by Howard Pyle
“YOU NEXT!”
At last the unhappy man, having regained some control over the emotions that convulsed him, and heaving a profound sigh as though from the bottom of his soul, turned once more, and exhibited to the young lawyer a countenance from which every vestige of color had departed, and in whose dull and leaden eyes and pinched and shrivelled features it was well-nigh impossible to recognize the genteel and complacent host of a few moments before. “You have,” said he, in hollow tones, “just delivered to me my death-warrant. In how dreadful a form it was served upon me, you yourself have beheld. My sins have overtaken me, as my poor brother’s have overtaken him. They may perhaps have been of an unusually heinous character; but how great is my punishment! I call upon you to declare, even if our hands were ensanguined with the blood of a prince of India, and if the spouse of an Oriental king were executed at our commands, and even if we were partakers in our reward as in our crime, is not the fate that has overtaken us altogether too enormous for our deserts?”
“As to that,” cried Griscombe, “Heaven is your judge, and not I. As for me, I begin to perceive a glimmer of light through these mysteries that have been gathering about me during these last few days, and I declare to you that I will have no more concern either in you or in your secrets. How is it possible,” he exclaimed, “that I have come to be the partaker in the consequences of that rapine and of murder in which you and your brother were doubtless one time so guilty? No: I will have no more to do with you!”
“And would you,” cried the other, “desert me in such extremity as this? Then at least have some pity upon my innocent daughter. We live a life in this place without a friend or an intimate, — almost, I may say, without an acquaintance. To whom am I to confide her in a time of such mortal danger as this? Am I to take her with me in my flight? And what if my fate overtakes me upon such a journey, — what, then, would become of her?”
Upon this plea Griscombe stood for awhile with downcast eyes, every shadow of expression banished from his countenance. As with an inner vision he beheld Miss Desmond as he had seen her but a little while before, — innocent, beautiful, radiantly unconscious of the doom that was about to fall upon the house — and his heart was wrung at the thought of such hideous misfortunes falling upon her sinless life. “Sir,” he said at last, “your appeal has reached me. What is it you would have me to do? For your daughter’s sake I will assist you in so far as my abilities may extend.”
“I would have you,” said the miserable man, “convey my daughter, upon your return to New York, in the post-chaise which brought you hither. With her I will send a quantity of jewels similar to those which you brought to me. These I will place in a strong box, and that again in a portmanteau of such a convenient size that you can easily take it into the post-chaise with you. These jewels comprise a large part of my fortune; and with them my daughter, should she be called upon to be separated forever from her unhappy father, can easily live in affluence and luxury. She, together with this treasure, you are to carry to a M. de Troinville, who has for a long while been the agent both of my brother and of myself, and who is under considerable obligation to us. With you I shall send to that gentleman a letter of full instruction; and, as soon as you have delivered that and my daughter into his hands, your responsibility shall be at an end, and you will have the satisfaction of knowing that you have relieved the anxiety of one who has probably only a day or maybe a few hours to live, and who would otherwise have found his last moments upon earth to have been blighted.”
“So be it,” said Griscombe, after a moment or two of consideration. “I accept the commission.”
“Sir,” said Mr. Desmond, “you have won the eternal gratitude of the most miserable man upon the earth.” And, as he spoke, he made as though he would have embraced our hero.
“Nay,” said Griscombe, “I do not choose to accept your caresses. You owe me no gratitude; for, upon my word, I declare that what I do is only for the sake of your daughter, and that, except for her, I would leave you to a fate which in no wise concerns me, and which, from your own confession, you appear in no small degree to have merited. Prepare your letter to M. de Troinville; and in the mean time, by your leave, I will wait in some other apartment of your house than this.”
“You are,” said Mr. Desmond, “neither polite nor sympathetic. But let it pass. I find myself obliged to accept your services, however unwillingly they may have been offered.”
