The Unspeakable Gentleman

by John P. Marquand

  XVII

  Of all the people in the room, my father alone retained hisself-possession. My uncle's cheeks had sagged, and perspiration made themmoist and shiny, and Mr. Lawton seemed bent and as wrinkled as though hehad aged a dozen years.

  "Brutus," said my father, "place the pistols on the table, the ones Igave you as we came on shore. Side by side, Brutus. The silver mountingslook well against the dark mahogany. Do they not cheer you, Jason? Andnow, Brutus, a pack of cards from the bookshelves. It will be a prettygame, Lawton, as pretty a game as you have ever played."

  "Good God! What are you going to do, Shelton?" stammered Mr. Lawton, andhe raised a trembling hand to his forehead.

  "You grow interested?" my father inquired. "I thought you would, Lawton,and now stand up and listen! And you too, Jason. Stand up, you dog! Standup! The world is still rolling. Are you ill?"

  And indeed, my uncle seemed incapable of moving.

  "Perhaps you would prefer to sit," said my father politely. "I haveknown people who find it steadies them to fire across the table whileseated in a chair. Your attention, then, and I will tell you the game. Onthe table are three pistols. One of them is loaded. The questionis--which? They are all made by the same smith. And yet one is different.We shall find out which it is in a few minutes. Shuffle the cards,Lawton. You and Jason shall draw. The low number selects the firstpistol, and is first to fire, and then the next. I shall take the lastpistol, and we shall stand across the table, you and Jason where you are,while I stand over here. Brutus, give the cards to Mr. Lawton."

  My father smiled and bowed. From his manner it might have been some treathe was proposing, some pleasant bit of sport that all knew ended inhilarity. Still smiling, he glanced from one to the other, and thentowards Mademoiselle and me, as though seeking our approbation. Even withhis bandaged arm and weather stained clothes, he carried himself with agaiety and grace.

  "Always trust in chance, my son," he said.

  My uncle leaned forward, and drew his hand across his lips, his eyesblank and staring.

  "And if you get the pistol?" he demanded hoarsely.

  "In that case," replied my father, "Your troubles will be over, Jason.Pray rest assured--I shall attend to that. And then, when that isfinished Brutus shall bring two other pistols, and Lawton and I shalldraw again."

  Mr. Lawton grasped the cards uncertainly.

  "You give us the first two choices?" he demanded.

  "The host naturally is last," said my father. "One must always bepolite."

  "Then you're mad," said Mr. Lawton bluntly. "Come, Shelton, step outside,and we'll finish it on the lawn."

  "And I should undoubtedly kill you," said my father. "Pray do not temptme, Lawton."

  "I tell you, you're mad," said Mr. Lawton.

  "I have been told that once before today," said my father. "And still Iam not sure. I have often pictured this little scene, Lawton. We haveonly one thing to add to it. Now tell me if I'm mad."

  My father had reached up to his throat, and was fumbling at his collar.When he drew away his hand, something glittered between his fingers.Silently he placed his closed fist on the table, opened it, and there wasthe gold locket which I had perceived in the morning. He pressed thespring, and the lid flew free. Mr. Lawton leaned forward, glanced at thepicture inside, and then drew back very straight and pale.

  "Come, Lawton," said my father gravely. "Which is it now--madness or anappeal for justice and retribution? With her picture on the table,Lawton, I have wondered--I have often wondered, Lawton--who will be thelucky man to draw the loaded pistol? Let us leave it there, where we canwatch it before we fire. I have often thought that she would like it so.And now--" he nodded again and smiled,--"surely you will oblige me.Shuffle the cards, Lawton, and let the game go on."

  Mr. Lawton bit his lower lip, fingered the cards uncertainly, and thentossed them in the fire.

  "Come, come, Lawton," said my father sharply. "Where are your manners?Surely you are not afraid, not afraid of a picture, Lawton?"

  "No," said Mr. Lawton, "I am not afraid."

  "Ah," said my father, "I thought I knew you better. Another pack ofcards for Mr. Lawton, Brutus. Let us trust, Lawton, that these will suityou better."

  "You misunderstand me," said Mr. Lawton simply. "I am not going to play."

  "Not going to play?" exclaimed my father, raising his eyebrows.

  Slowly Mr. Lawton shook his head.

  "You are far too generous, Shelton," he said. "If you shot me where Istand, you would only be giving me my fair deserts. If I had been in yourplace and you in mine, both you and Jason would have been dead tenseconds after I had entered the door."

  "Don't be a fool, Lawton," cried my father, raising his hand. "Think whatyou are saying!"

