by Headon Hill
CHAPTER XII--_The Man Under the Seat_
When the Duke of Beaumanoir found himself alone in the railway carriageafter Alec Forsyth's departure he sank back in his corner with a certainsense of relief. The events of the last twenty-four hours had filled himwith a very sincere regard for his cousin Sybil, and he had not muchfaith in the assurance given him by General Sadgrove that his journeydown to Prior's Tarrant would be free from danger. His past experiencesled him to expect that the terrible Ziegler and his myrmidons would bemore than a match for the shrewd but somewhat out-of-date Indianofficer, and if there was to be an "episode" on the railway he would beglad to think that it could not now plunge his plucky young cousin intomourning for her lover.
"She is a girl in a thousand," he murmured, as he lit a cigarette; "Ishould never forgive myself if I were the means of making her a widowbefore she is a wife. If, as I half suspect, Alec's detachment waseffected by a ruse on the part of the graybeard at the Cecil--well, Itake off my hat to that gentleman for his consideration."
As the train gathered speed, rushing through the twinkling suburbanlights, the Duke put his feet on the opposite cushions and reviewed thesituation--calmly, but always with but slender faith in being able "toworry through" with his life. That had really become quite a secondaryobject with him, so far as his personal safety was concerned; yet hispresent attitude was to escape the attentions of Ziegler long enough toconvey a warning to Senator Sherman of the plot against him. Whether hisnerves would be proof against the strain till the Senator's arrival atLiverpool was a phase of the case which he did not care to contemplatetoo closely.
Ziegler, he felt sure, would have grasped the position to a nicety, andwould use every device in his apparently limitless _repertoire_ to givehim his quietus before Leonie's father set foot on shore. It might wellbe that another attempt would be made on him before he reached thesheltering zone of Prior's Tarrant, wherein General Sadgrove hadpromised him safety.
His reflections were cut short by the slowing down of the train for thestoppage at Kentish Town, and the Duke's sensations at that momenthardly presaged a comfortable journey for him, brief though it would be.The compartment was labeled "reserved," it was true, and the guard hadbeen tipped to see that the legend was respected, but that stood forlittle when people of the Ziegler type were on the move, and he lookedforward with dread to the future stoppages if his heart was to thumplike this.
Which is a study in the quality of _fear_, for Beaumanoir was of thekind that leads cavalry charges to visible and certain death with gayrecklessness.
The present trouble passed, however, for the guard hovered round thecarriage and gave no chance to invaders, who in any case would have hadsome difficulty in effecting an entrance, as the door was locked. Thetrain sped on again, out into the country now, through the balmy summernight, and Beaumanoir breathed more freely. One of the dreaded stoppageswas notched off the list.
So, too, were Hendon and Mill Hill safely negotiated, and Beaumanoir wasable to contemplate the slackened speed for Elstree with greaterequanimity. As before, the guard's portly form loomed large outside thecompartment the moment the train stopped, and so doubtless would haveremained had not a loud, imperious voice on the platform summoned him toa divided duty.
"Here, guard! What are you about there? Hurry up now, and open thisdoor!" came the choleric command.
With a deprecatory glance at the Duke's carriage the guard perforcehurried off, and Beaumanoir peered out of the window after him. Theofficial had gone to the assistance of a tall, well-groomed gentleman,who, with an air of irritable importance, was fumbling with thedoor-handle of a first-class compartment some way along the train. Thetraveler was of the type that secures the immediate respect of railwayservants--dressed in brand new creaseless clothes, every immaculatepocket of which suggested the jingle of half-sovereigns. A man carryinga yellow hatbox and a rug lurked deferentially behind the magnate andcast reproachful glances at the guard, who was now thoroughly alive tohis opportunities and opened the door with a flourish. The tall man,whom Beaumanoir took for a brother duke, or at least a director of theline, stepped with dignity into the compartment; the menial handed inthe hatbox and rugs, and sought a second-class carriage; the guard wavedhis lamp, and the train moved on.
Beaumanoir withdrew his head and sank back in his corner, catching justa glimpse of the guard preparing to spring into his van as it nearedhim. The station lights flashed past, and the long line of carriagesswung into the outer darkness, the little diversion of the importantpassenger leaving Beaumanoir amused and comforted. To the man who hadtramped his weary way along the Bowery to his five-dollar boarding-housewithin the month this exhibition of class privileges and distinctionswas breezily refreshing, seeing that he was now in a position to claimthem himself.
