The Snare

  CHAPTER XII. THE DUEL

  It was a time of stress and even of temptation for Sir Terence. Honourand pride demanded that he should keep the appointment made withSamoval; common sense urged him at all costs to avoid it. His frame ofmind, you see, was not at all enviable. At moments he would considerhis position as adjutant-general, the enactment against duelling, theirregularity of the meeting arranged, and, consequently, the danger inwhich he stood on every score; at others he could think of nothing butthe unpardonable affront that had been offered him and the venomouslyinsulting manner in which it had been offered, and his rage welled up toblot out every consideration other than that of punishing Samoval.

  For two days and a night he was a sort of shuttlecock tossed betweenthese alternating moods, and he was still the same when he paced thequadrangle with bowed head and hands clasped behind him awaiting Samovalat a few minutes before twelve of the following night. The windows thatlooked down from the four sides of that enclosed garden were all indarkness. The members of the household had withdrawn over an hour agoand were asleep by now. The official quarters were closed. The risingmoon had just mounted above the eastern wing and its white lightfell upon the upper half of the facade of the residential site. Thequadrangle itself remained plunged in gloom.

  Sir Terence, pacing there, was considering the only definite conclusionhe had reached. If there were no way even now of avoiding this duel, atleast it must remain secret. Therefore it could not take place here inthe enclosed garden of his own quarters, as he had so rashly consented.It should be fought upon neutral ground, where the presence of the bodyof the slain would not call for explanations by the survivor.

  From distant Lisbon on the still air came softly the chimes ofmidnight, and immediately there was a sharp rap upon the little door setin one of the massive gates that closed the archway.

  Sir Terence went to open the wicket, and Samoval stepped quickly overthe sill. He was wrapped in a dark cloak, a broad-brimmed hat obscuredhis face. Sir Terence closed the door again. The two men bowed to eachother in silence, and as Samoval's cloak fell open he produced a pair ofduelling-swords swathed together in a skin of leather.

  "You are very punctual, sir," said O'Moy.

  "I hope I shall never be so discourteous as to keep an opponent waiting.It is a thing of which I have never yet been guilty," replied Samoval,with deadly smoothness in that reminder of his victorious past. Hestepped forward and looked about the quadrangle. "I am afraid the moonwill occasion us some delay," he said. "It were perhaps better towait some five or ten minutes, by then the light in here should haveimproved."

  "We can avoid the delay by stepping out into the open," said SirTerence. "Indeed it is what I had to suggest in any case. There areinconveniences here which you may have overlooked."

  But Samoval, who had purposes to serve of which this duel was but apreliminary, was of a very different mind.

  "We are quite private here, your household being abed," he answered,"whilst outside one can never be sure even at this hour of avoidingwitnesses and interruption. Then, again, the turf is smooth as a tableon that patch of lawn, and the ground well known to both of us; that, Ican assure you, is a very necessary condition in the dark and one not tobe found haphazard in the open."

  "But there is yet another consideration, sir. I prefer that we engageon neutral ground, so that the survivor shall not be called upon forexplanations that might be demanded if we fought here."

  Even in the gloom Sir Terence caught the flash of Samoval's white teethas he smiled.

  "You trouble yourself unnecessarily on my account," was the smoothlyironic answer. "No one has seen me come, and no one is likely to see medepart."

  "You may be sure that no one shall, by God," snapped O'Moy, stung by thesly insolence of the other's assurance.

  "Shall we get to work, then?" Samoval invited.

  "If you're set on dying here, I suppose I must be after humouring you,and make the best of it. As soon as you please, then." O'Moy was veryfierce.

  They stepped to the patch of lawn in the middle of the quadrangle, andthere Samoval threw off altogether his cloak and hat. He was closelydressed in black, which in that light rendered him almost invisible. SirTerence, less practised and less calculating in these matters, wore anundress uniform, the red coat of which showed greyish. Samoval observedthis rather with contempt than with satisfaction in the advantageit afforded him. Then he removed the swathing from the swords, and,crossing them, presented the hilts to Sir Terence. The adjutant tookone and the Count retained the other, which he tested, thrashing the airwith it so that it hummed like a whip. That done, however, he did notimmediately fall on.

