The next three days were on the whole the most uncomfortable I have ever spent in my life. I got little sleep and no rest; I went about with a revolver handy all day, and jumped every time I heard a sound. I expended much change in buying every edition of all the papers; I listened with dread to the distant cries of news-venders, fearing, as the words gradually became distinguishable, to hear that our secret was a secret no longer. I was bound to show myself, and yet shrank from all gatherings of men. I transacted my business with an absent mind and a face of such superhuman innocence that, had anyone been watching me, he must at once have suspected something wrong. I was incapable of adding up a row of figures, and Jones became most solicitous about the state of my brain. In a word, my nerves were quite shattered, and I registered a vow never to upset a Government again as long I lived. In future, the established constitution would have to be good enough for me. I invoked impartial curses on the President, the colonel, the directors, and myself! and I verily believe that only the thought of the signorina prevented me making a moonlight flitting across the frontier with a whole skin at least, if with an empty pocket, and leaving the rival patriots of Aureataland to fight it out among themselves.
Happily, however, nothing occurred to justify my fears. The other side seemed to be sunk in dull security. The President went often to the Ministry of Finance, and was closeted for hours with Don Antonio; I suppose they were perfecting their nefarious scheme. There were no signs of excitement or activity at the barracks; the afternoon gatherings on the Piazza were occupied with nothing more serious than the prospects of lawn tennis and the grievous dearth of dances. The official announcements relative to the debt had had a quieting effect; and all classes seemed inclined to wait and see what the President’s new plan was.
So passed Wednesday and Thursday. On neither day had I heard anything from my fellow-conspirators; our arrangements for writing had so far proved unnecessary—or unsuccessful. The latter possibility sent a shiver down my back, and my lively fancy pictured his Excellency’s smile as he perused the treasonable documents. If I heard nothing on the morning of Friday, I was determined at all risks to see the colonel. With the dawn of that eventful day, however, I was relieved of this necessity. I was lying in bed about half-past nine (for I never add to the woes of life by early rising) when my servant brought in three letters.
“Sent on from the bank, sir,” he said, “with Mr. Jones’ compliments, and are you going there this morning?”
“My compliments to Mr. Jones, and he may expect me in five minutes,” I replied.
The letters were all marked “Immediate”; one from the signorina, one from the colonel, one from the barracks. I opened the last first and read as follows:
“The officers of the Aureataland Army have the honor to remind Mr. John Martin that they hope to have the pleasure of his company at supper this evening at ten o’clock precisely. In the unavoidable absence of his Excellency, the President, owing to the pressing cares of state, and of the Hon. Colonel McGregor from indisposition, the toast of the Army of Aureataland will be proposed by Major Alphonse DeChair.
“P.S.—Cher Martin, speak long this night. The two great men do not come, and the evening wants to be filled out.Tout ` vous,
“It shall be long, my dear boy, and we will fill out your evening for you,” said I to myself, well pleased so far.
Then I opened the signorina’s epistle.
“DEAR MR. MARTIN [it began]:Will you be so kind as to send me inthe course of the daytwenty dollars insmall change? I want to give theschool children a scramble. I inclosecheck. I am so sorry you could notdine with me to-night, but after all Iam glad, because I should have had toput you off, for I am commandedrather sudden to dine at the GoldenHouse. With kind regards, believeme, yours sincerely,“CHRISTINA NUGENT.”
“Very good,” said I. “I reckon the scramble will keep. And now for the colonel.”
The colonel’s letter ran thus:
“DEAR MARTIN: I inclose checkfor five hundred dollars. My man willcall for the cash to-morrow morning.I give you notice because I want it allin silver for wages. [Rather a povertyof invention among us, I thought.]Carr and I are here together, bothseedy. Poor Carr is on his back andlikely to remain there for a day or two—badattack of champagne. I’mbetter, and though I’ve cut the affair atbarracks to-night, I fully expect to beup and about this afternoon.“Ever yours,“GEO. MCGREGOR.”
“Oh! so Carr is on his back and likely to remain there, is he? Very likely, I expect; but I wonder what it means. I hope the colonel hasn’t been very drastic. However, everything seems right; in fact, better than I hoped.”
In this more cheerful frame of mind I arose, breakfasted at leisure, and set out for the bank about eleven.
