Henry Beauchamp was, beyond all doubt, by nature an impatient man; but, for the first five-and-twenty years of his life, his impatience had found so little in his state or situation whereon to work, that it had gone lame for want of exercise. Nature--notwithstanding Locke--had given him a store of noble feelings, and education had added thereto a store of good principles; and, with all this to guard him against evil desires, he had found little in the world to wish for that his fortune or influence had not enabled him to obtain with ease: thus he was only now beginning to find matters whereon to exercise the virtue of patience.
On the third day after his visit to the jeweller's, he began to find that his stock was nearly exhausted, and likewise to contemplate paying another visit to the shop where he had first obtained this clue, as he hoped it would prove, for discovering the residence of William Delaware. Indeed, he would have pursued that course at once, had he not feared that his anxiety on the subject might excite suspicion, and cause some annoyance to the object of his search. This reflection, though it did not keep him from going near the jeweller's house more than once in the course of the day, did prevent him from venturing into it.
His equanimity, however, was gone; and, whether it arose from his late attack of fever, or from the air of Paris in the first days of November, or from disappointment and vexation, I cannot tell; but certain it is, he viewed every thing in the darkest side, and began to revolve the prospect of losing Blanche Delaware for ever, just at the moment that he had found new hopes of having her heart in his favour.
The consolatory process of dining did nothing for him; and, as seven o'clock chimed on the third day, the whole array of dinner was removed, the courier stationed as before in the anteroom, with strict orders given to admit no one but the person described, and, as soon as he was admitted, to retire, and leave his master and the stranger alone. Eight o'clock came, Beauchamp ordered coffee, and took a book; but, though he gazed with an involuntary smile upon the grotesque drawings stitched into theRoi de Bohemeno word could be read of the letterpress. He tried the eloquent nonsense of Chateaubriand, but it was as unpalatable as the satirical nonsense of Nodier; and, casting away the books, he gave the matter up in despair, abandoning himself to the contemplation of the pictures in the wood fire.
At length the door of the anteroom was heard to open, and the voice of some one speaking to the courier reached Beauchamp's ear; but the door shut again, the intruder descended the stairs, and all was silent once more. The moment after, however, the same sounds were repeated; the door of the saloon also was thrown wide by the servant, who uttered, at the same time, the pleasant words of, "Here is the gentleman you expected, sir!"
Beauchamp started up as the visiter entered; but what was his surprise to see--not the features of Captain Delaware--but those of Walter Harrison, or Sailor Wat, as he had been called at Emberton, and who was certainly too nearly connected with one part at least of his long and hitherto unsuccessful search, to be beheld without emotion. Beauchamp and the young sailor gazed at each other for a moment without speaking; and even the courier--doubtful, from the astonishment evident in his master's countenance, whether he had admitted the right person--stood at the door for a moment, and stared at them both in turn.
He soon received a sign, however, to depart; and, closing the door, he left Beauchamp and the sailor alone.
"This is a strange visit, certainly!" said Beauchamp, flinging himself into a chair, and gazing in some perplexity upon the countenance of Wat Harrison, which was pale, worn, and haggard, in a frightful degree. "This is a strange visit enough, certainly!"
"You have sought me, Mr. Burrel," said the young sailor, in a tone of calm determination; "and now you seem surprised to see me! What is the meaning of this?"
"I have certainly sought you, sir," said Beauchamp, not yet having caught the right end of the clue; "but, most assuredly, I little thought you would present yourself uncompelled--Are you aware that this visit is dangerous to you?"
"Not a whit!" said Wat Harrison, boldly; "and I do not care a d--n if it were;--but I say, not a whit! You are not a man, sir, to ask me here in order to betray me. I knew that well enough before I came."
Beauchamp now, for the first time, perceived the mistake. The young sailor, well dressed, and offering the external appearance of a gentleman, had gained that appellation from the jeweller, the mind of whose hearer, already filled with the idea of Captain Delaware, had at once become impressed with the notion that the person described, was no other than that officer. The height and the fair complexion had aided the rest of the circumstances; and Beauchamp now found that he had invited the visit of one of the murderers of the unhappy miser of Ryebury, in such a manner as to preclude him from taking advantage of his coming, to cause his apprehension. He hesitated, indeed, for he felt that perhaps the duty of bringing the culprit to justice should be paramount; but the word honour, so often falsely construed, was so even with Beauchamp, and he could not bring himself to do that which his conscience told him he ought to do. Although the contest between reason and prejudice was severe, yet he was not long in forming his determination; and rising again, after a moment's thought, he said, "Young man, your coming here has originated in a mistake. From the description given by the person who sent you, I thought he spoke of Captain Delaware, when he really alluded to yourself; but as the mistake was mine, not yours, I will not take advantage of it to give you up to justice. Nevertheless, remember that I am not ignorant of your crime; and that although I suffer you to depart from this house, and will give you time to seek your place of concealment, yet I hold myself bound to give notice to the Parisian police--who have orders from the government to aid in arresting you and your accomplices--that you are within the walls of Paris, and that, therefore, if you escape it is their fault."
