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THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

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THE
UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

BY

J. P. MARQUAND

WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY
A. I. KELLER

NEW YORK

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1922

£5

Copyright, 1922

On C/««W SMIM ^ Am™*

THE UNSPEAKABLE CI \ I I.MAN

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

I HAVE seen the improbable turn true
too often not to have it disturb me.
Suppose these memoirs still exist when
the French royalist plot of 1805 and my
father's peculiar role in it are forgotten. I
cannot help but remember it is a restless
land across the water. But surely people
will continue to recollect. Surely these few
pages, written with the sole purpose of ex-
plaining my father's part in the affair, will
not degenerate into anything so pitifully
fanciful as the story of a man who tried his
best to be a bad example because he could
not be a good one.

It was my Uncle Jason who was with me
when I learned of my father's return to
America. I still remember the look of sym-
pathetic concern on his broad, good-natured
face, as I read my father's letter. There was
anxiety written there as he watched me, for
my uncle was a kindly, thoughtful man.
For the moment he seemed to have quite

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

forgotten the affairs of his counting house,
and the inventory of goods from France,
which a clerk had placed before him. Of
late he had taken in me an unaccustomed
interest, in no wise allayed by the letter I
was holding.

"So he is here," said my Uncle Jason.

"He is iust arrived,'1 I answered.

" I had heard of it," he remarked thought-
fully. "And you will see him, Henry?"
' Yes," I replied, "since she asked me to."

"She had asked you? Your mother? You
did not tell me that." His voice had been
sharp and reproachful, and then he had
sighed. "After all," he went on more gently,
"he is your father, and you must respect
him as such, Henry, hard as it is to do so.
I am sorry, almost, that he and I have
quarreled, for in m .our father was

a remarkable man who might have gone far,
except for his failing. God knows I did my
best to help him."

And he sighed again at the small success
of his efforts and returned to the papers that
lay before him on the counting house table.
His business had become engrossing of late,
and gave him little leisure.

"Do not be too hard on him, Henry," he
said, as I departed.

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

It was ten years since I had seen my
father, ten years when we change more than
we do during the rest of a lifetime. Ten
years back we had lived in a great house
with lawns that ran down to the river where
our ships pulled at their moorings. My
father and I had left the house together — I
for school, and my father — I have never
learned where he had gone. I was just be-
ginning to see the starker outlines of a world
that has shaken off the shadows of youth
when I saw him again.

I remember it was a morning early in
autumn. The wind was fresh off the sea,
making the pounding of the surf on the
beach seem very near as I urged my horse
from the neat, quiet streets of the town up
the rutted lane that led to the Shelton
house. The tang of the salt marshes was in
the wind, and a touch of frost over the
meadows told me the ducks would soon be
coming in from shelter. Already the leaves
were falling off the tall elms, twisting in
little spirals through the clear October sun-
light.

d yet, in spite of the wind and the sea
and the clean light of the forenoon, there
was a sadness about the place, and an under-
current of uneasy silence that the rustling

[3]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

of the leaves and the noise of the surf only
seemed to accentuate. It was like the silence
that falls about a table when the guests have
left it, and the chairs are empty and the
lights are growing dim. It was the silence
that comes over all places where there
should be people, and yet where no one
comes.

The shrubbery my grandfather had
brought from England was more wiKi
disordered than when I had seen it last.
The weeds had choked the formal garden
that once grew before the front door. And
the house — I had often pictured that house
in my memory — with its great arched door-
way, its small-paned windows and its gam-
brel roof. Once it had seemed to me a mas-
sive and majestic structure. Now those ten
years had made it shrink to a lonely, crum-
bling building that overlooked the harbor
mouth. Clematis had swarmed over the
bricks, a tangle of dead and living vines.
The paint was chipping from the doors and
window ledges. Here and there a shutter
had broken loose and was sagging on rusted
hinges. Houses are apt to follow the direc-
tion their owners take.

I knew I was being watched, though I
cannot tell how I knew it. Yet I saw nothing

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THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

until I was nearly at our door. I remember
I was noticing the green stain from the
brass knocker on its paneling, when my
horse snorted and stopped dead in his tracks.
From the overgrown clump of lilacs that
flanked the granite stone which served as
a door-step something was glinting in the
sun, and then as I looked more closely, I
saw a face peering at me from between the
twigs, a face of light mahogany with thick
lips that showed the presence of negro
blood. It was Brutus, my father's half-
caste servant.

Dark and saturnine as ever, he glided out
into the path in front of me, thrusting some-
thing back into the sash around his waist,
moved toward me, and took my horse's
head. His teeth shone when I spoke to him,
but he said never a word in return to my
greeting. There was a touch of Indian in
his Wood that made his speech short and
laconic. Nevertheless, he was glad to see
me. He grasped my shoulder as I dis-
mounted, and shook me gently from side to
side. His great form loomed before me, his
lips framed in a cheerful grin, his eyes
appraising and friendly. And then I noticed
for the first time the livid welt of a cut

[5]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

across his cheek. Brutus read my glance,
but he only shook his head in answer.

"What do you mean, hiding in those
bushes?" I asked him roughly.

"Always must see who is coming," said
Brutus. 'Monsieur may not want to see
who is coming — you understand "

"No," I said, "I don't understand."

His grasp on my shoulder tightened.

"Then you go home," he said, "You go
home now. Something happen. Monsieur
very angry. Something bad — you under-
stand"

"He is in the house?" I asked.

Brutus nodded.

"Then take this horse," I said, and swung
open the front door.

A draft eddied through the broad old
hallway as I stepped over the threshold,
and there was a smell of wood smoke that
told me the chimi re still cold from

disuse. Someone had stored the hall full
of coils of rope and sailcloth, but in the
midst of it the same tall clock was ticking
out its cycle, and the portraits of the Shelton
family still hung against the white panels.

The long, brown rows of books still lined
the walls of the morning room. The long
mahogany table in the center was still lit-

[6]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

tered with maps and papers. There were
the same rusted muskets and small swords
in the rack by the fireplace, and in front
of the fire in a great, high-backed armchair

father was sitting. I paused with a
curious feeling of doubt, surprise and diffi-
dence. Somehow I had pictured a different
meeting and a different man. He must
surely have heard my step and the jingling of

spurs as I crossed the room, but he
never so much as raised his head. He still
rested, leaning indolently back, watching
the flames dance up the chimney. He was
dressed in gray satin small clothes that went
well with his slender figure. His wig was
fresh powdered, and his throat and wrists
were framed in spotless lace. The care of
his person was almost the only tribute he
paid to his past.

I must nave stood for twenty seconds
watching him while he watched the fire,
before he turned and faced me, and when
he did I had forgotten the words I had
framed to greet him. I knew he was pre-
paring to meet a hard ordeal. He knew as
well as I there was no reason why I should
be glad to see him. Yet he showed never a
trace of uncertainty. His eye never wavered.
His lips were drawn in the same supercilious

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

upward curve that gave him the expression
I most often remembered. Ten years had
not done much to change him. The pallor
I had remembered on his features had been
burned off by a tropical sun. That was all.
There was hardly a wrinkle about his eyes,
hardly a tell-tale crease in his high forehead.
Wherever he had been, whatever he had
done, his serenity was still unshaken. It
still lay over him, placid and impenetrable.
And when he spoke, his voice was cool and
impassive and cast in pleasant modulation.

"So you are here," he remarked, as
though he were weighing each word care-
fully, "and why did you come? I think I
told you in my letter there was no need
unless you wished."

There was something cold and unfriendly
in his speech. I tried in vain to fight down
a rising feeling of antagonism, a vague sense
of disappointment. For a moment we
glanced at each other coldly.

"I think, sir," I answered, "from a sense
of curiosity."

Almost as soon as I had spoken, I was
sorry, for some sixth sense told me I had
hurt him. With a lithe, effortless grace he
rose from his chair and faced me, and his

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THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

smile, half amused, half tolerant, curved
his lips again.

"I should have known you would be
frank," he said, "Your letter, my son,
refusing to accept my remittances, should
have taught me as much, but we grow for-
getful as our feet weary of the path of life."

Yet I remember thinking that few people
looked less weary than my father as he
stood there watching me. The primroses,
it seemed, had afforded pleasant footing.

I believe he read my thoughts, for it
seemed to me that for an instant genuine
amusement was written in his glance, but
there were few genuine emotions he allowed
free play.

"Perhaps," he suggested pleasantly, "it
it would interest you to know why I have
returned to these rather rigorous and uncon-
cenial surroundings. If not, I beg you to
be frank again, Henry. There's nothing
that I dread more than being stupid."

"Sir," I objected, "I told you I was
curious,"

"To be sure you did," he admitted.
"Can it be possible that I am becoming
absent-minded? Henry, I am going to tell
you something very flattering. Can you

ieve it? It is largely on your account that

[9]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

I consented to revisit these familiar scenes!"
"No," I said, "I cannot, sir, since you
ask me."

My father shrugged his shoulders.
"Far be it from me to overstrain your
credulity, my son," he observed blandly.
"Let us admit then there was also some
slight factor of expedience — but slight,
Henry, almost negligible, in fact. It
pened that I was in a French port, and that
while there I should think ( ;
"Sir," I said, "You startle me!"
But he continued, regardless of my inter-
ruption.

And what should be there also, but the
Eclipse, ready to set for home! Quite sud-
denly I determined to sail her back. I,
too, was curious, my son." For a moment
his voice lost its bantering note. " C
he continued gravely, * to know whc
you were a man like me, or one of whom I
might have reason to be proud.
So here we are, Henry. Wno said coinci-
dence was the exception and not the rule?"
His last words drifted gently away, and
in their wake followed an awkward silence.
The logs were hissing in the fire. I could
hear the clock in the hall outside, and the
beating of the vines against the window

[10]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

panes. It was no sound, certainly, that
made me whirl around to look behind me, —
some instinct — that was all. There was
Brutus, not two feet from my back, with
my father's cloak over his right arm, and
my father's sword held in his great fist.

"Do not disturb yourself, Brutus," said
my father. "\Ye are both gentlemen, more
or less, and will not come to blows. My
cloak, Brutus. I am sorry, my son, that
we must wait till later in the day to exchange
ideas. Even here in America affairs seem
to follow me. Will you content yourself
till evening? There are horses in the stable
and liquors in the cellar. Choose all or
either, Henry. Personally, I find them
both amusing."

He stood motionless, however, even when
his dark cloak was adjusted to his shoulders,
as though some matters were disturbing
him; and then he tapped his sword hilt with
a precise, even motion of his fingers.

"Brutus," he^said slowly, "I shall take
my pistols also."

our pistols!" I echoed. "You have
forgotten you are back in America."

He half turned toward me, and favored
me with a serene, incurious glance.

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"On the contrary," he said, "1 am just
beginning to remember/'

And so without further words he left me.
I followed him through our rear doorway,
out over the crumbling bricks of our terrace,
which had been built to overlook the river,
and watched him walk slowly and thought-
fully down the path with its border of elm
trees, to his warehouses, where a half
dozen men had already started work.

The river was dark blue under a cloudles
sky. The sunlight was playing in restless
sparkles where the wind ruffled the water s
surface. Out near the channel I could see
the Eclipse riding at anchor, her decks
littered with bales and gear, and the Sun
Maid and the Sea Tern, trim and neat,
and down deep in the water as though ready
to put to sea. At the head of our wharf
were bales and boxes stacked in the odd
confusion that comes of a hasty discharge of
cargo.

On the terrace where I was standing 1
could see the other wharves along the
waterfront, and the church spires and roofs
of the town reared among the trees that
lined the busy streets. Toward the sand
dunes the marshes stretched away in russet
gold into the autumn haze. The woods

[12]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

across the river were bright patches of reds
and yellows, pleasant and inviting in the
sunlight.

But I saw it all with only half an eye.
I was still thinking of the dark hall behind
me, and the cold, unwelcome stillness of
the shuttered rooms. I could understand
his depression, now that he had come back
to it. But there was something else. . . .
I was still thinking of it when I looked at
the Eclipse again. It would have been
hard to find a craft of more delicate, graceful
lines. They often said he had a flair for
ships and women. A shifting current, some
freak of the wind and tide, was making her
twist and pull at her anchor, and for a
moment the sun struck clean on her broad-
side. A gaping hole between decks had
connected two of her ports in a jagged rent.

It was not surprising. My father's ships
were often fired on at sea. Nor was it
strange that Brutus had a half-healed scar
on his cheek. But why had my father gone
armed to his own wharf? Perhaps I might
have forgotten if I had not visited the
stables.

Our carriage harness still hung from the
pegs, dried and twisted by the years, and
minus its silver trimmings. The sunlight

[13]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

filtered through cracks in the roof, and
danced through the dust mites to the rows
of vacant stalls. Near the door my horse
was feeding comfortably, and beside him
stood two bays that shone from careful
grooming. One was carrying a saddle with
a pair of pistols in the pocket. Yet not a hair
had been turned from riding.

II

I rode through town that afternoon, and
it was not entirely because time hung
heavily on my hands. We were proud of our
town. The houses were as elegant and
substantial as any you could find. Our
streets were broad and even. Our walks
were paved with brick. There was not a
finer tavern than ours to the north of
Boston, or better dressed men frequenting
it. Men said in those days that we would be
a great seaport; that the world would look
more and more to that northern Massa-
chusetts river mouth. They had spoken
thus of many other harbor towns in the
centuries that men have gone down to the
sea. I think they have been wrong almost
as often as they had predicted. The ships
have ceased to sail over the bar. No one
heeds the rotting planking of the wharves.
The clang of hammers and the sailors'
songs have gone, and trade and gain and
venture have gone with them.

Strange, as I recall that afternoon. They
were building a new L to the tavern.

[15]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

Tradespeople were busy about their shops.
Coaches newly painted, and drawn by
well-matched horses, rolled by me. Gen-
tlemen in bright new coats, servants in new
family livery, sailors from the docks, clerks
from the counting houses, all gave the street
a busy air — lent it a pleasant assurance of
affluence.

I was mistaken when I thought I could
ride by as a stranger might. It seemed to
me that there was no one too busy to stop
and look, to turn and whisper a word to
someone else. They had learned already
that I was my father's son. I could feel a
hot flame of anger burning my cheeks, the
old, stinging passion of resentment I had
felt so often when my father's name was
mentioned. hThev knew me. Their looks
alone told that, out never a nod, or smile
of greeting, marked my return.

Though I had never spoken to them, I
knew them all — the Pcnfields, father and
son, tall and lean with bony faces and
sandy hair and eyebrows, and restless, pale
blue eyes — Squire Land, small and ascetic,
his lips constantly puckered as though he
had tasted something unpleasant. Captain
Proctor, stouter than when I had seen him
last, with the benign good nature that comes

[16]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

of settled affairs and good living. Over
them and over the town, those eight years
had passed with a light hand.

But it was not our town I had come to
visit. I found Ned Aiken, as I knew I
should, with the Eclipse in harbor. He was
seated on his door step by the river road,
as though he had always been planted in
that very place. I remember expecting he
would be glad to see me. Instead, he took
his pipe from his mouth, and gazed at me
steadily, like some steer stopped from graz-
ing. Then he placed his pipe on the stone
step, and rose slowly to his feet, squat and
burly, his little eyes clinting below his
greasy, unbraided hair, his jaw protruding
and ominous. Slowly he loosened the dirty
red handkerchief he kept swathed about
his throat, and raised a stubby hand to push
the hair from his heavy forehead. Then his
face relaxed into a grim smile, and he seated
himself on the step again.

'You've changed since last I saw you,"
he said; "changed remarkable, you have.
Why, right now I thought you might be
someone else."

Had Brutus also been laboring under the
same delusion?

I told him I was glad we were still on

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

speaking terms, and seated myself beside
him. He studied me for a while in silence,
leisurely puffing at his pipe.

"You mistook me for someone?" I asked
finally.

"Yes," said Mr. Aiken, and slapped his
pipe against the palm of his hand. ' i ou'vc
been shootin' up, you have, since I set eyes

on you.'

He paused, seemingly struck by a genial
inspiration.

"Yes, shootin' up." Still looking at me
he gave way to a hoarse chuckle.

"Why, boy, we've all been doing some
shootin' — you, your dad, and me too —
since we seen you last," and he was taken
by a paroxysm of silent mirth.

"Now that's what I call wit!" he gasped
complacently, and then he repeated in
joyous encore:

"You shootin' — me shootin' — he shoot-
in'."

"You weren't shooting at anybody?" I
asked with casual innocence.

"And why shouldn't we be, I want to
know?" he demanded, but his tongue
showed no sign of slipping. His glance had
resumed its old stolid watchfulness, which
caused me to remain tactfully silent.

[18]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"But we wasn't shoo tin* at anybody,"
Mr. Aiken concluded, more genially. "Not
at anybody, just at selected folks."

He stopped to glance serenely about him,
and somehow the dusty road, the river, the
trees and the soft sunlight seemed to make
him strangely confiding. His harsh voice
lowered in gentle patronage.

"Would you like to know who those
folks were?" he asked finally.

I must have been too eager in giving my
assent, for Mr. Aiken smiled broadly and
nodded his head with complacent satisfac-
tion.

"I thought you would admire to," said
Mr. Aiken; 'Mike as not you'd give a tooth
to know, now wouldn't you? Never do
know a tooth is useful till you lose it. Now
look at me — I've had as many as six stove
out off an' on, and now — But you wanted to
know who it was we shot at, didn't you?
So you did, boy, so you did. Well, I'll tell
you, so I will. Yes, so help me if I don't
tell you, boy." And his voice trailed off
in a low chuckle.

"It was folks like you," he concluded
crisply; "folks who didn't mind their own
business."

Gleefully he repeated the sentence. Its

[19]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

ringing cadence and the trend of his whole
discourse gave him evident pleasure, and
even caused him to continue further
his rebuke.

"There you have it," said Mr. Aiken,
"the Captain's own words, b'Gad. 'Mr.
Aiken', he says, 'I fancy we may meet a
number of people whose affairs will not stop
them interfering with our own. If you see
any/ he says, 'shoot them, Mr.

He had lapsed into a good-natured,
reminiscent mood, and, as he fixed his gaze
on the trees across the road, he was prompt-
ed to enlarge still further on the episode.
He seemed to have forgotten I was there
as he continued.

"I wish it had been on deck," he re-
marked, "instead of a place with damned
gold chairs and gold on the ceiling, and cloth
on the walls, and velvets such as respectable
folks use for dress and not for ornament,
and candles in gold sticks, and the floor like
a sheet of ice.

lell," said Mr. Aikcn. "I'd sooner slip
on blood than on a floor like that. Yes, so
I would. I wonder why those frog eaters
don't make their houses snug and decent
instead of big as a church. Now, though
I'm not a moral man, yet I call it immoral,

[20]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

damned if I don't, to live in a house like
that."

"Yet somehow pleasant," I ventured
politely, "surely you have found that the
beauty of most immoral things. They all
seem to be pleasant. Am I not right, Mr.
Aiken?"

He looked at me sharply, shrugged his
shoulders, and denied me the pleasure of
an answer.

"Not that I meant to puzzle you," I
added hastily, "but you have sailed so long
with my father, that I considered you in a
position to know. Now in France "

Mr. Aiken dropped his pipe.

"Who said anything about France?" he
demanded.

"And did you not?" I asked, beginning
to enjoy my visit. "Surely you were speak-
ing just now about a chateau, the scene of
some pleasant adventure. Pray don't let
me interrupt you."

A bead of perspiration rolled down Mr.
Aiken's brow, and he tightened his handker-
chief about his throat, as though to stifle
further conversation. He sat silent for a
minute while his mind seemed to wander off
into a maze of dim recollections, and his

[21]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

eyes half-closed, the better to see the pic-
tures that drifted through his memory.

"What am I here ashore and sober for,"
he asked finally, "so I won't talk, that's
why, and I won't talk, so there's the end
of it. It's just that I have to have my little
joke, that's all, or I wouldn't have said
anything about the chato or the Captain
either.

" Though, if I do say it," he added in final
justification, "there ain't many seafaring
men who have a chance to sail along of a
man like him."

" And how does that happen ?" I asked.

"Because there ain't any more like him
to sail with."

He sat watching me, and the gap between
us seemed to widen. He seemed to be look-
ing at me from some great distance, from the
end of the road where years and experience
had led him, full of thoughts he could never
express, even if the desire impelled him.

'No, not any," said Mr. Aiken.

The dusk was beginning to gather when
I rode home, the heavy purple dusk of
autumn, full of the crisp smell of dead
leaves and the low hanging wood smoke
from the chimneys.

My father was reading Voltaire beside a

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

briskly burning fire. Closing his book on his
forefinger, he waved me to a chair beside
him.

"My son," he said, "they mix better
than you think, Voltaire and gunpowder.
Have you not found it so?"

"I fear," I replied, "that my experience
has been too limited. Give me time, sir,
I have only been twice to sea. Next time
I shall remember to take Voltaire with me/'

"Do," he advised courteously; "you will
find it will help with the privateers — tide
you over every little unpleasantness. Ah
yes, it is advice worth following. I learned
it long ago — a little difference of opinion —
and the pages of the great philosopher "

He raised his arm and glanced at it
critically.

"Words well placed — is it not wonderful,
their steadying effect — the deadly accuracy
which their logic seems to impart to the
hand and eye? A man can be dangerous
indeed with twenty pages of Voltaire behind
him."

He took a pinch of snuff, and leaned
forward to tap me gently on the knee, his
expression coldly genial.

'I have read all the works of Voltaire,
Henry, read them many times."

[23]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

Unbidden, a picture of him came before
me in a room with gilt chairs and candelabra
whose glass pendants sparkled in the mild
yellow light — with a smell of powder ming-
ling strangely with the scent of flowers.

"But why," he concluded, "should I be
more explicit than Mr. Aiken? To fear
nothing, say nothing. It is a maxim fol-
lowed by so many politicians. Strange that
it still stays valuable. Strange—

And he waved his hand in a negligent
gesture of deprecation.

"Why, indeed, be more explicit," I re-
joined. "Your sudden interest is quite
enough to leave me overcome, sir, when,
after years of neglect, you see to it I ride out
safely of an afternoon."

He tapped his snuff box thoughtfully.

"Coincidence again, Henry, that is all.
How was I to know you would be outside
Ned Aiken's house while I was within?"

"And how should I know that paternal
care would prompt you to remain within
while I was without?"

For a second it seemed to me that my
father was going to laugh — for a fraction
of a second something like astonishment
seemed to take possession of him. Then
Brutus appeared in the doorway.

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"My son/* he said, as I followed him to
supper, "I must compliment you. Posi-
tively you improve upon acquaintance."

1*5]

Ill

I had remembered him as a man who dis-
liked talk. I had often seen him sit for
hours on end without a word, looking at
nothing in particular, with his expression-
less serenity. Hut on this particular evening
the day's activities appeared to have made
his social instinct ve, and

to arouse him to unusual, ami almost un-
natural animation. As we sat at a small
round table beside the dining room fireplace,
he launched into a cheerful discourse, ig-
noring completely any displeasure I at-
tempted to assume. The great room with
its dingy wainscot only half lighted by the
candles on the table before us, was clut-
tered with a hundred odds and ends that
collect in a deserted house — a ladder, a stiff,
rusted bridle, a coil of frayed rope, a kettle,
:ozen sheets of the Gazette, empty
bottles, dusty crockery and broken chairs.
He surveyed them all with a bland, un-
critical glance. From his manner he might
have been surrounded by brilliant company.
From his conversation he might have been
in a pot house.

[26]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

I noticed at once what many had been
at pains to mention to me before — that my
fatner was not a temperate man. Nor did
our cellar seem wholly bleak. He pressed
wine upon me, and soon had finished a
bottle himself, only to gesture Brutus to
uncork a second. And all the while he
regaled me with anecdotes of the gaming
table and the vices of a dozen seaports.
\Vith hardly a pause he described a lurid
succession of drinking bouts and gallant
adventures. He finished a second bottle of
wine, and was half way through a third.
Yet all the while his voice never lost its
pleasant modulation. Never a flush or an
increase of animation came to change him.
Politely detached, he discoursed of love and
murder, gambling and chicanery, drawing
on the seemingly exhaustless background
of his own experience for illustration. He
seemed to have known the worst men from
all the ends of the earth, to have shared in
their business and their pleasures. He
seemed to have been in every discreditable
undertaking that came beneath his notice.
In retrospect they pleased him — all and
every one.

What he saw when he glanced at me
appeared to please him also. At any rate,

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

it gave him the encouragement that one
usually receives from an attentive listener.

"Brutus, again a bottle. It is at the
fourth bottle/' he explained, "that I am
at my best. It is the fourth bottle, or per-
haps the fifth, that seems to free me from
the restraints that old habits and c
education have wound about me. /;;
veritas, my son, but the truth must be
measured in quarts for each individual.
Some men I know might be drowned in
wine and still be hypocrites, so solidly
their heads placed upon their shoulders.
But my demands are modest, my son, just
as modest as I am a modest sinner."

He called to Brutus to toss more wood
upon the fire, leaned back for a while,
holding his glass to the light of the flames,
and turned to me again with his cool, per-
functory smile.

"Strange, is it not, that men through all
the aces nave sought fools and charlatans
to tell their fortunes, when a little wine is
clearer than the most mystic ball of crystal.
Before the bottle the priests of Egypt and
the Delphic oracle seem as faint, my son, as
the echoes in a snail shell. Palmistry and
•logy — let us fling them into the whirl-
pool of vanity! But give a man wine enough,

[28]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

and any observer can tell his possibilities.
A touch of it — and where are the barriers
with which he has surrounded himself?
Another drop, and how futile are all the
deceptions which he is wont to practice
upon others! In St. Kitts once I drank wine
with a most respectable merchant, a man
who carried the Bible beside his snuff box,
and referred to both almost as frequently
as he did to the profit and balance on his
ledger. And would you believe it? The
next time he met me, he blamed me for
the loss of many thousands of pounds. He
even laid at my door certain reprehensible
indiscretions of his wife, though I could
have told him that night over the glasses
that both were inevitable long before either
occurred.

"But pray do not look at me so blankly,
my Km. It was not clairvoyance on my
part — merely simple reasoning, aided by
very excellent and very heady Madeira.
How true it is that there is truth in wine —
and money too, if the grape is used to the
proper advantage.

"Again — some men talk of fortune at
cards, good luck or bad, but as for me,
I can tell how the luck will run by the num-
ber of bottles that are placed beside the

[29]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

table. A little judgment, and the crudest
reasoning — that is all. But doubtless mutual
friends have already hinted to you of my
propensities at cards — and other things.
Is it not so, my son?"

Was it the gentle inflection of the ques-
tion, or his intent glance that made me feel,
as I had felt before that day, that I was
face to face with an alert antagonist? He
called on me to speak, and I was loth to
break my silence. If he had only left me
to my own bitter thoughts, — but why
should I have expected him to be tactful?
Why should I have expected him to be
different from the gossip that clouded his
name?

"Your card playing is still remembered,
sir," I told him. "I have heard of it two
months back."

Deliberately he pushed one of the candles
aside, so that the light should stand less
between us, poured himself another glass
of wine, and nicked the dust from the bottle
off his sleeve.

"Indeed?" was his comment. 'Your
memory does you credit, even though
youthful impressions are apt to lodge fast.
Or shall I say it is only another proof of
the veracity of my man of business? Two

[30]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

months ago, at a certain little gathering,
someone, whose name I have yet to dis-
cover, informed you of certain bad habits
I had contracted in games of chance.
I remember being interested at the time
that my reputation lasted so well in my
absence. But I beg you — let me confirm
the report still further. Am I mistaken in
believing you made some apt retort?"

"Sir," I said in a voice that sounded
strangely discordant, "I told him he lied."

"Ha!" said my father, and for a moment
I thought he was going to commend my
act, but instead his eyes moved to the
table.

"Brutus," he continued, "is my mind
becoming cloudy, or is it true the wine is
running low ? Open another bottle, Brutus."

There was a silence while he raised his
glass to his lips.

"And am I right," he asked, "in recalling
that you allowed yourself the liberty — of
punctuating that comment?"

'You have been well informed, sir," I
answered. "I struck him in the face."

He waved a hand to me in a pleasant ges-
ture of acknowledgment, and half turned in
his chair, the better to speak over his
shoulder.

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Did I hear aright, Brutus?*' he in-
quired. '" There's faith for you and loyal
He called the boy a liar who called me a
cheat at cards! An, those illusions of youth!
Ah for that sweet mirage that used to glitter
in the sky overhead! It's only the wine
that brings it back today — called him a
liar, Brutus, and gave him the blow!"

" But pardon," he went on. His voice was
still grave and slow, though his lips were
bent in a bitter little smile. His face had
reddened, and it was the wine, I think, that
made his eyes dance in the candle light.
"Overlook, I beg, the rudeness of my
interruption. The exceptional in your nar-
rative quite intrigues me, my son. Doubt-
less your impulsive action led to the con-
ventional result?"

There he sat, amusedly examining me,
smiling at my rising temper. My reply
shaped itself almost without my volition.

14 1 xcuse me, sir," I retorted, "if I say the
result was more natural than your ae
upon a greater provocation."

4 'Had it ever occurred to you, my son,
that perhaps my self-control was greater
also? Let us call it so, at any rate, and go on
with our adventure."

(M

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"As you wiH, sir," I said. "We all make
our mistakes."

He raised his eyebrows in polite surprise,
and his hand in a gesture of protest.

"Our mistakes? Was I not right in be-
lieving you had a competent instructor?
I begin to fear your education is deficient.
Surely you have agility and courage. Why
a mistake, my son?"

"The mistake," I replied, "was in the
beginning and not in the end. I made the
error in believing he told an untruth."

" Indeed?" said my father. 'Thank you,
Brutus, I have had wine enough for the
evening. Do you not consider your error —
how shall we put it — quite inexcusable in
view of the other things you have doubtless
heard?"

But I could only stare dumbly at him
across the table.

"Come, come," he continued. "How
goes the gossip now? Surely there is more
about me. ourely you have heard"
he paused to drain the dregs in his glass —
"the rest?"

I eyed him for a moment in silence before
I answered, but he met my glance fairly,
indulging apparently in the same curiosity,
half idle, half cynical, that he might have

[33]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

displayed before some episode of the theatre.
It was a useless question that he asked. He
knew too well that the answer was obvious.

"Yes," I said, "I have heard it."

"So," he exclaimed cheerfully, "my repu-
tation still continues. Wonderful, is it not,
how durable a bad reputation is, and how
fragile a good one. One bounds back like a
rubber ball. The other shatters like a lustre
punch bowl. And did the same young
man — I presume he was young — enlighten
you about this, the most fatal parental
weakness?"