Of course, the first person I met in the street was one of the last I wanted to meet, namely, Donna Antonia. She was on horseback, and her horse looked as if he’d done some work. At the sight of me she reined up, and I could not avoid stopping as I lifted my hat.
“Whence so early?” I asked.
“Early?” she said. “I don’t call this early. I’ve been for a long ride; in fact, I’ve ridden over to Mr. Carr’s place, with a message from papa; but he’s not there. Do you know where he is, Mr. Martin?”
“Haven’t an idea,” said I. — “He hasn’t been home for four nights,” she continued, “and he hasn’t been to the Ministry either. It’s very odd that he should disappear like this, just when all the business is going on, too.”
“What business, Donna Antonia?” I asked blandly.
She colored, recollecting, no doubt that the business was still a secret.
“Oh, well! you know they’re always busy at the Ministry of Finance at this time. It’s the time they pay everybody, isn’t it?”
“It’s the time they ought to pay everybody,” I said.
“Well,” she went on, without noticing my correction, “at any rate, papa and the President are both very much vexed with him; so I offered to make my ride in his direction.”
“Where can he be?” I asked again.
“Well,” she replied, “I believe he’s at Colonel McGregor’s, and after lunch I shall go over there. I know he dined there on Monday, and I dare say he stayed on.”
“No,” thought I, “you mustn’t do that, it might be inconvenient.” So I said:
“I know he’s not there; I heard from McGregor this morning, and he says Carr left him on Tuesday. Why, how stupid I am! The colonel says Carr told him he was going off for a couple of days’ sail in his yacht. I expect he’s got contrary winds, and can’t get back again.”
“It’s very bad of him to go,” she said, “but no doubt that’s it. Papa will be angry, but he’ll be glad to know no harm has come to him.”
“Happy to have relieved your mind,” said I, and bade her farewell, thanking my stars for a lucky inspiration, and wondering whether Don Antonio would find no harm had come to poor Johnny. I had my doubts. I regretted having to tell Donna Antonia what I did not believe to be true, but these things are incidental to revolutions—a point of resemblance between them and commercial life.
When I arrived at the bank I dispatched brief answers to my budget of letters; each of the answers was to the same purport, namely, that I should be at the barracks at the appointed time. I need not trouble the reader with the various wrappings in which this essential piece of intelligence was involved. I then had a desperate encounter with Jones; business was slack, and Jones was fired with the unholy desire of seizing the opportunity thus offered to make an exhaustive inquiry into the state of our reserve. He could not understand my sudden punctiliousness as to times and seasons, and I was afraid I should have to tell him plainly that only over my lifeless body should he succeed in investing the contents of the safe. At last I effected a diversion by persuading him to give Mrs. Jones a jaunt into the country, and, thus left in peace, I spent my afternoon in making final preparations. I burned many letters; I wrote a touching farewell to my father, in which, under the guise of offering forgiveness, I took occasion to point out to him how greatly his imprudent conduct had contributed to increase the difficulties of his dutiful son. I was only restrained from making a will by the obvious imprudence of getting it witnessed. I spent a feverish hour in firing imaginary shots from my revolver, to ascertain whether the instrument was in working order. Finally I shut up the bank at five, went to the Piazza, partook of a light repast, and smoked cigars with mad speed till it was time to dress for the supper; and never was I more rejoiced than when the moment for action at last came. As I was dressing, lingering over each garment with a feeling that I might never put it on, or, for that matter, take it off again, I received a second note from the colonel. It was brought by a messenger, on a sweating horse, who galoped up to my door. I knew the messenger well by sight; he was the colonel’s valet. My heart was in my mouth as I took the envelope from his hands (for I ran down myself). The fellow was evidently in our secret, for he grinned nervously at me as he handed it over, and said:
“I was to ride fast, and destroy the letter if anyone came near.”
I nodded, and opened it. It said:
“C. escaped about six this evening.Believed to have gone to his house.Hesuspects. If you see him, shoot onsight.”
I turned to the man.
“Had Mr. Carr a horse?” I asked.
“No, sir; left on foot.”
“But there are horses at his house.”
“No, sir, the colonel has borrowed them all.”
“Why do you think he’s gone there?”
“Couldn’t come along the road to Whittingham, sir, it’s patrolled.”
