The Firefly of France
Page 22
CHAPTER XXII
THE GUEST OF PREZELAY
The sanctuary into which we had stumbled was as black as Erebus save forone dimly grayish patch, which, I surmised, meant a window. When thoseheavy feet had clumped down the staircase, silence enveloped us again,beatific silence. Instantly I banished the late Mr. Van Blarcom from myconsciousness. With a good stout door between us what importance had histhreats?
The truth was that my blood was singing through my veins and my spiritswere soaring. I would gladly have stood there forever, triumphant in thedark, with Miss Falconer's soft, warm fingers trembling a little, butlying in contented, almost cosy, fashion under mine. Had there ever beensuch a girl, at once so sweet and so daring? To think how she had waitedfor me all through that battle below!
A little breathless murmur came to me through the darkness.
"Oh, Mr. Bayne! You were so wonderful! How am I ever going to thankyou?" was what it said.
"You needn't. Let me thank you for letting me in on it!" I exultedhappily. "I give you my word, I haven't enjoyed anything so much inyears. It was all a hallucination, of course; but it was jolly while itlasted. I was only worried every instant for fear the hall and the menwould vanish, like an Arabian Nights' palace or the Great Horn Spoon orAladdin's jinn!"
Very gently she withdrew her fingers, and my mood toppled ludicrously.Why had I been rejoicing? We were in the deuce of a mess! So far I hadsimply won a half hour's respite to be followed by the deluge; for ifBlenheim had been ruthless before, what were his probable intentionsnow?
"We have lost our candle in the fracas," I muttered lamely.
"It doesn't matter. I have another," she answered in a soft, unsteadyvoice.
As she coaxed the light into being, I made a rapid survey. We were in aroom of gray stone, of no great size and quite bare of furnishing, savefor a few stone benches built into alcoves in the wall. The barenessof the scene emphasized our lack of resources. As a sole ray of hope, Iperceived a possible line of retreat if things should grow too warm forus, a door facing the one by which we had come in.
With all the excitement, I had forgotten Mr. Schwartzmann's bullet,which, I have no doubt, had left me a gory spectacle. At any rate,I frightened Miss Falconer when the candle-light revealed me. Inan instant she was bending over me, forcing me gently down upon aparticularly cold, hard bench.
"They shot you!" she was exclaiming. Her voice was low, but it held anastonishing protective fierceness. "They--they dared to hurt you! Oh,why didn't you tell me? Is it very bad?"
"No! no!" I protested, dabbing futilely at my forehead. "It isn't ofthe least importance. I assure you it is only a scratch. In fact," Igroaned, "nobody could hurt my head; it is too solid. It must be ivory.If I had had a vestige of intelligence, an iota of it, the palestglimmer, I should have known from the beginning exactly who thesefellows were!"
She was sitting beside me now, bending forward, all consoling eagerness.
"That is ridiculous!" she declared. "How could you guess?"
"Easily enough," I murmured. "I had all the clues at Gibraltar. Why,yesterday, on my way to your house in the rue St.-Dominique, I went overthe whole case in the taxi, and still I didn't see. I let the fellowconfide in me on the ship and warn me on the train and give me a finalsolemn ultimatum at the inn last night and come on here to frighten youand threaten you--when just a word to the police would have settledhim forever. By George, I can't believe it! I should take a prize at anidiot show."
She laughed unsteadily.
"I don't see that," she answered. "Why should you have suspected himwhen even the authorities didn't guess? You are not a detective. You area--a very brave, generous gentleman, who trusted a girl against all theevidence and helped her and protected her and risked your life forhers. Isn't that enough? And about their frightening me downstairs--theydidn't. You see, Mr. Bayne--you were there."
A wisp of red-brown hair had come loose across her forehead. Her face,flushed and royally grateful, was smiling into mine. Till that moment Ihad never dreamed that eyes could be so dazzling. I thrust my hands deepinto my pockets; I felt they were safer so.
"What is it?" she faltered, a little startled, as I rose.
"Nothing--now," I replied firmly. "I'll tell you later, to-morrow maybe,when we have seen this thing through. And in the meantime, whateverhappens, I don't want you to give a thought to it. The German doesn'tlive who can get the better of me--not after what you have said."
The situation suddenly presented itself in rosy colors. I saw how strongthe door was, what a lot of breaking it would take. And if they didforce a way in, then I could try some sharp-shooting. But Miss Falconerwas getting up slowly.
"Now the papers, Mr. Bayne," said she.
To be sure, the papers! I had temporarily forgotten them.
"They can't be here," I said blankly, gazing about the room.
"No, not here. In there." She motioned toward the inner door. "Thisis the old suite of the lords of Prezelay. We are in the room of theguards, where the armed retainers used to lie all night before the fire,watching. Then comes the antechamber and then the room of the squiresand then the bedchamber of the lord." Her voice had fallen now as if shethought that the walls were listening. "In the lord's room there is asecret hiding-place behind a panel; and if the papers are at Prezelay,they will be there."
