XXVI
BUT THE FLEECE ELECTS TO REMAIN
Ste. Marie came under the wall breathless and shaking. What he had seenthere from a distance was no longer visible, but he pressed in closeamong the lilac shrubs and called out in an unsteady voice. He said:"Who is there? Who is it?" And after a moment he called again.
A hand appeared at the top of the high wall. The drooping screen offoliage was thrust aside, and he saw Richard Hartley's face lookingdown. Ste. Marie held himself by the strong stems of the lilacs, foronce more his knees had weakened under him.
"There's no one in sight," Hartley said. "I can see for a long way. Noone can see us or hear us." And he said: "I got your letter thismorning--an hour ago. When shall we come to get you out--you and theboy? To-night?"
"To-night at two," said Ste. Marie. He spoke in a loud whisper. "I'm totalk with Arthur here in a few minutes. We must be quick. He may come atany time. I shall try to persuade him to go home willingly, but if herefuses we must take him by force. Bring a couple of good men with youto-night, and see that they're armed. Come in a motor and leave it justoutside the wall by that small door that you passed. Have you any moneyin your pockets? I may want to bribe the gardener."
Hartley searched in his pockets, and while he did so the man beneathasked:
"Is old David Stewart alive?"
"Just about," Hartley said. "He's very low, and he suffers a great deal,but he's quite conscious all the time. If we can fetch the boy to him itmay give him a turn for the better. Where is Captain Stewart? I hadspies on his trail for some time, but he has disappeared within the pastthree or four days. Once I followed him in his motor-car out past here,but I lost him beyond Clamart."
"He's here, I think," said Ste. Marie. "I saw him a few days ago."
The man on the wall had found two notes of a hundred francs each, and hedropped them down to Ste. Marie's hands. Also he gave him a smallrevolver which he had in his pocket, one of the little automatic weaponssuch as Olga Nilssen had brought to the rue du Faubourg St. Honore.Afterward he glanced up and said:
"Two people are coming out of the house. I shall have to go. At twoto-night, then--and at this spot. We shall be on time."
He drew back out of sight, and the other man heard the cedar-tree shakeslightly as he went down it to the ground. Then Ste. Marie turned andwalked quickly back to the place where Mlle. O'Hara had left him. Hisheart was leaping with joy and exultation, for now at last he thoughtthat the end was in sight--the end he had so long labored and hoped for.He knew that his face must be flushed and his eyes bright, and he made astrong effort to crush down these tokens of his triumph--to make hisbearing seem natural and easy. He might have spared himself the pains.
Young Arthur Benham and Coira O'Hara came together down under the treesfrom the house. They walked swiftly, and the boy was a step in advance,his face white with excitement and anger. He began to speak while he wasstill some distance away. He cried out, in his strident young voice:
"What the devil is all this silly nonsense about old Charlie and liesand misunderstandings and--and all that guff?" he demanded. "What thedevil is it? D'you think I'm a fool? D'you think I'm a kid? Well, I'mnot!"
He came close to Ste. Marie, staring at him with an angry scowl, but hisscowl twitched and wavered and his hands shook a little beside him andhis breath came irregularly. He was frightened.
"There is no nonsense," said Ste. Marie. "There is no nonsense in allthis whole sorry business. But there has been a great deal ofmisunderstanding and a great many lies and not a little cruelty. It'stime you knew the truth at last." He turned his eyes to where CoiraO'Hara stood near-by. "How much have you told him?" he asked.
And the girl said: "I told him everything, or almost. But I had to sayit very quickly, and--he wouldn't believe me. I think you'd best tellhim again."
The boy gave a short, contemptuous laugh.
"Well, I don't want to hear it," said he.
He was looking toward the girl. He said:
"This fellow may be able to hypnotize you, all right, but not Willie.Little Willie's wise to guys like him."
And swinging about to Ste. Marie, he cried:
"Forget it! For-get it! I don't want to listen to your little songto-day. Ah, you make me sick! You'd try to make me turn on old Charlie,would you? Why, old Charlie's the only real friend I've got in theworld. Old Charlie has always stood up for me against the whole bunch ofthem. Forget it, George! I'm wise to your graft."
