A Splendid Hazard Part 38

"Why didn't you call?"

"I was too busy, and suddenly it became too late. Gone?"

"Yes." And Fitzgerald swore as he rubbed the side of his head.

Briefly he related what had befallen him.

"You have never hunted b.u.t.terflies?"

"No," sharply. "Shall we start for him while his heels are hot?"

"It is very exciting. It is the one thing I really care for. There is often danger, but it is the kind that does not steal round your back.

Hereafter I shall devote my time to b.u.t.terflies. You can make believe--is that what you call it?--each b.u.t.terfly is a great rascal.

The more difficult the netting, the more cunning the rascal . . . What did you say?"

"Look here, Ferraud," cried Fitzgerald angrily; "do you want to catch him or not? He's gone, and that means he has got the odd trick."

"But not the rubber, my son. Listen. When you set a trap for a rat or a lion, do you scare the animal into it, or do you lure him with a tempting bait? I have laid the trap; he and his friend will walk into it. I am not a police officer. I make no arrests. My business is to avert political calamities, without any one knowing that these calamities exist. That is the real business of a secret agent. Let him dig up his fortune. Who has a better right? _Peste_! The pope will not crown him in the gardens of the Tuileries. What!" with a ring in his voice Fitzgerald had never heard before; "am I one to be overcome without a struggle, without a call for help? The trap is set, and in forty-eight hours it will be sprung. Be calm, my son. Tonight we should not find a horse or carriage in the whole town of Ajaccio."

"But what are you going to do?"

"Go to Atone, to find a hole in the ground."

"But the admiral!"

"Let him gaze into the hole, and then tell him what you will. I owe him that much. Come on!"

"Where?"

"To the admiral, to tell him his secretary is a fine rogue and that he has stolen the march on us. A good chase will soften his final disappointment."

"You're a strange man."

"No; only what you English and Americans call a game sport. To start on even terms with a man, to give him the odds, if necessary. What!

have beaters for my rabbits, shoot pigeons from traps? _Fi donc_!"

"Hang it!" growled the young man, undecided.

"My son, give me my way. Some day you will be glad. I will tell you this: I am playing against desperate men; and the liberty, perhaps honor, of one you love is menaced."

"My G.o.d!"

"s.h.!.+ Ask me nothing; leave it all to me. There! They are coming.

Not a word."

The admiral's fury was boundless, and his utterances were touched here and there by strong sailor expressions. The scoundrel! The black-leg!

And he had trusted him without reservation. He wanted to start at once. Laura finally succeeded in calming him, and the cold reason of M. Ferraud convinced him of the folly of haste. There was a comic side to the picture, too, but they were all too serious to note it; the varied tints of the dressing-gowns, the bath-slippers and bare feet, the uncovered throats, the tousled hair, the eyes still heavy with sleep. Every one of the party was in Ferraud's room, and their voices hummed and murmured and their arms waved. Only one of them did Ferraud watch keenly; Hildegarde. How would she act now?

Fitzgerald's head still rang, and now his mind was being tortured.

Laura in danger from this madman? No, over his body first, over his dead body. How often had he smiled at that phrase; but there was no melodrama in it now. Her liberty and perhaps her honor! His strong fingers worked convulsively; to put them round the blackguard's throat!

And to do nothing himself, to wait upon this Frenchman's own good time, was maddening.

"Your head is all right now?" as she turned to follow the others from the room.

"It was nothing." He forced a smile to his lips. "I'm as fit as a fiddle now; only, I'll never forgive myself for letting him go. Will you tell me one thing? Did he ever offend you in any way?"

"A woman would not call it an offense," a glint of humor in her eyes.

"Real offense, no."

"He proposed to you?"

The suppressed rage in his tone would have amused if it hadn't thrilled her strangely. "It would have been a proposal if I had not stopped it.

Good night."

He could not see her eyes very well; there was only one candle burning.

Impulsively he s.n.a.t.c.hed at her hand and kissed it. With his life, if need be; ay, and gladly. And even as she disappeared into the corridor the thought intruded: Where was the past, the days of wandering, the active and pa.s.sive adventures, he had contemplated treasuring up for a club career in his old age? Why, they had vanished from his mind as thin ice vanishes in the spring suns.h.i.+ne. To love is to be borne again.

And Laura? She possessed a secret that terrified her one moment and enraptured her the next. And she marveled that there was no shame in her heart. Never in all her life before had she done such a thing; she, who had gone so calmly through her young years, wondering what it was that had made men turn away from her with agony written on their faces! She would never be the same again, and the hand she held softly against her cheek would never be the same hand. Where was the tranquillity of that morning?

Fitzgerald found himself alone with Ferraud again. There was going to be no dissembling; he was going to speak frankly.

"You have evidently discovered it. Yes, I love Miss Killigrew, well enough to die for her."

"_Zut_! She will be as safe as in her own house. Had Breitmann not gone to-night, had any of us stopped him, I could not say. Unless you tell her, she will never know that she stood in danger. Don't you understand? If I marred one move these men intend to make, if I showed a single card, they would defeat me for the time; for they would make new plans of which I should not have the least idea. You comprehend?"

Fitzgerald nodded.

"It all lies in the hollow of my hand. Breitmann made one mistake; he should have pushed me off the boat, into the dark. _He_ knows that I know. And there he confuses me. But, I repeat, he is not vicious, only mad."

"Where will it be?"

"It will _not_ be;" and M. Ferraud smiled as he livened up the burnt wick of his candle.

"Treachery on the part of the drivers? Oh, don't you see that you can trust me wholly?"

"Well, it will be like this;" and reluctantly the secret agent outlined his plan. "Now, go to bed and sleep, for you and I shall need some to draw upon during the next three or four days. Hunting for buried treasures was never a junketing. The admiral will tell you that. At dawn!" Then he added whimsically: "I trust we haven't disturbed the royal family below."

"Hang the royal family!"

"Their own parliament, or Reichstag, will arrange for that!" and the little man laughed.

Dawn came soon enough, yellow and airless.

"My dear," said Mrs. Coldfield, "I really wish you wouldn't go."

"But Laura and Miss von Mitter insist on going. I can't back out now,"

protested Coldfield. "What are you worried about? Brigands, gun-shots, and all that?"

"He will be a desperate man."