Chapter VI: Part 6

The footsteps came nearer and nearer, and paused outside the quarry. A deep and grumbling voice growled sulkily as though its owner were tired and out of temper. Then the man entered the quarry, passing close by the place where Jasper stood.

Benham saw him as a shortish, thick-set man with a great round head, and a slouching walk. It was just a glimpse, for Jasper made his leap, springing out from the black shadow into the moonlight. The man swung round with a quick snarl of surprise.

"Tonnerre!"

The holly-stick swung just before a pistol flashed, and the bullet thudded against the wall of the quarry. Jasper knocked the pistol out of the man's hand, gave him a tap on the skull, and then closed. So far as the tussle went, it was not a very serious affair. Youth was well served in handling this little round cask of a man. He was rolled over, and pinned flat on his back, while Jasper wrenched a second pistol and a knife out of his belt and threw them away into the undergrowth.

"Tom, bring your lantern. Quick, man, quick!"

XXIII

Tom Stook came running out with the lantern.

"Have ye got him, Master Jasper?"

"It looks rather like it, Tom--eh!"

The light fell upon a fat, swarthy, and sullen face that blinked its eyes at the lantern.

"Mounseer Jerome--sure!"

The man heaved, and swore savagely.

"Sacre bleu,--give off my chest!"

"Lie still."

Jasper was in no mood for wasting time, since he desired the business over and done with before De Rothan or Durrell should appear.

"Tom, take him by the wrists and hold his hands above his head. Quiet, will you, or I'll give you a crack with the stick."

Jerome glared and lay still, his arms extended above his head like the arms of a man upon the rack. Jasper unbuttoned the Frenchman's coat, and went through all his pockets. He found nothing there save a pipe, and a tobacco-box. Something lying under the man's shirt betrayed itself as Jasper passed his hand over Jerome's broad chest. As Jasper tore the shirt open the Frenchman's body squirmed like the body of a man who stiffens his muscles to resist.

"Hold on, Tom."

"Help, there,--help!"

"Lie quiet, or by George, I'll put a bullet through your head."

Jasper drew out a flat, leather pocket-book or case that was fastened by a string round Jerome's neck. Jasper snapped the string, and turned aside toward the lantern to examine the plunder. It contained several sheets of paper neatly folded and covered with what appeared to be a jumble of dots, lines, and letters. Jasper's brown face showed grim and intent by the light of the lantern.

"Cipher, to be sure! This is what I expected to find."

He put the sheets back into the leather case, and thrust it into the inner pocket of his coat. The sea-captain's eyes were watching him with evil interest, and he had the air of one who listened.

Jasper understood. Captain Jerome expected a rescue.

"Tom, I want to be rid of this gentleman, and I don't want the red-coats to get hold of him, either."

"Sir?"

"March him down to within a mile of the sea, and send him off with a blessing."

"I'll do't, Master Jasper."

"Monsieur Jerome, it is lucky for you that I am giving you this chance. Clear out, and let us hear no more of you. If ever I hear of you showing your face on this side of the Channel, I'll have you taken and shot as a spy. You understand?"

"I speak no English."

"Nonsense. You get off back to France, and pray to God to keep you from playing at carrying secret signals. Up with him, Tom. Here, put one of my pistols in your belt."

Tom Stook grinned, and swung the Frenchman to his feet. Jasper gave him a pistol and the hollywood cudgel.

"Bundle him off, Tom. I want him out of the way. I am staying on here to see what happens."

Stook took the sea-captain by the collar.

"Come along, you barrel o' sour beer. No shouting, mind ye, and no tricks. Come along."

Jasper heard them go blundering along down the path, Stook helping the Frenchman along with vigorous bumps of the bent knee. Jasper smiled to himself and picked up the lantern, and, returning to his lurking-place, he put out the light and sat down to wait.

It was De Rothan whom he expected, this insolent and sneering _émigré_, who dabbled his hands in midnight treacheries. Jasper did not doubt that the packet of cipher he had taken from the smuggling sea-captain Jerome would compromise not only De Rothan but Anthony Durrell and his daughter. Jasper's attitude was one of shrewd and patient restraint. A scheme that was defeated might be considered to be non-existent, and there would be no need to swoop upon the lesser dupes when the dominant spirit had been dealt with.

Something crackled into a clump of briers close to where Jasper lay in ambush. It was a stone flung from above as a signal to Jerome, who should have been waiting in the quarry. Jasper kept very still. He heard some one pushing through the furze and brushwood round the rough lip of the quarry. Footsteps came down toward the entrance. Then there was silence.

Jasper leaned forward and peered round one of the furze bushes. A man was standing in the trackway leading into the quarry, his face turned toward the sea. By his height and build, and by the arrogant throw-back of the head, Jasper knew him for De Rothan. He stood there like a figure carved in black basalt, motionless, watchful, full of a fine yet sinister suggestiveness.

Jasper watched him. How easy it would be to bring the man down, wing him, put an end to all his weavings of treachery. He did not doubt but that De Rothan was armed. They might make a fight of it there, but Jasper was not given to shooting in the dark. He wanted to prove the whole case against De Rothan, to convince himself and Nance of the man's double dealing.

Minutes passed, and De Rothan showed a growing impatience. He began to walk to and fro along the trackway, stopping from time to time to listen or stare out over the stretch of moonlit furze. It was evident that he had not heard the report of Jerome's pistol, and that he suspected nothing in the way of intervention. The smuggler had failed to appear; that was what made De Rothan restless.