"It will not be so easy to arrest me, Mr. Burrel," answered the young man, in the same calm tone in which he had spoken before. "It will not be so easy to arrest me, unless I like it myself--So you sent for me by mistake? Well, I had hoped that there was one man on earth that knew how to work me properly--But no matter--no matter! And you took me for Captain Delaware, did you?--God bless him, wherever he is, for a noble gentleman and a gallant officer!--So, they tell me they have accused him of the murder--and made him fly his country, and that he is to be dismissed his Majesty's service"--and as he spoke, the calm tone was lost, and he was evidently working himself up to a pitch of excessive fury--"And if he is taken he is to be tried," he continued--"and there is already a coroner's verdict against him--and that he will be hanged to a certainty--and that his good name is already blasted for ever--and that poor Miss Blanche will weep her heart out for him--and poor old Sir Sidney will die of grief for his son's fate--and all for a crime that he did not commit---and, d--n your eyes, do you think I am going to stand all that? No, never, by ----! Weren't they kind to me when never a soul was kind to me in all the world? and didn't they stand by me, when every soul abandoned me? And am I going to see them all go to ruin and to misery, because I myself and that black villain have brought damnation upon my own head; No, no, never you think that! Why, it was bad enough before--and every time I thought upon their going and murdering the poor old man, while I kept watch in the passage, I was ready to go and give myself up, and beg them to hang me out of the way, that I might think no more of it--but now--now that I find all that it has done besides, d--me if I would not hang forty such fellows as that, rather than that the captain should come to ill by it!"
From this confused speech, which Beauchamp listened to with eager attention, though certainly not without some surprise, he learned all that the judicious reader has already discovered, of what was passing in the mind of poor Walter Harrison. He saw, in short, that remorse had done its work; and that the fact of the crime in which he had taken part, having brought down such misfortunes on the family who had been his benefactors, had carried remorse to its natural climax of despair. It was evident, too, that his remorse was of that purer kind which is kindred to repentance, and that, at all events, he contemplated atonement; and Beauchamp felt confident that, by proper management, full and satisfactory evidence might now be procured of the facts necessary to exculpate William Delaware completely. He saw, however, at the same time, that the spirit with which he had to deal, wild, wayward, and violent, would require most skilful treatment to bring it to the point he had in view.
"You are heated!" he said, "Walter Harrison; but if I understand you right, there is still a hope, through your means, of saving William Delaware from all the evils that you have brought upon him."
"Hear me, sir--hear me!" replied the young sailor, "Only tell me what is necessary to save him; and if you bid me hang a slipknot to the yard-arm, then put my neck in it, and cast myself off, I'll do it."
"I take you at your word," said Beauchamp. "There is but one way to clear him--but one way to restore him to that clear and honourable character which he always maintained in life, notwithstanding poverty."
"Ay, there it is! There it is!" cried the young man; "clear and honourable, and yet poor--as poor for his rank as I was for mine--ay, and I might have had a clear and honourable name, too--but never mind--never mind--it is all coming to an end soon!" And casting himself down in a chair, he pressed his hands over his eyes.
"You lose your self-command, Walter," said Beauchamp. "Be calm, and let us speak over this business rationally."
"Calm! Calm!" cried the young sailor, starting up. "How the devil would you have me calm, when you are speaking of things that are burning in my heart like coals of fire? How can I be calm?"
"You came here," said Beauchamp, somewhat sternly, "with a fixed determination, I suppose, of some kind--either intending to do right or to do wrong--to make the only reparation that you can for the crimes you have committed, by delivering your benefactor from the consequences of your errors--or boldly to deny what you have committed. If you intend to do right, the first noble and generous determination that you have formed for long, should teach you to execute your purpose with the calmness and fortitude of a man."
"You say true, sir--you say true!" replied the youth, in a tone of deep melancholy. "You always say true; and if I had attended to what you told me when you brought me home from the fire that night, I should not have felt as I do now--but there is no use of talking of that--I did come here with the intention of doing right; and I will do right, if you will tell me how. What I want to do, is to clear the captain of every thing, and make it so plain that he never had any hand in the bad business, that even those old devils at Emberton shall have nothing to say. You were going to tell me the way when I stopped you. Now, I will stick at nothing, either on my own account, or that of others--for as to that accursed ruffian who entrapped me into the business, I have had many a black thought, when he sneers at me because I am sorry, to finish him myself."