"No," I said, "I learned of it later."

He raised his hand and began gently
stroking his coat lapel, his fingers quickly
crossing it in a vain search for some imagi-
nary wrinkle, moving back and forth with
a steady persistence, while he watched me,
still amused, still indifferent.

"And might I ask who told you?" he
inquired.

'Your brother-in-law," I replied, "My
Uncle Jason."

"Dieu!" cried my father, "but I grow
careless."

He was looking ruefully at his lapel.
Somehow the threads had given way, and
there was a rent in the gray satin.

[34]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Another coat ruined/' he observed,
and the raillery was gone from his voice.
"How fortunate it is that the evening is
well along, and bed time is nearly here.
One coat torn in the brambles, and one with
a knife, and now — But your uncle was
right, quite right in telling you. Indeed,
I should have done the same myself. The
truth first, my son. Always remember
that."

And he turned again to his coat.

"I told him I did not believe it," I ven-
tured, but the appeal in my voice, if there
was any, passed him quite unnoticed.

"Indeed?" he said. "Brutus, you will
put an extra blanket on my bed, for I fancy
the night air is biting."

I pushed back my chair.

"And now, you will excuse me" I said,
"if I take my leave."

I rose a trifle unsteadily, and stood before
him, with no particular effort to hide my
anger and contempt. But apparently I had
ceased to be of interest. He was sitting just
as I had first seen him that morning, staring
into the embers of the fire. As I watched
him, even through my anger I felt a vague
regret, a touch of pity — pity for a life that
was wasted in spite of its possibilities, in

[35]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

boasting and blackguardly. I began hoping
that he would speak, would argue or remon-
strate. Instead, he said nothing, only sat
serenely indifferent, his eves still on the fire.
Stepping around the debris that filled the
room, I had placed my hand on the latch,
when I heard a stealthy footstep behind me.
Brutus was at my elbow. There was a
tinkle of a wine glass falling on the hearth.
I turned to see my father racing me beside
the table I had quitted — the calm modula-
tion gone from his voice, his whole body
poised and alert, as though ready to spring
through the space that separated us.

"No doubt," he sa iwing a deep

breath, "you are leaving this house because
you cannot bear to stay under the same
roof with a man of my stamp and accom-
plishments. Come, is that the reason?"

"Only partly," I answered, turning to
face him, and then the words tripped off my
tongue, hot and bitter, before I nad wit to
check them. "What right have I to be
particular, now that I have found out my
inheritance? Why should I pick my com-
pany? Why should I presume to hold my
nead up? I can only DC blessed now, sir,
like the rest of the meek."

I paused to let my final words sink in,

[36]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

and because I knew they would hurt him,
I spoke them with an added satisfaction.

"I shall start at once to acquire merit
which the moth cannot corrupt," I con-
tinued. "I am leaving to apologize to the
man I fought with because he called you
a cheat — and to my uncle for doubting his
word."

My father's fist came down on the table
with a crash.

4 Then, by God," he shouted, "you'll not
leave this room! You'll not take a single
step until you've learned two things, learned
them so you'll never forget. Stand where
you are and listen!"

l37l

IV.

I remember the curious feeling I had that
my father was gone, that he had vanished
while my back was turned, leaving me to
face someone else. Then, as I stared at
him, still unready and speechless, the light
died out of his eyes, his lips relaxed, and
his hand went up to arrange the lace at
his throat.

"Shun my example," he said, "shudder
at the life I have led. Call me dissolute.
Call me dangerous comp >ay that in

every way I'm unfit to be your father — say
that I'm an outcast, suitable only as mate-
rial for slander. I will agree with yo
will teach you that your judgment is correct.
Let us only set two limits and do not call
them virtues. They are necessities in the
life I lead, nothing more. They—

The sound at the knocker on the front
door broke into : t tier's speech and

stilled it. In the pause, while the echoes
died away, he shrugged his shoulders negli-
gently, and settled himself back in his chair.

"My son," he sighed, "allow me to point

[38]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

out the misfortune of being a man of affairs.
They will never adjust themselves to the
proper time and place. Brutus, the two
gentlemen about whom I was speaking —
show them in at once. And you, my son,
there is no need for you to leave. The
evening is young yet."

"Where are you, Shelton?" came a
sharp, authoritative voice from the hall-
way. "Damn this dark passage."

"Ooen the door, Henry," my father said.

As 1 did so, two gentlemen entered. The
taller, without bothering to remove his hat,
strode over to my father's chair. The other
stood undecided near the threshold, until
Brutus closed the door behind him. With-
out rising from his chair, my father gave
first one and then the other, the impartial,
il glance of the disinterested observer.

"This," he remarked politely, "comes
near to being unexpected. I had heard you
had come to town, but I had hoped to meet
you only in some desolate waste of purga-
tory. I fear your visitation finds me singu-
larly unprepared to do the duties of a host.
You found the passage dark? Ah, Lawton,
I fear it will be darker still where you are

••at

at's enough, Shelton," interrupted

[39]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

the first gentleman. "I didn't come here to
hear you talk. I've heard you do that often
enough in the old days. You can talk a
woman off" her feet, but by God, you can't
talk me."

My father waved his hand negligently, as
though disavowing some compliment.

" The same forceful character," he ob-
served gently, "the same blunt candor.
How refreshing it is, Law ton, after years of
intrigue and dissimulation. My son, this is
Mr. Lawton, an old, but he will pardon me
if I do not add — a valued acquaintam

For a moment Mr. Lawton's pale eyes
looked sharply into mine, and I bowed to
him ironically. I saw a high, thin face,
resolute and impulsive, a grim ascetic face,
with a long, straight nose that seemed pulled
too close to his upper lip, and a mouth
stamped roughly on a narrow, bony jaw,
a mouth, as I looked at it, that seemed
ready to utter an imprecation.

"Mr. Lawton ana I have met before,"
I said.

4 Indeed? And our friend in the back-
ground," my father continued. "Perhaps
it is my bad memory that permits his
identity still to be a revelation?"

The stranger nervously arranged a fold in

[40]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

his sea cloak, while his little black eyes
darted restlessly about the room.^

"It's Sims, Captain Shelton," he volun-
teered, in a gentle, unassuming voice, "and
very much at your service.'*

"Captain Shelton be damned!" snapped
Lawton. "Keep your name to yourself,
Sims, and watcn the nigger and the boy.
Now, Shelton, for the reason why I'm here."

"Indeed, I am forced to admit the reason
for your visit may have its pertinence," my
father admitted. "The fatigues of a long
day, coupled with the evening's wine — "
He stifled a yawn behind the back of his
hand, and smiled in polite deprecation.

Slight as was his speech, Mr. Lawton
seemed to take a deep interest in it. Indeed,
even while he backed around the table and
seated himself in the chair I had occupied,
my father's slightest expression engaged his
undivided attention. There fell a silence
such as sometimes comes at a game of cards
when the stakes at the table are running
higher than is pleasant. Brutus was watch-
ing Mr. Sims with a malignant intensity.
Mr. Sims watched Brutus. Mr. Lawton 's
eyes, as I have said, never left my father,
and my father polished his nails on the
sleeve of his coat.

U'l

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Did I understand you to say," he asked
finally, "that you were planning to relieve
my mind of the burden of speculation?"

"Quite," said Mr. Lawton, with a poor
attempt at dryness. "I have come here
tonight to induce or force you to return a
piece of stolen property. I give you the
liberty of taking your cnoice. Either —

His voice raised itself to comm;

"Damn you, Shclton, sit still!'1

The picture had changed. Mr. I
was leaning across the table, levelling a
pistol at my father's head. \Yith a de-
tached, academic interest, my father glanced
at the weapon, and, without perceptible

Eause, without added haste or deliberation,
e continued to withdraw the hand he had
thrust into his right coat pocket. Beside me
I heard Brutus dra irp breath. I saw

Mr. Sims fumble under his cloak and take
a quick step backwards. There was a tense,
pregnant silence, broken by Mr. S
fervent expletive. My father had withdrawn
his hand. He was holding in it his s
snuff box, which he tossed carelessly on the
table, where it slid among the wine bottles.
"Why strain so at a gnat, Lawton," he
continued in his old conversational manner.
"Though one can kill a sparrow with a five

[421

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

pound shot, is it worth the effort? Small as
my personal regard is for you, a note penned
in three lines would have brought you back
your trinket. But when you say it is
stolen "

With a gesture of exasperation, Mr. Law-
ton attempted to interrupt.

"When you say it is stolen," my father
continued, raising his voice, "your memory
fails you. I won that snuff box from you
fairly, because your horse refused a water
jump in Baltimore fifteen years ago."

Mr. Lawton made a grimace of impatience.

"Perhaps I can refresh your memory on
a more immediate matter," he interjected
harshly, "a matter rather more in keeping
with your character. Don't, don't move,
I beg of vou! At a certain chateau in the
Loire Valley, as recently as two months ago,
you had an unfortunate escapade with
French government agents."

"Let us err on the side of accuracy," said
my father in gracious assent, "and add that
the affair was rather more unfortunate for
the agents than for myself."

"Meaning it was fortunate you ran away,
I suppose," suggested Mr. Lawton, "fortu-
nate, but natural. You escaped, Shelton,
in the company of a certain young lady they

(43 1

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

were seeking to apprehend. You retained
in your possession a list of names of pol
importance. It is a part of your damned
blackmail, I suppose. I say you stole that
pap

"Indeed?" said my father. "In that
case, permit me! The snuff is excellent,
Lawton, although the box is commonplace."

"By God!" shouted Mr. Lawton
had enough of your damned simpering
You're a coward, Shelton. Why conceal it
from me? A coward, afraid to demand
satisfaction after a public insult — a thief
with your theft still about you. I've come
to get that list, to return it to its rigl
owners. Try your drunkard's bragging on
stupefied boys, but not on me! For the last
time — will you give that letter up?"

My father's hand that held the snuff box
trembled. His glance was almost furtive as
he looked from Mr. Sims back to Mr.
Lawton. For a moment he stared half-
puzzled at Mr. Lawton's pistol. Then he
moistened his lips.

ppose I snould refuse?" he asked,
rn a wan smile, Mr. Lawton rubbed his
left hand over his long chin.

"In that case," he sa hall summon

five men whom I hold outside. They will

[44]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

search the house, having searched you first.
If they do not find the letter, I shall give
you one more chance to produce it."

"Of course you realize your action is
illegal?" my father interrupted.

Mr. Lawton laughed.

"We've beaten about the bush long
enough," he said. "Will I have to remind
you again that I didn't come to hear you
talk? Come to the point. Will you give up
that paper?"

rh a sigh of resignation, my father
fumbled in his breast pocket. When he
spoke, it seemed a weak appeal to justify
action.

"Under the circumstances, what else can
I do?" he demanded, " though it seems hard
when I had given my word not to part with

He produced a long, sealed document,
which he handed across the table. Mr.
Lawton *s eyes glistened with anticipation as
he took it. He held it over the table to
scan the seal.

"Damn all your caution, Sims!" he ex-
claimed exultantly. We've got it just as I
said we would! Didn't I tefl you — — "

His voice choked. He burst into a
violent fit of sneezing. My father had

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

thrown the contents of his snuff box into
Mr. Lawton's face.

If his chair had been of hot iron, he could
not have moved more quickly. Almost the
same moment, Mr. Lawton's pistol was in
my father's hand, cocked and primed and
pointed at Mr. Sims.

"Brutus," said my father, " unburden
Mr. Sims of his weapons. Lawton, a breath
of night air may relieve you. Let us go to
the window and reflect on the slip that may
occur between the container and the nose.
My son, give Mr. Lawton your arm. A
me to open the shutters. Now Mr. Lawton,
call to your men. Tell them they may go.
lx »uder, louder, Mr. Lawton. Surely your
voice has more strength. My ears have
been weary this long time with its clamor."

[46]

V.

Even today, as I pen these lines, the

Eicture comes back with the same intensity,
ut little mellowed or softened with the
years. The gaunt old room that had enter-
tained so many guests, emptied of its last
one, with nothing but the faint chill that
had come through the opened window to
remind one of their presence — the fitful light
of the two candles that had begun splutter-
ing in the tall brass sticks — Brutus with
quiet adroitness clearing away the bottles
and the dishes — and a sudden burst of flame
from the back log in the fireplace that made
his shadow jump unevenly over the opposite
wall — and my father resting languidly in
his chair again, quite as though nothing had
»ened — I remember looking about me
and almost doubting that anything out of
the ordinary had passed in the last five
minutes. I glanced narrowly at him, but
there was nothing in his manner to betray
that he had not been sitting there for the
past hour in peaceful meditation. Was he
thinking of the other nights when the room
was bright with silver and candles?

[47]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"My son," he remarked presently, "I was
saying to you before our callers interrupted
that there are just two things I never do.
Do you still care to know them? I think
that one may be enough for tonight. It is
that circumstances oblige me to keep my
word."

"You do not care to tell me any more?"
I asked him.

"Only that you had better stay, my son.
If you do, I can guarantee you will see me
at my worst, which is better, perhaps, than
hearing of me second hand. Ami possibly
it may even be interesting, the little drama
which is starting."

Thoughtfully he balanced the pistol he
was still holding on the palm of his hand,
and half unconsciously examined the prim-
ing, while I watched him, half with mis-
n, half \sith a reluctant sort of admira-
tion. When he turned towards me again,
his eyes had brightened as though he were
dwelling on a pleasing reminiscence.

Indeed," he mused, "it might be more
than interesting, hilarious, in fact, if it were
not for the lady in the case."

"The lady!' I echoed involuntarily.

"And why not indeed?" he said with a
shrug. "Let us do our best to be consistent.

(48)

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

What drama is complete without a lady in
it? It would have been simpler, I admit, if
I had stolen the paper, per se, and not the
lady with it. The lady, I fear, is becoming
an encumbrance."

"Am I to understand you brought a
woman with you across the ocean?"

He placed the pistol on the table before
him, looked at it critically, and changed its
position.

"A lady, my son, not a woman. You will
find that the two are quite different species.
I fear she had but little choice. That is a
pretty lock on Mr. Lawton's weapon."

'You mean she is here now?" I persisted.
He must surely have been in jest.

"To be sure!" he acquiesced. "She is,
I trust, asleep in the east guest room, and
heaven help you if you wake her. But why
do you start, my son, does it seem odd to
you that I should act as squire?"

"Not in the least," I assured him. "I
am only astonished that she should consent
to accompany you. You say, sir, that she
is a lac!

"At least," he replied, "I am broadening
your education. That in itself, Henry, quite
repays me for any trouble I may have taken
— -but I fear you are putting a bad con-

[49]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

struction on it. I beg of you, do not judge
me so harshly. Launcelpt himself — what
am I saying? — Bayard himself, up to the
present moment, could only commend my
every action."

"Even to bringing her to this house," I
suggested coldly.

icisely," he replied. "That in itself
was actuated by the highest piece of altruism
heaven has vouchsafed humanity — the re-
gard a father has for his so

"Do you mean to think," I demanded
angrily, "that you can bring me into this
business?"

I was still on my feet, and took a quick
step toward him.

' Is it not enough to find you what you
arc? You've done enough to me tonight,
sir, without adding an insult."

My father nodded, quite as though he
were receiving a compliment. Seemingly
still well pleased, he helped himself again to
his snuff, and dusted nis fingers carefully
with his lace handerchief.

II You misunderstand me," he said gently.
"My present occupation reguires a shrewder
head and a steadier hand than yours."

"And a different code of morals," I added,
bowing.

[50]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Positively, my son, you are turning
Puritan," he remarked. "A most refreshing
change for the family."

I had an angry retort at the tip of my
tongue, but it remained unspoken. For the
second time that evening, the dining room
door opened. I swung away from the table.
My father leapt to his feet, bland and
obsequious. A girl with dark hair and eyes
was standing on the threshold, staring at us
curiously, holding a candle that softened the
austerity of her plain black dress. There in
the half light there was a slender grace
about her that made her seem vaguely un-
real. In that disordered room she seemed
as incongruous as some portrait from a
house across the water, as coldly unre-
sponsive to her surroundings. I imagined
her on the last canvas of the gallery, bear-
ing all the traits of the family line — the same
quiet assurance, the same confident tilt of
tne head, the same high forehead and clear
cut features.

Evidently a similar thought was running
through my father's mind.

"An, Mademoiselle," he said swiftly in
the French tongue, "stay where you are!
Stay but a moment! For as you stand there
in the shadows, you epitomize the whole

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

house of Blanzy, their grace, their pride,
their beauty."

She tried to suppress a smile, but only
half succeeded.

"I fear the Captain has been drinking
again," she said quietly. 'Not that I am
sorry. The wine improves you, I think."

"Mademoiselle lures me to a drunkard's
crave," exclaimed my father, bowing low,
'but pray be seated. A chair for the lady,
my son. Early this afternoon they told me
not to expect you. I trust you have had
everything possible done for your comfort ? "

For a moment she favored me with an
incurious glance.

" I was unable to see you on the ship,
captain, and I wanted to nave a word
you at the first opportunity. Otherwise I
would not {lave favored you with a tableau
of the house of Blanzy. I wanted to speak
with you — alone."

She had declined the chair I offered her,
and was standing facing him, her eyes
almost on a level with his.

'This," said my father, bowing again,
"is delightfully unexpected! But I forget
myself. This is my son, Henry Shelton.
May I present him to Mile, de Blanzy?"

"I suppose you may as well," she replied,

[52]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

holding a hand toward me indifferently.
"Let us trust he has your good qualities,
monsieur, and none of your bad ones. But
I wanted to speak to you alone."

"My son is discretion itself/' said my
father, with another bow. "Pray let him
stay. I feel sure our discussion will not only
interest but instruct him."

Mademoiselle frowned and tapped an
angry foot on the floor.

'You heard what I said, sir. Send him
out/' she demanded.

"Stay where you are, Henry/' said my
father gently. "Stay where you are," he
repeated more loudly, as I started for the
door. "I have something further to say^to
you before you leave this house."

>ur pardon," he explained, turning
again to Mademoiselle, " but my son and I
have had a slight falling out over a question
of ethics which I think directly concerns
the matter you wish to discuss. Pray for-
give me, Mademoiselle, but I had much
rather he remained."

Mademoiselle glanced at me again, this
time with an appeal in her eyes which I
read and understood. It seemed to me a
trace more of color had mounted to her

[53]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

cheeks. She seemed about to speak but
paused irresolutely.

I made a bow which I did my best to
render the equal of my father's, and for the
first time I was glad I had entered his house.

"Mademoiselle," I said, "it is a pleasure
to render you even so small a service."

And I turned to my father, and met his
glance squarely.

"I cannot see any profit to either ot
for me to remain longer," I observed,
"either here or in this house," and I turned
to the door.

"Brutus!" called my father sharply.
"Stand by the door. Now sir, if you leave
this room before I am ready, my servant
shall retain you by force. Mademoiselle will
pardon this domestic scene," he added, "the
boy has an uncertain temper."

I looked to see Brutus' great bulk grin-
ning at me from the doorway. I saw my
father half smiling, and fingering the lace
at his throat. I saw Mademoiselle watching
me, partly frightened, but partly curious, as
though she had witnessed similar occur-
rences. Then my pent up anger got the
better of me. Mr. Lawton's pistol still lay
on the table. Before my father could

[54]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

divine my intention, I had seized it, and
held it pointed at Brutus' head.

"Sir," I said, breathing a trifle faster
than usual, "I am not used to being threat-
ened by servants. Order him to one side!"

My father looked at me almost ad-
miringly, and his hand, that had been
fingering the lace, groped toward an empty
bottle.

" Any thing but a bottle, father," I said,
watching him from the tail of my eye,
"anything but a bottle. It smacks of such
low associations."

"Your pardon, Henry," he said quickly,
"the movement was purely unconscious. I
had thought we were through with pistols
for the evening, and Mademoiselle must be
fatigued. So put down the pistol, Henry,
and let us continue the interview.

"Certainly," I replied, "as soon as you
have fulfilled your part of the contract. As
soon as you call off your servant, I shall
wish you a very good evening. Stand where
you are, Brutus."

"Come, come," said my father patiently,
"we have had enough of the grotesque this
evening. It is growing late, my son. Put
down the pistol."

"Brutus," I called, "if you move again,

[55]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

backwards or forwards, I'll fire/' and I
backed towards the wall.

"Good," said my father. "Henry, you
have an amount of courage and foresight
which I scarcely expected, even in a son of
mine, yet not enough foresight to see that
it is useless. Put down the pistol. Put it
down before I take it from you!"

His hand had returned again to his torn
lapel, and he was leaning slightly forward.

"One instant, father!" I said quickly.
"If you come a step nearer, I shall fire on
your servant. Pray believe I am serious,
father."

"My son!" he cried in mock alarm.
"You distress me! Never be serious,
has too many disappointments for that.
Have you not read Marcus Aurelii

"Have you reloaded your snuff be
I asked him.

"Not that," he said, shaking his head,
"but I know a hundred ways to disarm a
man, otherwise I should not be here witness-
ing this original situation. My son, I
could have killed you half a dozen times
since you have been holding that weapon."

"Admitted," I answered, "but I hardlv
think you will go to such lengths. We all
must pause somewhere, father."

[56]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"No," he agreed, "unfortunately I am
of a mild disposition, and yet — " he made
a sudden move toward me— "Do you
realize your weapon is unprimed?"

"Shall I try it? "I asked.

"Excellent!" said my father. "You im-
press me. Yes, I have underrated your
possibilities, Henry. However, the play is

over — "

He leaned towards the table abruptly and
extinguished both the candles. The glow of
embers in the fireplace could not relieve the
darkness of the shuttered room.

"Now," he continued, "Mademoiselle is
standing beside me, and Brutus is between
you and me and approaching you. I think
it would be safer it you put the pistol down.
One's aim is uncertain in the dark, and,
after all, it is not Mademoiselle's quarrel.
Tell him to put down the pistol, Made-
moiselle."

Her voice answered from the darkness'in
front of me.

"On the contrary," she said lightly,
"pray continue. I have not the heart to
stop it — nor the courage to interfere in a
family quarrel."

"Quite as one would expect from Made-
moiselle,1 "his voice replied, " but fortunately

[571

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

my son also has not forgotten his manners.
Henry, have you set down the pistol?"

I tossed it on the floor.

"Unfortunately," I said, "I have no
woman to hide behind."

I hoped the thrust went home, but my
father's voice answered without a tremor.

'You are right, my son. A woman is
often useful, though generally when you
least expect it. The candles, Brutus."

[58]

VI.

He rubbed his fingernails on his sleeve
and glanced about him with a pleasure he
seemed quite unable to conceal. Made-
moiselle's cold stare seemed to react upon
him like a smile of gratitude. The contempt
on my face he seemed to read in terms of
adulation.

"Brutus, pick up the pistol. My son,
you are more amusing than I had hoped.
Indeed, Mademoiselle, perhaps the old
ig is right, that the best is in our door-
yard. I have had, perhaps, an exceptional
opportunity to see the world. I have spent
a longer time than I like to think collecting
material for enlivening reminiscence, but I
cannot recall having been present before at
a scene with so many elements of interest.
You harbor no ill feelings, my son?"

"None that are new," I said. "Only my
first impressions."

"And they are — ?" He paused modestly.
He might have been awaiting a tribute.

"Father!" I remonstrated. " There is a
lady present!"

[59]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"You had almost made me forget," he
sighed regretfully. 'You wished to have a
word with me, Mademoiselle? I am listen-
ing. No, no, my son ! You will be interested,
I am sure. The door, Bruti

But it was not Brutus who stopped me.
Mademoiselle had laid a hand on my arm.
As I looked down at her, the bitterness and
chagrin I had felt began slowly to ebb away.
Her eyes met mine for a moment in thought-
ful appraisal.

4 You have been kind," she said softly,
"Kind, and you know you have no rea-
son ."

She might have continued, but my father
interrupted.

"No reason," he said, "No reason? It is
only Mademoiselle's complete disregard of
self that prevents her from seeing the
reason. A reason," he added, bowing,
"\\hich seems to me as natural as i
obvious."

1 turned toward him quickly. From the
corner of my eye I could see Brutus move
nearer, and then Mademoiselle stepped be-
tween us.

"We have had quite enough of this,"
said Mademoiselle, and she looked from one
to the other of us with a condescension that

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

was not wholly displeasing. Then, fixing her
eyes on my father, she continued:

"Not that I am in the least afraid of you,
Captain Shelton. We have had to employ
too many men like you not to know your
type. Your son, I think, must take after
his mother. I fear he thinks I am a damsel
in distress. I trust, captain, that you know
better, though for the moment, you seem
to have forgotten/'

"Forgotten?" my father echoed, raising
his eyebrows.

"Yes," she said, speaking more quickly,
"forgotten that you are in the pay of my
family. You had contracted to get certain
papers from France, which were in danger
of being seized by the authorities."

Seemingly undecided how to go on, she
hesitated, glanced at me covertly, and then
continued.

"I accompanied you because "

"Because you did not care to share the
fate reserved for the papers?" my father
suggested politely.

For a moment she was silent, staring at
my father almost incredulously, while he
inclined his head solicitously, as though
ready to obey her smallest wish. Again I
started to turn away.

[61]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

'The door, Brutus/' said my father.

"I am beginning to see I made a mistake
in not remaining," Mademoiselle said finally.
"Yet you "

"Contrived to rescue both the pap
and Mademoiselle, if I remember rigrr
said my father, bowing, "an interesting
and original undertaking, but pray do not
thank me/'

"Be still!" she commanded sharply.
"You were not paid to be impertinent,
captain. I have only one more request to
make of you before I leave this house to-
morrow morning."

He shrugged his shoulders, and glanced
at me, as though definitely to assure himself
that I was listening.

44 1 do not think that Mademoiselle will
leave the house at that date," he said, with
a second bow.

"And what does the captain mean by
that?" she asked quickly.

"Simply that the house is already
watched," said my father, "watched, Made-
moiselle, by persons in the pay of the
French government. Do not start, Made-
moiselle, they will not trouble us tonight,
I think."

For the first time her surprising self-

[62]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

confidence left her. She turned pale, even
to her red lips, stretched out a hand blindly,
and grasped the table.

"And the paper?" she whispered. "You
have destroyed it?"

My father shook his head.

"Then," gasped Mademoiselle, "give it
to me now ! At once, captain, if you please ! "

"Mademoiselle no longer trusts me?"
asked my father, in tones of pained sur-
prise. "Surely not that!"

"Exactly that!" she flung back at him
angrily.

He bowed smilingly in acknowledgment.

"And Mademoiselle is right," he agreed.
"I have read the paper. I have been
tempted."

'You rogue!" she cried. "You mean "

"I mean," he interrupted calmly, "that
I have been tempted and have fallen.
The document I carry has too much value,
Madamoiselle. The actual signatures of
the gentlemen who had been so deluded as
to believe they could restore a king to
France! Figure for yourself, my lady, those
names properly used are a veritable gold
mine, more profitable than my Chinese
trade can hope to be! Surely you realize
that?"

[63]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"So you have turned from cards to dip-
lomacy/' I observed. "How versatile you
grow, father!"

"They are much the same thing," my
father said.

"And you mean," Mademoiselle cried,
"you are dog enough to use those names?
You mean you are going back on your word
either to destroy that list or to place it in
proper hands? You mean, you are willing
to see your friends go under the guillotine:
Surely not, monsieur! Surely you are too
brave a gentleman. Surely a man who has
behaved as gallantly as you — No, captain,
I cannot believe i

"Mademoiselle," he said blandly, "still
has much to learn of the world. Take my-
self, for instance. I am a gentleman only
by birth and breeding. Otherwise, pray
believe I am quite unspeakable, quite. Do
you not see that even my son finds me so?"

He nodded towards me in graceful cour-
tesy.

"For me," he continued smoothly, "only
one thing has ever remained evident, and
well-defined for long, and that, my lady, is
money. Nearly everything else seems to
tarnish, but still money keeps its lustre.
Ah! Now we begin to understand each

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

other. Strange you should not realize it
sooner. I cannot understand what actuated
so many persons, supposedly rational, to
sign such a ridiculous document. That
they have done so is their fault, not mine.
I believe, Mademoiselle, in profiting by the
mistakes of others. I believe in profiting by
this one. Someone should be glad to pay a
pretty price for it."

He stopped and shrugged his shoulders,
and she stood before him helpless, her hand
raised toward him in entreaty. For a mo-
ment my father glanced away.

14 You couldn't! Oh, you couldn't!" she
began. "For God's sake, Monsieur, think
what you are doing. I — we all trusted you,
depended on your help. We thought you
were with us. We "

Her voice choked in a sob, and she sank
into a chair, her face buried in her hands.
My father looked at her, and took a pinch
of snuff.

deed," he said, "I am almost sorry,
but it is the game, Mademoiselle. We each
have our little square on the chess board.
I regret that mine is a black one. A while
ago I was a pawn, paid by your family.
Then it seemed to me expedient to do as you
dictated — to take you out of France to

[65]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

safety, to deliver both you and a certain
paper to your brother's care. But that was a
while ago. I am approaching the king row
now. Forgive me, it things seem different—
and rest assured, Mademoiselle, that you,
at least, are in safe hands as long as you
obey my directions/'

He made this last statement with a benign
complacency, and once more busied himself
with his nails. I took a step toward him,
and he looked up, as though to receive my
congratulations.

"So you leave us, my son," he said
briskly. "I fear you will meet with trouble
before you pass the lane. But you seem
surprisingly able to look out for yourself.
Brutus \s ill help you to saddle."

'You are mistaken/' I said. "I am not
leaving."

And I bowed to Mademoiselle, who had
started at the sound of my voice, and was
staring at me with a tear-stained face.

"I have decided to stay," I cried, "If
Mademoiselle will permit me."

But she did not answer, and my father
regarded us carefully, as though balancing
possibilities.

"Not leaving!" Whether my statement
was surprising or otherwise was impossible

[66]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

to discern. He raised his eyebrows in
interrogation, and I smiled at him in a
manner I hoped resembled his.

"I fear you may tire of my company/1
I went on, " because I am going to stay until
you have disposed of this paper as Made-
moiselle desires. Or if you are unwilling
to do so, I shall take pleasure in doing it
myself/'

My father rubbed his hands, and then
tapped me playfully on the shoulder.

"Somehow I thought this little scene
would fetch you," he cried. "Excellent,
my son! I hoped you might stay on."

"And now, sir," I said, "the paper, if
you please."