  "In a few minutes the moon will be more obliging," he suggested. "If youwould prefer to wait--"

  But it occurred to Sir Terence that in the gloom the advantage mightlie slightly with himself, since the other's superior sword-play wouldperhaps be partly neutralised. He cast a last look round at the darkwindows.

  "I find it light enough," he answered.

  Samoval's reply was instantaneous. "On guard, then," he cried, and onthe words, without giving Sir Terence so much as time to comply withthe invitation, he whirled his point straight and deadly at the greyishoutline of his opponent's body. But a ray of moonlight caught theblade and its livid flash gave Sir Terence warning of the thrust sotreacherously delivered. He saved himself by leaping backwards--justsaved himself with not an inch to spare--and threw up his blade to meetthe thrust.

  "Ye murderous villain," he snarled under his breath, as steel ground onsteel, and he flung forward to the attack.

  But from the gloom came a little laugh to answer him, and his angrylunge was foiled by an enveloping movement that ended in a ripost. Withthat they settled down to it, Sir Terence in a rage upon which thatassassin stroke had been fresh fuel; the Count cool and unhurried,delaying until the moonlight should have crept a little farther, so asto enable him to make quite sure that his stroke when delivered shouldbe final.

  Meanwhile he pressed Sir Terence towards the side where the moonlightwould strike first, until they were fighting close under the windows ofthe residential wing, Sir Terence with his back to them, Samoval facingthem. It was Fate that placed them so, the Fate that watched over SirTerence even now when he felt his strength failing him, his swordarm turning to lead under the strain of an unwonted exercise. He knewhimself beaten, realised the dexterous ease, the masterly economy ofvigour and the deadly sureness of his opponent's play. He knew that hewas at the mercy of Samoval; he was even beginning to wonder why theCount should delay to make an end of a situation of which he was socompletely master. And then, quite suddenly, even as he was returningthanks that he had taken the precaution of putting all his affairs inorder, something happened.

  A light showed; it flared up suddenly, to be as suddenly extinguished,and it had its source in the window of Lady O'Moy's dressing-room, whichSamoval was facing.

  That flash drawing off the Count's eyes for one instant, and leavingthem blinded for another, had revealed him clearly at the same time toSir Terence. Sir Terence's blade darted in, driven by all that was leftof his spent strength, and Samoval, his eyes unseeing, in that momenthad fumbled widely and failed to find the other's steel until he felt itsinking through his body, searing him from breast to back.

  His arms sank to his sides quite nervelessly. He uttered a faintexclamation of astonishment, almost instantly interrupted by a cough. Heswayed there a moment, the cough increasing until it choked him. Then,suddenly limp, he pitched forward upon his face, and lay clawing andtwitching at Sir Terence's feet.

  Sir Terence himself, scarcely realising what had taken place, for thewhole thing had happened within the time of a couple of heart-beats,stood quite still, amazed and awed, in a half-crouching attitude,looking down at the body of the fallen man. And then from above, ringingupon the deathly stillness, he caught a sibilant whisper:

  "What was that? 'Sh!"

  He stepped back softly, and flattened himself instinctive
ly against thewall; thence profoundly intrigued and vaguely alarmed on several scoreshe peered up at the windows of his wife's room whence the sound hadcome, whence the sudden light had come which--as he now realised--hadgiven him the victory in that unequal contest. Looking up at the balconyin whose shadow he stood concealed, he saw two figures there--his wife'sand another's--and at the same time he caught sight of somethingblack that dangled from the narrow balcony, and peered more closely todiscover a rope ladder.

  He felt his skin roughening, bristling like a dog's; he was consciousof being cold from head to foot, as if the flow of his blood had beensuddenly arrested; and a sense of sickness overcame him. And then toturn that horrible doubt of his into still more horrible certainty camea man's voice, subdued, yet not so subdued but that he recognised it forNed Tremayne's.

  "There's some one lying there. I can make out the figure."

  "Don't go down! For pity's sake, come back. Come back and wait, Ned. Ifany one should come and find you we shall be ruined."

