The Perfect Murder

by Ruskin Bond

  I needed no further enlightenment—Captain Peterkin stood as plainly revealed to me as if I had known him for years. ‘Isn’t it a little imprudent,’ I said, ‘to renew your acquaintance with a man of that sort? Couldn’t you have passed him, with a bow?’

  Romayne smiled uneasily. ‘I dare say you’re right,’ he answered, ‘But, remember, I had left my aunt, feeling ashamed of the unjust way in which I had thought and spoken of her. How did I know that I mightn’t be wronging an old friend next, if I kept Peterkin at a distance? His present position may be as much his misfortune, poor fellow, as his fault. I was half inclined to pass him, as you say—but I distrusted my own judgment. He held out his hand, and he was so glad to see me. It can’t be helped now. I shall be anxious to hear your opinion of him.’

  ‘Are we going to dine with Captain Peterkin?’

  ‘Yes. I happened to mention that wretched dinner yesterday at our hotel. He said, “Come to my boarding-house. Out of Paris, there isn’t such a table d’hote in France.” I tried to get off it not caring, as you know, to go among strangers—I said I had a friend with me. He invited you most cordially to accompany me. More excuses on my part only led to a painful result. I hurt Peterkin’s feelings. “I’m down in the world,” he said, “and I’m not fit company for you and your friends. I beg your pardon for taking the liberty of inviting you!” He turned away with tears in his eyes. What could I do?’

  I thought to myself, ‘You could have lent him five pounds, and got rid of his invitation without the slightest difficulty.’ If I had returned in reasonable time to go out with Romayne, we might not have met the captain—or, if we had met him, my presence would have prevented the confidential talk and the invitation that followed. I felt I was to blame—and yet, how could I help it? It was useless to remonstrate: the mischief was done.

  We left the Old Town on our right hand, and drove on, past a little colony of suburban villas, to a house standing by itself, surrounded by a stone wall. As we crossed the front garden on our way to the door, I noticed against the side of the house two kennels, inhabited by two large watch-dogs. Was the proprietor afraid of thieves?

  III

  The moment we were introduced to the drawing-room, my suspicions of the company we were likely to meet with were fully confirmed.

  ‘Cards, billiards, and betting’—there was the inscription legibly written on the manner and appearance of Captain Peterkin. The bright-eyed yellow old lady who kept the boarding-house would have been worth five thousand pounds in jewellery alone, if the ornaments which profusely covered her had been genuine precious stones. The younger ladies present had their cheeks as highly rouged and their eyelids as elaborately pencilled in black as if they were going on the stage, instead of going to dinner. We found these fair creatures drinking Madeira as a whet to their appetites. Among the men, there were two who struck me as the most finished and complete blackguards whom I had ever met within all my experience, at home and abroad. One, with a brown face and a broken nose, was presented to us by the title of ‘Commander’, and was described as a person of great wealth and distinction in Peru, travelling for amusement. The other wore a military uniform and decorations, and was spoken of as ‘the General.’ A bold bullying manner, a fat sodden face, little leering eyes, and greasy-looking hands, made this man so repellent to me that I privately longed to kick him. Romayne had evidently been announced, before our arrival, as a landed gentleman with a large income. Men and women vied in servile attentions to him. When we went into the dining-room, the fascinating creature who sat next to him held her fan before her face, and so made a private interview of it between the rich Englishman and herself. With regard to the dinner, I shall only report that it justified Captain Peterkin’s boast, in some degree at least. The wine was good, and the conversation became gay to the verge of indelicacy. Usually the most temperate of men, Romayne was tempted by his neighbours into drinking freely. I was unfortunately seated at the opposite extremity of the table, and I had no opportunity of warning him.

  The dinner reached its conclusion, and we all returned together, on the foreign plan, to coffee and cigars in the drawing-room. The women smoked, and drank liqueurs as well as coffee, with the men. One of them went to the piano, and a little impromptu ball followed, the ladies dancing with their cigarettes in their mouths. Keeping my eyes and ears on the alert, I saw an innocent-looking table, with a surface of rosewood, suddenly develop a substance of green cloth. At the same time, a neat little roulette-table made its appearance from a hiding-place in a sofa. Passing near the venerable landlady, I heard her ask the servant, in a whisper, ‘if the dogs were loose?’ After what I had observed, l could only conclude that the dogs were used as a patrol, to give the alarm in case of a descent of the police. It was plainly high time to thank Captain Peterkin for his hospitality, and to take our leave.

