XV
A CONVERSATION AT LA LIERRE
Captain Stewart walked nervously up and down the small innerdrawing-room at La Lierre, his restless hands fumbling together behindhim, and his eyes turning every half-minute with a sharp eagerness tothe closed door. But at last, as if he were very tired, he threw himselfdown in a chair which stood near one of the windows, and all his tensebody seemed to relax in utter exhaustion. It was not a very comfortablechair that he had sat down in, but there were no comfortable chairs inthe room--nor, for that matter, in all the house. When he had taken theplace, about two months before this time, he had taken it furnished, butthat does not mean very much in France. No French country-houses--ortown-houses, either--are in the least comfortable, by Anglo-Saxonstandards, and that is at least one excellent reason why Frenchmen spendjust as little time in them as they possibly can. Half the cafes inParis would promptly put up their shutters if Parisian homes could allat once turn themselves into something like English or American ones. Asfor La Lierre, it was even more dreary and bare and tomblike than othercountry-houses, because it was, after all, a sort of ruin, and had notbeen lived in for fifteen years, save by an ancient caretaker and hisnearly as ancient wife. And that was, perhaps, why it could be taken ona short lease at such a very low price.
The room in which Captain Stewart sat was behind the large drawing-room,which was always kept closed now, and it looked out by one window to thewest, and by two windows to the north, over a corner of the kitchengarden and a vista of trees beyond. It was a high-ceiled room with wallsbare except for two large mirrors in the Empire fashion, which stared ateach other across the way with dull and flaking eyes. Under each ofthese stood a heavy gilt and ebony console with a top ofchocolate-colored marble, and in the centre of the room there was atable of a like fashion to the consoles. Further than this there wasnothing save three chairs, upon one of which lay Captain Stewart'sdust-coat and motoring cap and goggles.
A shaft of golden light from the low sun slanted into the place throughthe western window from which the Venetians had been pulled back, andfell across the face of the man who lay still and lax in his chair, eyesclosed and chin dropped a little so that his mouth hung weakly open. Helooked very ill, as, indeed, any one might look after such an attack ashe had suffered on the night previous. That one long moment of deathlyfear before he had fallen down in a fit had nearly killed him. Allthrough this following day it had continued to recur until he thought heshould go mad. And there was worse still. How much did Olga Nilssenknow? And how much had she told? She had astonished and frightened himwhen she had said that she knew about the house on the road to Clamart,for he thought he had hidden his visits to La Lierre well. He wonderedrather drearily how she had discovered them, and he wondered how muchshe knew more than she had admitted. He had a half-suspicion ofsomething like the truth, that Mlle. Nilssen knew only of Coira O'Hara'spresence here, and drew a rather natural inference. If that was all,there was no danger from her--no more, that is, than had already borneits fruit, for Stewart knew well enough that Ste. Marie must havelearned of the place from her. In any case Olga Nilssen had leftParis--he had discovered that fact during the day--and so for thepresent she might be eliminated as a source of peril.
The man in the chair gave a little groan and rolled his head wearily toand fro against the uncomfortable chair-back, for now he came to thereal and immediate danger, and he was so very tired and ill, and hishead ached so sickeningly that it was almost beyond him to bring himselfface to face with it.
There was the man who lay helpless upon a bed up-stairs! And there werethe man's friends, who were not at all helpless or bedridden or incaptivity!
A wave of almost intolerable pain swept through Stewart's aching head,and he gave another groan which was almost like a child's sob. But atjust that moment the door which led into the central hall opened, andthe Irishman O'Hara came into the room. Captain Stewart sprang to hisfeet to meet him, and he caught the other man by the arm in hiseagerness.
"How is he?" he cried out. "How is he? How badly was he hurt?"
"The patient?" said O'Hara. "Let go my arm! Hang it, man, you'repinching me! Oh, he'll do well enough. He'll be fit to hobble about in aweek or ten days. The bullet went clean through his leg and out againwithout cutting an artery. It was a sort of miracle--and a damned luckymiracle for all hands, too! If we'd had a splintered bone or a severedartery to deal with I should have had to call in a doctor. Then thefellow would have talked, and there'd have been the devil to pay. As itis, I shall be able to manage well enough with my own small skill. I'vedressed worse wounds than that in my time. By Jove, it was a miracle,though!" A sudden little gust of rage swept him. He cried out: "Thatconfounded fool of a gardener, that one-eyed Michel, ought to be beatento death. Why couldn't he have slipped up behind this fellow and knockedhim on the head, instead of shooting him from ten paces away? Thebenighted idiot! He came near upsetting the whole boat!"
"Yes," said Captain Stewart, with a sharp, hard breath, "he should haveshot straighter or not at all."
The Irishman stared at him with his bright blue eyes, and after a momenthe gave a short laugh.
"Jove, you're a bloodthirsty beggar, Stewart!" said he. "That would havebeen a rum go, if you like! Killing the fellow! All his friends down onus like hawks, and the police and all that! You can't go about killingpeople in the outskirts of Paris, you know--at least not people withfriends. And this chap looks like a gentleman, more or less, so I takeit he has friends. As a matter of fact, his face is rather familiar. Ithink I've seen him before, somewhere. You looked at him just nowthrough the crack of the door; do you know who he is? Coira tells me hecalled out to Arthur by name, but Arthur says he never saw him beforeand doesn't know him at all."