There was still a chance. It was ten miles across the country from the colonel’s to Johnny’s and six miles on from Johnny’s to Whittingham. The man divined my thoughts.
“He can’t go fast, sir, he’s wounded in the leg. If he goes home first, as he will, because he doesn’t know his horses are gone, he can’t get here before eleven at the earliest.”
“How was he wounded?” I asked. “Tell me what the colonel did to him, and be short.”
“Yes, sir. The colonel told us Mr. Carr was to be kept at the ranch over night; wasn’t to leave it alive, sir, he said. Well, up to yesterday it was all right and pleasant. Mr. Carr wasn’t very well, and the doses the colonel gave him didn’t seem to make him any better—quite the contrary. But yesterday afternoon he got rampageous, would go, anyhow, ill or well! So he got up and dressed. We’d taken all his weapons from him, sir, and when he came down dressed, and asked for his horse, we told him he couldn’t go. Well, he just said, Get out of the light, I tell you,’ and began walking toward the hall door. I don’t mind saying we were rather put about, sir. We didn’t care to shoot him as he stood, and it’s my belief we’d have let him pass; but just as he was going out, in comes the colonel. ‘Hallo! what’s this, Johnny?’ says he. ‘You’ve got some damned scheme on,’ said Mr. Carr. ‘I believe you’ve been drugging me. Out of the way, McGregor, or I’ll brain you.’ ‘Where are you going?’ says the colonel. To Whittingham, to the President’s,’ said he. ‘Not to-day,’ says the colonel. ‘Come, be reasonable, Johnny. You’ll be all right to-morrow.’ Colonel McGregor,’ says he, ‘I’m unarmed, and you’ve got a revolver. You can shoot me if you like, but unless you do, I’m going out. You’ve been playing some dodge on me, and, by God! you shall pay for it.’ With that he rushed straight at the colonel. The colonel, he stepped on one side and let him pass. Then he went after him to the door, waited till he was about fifteen yards off, then up with his revolver, as cool as you like, and shot him as clean as a sixpence in the right leg. Down came Mr. Carr; he lay there a minute or two cursing, and then he fainted. ‘Pick him up, dress his wound, and put him to bed,’ says the colonel. Well, sir, it was only a flesh wound, so we soon got him comfortable, and there he lay all night.”
“How did he get away to-day?”
“We were all out, sir—went over to Mr. Carr’s place to borrow his horses. The colonel took a message, sir. [Here the fellow grinned again.] I don’t know what it was. Well, when we’d got the horses, we rode round outside the town, and came into the road between here and the colonel’s. Ten horses we got, and we went there to give the ten men who were patrolling the road the fresh horses. We heard from them that no one had come along. When we got home, he’d been gone two hours!”
“How did he manage it?”
“A woman, sir,” said my warrior, with supreme disgust. “Gave her a kiss and ten dollars to undo the front door, and then he was off! He daren’t go to the stables to get a horse, so he was forced to limp away on his game leg. A plucky one he is, too,” he concluded.
“Poor old Johnny!” said I. “You didn’t go after him?”
“No time, sir. Couldn’t tire the horses. Besides, when he’d once got home, he’s got a dozen men there, and they’d have kept us all night. Well, sir, I must be off. Any answer for the colonel? He’ll be outside the Golden House by eleven, sir, and Mr. Carr won’t get in if he comes after that.”
“Tell him to rely on me,” I answered. But for all that I didn’t mean to shoot Johnny on sight. So, much perturbed in spirit, I set off to the barracks, wondering when Johnny would get to Whittingham, and whether he would fall into the colonel’s hands outside the Golden House. It struck me as unpleasantly probable that he might come and spoil the harmony of my evening; if he came there first, the conspiracy would probably lose my aid at an early moment! What would happen to me I didn’t know. But, as I took off my coat in the lobby, I bent down as if to tie a shoestring, and had one more look at my revolver.
