Читать книгу The Court of St. Simon - E. Phillips Oppenhein - Страница 8

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VALENTIN SIMON, Vicomte de Souspennier, leaned back in his chair upon the worn gray terrace of his chateau in the valley of the Seine, his coffee untasted, a cigarette burning idly between his fingers. His eyes were fixed upon that broad ribbon of white road which stretched from the horizon to the village beneath, straight as the hand of man could build it. It was the road from Paris, and a visitor was even then on his way to the chateau.

The chateau itself was old and rugged, the splendid remains of a fourteenth century fortress. Its interior was a veritable study in contrasts. Some of the rooms seemed to have been left untouched for hundreds of years. Others—the more habitable portion—showed with absolute ruthlessness the modernizing hand of science. On a corner of the round table where Valentin had recently lunched was a telephone instrument, brought out from the room beyond. Even as he watched he raised the receiver to his ear.

"It is the station-master at Neuilly?" he asked. "The mid-day express from Paris, it has arrived? Yes? My car has left, then. Ten minutes ago? Many thanks." He replaced the instrument and looked once more along the road. In his quiet country clothes he had certainly lost none of the distinction which had attracted the favorable notice of so well known a dandy as Eugène d'Argminac. Without a doubt, Valentin, Vicomte de Souspennier, was good to look upon. In his English-made tweeds his long, lithe frame, sinewy, without an ounce of fat, his easy carriage, his slim yet powerful shoulders, were even more noticeable. His face would have been colorless but for a slight tinge of brown; his clear eyes, his glossy brown hair, were trustworthy indices of his perfect physical condition. He looked, indeed, as much at home here, amidst his country surroundings, as in the Abbaye.

Soon a little cloud of dust in the road attracted his attention. He touched a bell by his side. "Monsieur Briane arrives," he told the footman who answered it. "See that fresh coffee be sent up, and liqueurs."

The man withdrew. The car, being driven at a great pace, was soon ascending the tortuous way leading from the village to the chateau, which was literally built upon a rock. Every now and then Valentin caught sight of it with its solitary occupant, flashing through an opening in the trees, climbing up the steep, almost precipitous drive.

Soon it came to a standstill below and Valentin leaned forward.

"Welcome, my friend Briane!" he exclaimed. "Come this way, up the steps. So! The man will take your coat. You are sure that you have lunched?"

"A thousand thanks, Monsieur, I lunched upon the train," the man replied. "With your permission!"

He sank into the seat indicated by Valentin. He, at least, fitted strangely with his surroundings. Everything in his face and general appearance seemed to denote the liver by night. His cheeks were pale and thin, his eyes deep sunken, his bony fingers stained with cigarette smoke. His clothes were Parisian, and one realized that he had with difficulty refrained from the silk hat. He helped himself a little eagerly to brandy and lit a cigarette.

"It is pleasant of you, my dear Briane, to pay me a visit in my country solitude," Valentin remarked, "but I very much fear that it is no ordinary business which has brought you from Paris so early in the day."

"It is no ordinary business, Monsieur," Briane admitted, nodding his head vigorously, "no ordinary business, indeed. What is it that I said to Mademoiselle Josephine only one week ago to-night? 'Monsieur,' I said, 'must do as he thinks best, but he acts too much upon the whim of a moment. It is enough for him that he wishes it and he brings to an assignation, whose secrecy is the very breath of our lives, the veriest strangers. The whim assails him and he invites. What is it that he does by this? He risks everything—everything!'"

Briane was puffing vigorously at his cigarette. His eyes were bright, his tone had been almost hysterical. Valentin regarded his companion gravely. "My indiscretions," he declared with a sigh, "are part of myself. I cannot help them, my dear friend. If I were to promise to be more careful in the future, it would be of no avail. The same thing would happen again, without a doubt. Now tell me, what is it that I have done?"

"A week ago to-night," Briane exclaimed, "you brought to the Rue Druot and to the hospital a young man whose acquaintance you made at the Abbaye only a few moments before. The young man you presented to me—it was your friend, it was enough! By chance, the very next day I met with him, late in the afternoon, at a little bar where I take my aperitif, close to the Elysées Palace. We drank together and we talked."

"Well, I hope you got on well with him, Briane?"

"He pleased me," admitted Briane, "in a way he pleased me. He seemed to me to possess something of the modern spirit. I sympathized with him. Notwithstanding his youth, and a certain immaturity of thought which one could not fail to observe, he was still superior in many ways to those others of his age whom one meets. We spoke together of what he had seen the night before."