Immunity from danger through four suburban stations had brought adelicious sense of calm, and as he leaned back he thought how nice itwould be to live the life of an English nobleman, free from all sordidcares and humiliations. And if he could wake up at the end of a week andfind that his entanglement was all a nightmare, or, at any rate, thatZiegler's bark was worse than his bite, and that Senator Sherman hadsafely deposited the bonds at the Bank--well, in that improved state ofthings what was to prevent his asking Leonie to share his new-foundprivileges?
Then, suddenly, the icy finger touched his heart again. As the bluewreaths of cigarette smoke in which he had conjured up this alluringvision rolled away he became conscious that his gaze, hitherto absorbedand preoccupied with day-dreams, was in reality riveted on a materialobject under the opposite seat. A very material object indeed--no lessthan the heel of a man's boot.
At sight of this disturbing element Beaumanoir's sensations were of amixed order. First of all, he could see so little of the boot that hecould not be sure that there was a man attached to it, though thepresumption was in favor of that supposition, for he was quite certainthat it had not been there long, or he would have noticed it before. Heguessed, so alert had his mind become under stress of emergencies, thatthe wearer of the boot had got into the compartment on the off sidewhile he himself had been looking out of the window in Elstree station.
But if so, and the man had invaded his privacy with sinister design, whyshould he have plunged at once into a position of utter impotence? Noone flattened out under the low seat of a first-class railway carriageis capable of active violence without a preliminary struggle to freehimself, during which he would be at the mercy of his intended victim.The only design that Beaumanoir could attribute to him was that he wouldpresently wriggle to the front and use a pistol.
He sat and eyed the motionless boot, and then an impulse, swift andirresistible, seized him.
"Come out of that, you beggar!" he cried; and, stooping down, he grippedthe boot, wondering whether he was to be rewarded with a haul or whetherhe would have to laugh at himself for grabbing someone's discardedfootgear. But the first touch told him that here was no empty boot, and,his fingers closing on it like a vise, he put forth all his strength anddragged its wearer, snarling and spluttering, out on to the open floor.There was no sign of a pistol, but as a measure of precaution Beaumanoirpulled out his own Smith and Wesson.
"Get up and sit in that corner," he said sternly, eyeing the puny formof the invader with curiosity. Open violence at any rate was not to beapprehended from the stunted little figure of a man who coweringlyobeyed his order.
But as his captive turned round and showed his sullen face the Duke knewthat this was no mere impecunious vagabond, sneaking a cheap railwayjourney. His fellow passenger was part and parcel of the peril thatmenaced him--had, in fact, been a fellow-passenger of his before. Forthe wizened, mean-looking face was the face of the spy Marker, who hadbeen pointed out to him by Leonie on board the _St. Paul_, and who hadafterwards shadowed him to the Hotel Cecil on landing.
"So we meet again, Mr. Marker," said the Duke with pleasant irony. "Ishould have thought that your friend Mr. Ziegler could have provided youwith a railway fare
rather than let you travel like a broken racingsharp--under the seat."
The fellow blinked his ferret eyes viciously, but began a futile attemptat prevarication. "My name, I guess, ain't Marker, and I never heard ofanyone called Ziegler," he whined.
"Very possibly your name may not be Marker, though you booked under iton the _St. Paul_; but you are undoubtedly acquainted with the oldrascal at the Cecil who calls himself Ziegler," Beaumanoir retorted.
"You seem to know a powerful sight more about me than I know myself,"was the sullen reply.
Beaumanoir made a long scrutiny of the weak but cunning countenance ofthe spy, and he came to the conclusion that this was one of theunderlings of the combination, to be trusted only with minor tasks inthe great game. His presence there under the seat of the compartment wasthe more unaccountable, since he was not the sort of creature witheither nerve or physique to murder anything stronger than a fly.
"Look here, my good chap," said Beaumanoir with tolerant contempt,after, as he thought, gauging Mr. Marker's caliber. "You've got a bitout of your depth with the people you're trying to swim with. Why notchuck Ziegler and Co. and come over to me? I'll make it worth yourwhile."
But the only response was a dull shake of the insignificant head and thesulky rejoinder: "I don't know what you're getting at, Mister. I'llchuck anybody you like and come over to you with pleasure if you willstand the price of a ticket to St. Albans."