Ste. Marie frowned, for his temper was never of the most patient, andthe youth's sneering tone annoyed him. Truth to tell, the tone was aboutall he understood, for the strange words were incomprehensible.
"Look here, Benham," he said, sharply, "you and I have never met, Ibelieve, but we have a good many friends in common, and I think we knowsomething about each other. Have you ever heard anything about me whichwould give you the right to suspect me of any dishonesty of any sort?Have you?"
"Oh, slush!" said the boy. "Anybody'll be dishonest if it's worth hiswhile."
"That happens to be untrue," Ste. Marie remarked, "and as you grow olderyou will know it. Leaving my honesty out of the question if you like, Ihave the honor to tell you that I am, perhaps not quite formally,engaged to your sister, and it is on her account, for her sake, that Iam here. You will hardly presume, I take it, to question your sister'smotive in wanting you to return home? Incidentally, your grandfather isso overcome by grief over your absence that he is expected to die at anytime. Come," said he, "I have said enough to convince you that you mustlisten to me. Believe what you please, but listen to me for fiveminutes. After that I have small doubt of what you will do."
The boy looked nervously from Ste. Marie to Mlle. O'Hara and back again.He thrust his unsteady hands into his pockets, but withdrew them after amoment and clasped them together behind him.
"I tell you," he burst out, at last--"I tell you, it's no good yourtrying to knock old Charlie to me. I won't stand for it. Old Charlie'smy best friend, and I'd believe him before I'd believe anybody in theworld. You've got a knife out for old Charlie, that's what's the matterwith you."
"And your sister?" suggested Ste. Marie. "Your mother? You'd hardly knowyour mother if you could see her to-day. It has pretty nearly killedher."
"Ah, they're all--they're all against me!" the lad cried. "They'vealways stood together against me. Helen, too!"
"You wouldn't think they were against you if you could just see themonce now," said Ste. Marie.
And Arthur Benham gave a sort of shamefaced sob, saying:
"Ah, cut it out! Cut it out! Go on, then, and talk, if you want to, _I_don't care. I don't have to listen. Talk, if you're pining for it."
And Ste. Marie, as briefly as he could, told him the truth of the wholeaffair from the beginning, as he had told it to Coira O'Hara. Only helaid special stress upon Charles Stewart's present expectations from thenew will, and he assured the boy that no document his grandfather mighthave asked him to sign could have given away his rights in his father'sfortune, since he was a minor and had no legal right to sign awayanything at all even if he wished to.
"If you will look back as calmly and carefully as you can," he said,"you will find that you didn't begin to suspect your grandfather ofanything wrong until you had talked with Captain Stewart. It was youruncle's explanation of the thing that made you do that. Well, rememberwhat he had at stake--I suppose it is a matter of several millions offrancs. And he needs them. His affairs are in a bad way."
He told also about the pretended search which Captain Stewart had solong maintained, and of how he had tried to mislead the other searcherswhose motives were honest.
"It has been a gigantic gamble, my friend," he said, at the last. "Agigantic and desperate gamble to get the money that should be yours. Youcan end it by the mere trouble of climbing over that wall yonder andtaking the Clamart tram back to Paris. As easily as that you can endit--and, if I am not mistaken, you can at the same time save an oldman's life--prolong it at the very lea
st." He took a step forward. "Ibeg you to go!" he said, very earnestly. "You know the whole truth now.You must see what danger you have been and are in. You must know that Iam telling you the truth. I beg you to go back to Paris."
And from where she stood, a little aside, Coira O'Hara said: "I beg you,too, Arthur. Go back to them."
The boy dropped down upon a tree-stump which was near and covered hisface with his hands. The two who watched him could see that he wastrembling violently. Over him their eyes met and they questioned eachother with a mute and anxious gravity:
"What will he do?" For everything was in Arthur Benham's weak hands now.
For a little time, which seemed hours to all who were there, the lad satstill, hiding his face, but suddenly he sprang to his feet, and oncemore stood staring into Ste. Marie's quiet eyes. "How do I know you'retelling the truth?" he cried, and his voice ran up high and shrill andwavered and broke. "How do I know that? You'd tell just as smooth astory if--if you were lying--if you'd been sent here to get me backto--to what old Charlie said they wanted me for."