Little remains to be said concerning this part of our narrative, excepting that about ten o’clock Griscombe was summoned to depart upon his return to New York, and that he found the post-chaise waiting in front of the house, with the young lady and the portmanteau already ensconced within. As our hero stepped into the conveyance, Mr. Desmond gave him the letter of introduction to M. de Troinville, and at the same time thrust upon him a leathern bag containing a hundred pieces of gold valued at twenty dollars each, declaring that he had employed him as his attorney, and that this was his fee. Griscombe would gladly have rejected the stipend, could he have done so without betraying to the unconscious young lady the portentous nature of the affair that had overwhelmed them all. As it was, he found himself obliged, however unwillingly, to accept the gratuity thus thrust upon him.
HERE FOLLOWS THE FOURTH CHAPTER
CHAPTER FOUR
In which is related the Remarkable REQUEST of the LAWYER’S Fourth CLIENT.
EVEN IF OUR hero had never again beheld Miss Desmond, he might easily have retained her in his memory for years afterward as a bright and radiant vision of that otherwise gloomy and portentous episode of his life. As it was, what with his having been intrusted with the guardianship of so beautiful a creature, what with his pity for her unconsciousness of the dreadful fate that had overtaken her father, and what with the necessity he was under of disguising from her the terrible events that had occurred, and of answering in kind the sallies of the innocent and entertaining gayety that burst from her continually during their journey, — what with all these, and the warmth and fragrant charm of her presence so close to him in the narrow confines of the post-chaise, his heart was possessed to its inmost fibres with so consuming an ardor of pity and tenderness that he could gladly have laid down his life for her sake.
It was at two o’clock of an afternoon upon the last stage of their journey that they stopped for a dinner at the tavern in Newark, N.J., almost, so to speak, in sight of their destination. It was excessively cold; and a light snow had begun to fall from the gray and leaden sky, giving promise of an early night. A cheerful fire of hickory wood burned in the fire-place, diffusing a grateful warmth throughout the apartment; and in the pleasure of its heat Miss Desmond yielded herself to an extreme relaxation of spirits. She rallied Griscombe upon the diffidence he had exhibited upon their first introduction. She congratulated him with a mock seriousness upon his approaching release from his duties as a squire of dames. Her father had given her to believe that he would follow her immediately to New York, accordingly, reminding Griscombe that the next day would be Christmas, she invited him to come to M. de Troinville’s to dine with them. Nor could Griscombe listen to her innocent prattle without experiencing such an overmastering pity for her unconsciousness of the tragic fate that had overtaken her father and for her own hapless condition, that it was well-nigh impossible for him to answer her sallies with raillery of a like sort. However, he continued to act his part with such skill of performance that his companion never once suspected with what effort he composed the words he uttered.
“IT WAS AT THIS JUNCTURE ... THAT AN APOLOGETIC KNOCK FELL UPON THE DOOR”
It was at this juncture, fraught with such pathetic emotions to our hero, that an apologetic knock fell upon the door; and the next moment, as in answer to his own summons, a little old gentleman of extraordinary appearance entered the room. A long white beard half concealed his face, which was of a yellow-brown complexion, and entirely covered with a multitude of minute wrinkles. His eyes, piercing and black, sparkled lik
e those of a serpent beneath his overhanging eyebrows.
“My dear young gentleman and my dear young lady,” he began in a thin, high voice, “learning at the bar that you had a good fire in this room, I ventured to intrude myself upon you with perhaps as strange a request as you ever heard in all of your life.”