"Your only way, then, to make the reparation you propose," replied Beauchamp, "is to give such information as may lead to the apprehension and conviction of the men who actually committed the murder--for, from what you have said, I am led to believe that you had no absolute share in the deed itself."
"No, no! None, none!" cried the young man, rapidly. "I did not know they were going to do it--they had promised me, with the most solemn oaths, not to hurt a hair of his head, and I knew nothing of it till it was all over.
"Well, then," answered Beauchamp, "if that be the case, you will not only be enabled to make, as I said before, the only reparation in your power for the ill you have done, but you will entirely clear Captain Delaware, and yet run no danger yourself; for in his Majesty's proclamation on the subject, I find that a free pardon is promised to any one of the parties--with the exception of the actual murderers--who will bring his accomplices to justice. So that your life is safe."
"I care nothing about my life!" cried the young man, relapsing into impetuosity. "What the devil, do you think I am going to turn a pitiful king's evidence, and make a bargain for my own neck, while I am hanging my fellows. No, no! I will tell all that I know--I will go along with them, and be tried with them, and hanged with them too, for that matter--I care not--if I am alive on the execution day. But I will make no bargains about my life--none--none--my days are numbered, Mr. Burrel!" He added more calmly, "My days are numbered; and the last may come when it will--I will shake hands with it when it does. There is only one bargain I will make, and that I know you will grant me; for you were one of the few that were kind--It is about my poor mother I am talking. She has had sorrows enough, sir, and she shall only have one more for me; so, when I am dead, I hope you will promise to take care of her, and let her have enough--if the job do not kill her, which likely it may too; and that is the worst of it all; but, however, I have made up my mind, do you see, and so you must promise me, that she shall have the old cottage and forty pounds a-year to live on; and if nobody else gives it, you must."
"Most willingly will I do it, upon my honour," replied Beauchamp.
"That is enough, sir! Quite enough!" continued the young sailor. "You and I, Mr. Burrel, are quits in some things--you saved my life once; and I can tell you, that if it had not been for me on that horrible night, you would either have been left, with your throat cut at the door of the house, or have gone overboard, and to the bottom, as we sailed along."
"I imagined that such was the case," answered Beauchamp; "and all these things tell so much in your favour, that I cannot understand how you could suffer yourself to be led into such a crime, as that which you have committed."
"I tell you, sir, I had nothing to do with it," cried the young man. "If I had been present, they should not have hurt a hair of his head--They knew that well enough, and therefore they left me below to keep watch. As to the robbery, that I did consent to; and that was bad enough too--but then, that Harding had the tongue of the devil himself, to persuade one. He got round me when I was ill--He taught me to believe that all riches ought to be in common, and that no man should be wealthy, while another man was poor; and then he told me, that to take the money which the old miser made no use of, and left rotting in his chests, could be no harm--and then he harped upon my mother's poverty and misery, and made things ten times worse than they were; so at length I consented, on condition that he would promise not to hurt the old man. Well, even then, when he came down all bloody, and I saw too well that they had killed him, I do think that I should have either shot him for deceiving me, or should have gone and given him up, as he deserved; but I saw that he felt what he had done himself, and there was something so awful about him just at that moment, that I do not well know why or how, but he got the mastery of me, and I did what he liked, till it came to killing you, which the woman wanted us to do, as you lay stunned at the door. Then my spirit got up again, and I was master of them all till we came over here. But now he has forgotten all that he seemed to feel then--that Harding I mean--and he talks about it quietly, and sneers and laughs, and looks coolly at me, while he is speaking of things that would make one's blood run cold--and he persuades himself that it is all right."