For an hour the Frenchman walked up and down while Jasper lay behind the furze bushes and kept watch. Once De Rothan paused within three yards of him and stood listening, muttering angrily over the absence of Jerome.

His patience gave out at last. Jasper saw him walk to the entrance of the quarry, stare into the distance, and then turn, and clamber up the bank. Jasper held back till the sound of De Rothan's footsteps had died down into the night. Then he pushed Tom Stook's lantern under a bush, climbed out of the quarry, and, striking the path that led toward Stonehanger, followed it with some of the caution of an Indian working a trail.

Jasper neither heard nor saw anything of De Rothan till he came in sight of the chimneys of Stonehanger rising above the ridge of ground that hid the lower part of the house from view. Jasper paused here instinctively, and it was well that he did so. A black figure rose into view on the rising ground above and stood with the grey oval of its face turned toward the sea.

Then De Rothan disappeared. Jasper pushed on, topped the rising ground, and over the furze saw Stonehanger grey and glaring in the light of the full moon. Chimneys, parapet, window frames, even the individual stones in the walls were clear and distinct. The thorns and yews were bunches of black foliage rising above the grey line of the terrace wall.

Jasper could not help asking himself why Jerome had chosen such a night for landing, and how he had been able to avoid the patrols.

"Money and rum work wonders. These smugglers squeeze in everywhere."

He saw De Rothan mount the steps to the terrace and stand there looking at the windows of the house. Jasper seized his chance to slip forward and gain the shelter of some furze bushes that straggled close to the terrace wall.

He heard voices on the terrace. Anthony Durrell had been waiting for De Rothan, and but for his short sight he would have seen Jasper make his dash across the open grounds for the shelter of the furze bushes under the wall.

"Jerome has failed us. I waited more than an hour."

De Rothan glanced at Nance's window.

"Is madam asleep?"

"Yes. Speak softly, she mustn't know that you are here. Perhaps we mistook Jerome's light."

"No, I'm sure of that. Hallo--!"

The voices broke off abruptly like the voices of two plotters who hear the sound of stealthy footsteps coming toward them. Jasper had made his way to the terrace wall. He flattened himself against it, expecting to see a head appear over the edge of the parapet.

Then he heard some one calling, "Who's there?"

It was Nance's voice, and the moonlight seemed to quiver with it. She had thrown her lattice open and was leaning out, and scanning the terrace. Durrell had drawn De Rothan under the dense shadow cast by one of the yews.

They remained there motionless, till Nance disappeared for a moment from the window.

"Quick, round to the back of the house."

"This game of hide-and-seek is all nonsense, Durrell. You had much better let the girl know the truth."

"No, no, she's not to be trusted."

"My dear sir, I'll make her trustworthy. You do not know how to manage women."

They had crossed the terrace and passed down the passage that led to the offices and stables. Durrell was agitated and impatient, De Rothan a little scornful. He was tiring of Durrell's moods and eccentricities. If everything went well, the fanatic would have served his purpose in the course of the next few weeks. He would be thrown aside like a broken tool.

"Jerome won't come to-night. I'll be off; I left my nag round under the wall."

Durrell was full of vague fears.

"I hope nothing has happened."

"Bah! Jerome found the moon too bright. Besides, the news we expect is too important to be risked with a shrug of the shoulders. If Villeneuve can only get into the Channel and hold it for three days! Fate will spin the coin for us before long."

Meanwhile Jasper had crept cautiously along the front of the wall and reached the steps. He climbed them slowly, pausing when his head came on a level with the terrace. It was deserted. Grass, flower-beds, and stone-paved walk lay white in the light of the moon.

Jasper climbed the last steps, and stood looking up at Nance's window. A passionate exultation possessed him, and for the moment he was ready to take the maddest of risks. He wanted to see Nance, to speak with her, to feel that they were conspiring together against De Rothan and the French.

The chance was nearer to him than he imagined. There was the click of a key turning in a lock, and the garden door opened, showing an oblong shadow in the moonlit wall. Some one was standing there in the shadow, and Jasper, caught in the full moonlight, laid a hand upon the pistol in his belt.

The figure in the doorway moved out into the moonlight. It was Nance. She had slipped on an old gown, and a pair of shoes, and come down, shivering, to brave the truth.

"Nance!"

She hung back a moment, and then came gliding out across the grass, the moonlight making a silver mist of her loosened hair. Mouth and eyes were round shadows.

"You! Is it you?"

She was so close now that Jasper could see the moonlight in her eyes. The pupils were large and black, and swimming with a kind of fear.

"Was it you I heard?"

"No. De Rothan and your father."

"Where are they?"

"They have gone round to the back. I have something that I must tell you. And we may be seen here."

They stood looking into each other's eyes. The clatter of a horse's hoofs came from the lane, followed by the slamming of a door.

Nance started, and a shiver of excitement went through her.

"It is so light here, and we shall be heard--"

Jasper reached out, and caught her hand. She did not flinch or resist him.

"Quick! Down the steps."

They fled away, hand in hand, like a couple of children.

XXIV

They were on Stonehanger Common among the furze bushes with the moonlight shining down on them, and the silence of night over the land. The horizon was an horizon of silvery distances, woodland, sea, and hill. There was no wind moving, and the air was fresh and fragrant with dew.

