CHAPTER VIIIIN THE CHANCELLERIE
“His Excellency, the Chancellor, desires to see Miss Brandon upon official business and alone,” said the messenger.
“You will wait for me, Trixy?” asked Dorothy of her companion.
“I have a letter to send off, dear,” answered Beatrice, “and I will go to your desk and write it. I suppose you will be back to me before I have finished.”
“Yes, yes,” assented Dorothy, with preoccupied air, as she turned to the messenger and indicated her readiness to follow him.
Lord Ashley received her in the main room of the Chancellerie. The messenger who ushered her in withdrew, and they were alone.
Lord Ashley advanced with deferential courtesy to receive her and led her to a seat at the head of a long, highly-polished table in the centre of the room. He drew up a chair and seated himself at the side of the table, in order to bring himself almost face to face with her.
“I must beg your forgiveness, Miss Brandon,” he began, “for having thus hastily asked your attendance. I trust you will not regret too much having missed the pleasures of the garden-party.”
“I confess,” answered Dorothy, “I was astonished upon learning the urgency of your summons and quite unable to guess its cause. Even now I—”
“You are still at a loss,” rejoined Lord Ashley promptly, as she hesitated. “It may be summed up in two words—official business.”
“Official business!” repeated Dorothy. “So the message said. But what possible connection can there be between me and the official business of the Chancellerie?”
“It does seem peculiar, doesn’t it?” laughed Lord Ashley pleasantly, “but that is precisely what I am about to explain to you. There is a matter regarding which you can, perhaps, furnish me with some information—information which has only an indirect bearing, no doubt, but which may possibly be of some value to His Majesty’s Government.”
“Indeed? To what does this matter relate?”
“It is connected with the recent disappearance of Captain Stanley Mortimer.”
Dorothy started and perceptibly changed color.
“You astonish me!” she exclaimed. “In what way can I possibly assist you in this?”
“You remember the occasion of the last Court ball?” asked Lord Ashley.
“Yes.”
“That night was also the occasion of the wounding of Captain Swords and of the disappearance of Captain Mortimer, as you will recall.”
“Yes.”
“The last known appearance in public of Captain Mortimer,” continued Lord Ashley, “was at the ball, where he had the honor of dancing with you.”
“Yes, he danced with me.”
“After which,” resumed Lord Ashley, “you both made the customary promenade and conversed together.”
“We passed into the royal conservatory.”
“So that,” said Lord Ashley, with a pleasantsmile, “you are the last person with whom Captain Mortimer is known to have been seen on that eventful night.”
“I was not aware of that.”
“Such is the case, however.”
“Well, even so, what then——?”
“Simply this,” replied Lord Ashley, with the same pleasant smile; “it has been deemed advisable to ask you if, in the course of his conversation with you that evening, Captain Mortimer permitted any remarks to fall which would tend to throw light upon his subsequent disappearance.”
Dorothy paused, hesitatingly.
“Was he not engaged that night upon some special service for the King?” she asked.
“Engaged upon special service for the King!” exclaimed Lord Ashley, with a mocking laugh. “No; I regret to say that he was engaged upon very different service.”
“I don’t understand, Milord.”
“Then I will make myself perfectly clear,” said Lord Ashley, with emphasis. “Far from being engaged in His Majesty’s service that night, Captain Mortimer was conspiring with and aiding the enemies of the King.”
“Oh, monstrous!” exclaimed Dorothy with agitation. “I am convinced there is no truth in this.”
“I would that I could join you in this belief,” said Lord Ashley bitterly, “for the sake of the reputation of the army in general and of the Guards in particular. Unfortunately, the proofs in possession of His Majesty’s government are conclusive. Captain Mortimer has been led from the path of his duty to King and Government—has been led to his ruin—by yielding to temptations extended by the King’s enemies.”
“I am convinced there is some mistake,” replied Dorothy. There was a numb sensation in her brain and at her heart, yet she spoke the words bravely.
“Mistake!” repeated Lord Ashley. “Alas, no! The Government has in its possession proofs establishing Captain Mortimer’s connection with certain revolutionary factions to which he has given information and active aid. A search of his quarters subsequent to his disappearance revealed the presence of plans of fortifications and schedules as to the disposition of His Majesty’s forces of a most compromising character.”
