CHAPTER XXXIV.
"Well!" thought Beauchamp, when the young sailor was gone--"Well, this is a stupid business enough; and I certainly shall not particularly like being shot for this young rascal's whim; but it can not be helped, and my will being made, it is not so troublesome as it might otherwise have proved. At all events, dear Blanche, I am periling somewhat to fulfill your request, and clear your brother's name and character."
It is wonderful how much this last thought reconciled Henry Beauchamp to an undertaking which he had before looked upon as absurd, and in some sort degrading. Such little collateral associations are strange conjurors; and as Beauchamp thought over the whole matter, and mingled up the idea of Blanche Delaware with every particular which he had before considered in the abstract only, his expedition became bright and chivalrous, and he lay down to sleep, anxious for the coming morning.
The first eight hours after Beauchamp rose, on the following day, were devoted to securing the assistance of the French police, in the undertaking in which he was about to engage; and although this time may appear long, yet every moment of it was employed in removing the many difficulties which, with wise precaution, the French government throw in the way of the arrest of aliens, for crimes committed in a different country.
The previous proceedings, although they had smoothed the way, had not entirely removed all obstacles; and the young Englishman, though backed by the influence of the whole of the English diplomatic agents at Paris, found the time barely sufficient to accomplish the necessary arrangements.
The dull official forms must, of course, have no place here; and it is only necessary to say that, after the necessary orders were given, the French officers of police shrugged up their shoulders at the plan which Beauchamp was obliged to propose in conformity with his engagement to Walter Harrison, declared that Monsieur was perfectly welcome to take the first brunt of the business upon himself, and promised to meet him at the rendezvous a little before the time which the young sailor had named.
All this being at length settled, Beauchamp returned to his hotel, dined, loaded his pistols, took one glass of wine less than usual, for fear of embarrassing his hand, and then sat waiting impatiently for the appointed hour. By the time it arrived, the sky had got out of humor, and it was raining furiously; but still there were a great many Parisians afoot, all pattering along under their pink umbrellas, as merry as crickets; and many a tender salutation did Beauchamp receive, in his way to the house of the jeweler.
He reached the street a few minutes before the time; but the police were at their post, and he found that six powerful men were in readiness to back his exertions. Walter Harrison, had not appeared, and a quarter of an hour elapsed without any sign of his keeping the appointment he had made. The chief of the French police hinted broadly, that beyond doubt he had deceived the English gentleman; and Beauchamp himself began to suspect that the young culprit had repented of his promise.
Before another minute had elapsed, however, the tall, athletic form of the widow's son was seen coming quickly along on the other side of the street, and Beauchamp instantly crossed over and spoke to him.
"All is right, sir," said the sailor. "They are both at home, and even now are engaged in pigeoning a young greenhorn, whom they have inveigled to play with them. If they do not get his money that way, I should not wonder if they cut his throat--so, come along, and let us make haste."
"I am ready," said Beauchamp; "but you promised to write down--"
"Ay, ay! there it is," said the young man, putting a paper into his hand. "Give it to one of those fellows who are of the police, I suppose--but make haste, and come along; for if they do not get the poor lad's money by fair means they will by foul. I heard them talk about throwing something into the Seine, and getting a sack ready--and I do not like such words from such folks--"
"Nor I!" replied Beauchamp; "nor I! You walk on, and we will follow;" and crossing over to the other party, he gave the paper he had received to the commissary who headed them, and then followed as fast as possible upon the steps of the young sailor. Walter Harrison advanced rapidly; and, passing up one of the short streets that lead from the Rue de Rivoli into the Rue St. Honoré, he turned to the right in the latter, and then made his way to one of the smaller streets in the neighborhood of the Rue St. Anne. At length he stopped; and, pointing forward to a house of respectable size and appearance--"That is the house," he said; "if these fellows halt in the passage, they are sure not to lose their game, for there is no back entrance."