At the very first appearance of the stranger — who, somehow, in his singularly Oriental appearance suggested the jack-straw player of a few days before — a strange presentiment of evil began to take possession of Griscombe’s mind. Nor were his apprehensions lessened as the old gentleman, resuming his speech, continued as follows: “I am, as you may observe, my dear young gentleman and my dear young lady, extremely old; and I am obliged to confess to the possession of certain follies of which I am now entirely unable to rid myself. Fortunately for myself, I am excessively rich, and so am perfectly well able to indulge those whims, however absurd, that have now grown altogether a part of my nature, and which, in one so old as myself, can never hope to be eradicated. Learning that you, my dear young gentleman, were an attorney-at-law, I determined to approach you as a client, and to purchase of you a small portion of your no doubt extremely valuable time.” Upon this he drew from beneath his cloak a leathern purse full of money, which he set upon the table. “In this,” he continued, “are a hundred pieces of gold valued at twenty dollars each. I offer it to you as a retaining fee, and I venture to say that few lawyers of your age have ever received so much at a time from a single client.”
“And what,” cried Griscombe, with a voice he could scarcely command,— “and what is it you desire of me?”
“I hardly know,” said the old man, “how to prefer the extraordinary request that I have to offer. You must know that I am inordinately fond of the game of tit-tat-toe; and my object is to purchase one half-hour of your valuable time, my dear young gentleman, so that I may indulge myself in my favorite pastime.”
At these extraordinary words, and at the entire seriousness of the speaker, the young lady burst into an irrepressible fit of laughter, which she found it altogether impossible to control. But upon Griscombe the effect was entirely different. Those vague and alarming suggestions that had already begun to take possession of him leaped at once into positive reality. He had for safety left the portmanteau with its precious contents in the adjoining bedroom, which he had just used as a dressing-chamber, and he instantly perceived, under the innocent request of the old gentleman with the white beard, the most sinister and malignant designs upon it. He sprung to his feet, as though stung by the lash of a fury. “You villain,” he cried in a hoarse and straining voice, “I know what are your designs; and but for this young lady, and my desire to conceal from her your ominous purposes, I would fling you at once out of the window. Begone, lest I find it impossible to restrain myself!”
These words were uttered with a paroxysm of passion such as the young lady was entirely unable to account for. Never before had she beheld our hero exhibit anything but the utmost delicacy and gentleness of manner; and now, not in the least understanding the reason for his fury, she gazed upon him with astonishment, in which terror was almost the entire component part. These emotions, however, gradually gave place to an increasing and generous indignation at what she considered the unmerited violence exhibited by a young man against another old enough to be his grandsire.
“Upon my word, Mr. Griscombe,” she cried indignantly, “I profess I am entirely at a loss to understand your anger against this poor old gentleman. What, may I ask, is the reason of your excessive fury at so harmless a request as that which he has proffered?”
“Madame,” exclaimed Griscombe, vehemently, “I cannot explain it to you.”
“I confess,” she cried with still more heat than before, “I cannot understand your violence, unless it is that you fear to appear ridiculous by indulging this poor old gentleman in his innocent whim.” And then, upon our hero’s continued silence, she added: “I could not have believed it possible that you could have exhibited so much impatience and anger at so slight a cause. My opinion of you is altogether altered from what it was; nor can I again recover my original favorable impression unless you offer such reparation as lies in your power by accepting the fee which has been so generously offered you, and by sitting down and gratifying your client with the game of tit-tat-toe he has requested. Should you decline such reparation, I can, as I say, never entertain again for you the regard I have until now experienced.”
“Indeed,” said the old man, in a gentle voice, but with a smile in which Griscombe read the most malignant and sinister suggestion, “if the young gentleman apprehends any malevolent designs upon my part, he has only to declare what he suspects; and I will go directly away. If, however, he has nothing with which to accuse me, I, too, shall insist upon it that he, by way of a penance, shall indulge me with my little game.”
