The Unspeakable Gentleman

by John P. Marquand

  XIII

  He was gone, like the shades of which he had spoken, and Mademoiselle andI were left staring at the black rectangle of the broken door. I drew adeep breath and looked about me quickly. It seemed somehow as though aspell were broken, as though the curtain had lowered on some final act inthe theatre. Slowly my mind seemed to free itself from a hundredillusions, and to move along more logical paths. Brutus went to the armsrack in the corner, and selected a rusted cutlass from the small armsthat still rested there, thrust it at me playfully and grinned. For aminute or even more, the single log that was still burning in thefireplace hissed drowsily, and I could hear the vines tapping gently onthe windows. Then I heard a pistol shot, followed by a hoarse cry.Mademoiselle started to her feet, and then sank back in her chair again,and from where I was standing I could see that her face was white and herhands were trembling. So she loved him. My hand gripped hard against theback of a chair. Why should I have hoped she did not?

  "God!" she gasped. "I have killed him!"

  "You?" I cried, but she did not answer.

  "Huh!" said Brutus, and his grin grew broader. "Monsieur's pistol. Hekill him."

  "Indeed," I said, for the sense of unreality was still strong upon me."And whom did he kill, Brutus?"

  Brutus cocked his head to one side, and listened. Somewhere behind came aconfusion of shouts and the thudding of horses' hoofs.

  "He kill Mr. Jason Hill," said Brutus.

  "Are you sure?" Mademoiselle demanded sharply.

  Brutus nodded, and the dull, fixed look went out of her eyes, and slowlya touch of color returned to her cheeks.

  And then there was a clamor of voices and a tramp of feet and a crash onthe door outside.

  Brutus looked about him in wild indecision.

  "We have callers," I observed, doing my best to keep my voice calm. "Whoare they, Brutus?"

  Brutus, however, had forgotten me, and had sprung into the hall. Atalmost the same instant, someone must have discovered that the door wasunlocked, for a sudden draught eddied through the passage. Then therewas a confused babel of voices, to which I did not listen. I was busyswinging up the sash of the nearest window.

  "Quickly, Mademoiselle!" I whispered.

  "Damn it!" someone shouted from the hall. "There's another of 'em!" Andthere came the crack of a pistol that echoed loudly in the passage.

  "It is time we were going," I said. "Out of the window, Mademoiselle!"

  In my haste I almost pushed her from the sill to the lawn, and wasleaning towards her.

  "Mademoiselle, listen! The stables are straight to the left. Can yousaddle a horse?"

  She nodded.

  "The first stall to the right. I shall be there in an instant!" For Iremembered my sword, and sprang back into the room to get it.

  "Get that man!" someone was shouting. "In after him, you fools! Don'tshoot in the dark!"

  I had a glimpse of Brutus darting through the passage and making a leapfor the stairs. Then there was a crash of glass.

  "Begad!" came a hoarse voice. "He's jumped clean through the window!"And another pistol exploded from the landing above me.

  "Five hundred dollars for the man who gets him." I could swear I hadheard the voice before. "Damn it! Don't let him go! Out the door, all ofyou! Out the door, men! Out the door!"

  There was a rush of feet through the passage. I had a glimpse of menrunning past, and then I was half out the window.

  "Stop!" someone shouted. I took a hasty glance behind me to find that myUncle Jason had entered the morning room, his clothing torn anddisarranged, the good nature erased from his face, and a gash on his leftcheek that still was bleeding.

  "Stop!" he shouted again, "or I fire!"

  Then I was out on the lawn with the cool air from the river on my face,and running for the stable. I wonder what would have happened if theevening had been less far advanced, or the sky less overcast, orMademoiselle less adroit than providence had made her. She had bridledthe horse and was swinging the saddle on him when I had reached thestable's shadow. I could hear my uncle shouting for assistance as Itightened the girths, but Brutus must have led his men a pretty chase.

  I mounted unmolested, as I somehow knew I should, and helped her upbehind me. Somehow with that first crash on our front door, I knew thatthe game had turned. I knew that nothing would stop me. An odd sense ofexaltation came over me, and with it a strange desire to laugh. It wouldbe amusing enough when I met my father, but I wondered--I wondered as Iclapped my heels into my horse's flanks.

  What had my uncle to do in this affair?