Beauchamp explained to the leader of the party the words of the young sailor, and they now drew near the house in a body, keeping profound silence. The men were then carefully stationed round the door; and Beauchamp, with one pistol in his hand, and the other thrust into his bosom, between his coat and waistcoat, followed his guide into the house, the door of which, as is frequent in Paris, stood open as a common entrance to all the different floors.
It were in vain to say that Beauchamp felt no sort of anxiety. The very excitement of the whole business made his heart beat with a quicker pulse than usual; and he listened eagerly, as they ascended the stairs, for any sound that might announce their proximity to the chamber of the murderers. He was not long kept in expectation. At the first door they reached, after passing the _entresol_, the young sailor paused, and rang the bell twice.
As soon as ever he had done so, he whispered to Beauchamp, "I will take this one, whoever it is, that opens the door. You run on, and secure the other in the room beyond. I will follow in a minute."
Almost as he spoke, the door was thrown open, and the coarse face of Tony Smithson, the man who had gone down with him in the stage-coach to Emberton, was exposed to Beauchamp's sight. He had a light in his hand, and the moment he saw that there were two men on the stairs, he would have started back, and retreated; but the young sailor sprang upon him at once, grappled with him tight, and in an instant both rolled together on the floor of the little ante-room. Beauchamp rushed forward to a door which was standing ajar on the other side of the chamber, and whence there issued forth an intolerable smell of brandy-punch, together with the sounds of laughter. He reached it in a moment, but not before the noise of the struggle without had caught the ears of the tenants of the room; for when Beauchamp flung the door wide open, he found the murderer Harding already, with a pistol in each hand, retreating into one corner of the room, from a table covered with bottles, glasses, and bowls, cards, dice, and markers; while the unfortunate wretch, whom we have already seen as the dirty maid of the old miser at Ryebury, now tricked out in all the gay smartness of Parisian costume, stood by the table, with sudden terror and agony in her countenance. The moment her eyes rested on Beauchamp's face, she saw that her fate was sealed, and with a loud scream, she fell, fainting, by the table. Harding, however, with scowling determination in his brow, placed his back in the corner, and pointed the pistol he held directly toward his former master.
Beauchamp paused, and leveled his own weapon at the villain's head, exclaiming sternly, but coolly, "Throw down your arms, sir! You know I never miss my aim!"
Harding paused for a moment, slightly dropping the point of his pistol; and Beauchamp, as they stood face to face, at the distance of half a dozen yards, could see the corners of his mouth draw gradually down, into a sort of sneering smile. The next instant he replied, "I know you never miss your aim. I do; and therefore, this is the best use I can make of my bullet," and he rapidly turned the pistol toward his own head.
Beauchamp heard the lock click as the murderer raised the weapon, and seeing than the clear exculpation of William Delaware, which would be gained by the trial of the real culprit, might be lost by the act about to be committed, he brought the muzzle of his own pistol slightly round, and pulled the trigger. The report rang through the room, and the arm that Harding was raising against his own life, fell powerless by his side. A slight cry of pain escaped from his lips at the same moment, but the fury that the wound stirred up flashed forth from his eyes; and, with the other pistol in his left hand, he rushed forward upon Beauchamp, coolly calculating, even at that terrible moment, that from the unsteadiness of his left hand, he could not revenge himself as he wished, unless he brought the mouth of the weapon close to his adversary. Beauchamp, eager to take him alive, closed with him instantly; the young sailor, hearing the report of fire-arms, left the other ruffian but half tied, and rushing into the room, endeavored to wrench the pistol from Harding's hand, as he strove with the strength of despair and hatred to bring the muzzle close to Beauchamp's head. At the very moment that he seized it, the murderer had in a degree succeeded in taking his aim, and was in the act of pulling the trigger. The flash and report instantly followed and the ball, cutting along Beauchamp's cheek, laid the cheek bone bare, but passed through the hair on his temple without doing him farther injury. Walter Harrison, however, at the same moment relaxed his hold, started back, and catching at one of the chairs with a reeling stagger, sunk down into it, while a torrent of blood spouted forth from his right breast, a little below the collar. Beauchamp, too, heated by the struggle, seized the murderer by the neck, and, with a full exertion of his strength, which was not inconsiderable, dashed him prostrate on the floor, then set his foot upon his chest, and, drawing the pistol from his bosom, commanded him to be still, if he would escape without another wound.
