CHAPTER III
[THE WATCH ON THE HILL]
For more than twenty years the House of White Shadows may be said to have been without a history. Its last eventful chapter ended with the death of Christian Almer's father, the tragic story of whose life has been related by Mother Denise. Then followed a blank--a dull uniformity of days and months and years, without the occurrence of a single event worthy of record in the annals of the family who had held the estate for four generations. The doors and windows of the villa were but seldom opened, and on those rare occasions only by Mother Denise, who had too strict a regard for the faithful discharge of her duties to allow the costly furniture to fall into decay. Suddenly all this was altered. Light and life reigned again. Startling was the transformation. Within a few short weeks the House of White Shadows had become the centre of a chain of events, in which the affections which sway and the passions which dominate mankind were displayed in all their strangest variety.
At a short distance from the gate, on this dark night, upon the rise of a hill which commanded a view of the villa, sometimes stood and sometimes lay a man in the prime of life. Not a well-looking man, nor a desirable man, and yet one who in his better days might have passed for a gentleman. Even now, with the aid of fine feathers, he might have reached such a height in the judgment of those who were not given to close observation. His feathers at the present time were anything but fine--a sad fall, for they have been once such as fine birds wear; no barn-door fowl's, but of the partridge's quality. So that, between the man and his garments, there was something of an affinity. He was tall and fairly presentable, and he bore himself with a certain air which, in the eyes of the vulgar, would have passed for grace. But his swagger spoilt him; and his sensual mouth, which had begot a coarseness from long and unrestrained indulgence, spoilt him; and the blotches on his face spoilt him. His hands were white, and rings would have looked well on them, if rings ever looked well on the hands of a man--which may be doubted.
As he stood, or lay, his eyes were for the chief part of his time fixed on the House of White Shadows. Following with precision his line of sight, it would have been discovered that the point which claimed his attention were the windows of the Advocate's study. There was a light in them, but no movement.
"Yet he is there," muttered the man, whose name was John Vanbrugh, "for I see his shadow."
His sight unassisted would not have enabled him to speak with authority upon this, but he held in his hand a field-glass, and he saw by its aid what would otherwise have been hidden from him.
"His guests have gone," continued John Vanbrugh, "and he has time to attend to me. I have that to sell, Edward, which it is worth your while to purchase--nay, which it is vital you should purchase. Every hour's delay increases its price. It must be near midnight, and still no sign. Well, I can wait--I can wait."
He had no watch to take count of the time, which passed slowly; but he waited patiently nevertheless, until the sound of footsteps, approaching in his direction, diverted his attention. They came nearer, nearer, until this other wanderer of the night was close upon him.
"Who," he thought, "has taken it into his head to come my way? This is no time for honest men to be about."
And then he said aloud--for the intruder had paused within a yard of him:
"What particular business brings you here, friend, and why do you not pass on?"
A sigh of intense relief escaped the breast of the newcomer, who was none other than Gautran. With the cuff of his shirt he wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and muttered in a grateful tone:
"A man's voice! That is something to be thankful for."
The sound of this muttering, but not the words, reached Vanbrugh's ears.
"Well, friend?" said Vanbrugh, who, being unarmed, felt himself at a disadvantage.
"Well?" repeated Gautran.
"Are you meditating an attack upon me? I am not worth the risk, upon my honour. If you are poor, behold in me a brother in misfortune. Go to a more profitable market."
"I don't want to hurt you."
"I'll take your word for it. Pass on, then. The way is clear for you."
He stepped aside, and observed that Gautran took step with him instead of from him.
"Are you going to pass on?" asked Gautran.
"Upon my soul this is getting amusing, and I should enjoy it if I were not angry. Am I going to pass on? No, I am not going to pass on."
"Neither am I."
"In the name of all that is mischievous," cried Vanbrugh, "what is it you want?"
"Company," was the answer, "till daylight. That is all. You need not be afraid of me."
"Company!" exclaimed Vanbrugh. "My company?"
"Yours or any man's. Something human--something living. And you must talk to me. I'm not going to be driven mad by silence."
"You are a cool customer, with your this and that. Are you aware that you are robbing me?"
"I don't want to rob you."