  ‘We have had enough of this,’ I whispered to Romayne in English. ‘Let us go.’

  In these days it is a delusion to suppose that you can speak confidentially in the English language, when French people are within hearing. One of the ladies asked Romayne, tenderly, if he was tired of her already. Another reminded him that it was raining heavily (as we could all hear), and suggested waiting until it it cleared up. The hideous General waved his greasy hand in the direction of the card table, and said, ‘The game is waiting for us.’

  Romayne was excited, but not stupefied, by the wine he had drunk. He answered, discreetly enough, ‘I must beg you to excuse me; I am a poor card player.’

  The General suddenly looked gave. ‘You are speaking, sir, under a strange misapprehension,’ he said. ‘Our game is lansquenet—essentially a game of chance. With luck, the poorest player is a match for the whole table.’

  Romayne persisted in his refusal. As a matter of course, I supported him, with all needful care to avoid giving offence. The General took offence, nevertheless. He crossed his arms on his breast, and looked at us fiercely.

  ‘Does this mean, gentlemen, that you distrust the company?’ he asked.

  The broken-nosed Commander, hearing the question, immediately joined us, in the interests of peace-bearing with him the elements of persuasion, under the form of a lady on his arm.

  The lady stepped briskly forward, and tapped the General on the shoulder with her fan. ‘I am one of the company,’ she said, ‘and I am sure Mr Romayne doesn’t distrust me.’ She turned to Romayne with her most irresistible smile. ‘A gentleman always plays cards,’ she resumed, ‘when he has a lady for a partner. Let us join our interests at the table—and, dear Mr Romayne, don’t risk too much!’ She put her pretty little purse into his hand, and looked as if she had been in love with him for half her lifetime.

  The fatal influence of the sex, assisted by wine, produced the inevitable result. Romayne allowed himself to be led to the card table. For a moment the General delayed the beginning of the game. After what had happened, it was necessary that he should assert the strict sense of justice that was in him. ‘We are all honourable men,’ he began.

  ‘And brave men,’ the Commander added, admiring the General.

  ‘And brave men,’ the General admitted, admiring the Commander. ‘Gentlemen, if I have been led into expressing myself with unnecessary warmth of feeling, I apologize, and regret it.’

  ‘Nobly spoken!’ the Commander pronounced. The General put his hand on his heart and bowed. The game began.

  As the poorest man of the two, I had escaped the attentions lavished by the ladies on Romayne. At the same time, I was obliged to pay for my dinner, by taking some part in the proceedings of the evening. Small stakes were allowed, I found, at roulette; and, besides, the heavy chances in favour of the table made it hardly worth while to run the risk of cheating in this case. I placed myself next to the least rascally-looking man in the company, and played roulette.

  For a wonder, I was successful at the first attempt. My neighbour handed me my winnings. ‘I have lost every farthing I possess,’ he whispered to me, piteous
ly, ‘and I have a wife and children at home.’ I lent the poor wretch five francs. He smiled faintly as he looked at the money. ‘It reminds me,’ he said, ‘of my last transaction, when I borrowed of that gentleman there, who is betting on the General’s luck at the card table. Beware of employing him as I did. What do you think I got for my note of hand of four thousand francs? A hundred bottles of champagne, fifty bottles of ink, fifty bottles of blacking, three dozen handkerchiefs, two pictures by unknown masters, two shawls, one hundred maps, and—five francs.’

  ‘We went on playing. My luck deserted tile; I lost, and lost, and lost again. From time to time I looked round at the card table. The ‘deal’ had fallen early to the General, and it seemed to be indefinitely prolonged. A heap of notes and gold (won mainly from Romayne, as I afterwards discovered) lay before him. As for my neighbour, the unhappy possessor of the bottles of blacking, the pictures by unknown masters, and the rest of it, he won, and then rashly presumed on his good fortune. Deprived of his last farthing, he retired into a corner of the room, and consoled himself with a cigar. I had just risen, to follow his example, when a furious uproar burst out at the card table.