"You have only to go back to them and make sure," said Ste. Marie. "Theycan't harm you or take anything from you. If they persuaded you to signanything--which they will not do--it would be valueless to them, becauseyou're a minor. You know that as well as I do. Go and make sure. Orwait! Wait!" He gave a little sharp laugh of excitement. "Is CaptainStewart in the house?" he demanded. "Call him out here. That's betterstill. Bring your uncle here to face me without telling him what it'sfor, without giving him time to make up a story. Then we shall see. Sendfor him."
"He's not here," said the boy "He went away an hour ago. I don't knowwhether he'll be back to-night or not." Young Arthur stared at the elderman, breathing hard. "Good God!" he said, in a whisper, "if--old Charlieis rotten, who in this world isn't? I--don't know what to believe."Abruptly he turned with a sort of snarl upon Coira O'Hara. "Have youbeen in this game, too?" he cried out. "I suppose you and your preciousfather and old Charlie cooked it up together. What? You've been having afine, low-comedy time laughing yourselves to death at me, haven't you?Oh, Lord, what a gang!"
Ste. Marie caught the boy by the shoulder and spun him round. "That willdo!" he said, sternly. "You have been a fool; don't make it worse bybeing a coward and a cad. Mlle. O'Hara knew no more of the truth thanyou knew. Your uncle lied to you all." But the girl came and touched hisarm.
She said: "Don't be hard with him. He is bewildered and nervous, and hedoesn't know what he is saying. Think how sudden it has been for him.Don't be hard with him, M. Ste. Marie."
Ste. Marie dropped his hand, and the lad backed a few steps away. Hisface was crimson. After a moment he said: "I'm sorry, Coira. I didn'tmean that. I didn't mean it. I beg your pardon. I'm about half dippy, Iguess. I--don't know what to believe or what to think or what to do." Heremained staring at her a little while in silence, and presently hiseyes sharpened. He cried out: "If I should go back there--mind you, Isay 'if'--d'you know what they'd do? Well, I'll tell you. They'd beginto talk at me one at a time. They'd get me in a corner and cry over me,and say I was young and didn't know my mind, and that I owed themsomething for all that's happened, and not to bring their gray hairs insorrow to the grave--and the long and short of it would be that they'dmake me give you up." He wheeled upon Ste. Marie. "That's what they'ddo!" he said, and his voice began to rise again shrilly. "They're threeto one, and they know they can talk me into anything. _You_ know it,too!" He shook his head. "I won't go back!" he cried, wildly. "That'swhat will happen if I do. I don't want granddad's money. He can give itto old Charlie or to a gendarme if he wants to. I'm going to have enoughof my own. I won't go back, and that's all there is of it. You may betelling the truth or you may not, but I won't go."
Ste. Marie started to speak, but the girl checked him. She moved closerto where Arthur Benham stood, and she said: "If your love for me,Arthur, is worth having, it is worth fighting for. If it is so weak thatyour family can persuade you out of it, then--I don't want it at all,for it would never last. Arthur, you must go back to them. I want you togo."
"I won't!" the boy cried. "I won't go! I tell you they could talk me outof anything. You don't know 'em. I do. I can't stand against them. Iwon't go, and that settles it. Besides, I'm not so sure that thisfellow's telling the truth. I've known old Charlie a lot longer than Ihave him."
Coira O'Hara turned a despairing face over her shoulder toward Ste.Marie. "Leave me alone with him," she begged. "Perhaps I can win himover. Leave us alone for a little while."
Ste. Marie hesitated, and in the end went away and left the twotogether. He went farther down the park to the rond point, and crossedit to the familiar stone bench at the west side. He sat down there towait. He was anxious and alarmed over this new obstacle, for he had thewit to see that it was a very important one. It was quite conceivablethat the boy, but half-convinced, half-yielding before, would balkaltogether when he realized, as evidently he did realize, what returninghome might mean to him--the loss of the girl he hoped to marry.
