Читать книгу Franks: Duellist - Ambrose Pratt - Страница 4

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AFTER the first sharp exuberance of my delight at the unexpected turn of fortune's wheel had passed, I questioned Richards closely and ascertained that the rascal, after assuring himself that I was actually asleep, had hidden my pistols and then crept out into the streets. He had hurried to the houses of most of my lady friends to implore their assistance in preserving my life, but the early hour had defeated his affectionate intentions. In every case he had been denied admission, and, finally driven desperate he had accosted half a score of strangers in the streets. These must have taken him for a drunken maniac, for they generally refused to hearken to his appeal, all save Messidor, who immediately, on hearing my name, heartily agreed to my lackey's proposition and made his way at top speed to my rooms. Beyond this Richards knew nothing of the man, and the encounter and subsequent adventure were the outcome of purest chance. It was a golden chance for me, however, and I found it hard to credit, that so great a sum was actually in my possession.

I breakfasted that morning with as light a heart as any man in the kingdom; then having sent Richards on a message, I concealed the bulk of the notes in a hiding-place so cunningly contrived that I would have defied Vidocq himself to discover it.

At noon, precisely, I waited upon Lord Francis Eveston at his rooms in Oxford Street. A dozen gentlemen were lounging there sipping a new liquor called whisky, which was already achieving popularity by reason of its capacity for producing intoxication by express. A beastly draught, I call it, and unfitted to placate a refined palate, exuding as it does, moreover, a noxious odour of stale breath.

Lord Francis, who was fencing behind a mask with Egerton Bailey of the 10th Hussars, called to me over his shoulder as I entered,—

'I have been waiting for you, Franks; pour yourself out a glass of whisky.'

Now it seemed to me that I was punctual enough considering the hour had not commenced to chime.

'No, I thank you,' I murmured, 'but please inform me the reason of your expectation. It is not yet the hour; did you permit yourself to suppose that I would fail you?' My words and my frown brought the fencing to an abrupt conclusion.

'By no means, my dear fellow,' cried Eveston, with absurd haste. 'Damn the money! The fact is I have news for you.'

I raised my eyebrows, shrugged my shoulders, and drew from my pocket six hundred pounds. 'I presume you have no objection to be paid in Government notes,' I suggested. But I was utterly unprepared for the sensation my action caused.

The whole party clustered round me and stared at the notes as if they were the only documents of that nature in the world.

'Good heavens!' cried Bailey, trembling with excitement. 'Just as he said.'

'Good God!' gasped Eveston.

'What do you mean, sir?' I demanded sternly. 'Are you not satisfied? Here is your money.'

But Eveston fell back and refused to touch the notes, and the crowd gaped at me as though I had been suddenly transformed into a monster.

A thousand thoughts and suspicions flitted through my brain. A nameless fear assailed my heart. I felt I was trembling on the brink of a precipice, but I had been too long a gambler to allow a trace of my emotion to appear.

'What is the meaning of this insult?' I demanded, my hand on my sword, and shooting a glance at each in turn.

My gesture was unmistakable, and I flatter myself I can always assume an expression formidable enough to extort reason from those who know me.

Young Cavanagh, who had been eyeing me with open disdain, allowed his glance to fall. Somerset turned pale. Carew tugged at his moustache. Bailey nudged Eveston with his elbow. 'Better tell him,' he whispered. Young Belmont swung on his heel, while of all present only Eveston returned my glance, assuming that severely judicial air for which he afterwards became noted on the Bench.

'A serious charge has been preferred against you, Lord Caryl,' he answered, 'and your offer to me of these Treasury notes imparts a certain amount of circumstantial evidence in support.'

With a flash of inspiration the whole matter became plain to me.

'First the charge!' I demanded, assuming my most insolent demeanour.

But Eveston fumbled with his hands and appeared anything but comfortable. 'Be assured first, Lord Caryl, that I in no way assumed the charge to be true. When you entered I was about to mention the matter as a jest. It was only when you offered me Treasury notes that the affair looked serious.'

I stamped my foot. 'The charge first; afterwards your excuses—and satisfying excuses too, Lord Francis!'

