by Headon Hill
CHAPTER XIII--_At the Keeper's Cottage_
The Duke followed the ride for some distance, the clamor of voicesaround the wrecked train growing every moment less distinct till theydied away altogether, and he guessed that he was in the heart of thewood, half a mile from the scene of the disaster. Whether or no he waspursued he had no means of knowing, with such diabolical cunning pittedagainst him; but, at any rate, no sound of pursuit reached his strainingears, and he began to hope that his break-away had been undetected.
Suddenly the ride turned abruptly to the right, and at the end of aglade, some hundred yards further on, he saw the lights of a dwelling.Across the intervening years came a flash of remembrance. These must bethe celebrated coverts of his neighbor, Sir Claude Asprey, and the houseahead must be the keeper's cottage where, when an Eton boy spending theholidays with his uncle at Prior's Tarrant, he had lunched as a memberof Sir Claude's shooting-party ten years ago. The place was graven onhis memory, because the day was a red-letter one by reason of his havingshot his first pheasant thereon.
Without any definite plan in his head, but actuated by a longing forhuman companionship, however brief, he went up to the door of thecottage and knocked, his arrival being also heralded by the barking ofdogs at the side of the house. The door was almost immediately thrownopen by a stalwart, ruddy-faced man of sixty, who carried a candle andstared in open-mouthed wonder at a well-dressed visitor at such an hourand place. Beaumanoir looked at him closely, and smiled his first smileof pleasure since Forsyth's hand had gripped his on the day he landed.
"I can see you've forgotten me, Mayne," he said, "though I should haveknown you anywhere--time has touched you so slightly. Don't yourecollect young Charley Hanbury, who came over with the Duke ofBeaumanoir to a big shoot with Sir Claude in '91?"
A gleam shone in the honest keeper's keen eyes. "Of course I remember,sir," he replied, adding quickly: "Begging your Grace's pardon, foryou'll be the Duke yourself now?'
"Yes, I am the Duke, Mayne, and a very unfortunate one," Beaumanoirlaughed. "There has been a mild sort of smash-up on the railway yonder,and I started to walk to Prior's Tarrant rather than hang about for arelief train. I was a bit hazy about my direction, so I thought I'dinquire, and at the same time reassure you that it wasn't a poacher whowas abroad in the woods. May I come in while you give me my bearings?"
"Come in, your Grace, and welcome; but it isn't in my house that I shalldirect you. It's not likely that I'm going to let you wander about mywoods on a dark night when I can guide you out of them myself and thinkit an honor," was the keeper's cordially respectful reply.
Beaumanoir was conscious that standing in a lighted doorway was hardlythe place for him just then, and he followed into a roomy kitchen,professionally eloquent with its array of guns and sporting prints.Mayne explained that his wife had just gone up to bed, and that all theyoungsters, whom perhaps it might please his Grace to remember, were outin the world.
Beaumanoir dropped into a chair, and to gratify his kindly host accepteda horn tankard of home-brewed ale, which he sipped while he satisfiedMayne's curiosity about the "accident." He would have given much to takethe keeper into his confidence about the personal element in theoutrage, but that luxury could not be indulged in without impossibledisclosures. Considering that he had eliminated the most pertinent partof his narrative, he was unable to account for the growing gravity withwhich it was received till Mayne disburdened himself.
"I wonder your Grace can take your narrow escape so lightly," said thekeeper. "Providence must have been in two minds about you to-night."
"How so?" asked the Duke, starting. Surely General Sadgrove had not beenspreading indiscreet reports in the county already. There had not beentime.
"It isn't a fortnight since his Grace your uncle and your cousin werekilled on the railway," replied the keeper.
The coincidence had not occurred to Beaumanoir, nor if it had would ithave troubled him; but he was relieved to find that Mayne's solemnitywas due to the traditional superstition of a gamekeeper. To have histerrible secret, or so much as a hint of it, suspected by this cheeryold associate of the happiest day of his boyhood would have been a blowindeed.
"Yes," he admitted, though in a different sense; "I have certainly had anarrow escape, and it has shaken me a little, Mayne. On second thoughts,if you would let me lie down for a few hours on that very comfortablesettle, I would defer my departure for Prior's Tarrant till the morning.I really don't feel quite equal to trudging so far to-night."
This was true enough, for though he was physically fit he dreadedleaving this haven of rest and apparent security for the darkling wood,in which his remorseless foes were probably searching for him. Thepromised escort of the unsuspecting keeper would be of little value,for, unwarned of any peril, the man would be simply an encumbrance,equally liable with himself to swift death at any moment at the hands ofthe enormous odds against them. Apart from other considerations, hecould not subject the good fellow to such a risk, though he would havepreferred, had it been possible to proceed alone, to have got to Prior'sTarrant that night and so have ended the suspense under which Forsythand the General must be laboring.
Of course the proposal was hailed with delight, Mayne only insistingthat he should wake his wife and get her to prepare the spare bedroom.Of this, however, Beaumanoir would not hear, and he was trying topersuade his host to retire for the night when a dog barked furiously atthe back of the house.
