The Puppet Crown - Harlod MacGrath (nice books to read TXT) 📗

of Urquijo. Suddenly this Captain's murderous and traitorous guns swept the plaza, mangling women and children. There was a flaw, however, in the stroke. Urquijo fled, a reward posted for his head-mind you, his head; they did not want him alive.

"The daughter expiates her foolish love in a convent. Her disgraces proved too much for her father, who blew out his brains. The successor secured extradition papers in all the leading capitals of the world. The story was the sensation of the day; the newspapers made much of it. All governments offered to assist the republic in hounding down this rascal. To whatever country he belonged, that country promised to disown him." .

Maurice took the photograph. and cast it into Beauvais's lap. "Do you recognize that face? Is it not a mute accusation to your warped conscience?" The voice, changing from the monotone of narrative, grew strong and contemptuous. "I know you. I recognizcd you the moment I laid eyes on you, only I could not place you. Perhaps it was because it did not seem possible that you would dare show your face to civilized people. That photograph has done its work. By the Lord, but you're a fine rascal! Not a bit changed. Have you forgotten your Spanish? As God hears me, I shall hold you up."

"You are a very young man," said Beauvais, rising. He was still smiling. "Do you know why I asked you here? For this very reason. Madame divined you well. She said that you had a dash of what romanticists call valor, but that you never saw an inch before your nose. I knew that you would be at the archbishop's; I knew that you would follow me to this room. Indeed, you might have suspected as much by the unusual arrangement of the fixtures of the room. I placed that photograph there, trusting to your rather acute eyesight.

"My memory seems to be better than yours. I knew you the first time I saw you in Bleiborg. I was waiting only to see how much you had remembered. I am not Colonel Beauvais; I am not Urquijo; I am the last of a noble Austrian house, in exile, but on the eve of recall. Your knowledge would, of course, be disastrous to my ambitions. That is why I wanted to find out how much you know. You know too much, too much by half; and since you have walked into the lion's den, you shall never leave it alive." With this he sprang to the wall and tore down the rapiers, one of which he flung at Maurice's feet.

Maurice felt the hand of paralysis on his nerves. He looked at the rapier, then at Beauvais, dazed and incapable of movement. It had been so sudden.

"And when they find you in some alley in the lower town they will put it down to thieves. You are young and thoughtless," Beauvais went on banteringly. "A little discretion and you might have gone with a whole skin. We never forget a woman's face, and I knew that you would not forget hers. Don't trouble yourself about leaping through the windows; the fall will kill you less effectually than I shall."

Maurice pulled himself together. The prospect of death brought back lucidity of mind. He at once saw the hopelessness of his position. He cursed his lack of forethought. He became pale and furious, but his head cleared. His life hung in the balance. He now translated Beauvais's smile.

"So you wish to add another to the list?" he said.

"To shield one crime, a man must commit many others. O, this will not be murder. It will be a duel, in which you will have no chance. Pick up the sword, if only for form's sake." Beauvais caught the wrist thong of the rapier between his teeth and rapidly divested himself of his jacket and saber straps. With his back toward the door, he rolled up his sleeve and discovered a formidable forearm. He tried the blade and thrust several times into the air.

"What promise have I," said Maurice, "that you will not run me through when I stoop for the sword?" This question did not serve.

Beauvais laughed. "I never get angry in moments like these. I am giving you a sword to ease my conscience. I do not assassinate boys."

"But supposing I should kill you by chance?"

Beauvais laughed again. "That is not possible."

Maurice had faced death before, but with more confidence. The thought that he had poked his head into a trap stirred him disagreeably. He saw that Beauvais possessed a superabundance of confidence, and confidence is half of any battle. He picked up the sword and held it between his knees, while he threw off his coat and vest, and unbuttoned his collar and cuffs. What he had to sell would be sold as dearly as possible. He tested the blade, took in a deep breath, fell easily into position-and waited.


CHAPTER XVII.


SOME PASSAGES AT ARMS

There comes a moment to every man, who faces an imminent danger, when the mental vision expands and he sees beyond. By this transient gift of prescience he knows what the end will be, whether he is to live or die. As Maurice looked into the merciless eyes of his enemy, a dim knowledge came to him that this was to be an event and not a catastrophe, a fragment of a picture yet to be fully drawn. His confidence and courage returned. He thanked God, however, that the light above equalized their positions, and that the shadows were behind them.

The swords came together with a click light but ominous. Immediately Beauvais stepped back, suddenly threw forward his body, and delivered three rapid thrusts. Maurice met them firmly, giving none.

