XXVIII
IN THE FULNESS OF TIME
The streets were as light as noonday, and Constans found no difficultyin keeping the dying figure in sight. But, run as he would, he could notgain a yard.
"Arcadia House," muttered Constans, under his breath, as he noticed thedirection taken by the runner. What more natural than that a man shouldseek his own home at such a time? But Constans's brow was clouded as hefollowed in Quinton Edge's footsteps.
Arcadia House, and why? There could be but one answer to that questionafter Nanna's message, conveyed to him through Ulick's dying lips. Esmayhad disappeared, and yet had remained in Arcadia House. He, who knewQuinton Edge, would understand.
Constans told himself grimly that he did understand. This insolentwanted the girl, just as he had desired many another thing in life, andit had always been his way to take what he coveted. But thistime--Constans set his teeth hard, and now, at last, Arcadia House wasin sight.
During this last quarter of an hour the progress of the conflagrationhad been perceptibly slower, and the great sheaf of flame in the westernsky had almost disappeared. It was like the lull that so often takesplace in a storm, a period of sudden quiet in the element strife thatshould warn the prudent that the worst is still to come. To Constans itwas the most fortunate of happenings, the comparative darkness enablinghim to keep close upon Quinton Edge without risk of discovery.
As though satisfied that he had arrived in time, Quinton Edge nowslackened his pace, making for the gateway on the side street. WhereuponConstans determined to scale the wall at the rear and take the short cutthrough the garden, so as to intercept the Doomsman at the entrance.Once over the wall, the way was clear. Disdaining caution, he crashedrecklessly through the shrubbery, the wet and tangled grass wrappingitself exasperatingly about his ankles as he ran. At the carriage-drivehe stopped, flinging himself full length on the ground and close againstthe wall that marked the sunken way. The run had winded him, and he wasthankful for the moment's breathing-space.
From where Constans lay he could command sight of the north terrace thatconnected the porticos of the river and western fronts. Suddenly itseemed to him that the terrace was occupied by some living thing. Amoment before he had noticed a darker blur in the shadows at the rivercorner; it had appeared to move. He heard a soft padding on theflag-stones as of an animal moving cautiously. He strained his eyes,striving to resolve that dusky blotch into shape intelligible; then anew burst of flame lit up the western sky and he saw clearly--it wasFangs, the hound.
The dog stood motionless, her head thrown upward as though listening.She could not possibly see Constans where he lay, but the smallest noisemust betray him.
His revolver was in a side pocket, and he drew it forth with infinitecare. Then he discovered that it was unloaded and that he had no morecartridges. His knife also had disappeared from its sheath; he realizedthat he was absolutely unarmed and helpless.
The hound leaped lightly from the terrace and began ranging in greathalf-circles. Constans looked on with fascinated eyes. It could be amatter of seconds only when she must cross his scent, and he knew thatshe would remember it--there was a blood-feud between them--the death ofBlazer, who had been her mate.
The pass-key rattled in the lock of the postern-door, and Quinton Edgeentered the sunken way. Fangs heard the noise, hesitated a moment, thentossed her black muzzle in the air and bounded forward to meet hermaster. Constans wiped away the sweat that was blinding his eyes andwaited. Quinton Edge, with the hound by his side, went up the stepsleading to the terrace.
Some one came forward to meet him--a slim, womanish figure dressed inwhite. Constans's heart gave a great bound, for who but Esmay carriedher small head with so irresistible a grace. She held out her hands asQuinton Edge reached her side, but he crushed her into his arms andkissed her on the lips. They walked slowly along the terrace, turned thecorner of the eastern portico, and disappeared. Constans, running up,was just an instant too late; he heard Quinton Edge calling the doginside, then the sound of the closing door.
By a supreme exercise of will Constans stopped short of the insanitythat impelled him to thunder on the barrier and demand admittance. Yethe must gain instant entrance to the house, and he ran around theterrace to the river portico. As he had expected, the hall-door wasfastened, but he had no difficulty in forcing one of the long windows ofthe drawing-room; he stepped into the dark and empty room and stoodlistening.
