The Quest: A Romance

by Justus Miles Forman

  *CHAPTER XXVI*

  *"I WON'T GO!"*

  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'mto talk with Arthur here in a few minutes. We must be quick. He maycome at any time. I shall try to persuade him to go home willingly, butif he refuses we must take him by force. Bring a couple of good menwith you to-night and see that they're armed. Come in a motor and leaveit just outside the wall by that small door that you passed. Have youany money in 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 himit may 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 out past here, butI 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.Afterwards 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 in time." He drew backout of sight, and the other man heard the cedar-tree shake slightly ashe went down to the ground. Then Ste. Marie turned and walked quicklyback to the place where Mlle. O'Hara had left him. His heart wasleaping with joy and exultation, for now at last he thought that the endwas in sight--the end he had so long laboured and hoped for. He knewthat his face must be flushed and his eyes bright, and he made a strongeffort to crush down these tokens of his triumph--to make his bearingseem 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 the scowl twitched and wavered, and his hands shook a little besidehim, and his 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 say it very quicklyand--he wouldn't believe me. I think you'd best tell him again."

  The boy gave a short contemptuous laugh.

  "Well, I don't want to hear it," said he. He was looking towards thegirl. 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! Forget 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 bunchof them. 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 honour 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 backagain. He thrust his unsteady hands into his pockets, but withdrew themafter a moment 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 hardlyknow your mother if you could see her to-day. It has pretty nearlykilled her."

  "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 shamefacedsob, saying--

  "Ah, cut it out! Cut it out!

  "Go on then and talk, if you want to," he said. "_I_ don't care. Idon'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 whole affair from thebeginning, as he had told it to Coira O'Hara. Only, he laid specialstress upon Charles Stewart's present expectations from the new will;and he assured the boy that no document his grandfather might have askedhim to sign could have given away his rights in his father's fortunesince he was a minor, and had no legal right to sign away anything atall 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.You can end it by the mere trouble of climbing over that wall yonder,and taking the Clamart tram back to Paris. As easily as that you can endit--an
d, if I am not mistaken, you can at the same time save an oldman's life--prolong it at the very least." He took a step forwards.

  "I beg you to go!" he said very earnestly. "You know the whole truthnow. You must see what danger you have been and are in. You must knowthat I am 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 handsnow.

  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 once morestood staring into Ste. Marie's quiet eyes.

  "How do I know you're telling the truth?" he cried, and his voice ran uphigh and shrill, and wavered and broke. "How do I know that? You'd telljust as smooth a story if--if you were lying--if you'd been sent here toget me back to--to what old Charlie said they wanted me for."

  "You have only to go back to them and make sure," said Ste. Marie."They can't harm you or take anything from you. If they persuaded youto sign anything--which they will not do--it would be valueless to thembecause you're a minor. You know that as well as I do. Go and makesure!

  "Or wait! wait!" He gave a little sharp laugh of excitement.

  "Is Captain Stewart in the house?" he demanded. "Call him out here!That's better still! Bring your uncle here to face me without tellinghim what it's for, without giving him time to make up a story! Then weshall see. Send for 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 theelder man, breathing hard.

  "Good God!" he said in a whisper, "if--old Charlie is rotten, who inthis world isn't? I--don't know what to believe." Abruptly he turnedwith a sort of snarl upon Coira O'Hara.

  "Have you been in this game too?" he cried out. "I suppose you and yourprecious father and old Charlie cooked it up together! What? You'vebeen having a fine low-comedy time laughing yourselves to death at me,haven't you! O Lord, what a gang!"

  Ste. Marie caught the boy by the shoulder and spun him round.

  "That will do!" he said sternly. "You have been a fool; don't make itworse by being a coward and a cad. Mlle. O'Hara knew no more of thetruth than you knew. Your uncle lied to you all." But the girl cameand touched his arm. She said--

  "Don't be hard with him! He is bewildered and nervous, and he doesn'tknow what he is saying. Think how sudden it has been for him. Don't behard 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't mean that. I didn't mean it. I beg yourpardon. I'm about half dippy, I guess. I--don't know what to believeor what to think or what to do." He remained staring at her a littlewhile in silence, and presently his eyes sharpened. He cried out--

  "If I should go back there (mind you, I say, 'if'!) d'you know whatthey'd do? Well, I'll tell you. They'd begin to talk at me one at atime. They'd get me in a corner and cry over me and say I was young anddidn't know my mind, and that I owed them something for all that'shappened, and not to bring their grey hairs in sorrow to the grave. Andthe long and short of it would be that they'd make me give you up." Hewheeled upon Ste. Marie.

  "That's what they'd do!" he said, and his voice began to rise againshrilly. "They're three to one, and they know they can talk me intoanything. _You_ know it too." He shook his head.