"Ah!" cried Beauvais; "that is good. You know a little. There will be sport, besides."

Maurice shut his lips the tighter, and worked purely on the defensive. His fencing master had taught him two things, silence and watchfulness. While Beauvais made use of his forearm, Maurice as yet depended solely on his wrist. Once they came together, guard to guard, neither daring to break away until by mutual agreement, spoken only by the eyes, both leaped backward out of reach. There was no sound save the quick light stamp of feet and the angry murmur of steel scraping against steel. Sometimes they moved circlewise, with free blades, waiting and watching. Up to now Beauvais's play had been by the book, so to speak, and he began to see that his opponent was well read.

"Which side is the pretty rose?" seeking to distract Maurice. "Tell me, and I will pin it to you."

Not a muscle moved in Maurice's face.

"It is too, bad," went on Beauvais, "that her Highness finds a lover only to lose him. You fool! I read your eyes when you picked up that rose. Princesses are not for such as you. I will find her a lover, it will be neither you nor Prince Frederick-ah! you caught that nicely. But you depend too much on the wrist. Presently it will tire; and then-pouf!"

Now and then a a flame, darting from the grate, sparkled on the polished steel, and from the steel it shot into the watchful eyes. A quarter of an hour passed; still Maurice remained on the defensive. At first Beauvais misunderstood the reason, and thought Maurice did not dare run the risk of passing from defensive to offensive. But by and by the froth of impatience crept into his veins. He could not penetrate above or below that defense. The man before him was of marble, with a wrist of iron; he neither smiled nor spoke, there was no sign of life at all, except in the agile legs, the wrist, and eyes. The Colonel decided to change his tactics.

"When I have killed you," he said, "I shall search your pockets, for I know that you lie when you say that you have not those certificates. Madame was a fool to send you. No man lives who may be trusted. And what is your game? Save the Osians? Small good it will do you. Her Highness will wed Prince Frederick-mayhap-and all you will get is cold thanks. And in such an event, have you reckoned on Madame the duchess? War! And who will win? Madame; for she has not only her own army, but mine. Come, come! Speak, for when you leave this room your voice will be silent. Make use of the gift, since it is about to leave you."

The reply was a sudden straightening of the arm. The blade slipped in between the Colonel's forearm and body, and was out again before the soldier fully comprehended what had happened. Maurice permitted a cold smile to soften the rigidity of his face. Beauvais saw the smile, and read it. The thrust had been rendered harmless intentionally. An inch nearer, and he had been a dead man. To accomplish such a delicate piece of sword play required nothing short of mastery. Beauvais experienced a disagreeable chill, which was not unmixed with chagrin. The boy had held his life in his hand, and had spared it. He set his teeth, and let loose with a fury before which nothing could stand; and Maurice was forced back step by step until he was almost up with the wall.

"You damned fool!" the Colonel snarled, "you'll never get that chance again."

For the next few minutes it took all the splendid defense Maurice possessed to keep the spark in his body. The Colonel's sword was no longer a sword, it was a flame; which circled, darted, hissed and writhed. Twice Maurice felt the bite of it, once in the arm and again in the thigh. These were not deep, but they told him that the end was but a short way off. He had no match for this brilliant assault. Something must be done, and that at once. He did not desire the Colonel's death, and the possibility of accomplishing this was now extremely doubtful. But he wanted to live. Life was just beginning-the rough road had been left behind. He was choosing between his life and the Colonel's. Beauvais, after the fashion of the old masters, was playing for the throat. This upward thrusting, when continuous, is difficult to meet, and Maurice saw that sooner or later the blade would reach home. If not sudden death, it meant speechlessness, and death as a finality. Then the voice of his guardian angel spoke.

"I do not wish your life," he said, breaking the silence, "but at the same time I wish to live-ah!" Maurice leaped back just in time. As it was, the point of his enemy's blade scratched his chin.

They broke and circled. The Colonel feinted. Maurice, with his elbow against his side and his forearm extended, waited. Again the Colonel lunged for the throat. This time, instead of meeting it in tierce, Maurice threw his whole force forward in such a manner as to bring the steel guard of his rapier full on the Colonel's point. There was a ringing sound of snapping steel, and the Colonel stood with nothing but a stump in his grasp.

"There you are," said Maurice, a heat-flash passing over him. Had he swerved a hair's breadth from the line, time would have tacked finis to the tale. "Now, I am perfectly willing to talk," putting his point to the Colonel's breast. "It would inconvenience me to kill you, but do not count too much on that."

"Damn you!" cried the Colonel, giving way, his face yellow with rage, chagrin and fear. "Kill me, for