The strong excitement under which the young sailor laboured, afforded Beauchamp every means of drawing from him the whole details of the murder, and the events that followed; and he found that the crime at least, as far as robbery went, had been concerted long before it was perpetrated. The moment for executing their plan, had always been postponed by Harding himself, who had assured his accomplices, that a large sum of money, which he knew was to be paid into the miser's hands, had not yet been received; and Beauchamp easily divined that the murderer had alluded to the sum he himself had drawn for, through the instrumentality of the unhappy money-lender. So completely organized had been the whole design, that a French cutter, engaged by young Harrison, had actually lain upon the coast for several days, in order to carry the three culprits to Havre, whence they were instantly to embark for America. The master of the vessel, however, tired of waiting, had at length left the coast on the very night that the murder was committed; and the only means of escape that the four accomplices found, when they reached the beach, was the boat which the young sailor had provided with money furnished by Harding, for the purpose of conveying them from the shore to the ship, without the necessity of making signals, which might have betrayed them. The woman had, indeed, nearly brought the coast guard upon them, by accidentally falling into the sea as they embarked, and screaming for help; but nevertheless, they got her into the boat, and pushed off before any one came up. On their arrival in France, the young man added, they had taken, under Harding's direction, those measures of precaution which had baffled Beauchamp and the officers in their pursuit, and had at length arrived in Paris, where he, who might be considered as their leader, had boasted that he could lie concealed if all the police of France and England were set upon his track. Here he proposed to sell a variety of different articles of jewellery and plate, which he and his companion had contrived to bring with them, and then to take ship for the land of Columbus, as they originally had proposed. Harding, the young sailor said, had soon lost all appearance of that remorse which he had felt at first; but he described him at the same time as living in a state of reckless debauchery and excitement, from which Beauchamp argued that the never-dying worm was still tremendously alive within his bosom. He drank deep, Walter Harrison added, without getting drunk. The woman whom he had brought with him, and had before seduced, he treated with contempt and cruelty. He gamed also continually, in the lower and more brutal resorts of Parisian blacklegs and madmen; and, gratifying every passion to excess, it was evident that he was striving to drown the voice of remorse in a tide of gross and eager licentiousness.
"It is a fearful picture," said Beauchamp. "But now tell me, how and when we can bring this atrocious villain to punishment. You, my poor young man, he has misled and betrayed; and I do not even know that his crime towards you is not of a deeper die than that which he committed on the person of the wretched old man at Ryebury. He could but kill the body of the one"----
"Ay, and of the other," interrupted the young sailor, "he has condemned the immortal soul!"
"I hope not! I hope not!" said Beauchamp. "Life is still before you, if you choose to live; and I know of no circumstances in which life is so inestimably valuable to man, as when he has been greatly criminal; for every year that he remains here may, if he will, be filled with the golden moments of repentance. But once more, how can we apprehend this villain?"
"Ay, he is a villain!" answered the young sailor; "if ever there lived one, he is the man;" and he was proceeding again to stray from the subject, when Beauchamp recalled him to it, and mentioned the necessity there would be of applying to the French police; but at the very idea the other started wild away.
"No, no, no!" he cried, "that will not do. He's a brave man, though he be a ruffian; and he shall never say that I took odds against him, because I was afraid of him one to one."
"Then, how do you propose to act?" demanded Beauchamp, in some astonishment. "This man must be taken, and brought to punishment, if you would keep your word with me, and clear the character of William Delaware."
The young man mused sullenly for several minutes, merely muttering, "He shall--he shall be taken. Hark you, Mr. Burrel," he said at length, looking up boldly and steadfastly, "you are a brave man. I have seen you do brave things. Now, there is this Harding and another; and here are you and I--that is two to two, and fair play. If you choose to go with me to-morrow night, I will take you to where those two are alone; and if we do not take them, and tie them hand and foot, it is our fault; but d--me if I take odds against them!"
The proposal was certainly as strange a one as ever was made, and as unpleasant a one as could have been addressed, to Henry Beauchamp. I have said before that he was naturally fearless; and, consequently, did not see one half of the dangers in anything proposed that most other people would have done; but, at the same time, he had not the slightest inclination to run himself into scrapes of any kind, without necessity; and he could not help perceiving that the business was at once a perilous one, and one which might be much better performed without his interference. In the next place, he did not think the occupation particularly dignified or becoming; and thirdly, he did not at all like the eclat it would produce, and felt most exquisitely annoyed at the very idea of the romantic interest of the story, as it would figure in all the newspapers, and be told in all the coteries. It was quite enough, he thought, to have been made to drown himself for the amusement of the public; and certainly something too much, to be obliged to apprehend two murderers,vi et armiswithout any cause or necessity whatever.
"Well, sir! Will you do it?" demanded the young sailor, seeing that he paused upon his proposal.
"Why, I think not," answered Beauchamp.
"D--me, then!"--cried the other; but Beauchamp interrupted him in that commanding tone which no one knew better how to assume.
"Hush, sir! Hush!" he said. "You forget yourself, and who you are speaking to. Call not down in words those curses, which I trust that your present and your future actions may avert, however much the past may have merited them. In regard to your proposal--in the first place, I am not a thief-taker; and consequently the task does not become me. In the next place, by the plan you suggest, the great object I have in view is likely to be defeated--I mean the bringing these men to justice, in order to clear Captain Delaware. Suppose, for instance, that by any accident we should be overpowered by them, we lose his only hope; and even if we overpower them, having no legal authority to do so, any one who happens to be near, may give them such aid and assistance as will enable them to escape, and foil us entirely."