Dorothy had recovered from the first shock of the Chancellor’s disclosures and all her senses were now alert.
“It does not seem probable,” she said slowly, “that a person about to disappear would leave all these compromising matters behind, when it would have been so easy to have destroyed them.”
“Ah!” retorted Lord Ashley quickly, “but this disappearance was not premeditated. The necessity for it arose suddenly and in an unforeseen manner.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes,” continued Lord Ashley. “Captain Mortimer was involved in the various scandalous attempts which have been made at times upon the peace and dignity of His Majesty—attempts involving the depositing of threatening and seditious documents in the royal apartments. Upon the occasion of the last of these attempts, Captain Mortimer had reason to believe he was recognized and his acts discovered by the officer on duty that night; hence the attempted assassination of Captain Swords and the sudden disappearance which followed.”
Dorothy sank back in her chair, white and trembling.
“Ah!” she exclaimed with emotion, “you accuse him of murder as well as of treason!”
“Such are the facts to which the proofs in the possession of the Government point,” answered Lord Ashley impressively.
“But,” said Dorothy, gathering her courage and fighting on bravely, “what possible motive could Captain Mortimer have for doing these things? He is a soldier with a brilliant record; he holds an enviable position in the army; why should he do these things? What motive could there be?”
“There are circumstances and temptations which lie so far apart from you and your life, Miss Brandon,” said Lord Ashley with an air of great candor, “that they are difficult to explain to you, and it is not wonderful that you should not understand them. These revolutionary movements are backed by men of large means, who have their own personal aims and ambitions. In addition to this, there are the subscriptions of disaffected masses which, when lumped together, run into vast sums. The Reactionist cause, I can assure you, does not lack money.”
“I follow your words, but I don’t fully understand their import,” said Dorothy.
“I will be more explicit,” rejoined Lord Ashley. “You asked me what could be the motive for Captain Mortimer’s acts, and I answer you by saying that there are ample funds at the disposition of these revolutionists, who do not hesitate to purchase treason. Money—that magnet of temptation which has led astray so many men—was the motive. Captain Mortimer, like many other officers of the army, was addicted to heavy play; he was pressed for money and it was with money that he was debauched.”
“Are there no limits to the calumnies—no depthsto the infamies charged?” cried Dorothy with indignation and despair.
“It does sound infamous,” replied Lord Ashley gravely, “so infamous as to seem, to an upright mind like yours, almost incredible. But such are the facts, and these facts, as I have already had the honor of apprizing you, are supported by proofs in the possession of the Government.”
“But so-called proof at times turns out to be error,” retorted Dorothy.
“There are, it is true, various grades of proof,” replied Lord Ashley with judicial solemnity. “In this case, the proofs in the hands of the Government are convincing. They are absolute and incontestable. There is no error.”
For one brief instant Dorothy sat irresolute. Here was the Chancellor of the Empire—a man of responsibility and power—assuring her that there were incontestable proofs of guilt. He told, with judicial calmness and force, a story detailed and circumstantial of conspiracy and treason and the motive therefor. For the second time this tale of passion for play had reached her. What was she to believe? What should be her decision? Ah! the answer to her was easy; only for the briefest instant did she hesitate! How false the first accusation had proved! Had he not looked into her eyes, in the gardens of the King, and had she not felt that only honor and truth lay behind his refuting words? How she had reproached herself then for her lack of faith! Never again would she dishonor him with one thought of mistrust. Let circumstances be what they would, let suspicion point as it might, never again would she permit herself the slightest doubt! She raised her head and looked keenly at Lord Ashley.
“During this interview,” she said, “you havespoken of treason, of attempted murder and of mercenariness. You say there are proofs of these things. I can only answer you that I am convinced these proofs are false. Does Captain Swords, for instance, assert that it was Captain Mortimer who fired that shot?”
“Captain Swords did not see his assailant, although his assailant doubtless thought he did,” answered Lord Ashley. “Besides, Captain Swords is as deceived as to the true character of Captain Mortimer as others have been.”
“You will have to count me, then, among the friends who believe steadfastly in him as the soul of loyalty and honor!” said Dorothy with spirit. “I don’t suppose,” she continued, “I can dissuade you from the opinions you have formed, and I am very sure that you cannot change mine on this subject. It is painful to me to hear one whom I respect falsely accused, and I don’t see what can well be gained by further discussing this matter. In fact, Milord, I don’t quite understand why—why—this interview was sought.”
