped as much," he remarked blandly. "When one is the center ofinterest, it is always better to be the very center. You must learn toknow me better, Jason, and then you will understand that I always seektwo things. I always seek profit and pleasure. It seems as though Ishould find them both in such pleasant company."

  Then, as if the matter were settled, he looked again at the shutteredwindow, and leaned down to place another log in the fire.

  "Come, George," urged my uncle. "Let us be serious. Your nonchalance andirony have been growing with the years. Surely you recognize that youhave reached the end of your rope. I tell you, George, these men willstop at nothing."

  "Has it ever occurred to you," returned my father, "that I also, may stopat nothing?"

  My uncle frowned, and then smiled bleakly.

  "No, George," he said, in a voice that dropped almost to a whisper."You are too fond of life for that. Suppose for a moment, just suppose,they had means of taking you back to France. Just suppose there was aboat in the harbor now, manned and victualled and waiting for the tide,with a cabin ready and irons. They would admire to see you back inParis, George, for a day, or perhaps two days. I know, George. Theyhave told me."

  "Positively," said my father, stifling a yawn behind his hand,"positively you frighten me. It is an old sensation and tires me. Surelyyou can be more interesting."

  Jason's face, red and good-natured always, became a trifle redder.

  "We have beat about the bush long enough," he said, with an abrupt lackof suavity. "I tell you, once and for all, you are running against forceswhich are too strong for you--forces, as I have pointed out, that will doanything to gain possession of a certain paper. They know you have thatpaper, George."

  My father shrugged his shoulders.

  "Indeed?" he said. "I hardly admire their perspicacity."

  "And they will prevent your disposing of it at any cost. I tell you,George, they will stop at
nothing--" again his voice dropped to aconfidential monotone--"and that is why I'm here, George," my uncleconcluded.

  My father raised his eyebrows.

  "I fear my mind works slowly in the early morning. Pardon me, if I stillmust ask--Why are you here?"

  Quite suddenly my uncle's patience gave way in a singular manner toexasperation, exposing a side to his character which I had not till thensuspected.

  "Because I can save your neck, that's why! Though, God knows, you don'tseem to value it. I have interceded for you, George, I have come here toinduce you to give up that paper peacefully and quietly, or else to takethe consequences."

  Evidently the force he gave his words contrived to drive them home, formy father nodded.

  "You mean," he inquired, "that they propose to take me to France, andhave me handed over to justice, a political prisoner?"

  "It is what I meant, George, as a man in a plot to kill Napoleon--" thenhis former kindliness returned--"and we cannot let that happen, can we?"

  "Not if we can prevent it," my father replied. "If the trouble is that Ihave the paper in my possession, I suppose I must let it go."

  Uncle Jason smiled his benignest smile.

  "I knew you would understand," he said, with something I took for a sighof relief. "I told them you were too sensible a man, George, not torealize when a thing was useless."

  My father drew the paper from his breast pocket, and looked at itthoughtfully.

  "Yes," he said slowly. "I suppose I must let it go."

  "Good God! What are you doing?" cried my uncle.

  My father had turned to the fireplace, and was holding the paper over theblaze. But for some reason my uncle was not relieved. He made anineffectual gesture. His face became a blotched red and white. His eyesgrew round and staring, and his mouth fell helplessly open.

  "Stop!" he gasped. "For God's sake, George--"

  "Stay where you are, Jason," said my father. "I can manage alone, I think.I suppose I should have burned it long ago."

  He withdrew the paper slightly, as if to prolong the scene before him. Ifmy uncle had been on the verge of ruin, he could not have looked moredepressed.

  "Don't!" he cried. "Will you listen, George? I'll be glad to payyou for it."

  My father slowly straightened, placed the paper in his pocket,and bowed.

  "Now," he said pleasantly, "we are talking a language I understand.Believe me, Jason, one of my chief motives in keeping this document wasthe hope that you might realize its intrinsic qualities."

  Uncle Jason moistened his lips. His call was evidently proving upsetting.

  "How much do you want for it?" he asked, with a slight tremor inhis voice.

  "Twenty-five thousand dollars seems a fair demand," said my father, "innotes, if you please."

  "What!" my uncle shouted.

  My father seated himself on the edge of the table, and surveyed hisvisitor intently.

  "Be silent," he said. "Silent and very careful, Jason. You seem to forgetthat I am a dangerous man." And he flicked an imaginary bit of dust fromhis cuff. My uncle gave a hasty glance at the half opened door.