There was perfect silence everywhere, but he could not trust to it--eyesand ears might be in waiting at every turn, and, above all, there wasthe dog. He wondered that the hound had not already detected hispresence in the house, and his pulse thumped at the thought; he fanciedthat he could hear deep breathing and the oncoming of padded feet.
The minutes passed, and the silence remained unbroken. Then the sense ofhis cowardice smote him; the jaws of the brute would be preferable tothis intolerable inaction, and he went forward through the half-openeddoor and into the main hall.
This, too, was empty, and, having windows that faced the west, it wassufficiently well lighted by the conflagration to make the fact of itsdesertion certain. And Constans owed it to the friendly flames that hewas once more provided with a weapon. There was a rapier hanging uponthe wall, slender and yet strong, of very ancient make; in an instant hehad it down and was trying the temper of its blade upon the hearthstone.
The touch of the cold steel was like a tonic; heart and blood respondedimmediately. Its discovery had been a fortunate chance, for again theillumination in the west died down the final pianissimo before the fullcrash of the orchestra--and the darkness returned deeper than before.
Constans, with the rapier held shortened in his hand, found his way tothe staircase and began the ascent. At the turn of the second landing hestopped, feeling instinctively that there was something in the way. Whenhe could bear no longer to wait and listen, he put his hand down andfelt beneath it the smooth, hairy coat of the hound's body. The dog wasquite dead, and lying in a pool of her own blood; there was a warm,sickly smell of salt in the air, and Constans's hand was wet when hefetched it away. Who had done this thing, and why?
He went on, with every sense on edge. He could hardly have mistaken hisway now, for the door before him stood partly ajar, and there was alight in the room; Constans guessed that it must be the first of theprivate apartments belonging to Quinton Edge.
He looked in. The room was a large one and luxuriously furnished. Anancient hanging-lamp of brass hung from the ceiling, diffusing a softradiance; the curtains that concealed the deep window-seat were closelydrawn, and, had Constans made his observations with more care, he mighthave noticed that something moved behind them, an unwieldy bulk thatgathered itself as though for a spring.
But he took no account of these smaller things, his eyes being full ofEsmay only, and surely that was she who stood there in the shelter ofQuinton Edge's arms; now she half turned her head, the better to lookinto her lord's face, and Constans could trace the outline of herprofile--the upper lip, so deliciously short, and the exquisite curveof her throat. His breath came quick as he watched them, and his grasptightened upon the rapier hilt. So she had deceived him, after all; shehad played the traitress from the very beginning. Twice, now, she hadsmiled into his eyes and sold him for some piece of trumpery--a braceletof carbuncles or a kiss from Quinton Edge's lips. Well, he could killthem both, and almost at a single stroke, since they stood with theirbacks to the doorway and were quite unconscious of his presence. But,upon further thought, he determined to wreak positive vengeance onQuinton Edge alone. It was shame to strike a woman, and unnecessary--itwould be her punishment to live.
Dispassionately he reviewed his decision and reaffirmed it; it was nowthe time for action. But he had delayed just a moment too long. Beforehe could take that first forward step the one who waited behind thewindow-curtains had passed before him, an ungainly figure of a man, wholimped upon one knee and whose black beard fell like a curtain beforehis cruel mouth and lips-
-Kurt, whom men called the "Knacker." A knifewas in his hand, and he struck once and twice at Quinton Edge.
"This for the thirty lashes at Middenmass!" he shouted; "and this----"
But here Constans's rapier passed through his throat, and he fell back,gurgling horribly and tearing at his windpipe.
It had all happened so quickly that the two living men could only starealternately at each other and at the burden that lay in Quinton Edge'sarms. A slim, white figure, with that red stain upon herbreast--spreading, spreading.
Constans gathered himself with a mighty effort. "Let me help you," hesaid, and between them they carried her over to the couch and laid herdown. On a near-by table stood a ewer of water; Constans fetched it andbegan moistening the bloodless lips. They parted with a little sigh, andthen the eyes of his sister Issa opened upon him. "Little brother," shewhispered, and smiled.
Constans looked over at Quinton Edge, but he shook his head and stoodback among the shadows.
"Little brother," said Issa again, and put out a wavering hand.