'If they are needed,' he returned coldly. 'A gentleman, introduced here by no less a person than the Prince, informed us that he had early this morning been lured to your rooms and violently robbed by you of no less a sum than ten thousand pounds in Treasury bills. He further stated that you would visit me at noon and pay your last night's losses by means of a portion of those very bills.'

I smiled derisively. 'A very pretty story,' I commented; 'and this gentleman's name?'

'Here is his card—Jean Jacques Carondel, Marquis de Sevringen.'

'Then,' said I very coolly, 'Jean Jacques Carondel, Marquis de Sevringen, whom I presume is a Frenchman and a Royalist, among his other great accomplishments—for I have not the honour of the gentleman's acquaintance, and I can only judge of the rest by the evidence before me—is an expert—a remarkably expert, circumstantial and most rascally liar.'

A long sigh as of pent-up excitement suddenly given rein greeted my words, and with the speed of thought the gentlemen about me parted into a double line, leaving me standing between the rows. It was done with miraculous cleverness, like a stage play. I turned to inquire the reason and beheld facing me, the width of the room between us, His Royal Highness Prince George, leaning upon the arm of my morning visitor, Carne Messidor.

Experiences such as this, and the manner in which I was able to carry myself through them, have reconciled me more than aught else to remember with philosophic resignation my long, and I fear not altogether reputable, attachment to the card-table. The professional gambler, his apprenticeship once served, is par excellence captain of his features. I declare that I fronted my new trial with visage calmly imperturbable. If possible I was too indifferent. My lips parted in a pleasant smile. I bowed profoundly to the Prince. 'How does your Royal Highness this morning?' I queried in a voice that contained no suspicion of tremulousness.

The Prince eyed me gravely, and barely nodded to my salute, then he turned to the Frenchman.

'Is this the man, marquis?' he asked.

'Yes, your Highness,' answered Messidor, or, as I suppose I should call him, the Marquis de Sevringen.

'I understand, sir,' said the Prince to me in his severest tones, 'that you deny all acquaintance with my friend here.'

'Pardon, your Highness, only with the Marquis de Sevringen; Monsieur Carne Messidor I know to my cost.'

'Carne Messidor!' repeated the Prince, puzzled.

'Your Highness's friend,' (I laid a nasty emphasis on the word) 'evidently possesses several names. Your Highness has listened to a grave charge made against me by this Frenchman——'

'Your Highness,' interrupted the marquis, very rudely to my thinking, 'is it necessary to bandy words with this robber? Is it not rather a matter for your courts of law? I make the charge that this man has stolen from my person ten thousand pounds. From behind that curtain I perceived him offer to Milord Eveston some of the very notes which he this morning abstracted from my pocket; no doubt the remainder are still at his rooms. I implore your Highness's assistance to save my property. Should not this man be placed in custody?'

'Can you swear to the notes?' asked the Prince, with some hesitation.

'Undoubtedly.'

The matter commenced to wear for me a very black appearance, and this I was not slow to realise. Of course I knew this French marquis to be an agent of Napoleon and no Bourbon at all. But he evidently had acquired the friendship of the Prince by some devilish means, and he had been clever enough to discount any charge I might prefer against him by striking first and accusing me of robbery. I commenced to actually admire the man, but, as will no doubt be surmised, my admiration was largely mixed with other emotions. It was not long before I had resolved upon my course, and the gambler's spirit within me loudly acclaimed the determination to risk all on a single shuffle of the cards.

Slowly drawing the notes from my pocket I made a low bow to the Prince. 'This Frenchman, your Royal Highness,' I observed with a fine assumption of scorn, 'declares that I have robbed him and states that he can identify the notes. Now this bundle of notes represents my worldly wealth, your Highness will discover, exactly nine hundred pounds.' Here I handed the bundle to the Prince, who received them in astonishment. I proceeded with another low reverence: 'As an Englishman, your Royal Highness, and a loyal subject, I place myself unreservedly in your hands. If the Frenchman will identify those notes by the only certain means possible, and correctly state their numbers, their numbers' (I repeated),' to your Royal Highness, then——' I spread out my hands and shrugged my shoulders.

The marquis perceptibly changed colour. 'I am not a banker to keep the numbers of notes, but' (he snapped this out viciously) 'my notes are all marked on the back with a blue cross.'

I was equal to this emergency. 'The way your Royal Highness is holding the notes allows this fact to be readily perceived,' I observed with a gesture of contempt. 'I always mark my notes for luck.'