  "I have thought," he replied sharply. "The game is over, Shelton, and Iknow when I am beaten. We have not got the paper, Jason, and you rememberwhat I said. If you failed to get it, I should tell the whole story, andnow, by heaven, I will. Every man in town will know it tomorrow morning.I told you I would be shut out of this business, and I mean it, Jason."

  On my father's face came something closer to blank astonishment than Ihad ever seen there. Something in the situation was puzzling him, and forthe moment he seemed unable to cope with it.

  "Lawton," he said slowly, "shuffle those cards, or I'll shoot you whereyou stand."

  Mr. Lawton placed the cards on the table, and adjusted them thoughtfully.

  "No, you won't," he replied. "I know you better than that. You wouldnever draw a weapon on any man unless he had an equal chance, and Ihaven't, Shelton."

  I had stepped forward beside him. Was there someone else at the bottom ofthe whole wretched business? Was it possible that my father had no handin it? A glance at Mr. Lawton answered a half a hundred questions whichwere darting through my mind.

  And my father was still staring in a baffled way, eyeing Mr. Lawton insilent wonder.

  "So," he said, "you think I'll forgive you? Is it possible you arerelying on my Christian spirit?"

  "No," said Mr. Lawton, "I do not ask you to forgive me. I am saying Ihave stopped. That is all--stopped, do you understand me? I should navestopped when Jason commissioned me to kill your son. I should have, ifthis affair with France was not beginning. Even then the businesssickened me. What did I care about the money he stole from her? I did notwant her money. What did I care if the boy suspected you had not stolenit, but that Jason had it all the time? I couldn't have killed him,because he had some slight glimmerings of sense."

  A dozen dim suspicions clashed suddenly together into fact. I lookedsharply at my father. He was nodding, with some faint suspicion ofamusement.

  "And so you did not," he said gently. "Your scruples do you credit,after all."

  "It was just as well," said Mr. Lawton. "I thought the news your son wasattacked would fetch you over. Jason did his best to hush it up, but Iknew you would suspect. And you know what it would have meant to me if Icould have sent you back to France."

  And yet, for some reason, my father was strangely ill at ease. Likesomeone detected in a falsehood, he looked restlessly about him. For themoment his adroitness seemed to have left him. He made a helpless littlegesture of annoyance.

  "You say you have stopped?" inquired my father. "Then why not do so,Lawton, and stop talking. Do you think what you say interests me? Do youthink I do not know the whole damnable business, without your raking itup again? Why should Jason have wished to be rid of me except for hermoney? Why should you have helped him, except--At least it was not formoney, Lawton."

  But Mr. Lawton did not heed my father's voice. His glance had come torest again upon the locket on the table, and the hard lines about hismouth had vanished.

  "And she never spoke to me, never looked at me again," he said.

  My father started and looked at him quickly.

  "Lawton," groaned my uncle, "are you out of your mind?"

  Mr. Lawton turned sharp around and faced him with a scowl.
>
  "I told you," he said harshly. "I told you to get me the paper, and Itold you what would happen if you did not, and it is happening already,Jason. I am going to tell the story."

  My uncle moved convulsively to his feet, and his voice was sharp andmalignant.

  "Do you suppose anyone will believe you?" he cried. "Do you fancy theywill take your word against mine?"

  "We will try it," said Mr. Lawton. "There are still people who wonderwhy Shelton stooped to the thing you accused him of. We certainlywill try it."

  "And if you do," said my uncle, "I will show it was she who did it--thatit was she who urged him on. I'll tell them! D'you hear me? I'll tellthem, and they'll take my word for it. They'll take my word!"

  "God!" cried Mr. Lawton. "So that's the reason! So that's the trick youplayed. You dog! If I had only known--"

  His face had become blanched with passion, and my uncle staggered backbefore his upraised hand, but Mr. Lawton did not strike. For a moment hestood rigid, and when he spoke he had regained his self-control.

  "You will never tell it, Jason," he said slowly, and then he turned to myfather, and inclined his head very gravely, and his voice was no longerharsh and strident.

  "I often wondered why you left her so," he said, "and why you did notface it. You feared her name might be dragged in the mire! Because hethreatened to bring her into that miserable business, you never raised ahand. I always knew you were a gentleman, but I did not know you were DonQuixote de la Mancha."

  For the first time since the two had spoken, my father moved. He leanedacross the table, picked up the locket very gently, and placed it in hiscoat. His eyes rested on Lawton, and returned his bow.