Jasper still held Nance's hand. They had taken one of the grass paths that wound down over the common to the fields and woods. The moonlight was on their faces, and they said but little for the moment. They had passed suddenly into a new world, and were somewhat awed by its strangeness and its beauty.

There was an audacity, too, about the thing that thrilled them both. Youth called to youth. They looked at each other as though there were wonderful things to be discovered in each other's eyes.

"What have you to tell me?"

Jasper had taken off his hat, and was walking bareheaded beside her. At such a season every gesture has an exquisite significance. There is homage, passionate utterance, in every movement of the head and body.

"I have many things to tell you."

She caught the man's meaning and turned it back with a shy smile.

"I mean--about this man De Rothan."

"I am afraid that I have been playing the spy."

"You?"

"It was for good ends, and to help you and yours."

She looked at him anxiously.

"Have you found out anything more?"

"A little. Look at this."

He dropped her hand gently, and pulled out the leather case that he had taken from the sea-captain, Jerome.

"I robbed some one of this to-night--yes, fairly and squarely--down in the quarry. It was their go-between, their secret letter-carrier from France--a smuggling captain. These dispatches should be in De Rothan's hands. He came down to the quarry, but we had packed his man off with the fear of God in him."

Nance's head was very close to Jasper's shoulder as she bent to look at the papers.

"What are they?"

"Messages in cipher. One has to find out the code. But you see what all this means."

She did see it, and her face was white and serious in the moonlight.

"It means danger for us."

"Unless we smother it."

"But what will you do?"

He replaced the case in his pocket.

"It seems to me that I have two causes to serve, to put an end to this system of spying, and to save your father from ruining himself. There is only one thing to be done; deal with De Rothan."

"But how? If you have him arrested----"

"No, nothing so clumsy as that. I began the attack by quarrelling with him yesterday."

"After you left me?"

"Yes. I pitched him into the ditch."

Her eyes looked frightened, and there was a tremor about her mouth.

"What have you done! It means an affair of honour."

"Just so, Nance. That was why I did it. I expect to hear from him in a few hours."

She was distressed and perplexed.

"But how can I let you do this--risking your life for us!"

"I am doing it because I like it."

"No, it is for us. I can't let you. I'll go to father and make him give it up."

The sincerity of her distress touched him very deeply. He reached out and caught her hands.

"Nance, I'm no boy. I'm as good a man as De Rothan. I can't go back; my honour's in it. I've got to fight this man and beat him. Don't you see how it will mend everything?"

She would not meet his eyes.

"But you are sacrificing yourself----"

"No--no--no. Look at it in this way. I fight De Rothan; perhaps I kill him--perhaps I only wound him. If he comes out of it alive, I take him by the collar, tell him what I know, and give him twelve hours in which to leave the country. Go he shall. Then will come the time to appeal to your father's common sense."

His blunt confidence almost persuaded her.

"Oh, you are brave enough. But as to my father's common sense----"

Jasper laughed at her quaint despair.

"Well, I shall come to him and say, 'Mr. Durrell, I happen to have discovered about this French affair. I have some of your secret papers in my possession. Our friend the Chevalier de Rothan is dead, or has fled the country. The game is up. Swear to try no more plotting, and I will not breathe a word of what I know. Otherwise I shall have to hand you over to the authorities.'"

Her eyes flashed with approval.

"Ah, yes--that would be great. It might settle everything."

He drew her a little nearer to him.

"Not everything, Nance. But I am not here to ask for what I have not earned."

She did not look at him, but hung her head a little.

"You are being too good to us."

"That's no credit to me. I can't help it."

His frankness brought her eyes glimmering up amusedly to meet his, and it was then that she noticed that they had come within a hundred yards of the big oak wood that bounded the common on the south-east. The domes of the trees gleamed in the moonlight.

"Look! Do you see where we are?"

"By George, yes. I suppose we had better turn back."

"Please."

"But supposing they have locked us out?"

"I shall have to throw stones at father's window."

"Yes, but then----"

Her mouth wavered into mischievous curves.

"He will be told that I have been out in the moonlight looking for voices."

"That's it--that's it."

He looked at her with fine approval.

"Yes, show spirit, that's the thing. But supposing, for the sake of argument, that Mr. Anthony is asleep and won't be wakened?"

"There is the stable. I should not mind a bed of hay."

"And scold--before you are scolded in the morning. It is like getting in the first blow."

Nance fell into a more serious mood as they saw Stonehanger standing bleak and grey in the moonlight. She knew that she was to be left alone with her own thoughts and fears, nor could she escape from some dread of the crisis that Jasper was provoking for her sake. She was afraid of De Rothan, and knew him for a dangerous and a masterful man.

They came to the place where the furze thinned out toward the rough grassland below the terrace. Nance faltered and paused. Her face looked shadowy and troubled.

"We must say good-bye here."

He looked at her very dearly.

"Good night, Nance."

Her hands seemed to wait to be taken in his, and her face was turned to his with sudden wistfulness.

"I don't like to think of what may happen."

"Don't think of it, then."

"How can I help it?"

They looked straight into each other's eyes.

"Nance, I'm not afraid of anything--for your sake. Take heart, dear, take heart."

Her lips quivered. Her white face and dark hair seemed to swim nearer to him in the moonlight.

"Nance----"

Their lips met. Her upturned face dreamed for a moment with shadowy mouth and closed eyes. Then she drew her hands away, and fled in a shy panic across the grass.

