CHAPTER IX.
Hector le Gautier, all unconscious of the plot against his safety and peace of mind, sat over his breakfast the same morning. He was on remarkably good terms with himself, for all his plans were prospering, and for him the present outlook was a rosy one. His plans were well laid. He intended to keep his present position in the League, to go to Warsaw if necessary; and now that he had Sir Geoffrey in his hands beyond all hope of extrication, it was easy enough to send Maxwell upon some dangerous foreign mission, where, if he escaped with his life, he would henceforth be an outlaw and a fugitive. Sir Geoffrey, too, had bound himself to join; and with this lever, he could work upon Enid’s fears to perfection.
He was in no hurry; he was far too consummate a rogue, too accomplished a schemer, to ruin the delicate combination by any premature move, preferring for the present to renew his forces and calculate his advance, as a chess-player might when he knows the game is in his hands. Then should come the crowning act, by which he should rid himself of the irksome chains which bound him to the League. All his plans were prepared for delivering the leaders into the hands of justice, always with a care to his own escape. As he turned these things over in his mind, he whistled a little air gaily, resumed his breakfast, and opened the broadsheet of the Times to see the news of the day.
Fortune seemed to be smiling upon him, he thought, as he read the mystic announcement in the second outside column. Here was the thing which had caused him so much anxious thought as good as delivered again into his hands. Some friend, perhaps, had discovered his loss, and had determined to return it thus. Perhaps—and here he showed his white teeth in a dazzling smile—some fair one, who had taken this way to show her admiration; for Le Gautier was, like most vain men, a great admirer of the sex, and fully impressed with the all-conquering fascination of his manner. He was not the first clever man who has held such opinions, and found, when too late, the fatal error of underrating the power of an injured woman.
He perfectly understood the advertisement. It was not the first time that newspapers had been employed to do work for the League; nor did he hesitate to avail himself of this golden opportunity. He had scarcely finished his breakfast and made up his mind to meet the mysterious Eastern Eagle, when Salvarini entered. He was moody and preoccupied, with a sombre frown upon his face, telling of much inward uneasiness.
‘I do not like these new arrangements,’ he commenced abruptly, in answer to Le Gautier’s florid greeting. ‘There is great danger in them, and they cannot lead to any good results. I shall oppose them.’
‘Pray, explain yourself, my good Luigi; I am in Cimmerian darkness,’ Le Gautier replied carelessly. ‘You are so dreadfully in earnest; absolutely, you view life through the gloomy spectacles of the League.’
‘It is folly, madness!’ Salvarini replied passionately. ‘Heaven knows, we have had bloodshed enough. What do you think the last proposal is?—Nothing less than the removal of ministers: dynamite is to be the agent, and a special mission arranged to Rome. Visci—our dear old friend Visci—is doomed!’
‘They must be mad,’ Le Gautier returned calmly. ‘But tell me, Luigi, what of Visci?’ he continued, inspired by a sudden thought. ‘I presume you have been holding a Council this morning. Visci used to be a friend of yours. How do they propose to get rid of him?’
‘The dagger!’ Salvarini answered with great agitation. ‘Visci was once a friend of mine, as you say, and yours too, for that. Heaven save me from the task!’
‘But why need it be you? We have new members, new blood as yet untried. Let them show their mettle now. There is no reason why we should always be in the van of battle. But why this sudden determination?’
‘The old story,’ Salvarini continued bitterly—‘private grudges brought in; personal ends to be served where all should be of one accord, all striving for the good of the cause. I am heartsick and weary of the whole affair. Is our path always to be defiled with innocent blood?’
‘So long as I can keep my hands clean, it is nothing to me,’ Le Gautier replied with a careless shrug; ‘not that I hold with the present system.—But abandon your Cassandra vein, and be yourself for a moment. See what you think of that, and congratulate me upon a stroke of fortune I have not altogether deserved.’
‘I congratulate you,’ Salvarini grimly replied, when he had perused the paragraph. ‘You always contrive to fall upon your feet. Did I not tell you that night in the Kursaal you would hear of this again? Of course it is a woman. No man would have taken such trouble, especially if he happened to be a Brother,’ he concluded with significant emphasis.
Le Gautier drew his fingers airily across his throat, intending by this little playful action to allude to his own sudden death. In his petty vanity, he was not altogether displeased that his friend should hint at a conquest.
‘Undoubtedly from a woman,’ he said. ‘Mark the mystery and romance underlying it all. Some fair dame of the Order, perhaps, who has seen me only to become a victim to my numberless charms.—Luigi, my friend, this little affair promises amusement.’