  Thus hoarsely whispering, vibrating with terror, the voice of hiswife reached O'Moy, to confirm him the unsuspecting blind cuckold thatSamoval had dubbed him to his face, for which Samoval--warning theguilty pair with his last breath even as he had earlier so mockinglywarned Sir Terence--had coughed up his soul on the turf of that enclosedgarden.

  Crouching there for a moment longer, a man bereft of movement and ofreason, stood O'Moy, conscious only of pain, in an agony of mind andheart that at one and the same time froze his blood and drew the sweatfrom his brow.

  Then he was for stepping out into the open, and, giving flow to therage and surging violence that followed, calling down the man who haddishonoured him and slaying him there under the eyes of that trull whohad brought him to this shame. But he controlled the impulse, or elseSatan controlled it for him. That way, whispered the Tempter, was toostraight and simple. He must think. He must have time to readjust hismind to the horrible circumstances so suddenly revealed.

  Very soft and silently, keeping well within the shadow of the wall,he sidled to the door which he had left ajar. Soundlessly he pushedit open, passed in and as soundlessly closed it again. For a moment hestood leaning heavily against its timbers, his breath coming in shortpanting sobs. Then he steadied himself and turning, made his way downthe corridor to the little study which had been fitted up for him in theresidential wing, and where sometimes he worked at night. He had beenwriting there that evening ever since dinner, and he had quitted theroom only to go to his assignation with Samoval, leaving the lampburning on his open desk.

  He opened the door, but before passing in he paused a moment, straininghis ears to listen for sounds overhead. His eyes, glancing up and down,were arrested by a thin blade of light under a door at the end of thecorridor. It was the door of the butler's pantry, and the line of lightannounced that Mullins had not yet gone to bed. At once Sir Terenceunderstood that, knowing him to be at work, the old servant had himselfremained below in case his master should want anything before retiring.

  Continuing to move without noise, Sir Terence entered his study, closedthe door and crossed to his desk. Wearily he dropped into the chairthat stood before it, his face drawn and ghastly, his smouldering eyesstaring vacantly ahead. On the desk before him lay the letters thathe had spent the past hours in writing--one to his wife; anotherto Tremayne; another to his brother in Ireland; and several othersconnected with his official duties, making provision for theiruninterrupted continuance in the event of his not surviving theencounter.

  Now it happened that amongst the latter there was one that wasdestined hereafter to play a considerable part; it was a note for theCommissary-General upon a matter that demanded immediate attention, andthe only one of all those letters that need now survive. It was marked"Most Urgent," and had been left by him for delivery first thing in themorning. He pulled open a drawer and swept into it all the letters hehad written save that one.

  He locked that drawer; then unlocked another, and took thence a case ofpistols. With shaking hands he lifted out one of the weapons to examineit, and all the while, of course, his thoughts were upon his wife andTremayne. He was considering how well-founded had been his every twingeof jealousy; how wasted, how senseless the reactions of shame that hadfollowed them; how insensate his trust in Tremayne's honesty, and, aboveall, with what crafty, treacherous subtlety Tremayne had drawn ared herring across the trail of his suspicions by pretending to anunutterable passion for Sylvia Armytage. It was perhaps that piece ofduplicity, worthy, he thought, of the Iscariot himself, that galled SirTerence now most sorely; that and the memory of his own silly credulity.He had been such a ready dupe. How those two together must have laughedat him! Oh, Tremayne had been very subtle! He had been the friend, thequasi-brother, parading his affection for the Butler family to excusethe familiarities with Lady O'Moy which he had permitted himself underSir Terence's very eyes. O'Moy thought of them as he had seen themin the garden on the night of Redondo's ball, remembered the air oftransparent honesty by which that damned hypocrite when discovered haddeflected his just resentment.

  Oh, there was no doubt that the treacherous blackguard had been subtle.But--by God!--subtlety should be repaid with subtlety! He would dealwith Tremayne as cruelly as Tremayne had dealt with him; and his wantonwife, too, should be repaid in kind. He beheld the way clear, in a flashof wicked inspiration. He put back the pistol, slapped down the lid ofthe box and replaced it in its drawer.

