The Coming of the King Part 19

"You might be older than that," and I saw a twinkle in his eye. "Let me speak plainly, young master. It is long since I met a youth of twenty-three with so much sense."

There was so much of wheedling in his voice that I was put on my guard again. What he had failed to do by threats he would accomplish by flattery.

"One need not be young to be a fool," I replied.

He darted another angry glance at me, and then seemed on the point of uttering a savage threat. But he mastered this desire, and with a shrug of his shoulders he said--

"Bah! we are playing at see-saw. Let me understand. You came to me with a desire to know certain things. You would know first more of the woman whom you name Constance, then you would know more of the man who sent her here. That springs from young blood and a boy's heart. But that is not all. There is the man's brain as well as the boy's heart to be considered. Let me think of that. You, like others, have heard the story of the king's marriage, but, unlike others, you have been able to locate the place where the secret is kept. You desire to possess it. Why?

Because, like a thousand others, you desire to have power over the king.

How came you to find out this place? What is the purpose you have in your mind? You will not tell me. Nevertheless I shall find out. What is your name? Well, for the present one name will do as well as another. So far so good. Now, then, for the other side. Here am I. Who am I? Ah, who knows? Elijah Pycroft once lived here. Some say he died and was buried.

But was he? If he was, who am I? Am I Elijah Pycroft come to life again?

For years this old house hath been shunned as though it were, the house of pestilence. Why? Witches' revels are held here, dark deeds are done here. Spirits of darkness haunt this place. But then men have come here through the day and found nought. What then becomes of the old man who haunts it through the night? Who is he? Who is he? Ha, ha! Thou art a bold youth to come here. But, come, let us to business. Thou art a brave youth, and thou art not without a smattering of wit. Still thou art but a boy with a boy's rattlepate."

He seemed to be talking to himself as much as to me during the latter part of his soliloquy. Evidently he was simply thinking aloud, and trying to understand our relations more clearly.

"Now, then," he went on presently, "you want me to give you certain information, and you want to put your hand upon that which might change the history of the nation. I have given you credit for some wit, young master, but do you think I am such a fool as to tell all this to a nameless boy, because he dared to break in upon my privacy?"

"Well, what would you, Master Pycroft?" said I, for I saw that he had sense on his side. If a bargain was to be made it could not be all on one side. My work was to learn all I could from him, without placing my future in his power.

"I would know this. First, your name and history. Second, the reason which led you to come hither. And third--nay, that is all. Answer me those fully, and you will have answered all I wish to know."

"And if I do?" I responded. "What shall I gain?"

"That for which you have come," he replied eagerly.

"How do I know? Suppose I tell you what you ask, and you have sucked the orange dry--what then? Can I be sure you will tell me what I want to know? The confidence must be mutual, Master Pycroft."

"You have called me by name. Therefore what is there to tell you further?"

"How do I know that you are Master Pycroft? How do I know that you are not some other man, one perhaps a thousand times more dangerous?"

A ghastly pallor came over his face as I spoke. For the first time I had made him fear me. Rightly or wrongly, it came to me that he was not Elijah Pycroft at all, but a man who greatly feared his name becoming known.

"If I am to tell you who I am, tell me who you are," I replied. "If I am to tell you how I was led to believe that you have in your possession the king's marriage contract, you must tell me how you got hold of it.

If I am to tell you how I learnt to know anything about the woman you call Constance, you must tell me what you know of her, ay, and the reason why the man believed to be Sir Charles Denman hath such power over her."

"And if I will not?"

"Then several courses are open to me. You have told me I have some wit.

Well, I can use that wit. I can find out who the man is who comes to this room during the night, while during the day he is not to be found here."

"Who's to tell you?"

"Perhaps Father Rousseau, who hath a little church at Boulogne," I made answer.

Again the ashy pallor pa.s.sed across his face, and I saw him tremble.

"He--he doth not know a word of English--that is--how do you know there is such a man?"

I know he would have given much not to have spoken these words, but they had escaped him while under the influence of the words I had spoken.

"Enough to say that I do know," I replied, "and moreover, I am not the only Englishman who can speak the French tongue."

He saw he had taken the wrong road, and he sought to retrace his steps.

"Let us understand each other," he repeated.

"Methinks we are understanding each other with great haste," I replied.

"Mark you, I wish to use no harsh methods, otherwise I could easily make many things known to King Charles when he lands at Dover."

"And yet you speak angrily," he cried. "I am an old man, and cannot bear to have an enmity towards any man. I would live peaceably. Besides, my heart goes out to you. Let us act as friends. But I cannot tell you what you want to know without knowing who you are."

"I will tell you this," I replied, "I seek not to harm you. You have a secret; that I know, and I can see my way to finding out that secret."

"But you will not--you must not!"

There was terror in his voice, terror in his eyes, as he spoke.

"Look, look; we will act together. I saw you were a youth of courage and wit the first moment I cast my eyes on you. You are of gentle blood, too. You would not break a promise--that I know. You would stand by a bargain, too. Oh, you would, I know you would. Would you not?"

"If I make a bargain I will stand by it," I replied. "If I make a promise I will keep it."

"Even in the face of death?" he replied.

"A gentleman doth not break a promise because of the fear of death," I answered. "He will keep to it under all circ.u.mstances, unless the man to whom he hath made it hath forfeited his right to have the promise kept."

"Ah, then, look here, look at me, straight in the eyes--that's it! If I tell you what you wish to know you will promise me this. First, you will not seek to discover anything more about me. You understand that? You will not try and find out who I am, where I spend my days or my nights.

You will say nothing about me to man, woman, nor child. If you hear aught at any time or at any place of the old man who hath been seen under strange circ.u.mstances at Pycroft, you will say nought, nor show by sign of any sort that you have ever heard or seen him."

"Well, go on," I replied, as he kept his eyes on me, and waited as if for an answer, "Tell me the other things you wish me to promise."

"You must also promise me that whatever advantage can be gained by what I shall tell you shall be shared by me. Look you, I have the marriage contract--that is, I know where it is. It is all in order. It has the signatures of Charles Stuart, of--of--well, the woman who was called Lucy Walters, and that of the priest whose name you mentioned. I know where it is, and besides me there is no other who knows it. You must not ask how I obtained it. But I know. I know where I put it. It is in a safe place. But if I tell you, you must be my friend. In the time to come I shall need a friend such as you, with a quick brain and a strong arm. You know French, you say?"

"Yes, I know it enough to speak, and to understand the speech of others."

"That is well. You will promise these two things?"

"Let us be clear," I made answer, for I knew that he had not been speaking idle words. I could see by the way his hands trembled, and by the eager gleam in his eyes, that he was deeply in earnest. "You wish me to promise not to learn the secret of your life, to seek to know nothing more about you than I know now?"

"Yes, yes. Nothing, nothing. That is vital."

"And, second, you wish me to promise that whatever advantage may be gained by what I shall find out shall be shared by you?"

"Yes, you state it clearly."

"The first I might promise, but not the second."

"Why?"