  "Rubbish!" said my father. "One liar is bad enough, but why listen totwo? We will leave her name out of the conversation. Perhaps I had otherreasons for going away. Did they ever occur to you, Lawton? Perhaps, forinstance, I was sick of the whole business. Did you ever think I mighthave found it pleasant to leave so uncongenial an atmosphere, that I wasrelieved, delighted at the opportunity to leave lying relatives, andfriends who turned their backs? Faugh! I have kept the matter quiet forfifteen years, merely because I was too indolent to stand against it. Iwas too glad to see the cards fall as they did to call for a new deal.There I was, tied up to a family of sniveling hypocrites. Look at Jason,look at him. Who wouldn't have been glad to get away?"

  And he bowed to my uncle ironically.

  "Positively, I was glad to hear the crash. 'Very well,' I said, 'I am athief, since it pleases you to think so.' Thieves at least are a moreinteresting society, and I have found them so, Lawton, not only moreinteresting, but more honest."

  But somehow there was no ring of conviction to his words. His voiceseemed unable to assume its old cynicism, and his face had lost itsformer placidity. It had suddenly become old and careworn. Pain andregret, sharp and poignant, were reflected there. His eyes seemedstrained and tired, the corners of his mouth had drooped, and his bodytoo was less erect and resolute. Something had been broken. For a moment,his mask and his mantle had dropped where he could not find them. Andthen, as he stood looking ahead of him at the shadows, he ended hisspeech in a way that had no logic and no relation to the rest.

  "If she had only said she did not believe them--Why did she not say it?"

  And then he squared his shoulders and tried again to smile.

  "But what difference does it make now? The road has turned too long agofor us to face about."

  "She never spoke to me, never looked at me again!" repeated Mr. Lawton.

  My father's fist crashed down on the table, but when he spoke his wordswere precise and devoid of all emotion.

  "And why the devil should she," he answered. "We are not questioning hertaste. And you, Jason," he added. "No one will doubt your word, orbelieve this little romance. Do you wonder why? They will never have theopportunity. Brutus, take them down to the boat."

  Brutus stepped forward and laid a hand on my uncle's shoulder. Heshrank back.

  "George," he cried, "you shall have the money. I swear it, George. I havewronged you, but--"

  "Yes," said my father, "I shall have the money, and you too, Jason. Ishall have everything. Take them along, Brutus," and they left the roomin silence, while my father watched them thoughtfully, and arranged thelapel on his coat.

  "Ned," said my father, "the rum decanter is over on the bookshelves. GoodGod, where is he going?" for Mr. Aiken had darted into the hall, and wasrunning up the staircase.

  "Is the man mad? Is--"

  My father stopped, and was looking at the table. I followed his glance,and started involuntarily. There had been three pistols lying side byside on the polished mahogany, and now there were only two.

  "My son," said my father, "the rum decanter is on the bookshelves. Theglasses--"

  A shout from the hall interrupted him.

  "B'gad, captain!" Mr. Aiken was roaring. "Damme! Here's another of'em! You would bite me, would you! Hell's fire if I don't cut yourgullet open."

  "What an evening we are having, to be sure," said my father, turning tothe doorway.

  Mr. Aiken was pushing a man before him into the room, and holding a dirkat his throat.

  "Ives!" shrieked Mademoiselle.

  "She is right," said my father. "It is Ives de Blanzy. I had forgottenyou had sent him to the house."

  The man Mr. Aiken was holding wrenched himself free, and sprang forward,shaking a fist in my father's face.

  "Forgotten!" he shouted. Was it you who sent me here and had me tied inthe cellar, and left me chewing at the rope, and set this pirate on me?Mother of God! Captain Shelton! Is this a joke you are playing--"

  "Only a very regrettable error," said my father. "A mistake of my son's.Pray calm yourself, Ives. It is quite all right. My son, this isMademoiselle's brother."

  "Her brother!" I cried.

  "And who the devil did you think I was?" He walked slowly towards me."Have you no perceptions?"

  He would have continued further, if my father had not laid a handon his arm.

  "Gently, Ives," he said. "You know I would not treat you so. Give him thepaper, my son. He is the one who should have it."

  I stared at my father in blank astonishment, but before I could speak, hehad continued.

  "I know what you are thinking. What was the use of all this comedy? Whyshould I have deceived you? I was only running true to form, my son,which is the only thing left to do when life tastes bitter. Do you notunderstand? But you do not. Your palate is unused yet to gall andwormwood. Only wait, my son--"

  He raised his hand slowly, as though tilting an imaginary glass to hislips.

  "Only wait. They will offer you the cup some day, and we were alwaysheavy drinkers. Pray God that you will stand it with a better grace thanI--that you will forget the sting and rancor of it, and not carry it withyou through the years."