“I have already tendered my apologies,” replied Lord Ashley gently, “and explained that you were the last person with whom Captain Mortimer was seen. The Government is desirous of learning whether, during the conversation with you upon that occasion, Captain Mortimer permitted any remark to escape him which might throw any light upon the matter of this disappearance, or other acts of his.”
“Captain Mortimer indulged in no such remark,” answered Dorothy briefly.
“But you have already said that he told you he was engaged that night upon some special service for the King,” persisted Lord Ashley.
“He did say he was engaged that night upon somespecial service, but I am not sure that he added it was for the King. That, I think, was a mere inference on my part.”
“And a very natural inference under the circumstances,” replied Lord Ashley with warmth, “but the assertion was false!”
“I know nothing except the bare statement made to me,” answered Dorothy.
“Will you not narrate the circumstances which led up to that statement?” asked Lord Ashley. “Will you not detail the entire conversation which took place between you? You see,” he added, “there may have been words with little meaning for you, which nevertheless would mean much for the officers of His Majesty’s Government, in view of the facts which they know and the clues which they possess.”
Dorothy hesitated an instant.
“I have said to you,” she replied, “that no such remarks passed between us.”
“I have explained that you are scarcely in a position to judge accurately as to this,” went on Lord Ashley inexorably. “Will you not repeat, for the benefit of the Government, the conversation which occurred, so that the Government may judge for itself as to this matter?”
“No,” replied Dorothy coldly. “The conversation was of a private character—one with which the Government has no concern. I have assured you that no remarks such as you seek were made. Beyond this I will not go!”
“Then I am to understand,” said Lord Ashley regretfully, “that you prefer to render possible aid to this traitor rather than to the King and Queen from whom you hold a post of honor and whom you profess to serve?”
“I reject the charge of treachery as to myself, as Ido the name traitor as applied to Captain Mortimer,” replied Dorothy with spirit. “Your insinuation of disloyalty on my part,” she added sadly, “is unjust—undeserved. I serve the Queen honestly and loyally. To her I would willingly repeat what I here refuse to say.”
“Do not be angry with me!” exclaimed Lord Ashley warmly, drawing nearer to her. “I meant no offense, but I was carried away by my feelings. It distresses me to see you—whose regard would do an emperor honor—place trust in and defend a renegade and traitor—a scoundrel who has been false to his King.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Dorothy, shrinking back, “this is terrible! I have told you I do not believe—I do not believe!”
“Listen, then,” cried Lord Ashley, pressing still nearer, “and learn now the full truth. He has been captured and is at this minute a prisoner—in close confinement—in the military quarters.”
“Then,” exclaimed Dorothy with excitement, “he will have an opportunity of speaking for himself, and the truth will stand forth!”
“He has spoken! The truth is out!”
“What do you mean?”
“He has confessed—confessed to his treason!”
“Impossible—oh, impossible!” cried Dorothy distractedly.
“I tell you it is so,” continued Lord Ashley vehemently, “and still more will I tell you. As a reward for this confession, which has implicated others and given the Government much valuable information, and also to save the Guards’ corps from the shame of having harbored a scoundrel and a traitor, he is not to be made to suffer the penalty of his crimes. I havepermitted an arrangement to be made for his escape, and he has gladly acquiesced.”
“You say he has acquiesced to such a thing!” exclaimed Dorothy with an air of bewilderment.
“Yes,” retorted Lord Ashley, “and is at this moment on his way to some place of security and oblivion. Now, I beg you to listen to me,” he continued with fervor. “I beseech you—I implore you—to put from your mind all further thought of this man, whose name is unworthy of mention in your presence. He has merited death, but has escaped with shame as his portion henceforth. Let us dismiss him from our thoughts. There is another and more honorable matter regarding which I would speak to you. Miss Brandon—Dorothy—I love you!”
“Milord——”
“Yes, I love you,” he continued, with the abandon of a man carried away by the force of his feelings, “and I offer you a union which the proudest woman in the realm might find worthy of acceptance. His Majesty, the King, has already signified to me that my appointment as Lord Chancellor is to be followed shortly by my elevation to the Peerage. In fact, I may confide to you that the form of such title has already been selected.”