  I saw Romayne spring up, and snatch the cards out of the General’s hand. ‘You scoundrel!’ he shouted, ‘you are cheating!’ The General started to his feet in a fury. ‘You lie!’ he cried. I attempted to interfere, but Romayne had already seen the necessity of controlling himself. ‘A gentleman doesn’t accept an insult from a swindler,’ he said coolly. ‘Accept this, then!’ the General answered—and spat on him. In an instant Romayne knocked him down.

  The blow was dealt straight between his eyes: he was a gross big-boned man, and he fell heavily. For the time he was stunned. The women ran, screaming, out of the room. The peaceable Commander trembled from head to foot. Two of the men present, who, to give them their due, were no cowards, locked the doors. ‘You don’t go,’ they said, ‘till we see whether he recovers or not.’ Cold water, assisted by the landlady’s smelling salts, brought the General to his senses after a while. He whispered something to one of his friends, who immediately turned to me. ‘The General challenges Mr Romayne,’ he said. ‘As one of his seconds, I demand an appointment for tomorrow morning.’ I refused to make any appointment unless the doors were first unlocked, and we were left free to depart. ‘Our carriage is waiting outside,’ I added. ‘If it returns to the hotel without us, there will be an inquiry.’ This latter consideration had its effect. On their side, the doors were opened. On our side, the appointment was made. We left the house.

  V

  We were punctual to the appointed hour—eight o’clock.

  The second who acted with me was a French gentleman, a relative of one of the officers who had brought the challenge. At his suggestion, we had chosen the pistol as our weapon. Romayne, like most Englishmen at the present time, knew nothing of the use of the sword. He was almost equally inexperienced with the pistol.

  Our opponents were late. They kept us waiting for more than ten minutes. It was not pleasant weather to wait in. The day had dawned damp and drizzling. A thick white fog was slowly rolling in on us from the sea.

  When they did appear, the General was not among them. A tall, well-dressed young man saluted Romayne with stern courtesy, and said to a stranger who accompanied him, ‘Explain the circumstances.’

  The stranger proved to be a surgeon. He entered at once on the necessary explanation. The General was too ill to appear. He had been attacked that morning by a fit—the consequence of the blow that he had received. Under these circumstances, his eldest son (Maurice) was now on the ground to fight the duel, on his father’s behalf; attended by the General’s seconds, and with the General’s full approval.

  We instantly refused to allow the duel to take place, Romayne loudly declaring that he had no quarrel with the General’s son. Upon this, Maurice broke away from his seconds; drew off one of his gloves; and stepping close up to Romayne, struck him on the face with the glove. ‘Have you no quarrel with me now?’ the young Frenchman asked. ‘Must I spit on you, as my father did?’ His seconds dragged him away, and apologized to us for the outbreak. But the mischief was done. Romayne’s fiery temper flashed in his eyes. ‘Load the pistols,’ he said. After the insult publicly offered to him, and the outrage publicly threatened, there was no other course to take.

  It had been left to us to produce the pistols. We therefore requested the seconds of our opponent to examine, and to load them. While this was being done, the advancing sea-fog so completely enveloped us, that the duelists were unable to see each other. We were obliged to wait for the chance of a partial clearing in the atmosphere. Romayne’s temper had become calm again. The generosity of his nature spoke in the words which he now addressed to his seconds.

  ‘After all,’ he said, ‘the young man is a good son—he is bent on redressing what he believes to be his father’s wrong. Does his flipping his glove in my face matter to me? I think I shall fire in the air.’

  ‘I shall refuse to act as your second if you do,’ answered the French gentleman who was assisting us. ‘The General’s son is famous for his skill with the pistol. If you didn’t see it in his face just now, I did—he means to kill you. Defend your life, sir!’ I spoke quite as strongly, to the same purpose, when my turn came. Romayne yielded—he placed himself unreservedly in our hands.