I shall never forget that supper as long as I live. Considered merely as a social gathering it would be memorable enough, for I never before or since sat at meat with ten such queer customers as my hosts of that evening. The officers of the Aureataland Army were a very mixed lot—two or three Spanish-Americans, three or four Brazilians, and the balance Americans of the type their countrymen are least proud of. If there was an honest man among them he sedulously concealed his title to distinction; I know there wasn’t a sober one. The amount of liquor consumed was portentous; and I gloated with an unholy joy as I saw man after man rapidly making himself what diplomatists call aquantiti negligiable. The conversation needed all the excuse the occasion could afford, and the wit would have appeared unduly coarse in a common pot-house. All this might have passed from my memory, or blended in a subdued harmony with my general impression of Aureataland; but the peculiar position in which I stood gave to my mind an unusual activity of perception. Among this band of careless, drunken revelers I sat vigilant, restless, and impatient; feigning to take a leading part in their dissolute hilarity, I was sober, collected, and alert to my very finger-tips. I anxiously watched their bearing and expression. I led them on to speak of the President, rejoicing when I elicited open murmurs and covert threats at his base ingratitude to the men on whose support his power rested. They had not been paid for six months, and were ripe for any mischief. I was more than once tempted to forestall the colonel and begin the revolution on my own account; only my inability to produce before their eyes any arguments of the sort they would listen to restrained me.
Eleven o’clock had come and gone. The senior captain had proposed the President’s health. It was drunk in sullen silence; I was the only man who honored it by rising from his seat.
The major had proposed the army, and they had drunk deep to their noble selves. A young man of weak expression and quavering legs had proposed “The commerce of Aureataland,” coupled with the name of Mr. John Martin, in laudatory but incoherent terms, and I was on my legs replying. Oh, that speech of mine! For discursiveness, for repetition, for sheer inanity, I suppose it has never been equaled. I droned steadily away, interrupted only by cries for fresh supplies of wine; as I went on the audience paid less and less attention. It was past twelve. The well of my eloquence was running drier and drier, and yet no sound outside! I wondered how long they would stand it and how long I could stand it. At 12.15 I began my peroration. Hardly had I done so, when one of the young men started in a gentle voice an utterly indescribable ditty. One by one they took it up, till the rising tide of voices drowned my fervent periods. Perforce I stopped. They were all on their feet now. Did they mean to break up? In despair at the idea I lifted up my voice, loud and distinct (the only distinct voice left in the room), in the most shameful verse of that shameful composition, and seizing my neighbor’s hand began to move slowly round the table. The move was successful. Each man followed suit, and the whole party, kicking back their chairs, revolved with lurching steps round thedibrisof empty bottles and cigar ashes.
The room was thick with smoke, and redolent of fumes of wine. Mechanically I led the chorus, straining every nerve to hear a sound from outside. I was growing dizzy with the movement, and, overwrought with the strain on my nerves. I knew a few minutes more would be the limit of endurance, when at last I heard a loud shout and tumult of voices.
“What’s that?” exclaimed the major, in thick tones, pausing as he spoke.
I dropped his hand, and, seizing my revolver, said:
“Some drunken row in barracks, major. Let ‘em alone.”
“I must go,” he said. “Character—Aureataland—army—at stake.”
“Set a thief to catch a thief, eh, major?” said I. — “What do you mean, sir?” he stuttered. “Let me go.”
“If you move, I shoot, major,” said I, bringing out my weapon.
I never saw greater astonishment on human countenance. He swore loudly, and then cried:
“Hi, stop him—he’s mad—he’s going to shoot!”
A shout of laughter rose from the crew around us, for they felt exquisite appreciation of my supposed joke.
“Right you are, Martin!” cried one. “Keep him quiet. We won’t go home till morning.”
The major turned to the window. It was a moonlight night, and as I looked with him I saw the courtyard full of soldiers. Who was in command? The answer to that meant much to me.
This sight somewhat sobered the major.
“A mutiny!” he cried. “The soldiers have risen!”
“Go to bed,” said the junior ensign.
“Look out of window!” he cried.
They all staggered to the window. As the soldiers saw them, they raised a shout. I could not distinguish whether it was a greeting or a threat. They took it as the latter, and turned to the door.
“Stop!” I cried; “I shoot the first man who opens the door.”
In wonder they turned on me. I stood facing them, revolver in hand. They waited huddled together for an instant, then made a rush at me; I fired, but missed. I had a vision of a poised decanter; a second later, the missile caught me in the chest and hurled me back against the wall. As I fell I dropped my weapon, and they were upon me. I thought it was all over; but as they surged round, in the madness of drink and anger, I, looking through their ranks, saw the door open and a crowd of men rush in. Who was at their head? Thank God! it was the colonel, and his voice rose high above the tumult:
“Order, gentlemen, order!” Then to his men he added:
“Each mark your man, and two of you bring Mr. Martin here.”
