The Snare

  CHAPTER XIV. THE CHAMPION

  With the possible exception of her ladyship, I do not think that therewas much sleep that night at Monsanto for any of the four chief actorsin this tragicomedy. Each had his own preoccupations. Sylvia's weknow. Mr. Butler found his leg troubling him again, and the pain ofthe reopened wound must have prevented him from sleeping even had hisanxieties about his immediate future not sufficed to do so. As for SirTerence, his was the most deplorable case of all. This man who had liveda life of simple and downright honesty in great things and in small, aman who had never stooped to the slightest prevarication, foundhimself suddenly launched upon the most horrible and infamous course ofduplicity to encompass the ruin of another. The offence of that otheragainst himself might be of the most foul and hideous, a piece oftreachery that only treachery could adequately avenge; yet thisconsideration was not enough to appease the clamours of Sir Terence'sself-respect.

  In the end, however, the primary desire for vengeance and vengeance ofthe bitterest kind proved master of his mind. Captain Tremayne had beenled by his villainy into a coil that should presently crush him, and SirTerence promised himself an infinite balm for his outraged honour in theentertainment which the futile struggles of the victim should provide.With Captain Tremayne lay the cruel choice of submitting in torturedsilence to his fate, or of turning craven and saving his miserablelife by proclaiming himself a seducer and a betrayer. It should beinteresting to observe how the captain would decide, and his punishmentwas certain whatever the decision that he took.

  Sir Terence came to breakfast in the open, grey-faced and haggard, butmiraculously composed for a man who had so little studied the artof concealing his emotions. Voice and glance were calm as he gave agood-morning to his wife and to Miss Armytage.

  "What are you going to do about Ned?" was one of his wife's firstquestions.

  It took him aback. He looked askance at her, marvelling at thesteadiness with which she bore his glance, until it occurred to him thateffrontery was an essential part of the equipment of all harlots.

  "What am I going to do?" he echoed. "Why, nothing. The matter is out ofmy hands. I may be asked to give evidence; I may even be called to situpon the court-martial that will try him. My evidence can hardly assisthim. My conclusions will naturally be based upon the evidence that islaid before the court."

  Her teaspoon rattled in her saucer. "I don't understand you, Terence.Ned has always been your best friend."

  "He has certainly shared everything that was mine."

  "And you know," she went on, "that he did not kill Samoval."

  "Indeed?" His glance quickened a little. "How should I know that?"

  "Well... I know it, anyway."

  He seemed moved by that statement. He leaned forward with an oddeagerness, behind which there was something terrible that wentunperceived by her.

  "Why did you not say so before? How do you know? What do you know?"

  "I am sure that he did not."

  "Yes, yes. But what makes you so sure? Do you possess some knowledgethat you have not revealed?"

  He saw the colour slowly shrinking from her cheeks under his burninggaze. So she was not quite shameless then, after all. There were limitsto her effrontery.

  "What knowledge should I possess?" she filtered.

  "That is what I am asking."

  She made a good recovery. "I possess the knowledge that you shouldpossess yourself," she told him. "I know Ned for a man incapable of sucha thing. I am ready to swear that he could not have done it."

  "I see: evidence as to character." He sank back into his chair andthoughtfully stirred his chocolate. "It may weigh with the court. But Iam not the court, and my mere opinions can do nothing for Ned Tremayne."

  Her ladyship looked at him wildly. "The court?" she cried. "Do you meanthat I shall have to give evidence?"

  "Naturally," he answered. "You will have to say what you saw."

  "But--but I saw nothing."

  "Something, I think."

  "Yes; but nothing that can matter."

  "Still the court will wish to hear it and perhaps to examine you uponit."

  "Oh no, no!" In her alarm she half rose, then sank again to her chair."You must keep me out of this, Terence. I couldn't--I really couldn't."

  He laughed with an affectation of indulgence, masking something else.

  "Why," he said, "you would not deprive Tremayne of any of the advantagesto be derived from your testimony? Are you not ready to bear witness asto his character? To swear that from your knowledge of the man you aresure he could not have done such a thing? That he is the very soul ofhonour, a man incapable of anything base or treacherous or sly?"

  And then at last Sylvia, who had been watching them, and seeking toapply to what she heard the wild expressions that Sir Terence had usedto herself last night, broke into the conversation.

