The Unspeakable Gentleman Part 13

"I have changed my mind about the paper, Jason, and business presses. I fear it is time to end our interview."

"You mean you dare--"

"To accept a sum from you in payment of damage you have done my character? I should not dare to refuse it. Or let us put it this way, Jason. The paper is merely drawing interest. Positively, I cannot afford to give it up."

The red had risen again to my uncle's face, giving his features the color of ugly magenta. For a moment I thought he was going to leap at the slighter man before him, but my father never moved a muscle, only stood attentively watching him, with his hand folded behind his back.

"Show him the door, Brutus," he said briskly, "and as you go, Jason, remember this. I know exactly what dangers I am running without your telling me. For that reason I have ordered my servant to keep a fire burning in every room I occupy in this house. I make a point of sitting near these fires. If you or any of your friends so much as raise a finger against me, the paper is burned. And as for you--"

With a quick, delicate motion, he raised a hand, and drew a finger lightly across his throat.

"And as for you, Jason, even the slightest suspicion that you, or your paid murderers, are interfering in any way with my affairs, will give me too much pleasure. I think you understand. Pray don't make me overcome with joy, Jason; and now I wish you a very good morning."

But Uncle Jason had recovered from the first cold shock of his surprise.

He drew himself up to his full height. His jaw, heavy and c.u.mbersome always, thrust itself forward, and I could see the veins swell dangerously into a tangled, clotted ma.s.s on his temples. His fingers worked convulsively, as though clawing at some unseen object close beside him, and then his breath whistled through his teeth.

"You fool," he shouted suddenly, his temper bursting the weakened barriers of control. "You d.a.m.ned, unregenerate fool!"

And then, for an instant, my father's icy placidity left him. His lips leapt back from his teeth. There was a hissing whir of steel. His small sword made an arc of light through the yard of s.p.a.ce that parted them.

His body lunged forward.

"So you will have it, will you?" His words seemed to choke him. "Take it, then," he roared, "take it to h.e.l.l, where you belong."

It was, I say, the matter of an instant. In a leaden second he stood poised, his wrist drawn back, while the eyes of the other stared in horror at the long, thin blade. And then the welts of crimson that had mounted to his face, disfiguring it into a writhing fury, slowly effaced themselves. His lips once more a.s.sumed a thin, immobile line. Again his watchful indolence returned to him, and slowly, very slowly, he lowered the point to the floor's scarred surface. His voice returned to its pleasant modulation, and with his words returned his icy little smile.

"Your pardon, Jason," he said. "I fear I have been too much myself this morning. Thank your G.o.d, if you have one, that I was not entirely natural. Take him away, Brutus, he shall live a little longer."

But Brutus had no need to obey the order. My father stood, still smiling, watching the empty doorway. Then I realized that I was very cold and weak, and that my knees were sagging beneath me. I walked unsteadily to the table and leaned upon it heavily. Thoughtfully my father sheathed his small sword.

IX

"The morning begins auspiciously, does it not, my son?" he said. "And still the day is young. Indeed, it cannot be more than eleven of the clock. The rum decanter, Brutus."

The lines about his mouth softened as his gaze met mine, and his smile grew broader.

"I pride myself," he went on, "that my example is all I promised. I fear I shall fall down in only one respect. Perhaps you have observed it?"

"If I have," I answered, "I have forgotten."

"My table manners," he said. "I fear they are almost impeccable." And he walked over to the window, taking care, I noticed, not to stand in front of it.

"Sad, is it not, that I should fail in such a trivial matter? But it happened so long ago while I was courting your mother, to be exact. My father-in-law, rest his soul, was an atrocity at table. The viands, my son, scattered from his knife over the board, like chaff before the flail. Yet, will you believe it? Any time he chose to speak his mouth was always full. I watched him, watched him with wonder--or was it horror?--I cannot remember which. And I resolved to go, to go anywhere, but never to do likewise. The result today is perhaps unfortunate. Yet watch me, my son, even in that you see the practical value of a bad example."

"Yes," I said, "I am watching you."

He seemed about to turn from the window, and then something outside held his attention.

"Ha!" he said. "A sloop is coming in--a clumsy looking vessel. Whose is it, Henry?"

I walked to the window to get a better look, but he reached out and drew me near him.

"Let us be careful of the windows this morning. The light is bad, and we have very much the same figure. There. Now you can see it--out by the bar. It carries too much canvas forward and spills half the wind. Have you seen it before, Henry?"

The sun had been trying to break through the clouds, and a few rays had crept out, and glanced on the angry gray of the water, so that it shone here and there like scratches in dull lead. The three ships near our wharf were tossing fitfully, and on all three, the crews were busy with the rigging. Out further towards the broad curve of the horizon was the white smear of a sail, and as I looked, I could see the lines beneath the canvas. He was right. It was a sloop, running free with the tide pushing her on.

"Yes," I said, "I know the boat, though I do not see why she is putting in."

"Ah," said my father, "and do you not? And whose boat may she be, Henry?"

"Two days ago she sailed from Boston for France. She belongs to Jason Hill," I told him; and, a little puzzled, I looked again at the low dunes and the marshes by the harbor mouth.

"I think," my father murmured half to himself, "that perhaps after all I should have killed him. Brutus!"

Brutus, who had watched the scene with the same aloof politeness that he might have watched guests at the dinner table, moved quickly forward.

"Has no word come yet?"

Brutus grinned and shook his head.

"The devil," said my father. "Aiken was here last evening, and got the message I left him?"

Brutus nodded, and my father compressed his lips. Apparently deep in thought, he took a few unhurried steps across the room, and glanced about him critically.

"A busy day, my son," he said, "a very busy day, and a humorous one as well. They think they can get the paper. They think--but they are all mistaken."

"You are sure?" I inquired.

"Perfectly," said my father. "I shall dispose of it in my own way. I am merely waiting for the time."

"Huh!"

Brutus cupped his great hand behind his ear, and nodded violently. My father stepped toward the hallway, and listened. Above the hissing of the fire I heard a voice and footsteps. He straightened the lace about his wrists, and his features lost their strained attention. As he turned towards Brutus, he seemed younger and more alertly active than I had ever known him.

"Ah, what a day," he said, "what a day, to be sure. They are coming, Brutus. Gad, but the years have been long since I have waited for them!

Place the gla.s.ses on the table, Brutus. We still must be hospitable."

The knocker on our front door sent a violent summons, but my father did not seem to hear it. With graceful deliberation he was filling six gla.s.ses from the decanter.

"Keep to the back of the room, my son," he said, "and listen. Who do you think is coming? But you never can guess. Our neighbors, my son, our neighbors. First your uncle, and then our neighbors. We are holding a distinguished salon, are we not?"

But before I could answer or even conjecture why he should receive such a visit, my father gave a low exclamation, partly of surprise, and partly of well concealed annoyance, and stepped forward, bowing low.

Mademoiselle, bright-eyed, but very pale, had run into the morning room.

"The paper, captain," she cried, "are they coming for the paper? For, if they are, they shall not have it. You--"