‘I might have known that,’ Salvarini retorted with some little contempt. ‘I believe you could be turned aside from the most pressing mission by a glance from a pair of melting eyes.—Bah! your thoughts run on such things to the detriment of the Order.’
‘In such a charming situation as you mention, confusion to the Order!—Now, do not look so melodramatic! Pardieu! do you think a man should have no amusements? Now, as a penance, you shall bore me with the order of this morning’s proceedings.’
‘A woman will ruin you eventually.’—Le Gautier smiled; the sententious words read the wrong way.—‘We had not much transaction this morning, save what I have told you, and the initiation of a few members.’
‘Converts to the noble cause of freedom.—Any one I know?’
‘Several. Do I understand it is your intention to introduce Sir Geoffrey in person?’
Le Gautier nodded assent; and the friends proceeded to discuss other matters connected with their mission. When Salvarini had left, long and earnestly did Le Gautier sit silently there. Then he rose, and taking a pack of cards from a drawer, began to cut and shuffle them rapidly. He dealt them round six times, bringing the knave of clubs on the same heap each time. He put the cards away; an evil smile was on his face.
‘My right hand has not lost its cunning,’ he muttered. ‘Frederick Maxwell shall go to Rome, and—— Well, fate will do the rest.’
With this humane remark, he put on his hat, struggled into a pair of very tight-fitting gloves, and passed out from Hunter Street into the Euston Road; for it is almost needless to say that the house beyond Paddington where we last saw him was not his ordinary lodging, his abode being a much humbler one, as consisted with his limited means; for Hector le Gautier, though moving in good society, and always faultlessly attired, was not endowed with that wealth that smooths so many paths in this vale of tears. Like other men of his class, he contrived to keep his head above water, though how it was done was alike a mystery to himself and his friends.
It was past two as he turned into Grosvenor Square and up the broad flight of steps which led up to the Charteris’ mansion. He had come here with more purposes than one: in the first place, to see Enid—this attraction a powerful one; and secondly, to have a talk upon general matters with the baronet, and perhaps get an invitation to luncheon. Sir Geoffrey he found in the dining-room, just sitting down to his mid-day meal in solitary state; and in answer to an invitation to join, asked after Enid, who, he learned, had gone with Maxwell and a kindly chaperon to a morning-party at Twickenham. He was, however, too much a cosmopolitan to allow this to interfere with his appetite, so, with a few well-chosen words of regret, he settled himself quietly to his lunch, discussing in turn the weather, politics, the last new beauty, anything—waiting for his host to speak upon the subject nearest his heart. Sir Geoffrey’s patience being by this time exhausted, he commenced.
‘I think I am free, Le Gautier,’ he said at length.
The listener affected not to comprehend this enigmatic remark.
‘Free from what, Sir Geoffrey?’ he asked carelessly. ‘Is it gout, or headache, or a marvellous escape from dining with a notorious bore? Which of these things are you free from?’
‘I was thinking of nothing so worldly,’ was the serious reply. ‘I allude to the marvellous manifestations recently vouchsafed to me. Since you so kindly showed me through yourself the path of duty, I have felt like a different man. They are gone, I trust for ever. Tell me, do you think there is any possible chance of their recurring?’
‘So long as you fulfil your part of the contract, certainly not.—But, my dear Sir Geoffrey,’ the Frenchman continued gaily, ‘let us have no serious conversation now, I beseech you. Let us forget for the time we are anything but friends. I am too light and frivolous to talk seriously. The last new play, a fresh picture, anything but the supernatural.’
Despite this appearance of bonhomie, Le Gautier had no intention of changing the conversation, though it was not his cue to introduce the subject himself; besides, an appearance of good-naturedly yielding to the other’s news seemed to tell better, and create a deeper feeling of obligation.
‘The longer I put the matter off, the more difficult my task seems to be,’ the baronet continued, not without hesitation. ‘Certain restrictions were laid upon me, certain commands given, which I am bound to carry out. If you had heard the conversation, my task would be less difficult; but as you did not, I must do my best to explain.’
Le Gautier drummed with his fingers upon the table, shrugged his shoulders, and sighed gently, as a man yielding against his will upon the sacred ground of friendship, tempered with politeness.
‘If you have anything to say, it is perhaps better to say it. But if it pains you, if it gives you the slightest mental agony or discloses family affairs, then, my dear sir, be dumb;’ and the speaker glanced out of the window, as if he considered the matter settled.
‘But I must tell you. It is impossible I can fulfil my promises without your assistance. In the first place, I am commanded to join your League or Brotherhood; and here, you see, I cannot get any further without your good advice and countenance.’
