The Snare Part 26

She made a good recovery. "I possess the knowledge that you should possess yourself," she told him. "I know Ned for a man incapable of such a thing. I am ready to swear that he could not have done it."

"I see: evidence as to character." He sank back into his chair and thoughtfully stirred his chocolate. "It may weigh with the court. But I am not the court, and my mere opinions can do nothing for Ned Tremayne."

Her ladyship looked at him wildly. "The court?" she cried. "Do you mean that I shall have to give evidence?"

"Naturally," he answered. "You will have to say what you saw."

"But--but I saw nothing."

"Something, I think."

"Yes; but nothing that can matter."

"Still the court will wish to hear it and perhaps to examine you upon it."

"Oh no, no!" In her alarm she half rose, then sank again to her chair.

"You must keep me out of this, Terence. I couldn't--I really couldn't."

He laughed with an affectation of indulgence, masking something else.

"Why," he said, "you would not deprive Tremayne of any of the advantages to be derived from your testimony? Are you not ready to bear witness as to his character? To swear that from your knowledge of the man you are sure he could not have done such a thing? That he is the very soul of honour, a man incapable of anything base or treacherous or sly?"

And then at last Sylvia, who had been watching them, and seeking to apply to what she heard the wild expressions that Sir Terence had used to herself last night, broke into the conversation.

"Why do you apply these words to Captain Tremayne?" she asked.

He turned sharply to meet the opposition he detected in her. "I don't apply them. On the contrary, I say that, as Una knows, they are not applicable."

"Then you make an unnecessary statement, a statement that has nothing to do with the case. Captain Tremayne has been arrested for killing Count Samoval in a duel. A duel may be a violation of the law as recently enacted by Lord Wellington, but it is not an offence against honour; and to say that a man cannot have fought a duel because a man is incapable of anything base or treacherous or sly is just to say a very foolish and meaningless thing."

"Oh, quite so," the adjutant, admitted. "But if Tremayne denies having fought, if he shelters himself behind a falsehood, and says that he has not killed Samoval, then I think the statement a.s.sumes some meaning."

"Does Captain Tremayne say that?" she asked him sharply.

"It is what I understood him to say last night when I ordered him under arrest."

"Then," said Sylvia, with full conviction, "Captain Tremayne did not do it."

"Perhaps he didn't," Sir Terence admitted. "The court will no doubt discover the truth. The truth, you know, must prevail," and he looked at his wife again, marking the fresh signs of agitation she betrayed.

Mullins coming to set fresh covers, the conversation was allowed to lapse. Nor was it ever resumed, for at that moment, with no other announcement save such as was afforded by his quick step and the click-click of his spurs, a short, slight man entered the quadrangle from the doorway of the official wing.

The adjutant, turning to look, caught his breath suddenly in an exclamation of astonishment.

"Lord Wellington!" he cried, and was immediately on his feet.

At the exclamation the new-comer checked and turned. He wore a plain grey undress frock and white stock, buckskin breeches and lacquered boots, and he carried a riding-crop tucked under his left arm. His features were bold and sternly handsome; his fine eyes singularly piercing and keen in their glance; and the sweep of those eyes now took in not merely the adjutant, but the spread table and the ladies seated before it. He halted a moment, then advanced quickly, swept his c.o.c.ked hat from a brown head that was but very slightly touched with grey, and bowed with a mixture of stiffness and courtliness to the ladies.

"Since I have intruded so unwittingly, I had best remain to make my apologies," he said. "I was on my way to your residential quarters, O'Moy, not imagining that I should break in upon your privacy in this fashion."

O'Moy with a great deference made haste to rea.s.sure him on the score of the intrusion, whilst the ladies themselves rose to greet him. He bore her ladyship's hand to his lips with perfunctory courtesy, then insisted upon her resuming her chair. Then he bowed--ever with that mixture of stiffness and deference--to Miss Armytage upon her being presented to him by the adjutant.

"Do not suffer me to disturb you," he begged them. "Sit down, O'Moy. I am not pressed, and I shall be monstrous glad of a few moments' rest.

You are very pleasant here," and he looked about the luxuriant garden with approving eyes.

Sir Terence placed the hospitality of his table at his lordship's disposal. But the latter declined graciously.

"A gla.s.s of wine and water, if you will. No more. I breakfasted at Torres Vedras with Fletcher." Then to the look of astonishment on the faces of the ladies he smiled. "Oh yes," he a.s.sured them, "I was early astir, for time is very precious just at present, which is why I drop unannounced upon you from the skies, O'Moy." He took the gla.s.s that Mullins proffered on a salver, sipped from it, and set it down.

