Faithful Margaret Part 52

"'Idiot!' he roars, 'did I ask you to have anything to do with that? Do I suspect _you_ of enough pluck to crush a snake? No, you fool, I don't.

The man will be killed in battle. All I want of you is to hear his private business, so that you can post me up. If you want to make your fortune, say so.'

"Mademoiselle, my dearest wish has always been to make my fortune. _Ma foi!_ shall I refuse it when it comes begging at my door?

"'So be it. _Vive l'Amerique!_' I cry. 'Give me my instructions.'

"And monsieur does give me my instructions.

"I am to be hand and glove with Monsieur le Capitaine; I am to learn his history off by heart and write it down for my Mortlake to study; and when he falls in battle I am to win my reward, but not till then. I am encouraged by every inducement to be the a.s.sa.s.sin myself. I am a.s.sured that if Captain Brand does not die in the course of twelve months, Monsieur Mortlake can do nothing for me; and I laugh to myself, and say:

"'I shall watch my Mortlake.'

"'And what will monsieur do until I return to England?' I say.

"'I'll pigeon the green hands in the gambling saloons,' he tells me, 'and have a neat little sum to carry us through the plot.'

"So we make up our plans, and I follow Captain Brand to Liverpool.

"The last act of friendship which my princ.i.p.al does for me is to send after me a servant to attend me.

"'A trusty fellow,' writes M. Mortlake, 'who will help you with the captain. He is an unscrupulous chap, and might do that little job for you. Thoms is a cute fellow, and won't betray us.'

"Monsieur Mortlake has changed his mind at the last moment; he doubts the villainy of his accomplice; he comes himself, in Thoms' disguise, to watch how the game goes.

"He says to himself, 'Calembours may betray my plot to Captain Brand, or, not betraying it, may fail to see him killed, and he may turn up again when I am least prepared for him; then let _me_ accompany the pair as Thoms, the valet; and Thoms shall remind Calembours of his duty; and Calembours shall commission Thoms to deal the death-blow, if chance withholds it in battle, and Calembours shall ever after be tied hand and foot by that command of his to Thoms, and shall never dare to betray the cunning Mortlake. Then when Brand is dead, Thoms shall disappear; Calembours shall return to England with his report; Mortlake shall pay him much or little, as he likes, and Calembours shall be gagged for life with his share in the murder of Brand. Thus shall Mortlake cover up his traces, and win fortune without one fear of discovery. And if Calembours proves unfaithful in his compact, why then Thoms shall only have to use his dagger twice instead of once, and perhaps that would be the best way after all.'

"Was it not a wonderful plot, mademoiselle?

"So complete, so obscure, so complicated!

"And to think that I should not have been the first to conceive it!

"Bah! I told you that Monsieur Mortlake could cheat me at _rouge-et-noir_; he was my mental superior.

"Mine was the intellect quick, daring, creative; but his was the sure, silent, and wily brain that could view a scheme in all its bearings, and twist it as he willed.

"Enough; Monsieur Mortlake accompanied us to the seat of war as Thoms, and not once did I suspect the villain of being other than he seemed.

"Bah! to think of being served by such a worm!

"Mademoiselle, the soul of the knight of honor rises in wrath as he recalls these days of foolish deception, when the brother colonels, sitting by the camp-fire, laugh over poor old Thoms, and say, 'He's mad.' Mademoiselle, the blood of an honest man boils as he recalls the dastard pranks of his valet; when he rifles the pockets of brave Colonel Brand; and sitting behind us, mimics the gestures of my friend, rehearsing for his future character; and shoots at Brand and me from behind our tent, and missing fire, stabs the innocent Confederate envoy, who might betray him.

"When I forget my compact with Monsieur Mortlake, and show my affection for the great colonel, Thoms is there to menace me with meaning looks; and when I defy his hints and refuse to spy any longer upon my colonel's life, a letter comes from Mortlake quickening me by threats and promises. 'Tis penned, of course, by Thoms, and I never know it then.

"The history of those days you have discovered for yourself, mademoiselle, in that important note-book, which you seized with such high courage.

"Admirable woman! I bend the knee to you, for you rival in valor Joan of Arc. Without your heart of steel and hand of silk, the wary, lying fox might never have been lured from his hole and crushed; and the n.o.ble Colonel Brand might have lain forgotten and unavenged.