Jasper watched her with exultant tenderness. She paused, and turned at the steps, waved to him and disappeared. He was hidden from the house by the furze bushes, and he kept cover there lest Anthony Durrell should be watching from one of the windows.

Jasper made his way back toward Bramble End and Tom Stook's cottage. The night seemed very wonderful. The black summer woods reminded him of Nance's hair.

Three miles away De Rothan was riding slowly along lanes and field paths, moody-eyed and savage, a man possessed by ugly emotions. Jerome's failure to appear at the quarry had not troubled him very greatly. It was a dull anger against the man who had toppled him into a ditch that filled De Rothan's consciousness. He hated Jasper Benham with all the hatred of which a strong and passionate man is capable. He meant to be revenged, to salve his own smarting self-conceit. But even the easing of this blood lust was an inopportune necessity thrust upon him in the thick of many dangers. The affair had come to a head at the moment when De Rothan least desired it, for there were the larger issues to be remembered. In ten days--twenty days--a month, Napoleon might be in England. De Rothan wanted those days free and untrammelled. If he could only fight this man in some secret corner, and leave him lying hidden in a ditch! Yes, but would Jasper Benham consent to such conditions? Would it be possible for them to fight without a living soul knowing of the quarrel? De Rothan felt sore and savage over the problem. It threatened confusion to his plans, promised to interfere with the delicate balancing of possible events.

He reached the Brick House about three in the morning, stabled his horse, and was let in by the man Gaston. Supper had been laid in the long parlour, and De Rothan sat down and ate with the morose deliberation of a man who is vexed by his own thoughts. He was tired, too, and thirsty, and wine was a welcome sustainer. The long night spent in the open made itself felt. De Rothan fell asleep in his chair, while the two candles on the table burned steadily toward the sockets.

The light of the dawn was just touching the windows when a man came up the brick path to the porch and hammered at the oak door. The sound woke De Rothan, who sat up in his chair and stared at the candles. The knocking at the door was loud and persistent. De Rothan took a hanger down from over the fireplace, picked up one of the candles, and went out into the hall. There was a grill in the door, closed by a little wooden shutter. De Rothan set the candlestick on the floor, pushed back the shutter, and, looking through, saw a piece of greyish sky, and a man's right shoulder.

"Hallo--who's there?"

"Jerome."

"The devil! You are late, and at the wrong place."

"You'll thank me for being here at all."

De Rothan unbolted the door and let Monsieur Jerome in. He looked tired and sulky, with a shock-haired head that resembled the head of a wild beast. His forehead showed a big, purpling bruise.

He was a bearer of bad news, and he looked it. De Rothan guessed that at the first glance.

"What has gone wrong?"

"I'm thirsty. I'll drink first."

"Good, my child. Is it Dutch courage you want?"

"Look you here, Monsieur de Rothan, if I have come here to save your neck, keep your accursed tongue out of your cheek. I'll have none of it."

He looked savage and dangerous. They passed into the parlour. There were glasses on the table, and De Rothan took a spirit bottle from an oak cupboard, and mixed Jerome a stiff glass of grog.

"Sit down, man. What has happened? Why didn't you come to the quarry?"

"I came there right enough."

"So----!"

"Yes, to be knocked on the head and have the cipher stolen."

De Rothan's figure stiffened like a sword that has been bent against the floor, and is allowed to spring back into shape.

"You have lost the dispatches!"

"I say they were taken from me."

"By whom?"

"That fellow whom Mees Nance was kind to at Stonehanger, that Jasper Benham."

De Rothan's face grew dusky.

"God--you great fool--how did it happen?"

"Keep your big words to yourself. He and a man of his were in hiding. They knocked me on the head and had me on my back before I could take aim with a pistol. Then I was marched down to the sea by a lanky devil of a peasant, and left there to find the boat. They promised to have me hanged if I said a word, and didn't jump the Channel. I put out, and managed to sneak in and land again in the marshes--to save your neck--see! A lot of gratitude you seem to show me."

De Rothan stood resting his hands on the back of a chair. He did not speak for some seconds.

"Jerome, you have done me a service. I shall not forget it."

The sea-captain finished his grog, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He glanced at the windows that were going grey with the dawn.

"Time to make a run for it. The game is up."

De Rothan's forehead was one fierce frown.

"No, by heaven, it is not! I have these dispatches to recover--and to cut out Mr. Jasper Benham's tongue."

XXV

Jerome had gone, and De Rothan walked up and down the brick-paved path between the porch and the gate, with the two yew-trees cut in the shape of peacocks spreading their tails on either side. There were climbing roses flowering over the rust-red front of the house. The stone pillar of the sun-dial had an edging of rank, green grass.

De Rothan stood by the sun-dial and stared at it reflectively. What a thing was Time, how trivial and yet how urgent with its little droppings of sand or the slow stealing of a shadow! And time, delay, was everything to De Rothan for the moment. It was as though a marvellous clock had been constructed; that he had set it going and was waiting to hear it chime all manner of tunes at the hour of noon, when chance, in the shape of a Sussex squire, threatened to send a pistol bullet into the works, and to ruin the whole mechanism.

How was the thing to be prevented?

