Chapter XIX: What Happened on Leaving Barker’s

In less than a fortnight after his reception at Barker’s, James Gobson became one of the most constant attendants at the club. A great drinker and gambler, he found adversaries equal to him, who soon became intimate with him and who led him without any difficulty into every excess. They knew he was rich, and cared little how he made his money. He was at every race, took part in all the betting, and was invited to every entertainment, and, like certain other high-livers of the club, he finally took a room at Barker’s, in order to have a bed ready for the days when drunkenness did not permit him to go home, even if he were carried there.

Master Gobson thus led the gayest, most irregular existence, while his wife remained alone in her villa, at Jamaica Plain. It would have been a real satisfaction to the inconsolable Saunders to see how forsaken was the woman who, in order to marry a second time, had repelled his love.

Being very jolly, even when he was thoroughly drunk, Ada Ricard’s husband took every joke in good part, excepting those about his trial. He did not like to be reminded of the critical days which he had spent at the Tombs, and liked still less to speak of the woman who bore his name. When people expressed astonishment at never seeing him with the beautiful Mrs. Gobson, who had saved his life and given a true proof of love in marrying him a second time, in spite of the past, he answered evasively. If any one persisted he grew pale and his eyes wore a look of hatred people could not explain. But these questions were not repeated. At the end of a month his pleasure companions gave as little thought to his wife as if she did not exist. James then became quite happy.

Matters were like this at the time of the rendezvous of Mrs. Gobson and Charles Murray. That evening Gobson spent the night at his club, but the next day he had to return home, for he had emptied his pockets in gambling. Naturally, he had expected reproaches, as usual on such occurrences, but to his amazement Ada received him charmingly.

What to her henceforth were the follies and absence of the man she was about to escape?

But James cared too little for Mrs. Gobson to question about this sudden change. Coldly sceptical, and profoundly selfish, he accepted the effect without seeking to trace it back to the cause.

The couple passed the day in perfect harmony, and toward five o’clock, when her husband, with his pocket-book replenished, told her that he was going to his club, Ada bade him a friendly good-by.

Gobson wished particularly to dine at Barker’s that evening, for they were going to receive a new member into their club, and this ceremony was always accompanied by a banquet at which the most important members of the club did not fail to be present.

The newly elected member, Harris Burnett by name, came to Boston with the warmest recommendations, and preceded by the reputation of a brave drinker. They presented James Gobson to him, who sat on his right, and these two gentlemen, with their wine-glasses in their hands, became so well acquainted that when they arose from the table, at ten o’clock, they were intimate boon companions. From the dining-room they passed into a parlor, but there, instead of taking a seat at the gaming-table as Gobson invited him, Harris asked to be excused a moment, under the pretext of going to his hotel.

In fact, he ran to it, for a man was waiting for him on the door-step.

It was Charles Murray.

“Well,” asked the latter, “how are you getting on?”

“We have reached the most tender friendship,” answered Harris Burnett, “only I do not think he will leave Barker’s to-night. He is going to play, and he is so drunk that he will probably fall asleep at the club.”

“So much the better; I am not ready, and that assures us of his return to-morrow to Jamaica Plain. But to-morrow he must not leave before half-past twelve at night. Do not let him get too drunk; keep him steady enough to get into a carriage which will stand two doors above Barker’s. Above all, if he has a revolver take it away from him, or what is better, unload it. The rest I will take care of.”

“How shall I notify you?”

“I shall be here to-morrow at this hour. If any unforeseen obstacle presents itself it will be the next day.”

Having received these strange instructions Burnett returned to Barker’s, and Charles Murray, stepping into the carriage waiting for him, drove to Jamaica Plain.

Things went on as he had predicted, James Gobson played half the night and slept at his club.

The next day his new friend came to see him; they went together to the races. Then returned to Barker’s for dinner, then at ten o’clock they began to play with opponents who had been mentioned to Harris as never keeping very late hours. Therefore, toward midnight these gentlemen expressed a desire to end the game, and James Gobson who, while playing, had not ceased to drink, prepared to leave.

“Are you going home?” asked Burnett, who, at the hour agreed, had absented himself a moment to tell Charles Murray what had happened.

“Upon my word I am,” answered James; “it is forty-eight hours since I have set foot in it.”

“Then let us go down together?”

“Agreed.”

They entered the vestibule, where Harris, not being able to further carry out the orders he had received, adroitly drew out the revolver in Gobson’s pocket. Having done that, he took the arm of his new friend, who reeled somewhat, and they went out. The street was deserted.

“My God,” murmured the drunken man, “no carriage! I shall go back to the club; I have no desire to go to Jamaica Plain by means of my own legs; in fact, they would not take me there.”