  He rose, took up the letter to the Commissary-general, stepped brisklyto the door and pulled it open.

  "Mullins!" he called sharply. "Are you there? Mullins?"

  Came the sound of a scraping chair, and instantly that door at the endof the corridor was thrown open, and Mullins stood silhouetted againstthe light behind him. A moment he stood there, then came forward.

  "You called, Sir Terence?"

  "Yes." Sir Terence's voice was miraculously calm. His back was to thelight and his face in shadow, so that its drawn, haggard look was notperceptible to the butler. "I am going to bed. But first I want youto step across to the sergeant of the guard with this letter for theCommissary-General. Tell him that it is of the utmost importance, andask him to arrange to have it taken into Lisbon first thing in themorning."

  Mullins bowed, venerable as an archdeacon in aspect and bearing, as hereceived the letter from his master: "Certainly, Sir Terence."

  As he departed Sir Terence turned and slowly paced back to his desk,leaving the door open. His eyes had narrowed; there was a cruel, analmost evil smile on his lips. Of the generous, good-humoured natureimprinted upon his face every sign had vanished. His countenance was amask of ferocity restrained by intelligence, cold and calculating.

  Oh, he would pay the score that lay between himself and those two whohad betrayed him. They should receive treachery for treachery, mockeryfor mockery, and for dishonour death. They had deemed him an old fool!What was the expression that Samoval had used--Pantaloon in the comedy?Well, well! He had been Pantaloon in the comedy so far. But now theyshould find him Pantaloon in the tragedy--nay, not Pantaloon at all,but Polichinelle, the sinister jester, the cynical clown, who laughs inmurdering. And in anguished silence should they bear the punishment hewould mete out to them, or else in no less anguished speech themselvesproclaim their own dastardy to the world.

  His wife he beheld now in a new light. It was out of vanity and greedthat she had married him, because of the position in the world that hecould give her. Having done so, at least she might have kept faith; shemight have been honest, and abided by the bargain. If she had not doneso, it was because honesty was beyond her shallow nature. He should haveseen before what he now saw so clearly. He should have known her fora lovely, empty husk; a silly, fluttering butterfly; a toy; a thing ofvanities, emotions, and nothing else.

  Thus Sir Terence, cursing the day when he had mated with a fool. ThusSir Terence whilst he stood there waiting for the outcry from Mullinsthat should proclaim the discovery of the body, and afford him a pre
textfor having the house searched for the slayer. Nor had he long to wait.

  "Sir Terence! Sir Terence! For God's sake, Sir Terence!" he heard thevoice of his old servant. Came the loud crash of the door thrust backuntil it struck the wall and quick steps along the passage.

  Sir Terence stepped out to meet him.

  "Why, what the devil--" he was beginning in his bluff, normal tones,when the servant, showing a white, scared face, cut him short.

  "A terrible thing, Sir Terence! Oh, the saints protect us, a dreadfulthing! This way, sir! There's a man killed--Count Samoval, I think itis!"

  "What? Where?"

  "Out yonder, in the quadrangle, sir."

  "But--" Sir Terence checked. "Count Samoval, did ye say? Impossible!"and he went out quickly, followed by the butler.

  In the quadrangle he checked. In the few minutes that were sped sincehe had left the place the moon had overtopped the roof of the oppositewing, so that full upon the enclosed garden fell now its white light,illumining and revealing.

  There lay the black still form of Samoval supine, his white face staringup into the heavens, and beside him knelt Tremayne, whilst in thebalcony above leaned her ladyship. The rope ladder, Sir Terence's swiftglance observed, had disappeared.

  He halted in his advance, standing at gaze a moment. He had hardlyexpected so much. He had conceived the plan of causing the house tobe searched immediately upon Mullins's discovery of the body. ButTremayne's rashness in adventuring down in this fashion spared him eventhat necessity. True, it set up other difficulties. But he was not surethat the matter would not be infinitely more interesting thus.

  He stepped forward, and came to a standstill beside the two--his deadenemy and his living one.