Against Odds Part 29

I had not seen him since the full return of his senses, and he seemed very glad to see me. When the doctor had warned him against much conversation, and had left us, I drew my chair close beside his cot, so that I could look into his face and he in mine.

'My friend,' I began, 'I am doctor enough to know that a mind at ease is a great help toward recovery, and I am going to set your mind at ease upon some points at least. Mind,' I added, smiling in spite of myself, 'I do not say your heart. Now, to do this I may need to put a few questions; and to obey the doctor and at the same time come to an understanding with you, I will make my questions direct, and you can answer them by a nod.'

At this he nodded and smiled.

'I dare say,' I went on, 'you wonder how and why you were treated to that sudden ducking?'

Again he nodded; this time quite soberly.

'I am going to enlighten you, in a measure, and I am obliged, in order to do so, to take you into my confidence, to some extent, and I must begin with the adventure of the bag--Miss Jenrys' bag, you know.'

Now I was approaching a delicate topic, and I knew it very well. I had not, in so many words, asked permission of Miss Jenrys to use her name in relating my story, but I had said to her during one of the several calls I had made in Was.h.i.+ngton Avenue, during the week that had just pa.s.sed:

'When our friend is able to listen, Miss Jenrys, I must tell him, I think, how he came to be a.s.saulted upon the bridge, as I understand it, if only to prepare and warn him against future attacks; and, to make my story clear to him or even reasonable, I shall need to enter somewhat, in fact considerably, into detail. I can hardly make him realize that he has a dangerous enemy else.'

I saw by the flush upon her face and a sudden nervous movement, that she understood fully what this would involve, and for a moment I feared that she was about to forbid me. But the start and blush were quickly controlled, and she pressed her lips together and drew herself erect, and there was only the slightest tremor in her voice when she said, slowly:

'You are right; he ought to know,' and turned at once to another subject.

Something in the look the young fellow turned upon me when I spoke of the episode of the bag reminded me of her face as she gave that tacit consent; there was the same mingling of pride and eagerness, reticence and suspense, and I plunged at once into my story, recalling briefly the encounter between Miss Jenrys and the Turks, the finding of the bag, my meeting with him, and the appearance of the little brunette, and here I put a question.

'I want to ask you,' I said, 'and I have a good reason for asking, as you will see later, why, when that tricky brunette turned her back upon you so pertly after making her demand for the bag--why you at once left us both and without another word? Wait,' as he seemed making an effort to reply. 'Let me put the question direct. Did you not leave us because you thought that person was really a friend of Miss Jenrys, and had, perhaps, been warned not to speak too freely in your hearing?'

The blood flew to his pale cheeks, and there was a momentary flash of haughtiness in his fine eyes, but as they met my own, this look faded from them and he murmured 'Yes.'

'Thank you,' I said. 'And now, before going further, let me tell you that I am violating no confidence; it is not for me to explain more fully here than this: The young lady of whom I am about to speak knows that I am telling you these things. I am not speaking against her will.'

And now his eyes dropped as he said faintly, 'Thank you.'

I next told him in as matter-of-fact a manner as possible how I examined the bag, and how, when all other hope of a clue to the owner failed, I read Miss Jenrys' letters; how, when the first letter failed to give me the owner's address, I read the second in full.

'And now,' I said to him, 'before I go further, let me remind you once more that I speak by permission, and add, on my own behalf, that, even thus authorized, I would not utter what I am about to say if I did not believe that by so doing I can set right a wrong, a worse wrong done to you than that of attempting your life--a blow at your honour, in fact.'

He started, and then, as if remembering his condition, said with wonderful self-restraint, 'Go on, please.'

And I did go on. Before I paused again I had told him almost word for word, as it was implanted upon my memory, the story June Jenrys had written to her friend, the story of that ante-Lenten party--just the fact, omitting her expressions of preference. I told the story as I would have told it of a dear sister whose maidenly pride was precious to me; told how she had gone, at his request, to speak with him in the conservatory, and how, there, she had heard, herself unseen, those flippant, unmanly words, so unlike him, yet from the lips of someone addressed by his name.

For a long moment after I had ceased speaking he lay there so moveless, with his hands tightly clenched and his eyes fixed upon empty s.p.a.ce, that I almost feared he had fainted; then he turned his face toward me and spoke in stronger tones than I had supposed him capable of using.