Such was the situation of all parties, when three of the French police, warned by the report of fire-arms that a severe contest was going on above, and thinking they had waited quite long enough, rushed up the stairs and entered the apartments. The first that they found was the man whom Walter Harrison had left, and who was now calmly untying himself, and about to decamp. He, however, was soon better secured, and committed to the charge of the officers below, while the others advanced into the room beyond, and found the young sailor bleeding profusely, while Beauchamp with some difficulty kept his prisoner to the ground, as Harding, aware of the fate that ultimately awaited him, strove, by means of struggles and imprecations, to make his former master shoot him on the spot.
The moment, however, that he beheld the officers of justice, he become perfectly quiet; and it surprised even Beauchamp to see how easily he relapsed into that calm, cold taciturnity which he had formerly displayed. The first care of every one was the young sailor, for whom a surgeon was immediately procured; and, after some difficulty, the bleeding was stopped. The unhappy woman, who had fainted, was then recalled to life, and the wound in the chief culprit's arm was dressed. A process-verbal of all the events was then taken and attested, for the purpose of being transmitted to England, and the three prisoners were removed, though not without a warning from Beauchamp, that it would be necessary to withhold every thing from Harding which might enable him to commit suicide.
"Diantre, monsieur!" cried the commissary, who was a small wit in his way--"you are going to hang him when he gets to England; why should you care if he saves you the trouble by hanging himself here?"
"Simply, sir," replied Beauchamp, who, though he could treat great events with indifference, had a sovereign aversion to jesting upon serious subjects; "simply, because it may be necessary to exculpate the innocent, as well as punish the guilty."
There now only remained Beauchamp, two police officers, who kept possession of the apartments, the surgeon, and the young sailor. The latter was immediately removed to the bed-room he had occupied since his arrival in Paris, and there, by Beauchamp's directions, the surgeon agreed to sit up with him all night.
The lad had never uttered a word since he had received his wound, although Smithson had poured forth a torrent of abuse upon him, which the murderer's situation rendered at least excusable. When he saw Beauchamp's anxiety for his comfort and welfare, however, he said, in a faint voice--"You are very kind, sir--you always were kind; and I am glad I got the shot--that I am; for, do you see, if I had not turned the pistol my way, it would have gone through your head. So that is some comfort, though it would need a many good actions to make up for all the bad ones I have done. But, however, don't trouble yourself about me, for I shan't die, just yet--I am sure of that. All my work is not done, yet. I shan't live long when it is done, even if they do not hang me when I get to England."
"As I assured you before," replied Beauchamp, "there is no chance whatever of such a thing; and I trust you are beginning to think too properly of your own situation to dream of attempting your life."
"Oh, no! I was not thinking of that," replied the young man. "I one time thought that I should be glad almost that they did hang me, just to show those d--d rascals that I had not turned king's evidence against them with any thought of myself. But I think differently now I've got this shot. But, mind, I do not make any bargain. I will go over as a prisoner, and they shall do with me as they like. I'll not flinch--no, no, I'll not flinch!"