“Milord, I——”
“Nay, hear me to the end,” he continued with passionate fervor; “it is more than mere title which I have to offer. As wife of a Lord Chancellor who will know how to extend the influence and power of his high office, you will find yourself in a position of social supremacy which will place you second only to the Queen herself. At a word from you, social careers will be made or marred; at a nod of approval from you, a fashion will spring into life, or be set aside. Men of the world and men of the Court willrespect and fear your power, while women will fawn and flatter for your favor. Rank, title, power, influence—all these I offer you, and, moreover, boundless devotion and immeasurable love. What can I give more?”
He paused and waited. Dorothy sat with bowed head and shifting color and made no sign. Could this, Ashley wondered, be the silence of rejection, or was it merely the hesitation natural to maidenly reserve? Reared throughout his life among soldiers and statesmen possessed of aims and ambitions, himself possessed of a boundless lust for preferment and power, Lord Ashley’s tendency was to regard ambition as the all-alluring fetish, the resistless lever, with which to sway human impulse and human action. Furthermore, his actual experiences in his immediate surroundings had tended to impress him with the accuracy of this theory. What he had offered was sufficiently brilliant, as he had said, to be worthy of the acceptance of the proudest woman in the land. Nor had he overstated his case. He was really in a position to give all he tendered. She would surely not refuse! What woman would? At last she spoke.
“I fully realize, Milord, the extent of all you have been good enough to offer me,” she said, “and I appreciate the honor you do me. I am glad, too, to learn of the new distinctions which await you and pleased to be the first to congratulate you.”
“And you accept?” he cried joyfully, as he bent nearer to her. “You will say—yes?”
“No, no,” she exclaimed hastily, as she shrunk back; “I cannot—I cannot—accept.”
“You—cannot—accept!” he cried blankly. “And—why?”
She remained silent.
“Why?” he repeated.
Still there was no answer.
“You are not pledged to another?”
“Surely that is something you should not ask.”
“But I do ask it,” he cried vehemently, springing to his feet, his face pale with anger. “Do you think I am blind—that I cannot surmise! You have been bewitched by that traitor whose crimes I have laid bare before you. In spite of his misdeeds and his shame, you still cling to a mad infatuation, a wild hope, instead of accepting an honorable union. It is the perversity which has marked and marred so many of your sex through the ages. But I am not a man to be thus flaunted and put aside. This silly infatuation, this foolish love of yours can never be realized, for it is given to one who is dead!”
“Dead!” repeated Dorothy, turning pale to the lips. “What do you mean?”
“Ah! I’ll tell you!” said Lord Ashley, beside himself with anger. “This man deserved death, but the Government, on the score of policy, was opposed to the notoriety arising from his public trial and execution. It was accordingly decided that he should be afforded opportunities of escape and that he should either be allowed to gain his freedom and hide his perfidy and shame in some obscure corner of the world, or else that the death he so well merited should be dealt out to him while effecting this escape—in other words, a private execution of justice in place of a public one. This question was referred to certain officers of the Government, who in turn left the whole question to me. In the goodness of my heart, I wavered and delayed my decision until the last moment, making the execution dependent upon a certain signal to be given by me. At this very moment the man is escaping. His life depends upon the signal which I shall give.”
“But this is murder!” cried Dorothy desperately, springing to her feet.
“It is a judicial execution,” said Lord Ashley sternly, “and one that would be approved by every army officer and every loyalist in the country were the facts known.”
“I will shout this infamy broadcast,” cried Dorothy, wild-eyed and gasping.
“Bah!” exclaimed Lord Ashley with sarcasm, “your utterances will be known merely as the wild ravings of an infatuated woman! What will they weigh against official declarations and the military reports as to the escape and what followed? Such utterances will simply bring notoriety and discredit upon you.”
“Have you no mercy?”
“None,” he answered inflexibly. “Hear me now for the last time. That instrument against the wall yonder is a sigmagraph. A touch of its electric button causes a flash of light to appear upon the reflector above it, which is transmitted to the receiver upon the roof of the military quarters. In just eight and one-half minutes, sixteen o’clock will sound. If, before the last stroke dies away, three flashes of light are cast from that reflector, mercy will have prevailed and the traitor will be permitted to make good his escape. If no such signal be given he dies.”
“This is horrible—horrible!” repeated Dorothy, aghast “You will surely show mercy and not hold back that signal!”