'That letter--did it name that man?'

'What man?' I had purposely omitted the name of the man who had come so opportunely to lead Miss Jenrys away after she had heard the heartless speech from behind the ferns in the conservatory, and while I asked the question I knew to whom he referred.

'The man who came so opportunely after the--after I had gone.'

I hesitated. Here was a complication, perhaps, for I had hoped he would not put this question yet, but I could not draw back now, or what I had meant should result in good to two persons, at least, might cause further misunderstanding and render the last state worse than the first. So, after a moment, I answered:

'Yes. It named the man.'

'Who? tell me!' This was not a request, it was a command; and he was off his pillow, resting upon his elbow, and eyeing me keenly.

I got up and bent over him.

'I'll tell you fast enough,' I said grimly. 'And it's evident you are not a dead man yet; but get back on your pillow--he's here in this very White City, and if you want to take care of your own you'd better not undo the doctor's good work. Lie down!'

He dropped back weakly, and the fire died out of his face; he was deathly pale, but his white lips framed the word, 'Who?'

'Monsieur Maurice Voisin,' I said.

'The dastard!'

'Quite so,' I agreed. 'Did you know he was here?'

'Yes.' He lay silent a moment, then: 'I see! He saw it was--he----'

I held up my hand. 'If you talk any more I shall go; and I have more to say to you. I want you to get well, and there's someone else who is even more anxious than I am. But you have made one mistake, I think.

You think that Voisin attacked you because you were about to meet Miss Jenrys, do you not?'

He stared, but did not answer.

'When the brunette met you in the afternoon of that day, she gave you some reason for believing that Miss J. desired to see you, and that if you joined them that night it would please her.'

I paused, but again he was mute.

'My friend,' I went on, 'I believe that Love, besides being himself blind, is capable of blinding and befooling the wits of the wisest.

That brunette is an impostor. As for knowing Miss Jenrys, she does, if following her up and down, and trying to force an acquaintance, is knowing her. Here is the truth: That brunette, as we all call her, for want of any other appellation, is one of a trio, or perhaps a quartet, of adventurers, confidence men, counterfeiters, what you will, so that it is evil. They are here for mischief, and they began at once, through this brunette decoy, to entrap Miss Jenrys, for what purpose I am just beginning to learn. It seems, too, that they have designs upon you, for they decoyed you out the other night, this brunette and one of their woman companions dressed to resemble Miss J., and when they had you upon the bridge and you thought you were about to meet Miss J., two men who had been lying in wait for you behind a b.u.t.tress sprang upon you, and while one thrust you over, the other dealt you a blow which, an inch lower, would have killed you--so the doctor has said.'

All the life had gone out of his face as I ceased speaking. His lips trembled. 'Then--it was not she?' he said brokenly.

'My dear fellow,' I put my hand upon his, 'listen: Until the next morning she did not know you were here, but after reading that letter I could not help believing that you were the man of whom she wrote, and I went to her, told her of my meeting with you, described you, and saw at once that she recognised you. Then I told her how you had been attacked, and the next morning I brought her and her aunt to see you.

I don't want to flatter you, and I can't betray a lady; but while it was not she that night upon the bridge--and in your own sober senses and free of Cupid's blindness you would be among the first to know that it could not be she--she is now very near, and she is only waiting to be told that she may come to see, with her own eyes, that you are better, and that you will be glad to see her.'

'Glad!' How much the one word said, but in a moment he looked up.'

But--these men--how do you know----'

'About the attack? I saw it. I had been following, watching you and them.'

He put his hand to his head as if bewildered.

'But, my G.o.d! those men! If they are following her--and myself--and if it is not--not Voisin----' He lifted his hand suddenly. 'I tell you, man, it is Voisin!'

As his hand dropped, the doctor came up and looked keenly from one to the other. I got up quickly.

'Doctor,' I said, 'I fear he has talked too much; but if you will let me talk to him a little longer--tell him something that will lift a weight from his mind, once he understands it, I am sure he will promise not to talk; and I will be brief.'

The doctor looked at his watch. 'Go on,' he said; 'I give you fifteen minutes.'

The guard heaved a long sigh of relief, and I seated myself again beside his cot.