  In a quarter of an hour the fog lifted a little. We measured the distance, having previously arranged (at my suggestion) that the two men should both fire at the same moment, at a given signal. Romayne’s composure, as they faced each other, was, in a man of his irritable nervous temperament, really wonderful. I placed him sideways, in a position which in some degree lessened his danger, by lessening the surface exposed to the bullet. My French colleague put the pistol into his hand, and gave him the last word of advice. ‘Let your arm hang loosely down, with the barrel of the pistol pointing straight to the ground. When you hear the signal, only lift your arm as far as the elbow; keep the elbow pressed against your side—and fire.’ We could do no more for him. As we drew aside—I own it—my tongue was like a cinder in my mouth, and a horrid inner cold crept through me to the marrow of my bones.

  The signal was given, and the two shots were fired at the same time.

  My first look was at Romayne. He took off his hat, and handed it to me with a smile. His adversary’s bullet had cut a piece out of the brim of his hat, on the right side. He had literally escaped by a hairbreadth.

  While I was congratulating him, the fog gathered again more thickly than ever. Looking anxiously towards the ground occupied by our adversaries, we could only see vague, shadowy forms hurriedly crossing and re-crossing each other in the mist. Something had happened! My French colleague took my arm and pressed it significantly. ‘Leave me to inquire,’ he said. Romayne tried to follow; I held him back, neither of us exchanged a word.

  The fog thickened and thickened, until nothing was to be seen. Once we heard the surgeon’s voice, calling impatiently for a light to help him. No light appeared that we could see. Dreary as the fog itself, the silence gathered round us again. On a sudden broken, horribly broken, by another voice, strange to both it was one of us, shrieking hysterically through the impenetrable mist. ‘Where is he?’ the voice cried, in the French language. ‘Assassin! Assassin! Where are you?’ Was it a woman? or was it a boy? We heard nothing more. The effect upon Romayne was terrible to see. He who had calmly confronted the weapon lifted to kill him, shuddered dumbly like a terror-stricken animal. I put my arm round him, and hurried him away from the place.

  We waited at the hotel until our French friend joined us. After a brief interval he appeared, announcing that the surgeon would follow him.

  The duel had ended fatally. The chance course of the bullet, urged by Romayne’s unpractised hand, had struck the General’s son just above the right nostril—had penetrated to the back of his neck—and had communicated a fatal shock to the spinal marrow. He was a dead man before they could take him back to
his father’s house.

  So far, our fears were confirmed. But there was something else to tell, for which our worst presentiments had not prepared us.

  A younger brother of the fallen man (a boy of thirteen years old) had secretly followed the duelling party, on their way from his father’s house—had hidden himself—and had seen the dreadful end. The seconds only knew of it when he burst out of his place of concealment, and fell on his knees by his dying brother’s side. His were the frightful cries which we had heard from invisible lips. The slayer of his brother was the ‘assassin’ whom he had vainly tried to discover through the fathomless obscurity of the mist.

  We both looked at Romayne. He silently looked back at us, like a man turned to stone. I tried to reason with him.

  ‘Your life was at your opponent’s mercy,’ I said. ‘It was he who was skilled in the use of the pistol; your risk was infinitely greater than his. Are you responsible for an accident? Rouse yourself, Romayne! Think of the time to come, when all this will be forgotten.’

  ‘Never,’ he said, ‘to the end of my life.’

  He made that reply in dull monotonous tones. His eyes looked wearily and vacantly straight before him. I spoke to him again. He remained impenetrably silent; he appeared not to hear, or not to understand me. The surgeon came in, while I was still at a loss what to say or do next. Without waiting to be asked for his opinion, he observed Romayne attentively, and then drew me away into the next room.

  ‘Your friend is suffering from a severe nervous shock,’ he said. ‘Can you tell me anything of his habits of life?’

  I mentioned the prolonged night studies, and the excessive use of tea. The surgeon shook his head.

  ‘If you want my advice,’ he proceeded, ‘take him home at once. Don’t subject him to further excitement, when the result of the duel is known in the town. If it ends in our appearing in a court of law, it will be a mere formality in this case, and you can surrender when the time comes. Leave me your address in London.’