Captain Stewart shivered. It had not been a pleasant moment for him,that moment when he had looked through the crack of the door andrecognized Ste. Marie.
"Yes," he said, half under his breath--"yes, I know who he is. A friendof the family."
The Irishman's lips puckered to a low whistle. He said:
"Spying, then, as I thought. He has run us to earth."
And the other nodded. O'Hara took a turn across the room and back.
"In that case," he said, presently--"in that case, then, we must keephim prisoner here so long as we remain. That's certain." He spun roundsharply with an exclamation. "Look here!" he cried, in a lower tone,"how about this fellow's friends? It isn't likely he's doing his dirtywork alone. How about his friends, when he doesn't turn up to-night? Ifthey know he was coming here to spy on us; if they know where the placeis; if they know, in short, what he seems to have known, we're done for.We'll have to run, get out, disappear. Hang it, man, d'you understand?We're not safe here for an hour."
Captain Stewart's hands shook a little as he gripped them togetherbehind him, and a dew of perspiration stood out suddenly upon hisforehead and cheek-bones, but his voice, when he spoke, was well undercontrol.
"It's an odd thing," said he--"another miracle, if you like--but Ibelieve we are safe--reasonably safe. I--have reason to think that thisfellow learned about La Lierre only last evening from some one who leftParis to-day to be gone a long time. And I also have reason to believethat the fellow has not seen the one friend who is in his confidence,since he obtained his information. By chance I met the friend, the otherman, in the street this afternoon. I asked after this fellow whom wehave here, and the friend said he hadn't seen him for twenty-fourhours--was going to see him to-night."
"By the Lord!" cried the Irishman, with a great laugh of relief. "Whatluck! What monumental luck! If all that's true, we're safe. Why, man,we're as safe as a fox in his hole. The lad's friends won't have theghost of an idea of where he's gone to.... Wait, though! Stop a bit! Hewon't have left written word behind him, eh? He won't have donethat--for safety?"
"I think not," said Captain Stewart, but he breathed hard, for he knewwell enough that there lay the gravest danger. "I think not," he saidagain.
He made
a rather surprisingly accurate guess at the truth--that Ste.Marie had started out upon impulse, without intending more than ageneral reconnaissance, and therefore without leaving any word behindhim. Still, the shadow of danger uplifted itself before the man and hewas afraid. A sudden gust of weak anger shook him like a wind.
"In Heaven's name," he cried, shrilly, "why didn't that one-eyed foolkill the fellow while he was about it? There's danger for us everymoment while he is alive here. Why didn't that shambling idiot killhim?"
Captain Stewart's outflung hand jumped and trembled and his face wastwisted into a sort of grinning snarl. He looked like an angry andwicked cat, the other man thought.
"If I weren't an over-civilized fool," he said, viciously, "I'd goup-stairs and kill him now with my hands while he can't help himself.We're all too scrupulous by half."
The Irishman stared at him and presently broke into amazed laughter.
"Scrupulous!" said he. "Well, yes, I'm too scrupulous to murder a man inhis bed, if you like. I'm not squeamish, but--Good Lord!"
"Do you realize," demanded Captain Stewart, "what risks we run whilethat fellow is alive--knowing what he knows?"
"Oh yes, I realize that," said O'Hara. "But I don't see why _you_ shouldhave heart failure over it."
Captain Stewart's pale lips drew back again in their catlike fashion.
"Never mind about me," he said. "But I can't help thinking you'repeculiarly indifferent in the face of danger."
"No, I'm not!" said the Irishman, quickly. "No, I'm not. Don't you runaway with that idea! I merely said," he went oh--"I merely said that I'dstop short of murder. I don't set any foolish value on life--my own orany other. I've had to take life more than once, but it was in fairfight or in self-defence, and I don't regret it. It was your coldbloodedjoke about going up-stairs and killing this chap in his bed that put meon edge. Naturally I know you didn't mean it. Don't you go thinking thatI'm lukewarm or that I'm indifferent to danger. I know there's dangerfrom this lad up-stairs, and I mean to be on guard against it. He stayshere under strict guard until--what we're after is accomplished--untilyoung Arthur comes of age. If there's danger," said he, "why, we knowwhere it lies, and we can guard against it. That kind of danger is notvery formidable. The dangerous dangers are the ones that you don't knowabout--the hidden ones."
He came forward a little, and his lean face was as hard and as impassiveas ever, and the bright blue eyes shone from it steady and unwinking.Stewart looked up to him with a sort of peevish resentment at the man'sconfidence and cool poise. It was an odd reversal of their ordinaryrelations. For the hour the duller villain, the man who was wont to takeorders and to refrain from overmuch thought or question, seemed to havebecome master. Sheer physical exhaustion and the constant maddening painhad had their will of Captain Stewart. A sudden shiver wrung him so thathis dry fingers rattled against the wood of the chair-arms.