"That's old Tear'em; there'll be someone moving," said Mayne, going outinto the passage and listening intently.
Beaumanoir remained in the kitchen, but for all that it was he, with hishighly strung nerves, who was the first to catch the sound of a footstepwithout--a stealthy footstep, not approaching the cottage door boldly,but creeping close to the window. The next instant, however, before hecould communicate with Mayne, another and a brisker step, without anyattempt at secrecy, crunched on the pebble path, and there came a tap atthe cottage door. Mayne immediately opened it.
"Sorry to disturb you, but there has been a railway accident," a mansaid in tones that struck Beaumanoir as vaguely familiar. "I'm tired ofwaiting about at the side of the line. Can you give me shelter for thenight?"
"If you'll please to walk in, sir, I'll see what can be done," came thereply of the hospitable keeper. "I've got one of the passengers in herealready."
The next moment there appeared in the doorway of the kitchen the tallman who had hectored the guard at Elstree station and who had afterwardsbeen joined by the spy, Marker, at Radlett. Whatever his purpose, he wasplainly not disposed to lay aside his air of self-importance as yet. Heglanced superciliously at Beaumanoir, and promptly appropriated thechair which the latter had risen from at the first alarm. Loyal to hisown county, this was more than Mayne could stand; he hastened to effecta one-sided introduction.
"Beg pardon, sir, but you've taken the Duke's chair," he said. "Thisgentleman is his Grace the Duke of Beaumanoir."
The newcomer rose with alacrity. "Sorry, I'm sure," he said, takinganother seat. "We are companions in misfortune, Duke, if, as Iunderstand, you were traveling in that wretched 8.45 from St. Pancras."
Beaumanoir's sense of humor, ever present, but of late repressed bystress of circumstances, broke out at the efforts of this man, who spokewith a pronounced American accent, and who, he was persuaded, was therewith murderous intent, to sustain the _role_ of an English gentleman. Hehad not forgotten that other and more furtive footstep under the window,but he could not resist the sport of leading this rascal on. The moodhad seized him to avoid being killed if he could; but, if that were notpossible, to extract all available fun out of the process. And it mightserve either of these contingencies to lead his adversary into thebelief that he was not being imposed on by all this specious posing.
"Yes, I was in the 8.45," he replied, looking the other squarely in theface. "You joined it at Elstree, I think. I noticed you because a manwho was found under the seat of my compartment got into yours atRadlett, and
I saw you leaving the train with him after the accident."
For the fraction of a second the man failed to control the answeringdefiance of his eyes, but he got a grip of himself soon enough toprevent a premature explosion. "Really?" he said, with affectedcarelessness. "He was under the seat, eh? Funny sort of person to betraveling first-class; but, of course, you will understand that I am notacquainted with him."
Beaumanoir made no comment. He had got what he wanted. That suddentell-tale gleam of menace had discounted the subsequent disclaimer, andhe knew that this man had been no chance fellow-passenger with Marker,the spy. What was more, the man knew that he knew it, and Beaumanoirshrewdly guessed that the effort of control was intended to deceive nothim but the keeper. The rascal was biding his time till he had learnedwhat dispositions were to be made for the night, when doubtless he wouldshape his actions accordingly; and, in the meanwhile, it was necessaryto his purpose that Sir Claude Asprey's honest old retainer shouldregard him as an innocent guest.
Again that persistent reliance on the Duke's impotence to speak up andboldly claim protection. All through the hot pursuit that leaguered himso closely this was the bitterest drop in Beaumanoir's cup, for it washe himself who had placed the gag in his own mouth, he himself who hadforged the fetters that kept him from running to Scotland Yard with anexposure of the whole conspiracy. And it is galling to be hampered by apast lapse from virtue when you have abandoned evil courses and are liketo lose your life for doing so.
"Now that this gentleman has come in your Grace will _have_ to have thespare bedroom," said Mayne triumphantly, moving towards the door. "Thewife will have it ready for you in a brace of shakes."
Beaumanoir detained him with a hasty gesture. "One minute," he said,"I'm not at all sure that I care about having the bedroom. I hadarranged to sleep downstairs on the settle, you know. Why shouldn't weadhere to that plan, and let this gentleman have the room?"
He was moved to discover which of the two sleeping-places his enemieswould prefer him to occupy, and also by the imperative need of gainingtime to gauge the altered circumstances. Moreover, if Mayne wentupstairs to consult his wife he would be left alone with this greatstrapping potential assassin, who as like as not would promptly admithalf a dozen other assassins from outside. Strangely enough, it was thepotential assassin himself who solved his dilemma--by tossing avisiting-card on to the table.
"I shouldn't dream of sleeping in the bedroom while you are roughing itdown here, your Grace," he said. "I shall certainly insist on occupyingthe settle."
Beaumanoir picked up the card and read:
Colonel Anstruther Walcot, 14th Dragoon Guards.
The sight of that card, for all his imminent danger, cheered him, asshowing that his opponents were not infallible. Not only had they madethe initial blunder of furnishing this obvious Yankee with the outwardsemblance and name of an English officer commanding a distinguishedregiment, relying on the fact that the real owner of the name was inIndia, but they had chanced to select the name of the colonel ofBeaumanoir's old regiment.
