by J. C. Snaith
CHAPTER IX
ON THE EVE
A calm inquiry into the case rendered it inconceivable that two pillarsof the Constitution should commit themselves irrevocably to a scheme ofaction whose true sphere was the boards of a playhouse or the pages ofa lurid romance. By what lapse of the reason had they permittedthemselves to drift into a position so ludicrous yet so eminentlydangerous? Possibly it was right for irresponsible youth; possibly itwas right for men of temperament like the heroic Fitz; but forLieutenant-Colonel John Chalmers Coverdale, C.M.G., late of HisMajesty's Carabineers, and Odo Arbuthnot, Member of Parliament for theUppingdon Division of Middleshire, it was confessedly an egregiousfolly.
We were both past the age when such a scheme would have appealed to ourhigh spirits as a superior sort of "rag." Once embarked upon it, whoshould say whither it might lead? It was impossible to foretell thecourse of such an adventure. Two such devotees of law and order didwell to entertain misgivings, even with the winecup in their hands.
As far as the other side of the picture was concerned, Fitz was fullyentitled to regard himself as a much-injured man. It is true that inthe first instance he had taken the liberty of contracting a morganaticmarriage with a princess in the direct line of succession of a reigninghouse. But in a country like ours, where the freedom of the subjectand the right of the individual to shape his own destiny form thekeystone of the arch upon which the fabric of society is raised, it wasimpossible not to sympathise keenly with Fitz. All freeborn Englishmencould not fail to resent the intervention of an irresponsible thirdparty, who was recklessly determined to violate a tie that had thesanction of God.
Over our cigars, when the servants had left the room, the orders forthe morrow were discussed.
"I hope, Fitzwaren," said the Chief Constable, "that you fully realisethe extreme gravity of your undertaking. A single error of judgment, asingle slip in your mode of procedure, and we are certain to findourselves very badly landed indeed. Personally, I hope very much thatyou will leave lethal weapons out of the case. If we carry them we runup against the law; and not only will they prejudice our cause butthere is no saying to what they may lead."
"I should like," said I, "to identify myself with these remarks ofCoverdale's. I concur entirely."
Fitz removed the cigar from his lips and leaned back in his chair. Heseemed to be pondering deeply.
"I respect the opinion of both of you," he said, speaking with a gooddeal of deliberation after a pause that was somewhat lengthy. "You arequite right in one sense, but in the most important sense of all I amsure you are wrong. I should like everybody who is going into thisbusiness to understand clearly that it is most likely to proveextremely serious. We must take every reasonable precaution, becausethe moment we enter von Arlenberg's house we carry our lives in ourhands. I know these Illyrians; as soon as they understand our gamethey will use no ceremony. Law or no law, they will shoot us like dogsif they think it is necessary. And I can assure you they will think itis necessary, unless we get them with their hands up."
"I don't like lethal weapons," said the Chief Constable.
"I don't like them either," said Fitz, "but if we are to come throughwith this business, we shall be compelled to carry them." Suddenly hisvoice sank. "The truth is, this game is so dangerous, that I don'turge anybody to take part in it. Let any man who thinks the cause isgood enough follow me with a loaded revolver in his right-hand trouserpocket; and let any man who doesn't keep out of it and I shall be thelast to blame him."
In the language there may not have been persuasiveness, but there was agood deal in the tone. Fitz's manner was that of a leader of others;of one who foresaw the risks he incurred; who embraced themdeliberately; who having once formed his plan stuck to it whatever itmight entail.
Coverdale had seen service in Zululand, the Transvaal, and in Eygpt;Brasset and I had borne a humble share in the recent transactions inSouth Africa; yet in an unconscious way we were all susceptible to theplay of a powerful will and a magnetic personality. Cynics may say itwas the wine that turned the scale--the juice of the grape is the fountof many a hardy resolution--but I prefer to think it was the quality ofFitz himself. Retreat at the eleventh hour might have been construedas dishonourable, but men like Coverdale had no need to befantastically nice upon the point of honour. It was, I think, thatFitz carried conviction. His was the inestimable gift of rising withhis theme. Heaven knew! the enterprise was foolhardy, but the manhimself was a good one to follow.
All the same, when we adjourned our meeting with the compact that weshould assemble at Middleham railway station on the morrow in time tocatch the 3.30 to London, I went home in a state of depression. Were Ito have been hanged at cock-crow I could not have found my bed moreunsympathetic. Most of the night I lay awake in a state of the mostunworthy apprehension. The very intangibility of the business of themorrow seemed to make it a nightmare. Had it been a duel, or adefinite pitting of one known force against another, it would haveseemed less uncomfortable, less sinister. As it was, we did not knowprecisely to what we stood committed. The thing might prove merelyfarcical. On the contrary, it might involve battle, murder and suddendeath.
A dozen times in the dismal darkness the question was put, by whatchain of events had a mildly egoistical hedonist, the husband of acharming lady, the father of a merry blue-eyed daughter, with areasonable competence and an ambition to excel at golf, come to imperilall these delectable things? Merely at the beck of a wild-livingprofligate who felt he had been wronged.