I took the candle from her, turned to the door, and opened it.
"I hope they are," I said. "Let us go and see."
The antechamber, the room of the squires, the bedchamber of the lord.Such terms were fascinating; they called up before me a whole pictureof feudal life. Thanks to the attentions of the Germans, the rooms weremere empty shells, however, though they must have been rather splendidwhen decked out with furniture and portraits and tapestries before thewar.
Our steps echoed on the stone as we traversed the antechamber, a quaintround place, lined with bull's-eye windows and presided over by thestatues of four armed men. Another door gave us entrance to the quarterof the squires. We started across it, but in the center of the floor Istopped. In all the other rooms of the castle dust had lain thick, butthere was none here. Elsewhere the windows had been closed and the airheavy and musty, but here the soft night breeze was drifting in. Ona table, in odd conjunction, stood the remains of a meal, a roll ofbandages, and a half-burned candle; and finally, against the wall lay abed of a sort, a mattress piled with tumbled sheets.
Were these Marie-Jeanne's quarters? I did not know, but I doubted. Iturned to the girl.
"Miss Falconer," I said, attempting naturalness, "will you go back tothe guard-room and wait there a few minutes, please? I think--that is,it seems just possible that some one is hiding in yonder. I'd prefer toinvestigate alone if you don't mind."
I broke off, suddenly aware of the look she was casting round her. Itdid not mean fear; it could mean nothing but an incredulous, dawninghope. These signs of occupancy suggested to her something so wonderful,so desirable that she simply dared not credit them; she was dreadingthat they might slip through her fingers and fade away! I made a valianteffort at understanding.
"Perhaps," I said, "you're expecting some one. Did you think that a--afriend of yours might have arrived here before we came?" She did notglance at me, but she bent her head, assenting. All her attention wasfocused raptly on that bed beside the wall.
"Yes," she whispered; "a long time before us. A month ago at least." Hereyes had begun to shine. "Oh, I don't dare to believe it; I've hardlydared to hope for it. But if it is true, I am going to be happier than Iever thought I could be again."
She made a swift movement toward the door, but I forestalled her.Whatever that room held, I must have a look at it before she went. Iflung the door open, blocked her passage, and stopped in my tracks, forthe best of reasons. A young man was sitting on a battered oak chestbeneath a window, facing me, and in his right hand, propped on hisknees, there glittered a revolver that was pointed straight at my heart.
I stood petrified, measuring
him. He was lightly built and slender. Hehad a manner as glittering as his weapon, and a pair of remarkably cooland clear gray eyes. His picturesqueness seemed wasted on mere fleshand blood it was so perfect. Coatless, but wearing a shirt of the finestlinen, he looked like some old French duelist and ought, I felt, to begazing at me, rapier in hand, from a gilt-framed canvas on the wall.
In the brief pause before he spoke I gathered some further data. He wasa sick man and he had recently been wounded; at present he was keepingup by sheer courage, not by strength. His lips were pressed in astraight line, his eyes were shadowed, and his pallor was ghastly.Finally, he was wearing his left arm in a sling across his breast.
"Monsieur," he now enunciated clearly, "will raise both hands and keepthem lifted. Monsieur sees, doubtless, that I am in no state for awrestling-match. For that very reason he must take all pains not toforget himself--for should he stir, however slightly, I grieve to saythat I must shoot."
The casualness of his tones made Blenheim's menaces seem childish andfutile. I had not the slightest doubt that he would keep his word. Yet,without any reason whatever, I liked him and I had no fear of him; I didnot feel for a single instant that Miss Falconer was in danger; she wasas safe with him, I knew instinctively, as she was with me.
I opened my lips to parley, but found myself interrupted. A cry camefrom behind me, a low, utterly rapturous cry. I was thrust aside, andsaw the girl spring past me. An instant later she was by the stranger,kneeling, with her arms about him and her bright head against his cheek.
"Jean! Dear Jean!" she was crying between tears and laughter. "Wethought you were dead! We thought you were never coming back toRaincy-la-Tour!"
It seemed to me that some one had struck my head a stunning blow. For aninterval I stood dazed; then, painfully, my brain stirred. Things wentdancing across it like sharp, stabbing little flames, guesses, memories,scraps of talk I had heard, items I had read; but they were scattered,without cohesion; like will-o'-the-wisps, they could not be seized.
There was a young man, a noble of France, who had been a hero. I hadread of him in a certain extra, as my steamer left New York. Hehad disappeared. Certain papers had vanished with him. He had beensuspected, because it was known that the Germans wanted those specialdocuments. All the world, I thought dully, seemed to be hunting papers;the French, the Germans, Miss Falconer, and I.
Once more I looked at the man on the chest. He had dropped his pistoland was clasping the girl to him, soothing her, stroking her hair. Mybrain began to work more rapidly. The little flashes of light seemed torun together, to crystallize into a whole. I knew.
Jean-Herve-Marie-Olivier, the Duke of Raincy-la-Tour, the Firefly ofFrance.