  His eyes grew brighter as he spoke, and his features were suddenly mobileand expressive.

  "She said she believed it. She threw their lies in my face. She lashed mewith them, and my blood was hotter then than now. She would not listen,and I forgot it was a woman's way. How was I to know it was only impulse?I ask you--how was I to know? Was I a man to crawl back, and ask herforgiveness, to offer some miserable excuse she would not credit? Andyou, brought into manhood to believe I was a thief--was I to stand yourflinging back my denial? Was I to pose as the picture of injuredinnocence, and beg you the favor of believing? I would not have expectedit of you, my son. By heaven, it would have stuck in my throat. I hadgone my way too long, and the draught still tasted bitter. It burned,burned as I never thought it would again, when I first saw you standingwatching me. Indeed it is only now that its taste has wholly gone--onlynow that I see what I have done, now when the lights are dim, and it istoo late to begin again."

  He stopped and squared his shoulders and the harshness left his voice.

  "You understand, I hope," he added "Give him the paper, Henry." And henodded towards Ives de Blanzy.

>   I drew it from my pocket, and handed it to him in silence.

  "Now what is the meaning of this?" said Ives de Blanzy harshly. "This isnot the paper! The cursed thing is blank inside!"

  My father snatched it from his hands.

  "Blank!" he muttered. "Blank! Clean as the driven snow! Is it possible Ihave failed in everything?"

  Mademoiselle had moved forward, and touched his arm. He glanced at herquickly, and slowly his frown vanished.

  "Naturally it is blank, captain," said Mademoiselle. "I took the real onefrom you this morning when you left it in your volume of Rabelais. Ithought that you might place it there. I am sorry, captain, sorry nowthat you made me take you seriously."

  The paper dropped from his fingers and fluttered to the floor, butstrangely enough he did not appear chagrined. His gallantry was back withhim again, and with it all his courtesy.

  "Ah, Mademoiselle," he said, "I should have known you better. Will therealways be a woman where there is trouble?"

  "And you have not made me hate you, Captain," Mademoiselle continued.

  "But you, my son," said my father, "you understand?"

  I felt his glance, but I could not meet it.

  "Yes," I said, "I understand."

  "Good," said my father. "Here comes Brutus. And now we shall have ourrum."

  "I understand," I said, and my voice seemed unsteady, "that you are avery brave and upright gentleman."

  "The devil!" cried my father.

  And then he started and whirled toward the door.

  "Ned! Ives!" he called sharply. "What the devil is going on outside?" andthe three of them had darted into the hall.

  Clear and distinct through the quiet night had come a shriek and thereport of a pistol.

  I started to follow them, but Mademoiselle had laid a hand on my arm,and was pointing to the table. I lifted first one and then the otherof the two pistols that were lying there. Neither was primed. Neitherwas loaded.

  "The third one," she said quietly, "Mr. Lawton took. No, no," sheadded, as I started toward the door, "Stay here, Monsieur. It is notyour affair."

  XVIII

  She still stood looking at the pistols on the table. Was she thinking,as I was, of the irony, and the comedy and the tragedy that had beenso strangely blended in the last hour? Slowly she turned and faced me,her slender fingers tugging aimlessly at her handkerchief. For amoment her eyes met mine. Then she looked away, and the color haddeepened in her cheeks.

  "So," said Mademoiselle, "It is almost over. Are you not glad, Monsieur,that it is finished?"

  The wick of a candle had dropped to the wax, and was splutteringfitfully. Mechanically I moved to fix it.

  "No," I said, "I am not glad."

  "Not glad? Surely you are glad it has ended so. Surely you are gladyour father--"

  "No," I said, and my voice was so much louder than I had intended thatthe sound of it in the quiet room made me stop abruptly. She looked up atme, a little startled.

  "At least Monsieur is frank," she said. "Do you know--have you thoughtthat you are the only one of us who has been wholly so, who has not hadsomething to conceal? Pray go on, Monsieur. It is pleasant to hearsomeone who is frank again. Continue! You must be glad for something.Every cloud must have--do you not say--a silver lining? If it is not yourfather--surely you are glad about me?"

  She made a graceful little gesture of interrogation.

  "Come, come," she went on, "You are not yourself tonight. Never have Iseen you look so black. Think, Monsieur! The men are on deck and the windis fair. Soon I shall be going. Soon you will forget."

  "No," I said, "Mademoiselle is mistaken. I shall not forget."