  "Why do you apply these words to Captain Tremayne?" she asked.

  He turned sharply to meet the opposition he detected in her. "I don'tapply them. On the contrary, I say that, as Una knows, they are notapplicable."

  "Then you make an unnecessary statement, a statement that has nothing todo with the case. Captain Tremayne has been arrested for killing CountSamoval in a duel. A duel may be a violation of the law as recentlyenacted by Lord Wellington, but it is not an offence against honour; andto say that a man cannot have fought a duel because a man is incapableof anything base or treacherous or sly is just to say a very foolish andmeaningless thing."

  "Oh, quite so," the adjutant, admitted. "But if Tremayne denies havingfought, if he shelters himself behind a falsehood, and says that he hasnot killed Samoval, then I think the statement assumes some meaning."

  "Does Captain Tremayne say that?" she asked him sharply.

  "It is what I understood him to say last night when I ordered him underarrest."

  "Then," said Sylvia, with full conviction, "Captain Tremayne did not doit."

  "Perhaps he didn't," Sir Terence admitted. "The court will no doubtdiscover the truth. The truth, you know, must prevail," and he looked athis wife again, marking the fresh signs of agitation she betrayed.

  Mullins coming to set fresh covers, the conversation was allowed tolapse. Nor was it ever resumed, for at that moment, with no otherannouncement save such as was afforded by his quick step and theclick-click of his spurs, a short, slight man entered the quadranglefrom the doorway of the official wing.

  The adjutant, turning to look, caught his breath suddenly in anexclamation of astonishment.

  "Lord Wellington!" he cried, and was immediately on his feet.

  At the exclamation the new-comer checked and turned. He wore a plaingrey undress frock and white stock, buckskin breeches and lacqueredboots, and he carried a riding-crop tucked under his left arm. Hisfeatures were bold and sternly handsome; his fine eyes singularlypiercing and keen in their glance; and the sweep of those eyes now tookin not merely the adjutant, but the spread table and the ladies seatedbefore it. He halted a moment, then advanced quickly, swept his cockedhat from a brown head that was but very slightly touched with grey, andbowed with a mixture of stiffness and courtliness to the ladies.

  "Since I have intruded so unwittingly, I had best remain to make myapologies," he said. "I was on my way to your residential quarters,O'Moy, not imagining that I should break in upon your privacy in thisfashion."

  O'Moy with a great deference made haste to reassure him on the score ofthe intrusion, whilst the ladies themselves rose to greet him. He boreher ladyship's hand to his lips with perfunctory courtesy, then insistedupon her resuming her chair. Then he bowed--ever with that mixture ofstiffness and deference--to Miss Armytage upon her being presented tohim by the adjutant.

  "Do not suffer me to disturb you," he begged them. "Sit down, O'Moy. Iam not pressed, and I shall be monstrous glad of a few moments' rest.You are very pleasant here," and he looked about the luxuriant gardenwith approving eyes.

  Sir Terence placed the hospitality of his table at his lordsh
ip'sdisposal. But the latter declined graciously.

  "A glass of wine and water, if you will. No more. I breakfasted atTorres Vedras with Fletcher." Then to the look of astonishment on thefaces of the ladies he smiled. "Oh yes," he assured them, "I was earlyastir, for time is very precious just at present, which is why I dropunannounced upon you from the skies, O'Moy." He took the glass thatMullins proffered on a salver, sipped from it, and set it down."There is so much vexation, so much hindrance from these pestilentialintriguers here in Lisbon, that I have thought it as well to come inperson and speak plainly to the gentlemen of the Council of Regency." Hewas peeling off his stout riding-gloves as he spoke. "If this campaignis to go forward at all, it will go forward as I dispose. Then, too, Iwanted to see Fletcher and the works. By gad, O'Moy, he has performedmiracles, and I am very pleased with him--oh, and with you too. He toldme how ably you have seconded him and counselled him where necessary.You must have worked night and day, O'Moy." He sighed. "I wish that Iwere as well served in every direction." And then he broke off abruptly."But this is monstrous tedious for your ladyship, and for you, MissArmytage. Forgive me."

  Her ladyship protested the contrary, professing a deep interestin military matters, and inviting his lordship to continue. LordWellington, however, ignoring the invitation, turned the conversationupon life in Lisbon, inquiring hopefully whether they found the placeafforded them adequate entertainment.