“Only upon one condition.”
“And that is?” cried Dorothy desperately.
“I am but human,” said Lord Ashley, speaking rapidly, “and to purchase my happiness I will forego meting out strict justice. In the palace chapel, at this very moment, is the royal chaplain. At a commandfrom me he can be in this room within two minutes; within two more the words can be spoken which will constitute a binding ceremony. The brilliant public ceremony can come later. Speak but the word. I will summon the chaplain and—this man lives. His fate is in your hands!”
“No, no!” protested Dorothy, “I cannot—cannot!”
“Then he dies!”
Lord Ashley turned aside. He drew a cigarette-case from his pocket, extracted a cigarette and, crossing the room to a side table, lighted it. Walking over to the sigmagraph, he took up his post with his back turned to it.
“Four minutes only are left to you,” he said ominously, as he drew out his watch.
His words came to his listener as an electric shock. She roused herself from her momentary lethargy and despair.
“Will you not be moved to justice?” she cried. “Don’t you see that what you ask cannot be? I could never know happiness—never make you happy. I should forever have this scene before my eyes—this scene of blood—of treachery!”
“I have told you it is a judicial execution—none the less judicial and proper because justice is meted out privately rather than publicly. High affairs of state under all governments not infrequently demand such a course—a course which in reality shows undeserved mercy to him.”
“Mercy! mercy! This you call mercy!”
“It is the only mercy I will show him, unless——”
“Don’t say this! You will not permit this wicked, treacherous deed! You will save him! You willgive the signal—say that you will give the signal!”
“Three minutes!”
“No, no! Don’t count. You drive me mad! Is there nothing will move you to pity—nothing turn you from this——”
“I’ve already told you. His fate lies with you!”
“No, no—not that! This cannot—must not be! Anything but that——”
“Then it is you who condemn him by your own act!”
“My own act! I, who would gladly die to save him! But no, it is not my act—not my act! I cannot—I will not do what will bring horror, misery, degradation!”
“You speak of a union with the Chancellor of the Realm as degradation?”
“A union with any man when a woman’s whole heart and soul are given to another means misery, degradation. How can you ask it of me—how yourself consent! For I love him—I love him—I love only him!”
“Two minutes!”
“You don’t realize—you don’t understand! I tell you no, no, this cannot—this must not be. Anything else you ask, but not that! For your own happiness spare me—for your own conscience—your own future peace, save him!”
“Not all the angels in heaven, or devils in hell, shall turn me from my path! You are sacrificing everything to a woman’s whim. Time will teach you forgetfulness of this folly and—love!”
“A woman’s whim! Ah, the wise Chancellor understands so little of women that he thinks them mere butterflies. But I say to you that when a woman’s spirit is once profoundly stirred, she becomes more firm, more implacable, than the sternest man amongyou all! Her love knows no measure, no reason, no calculation; her hate has no weakening. Were I to become your wife, I could never forget that the man I adore had been torn from me by force and fraud. My thoughts would always be of him; my only moments of happiness those when I closed my eyes and cheated my senses with the dream that I lay within his arms. The honor, the rank, the titles you offer me, would be nothing, for would they not have been bought at the price of his—of my—happiness! And you—I should hate you!”
“Less than one minute!”
“Less than one minute! And you will permit this crime! You will let him go to his death—my sweetheart—my handsome, gallant sweetheart! No, you will not! You are too noble, too generous!”
“You cannot move me!”
“Do you not see that I shall go mad if you kill him? Say that you will give the signal—that you will give the signal!”
“Your last moment of opportunity is rapidly passing. Will you save him?”
“O God—my God!”
“Hear! the hour strikes!”
“The signal—the signal! Give the signal!”
“Not unless you pledge yourself before the last stroke sounds.”
“The signal!”
“Never!”
“A-a-h!”
With a scream she turned suddenly and ran from him to the little table upon which stood the electric lighter. Over her shoulders was a light, loose scarf, which she had worn as part of her garden-party costume. She tore it from her and thrust it into the flame of the electric lighter. In an instant the delicatematerial had caught the flames and, before Lord Ashley could divine her intention, she rushed to the sigmagraph’s indicator and upon its sensitized surface flashed the light thrice; but not before her gown at sleeves and bosom caught in flame.