“Here is a carriage,” said Harris, laughing at his friend’s pleasantry.

He pointed out a cab, the driver of which was evidently waiting for a passenger, for he drove his horse toward the men approaching.

Gobson tumbled into the carriage, shook the hand of his new dinner companion energetically, stammered out his address, and threw himself back in a corner and closed his eyes.

The cab had been rolling on for three-quarters of an hour, and was within a hundred yards of the avenue where is the villa with which our readers are already acquainted, when Gobson, who had fallen asleep, suddenly awoke, hearing the oaths which his autonedon was pouring out. The man had jumped down from his box and was carefully examining one of the wheels of his carriage.

“What is the matter?” asked James, whom the brief sleep had partly sobered.

“One of the nuts has come off, and I cannot go any farther,” answered the man.

“Pooh! That is nothing,” said Gobson, jumping out into the road; “I will go home on foot. Stop--here’s your pay.”

He gave a dollar to the driver, who thanked him, and, while his passenger went whistling toward the avenue, he turned his cab around, then leading his horse by the bridle, took the road toward the city.

But five minutes later he quietly drew a nut from his pocket, put it in place, jumped on his box, and set off at a gallop.

James, without suspecting the trick of which he was a victim, had reached the avenue, where, owing to the tall trees that bordered it, it was rather dark. Suddenly, as he was going along the wall of a wide park, two men sprang upon him, and so quickly that he hardly had time to give a shout. One of his assailants had seized him by the throat, and the other was trying to throw him on the ground, saying:

“If you call, you are dead. Quick, your money and your watch.”

But Gobson was brave and strong. Holding with one hand the arm of the thief who was threatening him with his knife, and giving a vigorous bump with his head on the face of the man who was strangling him, he disengaged himself sufficiently to be able to give a second cry for help.

“Keep up, I am coming,” a voice immediately answered, and he heard steps running toward him.

At once understanding that their shot had missed, the two robbers bound their victim and sprang to the other side of the road, but James’ preserver no doubt did not wish them to get off so easily, for two shots resounded the air, and one of the two wretches gave a cry which Gobson, had he been less drunk, would have understood, for his deliverer had simply fired in the air.

Gobson was hardly saved before he wished also to take his revenge, only to his amazement he no longer found in his overcoat pocket the revolver he was sure he had put there. Besides, the thieves had disappeared, and the man who had so fortunately come to his aid had approached.

“You are not wounded, are you, sir?” asked the stranger.

“No,” answered Gobson; “but had it not been for your arrival I believe that all would have been over with me. The rogues almost strangled me. I cannot tell you how grateful I am.”

While saying this James arranged his toilet, the harmony of which was singularly disturbed by this attack, and he fumbled in vain in his pockets, saying:

“It is singular; I am, however, certain I took it from home yesterday.”

“What is it?” asked his savior.

“My revolver. However, thanks to yours, one of those robbers has paid for his audacity. But, one question, sir. How happen you to be in this avenue at such an hour?”

“I was returning home.”

“Home?”

“Yes; I live two hundred steps from here, at No. 67.”

“Indeed. We are neighbors, then; I live at villa 66.”

“You are Mr. James Gobson.”

“I am. But you have the advantage of me. I am not acquainted with your name.”

“My name is Charles Murray.”

“Well, Mr. Charles Murray, I owe you my life, and I shall not forget it; and since we are neighbors we will not part thus. You will do me the pleasure of coming into my house and taking a glass of champagne.”

“It is very late.”

“Hardly one o’clock.”

“Are you not married? We should awaken Mrs. Gobson.”

“Bah! Mrs. Gobson will be delighted to see the man who saved her husband, unless it was she who tried to have me assassinated.”

James said this with a laugh, but his laugh was ironical, and expressed that he believed his wife perfectly capable of such an act. Charles Murray did not seem to understand; he merely observed to his neighbor that the men who attacked him seemed to have no other intention than to rob him.

“Yes; that is true,” said Gobson, laughing again; “and you think this is only joking on my part?”

While talking thus the two were walking homeward. They soon reached the first of the two villas.

“What, you really wish me to enter your house at such an hour?” asked Murray, as Gobson opened the gate and stood aside to let him pass in.

“Certainly, my dear sir, I absolutely insist on it. You would disoblige me very much by refusing.”

“Let it be then as you wish.”

And following the master of the villa, who preceded him to show him the way, Charles Murray crossed the garden and entered the house.

“Hallo! Betsy, Betsy, come down,” shouted Gobson at the foot of the staircase.

Betsy was Ada’s maid. She had retired to her bed but was not yet asleep. She immediately answered, and James, taking the lamp which lighted the hall, showed his neighbor into the dining-room. The servant appeared almost immediately.

“Light the gas,” ordered the master; “give us some champagne, cigars and crackers, and tell Mrs. Gobson to join us.”

“Madam is asleep,” said Betsy.

“Wake her up,” answered the brute, roughly.

“No, I beg you,” entreated Murray. “I shall have the honor of seeing Mrs. Gobson to-morrow.”

“No such thing; she will have time enough to sleep--she has nothing better to do. Be off with you, quick, you stupid creature.”

These last words were addressed to the maid, who was no doubt accustomed to this rude tone, and ventured no remark. She lighted the room, served the champagne, and disappeared to obey her orders.

Gobson poured out the wine like a man expert in such operations, filled the glasses, and emptied his at one swallow, with a bow to his preserver. Murray drank with his host, who said, filling the glasses again:

“It is truly a good fortune for me to have you for a neighbor. Have you lived in the avenue long?”

“Hardly a month. The air of the neighborhood was recommended for my niece. I came here on her account.”

“Are you not married?”

“No.”

“You are very fortunate.”

“You are more so. They say Mrs. Gobson is very pretty.”

“Yes, that may be; but you see, dear Mr. Murray, the best wife--when you are tied to her--is worse than the devil. She is an obstacle. I for my part like liberty.”

The rustle of a dress interrupted this coarse outburst of James Gobson, who was rapidly returning on the road to drunkenness, and a few seconds later the mistress of the house appeared on the threshold of the dining-room.

Ada was prettier than ever. In a long blue satin robe, with her beautiful hair simply drawn up in a knot on her head, she was simply charming.

On recognizing in her husband’s companion the man she loved, she stopped in the doorway an instant, but understanding that there was some mystery that would be explained later she silenced the beating of her heart, became mistress of herself again, and, bowing to Mr. Murray as she would have done to a stranger, she entered, saying to James, in a dry, curt tone:

“Betsy awoke me, saying that you wanted me. What can you wish at such an hour?”

“Why, my dear,” answered Gobson, in a mocking tone, “I simply wish to present to you the man who has saved my life, Mr. Murray, our neighbor. Without his aid, two scamps were about to do me an evil deed.”

“I do not understand you,” said the young woman, slightly shrugging her shoulders with indifferent concern.

“Oh, I know very well,” returned the drunkard, who had caught this movement, “that if those fellows had driven six inches of steel into me you would not have felt greatly displeased. I have been attacked; they tried to rob me, but my savior arrived. It was time, for I was half strangled, and his timely appearance no doubt saved my life.”

“Madam,” said Charles Murray, who had risen at Ada’s entrance, “your husband exaggerates a little the service which I have rendered him. I believe that he would have saved himself without me. However that may be, I beg pardon for having disturbed your rest. I did not wish to enter your house, but Mr. Gobson insisted, and my refusal would have offended him.”

“Ah, certainly, yes; I insisted,” replied James, quickly, “and I think it won’t end here; you seem to me like a lively companion. Another glass of champagne. Come, Ada, drink with us, or I shall think that you are grieving because I returned safe and sound.”

“I am quite ready,” answered Mrs. Gobson, smiling, divining that this attack on her husband was only a comedy. “Whatever you may think, I am happy that nothing happened to you. I thank you very sincerely, Mr.--Mr.--”

“Murray,” was the answer.

And taking the full glass which her husband handed her, she moistened her rosy lips, looking steadily at her neighbor with an expression of countenance that indicated pleasure.

“Now,” said the latter, “you will permit me, dear Mr. Gobson, to intrude no longer; we will see each other again, since you kindly invite me to your house.”

“Let me show you the way home.”

“Pray do not take the trouble; I can find the way.”

This offer, in fact, was almost impossible for James to carry out, for the four or five glasses of champagne which he had just drank had again intoxicated him.

“Then,” he stuttered, “let Betsy show you the way.”

“I will do it myself,” said Mrs. Gobson.

Gobson nodded approval, and held out his hand to his guest, making him promise to return the next day.

Ada was already on the steps when Charles Murray joined her. They crossed the garden together.

“Well,” he said, when they reached the gate, “you see I have kept my promise; here I am, your husband’s friend. Will you not give me a word of hope?”

“You are charming,” said Mrs. Gobson, her eyes sparkling. “I will see you to-morrow.” Unclosing the gate after making this promise, she ran up to her room without entering the dining-room, where James, with his elbows on the table, was murmuring, with eyes full of hatred:

“If I thought those men were set on by her I would kill her as I would a dog.”