The Unspeakable Gentleman Part 6

"Your pardon, Henry," he said quickly, "the movement was purely unconscious. I had thought we were through with pistols for the evening, and Mademoiselle must be fatigued. So put down the pistol, Henry, and let us continue the interview."

"Certainly," I replied, "as soon as you have fulfilled your part of the contract. As soon as you call off your servant, I shall wish you a very good evening. Stand where you are, Brutus."

"Come, come," said my father patiently, "we have had enough of the grotesque this evening. It is growing late, my son. Put down the pistol."

"Brutus," I called, "if you move again, backwards or forwards, I'll fire," and I backed towards the wall.

"Good," said my father. "Henry, you have an amount of courage and foresight which I scarcely expected, even in a son of mine, yet not enough foresight to see that it is useless. Put down the pistol. Put it down before I take it from you!"

His hand had returned again to his torn lapel, and he was leaning slightly forward.

"One instant, father!" I said quickly. "If you come a step nearer, I shall fire on your servant. Pray believe I am serious, father."

"My son!" he cried in mock alarm. "You distress me! Never be serious.

Life has too many disappointments for that. Have you not read Marcus Aurelius?"

"Have you reloaded your snuff box?" I asked him.

"Not that," he said, shaking his head, "but I know a hundred ways to disarm a man, otherwise I should not be here witnessing this original situation. My son, I could have killed you half a dozen times since you have been holding that weapon."

"Admitted," I answered, "but I hardly think you will go to such lengths.

We all must pause somewhere, father."

"No," he agreed, "unfortunately I am of a mild disposition, and yet--"

he made a sudden move toward me--"Do you realize your weapon is unprimed?"

"Shall I try it?" I asked.

"Excellent!" said my father. "You impress me. Yes, I have underrated your possibilities, Henry. However, the play is over--"

He leaned towards the table abruptly and extinguished both the candles.

The glow of embers in the fireplace could not relieve the darkness of the shuttered room.

"Now," he continued, "Mademoiselle is standing beside me, and Brutus is between you and me and approaching you. I think it would be safer if you put the pistol down. One's aim is uncertain in the dark, and, after all, it is not Mademoiselle's quarrel. Tell him to put down the pistol, Mademoiselle."

Her voice answered from the darkness in front of me.

"On the contrary," she said lightly, "pray continue. I have not the heart to stop it--nor the courage to interfere in a family quarrel."

"Quite as one would expect from Mademoiselle," his voice replied, "but fortunately my son also has not forgotten his manners. Henry, have you set down the pistol?"

I tossed it on the floor.

"Unfortunately," I said, "I have no woman to hide behind."

I hoped the thrust went home, but my father's voice answered without a tremor.

"You are right, my son. A woman is often useful, though generally when you least expect it. The candles, Brutus."

VI

He rubbed his fingernails on his sleeve and glanced about him with a pleasure he seemed quite unable to conceal. Mademoiselle's cold stare seemed to react upon him like a smile of grat.i.tude. The contempt on my face he seemed to read in terms of adulation.

"Brutus, pick up the pistol. My son, you are more amusing than I had hoped. Indeed, Mademoiselle, perhaps the old saying is right, that the best is in our door-yard. I have had, perhaps, an exceptional opportunity to see the world. I have spent a longer time than I like to think collecting material for enlivening reminiscence, but I cannot recall having been present before at a scene with so many elements of interest.

You harbor no ill feelings, my son?"

"None that are new," I said. "Only my first impressions."

"And they are--?" He paused modestly. He might have been awaiting a tribute.

"Father!" I remonstrated. "There is a lady present!"

"You had almost made me forget," he sighed regretfully. "You wished to have a word with me, Mademoiselle? I am listening. No, no, my son! You will be interested, I am sure. The door, Brutus!"

But it was not Brutus who stopped me. Mademoiselle had laid a hand on my arm. As I looked down at her, the bitterness and chagrin I had felt began slowly to ebb away. Her eyes met mine for a moment in thoughtful appraisal.

"You have been kind," she said softly, "Kind, and you know you have no reason--."

She might have continued, but my father interrupted.

"No reason," he said, "No reason? It is only Mademoiselle's complete disregard of self that prevents her from seeing the reason. A reason," he added, bowing, "which seems to me as natural as it is obvious."

I turned toward him quickly. From the corner of my eye I could see Brutus move nearer, and then Mademoiselle stepped between us.

"We have had quite enough of this," said Mademoiselle, and she looked from one to the other of us with a condescension that was not wholly displeasing. Then, fixing her eyes on my father, she continued:

"Not that I am in the least afraid of you, Captain Shelton. We have had to employ too many men like you not to know your type. Your son, I think, must take after his mother. I fear he thinks I am a damsel in distress. I trust, captain, that you know better, though for the moment, you seem to have forgotten."

"Forgotten?" my father echoed, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes," she said, speaking more quickly, "forgotten that you are in the pay of my family. You had contracted to get certain papers from France, which were in danger of being seized by the authorities."

Seemingly undecided how to go on, she hesitated, glanced at me covertly, and then continued.

"I accompanied you because--"

"Because you did not care to share the fate reserved for the papers?" my father suggested politely.

For a moment she was silent, staring at my father almost incredulously, while he inclined his head solicitously, as though ready to obey her smallest wish. Again I started to turn away.

"The door, Brutus," said my father.

"I am beginning to see I made a mistake in not remaining," Mademoiselle said finally. "Yet you--"

"Contrived to rescue both the papers and Mademoiselle, if I remember rightly," said my father, bowing, "an interesting and original undertaking, but pray do not thank me."