Lord Ashley, recovering from the first shock of surprise, sprang toward her, dashed the burning scarf to the floor and with a few rapid movements smothered the flames at work upon her frock.
“What have you done?” he cried staring at the injury to her dainty white flesh. “Do you realize that you have placed your life in peril?”
She was dazed and half fainting from the pain of her injuries, and he supported her to a divan at the further end of the apartment.
“Do you realize what you have done?” he repeated.
But despite the pain, despite the fact that she felt her senses were leaving her, the thought of Mortimer’s safety was still uppermost in her mind.
“The signal—the signal,” she moaned hysterically, “was the signal given in time? Is he safe? Oh, tell me that he is safe! See—see!”
A shriek broke from her. She sat staring straight before her as one seized with a paralysis of fear.
Lord Ashley perceived the look; there was no mistaking its mingled horror and fascinated fear. Abruptly he turned to ascertain its cause.
There within a few feet of him, with pallid features so distorted with rage as to be scarcely human, tall and majestic, the very embodiment of fury, his eyes ablaze with the sullen fires of vengeance, stood Captain Stanley Mortimer. A situation releasing him from his promise—the question of life or death which alone permitted him to cross thethreshold of that room—had arisen. He now stood freed from his pledge.
For a moment the two men faced each other, glaring into each other’s eyes. Then the torrent of wrath surging within Mortimer found an outlet in words.
“Scoundrel! Liar!” he hissed between his set teeth.
“What!” cried Lord Ashley, his anger kindling, as fire kindles amid straw. “You dare to apply those epithets to me—the King’s Chancellor!”
“It is as man to man that we now speak,” retorted Mortimer, struggling with his rage. “Take your sword and defend your life!” He pointed across the apartment and through the open doorway of Lord Ashley’s private bureau. Against the wall, amid a panoply of arms, could be seen hanging the sword which the Chancellor had used during the earlier days of the Russian war.
“I refuse to fight you,” said Lord Ashley. “I shall summon the guard and have you returned to the confinement from which you have escaped. Before you can claim the right to cross swords as an equal, you must first clear yourself of the stigma of treason which at present defiles you!”
“You refuse!” retorted Mortimer, with a gesture of contempt. “Your refusal will avail you little. I will throttle you to death where you stand. What!” he continued, with biting sarcasm, “can it be possible that the uniform of the Guards has at one time covered the breast of a liar, a traducer and a—coward!”
As this final word left Mortimer’s lips, Lord Ashley’s face in turn became suffused with rage. With all the faults, even crimes into which his ambition had led him in the course of his pyramidal career, one virtue was yet left him, that of physical courage.With a snarl of rage, he turned sharply and bounded across the room to where his sword hung. Back he ran, drawing the weapon and flinging the scabbard to one side as he advanced on Mortimer, awaiting him with drawn blade and the light of battle in his eyes. Crouched in one corner of the divan, moaning and hysterical, lay Dorothy.
The swords crossed with a clash. Mortimer was widely famed in the service for his skill as a swordsman, but upon this occasion he was fairly matched, and rarely could there have been seen a finer exhibition of swordsmanship. There were lightning feints and thrusts and parries, brilliant grand assaults and equally brilliant defenses upon either side. The black eyes of Ashley glared into the blue eyes of Mortimer, and each pair of eyes flashed forth the murder which was in the hearts behind them. Backward and forward they advanced and retreated, feinting and thrusting, slashing and parrying. At first, the rage which possessed Mortimer had rendered him less cool and wary than was to be desired, and so placed him at a slight disadvantage. Twice Ashley managed to touch lightly and these wounds, slight as they were, served as a vent for Mortimer’s overwrought feelings and lent to him, in some degree, the necessary coolness and caution. He could feel the blood trickling down his sleeve, as he skillfully parried a fierce assault. The tingling of the wounds in arm and shoulder came pleasurably to his overwrought spirit. Suddenly he feinted toward the neck. Up flew Ashley’s weapon in defense. Then, swift as a shaft of light, Mortimer’s sword-arm shot out in a straight and deadly thrust. It passed just under Ashley’s guard, and the point of Mortimer’s sword went home just below the median line. Such was the force and fury of the thrust that Mortimer’sblade ran through to the hilt. With an upward fling of the arms, Ashley crashed backward to the floor, in a heap.