I was saved. To explain how, I must tell you what had been happening at the Golden House, and how the night attack had fared.
It is a sad necessity that compels us to pry into the weaknesses of our fellow-creatures, and seek to turn them to our own profit. I am not philosopher enough to say whether this course of conduct derives any justification from its universality, but in the region of practice, I have never hesitated to place myself on a moral level with those with whom I had to deal. I may occasionally even have left the other party to make this needful adjustment, and I have never known him fail to do so. I felt, therefore, very little scruple in making use of the one weak spot discoverable in the defenses of our redoubtable opponent, his Excellency the President of Aureataland. No doubt the reader’s eye has before now detected the joint in that great man’s armor at which we directed our missile. As a lover, I grudged the employment of the signorina in this service; as a politician, I was proud of the device; as a human being, I recognized, what we are very ready to recognize, that it did not become me to refuse to work with such instruments as appeared to be put into my hands.
But whatever may be the verdict of moralists on our device, events proved its wisdom. The President had no cause to suspect a trap; therefore, like a sensible man, he chose to spend the evening with the signorina rather than with his gallant officers. With equally good taste, he elected to spend ittjte-`-tjtewith her, when she gave him the opportunity. In our subsequent conversations, the signorina was not communicative as to how the early hours of the evening passed. She preferred to begin her narrative from the point when their solitude was interrupted. As I rely on her account and that of the colonel for this part of my story, I am compelled to make my start from the same moment. It appears that at a few minutes past eleven o’clock, when the President was peacefully smoking a cigar and listening to the conversation of his fair guest (whom he had galvanized into an affected liveliness by alarming remarks on her apparent preoccupation), there fell upon his ear the sound of a loud knocking at the door. Dinner had been served in a small room at the back of the house, and the President could not command a view of the knocker without going out on to the veranda, which ran all round the house, and walking round to the front. When the knock was heard, the signorina started up.
“Don’t disturb yourself, pray,” said his Excellency, politely. “I gave special instructions that I was visible to no one this evening. But I was wondering whether it could be Johnny Carr. I want to speak to him for a moment, and I’ll just go round outside and see if it is.”
As he spoke, a discreet tap was heard at the door.
“Yes?” said the President.
“Mr. Carr is at the door and particularly wants to see your Excellency. An urgent matter, he says.”
“Tell him I’ll come round and speak to him from the veranda,” replied the President.
He turned to the window, and threw it open to step out.
Let me tell what followed in the signorina’s words.
“Just then we heard a sound of a number of horses galloping up. The President stopped and said:
“‘Hallo! what’s up?’
“Then there was a shout and a volley of shots, and I heard the colonel’s voice cry:
“‘Down with your arms; down, I say, or you’re dead men.’
“The President stepped quickly across the room to his escritoire, took up his revolver, went back to the window, passed through it, and without a word disappeared. I could not hear even the sound of his foot on the veranda.
“I heard one more shot—then a rush of men to the door, and the colonel burst in, with sword and revolver in his hands, and followed by ten or a dozen men.
“I ran to him, terrified, and cried:
“‘Oh, is anyone hurt?’
“He took no notice, but asked hastily:
“‘Where is he?’
“I pointed to the veranda, and gasped:
“‘He went out there.’ Then I turned to one of the men and said again:
“‘Is anyone hurt?’
“‘Only Mr. Carr,’ he replied. ‘The rest of ‘em were a precious sight too careful of themselves.’
“‘And is he killed?’
“‘Don’t think he’s dead, miss,’ he said; ‘but he’s hurt badly.”
“As I turned again, I saw the President standing quite calmly in the window. When the colonel saw him he raised his revolver and said:
“‘Do you yield, General Whittingham? We are twelve to one.’
“As he spoke, every man covered the President with his aim. The latter stood facing the twelve revolvers, his own weapon hanging loosely in his left hand. Then, smiling, he said a little bitterly:
“‘Heroics are not in my line, McGregor. I suppose this is a popular rising—that is to say, you have bribed my men, murdered my best friend, and beguiled me with the lures of that—’
“I could not bear the words that hung on his lips, and with a sob I fell on a sofa and hid my face.