"I will tell you what, sir," said the young man sullenly, "I'll go some length, but I will not go all. To prevent them getting away anyhow, you may put the police round the house if you like--but only you and I shall go in upon them; for I will not take odds against them anyhow; and if you are afraid to go, why"----
"I am not afraid to do anything, sir!" replied Beauchamp. "And though it is not at all necessary, and though perhaps it may be foolish of me to do it--yet, rather than lose any evidence in favour of Captain Delaware, I will do what you propose; that is to say, I will go in with you alone, in order to master these two men, if we can; but it shall be on condition that the agents of the police be stationed round the house, in such a manner as to prevent their escape, whether we succeed or fail."
"That is what I say," replied the young sailor. "Let us have a bout with them, two to two fairly; and then if they kill us, why, there will be still men round the house to take them.
"I had forgot," answered Beauchamp, "that, as you say, we may be both killed in this business; and if you should be killed, pray, what evidence is there to convict either of these men? If you really intend to do what you have promised, it will behove you to make a full and complete declaration of the whole facts, and sign them before two or three persons, previous to entering upon this undertaking."
Walter Harrison paused and thought, and Beauchamp urged him strongly to take the precaution he proposed; but he did not succeed, "No," said the young sailor at length; "No! I will put it all down in my own handwriting, which can be well enough proved by the ship's books, and I will sign it with my name, and I'll give it to you to-morrow night; but I'll not go it all over again before any one else, till I tell it all for the last time--There, don't say any more; for I won't do it--I don't like this police business either; but I suppose it must be done--So, now I will go. You will find me, to-morrow night at ten o'clock, opposite that jeweller's shop. I will not fail you, upon my honour;" and so saying, he walked towards the door. Ere he reached it, however, he again turned, and coming nearer, he said, "Mr. Burrel, I trust to your honour, that when you have got me there with the police, you will not let them go into the house with us--mind, two to two is fair play. He shall never say, that I brought odds against him!"
"I have given you my word," said Beauchamp, "and I will certainly keep it."
"Well then, good-night, sir," replied the young man, and opening the door, he passed out into the anteroom; but ere he had taken two steps beyond the threshold, he again returned to bid Beauchamp bring his pistols with him. "He always has his in his pockets," he said; "so it would be unfair that you should be without."
"I will take care to come prepared," replied Beauchamp, and his visiter once more left the room. He paused a moment in the anteroom, and hesitated as if he had something more to say, but the instant after he quited the apartments, and was heard descending the stairs with a rapid step.
"Well!" thought Beauchamp, when the young sailor was gone. "Well, this is a stupid business enough; and I certainly shall not particularly like being shot for this young rascal's whim; but it cannot be helped, and my will being made, it is not so troublesome as it might otherwise have proved. At all events, dear Blanche, I am periling somewhat to fulfil your request, and clear your brother's name and character."
It is wonderful how much this last thought reconciled Henry Beauchamp to an undertaking which he had before looked upon as absurd, and in some sort degrading. Such little collateral associations are strange conjurers; and as Beauchamp thought over the whole matter, and mingled up the idea of Blanche Delaware with every particular which he had before considered in the abstract only, his expedition became bright and chivalrous, and he lay down to sleep, anxious for the coming morning.
The first eight hours after Beauchamp rose, on the following day, were devoted to securing the assistance of the French police, in the undertaking in which he was about to engage; and although this time may appear long, yet every moment of it was employed in removing the many difficulties which, with wise precaution, the French Government threw in the way of the arrest of aliens, for crimes committed in a different country.
The previous proceedings, although they had smoothed the way, had not entirely removed all obstacles; and the young Englishman, though backed by the influence of the whole of the English diplomatic agents at Paris, found the time barely sufficient to accomplish the necessary arrangements.
The dull official forms must, of course, have no place here; and it is only necessary to say, that, after the necessary orders were given, the French officers of police shrugged up their shoulders at the plan which Beauchamp was obliged to propose, in conformity with his engagement to Walter Harrison, declared that Monsieur was perfectly welcome to take the first brunt of the business upon himself, and promised to meet him at the rendezvous a little before the time which the young sailor had named.
