Mr. Fortescue Part 5

There were two ways from Kingscote to the station; one by the road, the other by a little-used footpath. I went by the road, and as I was buying my paper at Smith's bookstall the station-master told me that Mr.

Fortescue had returned by a train which came in about ten minutes previously.

"He must be walking home by the fields, then, or we should have met," I said; and pocketing my paper, I set off with the intention of overtaking him.

As I have already observed, the field way was little frequented, most people preferring the high-road as being equally direct and, except in the height of summer, both dryer and less lonesome.

After traversing two or three fields the foot-path ran through a thick wood, once part of the great forest of Ess.e.x, then descending into a deep hollow, it made a sudden bend and crossed a rambling old brook by a dilapidated bridge.

As I reached the bend I heard a shout, and looking down I saw what at first sight (the day being on the wane and the wood gloomy) I took to be three men amusing themselves with a little cudgel-play. But a second glance showed me that something much more like murder than cudgel-play was going on; and shortening my Irish blackthorn, I rushed at breakneck speed down the hollow.

I was just in time. Mr. Fortescue, with his back against the tree, was defending himself with his sword-stick against the two Italians, each of whom, armed with a long dagger, was doing his best to get at him without falling foul of the sword.

The rascals were so intent on their murderous business that they neither heard nor saw me, and, taking them in the rear, I fetched the guitar-player a crack on his skull that stretched him senseless on the ground, whereupon the other villain, without more ado, took to his heels.

"Thank you," said Mr. Fortescue, quietly, as he put up his weapon. "I don't think I could have kept the brigands at bay much longer. A sword-stick is no match for a pair of Corsican daggers. The next time I take a walk I must have a revolver. Is that fellow dead, do you think? If he is, I shall be still more in your debt."

I looked at the prostrate man's face, then at his head. "No," I said, "there is no fracture. He is only stunned." My diagnosis was verified almost as soon as it was spoken. The next moment the Italian opened his eyes and sat up, and had I not threatened him with my blackthorn would have sprung to his feet.

"You have to thank this gentleman for saving your life," said Mr.

Fortescue, in French.

"How?" asked the fellow in the same language.

"If you had killed me you would have been hanged. If I hand you over to the police you will get twenty years at the hulks for attempted murder, and unless you answer my questions truly I shall hand you over to the police. You are a Griscelli."

"Yes, sir."

"Which of them?"

"I am Giuseppe, the son of Giuseppe."

"In that case you are _his_ grandson. How did you find me out?"

"You were at Paris last summer."

"But you did not see me there."

"No, but Giacomo did; and from your name and appearance we felt sure you were the same."

"Who is Giacomo--your brother?"

"No, my cousin, the son of Luigi."

"What is he?"

"He belongs to the secret police."

"So Giacomo put you on the scent?"

"Yes, sir. He ascertained that you were living in England. The rest was easy."

"Oh, it was, was it? You don't find yourself very much at ease just now, I fancy. And now, my young friend, I am going to treat you better than you deserve. I can afford to do so, for, as you see, and, as your grandfather and your father discovered to their cost, I bear a charmed life. You cannot kill me. You may go. And I advise you to return to France or Corsica, or wherever may be your home, with all speed, for to-morrow I shall denounce you to the police, and if you are caught you know what to expect. Who is your accomplice--a kinsman?"

"No, only compatriot, whose acquaintance I made in London. He is a coward."

"Evidently. One more question and I have done. Have you any brothers?"

"Yes, sir; two."

"And about a dozen cousins, I suppose, all of whom would be delighted to murder me--if they could. Now, give that gentleman your dagger, and march, _au pas gymnastique_."

With a very ill grace, Giuseppe Griscelli did as he was bid, and then, rising to his feet, he marched, not, however, at the _pas gymnastique_, but slowly and deliberately; and as he reached a bend in the path a few yards farther on, he turned round and cast at Mr. Fortescue the most diabolically ferocious glance I ever saw on a human countenance.

CHAPTER V.

THEREBY HANGS A TALE.

"You believe now, I hope," said Mr. Fortescue, as we walked homeward.

"Believe what, sir?"

"That I have relentless enemies who seek my life. When I first told you of this you did not believe me. You thought I was the victim of an hallucination, else had I been more frank with you."

"I am really very sorry."

"Don't protest! I cannot blame you. It is hard for people who have led uneventful lives and seen little of the seamy side of human nature to believe that under the veneer of civilization and the mask of convention, hatreds are still as fierce, men still as revengeful as ever they were in olden times.... I hope I did not make a mistake in sparing young Griscelli's life."

"Sparing his life! How?"

"He sought my life, and I had a perfect right to take his."

"That is not a very Christian sentiment, Mr. Fortescue."

"I did not say it was. Do you always repay good for evil and turn your check to the smiter, Mr. Bacon?"

"If you put it in that way, I fear I don't."

"Do you know anybody who does?"

After a moment's reflection I was again compelled to answer in the negative. I could not call to mind a single individual of my acquaintance who acted on the principle of returning good for evil.

"Well, then, if I am no better than other people, I am no worse. Yet, after all, I think I did well to let him go. Had I killed the brigand, there would have been a coroner's inquest, and questions asked which might have been troublesome to answer, and he has brothers and cousins. If I could destroy the entire brood! Did you see the look he gave me as he went away? It meant murder. We have not seen the last of Giuseppe Griscelli, Mr. Bacon."

"I am afraid we have not. I never saw such an expression of intense hatred in my life! Has he cause for it?"