"What!" exclaimed my father, with a
gesture of astonishment. [<You too want
the paper! How popular it is becoming, to
be sure!"

"At least I am going to try to get it,"
I began gravely, when a sudden change in
expression stopped me.

"Wait," he said coldly. "Look before
you leap, my son. Allow me to make the
situation perfectly clear before you attempt
anything so foolish. In the first place, let
us take myself. I am older than you, it is
true, but years and excitement have not

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

entirely weakened me. I have been present
in many little unpleasantnesses. I have
fought with Barbary pirates and Chinese
junks, and with assorted Christians. The
fact that I am here tonight proves I am
usually successful. Even if I were alone,
I doubt if you could take the paper from me.
But you forget another matter-
He turned and pointed to Brutus in the
doorway. Brutus grinned back and nodded
violently, his eyes rolling in pleased antici-
pation.

"Eight years ago," my father continued,
"I saved Brutus from the gallows at Ja-
maica. He has a strangely persistent sense
of gratitude. I have seen Brutus only last
month kill three stronger men than
my son. I fancy the document is safe in
my pocket, quite safe."

He half smiled, and took another pinch
of snuff.

"But let us indulge in the impossible,"
he continued. "Suppose you did get the
paper. Let us examine the paper itself."

And slowly he drew it from his pocket,
and flicked it flat in the candle light.

"Come, Henry, draw up a chair, and let
us be sensible. Another bottle of Madeira,

[68]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

Brutus. And now, tell me, what do you
know of French politics?"

"Sir," I objected, "it seems to me you
are forgetting the point. What have politics
to do with you and me?"

It seemed to me I saw another oppor-
tunity. With a sense of elation I did my
best to conceal, I watched him quickly
drain his glass, and I thought his eyes were
brighter, and his gestures less careful and
alert.

"Politics," he said, "and politics alone,
Henry, are responsible for this evening's
entertainment. Surely you have perceived
that much. The glasses, Brutus, watch
the glasses! These are parlous times, my
son.' He raised his glass again

"Mademoiselle will tell you as much.
We made an interesting journey through
the provinces, did we not, my lady? It is a
pity your father, the Marauis, could not
nave enjoyed it with us. He had a penchant
for interesting situations, and in France
today anything may happen. In a few
scant months dukes have turned into
pastry cooks, and barbers' boys into gen-
erals. Tomorrow it may be a republic, or a
monarchy that governs, or some bizarre
contrivance that is neither one nor the

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

other. Just now it is Napoleon Bonaparte,
a very determined little man. Ah, you
have heard of him, my son? I sometimes
wonder if he will not go further than many
of us think."

Yes, we had already begun to hear his
name in America. We had already begun
to wonder how soon his influence would be
overthrown, for it was in the days before
he had consolidated his power. He was
still existing in a maze of plots, still facing
royalists and revolutionists, all conspiring
to seize the reins.

"I sometimes wonder, Mademoiselle,"
he continued thoughtfully, "if your friends
realized the task before them when they
attempted to kill Napoleon. Ah, now you
grow interested, my son? Yes, that is
what this paper signifies. Written on this
paper are the signatures of fifty men-
signatures to an oath to kill Napoleon
Bonaparte and to restore a king to France.
You will agree with me it is a most original
and intriguing document."

"So they didn't kill him," I said.

"Indeed not," he replied; "quite the
contrary. They gave him a new lease of
life."

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Then why/' I demanded, "didn't they
burn the paper. Why "

"Ah!" said my father, with an indulgent
smile. "There you have it, to be sure.
You have hit the root of the whole matter."

"It was the old Marquis's idea. He told
me of it at the time. If everyone in the plot
signed the oath, it would be a dangerous
thing indeed for anyone to inform on the
rest, because they would immediately
produce the paper which showed him as
guilty as they. There are commendable
points in the Marquis's idea, my son. Now
that the plot has failed, the existence of this
paper is all that keeps many a man from
telling a valuable and dangerous little story.
In these signatures I read names of men
above suspicion, men high in the present
government. Somehow Napoleon's police
have learned of the existence of this paper.
It has become almost vital for Napoleon to
obtain it. He has tried to get it already.
Since it reposed in the strong box at the
Chateau of Blanzy, it has cost him five men.
It has cost me new halliards and rigging for
the Eclipse, and Brutus a disfigured coun-
tenance— not that I am complaining. Some-
one shall pay me for it. And the game is
just beginning, my son. Mr. Lawton — have

[71]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

you wondered who he is? He is a very reck-
less man in the pay of France. He will get
that paper if he can, if not by force, by
money. Even now his men are watching
the house. Suppose you held the ]
your hands, my son, you still have Mr.
Lawton."

He folded the paper, and replaced it in
his pocket.

"It is safer here at present," said my
father. '" There will be others who will want
it presently, and then, perhaps, we will
dispose of

"In other words, you intend to sell the
people who entrusted you with the paper
lie highest bidder?" I inquired.

He glanced towards Mademoiselle, and
back to me again, and smiled brightlv.

"That," he admitted pleasantly, "is one
way of looking at it, though it might be
viewed from more congenial angles."

I started to speak, but he raised his voice,
and for the second time that evening became
entirely serious.

"The paper," he said, "has nothing to do
with your being in this house tonight. You
are becoming more of a hindrance than I
expected, but you are here, and here you
will stay for another reason. I have heard

[7*1

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

much of the good examples parents set
their children. For me to set one is a patent
impossibility. I have never been a good
example. But perhaps I can offer you
something which is even better, and that,
my son, is why I asked you to this house.
Can you guess what it is?"

' There is no need to guess," I said,
"you have been perfectly clear."

Gossip had it that my father always
loved the theatre, though perhaps the
Green Room better than the footlights.
The marked passages in his library still
attest his propensity. He now looked about
him with a keen appreciation, as though
my words were all that he required to round
out his evening. Like a man whose work
is finished, and who is pleasantly fatigued
by his exertions, he leaned back in his
chair.

"My son," he said, "you have a keenness
of wit, and a certain decision, which I con-
fess I overlooked in you at first "

The moment must have pleased him, for
he paused, as though on purpose to prolong
it.

You are right," he continued finally.
" I am here to set you a bad example, Henry,
and, believe me, it will be no fault of mine

[73]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

if it is not more effective than a good one.
Listen, my son, and you too, Mademoiselle,
Ijhave been many things, tried many things
in this life, most of them discreditable.
I have wasted my days and my prospects
in a thousand futilities. I have lost my
friends. I have lost my position. Sneer at
me, my son, laugh at me, curse me if you
wish. I shall be the first to commend you
for it. I am broad-minded enough to
recognize your position.

"But above all things watch me. Watch
me, and remember the tl do. Recall

my ethics and my logic. They are to be
your legacy, my son. What money I may
leave you is doubtless tainted. But the
things I do — of course you perceive their
value?"

"Only in a negative sense," I replied
pushing the bottle toward him.

"You are right again," he said, refilling
his glass. "Their value, as you say, is
purely negative. Yet, believe me, it does
not impair them. You have only to place
them before you and do exactly opposite.
It is the best way I can think of for you to
become a decent and self-respecting man.
And now you have the only reason why I
permit you in my society. The lesson has

174]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

already started — an original lesson, is it
not?"

As though to close the interview, he
sprang up lightly, and bowed to Made-
moiselle. It seemed tome he was combating
a slight embarrassment, for he paused,
seemingly uncertain how to begin, but only
for a moment. Mademoiselle had regained
her self-possession, and was regarding him
with attention, and a little of the contempt
which became her so well.

"Mademoiselle," he said, "even the pain
of distressing you is lessened by the unex-
pected pleasure of your company tonight.
I hope you have found the hour not entirely
unprofitable. It has sometimes seemed to
me, my lady — pardon the rudeness of
suggesting it — that you may have seen
something romantic, something heroic in me
from time to time. I trust you have been
disillusioned tonight. The fight on the stairs,
the open boat — you see them all as they
should be, do you not, the necessary parts of
a piece of villainy? Pray forget them — and
good night, Mademoiselle."

Suddenly both he and I started, and
involuntarily his hand went up to cover his
torn lapel. Mademoiselle was laughing.

"Captain," she cried, "you are absurd!"

[75]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Absurd!" exclaimed my father uncer-
tainly.

"You of all people! You cannot sell the
paper!1'

He sighed with apparent relief.

"And why not?" he asked.

"Because," said Mademoiselle, "you are
one of those who signed it."

"Mademoiselle forgets," said my father,
bowing, "that her name and mine \
written at the bottom of the list. It
precaution I always take with such little
matters. The first thing I did, Made-
elle, was to cut both off with my razor.
Brutus, light the stairs for the lady."

Without another glance at either ot
she walked slowly her chin tilted, her

slender fingers clenched. I knew that anger,
fear, and disappointment were walking
there beside her, and yet she left the
room as proudly as she had entered it.

I stood listening to her step on the stairs.

"Ah," said my father, "there is a woman
for you."

The last few minutes seemed to have
wearied him, for he sank back heavily in
his chair. For a minute we were silent, and
suddenly a speech of his ran through my
memory.

[76]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"May I ask you a question ?" I inquired.

"It is my regret if I have not been clear,"
he said.

"It is not that," I assured him, "but you
have appeared to allow yourself a single
virtue."

He raised his eyebrows.

"You have admitted," I persisted, "that
circumstances force you to keep your word."

"That," my father said, "is merely a
necessity — not a virtue."

"Possibly," I agreed. "Yet, in your
conversation with Mr. Lawton you stated
that you had given your word not to sur-
render this paper. My question is — how
can you reconcile this with your present
intentions?"

For almost the only time I can remember,
my father seemed puzzled for an answer.
He started to speak, and shook his head-y-
drew out his handkerchief and passed it
over his lips.

"Circumstances alter even principles,"
he answered finally, "and this, my son, is
one of the circumstances. Brutus, the boy
has been trying to get me drunk long
enough. Show him to his bedroom, and
bring me my cloak and pistols."

(771

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

Brutus lifted one of the candlesticks,
grinned at me, and nodded.

"A very good night to you, Henry,"
said my father tranquilly.

I bowed to him with courtesy which
perhaps was intuitive.

" Be sure," I told him, " to keep your door
locked, father."

"Pray do not worry," he replied. "I
have thought out each phase of my
here too long for anything untoward to
happen. Until morning, Henry."

i am not worrying," I rejoined. "Merely

warning you — pardon my incivility, father

—but I might grow tired watching you be a

bad example. Did you consider that in

your plans?"

My father yawned, and placed his feet
nearer the coals.

"That is better," he said, "much better,
my son. Now you are speaking like a
gentleman. I had begun to fear for you.
It has seemed to me you were almost
narrow-minded. Never be that. Nothing
is more annoying/*

I drew myself up to my full height.

"Sir " I began.

He slapped his hand on the table with an
exclamation of disgust.

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"And now you spoil it! Now you begin
to rant and become heroic. I know what
you're going to say. You cannot see a
woman bullied — what? Well, by heaven,
you can, and you will see it. You cannot
stand an act of treachery? Come, come, my
son, you have better blood in you than to
pose as a low actor. All around us, every
day, these things are happening. Meet
them like a man, and do not tell me what
is obvious/'

I felt my nails bite into my palms.

"Your pardon, father," I said. "I shall
behave better in the future."

He glanced at me narrowly for a moment.

"I believe," he said, "we begin to under-
stand. A very good night to you, Henry.
And Henry "

A change in his tone made me spin about
on my heel.

"I am going to pay you a compliment.
Pray do not be overcome. I have decided
to consider you in my plans, my son, as
a possible disturbing factor. Brutus, you
will take his pistols from his saddle bags."

In silence Brutus conducted me into the
cold hall and up the winding staircase,
where his candle made the shadows of the
newel posts dance against the wainscot.

[79]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

I paused a moment at the landing to look
back, but I could see nothing in the dark
pit of the hall below us. Was it possible I
could remember it alight with candles,
whose flames made soft halos on the pol-
ished floor? Brutus touched my shoulder,
and the brusque grasp of his hand turned
me a trifle cold.

"Move on, "I ordered sharply, "and light
me to my room."

My speech appeared to amuse him.

"No, no— you first. I Brutus. "I

go — perhaps you be angry. See?"

And he became so involved in throes of
merriment that I hoped he might extinguish
the candle.

I thought better of an angry command,
which I knew he would not obey, and turned
through the arched moulding that marked
the entrance to the upper hall, and at his
direction opened a door. As I paused in-
voluntarily on the threshold, Brutus deftly
slipped past, set the candle on a stand, and
bent over my saddle bags. Still chuckling
to himself, he dropped my pistols into his
shirt bosom. Then his grin died away.
His low forehead became creased and puck-
ered. He shifted his weight from one foot

[80]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

to the other irresolutely, and drew a deep
breath.

"Mister Henry — " he began.

"Well/' I said.

"Something happen. Very bad here.
You go home."

His sudden change of manner, and the
shadowy, musty silence around me threat-
ened to shake the coolness I had attempted
to assume. Unconsciously my hand dropped
to the hilt of my travelling sword. I looked
across at him through the shadows.

'You go home/' said Brutus.
"Something will happen, or something has
happened?" I asked.

But Brutus only shook his head stupidly.

"Very bad. You go home," he persisted.

"You go to the devil," I said, "and leave
that candle. I won't burn down the house."

He moved reluctantly towards the door.

"Monsieur very angry," said Brutus.

"Shut the door," I said, "the draft is
blowing the candle."

He pulled it to without another word, and
I could hear him fumbling with the lock.

For the last ten years I doubt if anything
had been changed in that room, except for
the addition of three blankets which Brutus
had evidently laid some hours before on

[81]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

the mildewed mattress of the carved four
post bed. My mother must have ordered
up the curtains that hung over it in yellowed
faded tatters. The charred wood of a fire
that had been lighted when the room was
new, still lay over the green clotted andirons.
The dampness of a seaside town had cracked
and warped the furniture, and had turned
the mirrors into sad mockeries. The strange
musty odor of unused houses hung heavy
in the air.

I sat quiet for a while, on the edge of my
bed, alert for some sound outside, but in the
hall it was very still. Then my hand fell
again on the hilt of my travelling sword.
That my father had overlooked it increased
the resentment I bore him.

Slowly I drew the blade and tested its
perfect balance, and limbered my wrist in
a few idle passes at the fringe of the bed
curtain. Then I knotted it over my hand,
tossed a blanket over me, and blew out the
light. From where I lay I could see the
running lights of the Shelton ships swaying
in a freshening breeze, three together in
port for the first time in ten years. The
sky had become so overcast that every
shape outside had merged into an inky
monotone. I could hear the low murmur of

[82]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

the wind twisting through the branches of
our elms, and the whistle of it as it passed
our gables. Once below I heard my father's
step, quick and decisive, his voice raised to
give an order, and the closing of a door.

Gradually the thoughts which were racing
through my mind, as thoughts sometimes
do, when the candle is out, and the room
you lie in grows intangible and vast, as-
sumed a well-balanced relativity. I smiled
to myself in the darkness. There was one
thing that evening which my father had
overlooked. We both were proud.

He still seemed to be near me, still seemed
to be watching me with his cool half smile.
If his voice, pleasant, level and passionless,
had broken the silence about me, I should
not have been surprised. Strange how little
he had changed, and how much I had ex-
pected to see him altered. I could still
remember the last time. The years between
seemed only a little while. We had been
very gay. The card tables had been out,
and he had been playing, politely detached,
seemingly half-absorbed in his own thoughts
and yet alertly courteous. I could see him
now, pushing a handful of gold towards his
right hand neighbor, and the clink of the
metal and its color seemed to please him,

[83]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

for he ran his fingers lightly through the
coins. And then, yes, Brutus had lighted
me to my room. Could it have been ten
years ago?

As I lay staring at the blackness ahead of
me, my thoughts returned to the room I
had quitted. Had she been about to thank
me? I heard his slow, cynical voice inter-
rupting me, and felt her hand drop from
my arm. Then, in a strange, even cadence
a sentence of his began running through
my memory.

"It might be interesting, hilarious, in
fact, if it were not for the lady in the

case

VII

Something was pressing on my shoulder,
thrusting me slowly into consciousness.
Half awake, I wrenched myself free, snatch-
ing for my sword as I did so. It was a chill
and cloudy morning, and Brutus was stand-
ing by my bed, holding a bowl of chocolate
between a thumb and forefinger, that made
the piece of china look as delicately fragile
as a flower.

"Eleven o'clock," he said. "You sleep
late."

I looked at him blankly, still trying to
shake off the drowsiness that crowded upon
me. It seemed only a few minutes back
that he had lighted me to that room. He
must have detected a shade of suspicion in
the look I gave him.

"Too much wine," said Brutus quickly.

But when he spoke, I knew it was not
wine that made me sleep the whole night
through. He thrust the bowl he was holding
nearer to me.

"And now you poison me," I remarked,
but he shook his head in emphatic negation.

"Hah !" he grunted, and emitted a curious

[85]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

chuckle that caused me to give him my full
attention.

"You find the morning amusing, Brutus ?"
I asked.

He gulped and nodded in assent.

"Last night you kill me. Now I give you
chocolate. He! He!"

I glanced at him over the edge of the
chocolate bowl. It was the first time I had
heard anyone laugh at so truly a Christian
doctrine.

"Monsieur sends compliments," he said.

"Brutus," came my father's voice across
the hall, "tell him I will see him as soon as
he has finished dressing."

He was sitting before his fire, wrapped in
a dressing gown of Chinese silk, embroidered
with flowers. By the tongs and shovel lay
a pair of riding boots, still so wet and mud-
spattered that he must have pulled them oft
within the hour. A decanter of rum was
near him on a stand. On his knee was a
volume of Rabelais, which was affording
him decorous amusement.

Brutus was busy gathering up the gray
satin small clothes of the previous day,
which had been tossed in a careless heap on
the floor, and I perceived that they also
bore the marks of travel. Careful mentors,

[86]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

who had taken a lively pleasure in their
teaching, had been at pains to tell me that
he was a man of irregular habits. Yet with
indulgent politeness he remained blandly
reticent. For him the day seemed to have
started afresh, independent and unrelated to
other days. It had awakened in him a genial
spirit, far brighter than the morning. He
greeted me with a gay wave of the hand and
a nod of invitation towards the rum. My
refusal served only to increase his courteous
good nature.

"A very good morning to you, my son,"
he said. "So you have slept. Gad, how I
envy you! It is hard to be a man of affairs
and still rest with any regularity."

He waved me to a chair in a slow, sweep-
ing gesture, timed and directed so that it
ended at the rum decanter.

'You will pardon my addressing you
through Brutus," he continued confiden-
tially, "but it is a habit of mine which I
find it hard to break. I am eccentric, my
son. I never speak to anyone of a morning
till I have finished my cup of chocolate.
I have seen too many quarrels flare up over
an empty stomach."

He stretched a foot nearer the blaze, and
smiled comfortably at the hissing back log.

TEE JJN SPEAK ABLE GENTLEMAN

"And it would be a pity to have a falling
out on such a morning as this, a very great
pity, to be sure."

The very thought of it seemed to give him
pause for pleased, though thoughtful con-
templation, for he sipped his rum in silence
until the tumbler was half empt

"Once in Bordeaux," he volunteered at
last, "there was a man whom I fear I pro-
voked quite needlessly — all because I was
walking in the garden with a headache, and
my chocolate was late — Lay out the other
shirt, Brutus, I must be well dressed today.
What was it I was saying?"

"That you were walking in the garden
with a headache," I reminded him. "Surely
you had something better to walk with near
at han

He shrugged his shoulders, drained his
>, and wiped his fingers carefully on a
cambric handkerchief.

"Either that or my conscience," he re-
plied, "and oddly enough, I preferred the
headache. He might have been alive today
if I had had my chocolate. Poor man!"
he sighed.

'You wanted to see me?" I asked, "or
simply to impress me?"

He raised a hand in shocked denial.

(88]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Pray do not believe I am so vulgar," he
replied. 'Yes, I wished to see you, Henry,
for two reasons. First, I was absent-
minded last evening. I find I do not know
the name of the gentleman with whom you
had the falling out. If you tell me — who
knows — the world is small/'

He waited expectantly, and I smiled at
him. I had hoped he would ask me.
'You really care to know his name?"

"It might be useful," he confessed. "As
I said — who knows? Perhaps we may have
something in common — some little mutual

interest/1

"I am sure you have," I told him. "The
man I fought with was Mr. Lawton — at my
uncle's country house."

For a fraction of a second I thought he was
astonished. I thought that the look he gave
was almost one of respect, but it was hard
to tell.

"And you wounded him?" he asked
quickly.

"I hardly think Mr. Lawton expected it,"
I acknowledged.

"I fear," he mused, "that the years are
telling on Mr. Lawton — and your Uncle
Jason knew of this unpleasantness?"

"Not until afterwards."

[89]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Of course he was shocked?"

I nodded. 'You had another reason for
seeing me?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied, "a simple one. I did
not want you to go downstairs till I went
with you. Another cup of chocolate, Brutus.
This morning, my son, I am consuming two
cups of chocolate instead of one."

'You expect to find me irritable?" I
suggested.

He shook his head in smiling contradic-
tion.

"It is because I have a surprise in store
for you. Who do you think has come to
see me?"

" 1 am utterly at a loss," I said, bowing,
"unless it is the constable."

"On the contrary," he replied, "it is the
man I hate more than anyone else in the
world."

Only his words, however, hinted that the
contingency was unpleasant. His tone was
one of pleased anticipation. He hummed a
little tune, as Brutus knelt before him to
help him on with a new pair of top boots,
spotless and shining.

A few minutes later he stood before
his mirror critically examining a coat of
blue broadcloth. It evidently satisfied him,

[90]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

for he smiled back indulgently at his image
in the glass, and watched complacently
while Brutus smoothed its folds.

"A gentleman should always have twenty
coats," he remarked, turning toward me.
"Personally, I never travel with less than
twenty-five — a point in my favor, is it not,
my son?"

"And when we remember the lady who
accompanies the coats— ' I bowed, and
he turned slowly back to the mirror.

"Let us trust," he replied coldly, "you
will not be obliged to remind yourself often
that she is a lady, and that she shall be
treated as one both by you and by me as
long as she remains beneath this roof."

I felt a pleasing sense of triumph at the
success of my remark, and abruptly deter-
mined to drive it home.

"Sir," I said, "You astound me."

"Astound you?" He left his neckcloth
half undone, and stepped toward me, alertly
courteous. "You mean you take exception
to what I have just said?"

"Indeed not," I replied, with another
bow. "I find you changed this morning—
into a good example instead of a bad one."

And then before he could reply, I leaned
over the chair he had quitted. Lying in the

[91]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

corner of the faded upholstery was an oval
of gold. Before he perceived my intention,
I had picked it up, and almost at the same
moment his hand fell on my arm. I looked
up quickly. His face was close to mine,
closer than I had ever seen it, placid still,
but somehow changed, somehow so subtly
different that I wrenched myself free, and
stepped a pace away. Brutus dropped the
coat he was folding, and shuffled forward
hastily.

" How careless of me to have left it the
said my father gently. "Hand me the
rt, if you please, my son, and many
for picking it up/'

The jewelled clasp was under my thumb
I pressed it, and the gold locket I was
holding flew open, but before I could
look further, he had struck a sharp blow
at my wrist, and the locket fell from my
hand.

"Pick it up, Brutus," he said, his eyes
never leaving mine, and we watched each
other for a second in silence.

"Come," he said, "let us go down stairs.
You may find it instructive to see how I
treat my enemies."

"I am afraid," I said slowly, "that you
will do better without me."

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

Slowly the thin line of his lips relaxed,
and he raised his hands to adjust his neck-
cloth.

14 Your episode with Mr. Lawton makes
me quite sure of it," he answered, in a tone
he might have used to an ambitious school
boy. "But you forget. You are still pur-
suing part of your education. Never, never
neglect an opportunity to learn, my son.
Something tells me even now you will be
repaid for your trouble. Come, we are
late already."

So I followed him down the creaking
stairs to the morning room. I could not
suppress a start as I passed over the thresh-
old. In front of our heavy mahogany table,
attentively examining some maps and charts
that had been scattered there, was my
Uncle Jason.

[93]

VIII

Of all the people I had expected to see
that morning he was the last. Almost un-
consciously I recalled the little kindnesses
he had rendered me. Busy as he had been
with commercial ventures, there was never
a time when he had not stood ready with
his help. And even my father's name —
he had never recalled it, except with re-
gretful affection in his sad little reminis-
cences of older, pleasanter days.

I thought I detected a trace of that affec-
tion, a trace of appeal, almost, in the look
he gave us as we entered. They made a
strange contrast, my uncle, and my father,
in his gay coat and laces, his slender,
upright figure, and his face, almost youthful
beneath his powdered hair. For my uncle
was an older man, and years and care had
slightly bowed him. The wrinkles were
deep about his mouth and eyes. His brown
hair, simply dressed, was gray already at
the temples. His plain black coat and knee
breeches were wrinkled from travel. As he
often put it, he had no time to care for
clothes. Yet his cheeks glowed from quiet

[94]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

living, and there was a sly, good humored
twinkle in his brown eyes which went well
with his broad shoulders and his strongly
knit body. His reputation for genial good
nature was with him still.

He stretched forth a hand, but the
moment was inopportune. My father had
given his undivided attention to the shutters
on the east windows. He walked swiftly
over and drew them to, snapping a bolt to
hold them in place. Then he turned and
rubbed his hands together slowly, examining
my uncle the while with a cool, judicial
glance, and then he bowed.

"You are growing old, Jason," he said,
by way of greeting.

"Ah, George," said my uncle, in his deep,

Eleasant voice. "It does me good to see the
ither and the son together."

My father joined the tips of his fingers
and regarded him solemnly.

"Now heaven be praised for that!" he
exclaimed with a jovial fervor, "though
it is hard to believe, Jason, that anything
could make you better than you are. It
was kind of you not to keep my son and me
apart."

My father came a pace nearer, his eyes
never for a moment leaving the man oppo-

[95]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

site. His last words seemed to make a
doubtful impression on my uncle. He
looked quickly across at me, but what he
saw must have relieved him.

"Ah, that wit!" he laughed. "It has
been too long, George, too long since I have
tasted of it. It quite reminds me of the
old days, George — with the dances, and
the races and the ladies. Ah, George, how
they would smile on you — and even today,
I'll warrant! Ah, if I only had the receipt
that keeps you young."

"Indeed? You care to know it?" My
father quite suddenly leaned forward and
tapped him on the shoulder. As though the
abruptness of the gesture startled him,
my uncle drew hastily back. And still my
father watched him. Between them was
passing something which I did not under-
stand. The silence in the room had become
oppressive before my father spoke again.

"Lead a life of disrepute," he said
gravely. "I cannot think of a better cos-
metic."

"George!" cried my uncle in quick re-
monstrance. "Remember your son is with
you?"

"And seems amply able to look out for

[96]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

himself — surprisingly able, Jason. Have
you not found it so?"

'Thank heaven, yes!" he laughed, and
glanced hastily at me again.

My father's coat lapel was bothering him.
He straightened it thoughtfully, patted it
gently into place, and then said:

"Surely, Jason, you did not come here
to discuss the past."

"Perhaps not," Uncle Jason replied with
another laugh, which seemed slightly put
of tune in the silence that surrounded him,
"but how can I not be reminded of it?
This room and you — indeed Henry here
is all that brings me back. He is like you,
George, and yet — " he paused to favor
me with another glance — "he has his
mother's eyes."

My father flicked a speck of dust from
his sleeve.

"Suppose," he suggested, "we leave your
sister out of the discussion. Let us come
down to practical matters and leave the
dead alone."

It was the first time he had mentioned

her. His voice was coldly aloof, but his

hand began moving restlessly again over

his coat in search of an imaginary wrinkle.

' You understand me?" he inquired gently

[97]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

after a second's pause. "Pray remember,
Jason, I have only two cheeks, and I can
recall no biblical law to follow if you should
strike again."

"God bless me!" gasped my uncle in
blank amazement. "I did not come here
to auarrel. I came because you are in
trouble. I came as soon as I had heard of
it, because you need my help — because—
he had regained his cordial eloquence from
the very cadence of his words. He paused,
and I thought his eye moistened and his
voice quavered, "because blood is thicker
than water, George."

At the last words my father inclined his
head gravely, and was momentarily silent,
as though seeking an adequate reply.

" I thought you would come," he said
slowly. "In fact, I depended upon it before
I set sail from France. Ha! That relieves
you, does it not, Jason?"

Yet for some reason the statement seemed
to have an opposite effect. My uncle's
heavy brows knitted together, and his
mouth moved uneasily.

"See, my son, how the plot thickens,"
said my father, turning to me with a pleas-
ant smile. "And all we needed was a hero.

[98]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

Who will it be, I wonder, you or your
uncle?"

But my uncle did not laugh again. In-
stead, he squared his shoulders and his man-
ner became serious.

"It is not a time to jest, George," he
said ominously. "Don't you understand
what you have done ? But you cannot know,
or else you would not be here. You cannot
know that the house is watched!"

If he had expected to surprise my father,
he must have felt a poignant disappoint-
ment; but perhaps he tknew that surprise
was a sentiment he seldom permitted.

"I know," replied my father, "that since
my arrival here I have been the object of
many flattering attentions. But why are
you concerned, Jason? I have broken no
law of the land. I have merely mixed
myself up in French politics."

Uncle Jason made an impatient gesture.

" You have mixed yourself up in such an
important affair, in such a ridiculous way,
that every secret agent that France has
in this country will be in this town in the
next twelve hours. That's all you have
done, George."

My father tapped his silver snuff box
gently.

[99]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"I had hoped as much," he remarked
blandly. "When one is the center of
interest, it is always better to be the very
center. You must learn to know me better,
Jason, and then you will understand that
I always seek two things. I always seek

frofit and pleasure. It seems as though
should find them both in such pleasant
company."

Then, as if the matter were settled, he
looked again at the shuttered window, and
leaned down to place another log in the
fire.

"Come, George," urged my uncle. "Let
us be serious. Your nonchalance and irony
have been growing with the years. Surely
you recognize that you have reached the
end of your rope. I tell you, George, these
men will stop at nothing."

"Has it ever occurred to you," returned
my father, "that I also, may stop at noth-
ing?"

My uncle frowned, and then smiled
bleakly.

"No, George," he said, in a voice that
dropped almost to a whisper. "You arc
too fond of life for that. Suppose for a
moment, just suppose, they had means of
taking you back to France. Just suppose

[ioo]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

there was a boat in the harbor now, manned
and victualled and waiting for the tide,
with a cabin ready and irons. They would
admire to see you back in Paris, George, for
a day, or perhaps two days. I know,
George. They have told me/'

"Positively," said my father, stifling a
yawn behind his hand, "positively you
frighten me. It is an old sensation and
tires me. Surely you can be more inter-
esting."