  "Nor I," she said gravely, "I wonder, Monsieur, if you understand--butyou cannot understand what it has meant to me. I have tried to tell youonce before, but you are cold, like your father. I have seen many men whohave said gallant things, but only you two of all I know have done them."

  "I have done nothing," I said. "You know I have done nothing."

  "But it has not been your fault," she answered. "And was it nothing toprotect a stranger from a strange land, when you had nothing to gain fromit and everything to lose?"

  "Mademoiselle forgets," I said, "that I had nothing to lose. It waslost already."

  "Then surely," she replied lightly, "surely you must be glad I am going?"

  "You know better than that," I answered. "Ah, Mademoiselle, do you notsee? I hoped I might show you that I did not always blunder. I hoped Imight show you--"

  The words seemed to choke me.

  "Ah, Mademoiselle," I cried, "if I had only been on the stairs atBlanzy!"

  "Blanzy!" she echoed, "Pray what has Blanzy to do with you and me?"

  Even now I do not know what made me speak, save that she was going. Thevery ticking of the clock was bringing the moment nearer, and there shewas, staring at me, wide-eyed, half puzzled and half frightened. Itseemed already as though she were further away.

  "Do you not see?" I said. "It is not like you not to understand. Nor isit very kind. How can I see you go and be glad? How can I be glad youlove my father?"

  "Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed suddenly startled, "Your father! I care foryour father!"

  I bowed in quick contrition.

  "Mademoiselle," I said, "I fear I have been very rude, and, as usual,very gauche. I beg you to forgive me."

  "But I tell you," she cried, "I do not love him!"

  I bowed again in silence.

  "You do not believe me?"

  "Mademoiselle may rest assured," I replied gently, "that Iunderstand--perfectly."

  "You!" I started at her sudden vexation, started to find that her eyeswere filled with tears.

  "You understand quite nothing! Never have I seen anyone so cruel,so stupid!"

  "Mademoiselle," I said, "I have been awkward, but forgive me--the cabinof the _Sea Tern_, where you asked him to sail on, and when you bade himrecall what he said on the stairs at Blanzy.... Your pardon! I have beenvery blunt."

  And now she was regarding me with blank astonishment.

  "Surely he told you," she murmured, "Surely he told you what the Marquishad intended."

  Then she stopped, confused and silent.

  "Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed suddenly, "But he has told you nothing!"

  "No," I said dully, "He has been most discreet. But does it make any realdifference, Mademoiselle, except that I know now that the Marquis was aman of very keen discrimination?"

  "Are you mad?" cried Mademoiselle, "I tell you it is not your father. Itell you I--"

  Her face had grown scarlet. She bowed her head, and tugged more violentlythan ever at the corner of her handkerchief.

  "Mademoiselle," I said unsteadily, "Mademoiselle, what was it he told youat Blanzy?"

  "I cannot tell you if you do not know," she answered, "Indeed I cannot."

  "But you will!" I cried. "You will, Mademoiselle! You must!Mademoiselle--"

  Her eyes had met mine again.

  "They were breaking in the door," she began, "and he was going down tomeet them. I told him--I told him to go, to leave me, and take the paper.He said--"

  She paused again, watching me in vague embarrassment.

  "He said he'd be damned if he would, Monsieur. He said he would do whatthe Marquis had directed, if he had to swing for it. That he would takethe paper and me to America--that I ... Mon Dieu! Do you not know what hesaid! Can you not guess?... He said that I was to marry his son."

  A smile suddenly played about her lips.

  "And I told him," she continued breathlessly, "I told him I'd be damnedif I would, Monsieur. That neither he nor the Marquis would make me marrya man I did not know, much less a son of his!"

  "And when you asked him to recall it--Mademoiselle, when you asked him torecall it, did you mean--tell me, Mademoiselle!"

  "Ah," she whispered, "but it is too soon, and you are too rough,Monsieur! I beg of you--be careful! Besides--someone is coming."

  And then I heard a soft footste
p behind me.

  "Huh!" said Brutus, "I go tell the captain. No. It is all right. I tellthe captain. He is happy. It will please him. Huh!" His long speechseemed to have taken his breath, for he paused, grinning broadly.

  "Huh!" he said finally. "Mr. Lawton shoot Mr. Jason. Shoot him withpistol off the table. The captain is happy."

  But before Brutus could turn to go, my father was in the doorway,smoothing the bandage on his arm.

  "Let us say relieved, Brutus," he answered smoothly. "It is dangerousever to use superlatives."

  Then he glanced from Mademoiselle to me, and his smile broadened.

  "Very much relieved," he said, "and yet--and yet I still feel thirsty.The rum decanter, Brutus."