  "Indeed yes," Lady O'Moy assured him. "We are very gay at times. Thereare private theatricals and dances, occasionally an official ball, andwe are promised picnics and water-parties now that the summer is here."

  "And in the autumn, ma'am, we may find you a little hunting," hislordship promised them. "Plenty of foxes; a rough country, though;but what's that to an Irishwoman?" He caught the quickening of MissArmytage's eye. "The prospect interests you, I see."

  Miss Armytage admitted it, and thus they made conversation for a while,what time the great soldier sipped his wine and water to wash the dustof his morning ride from his throat. When at last he set down an emptyglass Sir Terence took this as the intimation of his readiness to dealwith official matters, and, rising, he announced himself entirely at hislordship's service.

  Lord Wellington claimed his attention for a full hour with the detailsof several matters that are not immediately concerned with thisnarrative. Having done, he rose at last from Sir Terence's desk, atwhich he had been sitting, and took up his riding-crop and cocked hatfrom the chair where he had placed them.

  "And now," he said, "I think I will ride into Lisbon and endeavour tocome to an understanding with Count Redondo and Don Miguel Forjas."

  Sir Terence advanced to open the door. But Wellington checked him with asudden sharp inquiry.

  "You published my order against duelling, did you not?"

  "Immediately upon receiving it, sir."

  "Ha! It doesn't seem to have taken long for the order to be infringed,then." His manner was severe, his eyes stern. Sir Terence was consciousof a quickening of his pulses. Nevertheless his answer was calmlyregretful:

  "I am afraid not."

  The great man nodded. "Disgraceful! I heard of it from Fletcher thismorning. Captain What's-his-name had just reported himself under arrest,I understand, and Fletcher had received a note from you giving thegrounds for this. The deplorable part of these things is that theyalways happen in the most troublesome manner conceivable. In Berkeley'scase the victim was a nephew of the Patriarch's. Samoval, now, was aperson of even greater consequence, a close friend of several membersof the Council. His death will be deeply resented, and may set up freshdifficulties. It is monstrous vexatious." And abruptly he asked "Whatdid they quarrel about?"

  O'Moy trembled, and his glance avoided the other's gimlet eye. "The onlyquarrel that I am aware of between them," he said, "was concerned withthis very enactment of your lordship's. Samoval proclaimed it infamous,and Tremayne resented the term. Hot words passed between them, butthe altercation was allowed to go no further at the time by myself andothers who were present."

  His lordship had raised his brows. "By gad, sir," he ejaculated, "therealmost appears to be some justification for the captain. He was one ofyour military secretaries, was he not?"

  "He was."

  "Ha! Pity! Pity!" His lordship was thoughtful for a moment. Then hedismissed the matter. "But then orders are orders, and soldiers mustlearn to obey implicitly. British soldiers of all degrees seem to findthe lesson difficult. We must inculcate it more sternly, that is all."

  O'Moy's honest soul was in torturing revolt against the falsehoods hehad implied--and to this man of all men, to this man whom he reverencedabove all others, who stood to him for the very fount of military honourand lofty principle! He was in such a mood that one more question onthe subject from Wellington and the whole ghastly truth must have comepouring from his lips. But no other question came. Instead his lordshipturned on the threshold and held out his hand.

  "Not a step farther, O'Moy. I've left you a mass of work, and you areshort of a secretary. So don't waste any of your time on courtesies. Ishall hope still to find the ladies in the garden so that I may take myleave without inconveniencing them."

  And he was gone, stepping briskly with clicking spurs, leaving O'Moyhunched now in his chair, his body the very expression of the dejectionthat filled his soul.

  In the garden his lordship came upon Miss Armytage alone, still seatedby the table under the trellis, from which the cloth had by now beenremoved. She rose at his approach and in spite of gesture to her toremain seated.

  "I was seeking Lady O'Moy," said he, "to take my leave of her. I may nothave the pleasure of coming to Monsanto again."

  "She is on the terrace, I think," said Miss Armytage. "I will find herfor your lordship."

  "Let us find her together," he said amiably, and so turned and went withher towards the archway. "You said your name is Armytage, I think?" hecommented.

  "Sir Terence said so."