Jason's face, red and good-natured always,
became a trifle redder.

"We have beat about the bush long
enough," he said, with an abrupt lack of
suavity. "I tell you, once and for all, you
are running against forces which are too
strong for you — forces, as I have pointed
out, that will do anything to gain possession
of a certain paper. They know you have
that paper, George."

My father shrugged his shoulders.

'^Indeed?" he said. "I hardly admire
their perspicacity."

"And they will prevent your disposing of
it at any cost. I tell you, George, they will
stop at nothing — "again his voice dropped
to a confidential monotone— " and that is
why I'm here, George," my uncle concluded.

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THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

My father raised his eyebrows.

"I fear my mind works slowly in the
early morning. Pardon me, if I still must
ask — Why are you here?"

Quite suddenly my uncle's patience gave
way in a singular manner to exasperation,
exposing a side to his character which I
had not till then suspected.

"Because I can save your neck, that's
why! Though, God knows, you don't seem
to value it. I have interceded for you,
George, I have come here to induce you
to give up that paper peacefully and quietly,
or else to take the consequences."

Evidently the force he gave his words
contrived to drive them home, for my
father nodded.

"You mean," he inquired, "that they
propose to take me to France, and have me
nanded over to justice, apolitical prisoner?"

" It is what I meant, George, as a man in
a plot to kill Napoleon— ' then his former
kindliness returned— " and we cannot let
that happen, can we?"

'Not if we can prevent it," my father
replied. "If the trouble is that I have the
paper in my possession, I suppose I must
let it go."

Uncle Jason smiled his benignest smile.

[102]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"I knew you would understand/' he
said, with something I took for a sigh of
relief. "I told them you were too sensible
a man, George, not to realize when a thing
was useless."

My father drew the paper from his breast
pocket, and looked at it thoughtfully.

" Yes," he said slowly. " I suppose I must
let it go."

"Good God! What are you doing?"
cried my uncle.

My father had turned to the fireplace,
and was holding the paper over the blaze.
But for some reason my uncle was not
relieved. He made an ineffectual gesture.
His face became a blotched red and white.
His eyes grew round and staring, and his
mouth fell helplessly open.

"Stop!" he gasped. "For God's sake,
George '

"Stay where you are, Jason," said my
father. I can manage alone, I think. I
suppose I should have burned it long ago."

He withdrew the paper slightly, as if to
prolong the scene before him. If my uncle
had been on the verge of ruin, he could not
have looked more depressed.

"Don't!" he cried. "Will you listen,
George? I'll be glad to pay you for it."

[103]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

My father slowly straightened, placed
the paper in his pocket, and bowed.

"Now," he said pleasantly, "we are
talking a language I understand. Believe
me, Jason, one of my chief motives in
keeping this document was the hope that
you might realize its intrinsic qualities."

Uncle Jason moistened his lips. His call
was evidently proving upsetting.

"How much do you want for it?" he
asked, with a slight tremor in his voice.

"Twenty-five thousand dollars seems a
fair demand," said my father, "in notes,
if you please."

"What!" my uncle shouted.

My father seated himself on the edge of
the table, and surveyed his visitor intently.

"Be silent," he said. "Silent and very
careful, Jason. You seem to forget that I am
a dangerous man." And he flicked an
imaginary bit of dust from his cuff. My
uncle gave a hasty glance at the half
opened door.

"And now listen to me," my father
continued, his voice still gently conversa-
tional. 'You have tried to frighten me,
Jason. You should have known better.
Of all the people in the world I fear you
least. You forget that I am growing old,

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

and all my senses are becoming duller — fear
along with the rest. You have tried to
cheat me of the money I have demanded,
and it has tried my patience. In fact, it
has set my nerves quite on edge. Pray
do not irritate me again. I know you must
have that paper, and I know why. The
price I offer is a moderate one compared with
the unpleasantness that may occur to you
if you do not get it. Never mind what oc-
currence. I know that you have come here
prepared to pay that price. The morning is
getting on. You have the money in your
inside pocket. Bring it out and count it —
twenty-five thousand dollars."

Hesitatingly my uncle produced a packet
that crackled pleasantly.

'There! I said you had them/' remarked
my father serenely. "All perfectly nego-
tiable I hope, Jason, in case you should
change your mind."

I stood helplessly beside him, beset with
a hundred useless impulses. Silently I
watched Jason Hill hold out the notes.

"And now the paper," said my uncle.

My father, examining the packet with a
minute care, waved his request aside.

"First you must let me see what you are
giving me. I fear your hands are trembling

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

too much, Jason, for you to do justice to it.
Twenty-five thousand dollars! It seems to
me I remember that a similar sum once
passed between us. In which direction?
I seem to have forgotten — Yes, strangely
enough they are quite correct. A modest
little fortune, but still something to fall
back on."

"And now the paper!" demanded my
uncle.

"Ah, to be sure, the paper," said my
father, and he swung from the table where
he had been sitting, and smiled brightly.

"I have changed my mind about the
paper, Jason, and business presses. I fear
it is time to end our interview."
'You mean you dare—

"To accept a sum from you in payment
of damage you have done my character?
I should not dare to refuse it. Or let us put
it this way, Jason. The paper is merely
drawing interest. Positively, I cannot afford
to give it up."

The red had risen again to my uncle's
face, giving his features the color of ugly
magenta. For a moment I thought he was
going to leap at the slighter man before him,
but my father never moved a muscle, only

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THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

stood attentively watching him, with his
hand folded behind his back.

"Show him the door, Brutus/' he said
briskly, "and as you go, Jason, remember
this. I know exactly what dangers I am
running without your telling me. For that
reason I have ordered my servant to keep a
fire burning in every room I occupy in this
house. I make a point of sitting near these
fires. If you or any of your friends so much
as raise a finger against me, the paper is
burned. And as for you "

With a quick, delicate motion, he raised a
hand, and drew a finger lightly across his
throat.

"And as for you, Jason, even the slightest
suspicion that you, or your paid murderers,
are interfering in any way with my affairs,
will give me too much pleasure. I think you
understand. Pray don't make me overcome
with joy, Jason; and now I wish you a very
good morning. ""

But Uncle Jason had recovered from the
first cold shock of his surprise. He drew
himself up to his full height. His jaw,
heavy and cumbersome always, thrust itself
forward, and I could see the veins swell
dangerously into a tangled, clotted mass on
his temples. His fingers worked convul-

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

sively, as though clawing at some unseen
object close beside him, and then his breath
whistled through his teeth.

"You fool," he shouted suddenly, his
temper bursting the weakened barriers of
control. '" You damned, unregenerate fool!"

And then, for an instant, my father's icy
placidity left him. His lips leapt back from
his teeth. There was a hissing whir of steel.
His small sword made an arc of light through
the yard of space that parted them. His
body lunged forward.

"So you will have it, will you?" His
words seemed to choke him. "Take it,
then," he roared, "take it to hell, where
you belong."

It was, I say, the matter of an instant.
In a leaden second he stood poised, his wrist
drawn back, while the eves of the other
stared in horror at the long, thin blade.
And then the welts of crimson that had
mounted to his face, disfiguring it into a
writhing fury, slowly effaced themselves.
His lips once more assumed a thin, immobile
line. Again his watchful indolence returned
to him, and slowly, very slowly, he lowered
the point to the floor's scarred surface.
His voice returned to its pleasant modula-

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

tion, and with his words returned his icy
little smile.

'Your pardon, Jason," he said. "I fear
I have been too much myself this morning.
Thank your God, if you have one, that I was
not entirely natural. Take him away,
Brutus, he shall live a little longer."

But Brutus had no need to obey the
order. My father stood, still smiling, watch-
ing the empty doorway. Then I realized
that I was very cold and weak, and that my
knees were sagging beneath me. I walked
unsteadily to the table and leaned upon it
heavily. Thoughtfully my father sheathed
his small sword.

IX

"The morning begins auspiciously, does
it not, my son ? " he said. " And still the day
is young. Indeed, it cannot be more than
eleven of the clock. The rum decanter,
Brutus."

The lines about his mouth softened as his
gaze met mine, and his smile grew broader.

"I pride myself/* he went on, "that my
example is all I promised. I fear I shall fall
down in only one respect. Perhaps you
have observed it?"

<c If I have," I answered, "I have forgot-
ten."

"My table manners," he said. "I fear
they are almost impeccable." And he
walked over to the window, taking care,
I noticed, not to stand in front of it.

"Sad, is it not, that I should fail in such a
trivial matter? But it happened so long
ago while I was courting your mother, to
be exact. My father-in-law, rest his soul,
was an atrocity at table. The viands, my
son, scattered from his knife over the board,
like chaff before the flail. Yet, will you
believe it? Any time he chose to speak his

[no]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

mouth was always full. I watched him,
watched him with wonder — or was it horror?
—I cannot remember which. And I re-
solved to go, to go anywhere, but never to
do likewise. The result today is perhaps
unfortunate. Yet watch me, my son, even
in that you see the practical value of a bad
example."

:'Yes," I said, "I am watching you."
He seemed about to turn from the win-
dow, and then something outside held his

attention.
«

Ha! "he said. "A sloop is coming in — a
clumsy looking vessel. Whose is it, Henry ? "

I walked to the window to get a better
look, but he reached out and drew me near
him.

"Let us be careful of the windows this
morning. The light is bad, and we have very
much the same figure. There. Now you
can see it — out by the bar. It carries too
much canvas forward and spills half the
wind. Have you seen it before, Henry?"

The sun had been trying to break through
the clouds, and a few rays had crept out,
and glanced on the angry gray of the water,
so that it shone here and there like scratches
in dull lead. The three ships near our wharf
were tossing fitfully, and on all three, the

[mi

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

crews were busy with the rigging. Out
further towards the broad curve of the
horizon was the white smear of a sail, and
as I looked, I could see the lines beneath the
canvas. He was right. It was a sloop,
running free with the tide pushing her on.

"Yes," I said, "I know the boat, though
I do not see why she is putting in."

"Ah," said my father, "and do you not?
And whose boat may she be, Henry?"

"Two days ago she sailed from Boston
for France. She belongs to Jason Hill,"
I told him; and, a little puzzled, I looked
again at the low dunes and the marshes by
the harbor mouth.

"I think," my father murmured half to
himself, "that perhaps after all I should
have killed him. Brutus!"

Brutus, who had watched the scene with
the same aloof politeness that he might have
watched guests at the dinner table, moved
quickly forward.

"Has no word come yet?"

Brutus grinned and shook his head.

"The devil," said my father. "Aiken was
here last evening, and got the message I left
him?"

Brutus nodded, and my father compressed
his lips. Apparently deep in thought, he

[112]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

took a few unhurried steps across the room,
and glanced about him critically.

"A busy day, my son," he said, "a very
busy day, and a humorous one as well.
They think they can get the paper. They
think — but they are all mistaken."

"You are sure?" I inquired.

"Perfectly," said my father. "I shall
dispose of it in my own way. I am merely
waiting for the time."

"Huh!"

Brutus cupped his great hand behind his
ear, and nodded violently. My father
stepped toward the hallway, and listened.
Above the hissing of the fire I heard a voice
and footsteps. He straightened the lace
about his wrists, and his features lost their
strained attention. As he turned towards
Brutus, he seemed younger and more
alertly active than I had ever known him.

"Ah, what a day," he said, "what a day,
to be sure. They are coming, Brutus.
Gad, but the years have been long since I
have waited for them ! Place the glasses on
the table, Brutus. We still must be hos-
pitable."

The knocker on our front door sent a
violent summons, but my father did not
seem to hear it. With graceful deliberation

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

he was filling six glasses from the decanter.

" Keep to the back of the room, my son,"
he said, "and listen. Who do you think is
coming? But you never can guess. Our
neighbors, my son, our neighbors. First
your uncle, and then our neighbors. \Vc
are holding a distinguished salon, are we
not?"

But before I could answer or even con-
jecture why he should receive such a \
my father gave a low exclamation, partly
of surprise, and partly of well concealed
annoyance, and stepped forward, bowing
low. Mademoiselle, bright-eyed, but very
pale, had run into the morning room.

'The paper, captain," she cried,
they coming for the paper? For, if they are,
they shall not have it. You—

My father looked at her sharply, almost
suspiciously.

»w are you here?" he demanded
quickly, " Did not Brutus lock your door?"

"The lock was very rusty," she answered.

"Indeed?" said my father, "And how
long ago did you find it out?"

"Only a minute back," she said, and
again he glanced at her narrowly, and
finally shrugged his shoulders. As I look
back on it, it was his first mistake.

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

'Then I fear you have not seen much of
the house," he said suavely, but she dis-
regarded his remark.

"Pray do not be alarmed, my lady,"
"At almost any time I am glad to see you,
but just at present — " he raised his voice to
drown the din of the knocker— "just at
present your appearance, I fear, is a trifle
indiscreet. It is not the paper they wish,
Mademoiselle. It is merely myself, your
humble servant, they require. But pray
calm yourself and rest assured they shall
get neither. Let in our callers, Brutus."

He took her hand and bowed over it very
low, and looked for an instant into her
eyes, with a faint hint of curiosity.

"And you?" she asked. "You have it
still?"

'Temporarily, yes," he answered. "Show
Mademoiselle a chair, my son, over there
behind me, where you both can witness the
little drama. Perhaps it is as well she came,
after all."

Brutus had not forgotten his days as a
house servant. Erect and uncompromising
he entered the room, facing toward us by
the door.

"Mr. Penfield!" he called. "Captain

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

Tracy! Captain Brown! Major Proctor!
Mr. Lane! Captain Dexter!"

"So," said Major Proctor, "you still have
your damned party manners."

They had entered the room, and stood in a
group before my father. Their faces were
set grimly. Their manner was stern and
uncompromising, as befitted men of unim-
peachable position and integrity. As I
watched them, I still was wondering at their
errand. \Vhy should they, of all people
have paid this call? There was not one
who did not own his ships and counting
house, not one who was not a leading trader
in our seaport. In all the years I had
known them, not one had looked at me, or
given me a civil word, and indeed, they
nad little reason to give one. And yet,
here they were calling on my father.

It was an odd contradiction of the lesson
books that of all the men in the room, he
should appear the most prepossessing.
Though many of them were younger, his
clothes were more in fashion, and time had
touched him with a lighter hand. If I had
come on them all as strangers, I should have
expected kindness and understanding from
him first of any. His forehead was broader,
and his glance was keener. Indeed, there

[116]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

was none who looked more the gentleman.
There was no man who could have displayed
more perfect courtesy in his gravely polite
salute.

"This," said my father, smiling, "is
indeed a pleasure. I had hoped for this
honor, and yet the years have so often
disappointed me that I had only hoped/'

Captain Tracy, short and squat, his hands
held out in the way old sailors have, as
though ready instinctively to grasp some
rope or bulwark, thrust a bull neck forward,
and peered at my father with little, red-
dened eyes, opened in wide incredulity.
'You what?" he demanded hoarsely.

"I said, Captain Tracy, that I hoped," —
and my father helped himself to snuff —
''Will you be seated, gentlemen?"

"No," said Major Proctor.

"I have always noted," my father re-
marked, " that standing is better for the
figure. The climate, Major, has agreed with
you."

Major Proctor launched on a savage re-
joinder, but Mr. Penfield leaned towards
him with a whispered admonition.

"I take it," he said to my father, "that
you did not read our letter. You made a

In?]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

mistake, Mr. Shelton, a grave mistake, in
not doing so."

"I am fond of reading," said my father,
"and I found your letter — pardon my rude-
ness— but I must be frank — I found your
letter most amusing."

Mr. Lane stretched a claw-like hand
toward him.

'You always did laugh," he cried shrilly.

"Never now, Mr. Lane," replied my
father. 'Yet I must admit, if laughter
were my habit — " he paused and surveyed
Mr. Lane's pinched and bony figure.

'You found the letter amusing, eh?"
snapped Captain Tracy. 'You found it
funny when we ordered you out of this
town, did you? I suppose you thought we
were joking, eh? Well, by Gad, we weren't,
and that's what we've come to tell you.
Heaven help us if we don't see you out on
a rail, you damned—

"Gently, gently," interjected Mr. Pen-
field, in a soothing tone. "Let us not use
any harder words than necessary. Mr.
Shelton will agree with us, I am sure.
Mr. Shelton did not understand. Perhaps
Mr. Shelton has forgotten."

"My memory," said my father, "still
remains unimpaired. I recall the last time

[118]

THE UNSPEAKALBE GENTLEMAN

I saw you was some ten years ago in this
very house. I recall at the time you warned
me never to return here. In some ways,
perhaps, you were right, and yet at present
I find my residence here most expedient.
Indeed, I find it quite impossible to leave.
Frankly, gentlemen, the house is watched,
and it is as much as my life is worth to
stir outside the doors."

"Good God!" cried Mr. Lane, in the
shrill voice that fitted him so well. "We
might have known it!"

There was a momentary silence, and
Major Proctor whispered in Mr. Penfield's
ear.

"Captain Shelton," said Mr. Penfield,
"I see your son and a woman are in the
room. It might be better if you sent them
away. Your son, I have heard, has learned
to behave himself. There is no need for
him to hear what we have to say to you."

There was a note of raillery in his voice
that must have offended my father.

" Mr. Penfield is mistaken. I fear closed
shutters make the room a trifle dark to see
dearly. It is a lady, Mr. Penfield, who is
with us."

Captain Tracy laughed. My father's
hand dropped to his side. For a moment

1

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

no one spoke. Captain Tracy moved his
head half an inch further forward.

"Well?" he asked.

"Let us leave the matter for a moment,"
said my father. "It can wait. Pray con-
tinue, Mr. Penfield. My son will be glad
to listen."

Mr. Penfield cleared his throat, and
looked at the others uncertainly.

"Go on, Penfield," said the Major.

"Mr. Shelton," began Mr. Penfield stiffly,
"ten years ago you were a gentleman."

"Could it have been possible?" said my
father with a bow.

"Ten years ago you were a man that
every one of us here trusted and respected,
a friend of several. In the War of the
Revolution you conducted yourself like a
man of honor. You equipped your own brig
with a letter of marque, and sailed it your-
self off Jamaica. You fought in three en-
gagements. You displayed a daring and
cry which we once admir

"Could it have been possible?" my father
bowed again. "I do recall I failed to stay
at home," he added, bowing again to Mr.
Penfield.

Mr. Penfield frowned, and continued a
little more quickly:

[wo]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"And when you did return, you engaged
in the China trade. You were a successful
man, Mr. Shelton. We looked upon you
as one of the more brilliant younger men of
our seaport. We trusted you, Captain
Shelton/' ^

"Could it have been possible!" exclaimed
my father.

'Yes/' said Mr. Penfield in a louder
tone, "we trusted you. You have only to
look at your books, if you have kept them,
to remember that."

"My books," said my father, "still con-
trive to balance."

"In the year 1788," Mr. Penfield went
on, "you remember that year, do you not?
In that year the six of us here engaged in a
venture. From the north we had carried
here five hundred bales of fur, valued at
fifty dollars to the bale. You contracted
with us, Captain Shelton, to convey those
bales to England. It would have been a nice
piece of business, if your supercargo had not
been an honest man. He knew you, Shelton,
if we did not. He knew the game you had
planned to play, and though he was your
brother-in-law, he was man enough to stop

it."

Mr. Penfield's voice had risen, so that it

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

rang through the room, and his words fol-
lowed each other in cold indictment. The
others stood watching my father with
strained attention.

"Indeed," he said.

"Yes," said Mr. Penfield, "as you so
aptly put it — indeed. Your ship carrying
that consignment, had Jason Hill as super-
cargo, and Ned Aiken, that damned para-
site of yours, as master. A day out from
this port, a plank sprung aft, which obliged
him to put back to Boston for repairs.
The cargo was trans-shipped. When it
was aboard again, Jason Hill happened to
examine that cargo. The furs had gone.
In their place five hundred bales of chips
had been loaded in the hold. He went to
the master for an explanation. Mr. Aiken,
who had been drinking heavily, was asleep
in the cabin, and on the table beside him
was a letter, Shelton. You remember that
letter? It bore instructions from you to
scuttle that ship ten miles out of Liverpool
harbor."

"And," said my father, with another bow,
"I was to collect the insurance. It was
nicely planned."

"If you remember that, you recall what
happened next. We called on you, Shelton,

[122]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

and accused you of what you had done.
You neither confirmed nor denied it. We
told you then to leave the town. We warned
you never to return. We warned you that
we were through with your trickery. We
were through with your cheating and your
thieving. We warned you, Shelton, and
now you're back, back, by your own con-
fession, on another rogue's errand/'

"Not on another's/' rny father objected
mildly. "One of my own, Mr. Penfield.
The experience you have outlined so lucidly
convinced me that it was better to stick
closely to my own affairs/'

"Mr. Shelton," Mr. Penfield went on,
regardless of the interruption, "we warned
you yesterday to leave the town before
nightfall, and you have failed to take our
advice."

"I see no reason why I should leave,"
replied my father easily. "I am comfortable
here for the moment. I would not be out-
side. Even the arguments you have given
are specious. You got your furs back, and
if I recall, they proved to be so badly moth
eaten that they were not fit for any trade."

"Even though you see no reason," said
Major Proctor smoothly, "you are going
to leave, Shelton. You are going to leave in

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

one hour. If you delay a minute later, we
will come with friends who will know how
to handle you. We will come in an hour with
a tar pot and a feather mattress."

"You are not only unwelcome to us on
account of your past," said Mr. Penfield,
" but more recent developments make it
impossible, quite impossible for you to I
We have heard your story already from Mr.
Jason Hill. You are right that it is no
concern of ours, except that we remember
the good of this town. We have a business
with France, and we cannot afford to lose
it. Major Proctor was blunt just now, and
yet he is right. Give us credit for warning
you, at least. You will go, of course?"

My father smiled again, and smoothed
the wrinkles of his coat. For some reason
the scene seemed vastly pleasant. He
shrugged his shoulders in a deprecatory
gesture, walked over to the table, and
lifted up a glass of rum.

44 1 remarked before that I was quite
comfortable here," he replied after a mo-
ment's pause. "I may add that I am
amused. Since I have returned to the
ancestral roof, and looked again at the por-
traits of my family, I have had many callers
to entertain me. Two have tried to rob me.

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

One has threatened me with death. And
now six come, and threaten me with tar and
feathers. Positively, it is too diverting to
leave. Pray don't interrupt me, Captain
Tracy. In a moment you shall have the
floor/'

He took a sip from his rum glass, watching
them over the trim. And then he continued,
slowly and coldly, yet turning every period
with a perfect courtesy:

" There is one thing, only one, that you
and all my other callers appear to have
overlooked. You fail for some reason to
realize that I do things only of my own voli-
tion. It is eccentric, I know, but we all
have our failings."

He paused to place his glass daintily on
the table, and straightened the lace at his
wrist with careful solicitude.

"Once before this morning I have stated
that I am not particularly afraid of any-
thing. Strange as it may seem, this state-
ment still applies. Or put it this way, — I
have grown blase. People have threatened
me too often. No, gentlemen, you are
going to lose your trading privileges, I
think. And I am going to remain in my
house quite as long as I choose/'

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Which will be one hour," said Major
Proctor.

"Be careful, Major," said my father.
"You have grown too stout to risk your
words. Do you care to know why I am
going to remain?"

No one answered.

"Then I will tell you," he went on.
"Three of my ships are in the harbor, and
times are troublesome at sea. They are
armed with heavy metal, and manned by
quite as reckless and unpleasant a lot of
men as I have ever beheld on a deck. Be-'
tween them they have seventeen guns of
varying calibre, and there is powder in
their magazines. Do I need to go any
further, or do we understand each othc

"No," snapped Captain Tracy hoarsely.
"I'm damned if we do."

"It sounds crude, as I say it," he con-
tinued apologetically, "and yet true, never-
theless. As soon as I see anyone of you, or
any of my other neighbors enter my grounds
again, I shall order my ships to tack down
the river, and open fire on the town. They
have sail ready now, gentlemen. My ser-
vant has gone already to carry them my
order."

"And you'll hang for piracy tomorrow

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

morning," laughed the Major harshly.
"Shelton, you have grown mad."

"Exactly," said my father gently. " Mad,
Major. Mad enough to put my threat into
effect in five minutes, it you do not leave
this house; mad enough to scuttle every
ship in this harbor; mad enough to set
your warehouses in flames; mad enough
even to find the company of you and your
friends most damnably dull and wearisome;
mad enough to wonder why I ever suffered
you to remain so long beneath my roof;
mad enough to believe you a pack of curs
and cowards, and mad enough to treat you
as such. Keep off, Tracy, you bloated
fool!"

"By God!" Captain Tracy shouted,
"We'll burn this house over your head.
In an hour we'll have you shot against the
town hall."

"Perhaps," said my father, "and yet I
doubt it. Pray remember that I keep my
word. Your hats are in the hall, gentlemen.
In three minutes now my ships weigh
anchor. If you do not go, I cannot stop
them."

Mr. Penfield had grown a trifle pale.
"Captain Shelton," he demanded slowly,
"are you entirely serious? I almost believe

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

you are. Of course you understand the
conseqences?"

"Perfectly," said my father.

"Let us go, gentlemen," said Mr. Pen-
field. "You will hear from us later." And
he turned quickly towards the hall.

As he did so, my father drew back his
right arm, and drove his fist into Captain
Tracy's upturned face. His blow was well
directed, for the captain staggered and fell.
In almost the same motion he wheeled on
Major Proctor, who had started back, and
was tugging at his sword.

"Later, perhaps, Major," he said, without
even lifting his voice. "But today I am
busy. Pray take him away. He was always
indiscreet. And you," he added to Mr.
Lane, "surely you know well enough not to
try conclusions with me. Take him away.
Your hats are in the hall. I shall show you
the door myself. After you, gentlemen."

And he followed them, closing the door
gently behind him.

[128]

Mademoiselle, who had risen from her
chair, where she had listened, only half
understanding the conversation in a tongue
foreign from hers, stared at the closed door,
her lips parted, and her forehead wrinkled.

"What have they been saying ?" she
asked. "\Vhyaretheyafraid? Is everyone
afraid of this father of yours?"

And then, impulsively, she seized me by
the arm.

"But it makes no difference. Come, it is
our one chance; come quickly, Monsieur.
I must speak to you, where he will not dis-
turb us."

"But where?" I asked, still staring
straight before me; and then I noticed a
bolt on the morning room door. I sprang
toward it and drew it hastily. "It will do
no good to talk, Mademoiselle. If you had

understood " And as I spoke, the

enormity of the thing loomed still larger
before me.

"Mademoiselle, this morning he has
robbed my uncle of a fortune, snatched it
from him here in this very room, and now

'

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

he has threatened to move his ships into
midstream, and to open fire on the town!
And Mademoiselle, he means to do it.
I thought once — but he means to do it,
Mademoiselle."

She pursed her lips, and looked at me
from the corner of her eye.

I' she said. "So you are growing

frightened also. Yet I can understand.
The Marquis always said that Captain
Shelton could frighten the devil himself."

"Frightened!" I echoed, and the blood
rushed into my cheeks.

"Mon Dieu! Perhaps you are not.
Listen, Monsieur, I am not taunting you.
I am not saying he will not. He is serious,
Monsieur, and you must leave him alone,
or perhaps I shall not get the paper after all,
and remember, I must have it. My brother
must have it, and he shall, only you must
not disturb him. He may shoot at the
town, if he cares to, or murder your uncle.
He has often spoken of it at Blanzy, but
the paper is another matter. You must
leave it to me."

" To you!" I cried.

"Precisely," said Mademoiselle. "You-
what can you do? You are young. You

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

are inexperienced. Pardon me, but you
would be quite ineffective."

My cheeks flamed again. Somehow no
sarcasm of my father's had bitten as deep
as those last words of hers. I do not know
whether it was chagrin or anger that I felt
at the bitter sense of my own futility.
And she had seen it all. As coldly and as
accurately as my father, she had watched
me, and as coldly she had given her verdict.
She was watching me now with a cool,
confident smile that made me turn away.

"Ah," she said, "I have hurt you, and
believe me, I did not mean to."

Something in the polite impersonality of
her voice gave me a vague resentment.
She had moved nearer, and yet I could not
meet her glance.

"I am sorry" she said, and paused ex-
pectantly, but I could only stare at the
floor in silence.

"Believe me, I am sorry."

It might have been different if I had
detected the slightest contrition, but in-
stead I seemed only to afford her mild
amusement.

There is no need to be sorry" I replied.

"Ah, but there is!" she said quickly,

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Last night you were very kind. Last
night you tried to help me."

I seemed to see her again, standing pale
and troubled, while my father watched her,
coldly appraising, and Brutus grinned at
her across the room.

"Mademoiselle" I began, "Anything that

I did last night "

"Was quite unnecessary," she said, "And
very foolish."

I drew a sharp breath. The bit of gal-
lantry I had on my mind to speak seemed
weak and useless now.

" Mademoiselle is mistaken " I lied smooth-
ly, "Nothing that I did last night was on
her account."

"Nothing!" she exclaimed sharply, "I do
not understand."

"No, nothing," I said, "Pray believe me,
anything I did, however foolish, was solely
for myself. I have my own affair to settle
with my father."

"Bah!" cried Mademoiselle, tapping her
foot on the floor, and oddly enough mj
reply seemed to have made her angry, "So
you are like all the rest of them, stupid,
narrow, calculating!"

"If Mademoiselle will only listen," I

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

began, strangely puzzled and singularly
contrite.

"Listen to you!" she cried, "No, Mon-
sieur, I have listened to you quite long
enough to know your type. I see now you
are quite what I thougnt you would be.
I say you are entirely ineffective, and must
leave your father alone. You do not under-
stand him. You do not even know him.
With me it is different. I have seen the
world. He is temperamental, your father,
a genius in his way, and a little mad, per-
haps. Leave him to me, Monsieur, and it
will be quite all right. Last night, it was so
sudden, that I was frightened for a moment.
I should have remembered he is erratic and
apt to change his mind. I should have
guessed why he changed it. It is you, Mon-
sieur. You have had a bad effect upon him.
You have made him turn suddenly gro-
tesque. What did you do to him last
evening?"

"Do to him?" I asked, stupidly enough.
"Why, nothing. I listened to him, Made-
moiselle, just as I have been listening to him
all this morning."