De Rothan's consciousness of the imminent peril of a betrayal was like the barking of dogs about a man who was trying to puzzle out some problem. The need for immediate action importuned him. He must have silence, for a week, two weeks, a month, silence till Napoleon's schemes matured, till Villeneuve made his dash for the Channel, and the French bayonets glittered in English meadows.

Supposing he killed this man?

So far as he could see, this grim attempt at a solution would only plunge him into further difficulties. There would be a huge outcry, for it would be next to impossible for him to hope to keep it secret. Even if he pleaded that it had been an affair of honour, the gentry here would not be in a mood to show much pity.

Moreover, Jasper Benham might have handed on his information, though it had been in his possession only a few hours.

It took De Rothan some time to strike the one possible line of attack. The idea came to him as an inspiration. He seized it, and turned it over and over in his mind with the exultant audacity of a man recovering his self-confidence.

De Rothan returned to the parlour, and sat down before the oak bureau by the window. The scratching of a quill pen ran on through the silence. He frowned, and moved restlessly in his chair as he wrote, his whole mind-force concentrating itself upon the wording of that letter. When he had finished it and sealed it, he sat awhile, reflecting. Some one was moving now in the house. Gaston and the other two servants were stirring.

De Rothan went out into the hall and waited. A door opened. Heavy footsteps came down the stairs.

"Gaston."

"Monsieur?"

"Quick, man, come in here."

He took the slow, surly fellow into the parlour, poured him out a glass of wine, and began to talk decisively and quickly. Gaston listened, sipping his wine, and staring at De Rothan with the intelligence of a shrewd and ugly dog.

"You can trust me, monsieur."

"It will not be for nothing."

"No, no, one does not risk one's neck for nothing."

"You know Rush Heath Hall; we have often ridden that way. Saddle a horse at once, and take this letter to Mr. Jasper Benham. Give it to none but him. Answer no questions. Wait for him if he is not at home."

"Yes, monsieur."

"I will look to things here. François and Jean will obey you, if needs be?"

"They fear me, monsieur."

"Good. There is the south attic. We can knock staples into one of the oak posts, and fasten rings to the floor. Off with you, Gaston. By the Emperor, there is no time to lose."

It happened that De Rothan's man did not have to ride all the way to Rush Heath that morning. As he was coming down Hog Lane into the road from the direction of Bexhill, he sighted a gentleman on a brown cob trotting toward him. Gaston was none too sure of the way, and he hailed the man on the brown cob.

"To Rush Heath, sir?"

Jasper reined in with a stare at this queer-looking rogue in livery on a smart-looking horse. He was riding home from Tom Stook's cottage after two hours' sleep on a bundle of bracken, the bracken being cleaner than Tom's bed.

"Yes. What do you want at Rush Heath?"

"I carry a letter."

"From the Chevalier de Rothan, perhaps?"

"From the Chevalier de Rothan to Meester Jasper Benham."

Gaston chewed at his broken English, for he was a man who talked as though he were munching a crust.

"I can save you two miles. I am Mr. Jasper Benham."

Gaston eyed him critically.

"All right, monsieur, you need not doubt me being myself. I was expecting to hear from your master."

Gaston handed the letter over.

"It is urgent, monsieur."

"No doubt."

"Good day to you, monsieur."

"Good day to you."

And they parted company, Jasper riding on toward Rush Heath.

Curiosity pinched him, and he stopped his horse under the shade of one of the big chestnut-trees by Lavender's Forge, and opened De Rothan's letter. It was written in a fine hand upon fine paper, and the heads and tails of the letters ran into curls and flourishes, making it quite a courtly document where each word kept up a kind of royal progress.

MR. JASPER BENHAM.

SIR--

I send this in haste by the hands of my servant. Seeing that I have had news that calls me to London, and seeing that I must chastise you before I go, I ask you to meet me in the clearing in Darvel's Wood. You will know the place. They tell me charcoal-burners used to burn charcoal there.

I have no time to attend to formalities and to send you my friends. I desire to fight you as man to man, and I shall go alone to Darvel's Wood.

Bring a sword and pistols. We will take our choice.

I shall be in the wood by seven o'clock this evening, and I shall wait there for an hour. If you do not come to me I shall be constrained to scorn you as a coward, and shall go my way, promising to deal with you on my return.

DE ROTHAN.

The audacity and the informality of the challenge were all to Jasper's liking. De Rothan was giving him the opportunity that he desired, and its very nearness made him realise the utter seriousness of the adventure. De Rothan would show him little consideration when their swords crossed or their pistols pointed in the middle of Darvel's Wood. It was a question of nerve, steadiness, and determination. Men pull themselves together to meet such hazards, more easily perhaps when they have learned to take big risks in some such school as the hunting field. Moreover, Jasper Benham had pledged himself, and he was in love.

He would ride to Darvel's Wood and fight De Rothan. His confidence steadied itself on a quiet belief in his own strength and skill. There was just that simmer of exhilaration in his mood that makes a man a little better than his normal self. It was his day. He felt on the top of the game, with all the confidence of a man who attacks.

He rode on toward Rush Heath, putting his plans in order.

There was Jeremy Winter to be considered, and he had to decide that he would tell Jeremy nothing. Winter would never consent to let him fight upon such terms, and would insist on going with him to Darvel's Wood. Jasper knew what Jeremy could be when he was obstinate, and that it was hard to beat him from a position when he had once chosen it. He would have to keep Jeremy Winter out of the adventure.

