The Quest: A Romance

by Justus Miles Forman

  *CHAPTER XXII*

  *A SETTLEMENT REFUSED*

  Captain Stewart had good reason to look depressed on that fresh andbeautiful morning when Ste. Marie happened upon him beside the rosegardens. Matters had not gone well with him of late. He was ill and hewas frightened, and he was much nearer than is agreeable to a completenervous breakdown.

  It seemed to him that perils beset him upon every side: perils both seenand unseen. He felt like a man who is hunted in the dark, hard presseduntil his strength is gone and he can go no farther. He imaginedhimself to be that man shivering in the gloom in a strange place, hidingeyes and ears lest he see or hear something from which he cannot escape.He imagined the morning light to come very slow and cold and grey, andin it he saw round about him a silent ring of enemies, the men who hadpursued him and run him down. He saw them standing there in the paledawn, motionless, waiting for the day, and he knew that at last thechase was over and he was done for.

  Crouching alone in the garden with the scent of roses in his nostrils,he wondered with a great and bitter amazement at that madman--himself ofonly a few months ago--who had sat down deliberately, in his propersenses, to play at cards with Fate, the great winner of all games. Hewondered if, after all, he had been in his proper senses, for the deednow loomed before him gigantic and hideous in its criminal folly. Hismind went drearily back to the beginning of it all, to the tremendousdebts which had hounded him day and night; to his fear to speak of themwith his father, who had never had the least mercy upon gamblers. Heremembered, as if it were yesterday, the afternoon upon which he learntof young Arthur's quarrel with his grandfather, old David's senileanger, and the boy's tempestuous exit from the house, vowing never toreturn. He remembered his talk with old David later on about the will,in which he learnt that he was now to have Arthur's share under certainconditions. He remembered how that very evening, three days after hisdisappearance, the lad had come secretly to the Rue du Faubourg St.Honore, begging his uncle to take him in for a few days, and how, in asingle instant that was like a lightning flash, the Great Idea had cometo him.

  What gigantic and appalling madness it had all been! And yet, for atime, how easy of execution. For a time. Now ... He gave another quickshiver, for his mind came back to what beset him and compassed him roundabout. Perils seen and hidden.

  The peril seen was ever before his eyes. Against the light of day itloomed a gigantic and portentous shadow, and it threatened him--thefigure of Ste. Marie _who knew_. His reason told him that, if due carewere used, this danger need not be too formidable, and indeed in hisheart he rather despised Ste. Marie as an individual; but the man'snerve was broken and, in these days, fear swept wave-like over reasonand had its way with him. Fear looked up to this looming portentousshadow, and saw there youth and health and strength, courage andhopefulness, and (best of all armours) a righteous cause. How was an illand tired and wicked old man to fight against these? It became anobsession, the figure of this youth: it darkened the sun at noonday, andat night it stood beside Captain Stewart's bed in the darkness andwatched him and waited, and the very air he breathed came chill and darkfrom its silent presence there.

  But there were perils unseen as well as seen. He felt invisible threadsdrawing round him, weaving closer and closer, and he dared not even tryhow strong they were lest they prove to be cables of steel. He wasalmost certain that his niece knew something or at the least suspected.As has already been pointed out, the two saw very little of each other,but on the occasions of their last few meetings it had seemed to himthat the girl watched him with a strange stare, and tried always to bein her grandfather's chamber when he called to make his inquiries. Once,stirred by a moment's bravado, he asked her if M. Ste. Marie hadreturned from his mysterious absence, and the girl said--

  "No. He has not come back yet, but I expect him soon now--with news ofArthur. We shall all be very glad to see him, grandfather and RichardHartley and I."

  It was not a very consequential speech, and to tell the truth it waswhat, in the girl's own country, would be termed pure "bluff," but toCaptain Stewart it rang harsh and loud with evil significance, and hewent out of that room cold at heart. What plans were they perfectingamong them? What invisible nets for his feet?