"And yet," she said, "it is your fault.
Usually he is most well behaved. He is
moderate, Monsieur. At Blanzy a glass of

[133]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

wine at dinner was all he ever desired.
For days at a time, I have hardly heard him
say a word. The Marquis would call him
the Sphinx, and what has he been doing
here? Drinking bottle after bottle, talking
steadily, acting outrageously. What is
more, he has been doing so ever since he
spoke of returning home. I tell you, Mon-
sieur, you must keep away from him, or
perhaps he will do with the paper exactly
what he says. Pray do not scowl. Laugh,
Monsieur, it is funny."

"Funny?" I exclaimed, as stupidly as
before. Mademoiselle sighed.

"If the Marquis had only lived — how he
would have laughed. It was odd, the sense
of humor of the Marquis. Strange how
much alike they were, the Marquis and
your father."

"It is pleasant that Mademoiselle and
I should have something in common," I said.

Her gaze grew very soft and far away.

'Not as much as they had. We never
shall. I think it was because they both were
embittered with life, both a trifle tired and
cynical. My father thought there should
be a king of France, and yet I think he
knew there could not be one. Your father —
it is another story."

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Quite/' I agreed. "And yet Made-
moiselle will pardon me — I fail to see what
they had in common/'

"You say that," said Mademoiselle,
"because you do not know him as well as
I do. Do you not see that he is a bitter,
disappointed man? They were both disap-
pointed."

I examined the bolt on the door, and
found it firm, despite its age. I glanced
over the long, low studded room, and moved
a chair from the center to a place nearer the
wall. Her glance followed me inquiringly,
but I forestalled her question.

"Mademoiselle," I observed, "was point-
ing out that she found something droll in
the situation."

"And is it not droll you should have
changed him?" she inquired, and yet I
thought she looked around uneasily. 'You
have, Monsieur. He was cautious before
this. He foresaw everything. He was
willing to risk nothing. He even warned
the Marquis against attacking the coach."

I began to perceive why the Marquis
honored my father with his friendship.

"Was attacking coaches a frequent habit
of the Marquis?" I asked.

[135]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Has he not told you?" she exclaimed,
raising her eyebrows.

"One would hardly call our conversation
confidential," I explained. "Is that what
you find so droll?"

And indeed, she seemed in a rare good
humor, and inexplicably gay. A curious
Mona Lisa smile kept bending her lips and
twinkling in her eves. The lowering clouds
outside, the creakings of the beams and
rafters under the east wind, nor even the
drab gloom of her surroundings seemed to
dampen her sudden access of good nature.
The events she had witnessed seemed also
to please her. Was it spite that had made
her smile when she watched my father and
his visitors? Was it spite that made her
smile now, as she gazed at the room's
bartered prosperity, and at my grandfather's
portrait above the mantlepiece, in the
unruffled dignity of its blackening oils?

"It was the coach," said Mademoiselle,
"of Napoleon at Montmareuil. A dozen
of them set upon the coach. The lead
horses were killed, and in an instant they
were at the doors. They flung them open,
but he was not inside. Instead, the coach
was filled with the consular police. The
paper, the paper they had signed, was at

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

Blanzy, and your father had agreed to
rescue it in case of accident. He would not
leave me, Monsieur, and he would not
destroy the paper."

She paused, and regarded me with a
frown that had more of curiosity in it than
displeasure.

"It was all well enough," she added,
"until he heard of you, until you and he
had dinner. It is something you did, some-
thing you said, that has made it all different.
I ask you — what have you done to him?
He was our friend before he saw you. Or
why would he have ridden through half of
France with Napoleon's police a half a
league behind him? Why did he risk every-
thing to bring out the paper when he might
have burned it? Why did he not sell it
there? He might have done so half a dozen
times. Why does he wait till now?

" Do you know what I would say if you
were older and less transparent? Do you
know?"

An imperious, ringing note had entered
into her voice, which made me regard her
with a sudden doubt. About her was the
same charm and mystery that had held me
silent and curious, the same unnatural
assurance, and cold disregard of her sur-

[137]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

roundings; but her eyes had grown watchful
and unfriendly.

"I would say that you had turned him
against us, and if you had—

"Mademoiselle is overwrought/' I said.

She tapped her foot on the floor impa-
tiently, and compressed her lips.

"I am never overwrought/' said Made-
moiselle. "It is a luxury my family has not
been allowed for many years. I say your
father was an honest man, as men go, and
a brave one too, and that you have changed
him, and I warn you to leave him alone in
the future. You do not know him, or how
to deal with him. I tell you his trifling
about the paper is a passing phase, and that
you must not disturb him. No, no, do not
protest. I know well enough you are not
to blame. You must leave him to me.
That is all."

"It pains me not to do as Mademoiselle
suggests/* I said.

'You mean you will not?" she flashed
back at me angrily.

"I mean I will not," I answered with
sudden heat, "No/* I added more harshly,
as she attempted to interrupt, "Now you
will listen to me. You say I am a fool.
You say I can do nothing against him.

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

Perhaps not, Mademoiselle, but what I see
is this: I see you in a dangerous situation
through no fault of your own, and whether
you wish it or not, I am going to get you
out of it. He has done enough, Mademoi-
selle, and this is going to be the end. By
heaven, if he looks at you again

"But you said — " she interrupted.

I did not have the chance to continue, for
a hand was trying the latch of the door, and
then a sharp knock interrupted me. My
father was standing on the threshold. With
a smile and a nod to me, he entered, and
proceeded to the center of the room, while
I closed the door behind him, and bolted it
again. If he noticed my action, he did not
choose to comment. Instead, he continued
towards the chair where Mademoiselle was
seated.

"I had hoped that you might get along
more pleasantly, you and my son," he ob-
served. " Surely he has points in his favor —
youth, candor, even a certain amount of
breeding. You have been hard on him,
Mademoiselle. Take my word for it — he is
to blame for nothing."

"So you have been listening," she said.

"As doubtless Mademoiselle expected,"
said my father. "I had hoped "

[139]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"And so had I," I said.

He turned and faced me.

"Hoped," I continued, raising my voice,
"that you might enter here, and leave your
servant somewhere else. I have wanted to
have a quiet talk with you this morning."

If he noted anything unusual in my
request, he did not show it, not so much as
by a flicker of an eyelash.

"It has hardly been opportune for con-
versation," he admitted. "But now, as
you say, Brutus is gone. He is out to receive
a message I am expecting, which can hardly
be delivered at the front door. You were
saying — Doubtless Mademoiselle will par-

"Mademoiselle," I went on, "wilt even
be interested. I have wanted to speak to

Iou so that I might explain myself. Since
have been here I fear I have been im-
pulsive. You must lay it to my youth,
father."

He nodded a grave assent.
'You must not apologize. It has been
quite refreshing."

"And yet I am not so young. I am
twenty-three."

"Can it be possible?" exclaimed my
[140]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

father. " I had almost forgotten that I was
so near the grave."

"I came to see you here," I continued,
"because, as my uncle said, you are my
father. I came here because — because I
thought— " I paused and drew a deep breath,
and my father smiled.

"Why I came is aside from the point,
at any rate," I said.

" Indeed yes," agreed my father, "and
have we not been over the matter before?"

"If you had accorded me one serious
word, it might have been different," I con-
tinued; "but instead, sir, you have seen fit to
jest. It is not what you have done this
morning, sir, as much as your manner
towards me, which makes me take this step.
That you have brought a lady from France
and robbed her, that you have robbed my
uncle, and have threatened to fire on the
town — somehow they seem no particular
affair of mine except for this: You seem
to think that I am incapable of doing any-
thing to hinder you, and frankly, sir, this
hurts my pride. You feel that I am going
to sit by passively and watch you."

I came a step nearer, but he did not draw
back. He only continued watching me with
a patient intentness, which seemed gradu-

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

ally to merge into some more active interest.
His interest deepened when I spoke again,
but that was all.

"You feel I am going to be still, and do
nothing, even after you drugged me last
evening. Did you think I would not resent
it? You are mistaken, father."

My father rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"I had not thought of it exactly so," he
said, "yet I had to keep you quiet.1'

"So, if the tables were turned, and I
were you, and you were I, you would hardly
let matters go on without joining in?"

"Hardly," he agreed. "You have thought
the matter out very prettily, my son. It is
an angle I seem to have neglected. It only
remains to ask what you are going to do.
Let us trust it will be nothing stupid."

"I am glad you understand," I said, "be-
cause now it will be perfectly clear why I
am asking you for the paper, and you will
appreciate any steps I may take to get it."

He cast a quick glance around the room,
and seemed satisfied that we were quite
alone.

"Do I understand," he inquired, "that
you have asked me for the paper?"

I nodded, and his voice grew thoughtfully
gentle.

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"You interest me," he said. "I have a
penchant for mysteries. May I ask why you
believe I shall give it to you?"

"I shall try to show you," I said, and
tossed aside my coat and drew my small
sword.

He stood rigid and motionless, and his
face became more set and expressionless
than I had ever seen it; but before he could
speak, Mademoiselle had sprung between us.

"You fool!" she cried. "Put up your
sword. Will you not be quiet as I told you?"

"Be seated, Mademoiselle," said my
father gently. "Where are your senses,
Henry? Can you not manage without
creating a scene? Put up your sword. I
cannot draw against you."

Mademoiselle, paler than I had seen her
before, sank back into her chair.

"I am sorry you find yourself unable,"
I said, "because I shall attack you in any
event."

" What can you be thinking of?" my
father remonstrated. "Engage me with a
small sword? It is incredible. '

"I have been waiting almost twelve hours
for the opportunity," I replied. "Pray put
yourself on guard, father."

His stony look of repression had left him.

[143]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

The lines about his mouth relaxed again.
For a moment I thought the gaze he bent
upon me was almost kindly. Then he sighed
and shrugged his shoulders, and began
slowly to unwind a handkerchief which he
had tied about his right hand, disclosing
several cuts on his knuckles.

"I forgot that Captain Tracy might have
teeth," he said. "Positively, my son, you
become disappointing. I had given you
credit for more imagination, and instead you
think you can match your sword against
mine. Pray do not interrupt, Mademoi-
selle," he added, turning to her with a bow,
"it will be quite nothing, and we have
neither of us had much exercise/*

He paused, and carefully divested him-
self of nis coat, folding it neatly, and placing
it on the table. When it was placed to
advantage, he drew his sword, and tested its
point on the floor.

"Who knows," he added, bending the
blade, "perhaps we may have sport after
all. Lawton was never bad with tne foils."

We had only crossed swords long enough
for me to feel the supple play of his wrist
before I began to press him. I feinted, and
disengaged, and a second later I had lunged

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

over his guard, and had forced him to give
back.

"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed my father gaily.
"You surprise me. What! Again? Damn
these chairs!"

A fire of exultation leapt through me. I

S'nned at my father over the crossed blades,
• I could read something in his face that
steadied my hand. My best attack might
leave him unscathed, but I was doing more,
much more, than he had expected. I lunged
again, and again he stepped back, thrusting
so quickly that I had barely time to recover.
Excellent!" said my father. 'You are
quick, my son. You even have an eye."
"Mademoiselle!" I called sharply. "The

¥iper! In the breast pocket of his coat,
ake it out and burn it."
"Good God!" exclaimed my father.
'You see," I said, "I have my points."
"My son," he said, parrying the thrust
with which I ended my last words, "pray
accept my apologies, and my congratula-
tions. You have a better mind and a
better sword than I could reasonably have
expected. Indeed, you quite make me
extend myself. But you .must learn to
recover more quickly, Henry, much more
quickly. I have seen too many good men

[145]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

go down for just that failing. It may be
well enough against an ordinary swordsman,
my son, or even a moderately good one,
but as for me, I could run you through twice
over. Indeed I would, if "

"The paper, Mademoiselle/* I called
again. "Have you got it?"

"Exactly," said my father. "The paper."
If the paper were in my pocket, you, my
son, would now be in the surgeon's hands.
The paper, however, is upstairs in my volume
of Rabelais. And now "

His wrist suddenly stiffened. He made a
feint at my throat, and in the same motion
lowered his guard. As I came on parade,
my sword was wrenched from my grasp.
At the same time I stepped past his point,
and seized him around the waist.

"You heard, Mademoiselle," I cried.';
"The door!" and we fell together.

My father uttered something which
seemed very near a curse, and clutched at
my throat. I loosened my grasp to fend
away his hand, and he broke away from my
other arm, and sprang to his feet. Just as
he did so there was a blow, a splintering of
wood. The door was carried off its hinges,1
and Brutus leapt beside him. The floor
had not been clean. My father brushed

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

regretfully at the smudges on his cambric
shirt.

"My coat, if you please, Mademoiselle,"
he said. " I see you nave it in your hands.
Gad, my son! It was a nearer thing than I
expected. On my word, I did not know that
Brutus was back."

"He is like you, captain," said Made-
moiselle, handing the coat to him. "You
are both stubborn."

For some reason I could not fathom, her
good nature had returned. It was relief,
perhaps, that made her smile at us.

"It is a family trait," returned my father.

As though kicking down the door had
been a simple household duty, Brutus
turned from it with quiet passivity, and
adjusted the folds of the blue broadcloth
with an equal thoroughness, while my
father straightened the lace at his wrists.

"Huh," said Brutus suddenly. Then I
noticed that his stockings were caked with
river mud, and that he had evidently been
running. My father, forgetful of his coat
for the moment, whirled about and faced
him.

"To think I had forgotten," he cried.
"What news, you black rascal?"

"Huh," said Brutus again, and handed

[147]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

him a spotted slip of paper. My father's
lips parted. He seized it with unusual
alacrity, read it, and tossed it in the fire.
Then he sighed, like a man from whose
mind a heavy weight of care has been lifted.
The tenseness seemed to leave his slim
figure, and for an instant he looked as
though the day had tired him, and as though
another crisis were over.

"He's there?" he demanded sharply.

"Huh," said Brutus.

"Now heaven be praised for that," said
my father, with something that was a close
approach to fervor. "I was beginning to
wonder if, perhaps, something had hap-
pened."

Mademoiselle looked up at him demurely.

"The captain has good news?" she asked.

He turned to her and smiled his blandest
smile.

"Under the circumstances," he said,
"the best I could expect."

Still smiling, he smoothed his coat and
squared his shoulders.

"Our little melodrama, my lady, is draw-
ing.to its close."

XI

The sun had finally broken through the
clouds, and already its rays were slanting
into the room, falling softly on the dusty
furniture, and making the shadows of the
vines outside dance fitfully on the wall by
the fire; and the shadows of the elms were
growing long and straight over the rain
soaked leaves, and the rank, damp grass of
our lawn. It was the dull, gentle sunshine
of an autumn afternoon, soft and kindly,
and yet a little bleak.

:< Yes," said my father, "it is nearly over.
It turns into a simple matter, after all. I
wonder, Mademoiselle, will you be sorry?
Will you ever recall our weeks on the high-
road? I shall, I think. And the Inn in
Britanny, with Brutus up the road, and
Ned Aiken swearing at the post boys. At
least we were living life. And the Eclipse — I
told you they would never beat us on a wind-
ward tack. I told you, Mademoiselle, the
majority of mankind were very simple
people."

"And you still feel so?" she asked him.

[149]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Now more than ever/' said my father.
"I had almost hoped there would be one
sane man among the dozens outside, but
they all have the brains of school boys.
No wonder the world moves so slowly, and
great men seem so great."

And he wound the handkerchief around
his hand again.

"The captain has arranged to sell tne
paper?" asked Mademoiselle.

'Exactly," said my father. "The price
has been fixed, and I shall deliver it myself
as soon as the day grows a little darker.
I am sorry, almost. It has not been unin-
teresting."

"No," said Mademoiselle, "it has not
been uninteresting."

'You are pale, my son," said my father,
turning to me. "I trust you are not hurt?"

I shook my head.

"It is only your pride? You will be
better soon. Come, we have always been
good losers. We have always known when
the game was up. Let us see if we cannot
end it gracefully, as gentlemen should.
You cannot get the paper. Why not make
the best of it? You have tried, and tried not
unskilfully, but you see now that the right
man cannot always win — a useful lesson, is

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

it not? I do not ask you to like me for it.
You have seen enough of me, I hope, to
hate me. And yet — let us be philosophical.
Be seated, my son. Brutus, it is three
o'clock. Bring in the Madeira, and the
noon meal."

I did not reply, and he stood for a moment
watching me narrowly. Brutus threw an-
other log on the fire, which gave off a brisk
crackling from the bed of coals. He then
stood waiting doubtfully, until my father
nodded.

"Take the door out as you go," my father
directed. "Mademoiselle, permit me."

He pointed out an armchair beside the
fire. * And you, my son, opposite* So."
From the side pocket of his coat he drew
a silver mounted pistol, which he examined
with studious attention.

"Come," he said, slipping it back, "let us
be tranquil. Is there any reason to bear ill
will simply because we each stand on an
opposite side of a question of ethics? If you
had only been to the wars, how differently
you would see it. There hundreds of men
stab each other with the best will in the
world, none of the crudeness of personal
animosity, only the best of good nature.
In a little time now we shall part, never, if

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

I can help it, to meet again. You have seen
me as a dangerous, reckless man, without
any principles worth mentioning. Indeed,
I have so few that I shall have recourse to
violence, my son, if you do not assume a
more reposeful manner. The evening will
be active enough to make any further ex-
citement quite superfluous. Have patience.
An hour or so means little to anyone so
young."

There fell a silence while he stood im-
movably watching us. A gust of wind blew
down the chimney, and scattered a cloud of
dust over the hearth. The rafters creaked.
Somewhere in the stillness a door slammed.
The very lack of expression in his face was
stamping it on my memory, and for the first
time its phlegmatic calm aroused in me a
new emotion. I had hated it and wondered
at it before, and now in spite of myself it
was giving me a twinge of pity. For nature
had intended it to be an expressive face,
sensitive and quick to mirror each percep-
tion and emotion. Was it pride that had
turned it into a mask, and drawn a curtain
before the light that burned within, or had
the light burned out and left it merely cold
and unresponsive?

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"The captain is thinking?" said Made-
moiselle.

He smiled, and fixed her with his level
glance.

"Indeed yes," he answered briskly. "It
is a rudeness for which I can only crave
your pardon. Strange that I should have
tasted your father's hospitality so often and
should still be a taciturn host."

Mademoiselle bit her lip.

"There is only one thing stranger," she
said coldly.

"And that is — ?" said my father, bend-
ing toward her attentively.

'That you should betray the last request
of the man who once sheltered you and
trusted you, and showed you every kindness.
Tell me, captain, is it another display of
artistic temperament, or simply a lack of
breeding?"

Her words seemed to fall lightly on my
father. He took a pinch of snuff, and waved
his hand in an airy gesture of denial.

"Bah," he said. "If the Marquis were
alive, he would understand. He was always
an opportunist, the Marquis. 'Drink your
wine/ he would say, 'drink your wine and
break your glass. We may not have heads
to drink it with tomorrow/ I am merely

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

drinking the wine, Mademoiselle. He would
not blame me. Besides, the Marquis owes
me nothing. If it were not for me, your
brother would be drinking his wine in para-
dise, instead of cursing at the American
climate. And you, Mademoiselle-ywould
you have preferred to remain with the
police?"

He looked thoughtfully into his snuff box.

"Dead men press no bills — surely you
recall the Marquis said that also. No,
Mademoiselle, we must be practical to live.
The Marquis would understand. The Mar-
quis was always practical."

She caught her breath sharply, but my
father seemed not to have perceived the
effect of his words.

"Ah," he said, "here is Brutus with the
meal."

Brutus had carried in a small round
table on which were arranged a loaf of
bread and some salt meat.

"Mademoiselle will join me?" asked my
father, rubbing his hands. I do not think
he expected her reply any more than I did.
Indeed, it seemed to give him a momentary
uneasiness.

"One must eat," said Mademoiselle. "We
will eat, captain, and then we will talk. I

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

am sorry you have made it necessary, but
of course you have expected it."

" Mademoiselle has been unnaturally sub-
dued/' he replied. "It is pleasant she is
coming to herself again. And you, my son,
you should be hungry."

"As Mademoiselle says, one must eat,"
I answered.

"Good," he said. "The food is poor, but
you will find the wine excellent," and he
filled the glasses. It was a strange meal.

"Now we shall talk," said Mademoiselle,
when it was finished.

My father, raised his wine glass to the
light.

"It is always : a pleasure to listen to
Mademoiselle."

"I fear," replied Mademoiselle, "that this
will be the exception."

"Impossible," said my father, sipping his
wine.

"All 'this morning I have tried to have a
word with you," said Mademoiselle, "but
your time has been well taken up. I hoped
to speak to you instead of your son, but he
failed to take my advice and remain quiet.
As I said before, you are both stubborn. Not
that it has made much difference. You still
have the paper."

D55l

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

She paused, and surveyed him calmly.

"Is it not painful to continue the dis-
cussion ?" my father inquired. " I assure you
I have not changed my mind since last
evening, nor shall I change it. Must I
repeat that the affair of the paper is fin-
ished?"

"We shall see," said Mademoiselle.

"As Mademoiselle wishes," said my
father.

"It has been six years since I first saw you
in Paris," said Mademoiselle. Her voice
was softly musical, and somehow she was
no longer cold and forbidding. My father
placed his wine glass on the table, and
seemingly a little disturbed, gave her his
full attention.

"Six years," said Mademoiselle. "I have
often thought of you since then.

"You have done me too much honor,"
said my father. "You always have, my
lady." '

She only smiled and shook her head.

"You are the sort of man whom women
think about, and the sort whom women
admire. Surely you know that without my
telling you. A man with a past is always
more pleasant than one with a future.
Do you know what I thought when I saw

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

you that evening? You remember, they
were in the room, whispering as usual, plot-
ting and planning, and you were to have a
boat off the coast of Normandy. You and
the Marquis had ridden from Bordeaux. I
thought, Captain, that you were the sort
of man who could succeed in anything you
tried — yes, anything. Perhaps you know
the Marquis thought so too, and even today
I believe we were nearly right. We saw you
in Brussels later, and in Holland, and then
at Blanzy this year. I have known of a
dozen commissions you have performed
without a single blunder. Indeed, I know
of only one thing in which you have defi-
nitely failed."

"Only one? Impossible," said my father.

14 Yes, only one, and it seemed simple
enough."

A touch of color had mounted to her
cheeks, and she looked down at the bare
table.

'You have done your best, done your
best in a hundred little ways to make me
hate you. You have studied the matter
carefully, as you study everything. You
have missed few opportunities. Even a
minute ago, about the Marquis — and yet
you have not succeeded."

[157]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

My father raised his hand hastily to his
coat lapel.

"Is there never a woman who will not
reduce matters to personalities," he mur-
mured. "I should have known better. I
see it now. I should have made love to you."

Though her voice was grave, there was
laughter in her eyes.

" I have often wondered why you did not.
It was the only method you seem to have
overlooked.

"There is one mistake a man always
makes about women/' He smiled and
glanced at us both, and then back at his
wine again. "He forgets they are all alike.
Sooner or later he sees one that in some
strange way seems different. I thought you
were different, Mademoiselle. Heaven for-
give me, I thought you even rational. Surely
you have every reason to dislike me. Let
us be serious, Mademoiselle. You do not
hate me?"

"I am afraid," said Mademoiselle, "that
you have had quite an opposite effect."

In spite of myself I started. Could it be
that I was jealous? Her eyes were lowered
to the arm of her chair, and she was intent
on the delicate carving of the mahogany. It

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

was true then. I might have suspected it
before, but was it possible that I cared?

"Good God!" exclaimed my father, and
pushed back his chair.

Mademoiselle rested her chin on the palm
of her hand.

"I told you the interview would not be
pleasant/* she said. "But you are pessi-
mistic, captain. I have not said I loved
you. Do not be alarmed. I was going to
say I pitied you. That was all."

"Mon Dieu," my father murmured. "It
is worse." And yet I thought I detected a
note of relief in his voice. "Surely I am not
as old as that."

Mademoiselle, whose eyes had never left
his face, smiled and shook her head.

"I know what you are thinking," she
said. "No, no, captain. It is not the begin-
ning of a melodramatic speech. I am not
offering pity to the villain in the story.
Even the first night I met you, I was sorry
for you, captain. I was sorry as soon as I
saw your eyes. I knew then that something
had happened, and when I heard you speak,
I told myself you were not to blame ror it.
I still believe you were not to blame. You
see, I know your story now."

" Indeed ?" said my father. "And you still

[159]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

are sorry. Mademoiselle, you disappoint
me."

"Yes," said Mademoiselle, "I heard the
story, and I believe she was to blame, not
you. After all, she took you for better or
worse."

And then a strange thing happened. In
spite of himself he started. His race flushed,
and his lips pressed tight together. It
seemed almost as though a spasm of pain
had seized him, which he could not conceal
in spite of his best efforts. With an uncon-
scious motion, he grasped his wine glass
and the color ebbed from his cheeks.

"Mademoiselle is mistaken," said my
father. "Another wine glass, Brutus."
The stem of the one he was holding had
snapped in his hand.

'Nonsense," said Mademoiselle shortly.

My father cleared his throat, and glanced
restlessly away, his face still set and still
lined with the trace of suffering.

"Mademoiselle," he said finally, "you
deal with a subject which is still painful.
Pray excuse me if I do not discuss it. Any-
thing which you may have heard of my af-
fairs is entirely a fault of mine. You under-
stand?"

"Yes," said Mademoiselle, "I under-

[160]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

stand, and we shall continue to discuss it,
no matter how painful it is to you. Who
knows, captain; perhaps I can bring you to
your senses, or are you going to continue to
ruin your life on account of a woman?"

" Be silent, Mademoiselle," said my father
sharply.

But she disregarded his interruption.

"So she believed that you had filled your
ship with fifty bales of shavings. She be-
lieved it, and called you a thief. She be-
lieved you were as gauche as that. I can
guess the rest of the story."

But my father had regained his equanim-
ity.

"Five hundred bales of shavings," he cor-
rected. "You are misinformed even about
the merest details."

"And for fifteen years, you have been
roving about the world, trying to convince
her she was right. Ah, you are touched? I
have guessed your secret. Can anything be
more ridiculous!"

He half started from his chair, and again
his face grew drawn and haggard.

"She was right," he said, a little hoarsely.
"Believe me, she was always right, Made-
moiselle."

[161]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

" Nonsense," said Mademoiselle. "I do
not believe it."

My father turned to me with a shrug of
his shoulders.

"It is pleasant to remember, is it not, my
son, that your mother had a keener discern-
ment, and did not give way to the dictates
of a romantic imagination?"

"Sir," I said, "there is only one reason
why I ever came here, and that was because
my mother requested it. She wanted you
to know, sir, that she regretted what she
said almost the moment you left the house.
If you had ever written her, if you had ever
sent a single word, you could have changed
it all. In spite of all the evidence, she never
came fully to believe it."

"Ah, but you believe it," said my father
quickly.

I do not think he ever heard my answer.
He had turned unsteadily in his chair, and
was facing the dying embers of the fire, his
left hand limp on the table before him.
Again the spasm of pain crossed his face.
Mademoiselle still watched him, but with-
out a trace of triumph. Indeed, she seemed
more kindly and more gentle than I had
ever known her.

"Five hundred bales of shavings," she

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

said softly. "Ah, captain, there are not
many men who would do it. Not any that
I know, save you and the Marquis."
"Brutus," said my father, "a glass of

rum."

With his eyes still on the fire, he drank
the spirits, and sighed. "And now, Brutus,"
he continued, "my volume of Rabelais."

But when it was placed beside him, he
left it unopened, and still continued to study
the shifting scenes in the coals.

XII

Was it possible that I cared? There she
was leaning toward him, the flames from the
fire dancing softly before her face, giving
her dark hair a hundred new lights and
shadows. Her lips were parted, and in her
eyes was silent entreaty. I felt a sudden
unaccountable impulse to snatch up the
volume of Rabelais, to face my father again,
weapon or no weapon, to show her

"Come, captain," said Mademoiselle
gently. "Must you continue this after it
has turned into a farce? Must you continue
acting from pique, when the thing has been
over For more years than you care to remem-
ber? Must you keep on now because of a
whim to make your life miserable and the
lives of others? Will you threaten fifty men
with death and ruin, because you once were
called a thief? It is folly, sir, and you know
it, utter useless folly! Pray do not stare at
me. It was easy enough to piece your story
together. I guessed it long ago. I have lis-
tened too often to you and the Marquis at
wine. Come, captain, give me back the
paper."

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

With his old half smile, my father turned
to her and nodded in pleasant acknowledg-
ment.

"Mademoiselle," he observed evenly, "I
have gone further through the world than
most men, though to less purpose, and I
have met many people, but none of them
with an intuition like yours."

He paused long enough to refill his glass.
'You are right, Mademoiselle. Indeed,
it is quite wonderful to meet a woman of
your discernment. Yes, you are right. My
wife called me a rogue and a scoundrel —
mind you, I am not saying she was mis-
taken— but my temper was hotter then than
it is now. I have done my best to convince
her she was not in error. And now, Made-
moiselle, it has become as much of a habit
with me as strong drink, a habit which even
you cannot break. I have been a villain too
long to leave off lightly. No, Mademoiselle,
I have the paper, and I intend to dispose
of it as I see fit. Your mother, my son, need
have had no cause for regret. She was right
in everything she said. Brutus, tell Mr.
Aiken I am ready to see him/'

He must have been in the hall "outside,
for he entered the morning room almost as
soon as my father had spoken, dressed in

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

his rusty black sea cloak. At the sight of
Mademoiselle, he bowed ceremoniously, and
blew loudly on his fingers.

"Wind's shifted southwest," he said.
"But we're ready to put out."

"Sit down, Mr. Aiken," said my father.
"My son, pour him a little refreshment."

"Ah," said Mr. Aiken, selecting a chair
by the fire, "pour it out, my lad — fill her
up. It's a short life and little joy 'less we
draw it from the bottle. And long life and
much joy to you, sir, by the same token,"
he added, raising his glass and tossing the
spirits adroitly down his throat. Then,
with a comfortable sigh, he drew out his
pipe and lighted it on an ember.

'Yes, she'll be blowing before morning."

'You don't mean," inquired my father,

with a glance out of the window, "that I

can't launch a small boat from the beach?"

'You could, captain, if you'd a mind to,"

said Ned Aiken, tamping down his tobacco,

"but there's lots who couldn't."

"Then I shall," said my father languidly.
"Brutus and I will board the Sea Tern at
eight o'clock tonight. You will stand off
outside and put on your running lights."

"Yes," said Mr. Aiken, "it's time we was
going."