At Rush Heath Jasper found that Jeremy had ridden into Hastings, and might not be back till supper time. This was useful in its way, and Jasper showed his sound sense by making a light meal and going straight to bed. He wanted steady nerves and a fresh body, and though few men could have slept on the edge of such an adventure, Jasper accomplished it, a point to his credit. He had told Jack Bumpstead to call him at four o'clock, and at that hour he arose, dressed himself, went below, and made a meal.

To get from Rush Heath to Darvel's Wood one could go by way of Stonehanger Common, and Jasper rode that way, meaning to see Nance. A glimpse of her would be as a cup of red wine to him, though the melancholy of fatalism was not part of his nature. His own imagination was not strong enough to force upon him a vision of his own body lying dead in Darvel's Wood. He neither felt like dying nor being beaten, but he had the sense to realise that in a couple of hours he might be dead. The thought did not frighten him, but roused a sense of cheerful incredulity.

Anthony Durrell had become nothing more than De Rothan's dupe, the man of the arm-chair being the servant of the man of the sword, and Jasper did not trouble his head about Durrell's prejudices. He rode into the yard at Stonehanger, fastened Devil Dick to the ring by the stable door, and, leaving his sword and pistols there, walked round the house to Nance's garden on the terrace.

He found her there, cutting the dead blooms from the rose-bushes, and the sight of her gave his mood the touch of deeper solemnity that it had lacked. He felt of a sudden that life was a very serious and passionate affair, and that no one was justified in risking it lightly. The girlish figure bending over the rose-bushes made him bend more reverently over her fate and his own.

"Nance----"

She had not heard his footsteps on the grass, and it was a coy, flushed face that she turned to him. Her eyes might have shown him that she did not regret anything. The kiss upon her mouth had enriched life for her, and made it more dear and desirable.

"You! It is rash of you to be here!"

"I don't think so. Is your father at home?"

"No; he went out for a walk over the common."

"Either way, it does not matter."

They moved to a seat under one of the yews, Jasper's hand holding Nance's arm just above the elbow. She looked round and up at him with shy and shining eyes.

"How did things happen last night after I left you?"

"Quite happily. Father was waiting. He said nothing."

"What do you make of that?"

"Perhaps he does not know whether to tell me everything or nothing."

"Why not make him trust you?"

"Against his will?"

Jasper held both her hands in his.

"Nance, I shall have news for you to-morrow, news that should sweep all these deceits aside. I shall come and talk to your father--as I promised. And you will help me to make him see the uselessness of further plotting with the French."

Nance's hands tightened on his. She understood what his words portended.

"You mean----"

"Nothing as yet. I may have good news."

"Then there is danger."

"Don't let the thought of that trouble you."

She looked him steadily in the eyes, compelling them to acknowledge the truth.

"Jasper?"

"Well, dear--"

"You know you are trying to hide this from me. You are going to fight this man."

"Well, do I look like a dead man, or one who is not sure of pulling through? I never meant you to know this, but things will out."

"When is it?"

"In an hour or so."

"Oh, Jasper!"

He showed a fine and tender cheerfulness.

"I have been longing to fight him, Nance, and here is my chance. What's the hour? By George, I must be going."

She caught his hands and would not let him go for the moment. Her eyes were afraid.

"It's wrong of me to let you do this."

"No, no."

"If the wrong thing should happen!"

"Nance, it has to be; it's an affair of honour. Do you think I would let a man like De Rothan call me a coward? No, by God, I am going to take him by the shoulders and thrust him out of your life."

He rose, and his arm went round her as they crossed the terrace, and passed round to where Devil Dick waited in the stone-paved yard. The pistol butts sticking out of the holsters, and the sword leaning against the stable wall made Nance's mouth quiver.

"Who is going with you?"

"No one."

"Where is it to be?"

"In Darvel's Wood. I shall ride back here."

He talked so as to hearten her as they passed through the wild shrubbery to the gate. Her tense, white face hurt him. It was so near to tears and yet so very far from them.

"God bless you, Nance. In two hours I shall be back again."

He kissed her, and felt her lips answer his with quick and passionate abandonment.

XXVI

Long slants of sunlight came through the trees as Jasper rode into Darvel's Wood. The place was a smother of leaves, for the underwood had not been cut for five years or more, and the hazel tops were up among the lower boughs of the oaks. A broad ride ran through the wood from north to south like a gallery tunnelling through the green gloom.

A jay screamed raucously in the distance, but save for the bird's cry the silence was complete. The very sunlight stealing through shone upon leaves that did not quiver. There was an eeriness about the stillness that suggested treachery and secret threats.

For the first time Jasper felt something that was akin to fear. It was a vast uneasiness; a primitive, physical distrust of his surroundings. The wood threw deep shadows, and the shadows lay across his confidence. Was he trusting De Rothan too much by meeting him alone in the middle of this wood? The man might have been warned, and be tempted by his own danger. Their meeting was avowedly for polite and gentlemanly murder, but it was possible that De Rothan might put his honour in his pocket and pull the trigger of his pistol ten seconds too soon. Jasper shivered with a kind of chilly alertness. He found himself favouring swords rather than pistols. There was less chance of trickery with cold steel.

He was not sorry when he came to the clearing in the centre of Darvel's Wood. A horse tied to a tree, and a tall figure walking up and down in the sunlight gave him something real to look at. De Rothan was waiting for him, and he was alone.