  "And now listen to me," my father continued, his voice still gentlyconversational. "You have tried to frighten me, Jason. You should haveknown better. Of all the people in the world I fear you least. You forgetthat I am growing old, and all my senses are becoming duller--fear alongwith the rest. You have tried to cheat me of the money I have demanded,and it has tried my patience. In fact, it has set my nerves quite onedge. Pray do not irritate me again. I know you must have that paper, andI know why. The price I offer is a moderate one compared with theunpleasantness that may occur to you if you do not get it. Never mindwhat occurrence. I know that you have come here prepared to pay thatprice. The morning is getting on. You have the money in your insidepocket. Bring it out and count it--twenty-five thousand dollars."

  Hesitatingly my uncle produced a packet that crackled pleasantly.

  "There! I said you had them," remarked my father serenely. "All perfectlynegotiable I hope, Jason, in case you should change your mind."

  I stood helplessly beside him, beset with a hundred useless impulses.Silently I watched Jason Hill hold out the notes.

  "And now the paper," said my uncle.

  My father, examining the packet with a minute care, waved hisrequest aside.

  "First you must let me see what you are giving me. I fear your hands aretrembling too much, Jason, for you to do justice to it. Twenty-fivethousand dollars! It seems to me I remember that a similar sum oncepassed between us. In which direction? seem to have forgotten--Yes,strangely enough they are quite correct. A modest little fortune, butstill something to fall back on."

  "And now the paper!" demanded my uncle.

  "Ah, to be sure, the paper," said my father, and he swung from the tablewhere he had been sitting, and smiled brightly.

  "I have changed my mind about the paper, Jason, and business presses. Ifear it is time to end our interview."

  "You mean you dare--"

  "To accept a sum from you in payment of damage you have done mycharacter? I should not dare to refuse it. Or let us put it this way,Jason. The paper is merely drawing interest. Positively, I cannot affordto give it up."

  The red had risen again to my uncle's face, giving his features the colorof ugly magenta. For a moment I thought he was going to leap at theslighter man before him, but my father never moved a muscle, only stoodattentively watching him, with his hand folded behind his back.

  "Show him the door, Brutus," he said briskly, "and as you go, Jason,remember this. I know exactly what dangers I am running without yourtelling me. For that reason I have ordered my servant to keep a fireburning in every room I occupy in this house. I make a point of sittingnear these fires. If you or any of your friends so much as raise a fingeragainst me, the paper is burned. And as for you--"

  With a quick, delicate motion, he raised a hand, and drew a fingerlightly across his throat.

  "And as for you, Jason, even the slightest suspicion that you, or yourpaid murderers, are interfering in any way with my affairs, will give metoo much pleasure. I think you understand. Pray don't make me overcomewith joy, Jason; and now I wish you a very good morning."

  But Uncle Jason had recovered from the first cold shock of his surprise.He drew himself up to his full height. His jaw, heavy and cumbersomealways, thrust itself forward, and I could see the veins swelldangerously into a tangled, clotted mass on his temples. His fingersworked convulsively, as though clawing at some unseen object closebeside him, and then his breath whistled through his teeth.

  "You fool," he shouted suddenly, his temper bursting the weakenedbarriers of control. "You damned, unregenerate fool!"

  And then, for an instant, my father's icy placidity left him. His lipsleapt back from his teeth. There was a hissing whir of steel. His smallsword made an arc of light through the yard of space that parted them.His body lunged forward.

  "So you will have it, will you?" His words seemed to choke him. "Take it,then," he roared, "take it to hell, where you belong."

  It was, I say, the matter of an instant. In a leaden second he stoodpoised, his wrist drawn back, while the eyes of the other stared inhorror at the long, thin blade. And then the welts of crimson that hadmounted to his face, disfiguring it into a writhing fury, slowly effacedthemselves. His lips once more assumed a thin, immobile line. Again hiswatchful indolence returned to him, and slowly, very slowly, he loweredthe point to the floor's scarred surface. His voice returned to itspleasant modulation, and with his words returned his icy little smile.

  "Your pardon, Jason," he said. "I fear I have been too much myself thismorning. Thank your God, if you have one, that I was not entirelynatural. Take him away, Brutus, he shall live a little longer."

  But Brutus had no need to obey the order. My father stood, still smiling,watching the empty doorway. Then I realized that I was very cold andweak, and that my knees were sagging beneath me. I walked unsteadily tothe table and leane
d upon it heavily. Thoughtfully my father sheathed hissmall sword.