*CHAPTER 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 threwhimself down in a chair which stood near one of the windows, and all histense body seemed to relax in utter exhaustion. It was not a verycomfortable chair that he had sat down in, but there were no comfortablechairs in the room--nor for that matter in all the house. When he hadtaken the place--about two months before this time--he had taken itfurnished, but that does not mean very much in France. No Frenchcountry houses--or town houses either--are in the least comfortable, byAnglo-Saxon standards, and that is at least one excellent reason whyFrenchmen spend just as little time in them as they possibly can. Halfthe cafes in Paris would promptly put up their shutters if Parisianhomes could all at once turn themselves into something like English orAmerican ones. As for La Lierre it was even more dreary and bare andtomb-like than other country houses, because it was after all a sort ofruin, and had not been lived in for fifteen years, save by an ancientcaretaker and his nearly as ancient wife. And that was perhaps why itcould be taken, on a short lease, at 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 thekitchen-garden, and a vista of trees beyond. It was a high-ceiled roomwith walls bare, except for two large mirrors in the Empire fashion,which stared at each other across the way with dull and flaking eyes.Under each of these stood a heavy gilt and ebony console with a top ofchocolate-coloured 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,eyes closed and chin dropped a little so that his mouth hung weaklyopen. He looked very ill, as indeed any one might look after such anattack as he had suffered on the night previous. That one long momentof deathly fear before he had fallen down in a fit had nearly killedhim. All through this following day it had continued to recur until hethought he should go mad. And there was worse still. How much did OlgaNilssen know? And how much had she told? She had astonished andfrightened him when she had said that she knew about the house on theroad to Clamart, for he thought he had hidden his visits to La Lierrewell. He wondered rather drearily how she had discovered them, and hewondered how much she knew more than she had admitted. He had ahalf-suspicion of something like the truth, that Mlle. Nilssen knew onlyof Coira O'Hara's presence here, and drew a rather natural inference.If that was all, there was no danger from her--no more, that is, thanhad already borne its fruit; for Stewart knew well enough that Ste.Marie must have learned of the place from her. In any case Olga Nilssenhad left Paris--he had discovered that fact during the day--and so forthe present 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 bringhimself face to face with it.
There was the man who lay helpless upon a bed upstairs! 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 ina week or ten days. The bullet went clean through his leg and out againwithout cutting an artery. It was a sort of miracle. And a damnedlucky miracle for all hands, too! If we'd had a splintered bone or asevered artery to deal with I should have had to call in a doctor. Thenthe fellow would have talked, and there'd have been the devil to pay.As it is I shall be able to manage well enough with my own small skill.I've dressed worse wounds than that in my time. By Jove, it was amiracle though!" A sudden little gust of rage swept him. He cried out:
"That confounded fool of a gardener, that one-eyed Michel, ought to bebeaten to death. Why couldn't he have slipped up behind this fellow andknocked him on the head, instead of shooting him from ten paces away?The benighted 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 wouldhave been a rum go, if you like! Killing the fellow! All his friendsdown on us like hawks, and the police and all that! You can't go aboutkilling people in the outskirts of Paris, you know--at least not peoplewith friends. And this chap looks like a gentleman, more or less, so Itake it he has friends. As a matter of fact his face is ratherfamiliar. I think I've seen him before somewhere. You looked at himjust now through the crack of the door; do you know who he is? Coiratells me he called out to Arthur by name, but Arthur says he never sawhim before, and 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 andrecognised 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. Hesaid--
"Spying then, as I thought. He has run us to earth." And the othernodded.
O'Hara took a turn across the room and back.
"In that case," he said presently, "in that case then we must keep himprisoner 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 dirty work alone. How about his friendswhen he doesn't turn up to-night? If they know he was coming here tospy on us, if they know where the place is, if they know--in short, whathe 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 anhour."
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 learnt 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 confidencesince he obtained his information. By chance I met the friend, theother man, in the street this afternoon. I asked after this fellow whomwe have 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! He won't have left written word behind him,eh? He won't have done that--for safety?"
"I think not," said Cap
tain Stewart; but he breathed hard, for he knewwell enough that there lay the gravest danger.
"I think not," he said again. He made a rather surprisingly accurateguess at the truth--that Ste. Marie had started out upon impulse,without intending more than a general reconnaissance, and thereforewithout leaving any word behind him. Still, the shadow of dangeruplifted itself before the man and he was afraid. A sudden gust of weakanger 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 facewas twisted into a sort of grinning snarl. He looked like an angry andwicked cat, the other man thought.
"If I weren't an over-civilised fool," he said viciously, "I'd goupstairs 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 manin his bed, if you like. I'm not squeamish, but----Good Lord!"
"Do you realise," demanded Captain Stewart, "what risks we run whilethat fellow is alive--knowing what he knows?"
"Oh yes, I realise that," said O'Hara. "But I don't see why _you_should have heart failure over it."
Captain Stewart's pale lips drew back again in their cat-like 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!" For the first time his hard face began to showfeeling. He turned away with a quick nervous movement, and stoodstaring out of the window into the late sunlight.
"I merely said," he went on, "I merely said that I'd stop short ofmurder. I don't set any foolish value on life--my own or any other.I've had to take life more than once, but it was in fair fight or inself-defence, and I don't regret it. It was your cold-blooded jokeabout going upstairs and killing this chap in his bed that put me onedge. Naturally, I know you didn't mean it." He swung back towards theother man.
"So don't you worry about me!" said he after a little pause. "Don't yougo thinking that I'm lukewarm or that I'm indifferent to danger. I knowthere's danger from this lad upstairs, and I mean to be on guard againstit. He stays here under strict guard until--what we're after isaccomplished--until young Arthur comes of age.
"If there's danger," said he, "why we know where it lies and we canguard against it. That kind of danger is not very formidable. Thedangerous dangers are the ones that you don't know about--the hiddenones." He came forward a little, and his lean face was as hard and asimpassive as ever, and the bright blue eyes shone from it steady andunwinking. Stewart looked up to him with a sort of peevish resentmentat the man's confidence and cool poise. It was an odd reversal of theirordinary relations. For the hour the duller villain, the man who waswont to take orders and to refrain from overmuch thought or question,seemed to have become master. Sheer physical exhaustion and theconstant maddening pain had had their will of Captain Stewart.
A sudden shiver wrung him so that his dry fingers rattled against thewood 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 andturned about again, and he looked back very curiously at the man who satcrouched in his chair by the window. It had occurred to him severaltimes that Stewart was very unlike himself. The man was quite evidentlytired and ill, and that might account for some of the nervousness; butthis fierce malignity was something a little beyond O'Hara'scomprehension. It seemed to him that the elder man had the air of onefrightened beyond the 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 likethat for? 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 you keepingback anything? Because if you are for Heaven's sake have it out here andnow! We're all in this game together, and we can't afford to beanything but frank with each other. 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 afterwardshe looked up at the younger man coldly.
"We need not discuss my personal feelings, I think," said he. "Theyhave no--no bearing on the point at issue. As you say, we are all inthis thing together and you need not fear that I shall fail to do mypart, 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 upstairs. No, he had asked once, but, in the interest of theconversation, the question had been lost. He determined to inquireagain that 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 wellnighparalyse mind as well as body, and for some time Captain Stewartwondered what this thing might be which lurked at the bottom of him,still 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 afraidto the 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 realisedthat 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 philosophise, 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 tri
ed 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 childishfutile 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 onewho knows--the only thing in the way. Why couldn't he have beenkilled?"
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 drew adeep breath.
"I wonder!" he said aloud. "I wonder, now."
The Quest: A Romance Page 15