“‘Well, we mustn’t use hard names,’ he went on, in a gentler tone. ‘We are all as God made us. I give in,’ and, throwing down his weapon, he asked, ‘Have you quite killed Carr?’
“‘I don’t know,’ said the colonel, implying plainly that he did not care either.
“‘I suppose it was you that shot him?’
“The colonel nodded.
“The President yawned, and looked at his watch.
“‘As I have no part in to-night’s performance,’ said he, ‘I presume I am at liberty to go to bed?’
“The colonel said shortly:
“‘Where’s the bedroom?’
“‘In there,’ said the President, waving his hand to a door facing that by which the colonel had entered.
“‘Permit me,’ said the latter. He went in, no doubt to see if there were any other egress. Returning shortly he said:
“‘My men must stay here, and you must leave the door open.’
“‘I have no objection,’ said the President. ‘No doubt they will respect my modesty.’
“‘Two of you stay in this room. Two of you keep watch in the veranda, one at this window, the other at the bedroom window. I shall put three more sentries outside. General Whittingham is not to leave this room. If you hear or see anything going on in there, go in and put him under restraint. Otherwise treat him with respect.’
“‘I thank you for your civility,’ said the President, ‘also for the compliment implied in these precautions. Is it over this matter of the debt that your patriotism has drawn you into revolt?’
“‘I see no use in discussing public affairs at this moment,’ the colonel replied. ‘And my presence is required elsewhere. I regret that I cannot relieve you of the presence of these men, but I do not feel I should be justified in accepting yourparole.’
“The President did not seem to be angered at this insult.
“‘I have not offered it,’ he said simply. ‘It is better you should take your own measures. Need I detain you, colonel?’
“The colonel did not answer him, but turned to me and said:
“‘Signorina Nugent, we wait only for you, and time is precious.’
“‘I will follow you in a moment,’ I said, with my head still among the cushions.
“‘No, come now,’ he commanded.
“Looking up, I saw a smile on the President’s face. As I rose reluctantly, he also got up from the chair into which he had flung himself, and stopped me with a gesture. I was terribly afraid that he was going to say something hard to me, but his voice only expressed a sort of amused pity.
“‘The money, was it, signorina?’ he said. ‘Young people and beautiful people should not be mercenary. Poor child! you had better have stood by me.’
“I answered him nothing, but went out with the colonel, leaving him seated again in his chair, surveying with some apparent amusement the two threatening sentries who stood at the door. The colonel hurried me out of the house, saying:
“‘We must ride to the barracks. If the news gets there before us, they may cut up rough. You go home. Your work is done.’
“So they mounted and rode away, leaving me in the road. There were no signs of any struggle, except the door hanging loose on its hinges, and a drop or two of blood on the steps where they had shot poor Johnny Carr. I went straight home, and what happened in the next few hours at the Golden House I don’t know, and, knowing how I left the President, I cannot explain. I went home, and cried till I thought my heart would break.”
Thus far the signorina. I must beg to call special attention to the closing lines of her narrative. But before I relate the very startling occurrence to which she refers, we must return to the barracks, where, it will be remembered, matters were in a rather critical condition. When the officers saw their messroom suddenly filled with armed men, and heard the alarming order issued by the colonel, their attention was effectually diverted from me. They crowded together on one side of the table, facing the colonel and his men on the other. Assisted by the two men sent to my aid, I seized the opportunity to push my way through them and range myself by the side of my leader. After a moment’s pause the colonel began:
“The last thing we should desire, gentlemen,” he said, “is to resort to force. But the time for explanation is short. The people of Aureataland have at last risen against the tyranny they have so long endured. General Whittingham has proved a traitor to the cause of freedom; he won his position in the name of liberty; he has used it to destroy liberty. The voice of the people has declared him to have forfeited his high office. The people have placed in my hand the sword of vengeance. Armed with this mighty sanction, I have appealed to the army. The army has proved true to its traditions—true to its character of the protector, not the oppressor, of the people. Gentlemen, will you who lead the army take your proper place?”