The clearing had been used by charcoal-burners years ago, and it was marked in the centre by a circle of sleek and vivid grass that did not look unlike a great fairy-ring. Half of the clearing lay in shadow, the other half in sunlight. The boles of the oak-trees rose like grey-green pillars round it, curtained in between by the foliage of the hazels.

De Rothan swept off his hat and bowed. His grandiose courtesy made Jasper keep a keener eye on him, for he would not have trusted this child of St. Patrick and St. Louis behind his back. A case of pistols and a sword lay on a black cloak at the foot of a tree.

"The very best health to you, Mr. Benham."

His politeness was ironical. The man appeared to be his conceited and condescending self, cynically amused, and not in the least flurried.

Jasper rolled out of the saddle and fastened Devil Dick to a tree. The vague sense of apprehension had left him. He felt hard, and grim, and steady now that he and De Rothan were face to face.

"I am at your service, Chevalier."

"I am charmed, sir. Please choose your weapon. It is immaterial to me whether we fight with sword or pistol."

He swaggered finely, throwing off an air of aristocratic nonchalance.

"I prefer cold steel."

"Excellent, Mr. Benham, excellent. You have given me my own desire. Let it be cold steel. I would rather kill my man with a sword than with a pistol."

He went to the oak-tree, picked up his sword, and came back to Jasper with the most condescending of smiles.

"I see no reason why we should delay, Mr. Benham."

"None at all."

"Very good. We had better fight here in the shade."

They went apart, stripped off coats and waistcoats, and rolled up the sleeves of their sword-arms. De Rothan posed, and made a series of rapid passes and parries, ending the display with a whirl of the sword. He felt the muscles of his right shoulder, and smiled. His forearm was thin and white, and shaded with black hairs.

"More supple than most young men's! You have a fine arm, sir, the arm of a ploughboy. Come--I am at your service."

They took ground, saluted, and crossed swords, De Rothan resting his weight on his left foot, and holding his head with a kind of high fierceness. His eyes looked dangerous yet amused.

Jasper called to mind Jeremy's advice. De Rothan was a man whose vanity might be played with, and who might be lured into despising his opponent. It takes a subtle swordsman to ape clumsiness, and yet to keep a clever adversary out. Jasper tried it, and was nearly run through the shoulder for his pains. The Frenchman's point tore his shirt.

De Rothan's face with its fierce and arrogant eyes was like a foul word flung in Jasper's mouth. His hatred aimed for a body thrust. His swordsmanship caught a sudden flash of brilliance. He had his chance and took it, and saw blood on the Frenchman's shirt.

It was a skin wound, but De Rothan leapt back with a cry of savage surprise. His eyes looked beyond Jasper for the moment to where the head and shoulders of a man showed from behind a tree trunk.

Jasper caught the look, but had to keep face foremost and meet the return rush of De Rothan's sword. The man Gaston had come out from behind the tree, and had his fist raised, whirling a stone. It did no more than strike Jasper between the shoulders, but it staggered him sufficiently to let in De Rothan's sword.

Run through the sword-arm, he was seized from behind, thrown down, with De Rothan, Gaston, and another man on top of him. Grim, silent, yet violent figures, they wasted no words. Jasper's sword was kicked away. He was rolled over on his face, his arms tied behind his back, and his ankles lashed together. Then they lifted him between them, carried him into the thick of the underwood, and threw him down at the foot of a clump of hazels.

De Rothan spoke to Gaston.

"Get the horses. Don't let Benham's beast break away."

He went out into the clearing, put on his coat and waistcoat, and, returning, stood by Jasper, looking down at him with amused contempt.

"Well, Mr. Benham--well, you are no fool with a sword."

Jasper lay in a dumb rage. The lust to resist was still strong in him, and he was savage over the roughness the men had used. The dastardly nature of the whole thing maddened him; also the knowledge that he had been tricked.

"You damned cur!"

Their brevity was expressive, but the words did not appear to hurt De Rothan.

"Mr. Benham, we are playing a critical hand in a great game--that is all. If there is any gratitude in you, you should be grateful to me for not having killed you. Meddlers must not complain if they are treated without ceremony."

His complacency scourged Jasper's sense of savage humiliation.

"This comes of trusting the word of a scoundrel. I was a fool not to have you arrested and shot."

De Rothan took out his snuff-box, and helped himself with finger and thumb.

"So you confess to that, Mr. Benham. It is a relief to me to know that you have been a fool. Now, if you will pardon me, we will have that packet of cipher you stole from my friend last night."

So De Rothan had been warned! Jasper cursed his own self-confidence that had persuaded him to try and carry the adventure through alone. No wonder De Rothan had laid a trap. The bitterest thing of all was that the packet of cipher lay in the breast pocket of his coat.

"Give me the gentleman's coat, François."

A wonderful smile spread over his face as he felt in the pocket and drew out Jerome's packet.

"Mr. Benham, I am obliged to you for being so simple. This may save a great deal of trouble. At all events, you will be spared the vexation of deciphering it."

He put it in his pocket, looking down at Jasper with whimsical self-satisfaction.

"You will have to be my guest for a time, Mr. Benham, and we will have that arm of yours seen to. It may inconvenience you, but that cannot be helped. I must keep you from meddling in my affairs."

Jasper said nothing. He was thinking quickly and angrily, and not greatly to his own content.

"Gaston, I think you have a silk handkerchief there. We had better tie up Mr. Benham's mouth, or he may be too talkative."