‘You distress me,’ Le Gautier replied mournfully. ‘I wish that matter could have been settled without such a step being necessary. Our work, though a noble one, is attended at times with great hardship and danger. Think, my dear Sir Geoffrey—think if there is no middle course by which such an action may be avoided.’
The speaker created the impression he was most anxious to make. To the baronet, full of his scheme, this advice was unpalatable, the more that, like most spoilt, weak-minded men, he was intensely fond of his own way. He grew stubborn. Le Gautier was perfectly at ease as he studied the other’s face.
‘I see no middle course. The injunction was very strict. I dare not disobey, if I would. I must become a member of your League, whatever the danger may be; and if called upon, I must take my part in the work. Do you not remember the vision?’——
‘You forget my state,’ Le Gautier interrupted softly—‘that during the time I heard nothing, comprehended nothing going on around me. My faculties for the time being were torpid.’
This adroit interruption only served to increase the baronet’s uneasiness. He writhed in his chair, unable to continue.
‘And there is another thing,’ he stammered, ‘which I must tell you, though I scarcely know how. I daresay you have noticed my daughter?’
‘Is it possible to see her and not be conscious of her beauties!’ Le Gautier cried—‘to be in her presence and not feel the charm of her society! Ah! Sir Geoffrey,’ he continued blandly, throwing out a strong hint, ‘he will be a happy man who wins the treasure of her heart!’
At this helping of the lame dog over the stile, Sir Geoffrey looked grateful. ‘Has she ever impressed you, Le Gautier?’
‘Alas, yes,’ was the melancholy reply, but with some feeling too, for, as far as he was concerned, the passion was genuine. ‘Why should I strive to conceal my honest love? I may be poor and unknown, but I am at least a gentleman, and I offer the greatest compliment man can pay a woman—an ardent, loving heart.—But I am rambling; I dream, I rave! That I should aspire to an alliance with the House of Charteris!’
The baronet was somewhat moved by this display of manly emotion, and, moreover, his pride was tickled. The young man evidently knew that what he aspired to was a high honour indeed.
‘But, Sir Geoffrey,’ he continued brokenly, ‘you will not breathe a word of this to a soul! In a moment of passion, I have been led to divulge the master-passion of my life. Promise me you will forget it from this hour;’ and saying these words, he stretched out a hand trembling with suppressed emotion to his host and friend. A good actor was lost to an admiring world here.
‘But bless me!’ Sir Geoffrey exclaimed, taken aback by this display, and, sooth to say, somewhat irritated that the necessary explanation must come from him after all, ‘I want you to marry the girl.’
‘Is it possible, or am I dreaming?’ Le Gautier cried in a delirium of rapture. ‘Do I hear aright? Oh, say these words again!’
Le Gautier was slightly overdoing the thing now, and Sir Geoffrey knew it. ‘I mean what I say,’ he added coldly. ‘You are the man for Enid.’
‘Who is talking about Enid?’ asked a fresh clear voice at that moment, as the subject of discourse, accompanied by her escort, glided into the room. Le Gautier, in love as he was, thought he had never seen her look so fair as she did then, her face slightly tinged with colour, her eyes all aglow with pleasurable excitement. For a moment the conspirators were abashed, and it took all the Frenchman’s cool equitable nerve to solve and explain what appeared to be a truly awkward question.
‘When we are not with the rose, we love to talk of her,’ he replied with one of these bold glances for which Maxwell longed to kick him on the spot.—‘I trust you have spent a pleasant morning?’
Enid answered as coldly as the dictates of breeding would allow. The man’s florid compliments were odious to her, and his presence oppressive. Le Gautier, accustomed to read men and faces like open books, did not fail to note this.
‘I have important news,’ he whispered to Maxwell, after he had made his graceful adieux to Enid and his host. ‘I want to say a few words to you, if you happen to be walking my way.’
Maxwell answered with studious politeness. ‘With pleasure,’ he said. ‘If you will allow me, I will drive you in my cab.’
Enid’s quick ears caught the whisper, and a feeling of approaching evil seemed to come over her—a cloud passed over the sun, and, to her fancy, for a moment Le Gautier looked like Mephistopheles tempting Faust. As the two men passed out, she called Maxwell back. ‘Be careful,’ she urged. ‘Beware of that man; he will do you a mischief.’
Maxwell smiled down in the pretty fearful face tenderly. ‘All right, little woman,’ he answered carelessly. ‘I shall take care. He is not likely to do any harm to me.’