  And there was another thing still. Within the past two or three days hehad become convinced that his movements were being watched. (And thatwould be Richard Hartley at work, he said to himself.) Faces vaguelyfamiliar began to confront him in the street, in restaurants and cafes.Once he thought his rooms had been ransacked during his absence at LaLierre, though his servant stoutly maintained that they had never beenleft unoccupied save for a half-hour's marketing. Finally, on the daybefore this morning by the rose gardens, he was sure that as he came outfrom the city in his car he was followed at a long distance by anothermotor. He saw it behind him after he had left the city gate, the Portede Versailles, and he saw it again after he had left the main route atIssy, and entered the little Rue Barbes which led to La Lierre. Ofcourse he promptly did the only possible thing under the circumstances.He dashed on past the long stretch of wall, swung into the main avenuebeyond and continued, through Clamart, to the Meudon wood, as if he weregoing to St. Cloud. In the labyrinth of roads and lanes there he cameto a halt, and after a half-hour's wait ran slowly back to La Lierre.

  There was no further sign of the other car, the pursuer, if so it hadbeen; but he passed two or three men on bicycles and others walking, andwhat one of these might not be a spy paid to track him down?

  It had frightened him badly, that hour of suspense and flight, and hedetermined to remain at La Lierre for at least a few days, and wrote tohis servant in the Rue du Faubourg to forward his letters there underthe false name by which he had hired the place.

  He was thinking very wearily of all these things as he sat on the fallentree trunk in the garden and stared unseeing across tangled ranks ofroses. And after awhile his thoughts, as they were wont to do, returnedto Ste. Marie--that looming shadow which darkened the sunlight, thatincubus of fear which clung to him night and day. He was so absorbedthat he did not hear sounds which might otherwise have roused him. Heheard nothing, saw nothing, save that which his fevered mind projected,until a voice spoke his name.

  He looked over his shoulder thinking that O'Hara had sought him out. Heturned a little on the tree trunk to see more easily, and the image ofhis dread stood there a living and very literal shadow against thedaylight.

  Captain Stewart's overstrained nerves were in no state to bear a suddenshock. He gave a voiceless, whispering cry, and he began to tremblevery violently so that his teeth chattered. All at once he got to hisfeet and began to stumble away backwards, but a projecting limb of thefallen tree caught him and held him fast. It must be that the man wasin a sort of frenzy. He must have seen through a red mist just then,for when he found that he could not escape his hand went swiftly to hiscoat pocket, and in his white and contorted face there was murder, plainand unmistakable.

  "His hand went swiftly to his coat pocket."]

  Ste. Marie was too lame to spring aside or to dash upon the man acrossintervening obstacles and defend himself. He stood still in his placeand waited. And it was characteristic of him that at that moment hefelt no fear, only a fine sense of exhilaration. Open danger had noterrors for him. It was secret peril that unnerved him, as in the matterof the poison a week before.

  Captain Stewart's hand fell away empty and Ste. Marie laughed.

  "Left it at the house?" said he. "You seem to have no luck, Stewart.First the cat drinks the poison and then you leave your pistol at home.Dear! dear! I'm afraid you're careless."

  Captain Stewart stared at the younger man under his brows. His face wasgrey and he was still shivering, but the sudden agony of fear, which hadbeen after all only a jangle of nerves, was gone away. He looked uponSte. Marie's gay and untroubled face with a dull wonder, and he began tofeel a grudging admiration for the m
an who could face death without eventurning pale. He pulled out his watch and looked at it.

  "I did not know," he said, "that this was your hour out of doors." As amatter of fact he had quite forgotten that the arrangement existed. Whenhe had first heard of it he had protested vigorously, but had beenoverborne by O'Hara with the plea that they owed their prisonersomething for having come near to poisoning him, and Stewart did notcare to have any further attention called to that matter: it had alreadyput a severe strain upon the relations at La Lierre.

  "Well," observed Ste. Marie, "I told you you were careless. That provesit. Come! Can't we sit down for a little chat? I haven't seen yousince I was your guest at the other address--the town address. It seemsto have become a habit of mine, doesn't it? being your guest." Helaughed cheerfully, but Captain Stewart continued to regard him withoutsmiling.

  "If you imagine," said the elder man, "that this place belongs to me youare mistaken. I came here to-day to make a visit." But Ste. Marie satdown at one end of the tree trunk and shook his head.

  "Oh, come, come!" said he. "Why keep up the pretence? You must knowthat I know all about the whole affair Why, bless you, I know itall--even to the provisions of the will. Did you think I stumbled inhere by accident? Well, I didn't, though I don't mind admitting to youthat I remained by accident." He glanced over his shoulder towards theone-eyed Michel, who stood near by regarding the two with some alarm.