  "I won't go back!" he cried wildly. "That's what will happen if I do.I don't want granddad's money. He can give it to old Charlie or to agendarme if he wants to. I'm going to have enough of my own. I won'tgo back, and that's all there is of it. You may be telling the truth oryou 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 that your family can persuade you out of it, then--Idon't want it at all, for it would never last. Arthur, you must go backto them. I want you to go."

  "I won't!" the boy cried. "I won't go. I tell you they could talk meout of anything. You don't know 'em. I do. I can't stand againstthem. I won't go, and that settles it. Besides, I'm not so sure thatthis fellow's telling the truth. I've known old Charlie a lot longerthan I have him."

  Coira O'Hara turned a despairing face over her shoulder towards Ste.Marie.

  "Leave me alone with him!" she begged. "Perhaps I can win him over.Leave us alone for a little while!" Ste. Marie hesitated, and in theend went away and left the two together. He went farther down the parkto the _rond point_ and crossed it to the familiar stone bench at thewest side. He sat down there to wait. He was anxious and alarmed overthis new obstacle, for he had the wit to see that it was a veryimportant one. It was quite conceivable that the boy, but halfconvinced, half yielding before, would balk altogether when he realised,as evidently he did realise, what returning home might mean to him--theloss 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 taketowards 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 hebe able 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 forthunder the rows of chestnut trees, where the earth was firm and black andmossy and there was no growth of shrubbery. He thought of that hastyinterview with Richard Hartley and he laughed a little. It had beenrather like an exchange of telegrams--reduced to the bare bones ofnecessary question and 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 towards the house. So hewent a little way after them and waited at a point where he could seeany one returning. He had not long to wait, for it seemed that the girlwent only as far as the door with her fiance and then turned back.

  Ste. Marie met her with raised eyebrows, and she shook her head.

  "I don't know," said she. "He is very stubborn. He is frightened andbewildered. As he said, a while ago, he doesn't know what to think orwhat to believe. You mustn't blame him. Remember how he trusted hisuncle! He's going to think it over, and I shall see him again thisafternoon. Perhaps when he has had time to reflect---- I don't know. Itruly don't know."

  "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 his abstraction he did not notice thename she gave him--"I am afraid, myself! I am horribly afr
aid about myfather."

  "I am sure he did not know," said the man. "Stewart lied to him." ButCoira O'Hara shook her head, saying--

  "I didn't mean that. I'm afraid of what will happen when he finds outhow he has been--how we have been played upon, tricked, deceived--what alight we have been placed in. You don't know, you can't even imagine,how he has set his heart on--what he wished to occur. I am afraid hewill do something terrible when he knows. I am afraid he will killCaptain 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. Itwill be 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 it has to be done I suppose I am gladthat it is to come at once." She looked up at Ste. Marie with shadowyinscrutable eyes.

  "And so, monsieur," said she, "it is at an end--all this." She made alittle gesture which seemed to sweep the park and gardens.

  "So we go out of each other's lives as abruptly as we entered them.Well----" She had continued to look at him, but she saw the man's faceturn white, and she saw something come into his eyes which was likeintolerable pain. Then she 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 likea man defeated and crushed, not one on the highroad 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 frontdoor below shall be left unlocked. The rest you and your friends mustdo. If I can make any impression upon Arthur, I'll slip a note underyour door this afternoon or this evening. Perhaps even if he decides togo it would be best for him to wait until night and go with the rest ofyou. 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 you go like this! Are we to--simply to go ourdifferent ways, like this, as if we'd never met at all?"

  "What else?" said the girl. And there was no answer to that. Theirseparate ways were determined for them--marked plain to see.

  "But afterwards!" he cried. "Afterwards--after we have got the boy backto his 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. Mariestopped him. They were out of sight from the windows. Ste. Mariewithdrew from his pocket one of the hundred-franc notes, and the singlebead-like eye of the ancient gnome fixed upon it and seemed to shiverwith a fascinated delight.

  "A hundred francs!" said Ste. Marie unnecessarily, and the old manlicked his withered lips. The tempter said--

  "My good Michel, would you care to receive this trifling sum? a hundredfrancs?"

  The gnome made a choked croaking sound in his throat. "It is yours,"said Ste. Marie, "for a small service--for doing nothing at all." Thebead-like 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'ara 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 likethe dead."

  "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 andburn the 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 oneside of the head--perhaps a trifling scratch to show a few drops ofblood. You have been assaulted, beaten down despite a heroic resistanceand left for dead. An hour afterwards you stagger into the house afrightful object. _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 toonear the lilacs, eh? _Bien_, monsieur, it is done!" Into his tremblingclaw he took the notes, he made an odd bow, and shambled away about hisbusiness. Ste. Marie laughed and went on into the house.

  He counted and there were fourteen hours to wait. Fourteen hours, andat the end of them--what? His blood began to warm to the night's work.