"All the same," he cried, "I'm afraid. I've been confident enough untilnow. Now I'm afraid. I wish the fellow had been killed."
"Kill him, then!" laughed the Irishman. "I won't give you up to thepolice."
He crossed the room to the door, but halted short of it and turned aboutagain, and he looked back very curiously at the man who sat crouched inhis chair by the window. It had occurred to him several times thatStewart was very unlike himself. The man was quite evidently tired andill, and that might account for some of the nervousness, but this fiercemalignity was something a little beyond O'Hara's comprehension. Itseemed to him that the elder man had the air of one frightened beyondthe point the circumstances warranted.
"Are you going back to town," he asked, "or do you mean to stay thenight?"
"I shall stay the night," Stewart said. "I'm too tired to bear theride." He glanced up and caught the other's eyes fixed upon him. "Well!"he cried, angrily. "What is it? What are you looking at me like thatfor? What do you want?"
"I want nothing," said the Irishman, a little sharply. "And I wasn'taware that I'd been looking at you in any unusual way. You're preciousjumpy to-day, if you want to know.... Look here!" He came back a step,frowning. "Look here!" he repeated. "I don't quite make you out. Are youkeeping back anything? Because if you are, for Heaven's sake have it outhere and now! We're all in this game together, and we can't afford to beanything but frank with one another. We can't afford to makereservations. It's altogether too dangerous for everybody. You're toomuch frightened. There's no apparent reason for being so frightened asthat."
Captain Stewart drew a long breath between closed teeth, and afterwardhe looked up at the younger man coldly.
"We need not discuss my personal feelings, I think," said he. "They haveno--no bearing on the point at issue. As you say, we are all in thisthing together, and you need not fear that I shall fail to do my part,as I have done it in the past.... That's all, I believe."
"Oh, _as_ you like! As you like!" said the Irishman, in the tone of onerebuffed. He turned again and left the room, closing the door behindhim. Outside on the stairs it occurred to him that he had forgotten toask the other man what this fellow's name was--the fellow who laywounded up-stairs. No, he had asked once, but in the interest of theconversation the question had been lost. He determined to inquire againthat evening at dinner.
But Captain Stewart, left thus alone, sank deeper in the uncomfortablechair, and his head once more stirred and sought vainly for ease againstthe chair's high back. The pain swept him in regular throbbing wavesthat were like the waves of the sea--waves which surge and crash andtear upon a beach. But between the throbs of physical pain there wassomething else that was always present while the waves came and went.Pain and exhaustion, if they are sufficiently extreme, can well nighparalyze mind as well as body, and for some time Captain Stewartwondered what this thing might be which lurked at the bottom of himstill under the surges of agony. Then at last he had the strength tolook at it, and it was fear, cold and still and silent. He was afraid tothe very depths of his soul.
True, as O'Hara had said, there did not seem to be any very desperateperil to face, but Stewart was afraid with the gambler's unreasoning,half-superstitious fear, and that is the worst fear of all. He realizedthat he had been afraid of Ste. Marie from the beginning, and that, ofcourse, was why he had tried to draw him into partnership with himselfin his own official and wholly mythical search for Arthur Benham. Hecould have had the other man under his eye then. He could have kept himbusy for months running down false scents. As it was, Ste. Marie'suncanny instinct about the Irishman O'Hara had led him true--that andwhat he doubtless learned from Olga Nilssen.
If Stewart had been in a condition and mood to philosophize, he woulddoubtless have reflected that seven-tenths of the desperate causes, bothgood and bad, which fail in this world, fail because they are wrecked bysome woman's love or jealousy--or both. But it is unlikely that he wasable just at this time to make such a reflection, though certainly hewondered how much Olga Nilssen had known, and how much Ste. Marie hadhad to put together out of her knowledge and any previous suspicionswhich he may have had.
The man would have been amazed if he could have known what a mountain ofinformation and evidence had piled itself up over his head all in twelvehours. He would have been amazed and, if possible, even more frightenedthan he was, but he was without question sufficiently frightened, forhere was Ste. Marie in the very house, he had seen Arthur Benham, andquite obviously he knew all there was to know, or at least enough toruin Arthur Benham's uncle beyond all recovery or hope ofrecovery--irretrievably.
Captain Stewart tried to think what it would mean to him--failure inthis desperate scheme--but he had not the strength or the courage. Heshrank from the picture as one shrinks from something horrible in a baddream. There could be no question of failure. He had to succeed at anycost, however desperate or fantastic. Once more the spasm of childish,futile rage swept over him and shook him like a wind.
"Why couldn't the fellow have been killed by that one-eyed fool?" hecried, sobbing. "Why couldn't he have been killed? He's
the only one whoknows--the only thing in the way. Why couldn't he have keen killed?"
Quite suddenly Captain Stewart ceased to sob and shiver, and sat stillin his chair, gripping the arms with white and tense fingers. His eyesbegan to widen, and they became fixed in a long, strange stare. He drewa deep breath.
"I wonder!" he said, aloud. "I wonder, now."
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Jason: A Romance Page 15