"Thus I come to the middle of the volume. The stories have met; I take up the ends of them; I twine them together, and, _voila!_ an _eclairciss.e.m.e.nt_! When I have run my little race in the ungrateful republic, I come home to England.

"I am free. I have money, health; I have a sacred duty to perform, an insult to avenge; I hasten into England, and seek my princ.i.p.al.

"_Ouais!_ are not the journals teeming with great news? '_The Great Castle Brand Plot_ meets my astonished eyes in every journal. The vile imposture is divulged, the daring murderer is condemned; his serpentine guile is held up; and with pa.s.sion I read that my valet Thoms and my employer Mortlake are one. I foam, I sweat with rage and shame, that he should have cheated me.

"Oh, _mon Dieu!_ that I should live to be cheated by _Thoms_! Why did I not saber him in those days in Virginia?

"I swear that I will have honorable satisfaction; the dog shall die for his treachery to a knight whose honor is more valued than his life.

"I know the old disguise of my Mortlake. I remember his haunts, I say.

England, I will find your criminal for you, but I shall have my little account settled with him before I pa.s.s him over to you.

"I hasten to Canterbury, where I have seen him first, and in his old haunt, plying his modest profession as gambler, I find my bird-of-the-jail, with the eye upon Paris when tracked to Canterbury, there to hide from angry England.

"I penetrate to his _cafe_, where he consorts with blacklegs, sharpers, and barmaids, and I gain a private audience of the great man in his exile.

"I snap the fingers in his face. _Tonnere!_ how white it grows! I cry:

"'Monsieur, you are no gentleman--you are _un fripon_, a rogue, a speaking cur! Monsieur, I spit upon you for a cur! Will you have pistols or sabers?'

"'Calembours, by all the devils!' groans my rat in the trap. 'Why, man, I thought you were dead long ago. If I hadn't thought so, I should have had you to help me through with that accursed plot, and paid you well for it, too----'

"'Liar!' I cry, 'I don't believe you! You are Thoms, and Thoms was a traitor. _Allons_, monsieur, will you meet me in the court out there?'

"'Calembours,' whines the slave, 'why need you trample on a down man?

n.o.body knows me here, and I'll give you my purse, my jewels, and a fine blood-horse which I have out there in the stable, if you'll let me escape to Dover to-night.'

"I weigh the purse, not so light, considering; the jewels--_par la messe!_ a million francs would not purchase them.

"But I do not falter; he has cheated me with a paltry trick, he has practiced upon my credulity--my credulity, mademoiselle, and a _chevalier d'honneur_ never forgives that.

"'Dog! you think to buy me!' I screamed, in my high indignation--'you, who have played your vile trick upon me, who have laughed under the hood at me. _You_, Thoms! Never, Monsieur Mortlake; but I will have your blood! Fox! beast! you shall be honored for the first time in your plebeian life--you shall fight with Calembours!'

"The slave recoils, for he knows the accuracy of the chevalier's aim, he knows the perfection of the chevalier's pa.s.ses; he loathes pistol and saber as a means of settling the dispute.

"Glaring at me, eye to eye, he casts about in his wily brain how to cheat me to my face--he was ever my superior in juggling tricks, although he had no bravery, except what paid him.

"But he is late in achieving his last throw for freedom--angry England has tracked the fugitive. A posse of _gens d'armes_--what you call police--pour into monsieur's private saloon, and advance to take my Mortlake.

"He glares at them with eyes of horror, gathers himself for a tiger's bound through their midst, and nearly gains the door.

"But he is caught--mid air; he is hurled to the floor; the shackles are on his wrists, the gyves are on his feet, and, with foam on his lips and murder in his eyes, he looks up at his captors.

"'Ha, ha! my bird!' jests a _gen d'armes_; 'you're caged at last. Your ticket of leave won't do any longer--it's out many a month ago; and, since you don't go in for road-work, in Tasmania, you can try the shortest road to glory.'

"The convict says never a word, but shuts his eyes and succ.u.mbs; and so they carry him away, and I have bade my last adieu to Monsieur Mortlake.

"_Ma chere_, there are ups in this world, and there are downs; I have seen both--I have been elevated to the highest pinnacle of fortune, and again thrown under fortune's wheel--but, mademoiselle, my honor has never been impugned, for it was above reproach.