The persistent denial was as absurd as the suggested reason for hispresence under the seat, and Beaumanoir began to lose patience. "Isuppose," he said, "that you will maintain that you did not go to Mr.Forsyth's chambers in John Street last night under the pretence of beinga chemist's messenger?"
"Never been in John Street in my life," came back the pat and obviouslie.
It seemed useless to argue further, and Beaumanoir preserved silencetill the train ran into Radlett Station, when he put into practice thecourse he had decided upon. At least he would force the creature todisclosure and put him to some inconvenience, as it was possible thatthereby he might disconcert his plans, whatever they might be. Loweringthe window, he called to the guard, and informed the astonished officialthat he had found a man traveling under the seat without a ticket.
Then uprose the righteous wrath of the guard, who had Mr. Marker by thecollar in a trice and twisted him out on to the platform with the sharpdemand:
"Now, young man, your name and address, and quick about it."
"What for?" inquired Marker, openly insolent.
"Defrauding the Company by traveling without previously paying the fare,contrary to By-law 18."
The spy broke into a jeering cackle. "You've only got _his_ word for itthat I haven't got a ticket," he replied. "I nipped under the seatbecause I thought he was a lunatic, and a gent can travel that way, Ireckon, if he's paid his shot. Here's the ticket, Mister. I'll maketracks to another carriage."
With which he produced a first-class ticket all in order and walked offalong the platform, leaving the Duke and the guard looking after him,the former with a curious smile, the latter with dismayed perplexity.
"Well, of all the funny games!" exclaimed the official. "He must havegot in at Elstree while I was attending to that there toff, and blessedif he ain't scooting into the same compartment with him now. Your Gracewill understand that I couldn't interfere with him, seeing that he had aticket and you didn't prefer no charge?"
"All right, guard," replied Beaumanoir, with his weary smile. "It reallydoesn't matter. He seems to have taken me for a madman, while I took himfor a dead-head, that's all. These little misunderstandings will arise,you know. We're behind time, eh?"
Taking the hint, the guard retired and started the train, Beaumanoirresuming his seat in a frame of mind only to be described as mixed. Hestared out into the gloom of night, wondering what was to come next. Hislittle stratagem had succeeded, in so far as it had revealed Marker asthe possessor of a ticket, and therefore as presumably charged with somedesign against himself, though it had shed no light on the nature ofthat design. But the adroitness with which the wretched spy hadextricated himself made him gnash his teeth because of the impudentreliance on his inability to assign a reason to the guard for fearing anintruder. That in itself was clear evidence that Mr. Marker was underthe seat with a very real purpose.
Had that purpose been entirely thwarted by his discovery? was thequestion which buzzed through the Duke's brain to the tune of therolling wheels. There had been an air of insolent confidence in thefellow as he showed his ticket and walked away which hardly tallied withtotal discomfiture. And then, mused Beaumanoir, was there not ground forfurther apprehension in his selection of a fresh compartment and a freshtraveling companion? Could it be that "the toff" who had entered thetrain at Elstree was an accomplice, and that Mr. Marker had gone toreport to him and concert new measures? It might well be so, for,whether wittingly or no, the swaggering passenger had certainly causedthe diversion which had enabled Marker to open the door on the off sideand creep under the seat.
The reflection that the spy might have confederates on the train did notadd to Beaumanoir's equanimity, and at the next stop he let down thewindow again and peered along the line of carriages. Sure enough, hecaught a glimpse of a head protruding from the compartment into whichMarker had disappeared--not the head of Marker himself, but of theimperious person who had played the magnate and distracted the guard.The head was instantly withdrawn, but it had done a useful work inconvincing Beaumanoir that he was really an object of interest in thatquarter, and not to Marker alone.
"I wish they would _do_ something and end this beastly suspense," thehunted man muttered to himself as the train moved on once more; "though,for the matter of that, they can't do anything till I get out at TarrantRoad--unless they openly come to the door and shoot me at one of the fewremaining stoppages."
But he was soon to learn that stations were not to be the onlystopping-places for the 8.45 that night. It had come to a steepgradient, up which it was plodding laboriously, when suddenly there wasa bumping thud that hurled Beaumanoir on to the opposite seat; thewheels screeched on the metals as if in agony; a tremor as of impendingdissolution quivered through the framework of the carriage, and thetrain jerked to a standstill.