Poor Griscombe stood overwhelmed with a multitude of emotions. One thing alone was clear to his mind: he must protect his innocent and precious charge from all knowledge of what had now doubtless befallen her unhappy father. It were better that those emissaries of evil that had beset him should fulfil their every purpose — even to the last — rather than that she should suffer. He must be dumb, and allow them to conclude their dreadful work. After all, he could easily inform M. de Troinville before the fatal portmanteau should be opened. “I will obey you if you command me, madame,” he cried; “but pray, pray spare me this!” And, as he spoke, he fixed upon Miss Desmond a look of such agonizing appeal that she could not but have been moved by it, had she not been blinded by her own imperiousness of purpose. As it was, she only hardened her face into a still more immovable expression of determination. Where-upon, finding her not to be shaken, our hero sank into rather than sat down upon the chair beside him.
The old gentleman with the beard, having thus gained his point, beamed with the utmost cheerfulness of expression, and, advancing with alacrity, pushed aside the dinner plates, and immediately assumed a position opposite his unwilling opponent, and between him and the door of the room where his precious portmanteau lay hidden. Having thus established himself, the old gentleman drew from a capacious pocket a sandalwood box inlaid with arabesque figures of gold and mother-of-pearl. Opening this box, he displayed, to the profound astonishment of at least one of his companions, an exquisitely wrought tablet of mother-of-pearl and gold, pierced with one-and-eighty holes arranged in a square of nine. Opening a slide in the side of the tablet, he thence emptied from a receptacle upon the table five curiously wrought pins of gold, and a like number of silver. Handing the five pins of the more precious metal to Griscombe and reserving for himself the five pegs of silver, the old gentleman immediately explained to his listeners the simple process of the game upon which he proposed to embark. Each player in turn was to thrust a pin into a hole in the tablet, and he who could so far escape his opponent’s interference as to arrange three of the five pins in a line should, upon each occurrence thereof, have scored a point in the game. Having completed these easy instructions, he immediately invited Griscombe to open the play, which he upon his part entered upon with every appearance of entire enjoyment and satisfaction.
At any time Griscombe would have been no match for the extraordinary skill of his opponent; but, as it was, he was so torn and distracted by a multitude of emotions that he occasionally knew not what he was doing or what he beheld. His imagination framed the most ominous images of what was going forward in the bedroom beyond; and he lost again and again, while at times his hands trembled so that he could hardly place the pin in its respective hole. Now and then his hearing, strung to an unnatural intensity of key, seemed to detect smothered sounds from the adjoining room; and at such times the ivory tablet appeared to vanish from his sight, and the sweat started from every pore.
But, in spite of all he suffered, he took care never to permit the young lady to perceive the agony under which he labored. The frequent mistakes of which he was guilty and the extreme inadequacy with which h
e played the game she attributed to mortification or to obstinacy. At last, at some more preposterous blunder, she could contain her patience no longer. “Why do you not place your pin in that hole, Mr. Griscombe?” she cried: “it will score you a point,” And Griscombe, obeying, found the next instant that three of his pins stood in a line.
At that moment a faint whistle sounded from without; and the old gentleman, as though in answer to a signal, declared his desire for the game to be entirely appeased. Withdrawing the pins from the tablet, he replaced them in their receptacle, replaced the tablet itself in the box and shut the lid with a snap. “Madame,” he said, “I should have played with you instead of with our young gentleman here; for, indeed, he exhibits no great aptitude for the game.” Then addressing Griscombe with a double meaning that set every nerve of his victim to quivering, “Nevertheless, young sir,” he observed, “you have afforded me a great deal of entertainment, and I protest that you have entirely earned the fee which you have pocketed.” Thereupon he incontinently departed, leaving the young lady and our hero to digest, each in his or her own way, the events that had just transpired.
So concludes this part of the narrative, with only this to add — that, had Griscombe had no one to think of but himself, he would at once have torn open the fatal travelling-case, and so have satisfied himself as to the nature of its contents. As it was, for the sake of his charge, who had in so short a time grown so infinitely dear to him, he would rather have had his right hand struck off than have betrayed his terrible apprehensions to her innocent ears. Accordingly, he still wrapped himself in his martyrdom of silence, though he would rather have sat facing a living adder than that ominous portmanteau upon the front seat of the post-chaise.