Here the surgeon, who did not understand a word that was said, and of course did not like the conversation, laid his hand upon Beauchamp's arm, and gently hinted that perfect quiet was absolutely necessary to any hope of the wounded man's recovery; and that gentleman accordingly left him, with a few kind and consolatory words. He then called the surgeon into one of the other rooms, and making him dress the wound on his cheek, which had been hitherto neglected, he gave him a substantial earnest of after reward, explaining to him that the life of the young man under his care was of the most immense importance as a witness; and begging him, at the same time, to watch every turn which the injury he had received might take, in order that his dying declaration might be drawn up, if recovery were to be found impossible. He then left his address, and returned home; but although extremely fatigued, both by exertion and excitement, he did not lie down to rest till he had seen a courier dispatched to London, bearing the news of the capture of Harding and his accomplices, and begging that, without a moment's delay, officers, properly authorized, might be sent over to convey the prisoners to England.
The messenger was ordered to spare no expense, and to lose no time; and he certainly performed his task with very great rapidity. In the mean while the news of Beauchamp's adventure spread through Paris, as if it had been a country town; and, as it may well be supposed that the hotel in which he lodged was one of the first places in which the story developed itself, Mrs. Darlington received it at her toilet the next morning, and instantly wrote a billet to Mr. Beauchamp, beseeching him to let her see him as soon as he was up. This, folded in the newest fashion, and sealed with the newest seal, reached Beauchamp as he was concluding his breakfast; and, in order to quench the worthy lady's thirst, he at once walked down to her apartments.
Mrs. Darlington was as delighted as _bienseance_ would permit her to be, at the sight of Henry Beauchamp, with a black patch on his cheek, which confirmed all the pretty story she had heard before he came; and her questions, though excessively small and quiet, were, like the little hairy savages that scaled Sinbad's ship, innumerable, and attacking him on all sides.
Beauchamp detailed the whole events; and, if he had been a little bored by the lady's interrogatories, the joy and satisfaction which Mrs. Darlington expressed on hearing that the exculpation of Captain Delaware could now be fully made out--the sincere personal gratification she seemed to feel, made up for all, and placed her high in his good graces. The assurance that, among the culprits, one at least of the personages who had set fire to her house was more than probably included, did not seem to interest her half so much as the proofs obtained of William Delaware's innocence; and she returned again and again to the subject, declaring that nothing would be so delightful as to write to dear Blanche, and give her the whole details.
"Pray, are you in possession of her address?" demanded Beauchamp, assuming as indifferent a tone as it was possible for a man in his situation to affect.
"No indeed!" replied Mrs. Darlington; "but she will write to me soon, of course."
Beauchamp was mortified; for he had caught at Mrs. Darlington's words at once, as if they gave the full assurance of discovering the abode of her he loved, without farther search or uncertainty. After musing for a moment, however, he said, "I hope, my dear madam, when you do write, you will offer my best compliments to Miss Delaware--who, I dare say you know, is my cousin--and tell her that I have endeavored, as far as was in my power, to obey the commands with which she favored me. As I doubt not that you will give her the details of all this story, you may assure her in the most positive manner, from me, that her brother's character will at once be cleared of every imputation, and that all who know him will hail his return to England with the utmost joy."
Now Mrs. Darlington perceived, as plainly as woman could perceive, that Henry Beauchamp was in love with Blanche Delaware. She had long ago seen it would be so, and now she saw it was so; but yet, for one half of Europe, she would not have let Beauchamp understand that she saw any thing of the kind. She had known so many excellent arrangements of the sort spoiled outright by some impolitic, good-natured, stupid friend, jesting upon the subject, or insinuating his mighty discoveries, before Cupid was bound hand and foot--which is never the case ere the matter has come to a declaration--that she answered in the most common-place way it is possible to imagine--assured Beauchamp that she would give his message correctly--declared that she doubted not Blanche and her father would travel for a year or two; and then began to speak of the beautiful bonnet brought out by Madame ---- of the Fauxbourg St. Germains.
Beauchamp, though he would have seen through every turning of the good lady's tact, had any body else been concerned, was completely blinded in his own case--like all the rest of the world--and, after having given a scientific opinion upon the _brides de blonde_ and the _bordures_, he rose and took his leave, fully persuaded that Mrs. Darlington was as ignorant of his love for Blanche Delaware as he himself was of millinery.