[166]

"

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

'You mean they are taking steps?"

"A frigate's due in at midnight," said
Mr. Aiken, grinning.

"A frigate! Think of that!" said my
father. "At last we seem to be making our
mark on the world."

"We've never done the beat of this," said
Mr. Aiken.

'And everything is quiet outside?"
'All right so far," said Mr. Aiken.

"How many men are watching the house?"
'There's four, sir," he answered.

"Ah," said my father, "and Mr. Lawton
still stops at the tavern?"

"Hasn't showed his head all morning,"
answered Mr. Aiken.

"Ah," said my father, "perhaps he is
right in concealing such a useless member."
And he helped himself from the decanter,
seemed to hesitate for a moment, and con-
tinued:

"And Mr. Jason Hill — he has been to
call, Ned. Have you seen him since?"

"He's been walking out in the road, sir,
all morning," replied Mr. Aiken. "And a
schooner ot his is anchored upstream. And
if you'll pardon the liberty, I don't give that
for Jason Hill," and he spat into the fire.

"It may please you to know," said my

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

father, "that I quite agree with you. I am
afraid/' he went on, looking at the back of
his hand, " that Jason does not take me se-
riously. I fear he will find he is wrong.
Brutus!"

Brutus, apparently anticipating some-
thing pleasant, moved towards my father's
chair.

"My pistols, Brutus. And it is growing
dark. You had best draw the shutters and
bring in the candles. We're sailing very
close to the wind this evening. Listen to me
carefully, Brutus. You will have the cutter
by the bar at eight o'clock, and in five min-
utes you will bring out my horse."

"What's the horse for?" asked Mr. Aiken.

My father settled himself back more
comfortably in his chair before he answe
A few drops of wine had spilled on the
mahogany. He touched them, and held up
his fingers and looked thoughtfully at the
stain.

"Because I propose to ride through
them," he said. "I propose showing our
friends — how shall I put it so you'll under-
stand?— that I don't care a damn for the
whole pack.0

"Gad!" murmured Mr. Aiken. "I might
have known it. And here I was thinking

[168]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

you'd be quiet and sensible. Are you still
going on with that damned paper?"

The red of the wine seemed to please my
father. He dipped his fingers in it again
and drew them slowly across the back of his
left hand.

"Precisely/* he said. "I propose to de-
liver it tonight before I sail. I leave it at
Hixon's farm."

"He's dead," said Mr. Aiken.

"Exactly/* said my father. "Only his
shade will help me. Perhaps it will be
enough — who knows?"

* There'll be half a dozen after you before
you get through the gate, "said Mr. Aiken
dubiously. 'You can lay to it Lawton will
be there before you make a turn."

'That," said my father, "is why I say
we're sailing very close to the wind."

"Good God, sir, burn it up," said Mr.
Aiken plaintively. "What's it been doing
but causing trouble ever since we've got it?
Running gear carried away — man wounded
from splinters. Hell to pay everywhere.
Gad, sir, they're afraid to sleep tonight for
fear you'll blow 'em out of bed. What's
the use of it all ? Damn it, that's what I say,
what's the use? And now here you go,
risking getting a piece of lead thrown in you,

[169]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

all because of a few names scrawled on a
piece of paper. Here it's the first time you've
been back. It's a hell of a home-coming —
that's what I say. I told you you hadn't
ought to have come. Now there's the fire.
Why not forget it and burn it up, and then
it's over just as neat as neat, and then we're
aboard, and after the pearls again. Why,
what must the boy be thinking of all this?
He must be thinking he's got a hell-cat
for a father. That's what he |must be
thinking."

'That will do," said my father coldly,
and he rose slowly from his chair, and stood
squarely in front of me.

"Tie that boy up, Brutus," he com-
manded. "It is a compliment, my son.
My opinion of you is steadily rising. Tie
him up, Brutus. You will find a rope on the
chimney piece."

He stood close to me, evidently pleased
at the convulsive anger which had gripped
me. Brutus was still fumbling on the
mantlepiece. Ned Aiken's pipe had dropped
from his mouth. It was Mademoiselle who
was the first to intervene.

"Are you out of your senses?" she de-
manded, seizing him by the arm. "It is too
much, captain, I tell you it is too much.

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

Think what you are doing, and send the
black man off."

"I have been thinking the matter over
for some time," replied my father tran-
quilly, "and I have determined to do the
thing thoroughly. If he cannot like me,
it is better for him to hate me, and may
save trouble. Tie him up, Brutus."

"Bear away!" cried Mr. Aiken harshly.
"Mind yourself, sir."

His warning, however, was late in coming.
I had sprung at my father before the sen-
tence was finished. It was almost the only
time I knew him to miscalculate. He must
have been taken unaware, for he stepped
backward too quickly, and collided with
the very chair he had quitted. It shook his
balance for the moment, so that he thrust a
hand behind him to recover himself, and in
the same instant I had the volume of
Rabelais. I leapt for the open doorway, but
Ned Aiken was there to intercept me. Brutus
was up behind me with his great hands
clamping down on my shoulders. I turned
and hurled the volume in the fireplace.

My father caught it out almost before it
landed. With all the deliberation of a con-
noisseur examining an old and rare edition,
he turned the pages with his slim fingers.

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

There, as he had said, was the paper, with
the same red seals that I had admired the

Erevious evening. He placed it slowly in
is inside pocket, and tossed the book on
the floor.

"Now here's a pretty kettle of fish," said
Mr. Aiken.

My father was watching me thoughtfully.

"Take your hands off him, Brutus," he
said, "and bring out the horse."

For a second longer we stood motionless,
each watching the other. Then my father
crossed to the long table near which I was
standing, picked up the pistols that Brutus
h;ul left there, and slipped them into his
capacious side pockets.

"You disappoint me, Henry," he re-
marl "You should have used those
pistols."

"I had thought of them," I answered.

"I am glad of that," he said. "It is a
relief to know you did not overlook them.
You were right, Mademoiselle. I should
have known better than to treat him so.
\Vc have ceased to play the game, my son.
It only remains to take my leave. I shall
not trouble you again."

He was standing close beside me. Was it

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

possible his eyes were a little wistful, and
his voice a trifle sad ?

" I thought I should be glad to leave you,"
he said, "and somehow I am sorry. Odd
that we can never properly gauge our emo-
tions. I feel that you will be a very blithe
and active gentleman in time, and there are
not so many left in these drab days. Ah,
well "

His sword was lying on the table. He
drew it, and tucked the naked blade under
his arm. In spite of the two candles which
Brutus had left, the shadows had closed
about us, so that his figure alone remained
distinct in the yellow light, slender and
carelessly elegant. I think it pleased him to
have us all three watching. Any gathering,
however small, that he might dominate,
appeared to give him enjoyment — his leave
taking not less than the others.

"It is growing dark, Mr. Aiken," he
observed, "and our position is not without
its drawbacks. Call in the men from out-
side, and take them aboard and give them
a measure of rum. No one will disturb me
before I leave, I think. You had better
weigh at once, and never mind your running
lights till it is time for them."

" So you're going to do it," said Mr. Aiken.

[ 173 ]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN
I might have known you wouldn't listen to

reason."
«

You should have sailed with me long
enough," said my father, "to know I never
do."

"And you not even dressed for it," added
Mr. Aiken. " You might be going to a party,
so' you might."

"I think," replied my father, "the even-
ing will be more interesting than a purely
social affair. Keep the Sea Tern well off,
and we shall meet only too soon again/

"Why don't I take the boy along," Mr.
Aiken suggested, eyeing me a little fur-
tively. "He'd be right useful where we're
going, and the sea would do him good, so it
would."

44 1 fancy you'll have enough bother with-
out him," replied my father. "Personally
I have found him quite distracting during
my short visit."

"" 1 k-11," said Mr. Aiken, ';he wouldn't be
no trouble, but he looks fair ugly here, so
he does, and he knows too much. No offense,
sir, but he's too up and coming to be left
alone with an ignorant nigger."

My father shrugged his shoulders.

" Brutus is fond of the boy. He will not
hurt him."

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"But the boy might hurt the nigger,"
said Mr. Aiken.

My father nodded blandly toward the
hall.

"And you might be seasick," he said.

"Har," roared Mr. Aiken, seemingly
struck by the subtle humor of the remark.
"Damned if you wouldn't joke if the deck
was blowing off under you. Damned if I
ever seen the likes of you now, captain."

Still under the spell of mirth he left us.
The house door closed behind him, and
Brutus glided into the room.

"Mademoiselle," said my father bowing,
"I am sorry the cards have fallen so we must

Fart. If you had as few pleasant things as
to remember, you also might understand
how poignantly I regret it, even though I
know it is for the best. It is time you were
leaving such low company."

"I have found it pleasant sometimes,"
she replied a little wistfully. "It takes very
little to please me, captain."

"Sometimes," he replied, smiling, "any-
thing is pleasant, but only sometimes.
Your brother has been notified, Mademoi-
selle. You should hear from him in a little
while now, when this hurry and bustle is
over, and when you see him, give him my

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regards and my regrets. And Mademoiselle "
— he hesitated an instant — "would you
think it insolent if I said I sometimes wished
— Mon Dieu, Mademoiselle, do not take it
so. It was entirely unpardonable of me."

Mademoiselle had hidden her face in her
hands. My father, frowning slightly, rubbed
his thumb along his sword blade.

" Forgive me, if you can," he said. "I
have often feared my manners would fail
me sometime."

She looked up at him then, and her eyes
were very bright.

"Suppose," she said softly, "I told you
there was nothing to forgive. Suppose I
said "

My father, bowing his lowest, politely
and rather hastily interrupted.

"Mademoiselle would be too kind. She
would have forgotten that it is quite im-
possible."

"No," said Mademoiselle, shaking her
head slowly, "it is not impossible. You
should have known better than to say that.
Suppose — " her voice choked a little, as
though the words hurt her — "suppose I
bade you recall, captain, what you said on
the stairs at Blanzy, when they were at the

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

door and you were going to meet them.
Do you remember?"

My father smiled, and made a polite
little gesture of assumed despair. Then his
voice, very slow and cool, broke in on her
speech and stilled it.

"Good God, Mademoiselle, one cannot
remember everything."

Playing with the hilt of his sword, he
stepped nearer, still smiling, still watching
her with a polished curiosity.

"I have said so many little things to
women in my time, so many little nothings.
It is hard to remember them all. They
have become confused now, and blended
into an interesting background, whose ele-
ments I can no longer separate. Your
pardon, my lady, but I have forgotten,
forgotten so completely that even the stairs
seem merely a gentle blur."

And he pressed his hand over his brow
and sighed, while he watched her face flush
crimson.

"You lie!" she cried. "You have not
forgotten!"

My father ceased to smile.

"And suppose I have not," he said.
"What is it to Mademoiselle? What are
the words of a ruined man, the idle speech

[177]

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of a fool who fancied he would sup that
night in paradise, and what use is it to
recall them now? Is it possible you believe
I am touched by such trivial matters?
Because everyone had done what you wish,
do you think I shall also? Do you think you
can make me give up the paper, as though
I were a simpering, romantic fool in Paris?
Do you think I have gone this far to turn
back? Mademoiselle seems to forget that
I have the game in my own hands. It
would be a foolish thing to throw it all
away, even "

He paused, and bowed again.

"Even for you, Mademoiselle. I have
arrived where I am today only for one
reason. Can you not guess it? It was a
pleasure to take you from Blanzy. It is
business now, and they cannot be combined.

"Listen, Mademoiselle," he continued.
"Not three miles off the harbor mouth is
a French ship tacking back and forth, and
not entirely for pleasure. Around this house
at present are enough men to run your
estates at Blanzy. A sloop has come into
the harbor this morning, and has landed
its crew for my especial benefit. A dozen
of Napoleon's agents are waiting to spring
at my throat. I have succeeded so that

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

there is not a man in town who would not
be glad to see me on a yard arm. And yet
they are waiting, Mademoiselle. Is it not
amusing? Can you guess why they are
waiting?"

He took a pinch of snuff and dusted his
fingers.

"Because they fear that I may burn the
paper if they disturb me. They believe if
they keep hidden, if I do not suspect, that I
may venture forth. They hope to take me
alive, or kill me, and still obtain the paper.
Indeed, it is their one hope. It would be
a pity to disappoint them/1

His lips had parted, and his eyes were
shining in the candle light.

" There are few things which move me
now, my lady. All that I really enjoy is an
amusing situation, and this one is very
amusing. Do you think I have crossed the
ocean to deliver this document, and then
I shall stop? No, Mademoiselle, you are
mistaken."

He bowed again, and stepped backwards
towards the door.

"Pray do likewise, Mademoiselle, and
forget," he said. " There is nothing in this
little episode fit for you to remember. It
is not you they are after, and you will be

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THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

quite safe here. I have made sure of that.
My son will remain until your brother
arrives, and will dispense what hospitality
you require.

"I trust," he added, turning to me, "you
still remember why you have been here?"

" Indeed, yes," I answered.

"Then it is good-bye, Henry. I shall not
bother to offer you my hand. Brutus, you
will remain with my son until a quarter to

seven."

Even now I cannot tell what made a mist
come over my eyes and a lump in my throat
any more than I can explain my subsequent
actions on that evening. Was it possible I
was sorry to see the last of him ? Or was it
simply self pity that shortened my breath
and made my voice seem broken and dis-
cordant?

"And after that?" I asked.

He looked at me appraisingly, tapping
his thin fingers on his sword hilt.

"After that—" He stared thoughtfully
at the shadows of the darkened room. Was
he thinking as I was, of the wasted years
and what the end would be?

"After that," he repeated, half to him-
self, "come, I will make an appointment
with you after that — on the other side of

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the Styx, my son. I shall be waiting there,
I promise you, and we shall drink some
corked ambrosia. Surely the gods must give
a little to the shades, or at any rate, Brutus
shall steal some. And then perhaps you shall
tell me what happened after that. I shall
look forward — I shall hope, even, that it
may be pleasant. Good-bye, my son/'

I think he had often planned that leave
taking, Surely it must have satisfied him.

[181]

XIII

He was gone, like the shades of which he
had spoken, and Mademoiselle and I were
left staring at the black rectangle of the
broken door. I drew a deep breath and
looked about me quickly. It seemed some-
how as though a spell were broken, as though
the curtain had lowered on some final act in
the theatre. Slowly my mind seemed to
free itself from a hundred illusions, and to
move along more logical paths. Brutus went
to the arms rack in the corner, and selected
a rusted cutlass from the small arms that
still rested there, thrust it at me playfully
and grinned. For a minute or even more,
the single log that was still burning in the
fireplace hissed drowsily, and I could hear
the vines tapping gently on the windows.
Then I heard a pistol shot, followed by a
hoarse cry. Mademoiselle started to her
feet, and then sank back in her chair again,
and from where I was standing I could see
that her face was white and her hands were
trembling. So she loved him. My hand

ripped hard against the back of a chair.

Vhy should I have hoped she did not?

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

" God ! " she gasped. ' 'I have killed him !"

"You?" I cried, but she did not answer.

"Huh!" said Brutus, and his grin grew
broader. "Monsieur's pistol. He kill him."

"Indeed," I said, for the sense of unreality
was still strong upon me. "And whom did
he kill, Brutus?"

Brutus cocked his head to one side, and
listened. Somewhere behind came a con-
fusion of shouts and the thudding of horses'
hoofs.

"He kill Mr. Jason Hill/' said Brutus.

"Are you sure?" Mademoiselle demanded
sharply.

Brutus nodded, and the dull, fixed look
went out of her eyes, and slowly a touch of
color returned to her cheeks.

And then there was a clamor of voices and
a tramp of feet and a crash on the door
outside.

Brutus looked about him in wild inde-

cision.

M

We have callers," I observed, doing my
best to keep my voice calm. "Who are
they, Brutus?"

Brutus, however, had forgotten me, and
had sprung into the hall. At almost the
same instant, someone must have dis-
covered that the door was unlocked, for a

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

sudden draught eddied through the passage.
Then there was a confused babel of voices, to
which I did not listen. I was busy swinging
up the sash of the nearest window.

"Quickly, Mademoiselle!" I whispered.

"Damn it!" someone shouted from the
hall. "There's another of /em!'1 And there
came the crack of a pistol that echoed
loudly in the passage.

"It is time we were going," I said. "Out
of the window, Mademoiselle!"

In my haste I almost pushed her from
the sill to the lawn, and was leaning towards
her.

"Mademoiselle, listen! The stables are
straight to the left. Can you saddle a
horse?"

She nodded.

"The first stall to the right. I shall be
there in an instant!" For I remembered my
sword, and sprang back into the room to
get^it.

"Get that man!" someone was shouting.
"In after him, you fools! Don't shoot in
the dark!"

I had a glimpse of Brutus darting through
the passage and making a leap for the
stairs. Then there was a crash of glass.

"Begad!" came a hoarse voice. "He's

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jumped clean through the window!" And
another pistol exploded from the landing
above me.

"Five hundred dollars for the man who
gets him." I could swear I had heard the
voice before. "Damn it! Don't let him go!
Out the door, all of you! Out the door, men!
Out the door!"

There was a rush of feet through the
passage. I had a glimpse of men running
past, and then I was half out the window.

"Stop!" someone shouted. I took a
hasty glance behind me to find that my
Uncle Jason had entered the morning room,
his clothing torn and disarranged, the good
nature erased from his face, and a gash on
his left cheek that still was bleeding.

"Stop!" he shouted again, "or I fire!"

Then I was out on the lawn with the cool
air from the river on my face, and running
for the stable. I wonder what would have
happened if the evening had been less far
advanced, or the sky less overcast, or
Mademoiselle less adroit than providence
had made her. She had bridled the horse
and was swinging the saddle on him when I
had reached the stable's shadow. I could
hear my uncle shouting for assistance as I

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

tightened the girths, but Brutus must have
led his men a pretty chase.

I mounted unmolested, as I somehow
knew I should, and helped her up behind
me. Somehow with that first crasn on our
front door, I knew that the game had
turned. I knew that nothing would stop
me. An odd sense of exaltation came over
me, and with it a strange desire to laugh.
It would be amusing enough when I met my
father, but I wondered — I wondered as I
clapped my heels into my horse's flanks.

What had_my uncle to do in this affair ?

[186]

XIV

It was just that time in an autumn day
when the light is fading out of the sky.
The thick, heavy mists that the cold air
encourages were rolling in chill and heavy
from the river and leveling the hollow
places in the land. The clouds were still a
claret colored purple in the west, but in
another few minutes that color would be
gone. The shapes around us were fast
losing their distinctiveness, and their out-
lines were becoming more and more a matter
for the memory, and not the eye. And it
seems to me that I never knew the air to
seem more fresh and sweet.

We had broken into a sharp gallop down
the rutted lane. The house, gaunt and
spectral, and bleaker and more forbidding
than the darkening sky, was behind us, and
ahead were the broad level meadows, check-
ered with little clumps of willow and cedars,
as meadows are that lie near the salt
marshes. I had feared we might be inter-
cepted at our gate, but I was mistaken. We
had swerved to the left and were thudding

[is?]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

down the level road, when an exclamation
from Mademoiselle made me turn in my
saddle. My look must have been a some-
what blank interrogation, for Mademoiselle
was laughing.

"To think/' she cried, "I should have
said you resembled your mother! Where
are we going, Monsieur?0

But I think she knew without my answer-
ing, for she laughed again, and I did not
entirely blame her. It was pleasant enough
to leave our house behind. It was pleasant
to feel the bite of the salt wind, and to see
the trees and the rocks by the roadside
slip past us, gaunt and spectral in the
evening. I knew the road well enough,
which was fortunate, even when we turned
off the beaten track over a trail which was
hardly as good as a foot path. I was forced
to reduce our pace to a walk, but I was con-
fident that it did not make much difference.
Once on the path, the farm was not half a
mile distant, just behind a ridge of rocks
that was studded by a stunted undergrowth
of wind beaten oak. I knew the place. I
could already picture the gaping black
windows, the broken, sagging ridge pole,
and the crumbling chimney. For years the
wind had blown sighing through its deserted

[188]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

rooms, while the rain rotted the planking.
It was not strange that its owners had left
it, for I can imagine no more mournful or
desolate spot. Our own house, three miles
away, was its nearest neighbor, and scarcely
a congenial one. Around it was nothing but
rain sogged meadows that scarcely rose
above the salt marshes that ran to the dunes
where the Atlantic was beating.

As I stared grimly ahead, I could picture
her there behind me, the wind whipping
the color to her cheeks and playing with her
hair, her eyes bright and gay in the half-
light. Save for the steady plodding of the
horse, it was very still. I fancied that she
had leaned nearer, that her shoulder was
touching mine, that I could feel her breath
on my cheek. Then she spoke, and her
voice was almost a whisper.

"It was good of you to take me with
you," she said.

"Surely, Mademoiselle," I replied, "You
did not think that I would leave you?"

"I should, if I had been you," she an-
swered, "I was rude to you, Monsieur, and
unjust to you this morning. You see I did
not know."

'You did not know?"

"That the son would be as brave and as

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

resourceful as the father. You are, Mon-
sieur, and yet you are different."

"Yes," I said.

"And I am glad, glad," said Mademoi-
selle.

"And I am sorry you are glad," I said.

"You are sorry?"

"Perhaps, Mademoiselle," I replied with a
tinge of bitterness I could not suppress,
"if I had seen more of the world, if my
clothes were in better taste, and my man-
ners less abrupt — you would feel differently.
I wonder. But let us be silent, for we are
almost there."

As we drew near, making our way through
damp thickets, a sense of uneasiness came
over me. Somehow I feared we might be too
late, though I knew that this was hardly
possible. I feared, and yet I knew well
enough it was written somewhere that we
should meet once more. With six men after
him he would not have ridden straight to
the place. We should meet, and it would be
different from our other meetings. I wished
that it was light enough to see his face.

At a turn of the path I reined up and
listened. It was very still. Already the light
had gone out of the sky, and little was left

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

of the land about us, save varying tones of
black. Had he gone?

I cautiously dismounted. In a minute
we should see. In a minute — Then Made-
moiselle interrupted me, and I was both
astonished and irritated, for my nerves
were more on edge than I cared to have
them. She was right. She was never over-
wrought.

"We are there?" she inquired.

"Softly, Mademoiselle," I cautioned her.
"If you will dismount, you can see the place.
It is not three hundred feet beyond the
thicket. So! You will admit it is not much
to look at. If you will hold the horse's head,
I will go forward."

I did not listen to an objection that she
was framing, but slipped hastily through
the trees. As the ugly mass of the house
took a more certain shape before me, I felt
my pulse beat more rapidly, and not en-
tirely through elation. Even today when I
look at a place that men have built and
then abandoned, something of the same
feeling comes over me, but not as strongly
as it did that evening. It was another matter
that made me hesitate. From the shadow of
the doorway I heard a sound which was too
much like the raising of a pistol hammer not

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

to make me remember that a sword was all
I carried.

"There is no need to cock that pistol,"
I said, in a tone which I hoped sounded
more confident than my state of mind. I
halted, but there was no answer and no
further sound.

"I said," I repeated, raising my voice,
"there is no need to cock that pistol. It is a
friend of Captain Shelton who is speaking."

"So," said a voice in careful, precise
English. "Walk three paces forward, if you
please, and slowly, v-e-r-y slowly. Now.
lou are a friend of the captain?"

"In a sense," I replied. "I am his son.
I have come to you with a message."

"So," said the voice again, and I saw that
a man was seated before me on the stone
that had served as a doorstep, a man who
was balancing a pistol in the palm of his
hand.

"I fear I have been rude," he said, "but
I find this place — what shall I say? —
annoying. Your voices are alike, and I
know he has a son. You say you bring a
message?"

I had thought what to say.

"It is about the paper," I began. "The

[192]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

captain was to bring it to you here, and
now he finds he cannot/'

"Cannot?" he said, with the rising inflec-
tion of another language than ours. " Can-
not?"

"Rather," I corrected myself hastily,
"he finds it more expedient to meet you
elsewhere."

"Ah," he said, "that is better. For a
moment I feared the captain was dead.
So the paper — he still has it?"

"He not only has it," I said, "but he is
ready to give it to you — at another place he
has named. You are a stranger to the
country here?"

My question was not a welcome one.

"Absolute!" he replied with conviction.
"Do you take me for a native of these sink
holes ? Mon Dieu ! Does your mud so com-
pletely cover me? But surely it must be this
cursed darkness, or you would have said dif-
ferently. Where is this other place?"

I was glad it was too dark for him to see
my smile.

"Unfortunately I cannot guide you there,"
I said, "for I am to stop here in case I am
followed. We have had to be careful, rery
careful indeed — you understand?"

Impatiently he shifted his position.

[193]

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"For six months," he replied irritably,
"I have been doing nothing else — careful—
always careful. It becomes unbearable, but
where is this place you speak of — in some
other bog?"

I pointed to the left of the trees where
Mademoiselle was standing.

"I quite understand," I said politely,
"even a day with this paper is quite enough,
but it is not a bog and you can reach it

Suite easily. You see where I point? Simply
}llow that field in that direction for half a
mile, perhaps, and you will come to a road.
Turn to your right, and after three miles
you will see a house, the first house you will
meet, in fact. It has a gambrel roof and
overlooks the river. Simply knock on the
door so — one knock, a pause, and three in
succession. It will be understood. You
have a horse?"

" What is left of him," he replied, " though
the good God knows how he has carried me
along this far. Yes, he is attached to a post.
Well, we are off, and may the paper stay
still till we get it. You wait here?"

"In case we are followed," I said.

He pointed straight before him.

"I have been hearing noises over there,
breaking of branches and shouts."

[194]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

'Then in the name of heaven ride on,"
I said, and added as an afterthought, "and
turn out to the side if you see anyone
coming."

The pleasure I took in seeing him leave
was not entirely unalloyed. As I walked to
the oak thicket where Mademoiselle was
waiting, I even had some vague idea of
calling him back, for I do not believe in
doing anyone a turn that is worse than
necessary. Yet there was only one other way
I could think of to keep him silent, besides
sending him where he was going. She was
feeding the horse handfuls of grass.

"It is quite all right, Mademoiselle," I
said. "Let us move to the house. It may
be more comfortable in the doorway."

We stood silently for a while, listening to
the wind and the dull monotonous roar of
the surf, while the night grew blacker.
I listened attentively, but there was no
sound. Surely he was coming.

"Tell me, Monsieur," said Mademoiselle,
what sort of woman was your mother?"

Unbidden, a picture of her came before
me, that seemed strangely out of place"

"She was very beautiful," I said.

She sighed.

"And very proud," said Mademoiselle.

c<

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Yes, very proud. Why did she call him a
thief, Monsieur ?"

But I did not answer.

"You are certain your father is coming?"
she asked finally.

"I think there is no doubt," I told her.
"I have seen him ride, Mademoiselle. It
would take more than a dozen men to lay
hands on him. They should have known
better than let him leave the house. Listen,
Mademoiselle! I believe you can hear him

now/'

My ears were quicker in those days.
For a minute we listened in silence, and then
on the wind I heard more distinctly still
the regular thud of a galloping horse.
So he was coming, as I knew he would. I
knew he would be methodical and accurate.

"Yes, Mademoiselle,1' I continued, "my
father has many accomplishments, but this
time even he may be surprised. Who
knows, Mademoiselle? Pray step back
inside the doorway until I call you.

But she did not move.

"No/1 said Mademoiselle, "I prefer to
stay where I am. I have seen too much of
you and your father to leare you alone
together."'

[196]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"But surely, Mademoiselle/' I protested,
"you forget why we have come."

"Yes," she answered quickly, "yes, you
are right. I do forget. I have seen too much
of this, too much of utter useless folly —
too many men dying, too many suffering
for a hopeless cause. I have seen three men
lying dead in our hall, and as many more
wounded. I have seen a strong man turned
into a blackguard. I have seen a son turned
against his father, and all for a bit of paper
which should never have been written. I
hate it — do you hear me? — and if I forget
it, it is because I choose. I forget it be-
cause— " She seemed about to tell me more,
and then to think better of it. "Surely you
see, surely you see you cannot. He is your
father, Monsieur, the man who is coming
here."

'Mademoiselle," I replied, "you are far
too kind. I hardly think he or I have much
reason to hold our lives of any particular
ralue, but as you have said, my father was a
gentleman once, and gentlemen very seldom
kill their sons, nor gentlemen's sons their
fathers. Pray rest assured, Mademoiselle, it
will be a quiet interview. I beg you, be
silent, for he is almost here."

I was not mistaken. A horse was on the

[197]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

path we followed, running hard, and crashing
recklessly through the bushes. Before I
had sight of him I heard my father's voice.

"Ives!" he called sharply. "Where the
devil are you?"

And in an instant he was at the door, his
horse breathing in hard, sobbing breaths,
and he had swung from the saddle as I went
forward to meet him.

"Here," he said, "take it, and be off.
Those fools have run me over half the state.
In fact," he continued in the calm tones
I remember best, "in fact, I have seldom had
a more interesting evening. I was fired on
before I had passed the gate, and chased
as though I carried the treasures of the Raj.
I have your word never to tell where you
got it. Never mind my reasons, or the
thanks either. Take it Ives. It has saved
me so many a dull day that it has quite
repaid my trouble."

There he was, half a pace away, and yet
he did not know me. I think it was that,
more than anything else, which robbed
me of my elation. To him the whole thing
seemed an ordinary piece of business. I
saw him test his girth, preparatory to
mounting again, saw him slowly readjust
his cloak, and then I took the paper he
handed me and buttoned it carefully in my
inside pocket. He turned to his horse

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

again and laid a hand on his withers, but
still he did not mount. I think he was
staring into the night before him and lis-
tening, as I had been. Then he turned again
slowly, and half faced me. On the wind, far
off" still, but nevertheless distinct, was the
sound of voices.

"It is time we were going," said my
father. "I only gave them the slip five
minutes back. It was closer work tnan I
had expected."

And then he started, and looked at me
more intently through the darkness.

"Name of the devil!" said my father.
"How did you get here?"

But that was all. He never even started.
His hand still rested tranquilly on the reins
and he still half faced me. Had it been so
on that other night long ago, when his world
crumbled to ruins about him? Did he
always win and lose with the same passive
acquiescence? Did nothing ever astonish
him? There was a moment's silence, and
I felt his eyes on me, and suddenly became
very cautious. I knew well enough he
would not let it finish in such a manner,
but what could he do? The game was in
my hands.

[199]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Quite simply/' I told him. "Mv horse
was in the stable."

When he spoke again his voice was still
pleasantly conversational.