  His eyes twinkled. "You possess an exceptional virtue," said he. "To betruthful is common; to be accurate rare. Well, then, Sir Terence saidso. Once I had a great friend of the name of Armytage. I have lost sightof him these many years. We were at school together in Brussels."

  "At Monsieur Goubert's," she surprised him by saying. "That would beJohn Armytage, my uncle."

  "God bless my soul, ma'am!" he ejaculated. "But I gathered you wereIrish, and Jack Armytage came from Yorkshire."

  "My mother is Irish, and we live in Ireland now. I was born there. Butfather, none the less, was John Armytage's brother."

  He looked at her with increased interest, marking the straight, supplelines of her, and the handsome, high-bred face. His lordship, remember,never lacked an appreciative eye for a fine woman. "So you're JackArmytage's niece. Give me news of him, my dear."

  She did so. Jack Armytage was well and prospering, had made arich marriage and retired from the Blues many years ago to live atNorthampton. He listened with interest, and thus out of his boyhoodfriendship for her uncle, which of late years he had had no opportunityto express, sprang there and then a kindness for the niece. Her ownpersonal charms may have contributed to it, for the great soldier wasintensely responsive to the appeal of beauty.

  They reached the terrace. Lady O'Moy was nowhere in sight. But LordWellington was too much engrossed in his discovery to be troubled.

  "My dear," he said, "if I can serve you at any time, both for Jack'ssake and your own, I hope that you will let me know of it."

  She looked at him a moment, and he saw her colour come and go, arguing asudden agitation.

  "You tempt me, sir," she said, with a wistful smile.

  "Then yield to the temptation, child," he urged her kindly, those keen,penetrating eyes of his perceiving trouble here.

  "It isn't for myself," she responded. "Yet there is something I wouldask you if I dare--something I had intended to ask you in any case if Icould find the opportunity. To be frank, that is why I was waiting therein the garden just now. It
was to waylay you. I hoped for a word withyou."

  "Well, well," he encouraged her. "It should be the easier now, since ina sense we find that we are old friends."

  He was so kind, so gentle, despite that stern, strong face of his, thatshe melted at once to his persuasion.

  "It is about Lieutenant Richard Butler," she began.

  "Ah," said he lightly, "I feared as much when you said it was not foryourself you had a favour to ask."

  But, looking at him, she instantly perceived how he had misunderstoodher.

  "Mr. Butler," she said, "is the officer who was guilty of the affair atTavora."

  He knit his brow in thought. "Butler-Tavora?" he muttered questioningly.Suddenly his memory found what it was seeking. "Oh yes, the violatednunnery." His thin lips tightened; the sternness of his ace increased."Yes?" he inquired, but the tone was now forbidding.

  Nevertheless she was not deterred. "Mr. Butler is Lady O'Moy's brother,"she said.

  He stared a moment, taken aback. "Good God! Ye don't say so, child! Herbrother! O'Moy's brother-in-law! And O'Moy never said a word to me aboutit.

  "What should he say? Sir Terence himself pledged his word to the Councilof Regency that Mr. Butler would be shot when taken."

  "Did he, egad!" He was still further surprised out of his sternness."Something of a Roman this O'Moy in his conception of duty! Hum! TheCouncil no doubt demanded this?"

  "So I understand, my lord. Lady O'Moy, realising her brother's gravedanger, is very deeply troubled."

  "Naturally," he agreed. "But what can I do, Miss Armytage? What were theactual facts, do you happen to know?"

  She recited them, putting the case bravely for the scapegrace Mr.Butler, dwelling particularly upon the error under which he waslabouring, that he had imagined himself to be knocking at the gates ofa monastery of Dominican friars, that he had broken into the conventbecause denied admittance, and because he suspected some treacherousreason for that denial.

  He heard her out, watching her with those keen eyes of his the while.

  "Hum! You make out so good a case for him that one might almost believeyou instructed by the gentleman himself. Yet I gather that nothing hassince been heard of him?"

  "Nothing, sir, since he vanished from Tavora, nearly, two months ago.And I have only repeated to your lordship the tale that was told by thesergeant and the troopers who reported the matter to Sir Robert Craufurdon their return."

  He was very thoughtful. Leaning on the balustrade, he looked outacross the sunlit valley, turning his boldly chiselled profile to hiscompanion. At last he spoke slowly, reflectively: "But if this werereally so--a mere blunder--I see no sufficient grounds to threaten himwith capital punishment. His subsequent desertion, if he has deserted--Imean if nothing has happened to him--is really the graver matter of thetwo."