All this being at length settled, Beauchamp returned to his hotel, dined, loaded his pistols, took one glass of wine less than usual, for fear of embarrassing his hand, and then sat waiting impatiently for the appointed hour. By the time it arrived, the sky had got out of humour, and it was raining furiously; but still there were a great many Parisians afoot, all pattering along under their pink umbrellas, as merry as crickets; and many a tender salutation did Beauchamp receive, in his way to the house of the jeweller.
He reached the street a few minutes before the time; but the police were at their post, and he found that six powerful men were in readiness to back his exertions. Walter Harrison, however, had not appeared, and a quarter of an hour elapsed without any sign of his keeping the appointment he had made. The chief of the French police hinted broadly, that beyond doubt he had deceived the English gentleman; and Beauchamp himself began to suspect that the young culprit had repented of his promise.
Before another minute had elapsed, however, the tall athletic form of the widow's son was seen coming quickly along on the other side of the street, and Beauchamp instantly crossed over and spoke to him.
"All is right, sir," said the sailor. "They are both at home, and are even now engaged in pigeoning a young greenhorn, whom they have inveigled to play with them. If they do not get his money that way, I should not wonder if they cut his throat--so, come along, and let us make haste."
"I am ready," said Beauchamp; "but you promised to write down"----
"Ay, ay! there it is," said the young man, putting a paper into his hand. "Give it to one of those fellows who are of the police, I suppose--but make haste, and come along; for if they do not get the poor lad's money by fair means, they will by foul. I heard them talk about throwing something into the Seine, and getting a sack ready--and I do not like such words from such folks"----
"Nor I!" replied Beauchamp, "Nor I! You walk on, and we will follow;" and, crossing over to the other party, he gave the paper he had received to the commissary who headed them, and then followed as fast as possible upon the steps of the young sailor. Walter Harrison advanced rapidly; and, passing up one of the short streets that lead from the Rue de Rivoli into the Rue St. Honorè, he turned to the right in the latter, and then made his way to one of the smaller streets in the neighbourhood of the Rue St. Anne. At length he stopped; and, pointing forward to a house of respectable size and appearance, "That is the house," he said; "if these fellows halt in the passage, they are sure not to lose their game, for there is no back entrance."
Beauchamp explained to the leader of the party the words of the young sailor; and they now drew near the house in a body, keeping profound silence. The men were then carefully stationed round the door; and Beauchamp, with one pistol in his hand, and the other thrust into his bosom between his coat and waistcoat, followed his guide into the house, the door of which, as is frequent in Paris, stood open as a common entrance to all the different floors.
It were in vain to say that Beauchamp felt no sort of anxiety. The very excitement of the whole business made his heart beat with a quicker pulse than usual; and he listened eagerly as they ascended the stairs for any sound that might announce their proximity to the chamber of the murderers. He was not long kept in expectation. At the first door they reached, after passing theentresolthe young sailor paused, and rang the bell twice.
As soon as ever he had done so, he whispered to Beauchamp, "I will take this one, whoever it is that opens the door. You run on, and secure the other in the room beyond--I will follow in a minute."
Almost as he spoke, the door was thrown open, and the coarse face of Tony Smithson, the man who had gone down with him in the stage-coach to Emberton, was exposed to Beauchamp's sight. He had a light in his hand, and the moment he saw that there were two men on the stairs, he would have started back, and retreated; but the young sailor sprang upon him at once, grappled with him tight, and in an instant both rolled together on the floor of the little anteroom. Beauchamp rushed forward to a door which was standing a-jar on the other side of the chamber, and whence there issued forth an intolerable smell of brandy-punch, together with the sounds of laughter. He reached it in a moment, but not before the noise of the struggle without, had caught the ears of the tenants of the room; for when Beauchamp flung wide the door, he found the murderer Harding, already, with a pistol in each hand, retreating into one corner of the room, from a table covered with bottles, glasses, and bowls, cards, dice, and markers; while the unfortunate wretch, whom we have already seen as the dirty maid of the old miser at Ryebury, now tricked out in all the gay smartness of Parisian costume, stood by the table, with sudden terror and agony in her countenance. The moment her eyes rested on Beauchamp's face, she saw that her fate was sealed, and with a loud scream, she fell, fainting, by the table. Harding, however, with scowling determination in his brow, placed his back in the corner, and pointed the pistol he held directly towards his former master.
Beauchamp paused, and levelled his own weapon at the villain's head, exclaiming sternly, but coolly, "Throw down your arms, sir! You know, I never miss my aim!"
Harding paused for a moment, slightly dropping the point of his pistol; and Beauchamp, as they stood face to face, at the distance of half a dozen yards, could see the corners of his mouth draw gradually down, into a sort of sneering smile. The next instant he replied, "I know you never miss your aim; I do--and therefore, this is the best use I can make of my bullet," and he rapidly turned the pistol towards his own head.