Ste. Marie was sufficiently wise in worldly matters to know that theboy's fear was not unfounded. He could imagine the family in the rue del'Universite taking exactly the view young Arthur said they would taketoward an alliance with the daughter of a notorious Irish adventurer.Ste. Marie's cheeks burned hotly with anger when the words saidthemselves in his brain, but he knew that there could be no doubt of theBenhams' and even of old David Stewart's view of the affair. They wouldoppose the marriage with all their strength.
He tried to imagine what weight such considerations would have with himif it were he who was to marry Coira O'Hara, and he laughed aloud withscorn of them and with great pride in her. But the lad yonder was veryyoung--too young; his family would be right to that extent. Would he beable to stand against them?
Ste. Marie shook his head with a sigh and gave over unprofitablewonderings, for he was still within the walls of La Lierre, and so wasArthur Benham. And the walls were high and strong. He fell to thinkingof the attempt at rescue which was to be made that night, and he beganto form plans and think of necessary preparations. To be sure, Coiramight persuade the boy to escape during the day, and then the nightattack would be unnecessary, but in case of her failure it must beprepared for. He rose to his feet and began to walk back and forth underthe rows of chestnut-trees, where the earth was firm and black and mossyand there was no growth of shrubbery. He thought of that hasty interviewwith Richard Hartley and he laughed a little. It had been rather like anexchange of telegrams--reduced to the bare bones of necessary questionand answer. There had been no time for conversation.
His eyes caught a far-off glimpse of woman's garments, and he saw thatCoira O'Hara and Arthur Benham were walking toward the house. So he wenta little way after them, and waited at a point where he could see anyone returning. He had not long to wait, for it seemed that the girl wentonly as far as the door with her fiance and then turned back.
Ste. Marie met her with raised eyebrows, and she shook her head. "Idon't know," said she. "He is very stubborn. He is frightened andbewildered. As he said awhile ago, he doesn't know what to think or whatto believe. You mustn't blame him. Remember how he trusted his uncle!He's going to think it over, and I shall see him again this afternoon.Perhaps, when he has had time to reflect--I don't know. I truly don'tknow."
"He won't go to your father and make a scene?" said Ste. Marie, and thegirl shook her head.
"I made him promise not to. Oh, Bayard," she cried--and in hisabstraction he did not notice the name she gave him--"I am afraidmyself! I am horribly afraid about my father."
"I am sure he did not know," said the man. "Stewart lied to him."
But Coira O'Hara shook her head, saying: "I didn't mean that. I'm afraidof what will happen when he finds out how he has been--how we have beenplayed upon, tricked, deceived--what a light we have been placed in. Youdon't know, you can't even imagine, how he has set his heart on--what hewished to occur. I am afraid he will do something terrible when heknows.
I am afraid he will kill Captain Stewart."
"Which," observed Ste. Marie, "would be an excellent solution of theproblem. But of course we mustn't let it happen. What can be done?"
"We mustn't let him know the truth," said the girl, "until Arthur isgone and until Captain Stewart is gone, too. He is terrible when he'sangry. We must keep the truth from him until he can do no harm. It willbe bad enough even then, for I think it will break his heart."
Ste. Marie remembered that there was something she did not know, and hetold her about his interview with Richard Hartley and about theirarrangement for the rescue--if it should be necessary--on that verynight.
She nodded her head over it, but for a long time after he had finishedshe did not speak. Then she said: "I am glad, I suppose. Yes, since ithas to be done, I suppose I am glad that it is to come at once." Shelooked up at Ste. Marie with shadowy, inscrutable eyes. "And so,Monsieur," said she, "it is at an end--all this." She made a littlegesture which seemed to sweep the park and gardens. "So we go out ofeach other's lives as abruptly as we entered them. Well--" She hadcontinued to look at him, but she saw the man's face turn white, and shesaw something come into his eyes which was like intolerable pain; thenshe looked away.
Ste. Marie said her name twice, under his breath, in a sort of soundlesscry, but he said no more, and after a moment she went on:
"Even so, I am glad that at last we know each other--for what we are....I should have been sorry to go on thinking you ... what I thoughtbefore.... And I could not have borne it, I'm afraid, to have you think... what you thought of me ... when I came to know.... I'm glad weunderstand at last."
Ste. Marie tried to speak, but no words would come to him. He was like aman defeated and crushed, not one on the high-road to victory. But itmay have been that the look of him was more eloquent than anything hecould have said. And it may have been that the girl saw and understood.