They gagged Jasper and bandaged his eyes. Dusk was falling, and De Rothan went back to the clearing to see that the man François had taken up Jasper's sword and pistols.

The wood grew darker each minute. De Rothan, returning, sat down at the foot of a tree with his sword across his knees. He had sent Gaston ahead along the ride to see that no one was loitering there.

It was nearly dark when Gaston returned. De Rothan and he spoke together in undertones. Jasper heard them coming back through the undergrowth. They came close, and he felt himself lifted and carried some yards further into the wood. They placed him on the back of a horse, passed a strap and ropes round him, and lashed him firmly to the beast's back.

Then they started out through the darkness, passed northward along the ride, and halted awhile on the edge of Darvel's Wood. Jasper felt half smothered by the gag, and saliva clogged his throat. The long silence seemed threatening. He wondered what they were going to do.

Then he heard De Rothan's voice.

"Forward. François, go ahead, and keep your eyes and ears open."

They set out along a dark lane, Gaston hanging back awhile with Devil Dick. He gave the horse a stab with a knife, and started him galloping back into the wood. Then he hurried on, and rejoined De Rothan.

Meanwhile, at Stonehanger, Nance sat at her window, listening. Suspense hung in the silent hush of the June night. She was waiting for Jasper to ride back and to tell her that all was well.

XXVII

Jeremy Winter grew anxious when Jasper did not return. Squire Kit was not in a state to be worried with alarms, and Jeremy, who knew the inwardness of Jasper's plans, felt the responsibility to lie upon his shoulders. He cross-questioned Jack Bumpstead, but the groom could tell him no more than that Jasper had ridden out on Devil Dick with pistols in his holsters.

Jeremy's anxiety seemed justified when a labourer arrived at Rush Heath, leading Devil Dick by the bridle. He said that he had found the horse grazing in the corner of a field not far from Rookhurst.

"'If that be'unt Master Benham's horse, may I be struck blind,' says I. And look 'ee, sir, he's bin stuck in t' shoulder wid a knife."

Jeremy examined the horse, and made light of it.

"The squire has had a spill, and lost his nag."

Jack Bumpstead and the labourer shook their heads at each other with dolorous pessimism.

"He's bin stuck wid a knife, or t' point of a hanger."

"Hedge stake, more likely."

"No, sir, it be'unt, sir. 'Tain't the sort o' mark a stake leaves."

Jeremy was vastly disturbed, but his main desire was to keep the affair from Squire Christopher and to put the gag upon these two garrulous men. Gossip always runs on ahead to make trouble, and Jeremy, man of the world that he was, had learned the value of a subtle unobtrusiveness in dealing with all happenings that touched even the edge of passion. He took the labourer aside and dealt with him wonderfully after the manner of a soldier and a philosopher. The fellow had to be persuaded into taking a pride in his own discretion.

"I be'unt for sayin' a word, sir."

"That's it; you are the right sort of fellow. We may want a man of your sense over here in a day or two. Jesse Saunders, is it? I'll keep you in mind."

With Jack Bumpstead he played the bully.

"Saddle my nag, Jack. And look you here,--not a word about this--not one word--see."

Nothing could be more ferocious than Jeremy when fierceness was a necessity. Jack Bumpstead wilted before him.

"Sure, Mister Winter, sir. I'll do as ye please."

"By George, you will, Jack; I'll take care of that. Wash the horse's wound, and plaster a little hair over it, and not a word to a living soul."

Jeremy rode out, with pistols in his pockets, and a certain significant tightness about the mouth. He knew the country well, and his conjectures pointed him toward Stonehanger. Jeremy was something of a cynic. Experience had taught him that there was truth in the saying, "Look for the woman." He had his mind's eye on Nance, and his thoughts were none of the kindest.

Riding up the steep lane at the back of Stonehanger, he found himself reining in before the gate at the very moment that a girl appeared between the two stone pillars. The hollies and laurels made a deep shade there. The white anxiousness of the girl's face struck Jeremy at the first glance. The startled way she looked at him provoked his suspicions.

He raised his hat to her.

"Miss Durrell, I believe?"

The eyes that met his were big, and most honestly troubled.

"Yes, I am Miss Durrell."

"I am trying to hear something of Mr. Jasper Benham. His horse came home this morning without him. I had an idea that he might have been at Stonehanger."

Jeremy believed in being blunt with women. He wanted to try Nance and to judge her by the way she reacted to his words. And react she did, in a way that made Jeremy rearrange his notions.

"Are you a friend of Jasper's?"

She came across the stone bridge over the ditch, the white eagerness of her face driving the cynicism out of Jeremy's mood.

"I may say so. I am his adopted uncle, and almost taught him to walk."

He eyed Nance with keen sympathy. She was all pale and intent passion. There had been none of those self-conscious changes of colour, those vain little manœuvres that so few women can forget. The girl was white steel, fine-tempered, and a little fierce.

"Did Jasper tell you where he was going last night?"

"I had been away from Rush Heath all day."

"Had he told you nothing? I have been awake all night--waiting."

Jeremy's face grew grim, but his voice was gentle.

"Miss Durrell, I know a good deal. I can guess still more."

"This Chevalier de Rothan, this so-called _émigré_----"

"Ah, now we have it."

"They were to fight a duel in Darvel's Wood."

The forward thrust of Jeremy's jaw became more pronounced.