  "I gathered, sir, that he was to be sacrificed to the Council ofRegency--a sort of scapegoat."

  He swung round sharply, and the sudden blaze of his eyes almostterrified her. Instantly he was cold again and inscrutable. "Ah! You areoddly well informed throughout. But of course you would be," he added,with an appraising look into that intelligent face in which he nowcaught a faint likeness of Jack Armytage. "Well, well, my dear, I amvery glad you have told me of this. If Mr. Butler is ever taken and indanger--there will be a court-martial, of course--send me word of it,and I will see what I can do, both for your sake and for the sake ofstrict justice."

  "Oh, not for my sake," she protested, reddening slightly at the gentleimputation. "Mr. Butler is nothing to me--that is to say, he is just mycousin. It is for Una's sake that I am asking this."

  "Why, then, for Lady O'Moy's sake, since you ask it," he repliedreadily. "But," he warned her, "say nothing of it until Mr. Butler isfound." It is possible he believed that Butler never would be found."And remember, I promise only to give the matter my attention. If it isas you represent it, I think you may be sure that the worst that willbefall Mr. Butler will be dismissal from the service. He deserves that.But I hope I should be the last man to permit a British officer to beused as a scapegoat or a burnt-offering to the mob or to any Council ofRegency. By the way, who told you this about a scapegoat?"

  "Captain Tremayne."

  "Captain Tremayne? Oh, the man who killed Samoval?"

  "He didn't," she cried.

  On that almost fierce denial his lordship looked at her, raising hiseyebrows in astonishment.

  "But I am told that he did, and he is under arrest for it thismoment--for that, and for breaking my order against duelling."

  "You were not told the truth, my lord. Captain Tremayne says that hedidn't, and if he says so it is so."

  "Oh, of course, Miss Armytage!" He was a man of unparalleled valour andboldness, yet so fierce was she in that moment that for the life of himhe dared not have contradicted her.

  "Captain Tremayne is the most honourable man I know," she continued,"and if he had killed Samoval he would never have denied it; he wouldhave proclaimed it to all the world."

  "There is no need for all this heat, my dear," he reassured her. "Thepoint is not one that can remain in doubt. The seconds of the duel willbe forthcoming; and they will tell us who were the principals."

  "There were no seconds," she informed him.

  "No seconds!" he cried in horror. "D' ye mean they just fought a roughand tumble fight?"

  "I mean they never fought at all. As for this tale of a duel, I askyour lordship: Had Captain Tremayne desired a secret meeting with CountSamoval, would he have chosen this of all places in which to hold it?"

  "This?"

  "This. The fight--whoever fought it--took place in the quadrangle thereat midnight."

  He was overcome with astonishment, and he showed it.

  "Upon my soul," he said, "I do not appear to have been told any ofthe facts. Strange that O'Moy should never have mentioned that," hemuttered, and then inquired suddenly: "Where was Tremayne arrested?"

  "Here," she informed him.

  "Here? He was here, then, at midnight? What was he doing here?"

  "I don't know. But whatever he was doing, can your lordship believe thathe would have come here to fight a secret duel?"

  "It certainly puts a monstrous strain upon belief," said he. "But whatcan he have been doing here?"

  "I don't know," she repeated. She wanted to add a warning of O'Moy. Shewas tempted to tell his lordship of the odd words that O'Moy had used toher last night concerning Tremayne. But she hesitated, and her couragefailed her. Lord Wellington was so great a man, bearing the destinies ofnations on his shoulders, and already he had wasted upon her so muchof the time that belonged to the world and history, that she feared totrespass further; and whilst she hesitated came Colquhoun Grant clankingacross the quadrangle looking for his lordship. He had come up, heannounced, standing straight and stiff before them, to see O'Moy, buthearing of Lord Wellington's presence, had preferred to see his lordshipin the first instance.

  "And indeed you arrive very opportunely, Grant," his lordship confessed.

  He turned to take his leave of Jack Armytage's niece.

  "I'll not forget either Mr. Butler or Captain Tremayne," he promisedher, and his stern face softened into a gentle, friendly smile. "Theyare very fortunate in their champion."