Beauchamp heard the lock click as the murderer raised the weapon, and seeing that the clear exculpation of William Delaware, which would be gained by the trial of the real culprit, might be lost by the act about to be committed, he brought the muzzle of his own pistol slightly round, and pulled the trigger. The report rang through the room, and the arm that Harding was raising against his own life, fell powerless by his side. A slight cry of pain escaped from his lips at the same moment, but the fury that the wound stirred up, flashed forth from his eyes; and, with the other pistol in his left hand, he rushed forward upon Beauchamp, coolly calculating, even at that terrible moment, that from the unsteadiness of his left hand, he could not revenge himself as he wished, unless he brought the mouth of the weapon close to his adversary. Beauchamp, eager to take him alive, closed with him instantly; the young sailor, hearing the report of fire-arms, left the other ruffian but half tied, and rushing into the room, endeavoured to wrench the pistol from Harding's hand, as he strove with the strength of despair and hatred to bring the muzzle close to Beauchamp's head. At the very moment that he seized it, the murderer had in a degree succeeded in taking his aim, and was in the act of pulling the trigger. The flash and report instantly followed, and the ball, cutting along Beauchamp's cheek, laid the cheekbone bare, but passed through the hair on his temple, without doing him farther injury. Walter Harrison, however, at the same moment relaxed his hold, started back; and, catching at one of the chairs with a reeling stagger, sunk down into it, while a torrent of blood spouted forth from his right breast, a little below the collar. Beauchamp, too, heated by the struggle, seized the murderer by the neck, and, with a full exertion of his strength, which was not inconsiderable, dashed him prostrate on the floor, then set his foot upon his chest, and, drawing the pistol from his bosom, commanded him to be still, if he would escape without another wound.
Such was the situation of all parties, when three of the French police, warned by the report of fire-arms that a severe contest was going on above, and thinking they had waited quite long enough, rushed up the stairs, and entered the apartments. The first that they found was the man whom Walter Harrison had left, and who was now calmly untying himself, and about to decamp. He, however, was soon better secured, and committed to the charge of the officers below, while the others advanced into the room beyond, and found the young sailor bleeding profusely, while Beauchamp with some difficulty kept his prisoner to the ground, as Harding, aware of the fate that ultimately awaited him, strove, by means of struggles and imprecations, to make his former master shoot him on the spot.
The moment, however, that he beheld the officers of justice, he became perfectly quiet; and it surprised even Beauchamp to see how easily he relapsed into that calm cold taciturnity which he had formerly displayed. The first care of every one was the young sailor, for whom a surgeon was immediately procured; and, after some difficulty, the bleeding was stopped. The unhappy woman, who had fainted, was then recalled to life, and the wound in the chief culprit's arm was dressed. A proces-verbal of all the events was then taken and attested, for the purpose of being transmitted to England, and the three prisoners were removed, though not without a warning from Beauchamp, that it would be necessary to withhold every thing from Harding which might enable him to commit suicide.
"Diantre, Monsieur!" cried the commissary, who was a small wit in his way. "You are going to hang him when he gets to England; why should you care if he saves you the trouble by hanging himself here?"
"Simply, sir," replied Beauchamp, who, though he could treat great events with indifference, had a sovereign aversion to jesting upon serious subjects. "Simply, because it may be necessary to exculpate the innocent, as well as punish the guilty."
There now only remained Beauchamp, two police-officers, who kept possession of the apartments, the surgeon, and the young sailor. The latter was immediately removed to the bedroom he had occupied since his arrival in Paris, and there, by Beauchamp's directions, the surgeon agreed to sit up with him all night.
The lad had never uttered a word since he had received his wound, although Smithson had poured forth a torrent of abuse upon him, which the murderer's situation rendered at least excusable. When he saw Beauchamp's anxiety for his comfort and welfare, however, he said, in a faint voice, "You are very kind, sir; you always were kind--and I am glad I got the shot--that I am; for, do you see, if I had not turned the pistol my way, it would have gone through your head. So that is some comfort, though it would need a many good actions to make up for all the bad ones I have done. But, however, don't trouble yourself about me; for I shan't die just yet--I am sure of that. All my work is not done yet. I sha'n't live long when it is done, even if they do not hang me when I get to England."
"As I assured you before," replied Beauchamp, "there is no chance whatever of such a thing; and I trust you are beginning to think too properly of your own situation, to dream of attempting your life."