"There is so much vexation, so much hindrance from these pestilential intriguers here in Lisbon, that I have thought it as well to come in person and speak plainly to the gentlemen of the Council of Regency." He was peeling off his stout riding-gloves as he spoke. "If this campaign is to go forward at all, it will go forward as I dispose. Then, too, I wanted to see Fletcher and the works. By gad, O'Moy, he has performed miracles, and I am very pleased with him--oh, and with you too. He told me how ably you have seconded him and counselled him where necessary.

You must have worked night and day, O'Moy." He sighed. "I wish that I were as well served in every direction." And then he broke off abruptly.

"But this is monstrous tedious for your ladyship, and for you, Miss Armytage. Forgive me."

Her ladyship protested the contrary, professing a deep interest in military matters, and inviting his lordship to continue. Lord Wellington, however, ignoring the invitation, turned the conversation upon life in Lisbon, inquiring hopefully whether they found the place afforded them adequate entertainment.

"Indeed yes," Lady O'Moy a.s.sured him. "We are very gay at times. There are private theatricals and dances, occasionally an official ball, and we are promised picnics and water-parties now that the summer is here."

"And in the autumn, ma'am, we may find you a little hunting," his lordship promised them. "Plenty of foxes; a rough country, though; but what's that to an Irishwoman?" He caught the quickening of Miss Armytage's eye. "The prospect interests you, I see."

Miss Armytage admitted it, and thus they made conversation for a while, what time the great soldier sipped his wine and water to wash the dust of his morning ride from his throat. When at last he set down an empty gla.s.s Sir Terence took this as the intimation of his readiness to deal with official matters, and, rising, he announced himself entirely at his lordship's service.

Lord Wellington claimed his attention for a full hour with the details of several matters that are not immediately concerned with this narrative. Having done, he rose at last from Sir Terence's desk, at which he had been sitting, and took up his riding-crop and c.o.c.ked hat from the chair where he had placed them.

"And now," he said, "I think I will ride into Lisbon and endeavour to come to an understanding with Count Redondo and Don Miguel Forjas."

Sir Terence advanced to open the door. But Wellington checked him with a sudden sharp inquiry.

"You published my order against duelling, did you not?"

"Immediately upon receiving it, sir."

"Ha! It doesn't seem to have taken long for the order to be infringed, then." His manner was severe, his eyes stern. Sir Terence was conscious of a quickening of his pulses. Nevertheless his answer was calmly regretful:

"I am afraid not."

The great man nodded. "Disgraceful! I heard of it from Fletcher this morning. Captain What's-his-name had just reported himself under arrest, I understand, and Fletcher had received a note from you giving the grounds for this. The deplorable part of these things is that they always happen in the most troublesome manner conceivable. In Berkeley's case the victim was a nephew of the Patriarch's. Samoval, now, was a person of even greater consequence, a close friend of several members of the Council. His death will be deeply resented, and may set up fresh difficulties. It is monstrous vexatious." And abruptly he asked "What did they quarrel about?"

O'Moy trembled, and his glance avoided the other's gimlet eye. "The only quarrel that I am aware of between them," he said, "was concerned with this very enactment of your lordship's. Samoval proclaimed it infamous, and Tremayne resented the term. Hot words pa.s.sed between them, but the altercation was allowed to go no further at the time by myself and others who were present."

His lordship had raised his brows. "By gad, sir," he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, "there almost appears to be some justification for the captain. He was one of your military secretaries, was he not?"

"He was."

"Ha! Pity! Pity!" His lordship was thoughtful for a moment. Then he dismissed the matter. "But then orders are orders, and soldiers must learn to obey implicitly. British soldiers of all degrees seem to find the lesson difficult. We must inculcate it more sternly, that is all."

O'Moy's honest soul was in torturing revolt against the falsehoods he had implied--and to this man of all men, to this man whom he reverenced above all others, who stood to him for the very fount of military honour and lofty principle! He was in such a mood that one more question on the subject from Wellington and the whole ghastly truth must have come pouring from his lips. But no other question came. Instead his lordship turned on the threshold and held out his hand.

"Not a step farther, O'Moy. I've left you a ma.s.s of work, and you are short of a secretary. So don't waste any of your time on courtesies. I shall hope still to find the ladies in the garden so that I may take my leave without inconveniencing them."

And he was gone, stepping briskly with clicking spurs, leaving O'Moy hunched now in his chair, his body the very expression of the dejection that filled his soul.