“I hardly know myself how I come to be alive! I could get no sedan, my dear Carew, and that was just the rub. What with Lady Bedford’s card-party and the fog, there was not one to be had within a mile, and I had given my stablemen a holiday. I sent my servant upon the quest for a chair, but got tired of waiting, mindful of my appointment with my friend and neighbour here, and so it was that I set forth, as I said, on foot and alone. The mist was none so thick but that I could find my way, and I was pursuing it at a round pace when, opposite Devonshire House, some fellow bearing a link crossed from over the road, came straight upon me without a word, raised his torch, and peered intently into my face. I halted, but before I could demand the meaning of his insolence down went his fire-brand fizzing into the mud, out came his sword, and I was struck with such extreme violence that, in the very attempt to recover my balance, I fell backwards all my length upon the pavement, skewered like a chicken, and carrying the skewer with me. Some gentlemen happened to reach the spot at that moment, there was a cry for the watch, but the rogue had made good use of his heels and the fog, and was out of sight and hearing in a moment.”
“Verdammt villain!” cried M. de Ville-Rouge, whose brow had grown ever blacker during this account. “Say, my amiable friend, did you not get even a lunge at him?”
“Lunge, man! I was skewered, I tell you; I could not even draw! His sword—’twas as sharp as a razor, a fine sword, I have had it brought to my chambers—had gone clean through innumerable folds of cloak and cape, back and front, only to graze my ribs after all. It was bent double by the fall, and it took the strength of the watchman and the two gentlemen to draw it out again. By George! they thought I was spitted beyond hope.”
“A foul affair altogether,” murmured Carew absently; but the sorry jest was lost in the strident tones of the Chevalier, who now anxiously plied Basil as to the surgeon’s opinion of the wound, and expressed himself relieved beyond measure by the reply.
At this juncture Sir John Beddoes, who had drunk enough to inflame his gambler’s ardour to boisterous pitch, began to clamour for his promised revenge, and the whole party once more adjourned to the card-room.
In his heart, Basil Jennico would have been genuinely glad to be unsuccessful at the hazard that night; partly from a good-natured dislike to be the cause of the foolish young man’s complete ruin, partly from a more personal feeling of superstition. But the luck ran as persistently in his favour as ever.
Carew, with drawn tablets, began loudly to back the winner, challenging all his acquaintance to wager against him. But although the high play and Sir John’s increasing excitement and restlessness, as well as the extraordinary good fortune which cleaved to Jennico, soon attracted a circle of watchers, men were chary of courting what seemed certain loss, and Carew found his easy gains not likely further to accrue.
Suddenly the Chevalier, who, with his cheek resting upon his hand, had seemed plunged in deep reflection ever since they had left the supper-room, rose, and with an air of geniality which sat awkwardly enough upon him, cried out to the surprise of all—for he had not been wont to back any player in the club:
“And there is really no one to side with my good friend Beddoes to-night? Why then, Mr. Carew, I will be the man. Thunder-weather, Beddoes,” clapping him on the shoulder—“I believe the luck will turn yet; so brave a heart must needs force fortune! What shall it be, Mr. Carew? Something substantial to encourage our friend.”
Jennico looked down at the pile of vouchers which lay at his elbow. It amounted already to a terrible sum. Then he looked across at the boy’s face, drawn, almost haggard in spite of its youth and chubbiness, and sighed impatiently. He could not advise the fool to go home to bed; yet for himself he was heartily sick of these winnings. The dice were thrown again, Sir John’s hand trembling like a leaf; and again Basil won, and again vouchers were added to the heap.