There was no reply to this moving appeal. He advanced closer to them, and went on:
“There is no middle way. You are patriots or traitors—friends of liberty or friends of tyranny. I stand here to offer you either a traitor’s death, or, if you will, life, honor, and the satisfaction of all your just claims. Do you mistrust the people? I, as their representative, here offer you every just due the people owes you—debts which had long been paid but for the greed of that great traitor.”
As he said this he took from his men some bags of money, and threw them on the table with a loud chink. Major DeChair glanced at the bags, and glanced at his comrades, and said:
“In the cause of liberty God forbid we should be behind. Down with the tyrant!”
And all the pack yelped in chorus!
“Then, gentlemen, to the head of your men,” said the colonel, and going to the window, he cried to the throng:
“Men, your noble officers are with us.”
A cheer answered him. I wiped my forehead, and said to myself, “That’s well over.”
I will not weary the reader with our further proceedings. Suffice it to say we marshaled our host and marched down to the Piazza. The news had spread by now, and in the dimly breaking morning light we saw the Square full of people—men, women, and children. As we marched in there was a cheer, not very hearty—a cheer propitiatory, for they did not know what we meant to do. The colonel made them a brief speech, promising peace, security, liberty, plenty, and all the goods of heaven. In a few stern words he cautioned them against “treachery,” and announced that any rebellion against the Provisional Government would meet with swift punishment. Then he posted his army in companies, to keep watch till all was quiet. And at last he said:
“Now, Martin, come back to the Golden House, and let’s put that fellow in a safe place.”
“Yes,” said I; “and have a look for the money.” For really, in the excitement, it seemed as if there was a danger of the most important thing of all being forgotten.
The dawn was now far advanced, and as we left the Piazza, we could see the Golden House at the other end of the avenue. All looked quiet, and the sentries were gently pacing to and fro. Drawing nearer, we saw two or three of the President’s servants busied about their ordinary tasks. One woman was already deleting Johnny Carr’s life-blood with a mop and a pail of water; and a carpenter was at work repairing the front-door. Standing by it was the doctor’s brougham.
“Come to see Carr, I suppose,” said I. — Leaving our horses to the care of the men who were with us we entered the house. Just inside we met the doctor himself. He was a shrewd little fellow, named Anderson, generally popular and, though a personal friend of the President’s, not openly identified with either political party.
“I have a request to make to you, sir,” he said to McGregor, “about Mr. Carr.”
“Well, is he dead?” said the colonel. “If he is, he’s got only himself to thank for it.”
The doctor wisely declined to discuss this question, and confined himself to stating that Johnny was not dead. On the contrary, he was going on nicely.
“But,” he went on, “quiet is essential, and I want to take him to my house, out of the racket. No doubt it is pretty quiet here now, but—”
The colonel interrupted:
“Will he give hisparolenot to escape?”
“My dear sir,” said the doctor, “the man couldn’t move to save his life—and he’s asleep now.”
“You must wake him up to move him, I suppose,” said the colonel. “But you may take him. Let me know when he’s well enough to see me. Meanwhile I hold you responsible for his good behavior.”
“Certainly,” said the doctor. “I am content to be responsible for Mr. Carr.”
“All right; take him and get out. Now for Whittingham!”
“Hadn’t we better get the money first?” said I. — “Damn the money!” he replied. “But I tell you what—I must have a bit of food. I’ve tasted nothing for twelve hours.”
One of the servants hearing him, said:
“Breakfast can be served in a moment, sir.” And he ushered us into the large dining room, where we soon had an excellent meal.
When we had got through most of it, I broke the silence by asking:
“What are you going to do with him?”
“I should like to shoot him,” said the colonel.
“On what charge?”
“Treachery,” he replied.
I smiled.
“That would hardly do, would it?”
“Well, then, embezzlement of public funds.”
We had a little talk about the President’s destiny, and I tried to persuade the colonel to milder measures. In fact, I was determined to prevent such a murder if I could without ruin to myself.
“Well, we’ll consider it when we’ve seen him,” said the colonel, rising and lighting a cigarette. “By Jove! we’ve wasted an hour breakfasting—it’s seven o’clock.”
I followed him along the passage, and we entered the little room where we had left the President. The sentries were still there, each seated in an armchair. They were not asleep, but looked a little drowsy.
“All right?” said the colonel.
“Yes, Excellency,” said one of them. “He is in there in bed.”
He went into the inner room and began to undo the shutters, letting in the early sun.