"And Brutus?" he asked. "Where the
devil was Brutus ? Surely the age of miracles
is past. Or do I see before me— " he bowed
with all his old courtesy— "another David?'

"Brutus," I replied, "jumped through a
second story window."

"Indeed?" he said. "He always was
most agile."

"He was," I replied. "Not five minutes
after you left, Uncle Jason arrived."

My father removed his hand from the
reins and looped them through his arm.

"Indeed?" he said. "He came in heels
first, I trust?"

'No," I said, "he is alive and well."

"The devil!" said my father, and sighed.
"I am growing old, my son. I know my
horse spoiled my aim, and yet he fell, and I
rode over him. I had hoped to be finished
with your Uncle Jason. You say he entered
the house?"

"And told me to stop," I said.

"And you did not?"

"No," I replied. "I succeeded in getting
out of a window also."

[aooj

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

And then, although I could not see him,
I knew he had undergone a change, and I
knew that I was facing a different man.

His hand fell on my shoulder, and to my
surprise, it was trembling.

"God!" he cried, in a voice that was sud-
denly harsh and forbidding. "Do you mean
to tell me you left Mademoiselle, and never
struck a blow? You left her there?"

"Not entirely," I replied.

My father became very gentle.

"Will you be done with this?" he said.
"The lady, where is she now?"

And then, half to himself he added.

"How was I to know they would break in
the house after I had gone?"

"Mademoiselle," I replied, "is not fifteen
feet away."

His hand went up to the clasp of his
cloak, and again his voice became pleasantly
conversational.

"Ah, that is better," said my father.
"And so you got the paper after all. Yes,
I am growing old, my son. I appear to
have bungled badly. Do you hope to keep
the paper?"

In the distance I heard a voice again
raised in a shout. Surely he understood.

[201]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"They are coming/' I said. "Yes, I
intend to keep the paper."

" Indeed ?" said my father. "Perhaps you
will explain how, my son. I have had an
active evening, but you — I confess you go
quite ahead of me."

" Because," I said, "you are not anxious
to go back to France, father, and you are
almost on your way there."

"No, not to France," he answered, and
I knew he saw my meaning.

"And yet they are coming to take you.
If you so much as offer to touch me again,

I shall call them, father, and we shall go
back together. Your horse is tired. He
cannot go much further."

He was silent for a moment, and I pru-
dently stepped back.

"You might shoot me, of course," I
added, "but a pistol shot would be equally
good. Listen ! 1 can hear them on the road. '

But oddly enough, he was not disturbed.

"On the road, to be sure," said my father.

II You are right, Henry, you may keep the
paper. But tell me one thing more. Was
there no one here when you arrived?"

" There was," I said, "but I sent him
away — to our house, father."

[202]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

He sighed and smoothed his cloak
thoughtfully.

"I fear that I have become quite hope-
less. As you say, if I fire a pistol, they will
come, and now I can hardly see any reason
to keep them away. So you sent him to the
house, my son? And Jason is still alive?
And you have got the paper? Can it be that
I have failed in everything? Strange how
the cards fall even if we stack the deck.
Ah, well, then it is the pistols after all."

There was a blinding flash and the roar
of a weapon close beside me, and I heard
Mademoiselle scream. My father turned to
quiet his horse.

"Do not be alarmed, Mademoiselle," he
said gently, "we are not killing each other.
I am merely using a somewhat rigorous
method of bringing my son to his senses."

He paused, reached under his cloak, drew
a second pistol and fired again. From the
road there came a sound that seemed to
ring pleasantly to my father's ears.

"Nearer than I thought," he said brightly.
'They should be here in three minutes at the
outside. Shall we sit a while and talk, my
son? It is gloomy here, I admit, but still,
it has its advantages. They thought my
rendezvous was ten miles to the north.

[203]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

Lord, what fools they were! Lawton bit
at the letter I let him seize as though it
were pork. Ah, if it had not been for Jason !
Well, everything must have an ending.*'

He threw his bridle over his arm, and was
walking toward the doorstep, lightly buoy-
ant, as though some weight were lifted from
his mind. Hastily I seized his arm.

"Stop!" I cried. "What is to become of
Mademoiselle? We cannot leave her here
like this. Have you forgotten she is with
us?"

Seemingly still unhurried, he paused, and
glanced toward the road, and tnen back at
me, and then for the first time he laughed,
and his laughter, genuine and care-free, gave
me a start which the sound of his pistol had
not. The incongruity of it set my nerves on
edge. WTas there nothing that would give
him genuine concern?

u)od God, sir!" I shouted furiously.
"There's nothing to laugh about! Don't
you hear them coming?"

"Ah," said my father, "I thought that
would fetch you. So you have come to your
senses then, and we can go on together?
Untie your horse, Henry, while I charge the
pistols."

My hand was on the bridle rein, when a

[204]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

shout close by us made me loosen the knot
more quickly than I intended. I could make
out the black form of a horseman moving
towards us at full gallop.

"It must be Lawton," observed my father
evenly. "He is well mounted, and quite
reckless. I suppose we had better be going.
I shall help Mademoiselle, if she will permit.
No, it is not Lawton. I am sorry."

He raised his arm and fired. My horse
started at the sound of his shot, and as I
tried to quiet him, I saw my father lift
Mademoiselle to the saddle.

"Yes," he said again, "I think it is time
to be going. These men seem to have a most
commendable determination. Ha! There
are two more of them. Put your horse to the
gallop, my son. The tide is out, and we can
manage the marsh."

'The marsh!" I exclaimed.

"Quite," he replied tranquilly. "If Bru-
tus is alive, he will have a boat near the
dunes opposite. It seems as though we
might be obliged to take an ocean voyage."

It seemed to me he had gone quite mad.
The marsh, he knew as well as I, was as full
of holes as a piece of cheese. Even in the
daytime one could hardly ride across it.
And then I knew that what he said was true,,

[205]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

that he would stop at nothing; and sud-
denly a fear came over me. For the first
time I feared the quiet, pleasant man who
rode beside my bridle rein, as though we
were traversing the main street of our town.

"Ah," said my father, "it is pleasant to
have a little exercise. Give him the spurs
Henry. We shall either get across or we shall
not. There is no use being cautious."

I put my horse over a ditch, and straight
ahead, I may have ridden four hundred
yards with the even beating of his horse
behind me, before what I feared happened.
My horse stumbled, and the pull of my
bridle barely got him up again. I gave him
the spur, but he was failing. In a quarter
of a minute he had fallen again, and this
time the bridle did not raise him. I sprang
free of him before he had entirely slipped
down in the soft sea mud. He was lashing
about desperately, nor could I get him to
answer when I pulled at the bridle. My
father reined up beside me and dismounted.

"His leg is broken," he said. "It is inop-
portune. Ah, they are still after us." And
he turned to look behind him.

"Why are you waiting?" I cried. "Ride
on, sir!"

"And leave you here with the paper in

[206]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

your pocket?" said my father. "The fall
has quite got the better of you. The other
pistol, Mademoiselle, if you have finished
loading it. Here they come, to be sure.
Would you not think the fools would realize
I can hit them?"

He fired into the darkness and a riderless
horse ran almost on top of us. With a snort
of fright, he reared and wheeled, and a
second shot answered my father's.

"Ah," said my father, "they always will
shoot before they can see. The pistol from
the holster, if you please, Mademoiselle."

They had not realized we had halted, for
the last rider charged past us before he
could check himself. I had a glimpse of
his face, white against the night, and I saw
him tug furiously at his bit — an unfortunate
matter, so it happened, for the footing
beneath the marsh grass was bad, and his
horse slewed and fell on top of him.

"Pah!" exclaimed my father. "It is
almost sad to watch them. Let us go, Henry.
He is knocked even more senseless than he
was before. Keep the saddle, Mademoiselle,
and we will lead you across. I fancy that
is the last of them for a moment."

So we tumbled through the mud at a
walk, slipping noisily at every step, but

[207]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

my father was correct in his prophecy. Only
the noise of our progress interrupted us.
The sand dunes were becoming something
more than a shadow. My father walked
in tranquil silence at the bridle, while I
trudged beside him.

"Are you hurt, Captain?1' Mademoiselle
demanded.

"Indeed not," he replied. "What was
there to hurt me? I was thinking. That is
all; but why do you ask, my lady? "

"Only," said Mademoiselle, "because you
have been silent for the past five minutes,
and you never are more gay than when you
embark on an adventure. I never heard
you say two words, Captain, until that
night on the Loire."

"Let us forget the Loire," replied my
father. "Shall I be quite frank with you,
Mademoiselle?"

"It would be amusing," she admitted,
leaning from the saddle towards him, "if
it were only possible," she added.

"Then listen, Mademoiselle," he con-
tinued, "and I shall be very frank indeed.
It must be the sea air which makes me so. I
seldom talk unless I feel that my days for
talking are nearly over, and at present they
seem to stretch before me most intermin-

[208]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

ably. In a moment we shall see the boat,
and in a moment the Sea Tern. I fear I
have been very foolish."

"Father," I inquired, "will you answer
me a question?"

"Perhaps," said my father.

"What has my uncle to do with the
paper?"

'My son," said my father, "may I ask
you a question ?"

|; Perhaps," I replied.

"How much money did your mother leave
you at her death?"

"She had none to leave," I replied
quickly.

"Ah," said my father, "have you ever
wondered why?"

[<You should be able to tell me," I
answered coldly.

"Indeed," said my father. "But here we
are at the dunes. The boat, my son, do you
see it?"

I scrambled up ahead through the sand
and beach grass, and the white line of the
beach, which even the darkest night can
never hide, lay clear before me. A high
surf was running, and beyond it I could see
three lights, blinking fitfully in the black
and nearer on the white sand was the shadow

[209]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

of a fishing boat, pulled just above the tide
mark. A minute later Brutus came run-
ning toward us.

My father was evidently used to such
small matters. Indeed, the whole affair
seemed such a part of his daily life as to
demand nothing unusual. He glanced casu-
ally at the waves and the boat, tossed off
his cloak on the sand, carefully wrapped his
pistols inside it, and placed the bundle care-
fully beneath a thwart.

"The rocket, Brutus/' said my father.
"If you will get in, Mademoiselle, we will
contrive to push you through the breakers.
Best take your coat off, my son, and place
it over the pistols."

[210]

XV

Brutus had evidently kept a slow match
burning, for with a sudden flare a rocket
flashed into the wind. In the momentary
glare of the light I could see my father, his
lips pressed together more tightly than
usual, but alertly courteous as ever, helping
Mademoiselle over the side, and there was
Brutus grinning at me. Then the light died,
and my father continued giving his direc-
tions.

"Stand by Master Henry at the stern,
Brutus. I shall stay here amidships. Now
into the water when I give the word. Pray
do not be alarmed, Mademoiselle. There is
quite nothing to bother."

A breaker crashed down on the beach
ahead of us.

"Now!" he shouted, and a moment later
we were up to our waists in water that was
stinging in its coldness.

"Get aboard," said my father. "The
oars, Brutus."

Drenched and gasping, I pulled myself
over the side just as we topped a second

[211]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

wave. My father was beside me, as bland
and unconcerned as ever.

"You see, Mademoiselle," he said, "we
are quite safe. The Sea Tern is standing in
already. While Brutus is rowing, my son,
we had better load the pistols."

"Surely we are through with them," I
said. The boat was tossing wildly, and
Brutus was using all his strength and skill
to keep it in the wind.

"Still," said my father, kneeling on the
grating beside me, "let us load them.
Look, Henry, I think we got off in very good
time."

A knot of horsemen were galloping down
the beach we had just quitted.

"They must have taken the old wagon
road," he said. "I had thought as much.
It becomes almost tiresome, this running
away."

He reached for his cloak, placed it over
Mademoiselle's shoulders, and seated him-
self in the stern beside her, apparently for-
getful that he was drenched from head to
foot.

"You are not afraid, Mademoiselle?" he
asked.

"Afraid? Indeed not," I heard her reply,
in a voice that was muffled by the wind.

[212]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"It is a luxury, Captain, which you have
made me do without too long."

"Good/* said my father, a motionless
shadow beside her. "If you cannot trust
yourself, there are plenty of other things to
trust in — God, for example, or the devil,
if you prefer, or even in circumstances.
How useless it is to be afraid when you
remember these! Put the boat up a little
more, Brutus."

And he sat silent, watching the lights of
the ship towards which we were moving with
each tug that Brutus gave the oars. The
ship also was drawing nearer. We could
make out the spars under shortened sail, and
soon we were hailed from the deck. My
father called back, and then there came the
snapping of canvass as they put up the
helm and the ship lost way tossing in the
wind.

Wet and shivering, I watched her draw
toward us. So this was the end after all,
and I was glad it was over — glad that I
would soon be quiet and alone with my
thoughts. Could it have been only yester-
day that I had turned my horse and passed
between the sagging posts that marked
the entrance to his house? Was it only a day
ago I had first seen him leaning back idly

[213]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

in his arm chair by the fire?

My father leaned forward and thrust
something into my hand.

"A pistol, Henry/' he said. "Put it
inside your shirt. It will be a souvenir for
you when you are home again/*

We could hear the waves slapping against
the vessel's sides, and the orders from the
deck above us. As I looked, it seemed a
perilous distance away.

"Alongside, Brutus," said my father.

Two lanterns cast a feeble glow on the
sheets of water that rolled under us, shoulder-
ing our frail boat impatiently in their haste
to move along. Brutus pulled an oar
sharply. I saw a ladder dangling perilously
from the bulwarks. I saw Brutus seize it,
and then our boat, arrested and stationary,
began to toss madly in ill-concerted effort.
Mv father sprang up, balancing himself
lightly and accurately against each sudden
roll.

"Now, Mademoiselle," he said, "we will
get on deck. Brutus will carry you up quite
safely. Hold the ladder, Henry, hold to
it, or we may be in the water again."

His voice was still coldly precise^ not
raised even to a higher pitch.

"You are chilled, my son?" he asked.

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Never mind, we will have brandy in a
moment."

Strange how the years make the path
seem smooth and mellow. As I look back on
it today, boarding the ship seems a light
enough matter, though I know now that
every moment we remained by the ladder,
eternity was staring us in the face. Even
now, when I look back on it, the water is
not what I see, nor Brutus grasping at the
dangling rope, but rather my father, stand-
ing watching the ladder, detached from the
motion and excitement around him, a
passive onlooker to whom what might
happen seemed a matter of small concern.
Brutus, holding Mademoiselle on one arm,
managed the ladder with ready adroitness,
and I followed safely, but not before I had
been hurled against the side with a force
that nearly drove away my breath. I
reached the deck to find a lantern thrust
into my face, and stared into it, for the
moment quite blinded.

"It is the son," remarked a voice which
I thought I remembered, and then my father
followed me.

"We are on board, Mr. Aiken," he called.
"Never mind the boat. Get your men on
the braces, or we'll blow on shore."

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Yes, Captain Shelton," said the voice
again. 'You are on board, to be sure, and
very prettily done. I have been waiting
for you all evening.

"Indeed/* said my father, in his old level
tone, "and who the devil are you?"

"Mr. Sims, Captain," came the reply. "I
managed to seize your ship before it left the
river. It is hard, after so much trouble,
but you are my prisoner, Captain Shelton."

My eyes had become accustomed to the
light. I looked about me to find we were in
the center of a group of men. Mr. Sims,
small and watchful, his face a pale yellow
in the glow, was standing beside a tall man
who held the lantern at arm's length. My
father was facing him about two paces
distant, his hand on the wet and bedraggled
lapel of his coat, his glance vague and
thoughtful, as though he was examining at
his leisure some phenomenon of nature.
Brutus, looking as unpleasant as I had ever
seen him, had half thrust Mademoiselle
behind his back, and stood half crouching,
his eye on my father's hand, his thick lips
moving nervously. My father patted his
coat gently and sighed.

"I must admit," he said, "that this is
surprisingly, indeed, quite delightfully un-

[ai6]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

expected. I hope you have been quite
comfortable."

Mr. Sims permitted himself to smile.

" I told them you were a man of sense,"
he said. " Is it not odd that only you and
I should have imagination and ingenuity?
I knew you would see when the game is
over. My compliments, Captain Shelton.
You deserve to have done better."

"Of course," said my father, with a slow
nod of assent, " I see when the game is over."

"I knew you would be reasonable," said
Mr. Sims. "When it is finished, you and I
stop playing, do we not? I am sorry we
were not on the same side, but I have been
commissioned to take you, captain, for a
little man whom you and I both knew back
in Paris. I have a dozen men aboard now,
who will get us to the harbor. You are a
prisoner of France, as you have doubtless
guessed. We shall all be trans-shipped to
Mr. Jason Hill's schooner, which has been
waiting for you; and now you may go
below."

Still staring thoughtfully before him, my
father rested his chin in the palm of his
hand.

"I remember you now," he said. "And
may I add it is a pleasure to have met you?

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

It is still a pleasure, much as I resent being
taken on board a ship I own."

Mr. Sims bowed ironically.

"And now, Captain, the document, if
you please, unless you care to be searched."

I thought my father had not heard, for he
still looked quite blandly at the lantern.

"Would you mind telling me," he in-
quired, "what became of my crew? You
bribed them, I suppose."

" There was only an anchor watch on deck
when we came on board," said Mr. Sims.
"We drove them below quite easily. The
only man who gave us any trouble was your
master. We had to hit him over the head
when he reached the de^

My father nodded slowly, seemed to lose
his balance on the rolling deck, recovered
himself, and set his feet a trifle wider apart.

"I am sincerely sorry for you, Mr. Sims,"
he said.

But if Mr. Sims ever asked why, it was
in another life than ours. I recall his sudden
bewilderment, but I never have understood
rly how it happened. I remember
Brutus' eyes on my father's hand, as it
moved so gently over his coat. It must have
been some gesture, smooth and impercep-
tible. For suddenly, my father's languor

[218]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

left him, suddenly his lips curled back in a
smile devoid of humor, and he leapt at the
lantern. He leapt, and at the same instant,
as perfectly timed as though the whole
matter had been carefully rehearsed, Brutus'
great bulk had streaked across the deck,
crashing towards Mr. Sims like an unleashed
fury. The speed of it, the unexpectedness,
the sheer audacity, held the men around us
motionless. Mr. Sims had barely time to
level the pistol he was holding; but when he
fired the deck was in darkness.

"This way, Mademoiselle," came my
father's voice, and I ran towards it. "Hold
them off, Brutus," he was calling. "Ha!
It is you, my son."

While he was speaking, he darted lightly
aft, and I followed. Behind me came the
confused bable of struggling men. Someone
was calling for a light, and someone was
shrieking for help. A man with a lantern
was running forward. I tripped him and we
fell together, and then I felt a hand on my
collar. It dragged me to my feet. I struck
at it blindly, while I felt myself being half
pulled, half carried through the black.
And then I heard my father's voice again,
close beside me, as slow and cold as ever.

"Close the door, Brutus," he said. "Listen

[219]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

to them. They must think we are still
there."

And then I knew what had happened.
Brutus had dragged me with him, and we
were in a cabin. I heard my father fumbling
about in the dark.

"Ah," he said, "here is the powder.
Load these pistols, Brutus. Gently, you
fool! Do you want to kill me?"

'You are hurt, captain," cried Made-
moiselle.

"It is not worth troubling over," said my
father. "And you, my lady, you are quite
all right? I fear I handled you roughly.
I was afraid for a moment we might be
inconvenienced."

:id now," I said sarcastically, speaking
into the darkness before me, "I suppose our
troubles are over."

"I think so," replied my father. "Now
that Brutus has thrown Mr. Sims over-
board. It might be different if he were still
with us. He seemed to be a determined and
resourceful man. We are in the after cabin,
ry, quite the pleasantest one on the
ship, and not ten paces from the wheel."

Still out of breath, still confused, I tried
to look, but could see nothing. I could only
smell the pungent odor of tarred rope and

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

stale tobacco smoke. Having finished speak-
ing, I could hear my father still moving
about deliberately and moderately, seem-
ingly well pleased at the place where we had
been driven.

* Yes/' he said again, "not ten paces from
the wheel, and now we will finish it."

"Will you never be serious, sir?" I cried.
"Do you suppose they are going to let you
take charge of the ship?"

"I think so," replied my father. "But
first, I must take a swallow from my flask.
There is nothing like a drink to rest one.
Open the port by the door, Brutus."

And I felt him groping his way past me.

"Brutus," he said, "pass the flask to
my son, and give me a pistol, and steady
me with your arm — so. Ah, that is better —
much better. . . ."

He fired, and the sound of his pistol in
the closed room made my ears ring, and
then the ship lurched, so that I had nearly
lost my balance. We were rolling heavily
in the trough of the sea, and outside the
canvas was snapping like a dozen small
arms, and then I knew what had happened.
My father had shot the man at the helm —
shot him where he stood, so that the wheel
had broken from his grasp, so that the ship

[221]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

was out of control, and the wind was blowing
it on shore. Had he thought of the plan
while he was watching Mr. Sims in the light
of the lantern? I half suspected that he
had not, but I never knew.

"Open the door, Brutus," said my father,
and suddenly his voice was raised to a shout
that rose above the wind and the sails.

"Keep clear of that wheel! If a single
man touches it — do you hear me? — Stand
clear !" And he fired again, and the Sea
Tern still lurched in the trough of the sea.

I ran to the door beside him. Ten paces
away the light of the binnacle was burning,
and by it I saw two men lying huddled on
the deck, and the ship's wheel whirling
backwards and forwards as the waves hit
the rudder.

"Get the wheel!" someone was shouting
frantically. "Get the wheel! She's being
blown on the bar. Get the wheel!"

"Stand clear, you dogs," called my father.
"We're all going on the bar together."

"Brutus," he added, "go forward and
open the forecastle, and tell my men to
clear the decks. If any of these fools notice
you, kill them, but they won't, Brutus,
they won't. Their minds are too much set
on a watery grave."

[ 222 ]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

The ship heeled far over on her side as
another gust of wind took her. Six men
were clinging to the rail to keep their
balance, staring at my father with white
faces, while sea after sea swept over the
bulwarks. Three of them were edging
toward us, when a wave caught them and
sent them sprawling almost to his feet.

'Your sword, Henry," called my father.
I ducked under his arm, and stepped out
on the swaying deck, but they did not wait.

"Ah," said my father, "here they come.
Brutus was quicker than I could have
hoped."

'Aiken!'" he shouted, "are you there?
Put up that helm, or we'll be drowned.
Put up that helm and get your men on the
braces. D 'you hear me? Get some way on
the ship."

A hoarse voice bellowed out an order, and
another answered.

"Good," said my father. "It was a
nearer thing than I expected. You can hear
the breakers now. Give me your arm, my
son. A lantern, Brutus."

[223]

XVI

And so it was over, over almost before I
could grasp what had happened.

The light that Brutus was holding showed
me the white walls of the cabin, with charts
nailed upon them. A table was secured
to the deck,with two chairs beside it. These,
two lockers and a berth made up the cabin's
entire furnishings. But I hardly took the
time to look about me, for the sight of my
father gave me a start of consternation.
His blue coat, wringing wet with sea water,
and still stamped with splashes of mud, was
half ripped from his shoulders. A piece of
lace dangled like a dirty ribbon from his
neck. The powder in his hair was clotted
in little streaks of white. His face was
like a piece of yellow parchment. His
left arm hung limp by his side, and in his
right hand he still clutched an empty pistol.
He tossed it carelessly to the floor, and
gripped the back of the nearest chair, staring
straight at Mademoiselle, who was standing
opposite, his cloak still about her. Slowly
he inclined his head, and when he looked
up he was smiling.

[224]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

'You are quite all right, my lady?" he
asked anxiously. "I am sorry you have
been startled. Believe me, I did not realize
this little surprise would be waiting for us.
It was careless of me not to have thought,
very careless. Help her to a chair, Henry."

"Will you always be polite?" she cried,
with a little catch in her voice. "Will you
never think of yourself? You are wounded,
Captain. And what are you staring at?" she
cried, turning to me. "Come here, sir, and
help me with his coat."

My father sank into a chair, and his pale
lips relaxed.

"Pray do not concern yourself," he re-
plied gravely. "I think of myself, Made-
moiselle, of myself always, and now I am
very fortunate, but the blue from my coat
is running on your dress. Brutus will see to
me, Mademoiselle. He is quite used to it.
The rum, Brutus. You will^find it in the
starboard locker."

But it was Mademoiselle who found the
bottle and poured him a glass. He drank
it quickly.

"Again, if you please," he said, and a
shade of color returned to his cheeks. "The
water was uncommonly cold tonight. How
much better the sea would be, if the Lord

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

had mixed in a dash of spirits. There is a
coat in the locker, Brutus, and you may find
some splints and a piece of twine. I fear my
arm is broken."

Mademoiselle had taken Brutus' knife and
was cutting away his sleeve, half soaked
with blood. He sighed and smiled a little
sadly.

"So Sims hit me after all," he said. "It
must be age. I was not so clumsy once.
The bandages, Brutus."

He watched us with a mild interest, and
then his mind turned to other matters, and
he seemed regardless of the pain we caused
him.

"My son," he said, turning to me, "you
made a statement a while ago which inter-
ested me strangely. I was preoccupied, and
perhaps I did not he i aright, but it

seemed you said I should know what had
become of your mother's money. What am
I to understand by th

•u are hurt, 'sir," I replied. "Why go
go into a painful matter now? We have
kept it quiet long enough. Only three people
knew that it happened, and one of them is
dead. Let us forget it, father. I am willing
if you are."

My father raised his eyebrows, and it

("6]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

seemed to me that pain had made his face
look older, and not even the smile on his
lips concealed little lines of suffering.

"And what are we to forget?" he asked.

"Surely you know/1 I said.

"No," said my father, "I do not. Out
with it — what are we to forget?"

Was he still acting? Was it ever possible
to understand him? Perhaps even now he
was turning the situation into a jest, and
smiling to himself as he watched me. And
yet somehow I had ceased to hate him.

"Do you mean," I asked "that you
never took it?"

Slowly my father's body straightened in
his chair, and his lips, drawn tight together,
seemed to repress an exclamation.

"So he told you that," he said. "He
told you that I made off with her for-
tune? Gad! but he was clever, very, very
clever."

He paused, and refilled his glass, and held
it steadily before him. His voice, when he
spoke, was gentle, and, like his face, strung
taut with pain.

"No wonder she never sent me word,"
he murmured.

"Do you mean," I asked, "that you
never took it?"

[227]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

For a second he did not reply — only
looked thoughtfully before him, as if he saw
something that we would never see.

"Why go into a painful matter now?*'
said my father at length. "Brutus, call in
Mr. Aiken."

He lurched into the cabin a half a minute
later. His sea cloak was gone. His shirt,
none too white the previous afternoon, was
torn and scraped as though it had scrubbed
the deck, and he had transferred his red
handkerchief from his neck to his lu;ul, so
that his tangled hair waved around it like
some wild halo. His heavy hands, bruised
and scarred, were working restlessly at his
sides. He glanced at my father's bandaged
arm, and his jaw thrust forward.

" I warned 'em, captain," he cried
hoarsely. "By heaven, I warned 'em.
'Damn you/ I says, 'hell will break loose
when the captain climbs aboard,' and it did,
so help me. There was fifteen of 'em and
now there's six, and the crew has 'em in the
forecastle now, beating 'em, sir! And now,
by thunder, we'll sling 'em overboard !'

"That would be a pity," said my father.
44 Let them sail with us. I shall make it
more unpleasant than drowning. Which
way are we heading, Ned?"

[228]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Due east by south," said Mr. Aiken,
"and we're ready to show heels to anything.
I can drop a reef off now if you want it."

"Good," said my father. "Put on all the
sail she will carry."

Mr. Aiken grinned.

" I thought you'd want to be moving," he
said.

"Quite right," said my father, "and put
about at once and head back up the river."

Mr. Aiken whistled softly.

^Well, I'll be damned!" he muttered.

"I shall want ten men with me when I
land," my father continued. "I've done my
best to keep the crew out of my private af-
fairs, but now it seems impossible."
tt "They'd all like to go/5 said Mr. Aiken.
(C They've been hoping for excitement all
dav, sir."

'Ten will be quite enough," said my
father.

"What is it you are saying?" Mademoi-
selle asked sharply.

"Quite nothing," he replied, "except that
,we are going back."

His arm must have given him a twinge,
for his face had grown very white.

"Surely you have done enough," she said,
and her voice became a soft entreaty.

[229]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Here we are on board your ship. If I
told you I was not entirely sorry, would you
not go on? If I told you, captain, I did not
care about the paper— -?"

My father waved his hand in graceful
denial.

"Not go back? Ah, Mademoiselle/1 he
added in grave rebuke, "can it be possible
after all, in spite of all this — let us say re-
grettable melodrama — you are forgetting I
am the villain of this piece, and not a very
pleasant one? Even if I wished, my lady,
my sense of hospitality would forbid it. My
brother-in-law is waiting for me under my
roof tonight, and I could not leave him
alone. He would be disappointed, I feel
sure, and so would I. I have had a strenu-
ous evening. I need recreation now. Load
the pistols, Brutus."

And he fell silent again, his eyes on the
blank wall before him, his fingers playing
with his glass.

The Sea Tern had need to be a fast ship,
and she lived up to requirements. The east-
erly wind sent her lightly before it, cutting
sheer and quick through the roughened sea.
With his arm in a sling of white linen, my
father sat motionless, apparently passive
and regardless of the flight of time. It was

[230]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

only when we veered in the wind and orders
were shouted from forward that he looked
about him.

"Your arm, Brutus," he said.

On deck the crew was at work about the
long boat, and over the port rail, perhaps a
quarter of a mile away, I could see our
house, with a light burning in the window,
flickering through the waving branches of
the elms that half hid it. Nearer lay our
wharf, a black, silent shadow. My father
watched without a word. The anchor chain
growled out a sharp complaint, and the
anchor splashed into the tide.

"Mr. Aiken," said my father, "give or-
ders to get under way in half an hour. When
we land, the men will wait at the wharf,
and be ready to enter the house when you
call them. You shall come with me, my
son. I can still show you something amus-
ing and instructive."

"And I ?" Mademoiselle demanded. "Shall
you leave me here?"

He seemed to hesitate for a moment.

"Earlier in the evening, Mademoiselle,"
he replied, "I had given orders for my sloop
to carry you to New Orleans. Your boxes
will be taken from the house, and you will
be taken on board from here. May you

THE UNSPEAKALBE GENTLEMAN

have a pleasant journey, and may your
friends be well when you arrive."