This was a common enough practice among gamblers, and I could see that the Prince, and in fact the whole audience, were wavering between us. I instantly made a hazard, the risk to me of which was infinitely more deadly than my other lucky shot, but I saw one chance, for it was reasonable to suppose that this rascal who had tried to bribe me to betray my country must have originally been supplied with French gold, and mayhap recently, in which case he would not dare to carry the matter further.

'There is a simple way of settling this dispute, your Royal Highness,' I remarked with splendid nonchalance. 'Your friend' (with a sneer) 'doubtless obtained his notes, if he ever possessed any, from some person or other, or from a bank. In either case the numbers must be easily obtainable.'

'Good!' cried the Prince, much relieved. 'What say you, marquis?'

But the Frenchman was biting his lips with rage.

'Ah!' he hissed, 'long before I can obtain the numbers the rest of my money will be gone.'

'Will your Royal Highness deign to accompany me to my poor rooms and allow this mad Frenchman to search for himself?' I asked politely.

'Sang de Dieu,' grated out the marquis; 'then you have disposed of your stolen goods already?'

It was exactly what I required, this speech.

I stepped back two paces to deliver the climax.

'Your Royal Highness and gentlemen,' I cried in a clear, ringing voice, 'I call you to witness how long I have submitted, in deference to your Royal Highness's presence, to this man's infernal insults.

'He has come forward and gratuitously made a diabolical charge against me. Shielded by the protection of my Prince, this man, a Frenchman, and in my humble opinion a dastardly traitor to God and man, has dared to traduce an Englishman's dearest honour; I have defied him to prove his words; he has answered with fresh abuse. Your Royal Highness, I crave your pardon, but I am, after all, only flesh and blood; there is a limit to my self-control, and that boundary has been passed.' With a swift movement I advanced and deliberately spat in the Frenchman's face.

It appeared to me that for the moment I had actually—I, that devil Franks!—achieved a certain popularity. No doubt it was largely due to my artful accentuation of the opposing nationalities, but nevertheless a distinct hum of approval greeted my action. Lord Francis Eveston went so far as to clap his hands. Even the Prince gave vent to a good-humoured oath. It was the first time in my life that I had been universally acclaimed. And now a word in apology for my brutality. It seemed to me absolutely necessary that I must kill this Frenchman. In the first place, it was a duty I felt that I owed my country to clip his capacity for working public ill. In the second, his money was undoubtedly in my possession, and only after his death could I feel perfectly at ease in spending it, for he was evidently a creature of infinite resource and daring, and he had reason enough to work hard for my downfall. Had I merely slapped his face he might have refused to fight me and his refusal have been upheld by the others while my innocence or guilt remained in doubt. It therefore became needful to adopt a course sufficiently provoking to force even a pig to fight.

I am bound to confess the Frenchman bore himself gallantly enough; he wiped his face with a dainty lace mouckoir, which he presently threw, with magnificent disdain, into the blazing fire. His cheeks had grown a queer fish-white colour, like to the pallor of a three days' corpse, but, by Saint John, his eyes were hotter and fiercer than live coals. He fronted the Prince with horrible composure and forced out words between clenched teeth by sheer physical effort.

'Your Highness,' he muttered in a whisper so low that none but my ears heard, 'has been good enough to accept certain gifts from me,' I pricked up my ears at this and recognised the cause of the Prince's complaisance to the marquis. 'I beg one favour in return.'

'Name it,' muttered the Prince.

'That your Royal Highness will condescend to witness a fencing match which I have the honour to propose should take place immediately between myself and this'—(his face went suddenly purple) 'this gentleman.'

The Prince turned red with vexation, and perhaps alarm.

I went to his assistance. 'You see, your Highness,' I cried gaily, 'we each fancy our own style of sword-manship, and the only method open to find the master is a match, with buttons on the foils, of course.'

'Of course,' grated the marquis.

Everybody acclaimed this proposal, and the Prince, though much against his will, presently agreed, only strenuously insisting that the buttons should be firmly placed.

In two minutes we were ready and the swords crossed. Then a strange thing happened! The marquis's foot tripped and he fell to the ground. As if such accidents were infectious I followed suit, and when we arose each of our blades had glittering points.