Valentin smiled. "I should really like to know," he murmured, "exactly what that young man's impressions were."

"I can perhaps inform you," Briane continued drily. "He found the evening exceedingly interesting, but when he came to examine his sensations afterwards, he was conscious of a certain amount of disappointment. There was, he observed, nothing criminal in what had taken place; nothing, to use his own words, which was unmoral. What was done was deserved. It was, after all, only the inexorable law of justice."

"Dear me!" remarked Valentin. "Was this his point of view or yours?"

"We were, perhaps, agreed," confessed Briane, "on this matter. You know very well, Monsieur, that there are those of us whose aid you frequently seek, and under whose protection, indeed, you carry out your enterprises, who go further than you would dare."

Valentin knocked the ash from his cigarette. "Come," he said, "'dare' isn't quite the right word. I know that some of you in the Rue Druot, some of those who use the place, I mean, are criminals. I have not the slightest objection to making use of them where it is necessary. I have even found a certain thrill of interest from association with them. My direct connection with them, however, ceases at that point."

Briane spread out his hands. "'Dare' is not the word I should have used," he admitted. "Monsieur le Vicomte has reason in what he says. Still, to revert to our young friend Monsieur d'Argminac. Not unnaturally, you will say, his point of view was not without its appeal to me. He was a protegé of yours—it was enough! The night before last he came to the Rue Druot at my invitation."

"The night before last," Valentin said softly, "was the night of the outrage in the Place Ceinture." Briane nodded and glanced for a moment around.

"Monsieur le Vicomte," he whispered, "your young friend D'Argminac was present. It was I who arranged it."

There was a short silence. Valentin's face had become a shade sterner. "Why do you come to tell me this?" he asked coldly.

"It is because of that young imbecile," Briane continued. "All went well, but at the critical moment fear paralyzed him. He could not retreat, he could not even reach his automobile."

"You don't mean to say that he was arrested?" Valentin demanded.

"He was not arrested," answered Briane, "but when the gendarmes came he was held as a passer-by, asked many questions, none of which he seems to have been able to answer through sheer terror, and he will be called as a witness to-morrow in the court. This is what comes of taking strangers into our secrets!"

"My dear Briane," Valentin objected, "I think that you are a little unreasonable. I am quite willing to take the responsibility for bringing the boy to the Rue Druot and on to the hospital, but it seems to me that this is a very different thing which you have done. You know very well that I have no sympathy with such deeds as the deed of the night before last. If you choose to indulge in such and to invite your own audience, I take no responsibility. Why have you come to me?"

"Because," Briane replied, "it is my firm conviction that the young man means to tell everything, not only the events of the night before last, but of his meeting with you, his introduction to me, the Rue Druot and the hospital."

Valentin smoked silently for a moment. "Well," he finally said, "my opinion of you, Briane—my honest opinion—is that you are a consummate ass."

The man's eyes flashed angrily, but he said nothing.

"Having relieved my mind to that extent," Valentin continued, "may I ask what you think I can do in the matter?"

"You must see him," Briane declared. "To me his doors are closed. I have sent my name up in vain. He is confined to his room, his servants say, suffering from shock. Nevertheless, one of them is to be bought. I can have you admitted."

"But what do you gain by that?" asked Valentin. "What can I do even if I see him?"

Briane leaned forward in his chair. The flesh seemed drawn tightly over his cheekbones; underneath there were hollows. His eyes were dry and bright. "Monsieur le Vicomte," he said, "you have gifts, great gifts. You do not fully make use of them, but that is your own affair. You would say to that, perhaps, as you say to so many things, that it is not worth while. Still, you have a tongue, you have a manner, you have force, you have the magnetic persuasion which we lesser mortals lack. If you lay your finger upon his lips, he will not speak."

Valentin leaned back in his chair. He looked over the smooth, sunny landscape, with its tall rows of elm trees, its river winding a way through the meadow-land—a broad thoroughfare of silver. He looked into the mists which rose faintly in the blue distance. He was a fool to have spoken to the boy, a fool to have taken him to the Rue Druot! The momentary attraction which had induced his interest had already faded away, but the regret remained. For some reason or other he felt, even at that moment, that for the rest of his life he would repent that careless invitation.

"I will go," he announced, throwing away his cigarette. "All the same, it is a bore."