Stated as bluntly as this in the high court of reason the whole thingseemed absurd. There was so much to lose and so little to gain. Thescheme was preposterous. Nevil Fitzwaren might certainly be the victimof an injustice, but what of Miss Lucinda and her mama? True,Coverdale was also a party to the scheme; but he was by natureadventurous, a seeker after something fresh. To be sure he imperilledhis billet, but he was understood to have private means.
"Odo Arbuthnot," said the thin voice of reason at three o'clock in themorning, "you must withdraw from this incredibly foolish andreprehensible proceeding."
Howbeit, the voice of reason never sways us entirely. Accordingly Imade a particularly feeble breakfast, wrote a letter to my grandmotherin Bolton Street, sped the Madam, looking supremely gay and engaging,on the way to her fond parents at Doughty Bridge, Yorks, read theimmortal story of "The Three Bears" to Miss Lucinda for the thousandand first time, carefully overhauled the six-chambered weapon which aprofessional criminal had yet to put to the test, and in a miserableframe of mind sat down to luncheon in the company of my relation bymarriage.
It may be that the holy state of wedlock makes cowards of us all.Joseph Jocelyn De Vere Vane-Anstruther was certainly not embarrassed bysuch qualms as these. He was even more serenely magnificent than usualin a suit of grey tweeds aggressively checked and a waistcoat that wasconducting a violent quarrel with a Zingari necktie; while his air ofhopeful enjoyment of life as it was and as it was going to be, provokedsome rather pregnant reflections upon the crime of homicide.
"O'Mulligan's wired. Mad keen. A regular nut."
The well of English undefiled grows more copious with the process ofages. By what mysterious alchemy the quality of mad keennesstransforms its possessor into "a regular nut" I was too low-spirited toelucidate.
"Fitz is a game bird, ain't he?" Flamboyant youth heartily poured halfa bottle of Worcestershire sauce over its cutlet. "Didn't think he hadit in him. Merely shows how you can be deceived."
I groaned in spirit, but plucked up the courage to take a dismal nibbleat a piece of toast.
"That chap Coverdale is a bit of a funkstick. Made himself rather anass about those firearms."
I assented feebly.
"Bet you a pony they want our photographs for the _Morning Mirror_."
I rose from the table and took a turn in the kitchen garden. When yourheart is fairly in your boots, the society of your peers has itsdrawbacks.
At
half-past two, punctual to the minute, the toot of the car was heardat the hall door. Miss Lucinda received a parting salute and anillicit box of chocolates which consoled her immensely for thetemporary loss--permanent perhaps in the case of one--of both herparents.
I confess to being one of those weak mortals who on a journey isinvariably accompanied by the consciousness of having left somethingundone or having omitted to pack some unremembered but quiteindispensable necessary. Three-fourths of the way to the station I washaunted with this feeling in a more acute form than usual, and thenquite suddenly, with a spasm of perverse joy, it occurred to me that Ihad left the burglar's foe in its secret receptacle.
"Thank God for that!" was the pious hyperbole which ascended to heaven.
At the station we were not the first to arrive on the scene, althoughthere was a full quarter of an hour in hand. Fitz in a fur overcoat ofsome pretensions bore a look of collected importance which was quite inkeeping with the _role_ he had to fill.
"Tickets are taken," said he, "and carriage reserved for five."
In front of the bookstall a yellow newsbill displayed the contents of aLondon evening paper, issued at noon. "The Attempt on the Life of theKing of Illyria. Latest Details."
"Clumsy fools," said the son-in-law of Ferdinand the Twelfth, gloomily."They seem to have bungled the business badly, but they bungleeverything in Illyria."
"His Excellency, the Ambassador, would appear to be an exception to thegeneral rule."
Fitz bestowed upon me a murderous glower.
Brasset arrived full five minutes in advance of the London express.Pink and cherubic, his recent perplexity had yielded to an omnipresentlook of peace. His well-groomed air suggested that he took a simplepleasure in being alive.
The question, however, for the four conspirators assembled on theMiddleham platform was, what had happened to the Chief Constable? Wasit conceivable that the noble Brutus had left us in the lurch?Remembering my own travail of the spirit, which still endured, itseemed most natural and becoming to my partial judgment, that one sowise had repented of his folly at the eleventh hour.
Howbeit, my lips were sealed upon these illicit thoughts. Fitz himselfsuspected no treachery. He ushered us into the reserved compartmentwith immense dignity, and retained the left-hand corner seat, with theback to the engine, for the missing warrior.
"Coverdale is cutting it fine," I ventured to remark.
"There is a minute yet," said Fitz, with an insouciance which, to use amuch-abused expression, was Napoleonic.
A porter who suffered from rickets put in his head.
"All London, gentlemen?"
"Yes," said Fitz, introducing a shilling to a grimy but willing palm."And just see that the station-master keeps the train a few minutes forColonel Coverdale."
"Agen the regulations, you know, sir," said the porter, with politemisgiving.
"Against what regulations?" said the undefeated Fitz.
"The Company's."
"Against the Company's regulations! Who the devil are the Company that_they_ should have regulations?"
This was a poser for the porter, who made a rather ineffectual apologyfor such a piece of assumption on the part of the Company. But thestation-master's bell was ringing, and I, peering wildly through thewindow, in the vain hope that my mentor, my hope, my stand-by mightafter all appear, could see never a sign of Lieutenant-Colonel JohnChalmers Coverdale, C.M.G., late of His Majesty's Carabineers.