'The buttons are off! Stop!' cried the Prince, angrily.

I stared at my blade, the marquis stared at his.

'Your Royal Highness is surely mistaken,' I ventured humbly.

'Surely,' echoed the marquis.

The Prince appealed to the others. 'The foils are bare!' he cried.

One and all assured him of his mistake, and presently, with a soul-comforting curse, he sank back in his chair and shaded his eyes with his hand. 'The devil take you all!' he growled.

For the first time in my life I paraded before a sympathetic audience. Though no word in my favour had been spoken I felt it in my bones, and I knew that every man there ardently desired me to beat the Frenchman. The feeling gave me additional strength, confidence and composure. Hitherto I had invariably fought in the presence of those who would have welcomed my defeat with thankful hearts, and the knowledge of that disposition had ever nerved me to a recklessness irreconcilable with a display of perfect skill. But now I was at my best. I determined to kill my opponent, and with all the assurance of destiny I marked the spot on his shirt front where my blade should enter to search his heart. The marquis was a fine exponent of one style of fence and one style only—that of the Italian school. In that I admit he was near perfect. But I had mastered all schools and styles, and very soon he perceived that his life was at my mercy.

I paid him many compliments as we proceeded, but he never relaxed from a fixed, dog-like grin. His blade once slipped past my head, only a swerve saved me. I pierced the lobe of his left ear by way of return. His blade passed between my left arm and my body; in exchange I cut his lower lip in two. One thing, however, I could not fail to notice in his fence. He left his breast entirely unprotected. Suspecting a ruse I feinted in such a manner as to lead him to expect a fatal thrust. He actually courted the disaster, for throwing up his sword he made no counter thrust. I was confounded with surprise, for no tyro could have been so foolish. I reasoned as I played with him, and presently hazarded a guess. To make sure I forced a smart rally, and in the midst of it pricked at his heart. My blade grated on steel armour, and without doubt, had I thrust hard enough I should have been left with a broken and useless sword. Thereafter he fought like a fiend incarnate, and only my skill and activity saved me from several vicious thrusts, but at last, with a swift lunge and turn of wrist, I sent his blade spinning from his grasp and he stood at my mercy, my point at his throat, his life mine to take or give.

His face, pallid before, was livid as a ghost, but I marked another emotion in him now. Fear—craven fear! He could not speak for fear, and his teeth rattled like castanets. I gently pricked his throat; he fell back step by step, I following him, until brought up by the wall he was constrained to pause. The silence in that room was the silence of a charnel house—intense, ghastly, full of horrid mystery. I was the god in the machine. I broke the silence.

'Undress, monsieur,' I commanded.

He actually snivelled.

'Undress, monsieur,' I icily repeated, 'or die.'

As I said these words a gleam of craven hope crept into his bloodshot eyes. His teeth still chattering, he drew off his shirt, and there, manifest to all, the coward stood revealed, for from neck to brisket he wore an undershirt of chain steel impenetrable by sword or dagger.

I stood over him, believe me, magnificent in my scorn. 'This, your Royal Highness,' I said, 'is the creature who would assail the honour of an Englishman. I will not defame by his death a sword which as yet has only drunk gallant blood.'

Then with a gesture of disdain I sent my rapier rattling back into its scabbard.

The marquis caught up his clothes and hurried to the door. There he paused an instant and stared at me, hungrily, hungrily, yet gave utterance to no word. For long afterwards the memory of that glance haunted me. It was the look of a lost soul who gazes on the objective cause of its damnation. It was the glance of a demon full of venom and most poisonous ill-will. When the door closed I stared blankly at the panels, half regretting the impulse which had made me spare a life.

But a heavy hand on my shoulder aroused me to the present, and Prince George's uncouth but merry voice rang in my ear.

'For Gad! Franks, I wouldn't like to stand afore your sword, man. Well, we've done a good morning's work between us: you've bowled out a blackguard, I've paid off a long score—Gad! yes, a long score indeed. Well, what say, shall we lunch together?'

There ensued the marvellous spectacle of the First Gentleman of England walking arm-in-arm down Piccadilly with 'that devil Franks.'

Every face we met in our march went yellow with curiosity. Men stopped, stared and rubbed their eyes.

Truly, to more than me the world seemed turning topsy-turvey.