"But you are--of solitude. And you appropriate it! No further fooling. Leave me."
"Not till daylight."
"There is something strange in your resolve. Let me have a better look at you."
He laid his hand upon Gautran's shoulder, and the man did not resent the movement. In the evening, when he had arrived in Geneva, he had made an unsuccessful attempt to enter the court-house; therefore, Gautran being otherwise a stranger to him, he did not recognise in the face of the man he was now looking into, and which he could but dimly see in consequence of the darkness of the night, the prisoner whose trial for murder had caused so great an excitement.
"If I am any judge of human nature," he said, "you are in a bad way. I can see sufficient of you to discern that from a social point of view you are a ruin, a very wreck of respectability, if your lines ever crossed in that direction. In which respect I, who was once a gentleman, and am still, cannot deny that there is something of moral kinship between us. This confers distinction upon you--upon me, a touch of obloquy. But I am old enough not to be squeamish. We must take the world as we find it--a villainous world! What say you?"
"A villainous world! Go on talking."
Vanbrugh stood with his face towards the House of White Shadows, watching for the signal he had asked the Advocate to give him. Gautran, facing the man upon whom he had forced his company, stood, therefore, with his back to the villa, the lights in which he had not yet seen.
"Our condition may be borne," continued Vanbrugh, "with greater or lesser equanimity, so long as we feed the body--the quality of our food being really of no great importance, so far as the tissues are concerned; but when the mind is thrown off its balance, as I see by your eyes is the case with you, the condition of the man becomes serious. What is it you fear?"
"Nothing human."
"Yet you are at war with society."
"I was; but I am a free man now."
"You have been in peril, then--plainly speaking, a gaol-bird. What matters? The world is apt to be too censorious; I find no fault with you for your misfortune. Such things happen to the best of us. But you are free now, you say, and you fear nothing in human shape. What is it, then, you do fear?"
"Were you ever followed by a spirit?" asked Gautran, in a hoarse whisper.
"A moment," said Vanbrugh. "Your question startles me. I have about me two mouthfuls of an elixir without which life would not be worth the living. Share and share alike."
He produced a bottle containing about a quarter of a pint of brandy, and saying, "Your health, friend," put it to his lips.
Gautran watched him greedily, and, when he received the bottle, drained it with a gasp of savage satisfaction.
"That is fine, that is fine!" he said; "I wish there were more of it."
"To echo your wish is the extent of my power in the direction of fulfilment. Now we can continue. Was I ever followed by a spirit? Of what kind?"
"Of a woman," replied Gautran with a shudder.
"Being a spirit, necessarily a dead woman!"
"Aye, a dead woman--one who was murdered."
A look of sudden and newly-awakened intelligence flashed into Vanbrugh's face. He placed his hand again upon Gautran's shoulder.
"A young woman?" he said.
"Aye," responded Gautran.
"Fair and beautiful?"
"Yes."
"Who met her death in the river Rhone?'
"Aye--it is known to all the world."
"One who sold flowers in the streets of Geneva--whose name was Madeline?"
The utterance of the name conjured up the phantom of the murdered girl, and Gautran, with violent shudders, gazed upon the spectre.
"She is there--she is there!" he muttered, in a voice of agony. "Will she never, never leave me?"
These words confirmed Vanbrugh's suspicion. It was Gautran who stood before him.
"Another winning card," he said, in a tone of triumph, and with a strange smile. "The man is guilty, else why should he fear? Vanbrugh, a life of ease is yours once more. Away with these rags, this money-pinch which has nipped you for years. Days of pleasure, of luxury, are yours to enjoy. You step once more into the ranks of gentlemen. What would the great Advocate in yonder study think of this chance encounter, knowing--what he has yet to learn--that I hold in my hands what he prizes most--his fame and honour?"
Gautran heard the words; he turned, and followed the direction of Vanbrugh's gaze.
"There is but one great Advocate, the man who set me free. He lives yonder, then?"
"You know it, rogue," replied Vanbrugh. "There are the lights in his study window. Gautran, you and I must be better acquainted."
But he was compelled to submit to a postponement of his wish, for the next moment he was alone. Gautran had disappeared.