  Captain Stewart looked up sharply at the mention of the will, and hewetted his dry lips with his tongue. But after a moment's hesitation hesat down upon the tree trunk, and he seemed to shrink a little together,when his limbs and shoulders had relaxed, so that he looked small andfeeble, like a very tired old man. He remained silent for a fewmoments, but at last he spoke without raising his eyes. He said--

  "And now that you--imagine yourself to know so very much, what do youexpect to do about it?" Ste. Marie laughed again.

  "Ah, that would be telling!" he cried. "You see, in one way I have theadvantage (though outwardly all the advantage seems to be with yourside): I know all about your game. I may call it a game? Yes? But youdon't know mine. You don't know what I--what we may do at any moment.That's where we have the better of you."

  "It would seem to me," said Captain Stewart wearily, "that since you area prisoner here and very unlikely to escape, we know with great accuracywhat you will do--and what you will not."

  "Yes," admitted Ste. Marie. "It would seem so. It certainly would seemso. But you never can tell, can you?" And at that the elder man frownedand looked away. Thereafter another brief silence fell between the two,but at its end Ste. Marie spoke in a new tone, a very serious tone. Hesaid--

  "Stewart, listen a moment!" and the other turned a sharp gaze upon him.

  "You mustn't forget," said Ste. Marie, speaking slowly as if to choosehis words with care--"you mustn't forget that I am not alone in thismatter. You mustn't forget that there's Richard Hartley--and that thereare others too. I'm a prisoner, yes, I'm helpless here for thepresent--perhaps--perhaps, but they are not, _and they know, Stewart.They know_."

  Captain Stewart's face remained grey and still, but his hands twistedand shook upon his knees until he hid them.

  "I know well enough what you're waiting for," continued Ste. Marie."You're waiting--you've got to wait, for Arthur Benham to come of age,or, better yet, for your father to die." He paused and shook his head.

  "It's no good. You can't hold out as long as that--not by half. Weshall have won the game long before. Listen to me! Do you know whatwould occur if your father should take a serious turn for the worseto-night--or at any time? Do you? Well, I'll tell you. A piece ofinformation would be given him that would make another change in thatwill just as quickly as a pen could write the words. That's what wouldhappen."

  "That is a lie!" said Captain Stewart in a dry whisper. "A lie." AndSte. Marie contented himself with a slight smile by way of answer. Hewas by no means sure that what he said was true, but he argued thatsince Hartley suspected or, perhaps by this time, knew so much, he wouldcertainly not allow old David to die without doing what he could do inan effort to save young Arthur's fortune from a rascal. In any event,true or false, the words had had the desired effect. Captain Stewartwas plainly frightened by them.

  "May I make a suggestion?" asked the younger man. The other did notanswer him and he made it.

  "Give it up!" said he. "You're riding for a tremendous fall, you know.We shall smash you completely in the end. It'll mean worse thanruin--much worse. Give it up, now, before you're too late. Help me tosend for Hartley, and we'll take the boy back to his home. Some storycan be managed that will leave you out of the thing altogether, andthose who know will hold their tongues. It's your last chance, Stewart.I advise you to take it."

  Captain Stewart turned his grey face slowly and looked at the other manwith a sort of dull and apathetic wonder.

  "Are you mad?" he asked in a voice which was altogether without feelingof any kind. "Are you quite mad?"

  "On the contrary," said Ste. Marie, "I am quite sane, and I'm offeringyou a chance to save yourself before it's too late.

  "Don't misunderstand me!" he said. "I am not urging this out of anysympathy for you. I urge it because it will bring about what I wish alittle more quickly, also because it will save your family from thedisgrace of your smash-up. That's why I'm making my suggestion."

  Captain Stewart was silent for a little while, but after that he gotheavily to his feet.

  "I think you must be quite mad," said he, as before, in a voicealtogether devoid of expression. "I cannot talk with madmen." Hebeckoned to the old Michel, who stood near-by leaning upon his carbine,and when the gardener had approached, he said--

  "Take this--prisoner back to his room!"

  Ste. Marie rose with a little sigh. He said--

  "I'm sorry, but you'll admit I have done my best for you. I've warnedyou. I shan't do it again. We shall smash you now, without mercy."

  "Take him away!" cried Captain Stewart in a sudden loud voice, and theold Michel touched his charge upon the shoulder. So Ste. Marie wentwithout further words. From a little distance he looked back, and theother man still stood by the fallen tree trunk, bent a little, his armshanging lax beside him, and his face, Ste. Marie thought fancifully, waslike the face of a man damned.