Beaumanoir had the door open instantly with his own private key, andclambering down on to the side of the line nearly fell into the arms ofthe guard, hurrying from the rear van towards the engine.
"Run into an obstruction, I expect, your Grace--nothing very serious, Ihope," panted the guard as he went scrunching over the ballast to thecenter of disaster.
People were swarming out of the carriages, all of them evidently morefrightened than hurt, and Beaumanoir strained his eyes through theleaping, scuffling figures to the compartment occupied by his enemies.Yes, there they were, and apparently the thing was to be done incharacter to the last. The tall, well-dressed man opened the door,called "Guard!" in the same old tone of importance, and, getting noresponse, began to leisurely descend on to the permanent way, followedby Marker, who feigned to hold no converse with him. At the same timethere hastened up the man who had handed in the hatbox and rug, and thenthe three were swallowed up in the shadows beyond the radius of lightfrom the carriage windows.
For the night had fallen inky dark, and outside that narrow band ofartificial light all was as black as the nether pit. Shrieking women andagitated men appeared for a moment on the footboards and disappeared,directly they had traversed the short zone of light, into the outergloom of the waste ground at the side of the railway.
Casting a comprehensive glance at his surroundings, the Duke saw thatthe accident had occurred at a lonely spot where the line was hemmed inon either hand by dense woods running right up to the rail-fence thatbounded the track. Instinct prompted him to quit the dangerous proximityof his own compartment, and at the same time he desired to ascertain howlong the delay was likely to last. This he could only do by proceedingto the front of the train, but to reach the engine would entail passin
gthe place where the mysterious three lurked in the shadows. In order toavoid them, therefore, he darted across the zone of light, hoping toescape observation, dived under the train, and made his way forward onthe other side of the line, shielded from his foes by the carriages.
One glance at the derailed engine sufficed to show him the nature of theaccident, and to inform him of the reason for it. A barrier composed ofbaulks of timber, supplemented by heaped-up ballast, had been builtacross the six-foot way, and from the excited remarks of driver, stoker,and guard Beaumanoir gathered that the locomotive was so damaged thateven when the obstruction was removed it would be unable to proceedunder its own steam. The passengers would have to wait till a relieftrain came along, unless they elected to trudge three miles to the nextor the last station.
It was all too plain to Beaumanoir that here was no accident at all, butan outrage designed to strand him in that lonely place, where amid thedarkness and the confusion murder would come easy. The choice of thelocality, half-way up a steep gradient where the speed would be reducedto a minimum, pointed to no desire to injure the passengers generally;indeed, there would have been an obvious intention to avoid a reallyperilous collision, seeing that some of the conspirators were on board.He could pretty accurately gauge Marker's functions now. The spy was tohave kept close to him after the "accident," so as to signal hiswhereabouts in the darkness to the more active members of the gang.
The emissaries of Ziegler would have to dispense with that aid now, butstill Beaumanoir could not shut his eyes to his imminent peril. Thethree who had traveled in the train were on the other side of the line,but the contingent--there would be at least two of them--who had wreckedthe engine were probably lurking somewhere near. He could have noassurance that they were not at his very elbow, stealing on him throughthe dense undergrowth that fringed the fence.
A shout from the guard to the passengers congregated behind the traintold him that at least half an hour must elapse before they could bepicked up and carried on, and he at once decided that to stay at thespot would be intolerable. He should go mad if he remained at the mercyof invisible adversaries whom he could not _hit back_. If they wouldonly come out into the open, in a body if they liked, so that he couldempty the six chambers of his revolver into them before he went down, hewould take his risks gladly; but to stand still in the dark, not knowinghow soon a stab in the back would be his fate, was the thing too much.There and then he ended the situation by climbing the fence and plunginginto the wood.
He had not taken six steps through the brambles when from the pitchdarkness ahead a low, flute-like whistle sounded, to be instantlyanswered by the cracking of a twig a little to the right of him. Hispresent intention to quit the scene and make his way to Prior's Tarranton foot across country had evidently been foreseen and provided for.Those bushes were _occupied_, and his retreat at that point was cut off.He clambered back on to the railway, and, running as hard as hislameness would allow, close to the fence, he again essayed the wood twohundred yards ahead of the engine. This time he won free into the tangleof the copse without any sign of pursuit, and presently came to an open"ride" where progress was easier.