"Oh, no! I was not thinking of that," replied the young man. "I one time thought that I should be glad almost that they did hang me, just to show those d----d rascals that I had not turned king's evidence against them with any thought of myself. But I think differently, now I have got this shot. But, mind, I do not make any bargain. I will go over as a prisoner, and they shall do with me as they like--I'll not flinch--No, no, I'll not flinch!"
Here the surgeon, who did not understand a word that was said, and of course did not like the conversation, laid his hand upon Beauchamp's arm, and gently hinted that perfect quiet was absolutely necessary to any hope of the wounded man's recovery; and that gentleman accordingly left him, with a few kind and consolatory words. He then called the surgeon into one of the other rooms, and, making him dress the wound on his cheek, which had been hitherto neglected, he gave him a substantial earnest of after reward, explaining to him, that the life of the young man under his care, was of the most immense importance as a witness; and begging him, at the same time, to watch every turn which the injury he had received might take, in order that his dying declaration might be drawn up, if recovery were to be found impossible. He then left his address, and returned home; but although extremely fatigued, both by exertion and excitement, he did not lie down to rest till he had seen a courier despatched to London, bearing the news of the capture of Harding and his accomplices; and begging that, without a moment's delay, officers, properly authorized, might be sent over to convey the prisoners to England.
The messenger was ordered to spare no expense, and to lose no time; and he certainly performed his task with very great rapidity. In the meanwhile, the news of Beauchamp's adventure spread through Paris, as if it had been a country town; and, as it may well be supposed that the hotel in which he lodged was one of the first places in which the story developed itself, Mrs. Darlington received it at her toilet the next morning, and instantly wrote a billet to Mr. Beauchamp, beseeching him to let her see him as soon as he was up. This, folded in the newest fashion, and sealed with the newest seal, reached Beauchamp as he was concluding his breakfast; and, in order to quench the worthy lady's thirst, he at once walked down to her apartments.
Mrs. Darlington was as delighted asbienseancewould permit her to be, at the sight of Henry Beauchamp, with a black patch on his cheek, which confirmed all the pretty story she had heard before he came; and her questions, though excessively small and quiet, were, like the little hairy savages that scaled Sinbad's ship, innumerable, and attacking him on all sides.
Beauchamp detailed the whole events; and, if he had been a little bored by the lady's interrogatories, the joy and satisfaction which Mrs. Darlington expressed on hearing that the exculpation of Captain Delaware could now be fully made out--the sincere personal gratification she seemed to feel, made up for all, and placed her high in his good graces. The assurance that, amongst the culprits, one at least of the personages who had set fire to her house was more than probably included, did not seem to interest her half so much as the proofs obtained of William Delaware's innocence; and she returned again and again to the subject, declaring, that nothing would be so delightful as to write to dear Blanche, and give her the whole details.
"Pray, are you in possession of her address?" demanded Beauchamp, assuming as indifferent a tone as it was possible for a man in his situation to affect.
"No, indeed!" replied Mrs. Darlington; "but she will write to me soon, of course."
Beauchamp was mortified; for he had caught at Mrs. Darlington's words at once, as if they gave the full assurance of discovering the abode of her he loved, without farther search or uncertainty. After musing for a moment, however, he said, "I hope, my dear madam, when you do write, you will offer my best compliments to Miss Delaware--who, I dare say you know, is my cousin--and tell her that I have endeavoured, as far as was in my power, to obey the commands with which she favoured me. As I doubt not that you will give her the details of all this story, you may assure her in the most positive manner, from me, that her brother's character will at once be cleared of every imputation, and that all who know him, will hail his return to England with the utmost joy."
Now Mrs. Darlington perceived, as plainly as woman could perceive, that Henry Beauchamp was in love with Blanche Delaware. She had long ago seen it would be so, and now she saw it was so; but yet, for one half of Europe, she would not have let Beauchamp understand that she saw anything of the kind. She had known so many excellent arrangements of the sort spoiled outright by some impolitic, good-natured, stupid friend, jesting upon the subject, or insinuating his mighty discoveries, before Cupid was bound hand and foot--which is never the case ere the matter has come to a declaration--that she answered in the most commonplace way it is possible to imagine--assured Beauchamp that she would give his message correctly--declared that she doubted not Blanche and her father would travel for a year or two; and then began to speak of the beautiful bonnet brought out by Madame ----, of the Fauxbourg St. Germains.
Beauchamp, though he would have seen through every turning of the good lady's tact, had any body else been concerned, was completely blinded in his own case--like all the rest of the world--and, after having given a scientific opinion upon thebrides de blondeand thebordureshe rose and took his leave, fully persuaded that Mrs. Darlington was as ignorant of his love for Blanche Delaware as he himself was of millinery.