We passed through the half-opened door and saw a peaceful figure lying in the bed, whence proceeded a gentle snore.
“Good nerve, hasn’t he?” said the colonel.
“Yes; but what a queer night-cap!” I said, for the President’s head was swathed in white linen.
The colonel strode quickly up to the bed.
“Done, by hell!” he cried. “It’s Johnny Carr!”
It was true; there lay Johnny. His Excellency was nowhere to be seen.
The colonel shook Johnny roughly by the arm. The latter opened his eyes and said sleepily:
“Steady there. Kindly remember I’m a trifle fragile.”
“What’s this infernal plot? Where’s Whittingham?”
“Ah, it’s McGregor,” said Johnny, with a bland smile, “and Martin. How are you, old fellow? Some beast’s hit me on the head.”
“Where’s Whittingham?” reiterated the colonel, savagely shaking Johnny’s arm.
“Gently!” said I; “after all, he’s a sick man.”
The colonel dropped the arm with a muttered oath, and Johnny said, sweetly:
“Quits, isn’t it, colonel?”
The colonel turned from him, and said to his men sternly:
“Have you had any hand in this?”
They protested vehemently that they were as astonished as we were; and so they were, unless they acted consummately. They denied that anyone had entered the outer room or that any sound had proceeded from the inner. They swore they had kept vigilant watch, and must have seen an intruder. Both the men inside were the colonel’s personal servants, and he believed their honesty; but what of their vigilance?
Carr heard him sternly questioning them, on which he said:
“Those chaps aren’t to blame, colonel. I didn’t come in that way. If you’ll take a look behind the bed, you’ll see another door. They brought me in there. I was rather queer and only half knew what was up.”
We looked and saw a door where he said. Pushing the bed aside, we opened it, and found ourselves on the back staircase of the premises. Clearly the President had noiselessly opened this door and got out. But how had Carr got in without noise?
The sentry came up, and said:
“Every five minutes, sir, I looked and saw him on the bed. He lay for the first hour in his clothes. The next look, he was undressed. It struck me he’d been pretty quick and quiet about it, but I thought no more.”
“Depend upon it, the dressed man was the President, the undressed man Carr! When was that?”
“About half-past two, sir; just after the doctor came.”
“The doctor!” we cried.
“Yes, sir; Dr. Anderson.”
“You never told me he had been here.”
“He never went into the President’s—into General Whittingham’s room, sir; but he came in here for five minutes, to get some brandy, and stood talking with us for a time. Half an hour after he came in for some more.”
We began to see how it was done. That wretched little doctor was in the plot. Somehow or other he had communicated with the President; probably he knew of the door. Then, I fancied, they must have worked something in this way. The doctor comes in to distract the sentries, while his Excellency moves the bed. Finding that they took a look every five minutes, he told the President. Then he went and got Johnny Carr ready. Returning, he takes the President’s place on the bed, and in that character undergoes an inspection. The moment this is over, he leaps up and goes out. Between them they bring in Carr, put him into bed, and slip out through the narrow space of open door behind the bedstead. When all was done, the doctor had come back to see if any suspicion had been aroused.
“I have it now!” cried the colonel. “That infernal doctor’s done us both. He couldn’t get Whittingham out of the house without leave, so he’s taken him as Carr! Swindled me into giving my leave. Ah, look out, if we meet, Mr. Doctor!”
We rushed out of the house and found this conjecture was true. The man who purported to be Carr had been carried out, enveloped in blankets, just as we sat down to breakfast; the doctor had put him into the carriage, followed himself, and driven rapidly away.
“Which way did they go?”
“Toward the harbor, sir,” the sentry replied.
The harbor could be reached in twenty minutes’ fast driving. Without a word the colonel sprang on his horse; I imitated him, and we galloped as hard as we could, everyone making way before our furious charge. Alas! we were too late. As we drew rein on the quay we saw, half a mile out to sea and sailing before a stiff breeze, Johnny Carr’s little yacht, with the Aureataland flag floating defiantly at her masthead.
We gazed at it blankly, with never a word to say, and turned our horses’ heads. Our attention was attracted by a small group of men standing round the storm-signal post. As we rode up, they hastily scattered, and we saw pinned to the post a sheet of note-paper. Thereupon was written in a well-known hand: