The Black Box 22

The Black Box 22

I was hard put to it to keep my fingers off his throat, and, indeed, I

only saved myself by locking them behind me. Bending over him I

answered slowly:

 

"No, sir, I am no spy. I leave such dirty work for those whose nature

suits them to it."

 

The chaplain strove to hide a start by dipping savagely into the horn

again, then cast a swift, uneasy glance at me, and said:

 

"We are not here to deal in parables, but men, nor have we time to waste

on empty words. If you be not for joining us, make way for those that

are. Next! Next!"

 

He waved his quill as though dismissing me.

 

"Stay! one moment, friend!" cried Monmouth. "I pray you give your name,

and say how ’tis that one so likely---- Aye, I would promise you a

cornetcy--is that so, my lord?--(he turned to Grey, who nodded)--ah,

yes, a cornetcy--if not a captaincy. How is it then, I say, that one so

likely hesitates to join our righteous cause?"

 

"My lord, my name is Michael Fane," I answered, dwelling on the latter

words.

 

The chaplain’s pen, which had set out to write my name, stopped with a

spluttering squeak and made an ugly blot instead. Its owner started,

and though he did not raise his face, it seemed to me as if the blotch

thereon lost something of its bloodlike redness. I cast a searching

glance at him and then went on again: "As for your other question, my

lord, I deal not with a cause that sets up murderous villains in high

places."

 

The crowd behind me buzzed with startled wonder; I saw Lord Grey and

Fletcher whisper eagerly together; while Old Dare scratched his

short-cropped head in great perplexity. As for the Duke, he coloured

somewhat, and, leaning forward in his chair, regarded me with marked

uneasiness. It may be that my words had brought back to his memory a

lawless deed of his wild early days, when, in some drunken prank, he

killed a beadle up in London. I know not; but at any rate his look was

something of a guilty one, and he was fain to run a hand across his face

ere he could regain his easy self-composure.

 

"Murderous villains in high places!" echoed he at last. "Those are

strong words, young man. What mean you by them?"

 

"Alas! my lord, I mean exactly what I say," I answered firmly. "I mean

that you have one about your person, holding high estate, who is not fit

to sit with honest men, much less to be a counsellor in great affairs."

 

"Ah, then, I pray you name the murderous villain," quoth the Duke, with

mocking emphasis upon the last two words, and also, as it seemed, with

some relief at finding that it was not he.

 

I paused a moment, thinking swiftly, and, while I did so, Ferguson sat

there below me in an agony of guilty fear. I knew it by the way he

gnawed the feather of his pen and hooked his long thin legs together.

 

What, then? If I denounced him on the spot, who would believe me? No

one; for what proof had I to offer? None. Again, if I drew a pistol

suddenly and shot him (as I could have done), I knew my fate was sealed.

The wild, benighted crowd behind, who looked upon him as a miracle of

strength and godliness, would kill me in a twinkling. Therefore:

 

"No, by your leave, my lord," I said, "I will not name him now. This is

no place for doing so, nor would it serve my purpose just at present.

Time and other things will surely name him quick enough."

 

An angry growl ran through the room, and things looked ugly; but at that

moment a man I knew leaned over Ferguson and whispered quickly in his

ear. The chaplain nodded eagerly; then, turning to the Duke, said:

 

"By your leave, my lord, I understand the matter fully now. This poor

young fellow" (here he waved his pen at me, but did not dare to look)

"lost his father suddenly this morning, and doubtless such a shock

hath----" he tapped his head and added: "Yes, ’tis plain enough."

 

"Ah! if that be true----" began the Duke in no unkindly voice.

 

"’Tis true in part, my lord," I broke in scornfully, "as far as it

regards my loss, that is. The other is rank folly. I vow my head is

quite as sound and clear as this your godly chaplain’s. For the rest, I

would repeat my warning. scripture hath fluttered somewhat freely here

to-night, therefore, I pray you, let me add my quota to it, namely:

’Beware of those who come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly are

ravening wolves’. Yea, have a care, my lord. I wish you well."

 

With that I bowed, took one last look at Ferguson, then, passing through

the crowd, went forth as I had come, and left them to their own devices.

 

Being in no mood for conversation, I turned towards the kitchen regions,

hoping thus to slip out unobserved, except by servants, with whom there

was no need to traffic. Kind fortune favoured me in this respect, for,

save a hot, perspiring scullion, I met no one, and so I gained my quiet,

lonely street again without the utterance of a word.

 

Oh, how fresh and sweet the cool air was after that crowded, reeking

room! I drank it in like nectar, and felt mightily refreshed. What

next? Whither should I go? The thought of home (two days before the

dearest place on earth for me) was now abhorrent to my soul. The hum of

whispering, mournful voices; the reddened eyes that followed me about

with pitying looks--nay, by my life I would not, could not face them.

To be alone, to think in solitude, was what I needed. Just then the

murmur of the sea broke in upon my ears. Ah! what better place than

that? I had communed with it, told it many a secret in the past, and

now it seemed like some old friend who would not fail me in the hour of

need.

 

Striking across some fields, in order to avoid the town, I made a wide

sweep for the eastern shore. To do this I must needs go through the

churchyard, and there I chanced upon the sexton finishing a grave--whose

I knew full well. I did not stop, but, as I passed, the old man raised

a sweating face to glance at me; then, seeing who it was, he touched a

dripping forelock, shook his head, and, mumbling sadly, bent o’er his

task again; while I--with what black thoughts you may imagine--descended

by a narrow cliff-path to the beach, and set off swiftly towards

Charmouth.

 

Dusk was now falling fast, and as I strode along, scarce knowing

whither, the cool breeze fanned my burning cheeks refreshingly, the

ceaseless thunder of a full-tide sea fell like some soothing music on my

ears, until at length a strange deep calm came stealing over me.

Rousing myself, I took a backward glance (I know not why), and saw two

figures--blurred and indistinct by such a failing light--following in

the distance far behind. "Two Charmouth fishers going home," thought I.

"Wise men, who will not risk their necks e’en for the pretty Duke of

Monmouth." With that I clean dismissed them from my mind, and so

pressed on again.

 

In this aloof, abstracted state I must have gone two miles or more,

when, coming to a low, inviting rock, I sat down thereon and let my

thoughts go wandering where they pleased. A silver moon tipped Gold

Cap; the waves broke loudly close beneath my feet, and cast their

welcome spray right over me. I seemed a part of nature, nothing else.

The blackened past--Ammon, Ferguson, my father’s death, and even that

which had just happened in the Great Room at the "George"--all these

were like so many ugly dreams from which I should awake to find my old

sweet life the only real thing.

 

How long I sat there brooding thus I know not; but suddenly my reverie

was broken by a sound like that of footsteps close enough to be just

hearable above the turmoil of the waves. "Ah! they of Charmouth,"

thought I; and with that was about to turn and look, when, like a flash,

two men rushed in upon me from behind.

 

 

 

 

*CHAPTER XIV*

 

*"Zion!"*

 

 

Even great strength (as mine then was) when taken unawares avails but

little; and so, ere ever I could move--much less draw a weapon--I was

borne down, crashing on the shingle; and there I lay, stretched out upon

my back, with two great lusty knaves above me. One of them had a knee

upon my chest and pinned my arms down, while the other threw his weight

upon my legs; and thus, although I wrenched and strained (not caring to

be mastered like a sheep), and made the villains hiss forth oaths, my

struggles gained me naught beyond a woeful loss of breath. Indeed, such

posture, with that crushing knee upon my breast, was hopeless, as anyone

is free to prove who cares to try it. Besides, the horrors of the night

before, coupled with loss of rest, had left their mark upon me;

therefore, ’tis little to my shame to state that I was vanquished.

 

Panting, I lay and stared into the face that almost touched my own. The

moonlight showed it to me as a coarse one, blotched and hairy; while

there was that about the eyes which spoke of desperate deeds, and life

held cheap as dust. In truth, the man looked a ruffian of the lowest

kind, who would have bartered whatsoever soul he had for money. I

doubted not whose tools both he and his companion were.

 

"Well, and what now?" I asked, as well as want of breath would let me.

 

Grinning, he pressed still harder on my chest, and answered:

 

"Well said! What now?"

 

"Off with that knee of yours," I gasped, "unless you wish to kill me."

 

"Well, now, it might e’en go as far as that. Can’t say. Hi! Dick," he

called across his shoulder to the other, "take you his sword and

pistols."

 

Forthwith my legs were loosed, and, thus freed, I would certainly have

broke out struggling afresh, had not the galling knee made closer

friendship with my heart until it wellnigh stopped its beating.

 

"Brute!" I gasped again, "you’re killing me."

 

"Nay, not yet, methinks," quoth he, biting his lip and gloating o’er my

agony. "Hold you his left hand, and gi’ me a pistol, Dick," he added,

with another cruel jab that fairly made me groan.

 

The other, who had withdrawn my weapons, hasted to obey, and next moment