Thirty Years Since; or, The Ruined Family. A Tale

by Unknown

"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.