So the two remained there for a little while longer in silence, but atlast Coira O'Hara said:
"I must go back to the house now. There is nothing more to be done, Isuppose--nothing left now but to wait for night to come. I shall seeArthur this afternoon and make one last appeal to him. If that fails youmust carry him off. Do you know where he sleeps? It is the roomcorresponding to yours on the other side of the house--just across thatwide landing at the top of the stairs. I will manage that the front doorbelow shall be left unlocked. The rest you and your friends must do. IfI can make any impression upon Arthur I'll slip a note under your doorthis afternoon or this evening. Perhaps, even if he decides to go, itwould be best for him to wait until night and go with the rest of you.In any case, I'll let you know."
She spoke rapidly, as if she were in great haste to be gone, and withaverted eyes. And at the end she turned away without any word offarewell, but Ste. Marie started after her. He cried:
"Coira! Coira!" And when she stopped, he said: "Coira, I can't let yougo like this! Are we to--simply to go our different ways like this, asif we'd never met at all?"
"What else?" said the girl.
And there was no answer to that. Their separate ways were determined forthem--marked plain to see.
"But afterward!" he cried. "Afterward--after we have got the boy back tohis home! What then?"
"Perhaps," she said, "he will return to me." She spoke without any showof feeling. "Perhaps he will return. If not--well, I don't know. Iexpect my father and I will just go on as we've always gone. We're usedto it, you know."
After that she nodded to him and once more turned away. Her face mayhave been a very little pale, but, as before, it betrayed no feeling ofany sort. So she went up under the trees to the house, and Ste. Mariewatched her with strained and burning eyes.
When, half an hour later, he followed, he came unexpectedly upon the oldMichel, who had entered the park through the little wooden door in thewall, and was on his way round to the kitchen with sundry parcels ofsupplies. He spoke a civil "Bon jour, Monsieur," and Ste. Marie stoppedhim. They were out of sight from the windows. Ste. Marie withdrew fromhis pocket one of the hundred-franc notes, and the single, beadlike eyeof the ancient gnome fixed upon it and seemed to shiver with afascinated delight.
"A hundred francs!" said Ste. Marie, unnecessarily, and the old manlicked his withered lips. The tempter said: "My good Michel, would youcare to receive this trifling sum--a hundred francs?"
The gnome made a choked, croaking sound in his throat.
"It is yours," said Ste. Marie, "for a small service--for doing nothingat all."
The beadlike eye rose to his and sharpened intelligently.
"I desire only," said he, "that you should sleep well to-night, verywell--without waking."
"Monsieur," said the old man, "I do not sleep at all. I watch. I watchMonsieur's windows. Monsieur O'Hara watches until midnight, and I watchfrom then until day."
"Oh, I know that," said the other. "I've seen you more than once in themoonlight, but to-night, mon vieux, slumber will overcome you.Exhaustion will have its way and you will sleep. You will sleep like thedead."
"I dare not!" cried the gardener. "Monsieur, I dare not! The old onewould kill me. You do not know him. He would cut me into pieces and burnthe pieces. Monsieur, it is impossible."
Ste. Marie withdrew the other hundred-franc note and held the twotogether in his hand. Once more the gnome made his strange, croakingsound and the withered face twisted with anguish.
"Monsieur! Monsieur!" he groaned.
"I have an idea," said the tempter. "A little earth rubbed upon one sideof the head--perhaps a trifling scratch to show a few drops of blood.You have been assaulted, beaten down, despite a heroic resistance, andleft for dead. An hour afterward you stagger into the house a frightfulobject. Hein?"
The withered face of the old man expanded slowly into a senile grin.
"Monsieur," said he, with admiration in his tone, "it is magnificent. Itshall be done. I sleep like the good dead--under the trees, not too nearthe lilacs, eh? Bien, Monsieur, it is done!"
Into his trembling claw he took the notes; he made an odd bow andshambled away about his business.
Ste. Marie laughed and went on into the house. He counted, and therewere fourteen hours to wait. Fourteen hours, and at the end ofthem--what? His blood began to warm to the night's work.
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Jason: A Romance Page 26