The impostor's card inspired him with an idea. He would accept him athis own valuation.
"Very well," he said, rising from his chair. "As I am the first comer,perhaps it is right that I should be first served. I'll take thebedroom, Mayne; but there's no need to disturb your wife. If you'll showme up we'll soon put the room to rights. Good-night, sir, and thank youfor your courtesy."
With which he signed to the keeper to lead the way and followed him out,casting a glance at the American to see how he took the arrangement.Diagnosis of the man's face was, however, impossible, for he had alreadyturned to the window and was drawing aside the curtain--to signal to hisfellows, Beaumanoir had no doubt.
Mayne mounted the steep cottage staircase, Beaumanoir limping awkwardlyin his wake into one of two rooms on the tiny landing. The moment theyhad crossed the threshold he perceived that the chamber was littlebetter than a trap. The man downstairs would simply have him at hismercy, after admitting his companions and probably screwing up the doorof the keeper's sleeping apartment. Locks and bolts to the primitivedoors there were none. He recognized all too late that it would havebeen better to have insisted on the Yankee occupying this room and onremaining downstairs himself, when he would at least have formed a wedgebetween the traitor in the camp and his colleagues outside.
To stay the night in the room was out of the question, and he determinedto put in practice the inspiration derived from "Colonel Walcot's" card.
"Mayne," he said, laying his hand on the astonished keeper's shoulder,"I must get out of this at once, without the gentleman below being awareof it, and you must help me."
"But, your Grace----" began Mayne.
"Don't withstand me," Beaumanoir cut short the protest. "I cannot gointo a long explanation, but it's like this. That man is the colonel ofmy former regiment--an old brother officer, you understand. My name wasHanbury then, and he either does not, or pretends not to, recognize me.It is not a nice thing to have to confess, but I borrowed money in thosedays from Colonel Walcot, which never till now have I had it in my powerto repay. It would distress me greatly to have that money mentionedbefore I have repaid it, as I shall do to-morrow, so if you can contriveto let me out without his knowledge I'll make for Prior's Tarrant andnever forget your assistance."
Mayne scratched his grizzled head in pained perplexity. To his slowbrain the incident of a wealthy nobleman fleeing in the dead of nightfrom a creditor presented a startling incongruity, but gradually itrecurred to him that he had heard that the new Duke had been "a bitwild" when in the army; and, after all, his reluctance to be recognizedby the Colonel till he had had time to liquidate the debt seemed butnatural.
"Yes, it can be done, your Grace," replied the keeper, softly openingthe lattice casement. "The lean-to roof of the woodshed reaches right uphere, and there's a pile of faggots against the shed. You can get downeasy enough, and as it's the back of the house, if you are careful, hewon't know anything about it. But I'll come, too, and show your Gracethe way out of the wood."
"On no account, Mayne," said Beaumanoir quickly. "You'll be much moreuseful here. I'll find my way out of the wood all right, but you must goback to the kitchen and tell Colonel Walcot that I am going to bed. It'sonly a white lie, and here's a five-pound note on account of it. Staywith him as long as you can--half an hour at least--and then go to bedyourself."
"Very well, your Grace; I don't like it, but I'll do it."
"And see here, Mayne: there's one thing more. In the morning, orwhenever Colonel Walcot discovers that I have gone away, tell him fromme why I went, and that I intend to repay him all I owe him. _All I owehim_, don't forget that."
Directly he was alone Beaumanoir left himself no time for weighing thechances, but took the risk. Squeezing through the window, he climbeddown the sloping roof of the woodshed and thence by way of thefaggot-pile to the ground. He was well aware that every step, as hegroped his way across the clearing into the thicket, might be his last,for doubtless he had been traced to the cottage and the whole pack weresomewhere about. His only hope lay in the probability that they were infront of the house, where they could hold themselves ready to obeysignals from the kitchen window or a summons from the door.
It might have been that this was the case, for Beaumanoir reached thetrees without interference, and at once shaped a course for the edge ofthe wood. His progress was difficult by reason of the darkness and thedensity of the undergrowth, but fortune favored him in so far that hepresently hit upon a public foot-path, and so came eventually to a stilegiving on a high road. At the next cross-ways was a sign-post, which heread by the light of a wax match, and thence onward limped steadilyforward for Prior's Tarrant, with growing confidence that he had eludedpursuit.
Great, then, was his dismay when, on turning into his own park, hebecame conscious that he was being shadowed by someone whose stealthypid-pad sounded resolutely behind him. As he mounted the terrace stepsit grew louder; the man who was
following him was close behind andgaining quickly. Something in the Duke's tired brain seemed to snap, andwith just a glance at the lighted window of the dining-room whereGeneral Sadgrove was in the act of drawing up the blind, he turned atthe top of the steps and flung himself, half mad with rage and terror,on the faithful Azimoolah, who had picked him up near the sign-post andshepherded him safely for the rest of the journey.