'You mean it is good-by?" she asked,
and her voice had a sound that reminded me
of tears. "You mean we shall not meet
again?"

He bowed low over her hand.

"Mademoiselle will be relieved to know
we shall not,1' said my father gravely. "Let
me hope you may always have more plea-
sant company."

She seemed about to speak again, but she
did not. Instead, she turned silently away
and left him, and a second later I saw her
disappear in the shadow of the main-mast.

"Ah," said my father /'there is a woman
for you. My son, in the side pocket of my
coat you will find a snuff box. Would you
kindly open it for me and permit me to
take a pinch? And you, perhaps? No? It
is a pleasant sedative."

He took a step nearer the rail, and the
men about the long boat stiffened to atten-
tion.

"Get them into the boat, Mr. Aiken," he
said. "You and I will sit in the stern, my
son. Your arm, Brutus, so."

"Stand by to lower away," directed Mr.

[232]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

Aiken in a harsh undertone; and the blocks
creaked and we were in the river.

The oars had been muffled, so that we
moved to the wharf in silence.

"Land the men, and tell them to wait,"
said my father. "You shall come with us,
Mr. Aiken, and you, my son, and you,
Brutus."

We walked silently up the path, with
Brutus and my father in the lead. Once he
paused and listened, and then proceeded for-
ward.

"I believe," said my father, "he is quite
alone. Ha!"

He had stopped dead, and Brutus had
leapt forward, crashing into a dense thicket
of overgrown bushes.

"Put up your pistol, Ned," said my
father. "Brutus has him."

There was a moment's silence, followed
by a faint cry.

" Bring him here, Brutus," said my father.
The bushes cracked again, and Brutus was
back.

"Now who the devil may you be?" in^
quired my father, striding towards the fig-
ure that Brutus was holding, and then he
paused, and in the dark I fancied he was
reaching for his coat lapel.

[233]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Lunacy, thy name is woman," said my
father softly. "Will they never stay where
they are placed?"

It was Mademoiselle whom Brutus had
thrust before him.

"I came in the boat," she stammered
brokenly. "I

"You wanted to see the end, my lady?"
my father inquired. "Surely you should
have known better, but it is too late now.
You are going to be present at a harrowing
scene, which I hoped to save you. Mr.
Aiken, help the lady over the path."

And we proceeded to the house together.
A minute later we made our way over the
rough, unkempt grass which once marked
our brick terrace. Brutus opened the door
and we were in the dark hail, lighted by a
square of candle light from the morning
room. He paused again and listened, and
then strode across the threshold. A blaze
was burning high in the morning fireplace,
and six candles were lighted on the center
table, and seated before it, examining my
father's papers, were my Uncle Jason and
Mr. Lawton.

"Ha!" cried Mr. Lawton, springing to
his feet and eyeing my father intently.

[234]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"So you are here, Shelton, and every card
in the deck."

He paused to nod and rub his hands.

"Yes, b'gad! There's the girl and there's
the boy and there's the nigger. It was Sims'
idea your getting on the boat. He's bright
as a trap, Jason. I told you he was."

My father sighed a little sadly.

"He was indeed," he admitted.

My uncle surveyed him with his broadest
smile, and his eyes twinkled with a malign
amusement, that was not wholly pleasant.

"So here you are, George, he cried in a
voice that seemed to shake with excitement.
"God help you, but I won't or your son
either, no, or the lady."

"Indeed?" inquired my father. "Pray
go on, Jason. I had forgotten you were
diverting, or is it one of your latest virtues."

A slight crease appeared between my
uncle's eyes, and his face became a trifle
redder.

"So you still are jovial," he said. "I ad-
mire you for it, George. Yes, I admire
you, because of course you know what
is going to happen to you, George, and to
your son also. Perhaps you will wipe away
that smirk of yours when a French firing
squad backs you against a wall."

[235]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

My father adjusted the bandage on his
arm, and smiled, but his eyes had become
bright and glassy.

"So you have quite decided to send me
to France, Jason?" he inquired pleasantly.
"Of course, I suspected it from the first.
I knew you hated me, and naturally my son.
I knew you never felt the same after our
little falling out, when I found you forg-
ing— what am I saying? — reading the letter
I sent to Mr. Aiken. Gad! but your face
was pasty then, you sly dog-
He paused and took a step toward him.
He was a different man when he continued.
It seemed as though some resistance in him
was breaking down, as though the years of
repression were falling away. A hot, dull
red had come into his cheeks, and burned
there like a fever. His whole body trembled,
shaken by some emotion which I could not
fathom. His voice grew sharp and discor-
dant, his words hot and triumphant.

"Almost as pasty as when you challenged
me to produce those damned bales of fur.
Do you remember, Jason? The party here
at this house — the music, the flowers?
Oh, they were all there! And of course I had
put the shavings on my boat. You could
prove it, and you could too, Lawton, do

[236]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

you remember? And you could swear to it,
and you could swear I had cheated you
before, that I had stolen your card money.
Oh, you caught me. You brought the wolf
to bay and drew the sword of justice!"

Mr. Lawton half started from his seat.

"Be still, Shelton," he snapped, "or I'll
have them gag you."

My father clenched his fist, drew a deep
breath, and his voice lost its strident note.

"Ah, Lawton, Lawton," he said. "Will
you always be impetuous? Will you never
be subtle, but always crude, always the
true rough diamond with the keen edge?
No, you won't gag me, Lawton.

"And so you will send me to France,
Jason, and my son too, criminals to justice.
It is thoughtful of you to think of justice,
but tell me, Jason. Is it I you hate, or my
wife's money that you love? Tell me, Jason,
I have often wondered."

My uncle's face also became a flaming
red; the veins stood out on his temples.
He tried to speak, but his words choked
him.

"Sims," shouted Mr. Lawton. "Sims!
Take him out! Take him away!"

My father raised his eyes to the ceiling
and sighed.

[237]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Ah Lawton," he said. "Is it possible
that you did not know it? Can it be that
you do not understand? Poor Sims is dead,
Lawton, a brave man, but not of good
physique. The evening was quite too much
for him. Do not take it so hard, man!
We all must die, you among the rest. You
should have known me better, Lawton*
You should have known I would not allow
myself to be taken prisoner."

"What!" shouted Mr. Lawton. "What
the devil are you then?"

The scene appeared to move my father,
for he sighed again, and paused, the better to
enjoy it.

"Only a poor man," he said, "only a poor
chattel of the Lord's, a poor frail jug that
has gone too often to the well. A poor man
of a blackened reputation, who nas been
set upon by spies of France, and threatened
in his own house, but who has managed to
escape — " and his voice became sharp and
hard.

' Take Mr. Lawton's pistol, Ned."

There fell a moment's silence in the room
while my father, a little in advance of the
rest of us, stared fixedly into my uncle's
eyes.

"Set upon by spies," he said, "persecuted

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

and driven. It has set me thinking, Jason.
As I walked back here tonight, I still was
thinking, and can you imagine what was on
my mind? It was you, Jason, you and
Lawton. And as I thought of you, my mind
fell, as it naturally would, on holy things,
and a piece of the Scripture came back to
me. Tnink of it, Jason, a piece of the Holy
Writ. Would you care to hear it?"

My father paused to adjust a wrinkle in
his coat, and then his voice became solemn
and sonorous, and he spoke the words with
metrical precision.

c"To everything'/' said my father," there
is a season, and a time to every purpose
under the heaven. A time to be born and a
time to die'."

He paused long enough to nod from one
to the other.

C"A time to plant and a time to pluck up
that which is planted'."

He raised his eyes to the ceiling again,
and placed the tips of his fingers together.

"And 'a time to kill'," he concluded
gently. His words died softly away in the
quiet room.

"I have often thought of that passage,"
he continued- "Many and many a night
I have repeated it to myself, under stars

[239]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

and under roof, and sometimes I have
prayed, Jason. Oh yes, we all pray some-
times. Sometimes I have prayed for the
time to come."

The red had gone out of my uncle's face,
and Mr. Lawton was sitting rigid in his
chair, his eyes glued on the slender figure
before him.

"And now," said my father, in a tone
that was as near to the pious as I ever
heard him utter, "now it is here, and I
thank thee, Lord."

"Good God!" gasped Mr. Lawton, in a
voice that rose only a little above a whisper.
"Do you mean to murder \

My father still stood motionless, but when
he spoke again his voice had relapsed to
its old genial courtesy.

"What a word for gentlemen to use!"
he exclaimed in polite rebuke. "Murder
you? Of course not, Lawton. I am simply
about to propose a game. That is all, an
exciting little game. Only one of us will
die. Clear the large table of the papers,
Ned, Toss them on the floor/'

[240]

XVII

Of all the people in the room, my father
alone retained his self-possession. My uncle's
cheeks had sagged, and perspiration made
them moist and shiny, and Mr. Lawton
seemed bent and as wrinkled as though he
had aged a dozen years.

"Brutus," said my father, "place the
pistols on the table, the ones I gave you as
we came on shore. Side by side, Brutus.
The silver mountings look well against the
dark mahogany. Do they not cheer you,
Jason? And now, Brutus, a pack of cards
from the bookshelves. It will be a pretty
game, Lawton, as pretty a game as you have
ever played."

"Good God! What are you going to do,
Shelton?" stammered Mr. Lawton, and he
raised a trembling hand to his forehead.

'You grow interested?" my father in-
quired. "I thought you would, Lawton,
and now stand up and listen! And you too,
Jason. Stand up, you dog! Stand up!
The world is still rolling. Are you ill?"

And indeed, my uncle seemed incapable
of moving.

[24*1

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Perhaps you would prefer to sit," said
my father politely. "I have known people
who find it steadies them to fire across the
table while seated in a chair. Your atten-
tion, then, and I will tell you the game.
On the table are three pistols. One of them
is loaded. The question is — which? They
are all made by the same smith. And yet
one is different. We shall find out which it is
in a few minutes. Shuffle the cards, Lawton.
You and Jason shall draw. The low number
selects the first pistol, and is first to fire,
and then the next. I shall take the last
pistol, and we shall stand across the table,
you and Jason where you are, while I stand
over here. Brutus, give the cards to Mr.
Lawton."

My father smiled and bowed. From his
manner it might have been some treat he
was proposing, some pleasant bit of sport
that all knew ended in hilarity. Still
smiling, he glanced from one to the other,
and then towards Mademoiselle and me, as
though seeking our approbation. Even
with his bandaged arm and weather stained
clothes, he carried himself with a gaity and
grace.

"Always trust in chance, my son," he
said.

[242]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

My uncle leaned forward, and drew his
hand across his lips, his eyes blank and
staring.

"And if you get the pistol?" he demanded
hoarsely.

44 In that case," replied my father, "Your
troubles will be over, Jason. Pray rest
assured — I shall attend to that. And then,
when that is finished Brutus shall bring
two other pistols, and Lawton and I shall
draw again."

Mr. Lawton grasped the cards uncer-
tainly.

:<You give us the first two choices?" he
demanded.

'The host naturally is last," said my
father. "One must always be polite."

"Then you're mad," said Mr. Lawton
bluntly. "Come, Shelton, step outside,
and we'll finish it on the lawn."

"And I should undoubtedly kill you,"
said my father. "Pray do not tempt me,
Lawton."

"I tell you, you're mad," said Mr.
Lawton.

" I have been told that once before today,"
said my father. "And still I am not sure.
I have often pictured this little scene,

[243]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

Lawton. We have only one thing to add to
it. Now tell me if I'm mad."

My father had reached up to his throat,
and was fumbling at his collar. When he
drew away his hand, something glittered
between his fingers. Silently he placed his
closed fist on the table, opened it, and there
was the gold locket which I had perceived
in the morning. He pressed the spring, and
the lid flew free. Mr. Lawton leaned for-
ward, glanced at the picture inside, and then
drew back very straight and pale.

"Come, Lawton/' said my father gravely.
"Which is it now — madness or an appeal
for justice and retribution ? With her picture
on the table, Lawton, I have wondered—
I have often wondered, Lawton — who will
be the lucky man to draw the loaded pistol?
Let us leave it there, where we can watch it
before we fire. I have often thought that
she would like it so. And now — ' he
nodded again and smiled, — "surely you will
oblige me. ShufHe the cards, Lawton, and
let the game go on."

Mr. Lawton bit his lower lip, fingered the
cards uncertainly, and then tossed them in
the fire.

"Come, come, Lawton," said my father
sharply. "Where are your manners? Surely

[2441

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

you arc not afraid, not afraid of a picture,
Lawton?"

"No," said Mr. Lawton, "I am not
afraid."

"Ah," said my father, "I thought I knew
you better. Another pack of cards for Mr.
Lawton, Brutus. Let us trust, Lawton, that
these will suit you better."

'You misunderstand me," said Mr. Law-
ton simply. "I am not going to play."

"Not going to play?" exclaimed my
father, raising his eyebrows.

Slowly Mr. Lawton shook his head.

"You are far too generous, Shelton," he
said. "If you shot me where I stand, you
would only be giving me my fair deserts.
If I had been in your place and you in mine,
both you and Jason would have been dead
ten seconds after I had entered the door."

"Don't be a fool, Lawton," cried my
father, raising his hand. "Think what you
are saying!"

"I have thought," he replied sharply.
'The game is over, Shelton, and I know
when I am beaten. We have not got the
paper, Jason, and you remember what I
said. If you failed to get it, I should tell
the whole story, and now, by heaven, I will.
Every man in town will know it tomorrow

[245]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

morning. I told you I would be shut out of
this business, and I mean it, Jason."

On my father's face came something
closer to blank astonishment than I had
ever seen there. Something in the situation
was puzzling him, and for the moment he
seemed unable to cope with it.

"Lawton," he said slowly, "shuffle those
cards, or I'll shoot you where you stand."

Mr. Lawton placed the cards on the
table, and adjusted them thoughtfully.

"No, you won't," he replied. "I know
you better than that. You would n
draw a weapon on any man unless he had
an equal chance, and I haven't, Shelton."

I had stepped forward beside him. Was
there someone else at the bottom of the
whole wretched business? Was it possible
that my father had no hand in it? A glance
at Mr. Lawton answered a half a hundred
questions which were darting through my
mind.

And my father was still staring in a
baffled way, eyeing Mr. Lawton in silent
wonder.

"So," he said, "you think I'll forgive
you? Is it possible you are relying on my
Christian spirit?"

"No," said Mr. Lawton, "I do not ask

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

you to forgive me. I am saying I have
stopped. That is all — stopped, do you
understand me? I should have stopped
when Jason commissioned me to kill your
son. I should have, if this affair with
France was not beginning. Even then the
business sickened me. What did I care
about the money he stole from her? I did
not want her money. What did I care if
the boy suspected you had not stolen it,
but that Jason had it all the time? I
couldn't have killed him, because he had
some slight glimmerings of sense."

A dozen dim suspicions clashed suddenly
together into fact. I looked sharply at my
father. He was nodding, with some faint
suspicion of amusement.

"And so you did not," he said gently.
14 Your scruples do you credit, after all."

"It was just as well," said Mr. Lawton.
"I thought the news your son was attacked
would fetch you over. Jason did his best
to hush it up, but I knew you would suspect.
And you know what it would have meant
to me if I could have sent you back to
France."

And yet, for some reason, my father was
strangely ill at ease. Like someone detected
in a falsehood, he looked restlessly about

[247]

THE UNSPEAKALEE GENTLEMAN

him. For the moment his adroitness seemed
to have left him. He made a helpless little
gesture of annoyance.

"You say you have stopped?" inquired
my father. 'Then why not do so, Lawton,
and stop talking. Do you think what you
say interests me? Do you think I do not
know the whole damnable business, without
your raking it up again? Why should Jason
have wished to be rid of me except for her
money? Why should you have helped him,

except At least it was not for money,

Lawton."

But Mr. Lawton did not heed my father's
voice. His glance had come to rest again
upon the locket on the table, and the hard
lines about his mouth had vanished.

"And she never spoke to me, never looked
at me again/' he said.

My father started and looked at him
quickly.

"Lawton," groaned my uncle, "arc you
out of your mind?"

Mr. Lawton turned sharp around and
faced him with a scowl.

" I told you," he said harshly. " I told you
to get me the paper, and I told you what
would happen if you did not, and it is hap-

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

pcning already, Jason. I am going to tell
the story."

My uncle moved convulsively to his feet,
and his voice was sharp and malignant.

"Do you suppose anyone will believe
you?" he cried. "Do you fancy they will
take your word against mine?"

"We will try it," said Mr. Lawton.
'There are still people who wonder why
Shelton stooped to the thing you accused
him of. We certainly will try it."

"And if you do," said my uncle, "I will
show it was she who did it — that it was she
who urged him on. I'll tell them! D'you
hear me? I'll tell them, and they'll take
my word for it. They'll take my word!"

"God!" cried Mr. Lawton. "So that's
the reason ! So that's the trick you played.
You dog! If I had only known "

His face had become blanched with pas-
sion, and my uncle staggered back before his
upraised hand, but Mr. Lawton did not
strike. For a moment he stood rigid, and
when he spoke he had regained his self-
control.

'You will never tell it, Jason," he said
slowly, and then he turned to my father, and
inclined his head very gravely, and his voice
was no longer harsh and strident.

[249]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"I often wondered why you left her so,"
he said, "and why you did not face it. You
feared her name might be dragged in the
mire! Because he threatened to bring her
into that miserable business, you never
raised a hand. I always knew you were a

gentleman, but I did not know you were
on Quixote de la Mancha."

For the first time since the two had
spoken, my father moved. He leaned across
tne table, picked up the locket very gently,
and placed it in his coat. His eyes rested on
Lawton, and returned his b<

" Rubbish!" said my father. "One liar is
bad enough, but why listen to two? \Vc will
leave her name out of the conversation.
Perhaps I had other reasons for going away.
Did they ever occur to you, Lawton?
Perhaps, for instance, I was sick of the
whole business. Did you ever think I might
have found it pleasant to leave so uncon-
genial an atmosphere, that I was relieved,
delighted at the opportunity to leave lying
relatives, and friends who turned their
backs? Faugh! I have kept the matter
quiet for fifteen years, merely because I was
too indolent to stand against it. I was too
glad to see the cards fall as they did to call
for a new deal. There I was, tied up to a

[250]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

family of sniveling hypocrites. Look at
Jason, look at him. Who wouldn't have been
glad to get away?"

And he bowed to my uncle ironically.

"Positively, I was glad to hear the
crash. 'Very well/ I said, 'I am a thief,
since it pleases you to think so/ Thieves at
least are a more interesting society, and
I have found them so, Lawton, not only
more interesting, but more honest."

But somehow there was no ring of con-
viction to his words. His voice seemed un-
able to assume its old cynicism, and his face
had lost its former placidity. It had sud-
denly become old and careworn. Pain and
regret, sharp and poignant, were reflected
there. His eyes seemed strained and tired,
the corners of his mouth had drooped, and
his body too was less erect and resolute.
Something had been broken. For a moment,
his mask and his mantle had dropped where
he could not find them. And then, as he
stood looking ahead of him at the shadows,
he ended his speech in a way that had no
logic and no relation to the rest.

"If she had only said she did not believe
them Why did she not say it?"

And then he squared his shoulders and
tried again to smile.

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"But what difference does it make now?
The road has turned too long ago for us to
face about/'

" She never spoke to me, never looked at
me again!" repeated Mr. Lawton.

My father's fist crashed down on the
table, but when he spoke his words were pre-
cise and devoid of all emotion.

"And why the devil should she," he an-
swered. l We are not questioning her taste.
And you, Jason," he added. "No one will
doubt your word, or believe this little ro-
mance. Do you wonder why? They \vill
never have the opportunity. Brutus, take
them down to the bo

Brutus stepped forward am! laid a hand
on my uncle's shoulder. He shrank back.

"George," he cried, "you shall have the
money. I swear it, George. I have wronged
you, but "

"Yes," said my father, "I shall have the
money, and you too, Jason. I shall have
> thing. Take them along, Brutus," and
they left the room in silence, while my
hither watched them thoughtfully, and ar-
ranged the lapel on his coat.

"Ned," said my father, "the rum de-
canter is over on the bookshelves. Good
God, wherejs he going?" for Mr. Aiken had

[252]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

darted into the hall, and was running up
the staircase.

"Is the man mad? Is "

My father stopped, and was looking at
the table. I followed his glance, and started
involuntarily. There had been three pistols
lying side by side on the polished mahogany,
and now there were only two.

"My son," said my father, "the rum de-
canter is on the bookshelves. The glasses
»

A shout from the hall interrupted him.

"B'gad, captain!" Mr. Aiken was roar-
ing. "Damme! Here's another of 'em!
You would bite me, would you! Hell's fire
if I don't cut your gullet open."

"What an evening we are having, to be
sure," said my father, turning to the door-
way.

Mr. Aiken was pushing a man before him
into the room, and holding a dirk at his
throat.

"Ives!" shrieked Mademoiselle.
1 She is right," said my father. " It is Ives
de Blanzy. I had forgotten you had sent
him to the house."

The man Mr. Aiken was holding wrenched
himself free, and sprang forward, shaking a
fist in my father's face.

[253]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Forgotten!" he shouted. Was it you
who sent me here and had me tied in the
cellar, and left me chewing at the rope, and
set this pirate on me? Mother of God!
Captain Shelton! Is this a joke you are
playing-

"Only a very regrettable error," said my
father. "A mistake of my son's. Pray calm
yourself, Ives. It is quite all right. My
son, this is Mademoiselle's brother."

"Her brother!" I cried.

"And who the devil did you think I wa
He walked slowly towards me. "Have you
no perceptions?"

He would have continued further, if my
father had not laid a hand on his arm.

"Gently, Ives," he said. "You know I
would not treat you so. Give him the paper,
my son. He is the one who should have it."

I stared at my father in blank astonish-
ment, but before I could speak, he had
continued.

"I know what you are thinking. What
was the use of all this comedy? Why should
I have deceived you? I was only running
true to form, my son, which is the only
thing left to do when life tastes bitter. Do
you not understand? But you do not.

1^54]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

Your palate is unused yet to gall and worm-
wood. Only wait, my son "

He raised his hand slowly, as though
tilting an imaginary glass to his lips.

"Only wait. They will offer you the cup
some day, and we were always heavy
drinkers. Pray God that you will stand it
with a better grace than I — that you will
forget the sting and rancor of it, and not
carry it with you through the years."

His eyes grew brighter as he spoke, and
his features were suddenly mobile and
expressive.

'She said she believed it. She threw
their lies in my face. She lashed me with
them, and my blood was hotter then than
now. She would not listen, and I forgot it
was a woman's way. How was I to know
it was only impulse? I ask you — how was
I to know? Was I a man to crawl back,
and ask her forgiveness, to offer some
miserable excuse she would not credit?
And you, brought into manhood to believe
I was a thief — was I to stand your flinging
back my denial? Was I to pose as the
picture of injured innocence, and beg you
the favor of believing? I would not have
expected it of you, my son. By heaven, it
would have stuck in my throat. I had

[255]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

gone my way too long, and the draught
still tasted bitter. It burned, burned as I
never thought it would again, when I first
saw you standing watching me. Indeed it
is only now that its taste has wholly gone
— only now that I see what I have done,
now when the lights are dim, and it is too
late to begin again."

He stopped and squared his shoulders
and the harshness left his voice.

"You understand, I hope," he added
"Give him the paper, Henry." And he
nodded towards Ives de Blanzy.

I drew it from my pocket, and handed it
to him in silence.

"Now what is the meaning of this?" said
Ives de Blanzy harshly. , is not the

paper! The cursed thing is blank inside!"

My father snatched it from his hands.

"Blank!" he mutter "Blank! Clean
as the driven snow! Is it possible I have
failed in everything?"

Mademoiselle had moved forward, and
touched his arm. He glanced at her quickly,
and slowly his frown vanished.

"Naturally it is blank, captain," said
Mademoiselle. "I took the real one from
you this morning when you left it in your
volume of Rabelais. I thought that you

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

might place it there. I am sorry, captain,
sorry now that you made me take . you
seriously."

The paper dropped from his fingers and
fluttered to the floor, but strangely enough
he did not appear chagrined. His gallantry
was back with him again, and with it all
his courtesy.

"Ah, Mademoiselle," he said, "I should
have known you better. Will there always
be a woman where there is trouble?"

"And you have not made me hate you,
Captain," Mademoiselle continued.

"But you, my son," said my father, "you
understand?"

I felt his glance, but I could not meet it.

' Yes," I said, "I understand."

"Good," said my father. "Here comes
Brutus. And now we shall have our rum."

"I understand," I said, and my voice
seemed unsteady, "that you are a very
brave and upright gentleman."

"The devil!" cried my father.

And then he started and whirled toward
the door.

"Ned! I ves!" he called sharply. "What
the devil is going on outside?" and the three
of them had darted into the hall.

Clear and distinct through the quiet night

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

had come a shriek and the report of a pistol.

I started to follow them, but Mademoiselle
had laid a hand on my arm, and was point-
ing to the table. I lifted first one and then
the other of the two pistols that were lying
there. Neither was primed. Neither was
loaded.

"The third one/' she said quietly, "Mr.
Lawton took. No, no," she added, as I
started toward the door, "Stay here, Mon-
sieur. It is not your affair."

1 2581

XVIII.

She still stood looking at the pistols on
the table. Was she thinking, as I was, of
the irony, and the comedy and the tragedy
that had been so strangely blended in the
last hour? Slowly she turned and faced me,
her slender fingers tugging aimlessly at her
handerchief. For a moment her eyes met
mine. Then she looked away, and the*color
had deepened in her cheeks.

"So," said Mademoiselle, "It is almost
over. Are you not glad, Monsieur, that it
is finished?"

The wick of a candle had dropped to the
wax, and was spluttering fitfully. Mechani-
cally I moved to fix it.

; No," I said, "I am not glad."

"Not glad? Surely you are glad it has
ended so. Surely you are glad your father — "

"No," I said, and my voice was so much
louder than I had intended that the sound
of it in the quiet room made me stop
abruptly. She looked up at me, a little
startled.

"At least Monsieur is frank," she said.

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Do you know — have you thought that
you are the only one of us who has been
wholly so, who has not had something to
conceal? Pray go on, Monsieur. It is
pleasant to hear someone who is frank
again. Continue! You must be glad for
something. Every cloud must have — do
you not say — a silver lining? If it is not
your father — surely you are glad about
me?"

She made a graceful little gesture of
interrogation.

"Come, come," she went on, "You are
not yourself tonight. Never have I seen
you look so black. Think, Monsieur! The
men are on deck and the wind is fair. Soon
I shall be going. Soon you will forget."

"No," I said, "Mademoiselle is mistaken.
I shall not forget."

"Nor I," she said gravely, "I wonder,
Monsieur, if you understand — but you can-
not understand what it has meant to me.
I have tried to tell you once before, but
you are cold, like your father. I have seen
many men who have said gallant things,
but only you two of all I know have done
them."

"I have done nothing," I said. 'You
know I have done nothing."

[260]

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

C(

surely," she replied lightly, "surely
be glad I am going?"

But it has not been your fault," she
answered. "And was it nothing to protect
a stranger from a strange land, when you
had nothing to gain from it and everything
to lose?"

"Mademoiselle forgets," I said, "that I
had nothing to lose. It was lost already.3

"Then surely,5
you must

"You know better than that," I answered.
"Ah, Mademoiselle, do you not see? I
hoped I might show you that I did not
always blunder. I hoped I might show
you "

The words seemed to choke me.

"Ah, Mademoiselle," I cried, "if I had
only been on the stairs at Blanzy!"

"Blanzy!" she echoed, "Pray what has
Blanzy to do with you and me?"

Even now I do not know what made me
speak, save that she was going. The very
ticking of the clock was bringing the
moment nearer, and there she was, staring
at me, wide-eyed, half puzzled and half
frightened. It seemed already as though
she were further away.

"Do you not see?" I said. "It is not like
you not to understand. Nor is it very kind.

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

How can I see you go and be glad? How
can I be glad you love my father ?"

"Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed suddenly
startled, "Your father! I care for your
father!"

I bowed in quick contrition.

"Mademoiselle," I said, "I fear I have
been very rude, and, as usual, very gauche.
I beg you to forgive me."

"But I tell you," she cried, "I do not love
him!"

I bowed again in silence.

"You do not believe me?"

"Mademoiselle may rest assured," I
replied gently, "that I understand — per-
fectly."

"You!" I started at her sudden vexation,
started to find that her eyes were filled
with tears.

"You understand quite nothing! Never
have I seen anyone so cruel, so stupid!"

"Mademoiselle," I said, "I have been
awkward, but forgive me — the cabin of the
Sea Tern, where you asked him to sail on,
and when you bade him recall what he said
on the stairs at Blanzy . . . Your pardon !
I have been very blunt."

And now she was regarding me with blank
astonishment.

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

"Surely he told you" she murmured,
"Surely he told you what the Marquis had
intended."

Then she stopped, confused and silent.

"Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed suddenly,
"But he has told you nothing!"

"No," I said dully, "He has been most
discreet. But does it make any real dif-
ference, Mademoiselle, except that I know
now that the Marquis was a man of very
keen discrimination?"

"Are you mad?" cried Mademoiselle, "I
tell you it is not your father. I tell you I — "

Her face had grown scarlet. She bowed
her head, and tugged more violently than
ever at the corner of her handkerchief.

Mademoiselle, ' ' I said unsteadily,
"Mademoiselle, what was it he told you at
Blanzy?"

"I cannot tell you if you do not know,"
she answered, "Indeed I cannot."

"But you will!" I cried. "You will, Ma-
demoiselle! You must! Mademoiselle "

Her eyes had met mine again.

"They were breaking in the door," she
began, "and he was going down to meet
them. I told him — I told him to go, to leave
me, and take the paper. He said "

[263]

THE UXSPEAKABLE GE\TLE.\U\

She paused again, watching me in vague
embarrassment.

"He said he'd be damned if he would,
Monsieur. He said he would do what the
Marquis had directed, if he had to s
for it. That he would take the paper and
me to America — that I ... Mon Dieu!
Do you not know what he said! Can you
not guess? ... He said that I was to
marry his son."

A smile suddenly played about her lips.

.d I told him," she continued breath-
lessly, " I told him I'd be damned if I would,
Monsieur. That neither he nor the Mar-
quis would make me marry a man I did not
know, much less a son of his!"

.rid when you asked him to recall it —
Mademoiselle, when you asked him to recall
it, did you mean — tell n: iemoiselle!"

"Ah," she whispered, "but it is too soon,
and you are too rough, Monsieur! I beg of
you — be careful! Besides — someone is com-
ing."

And then I heard a soft footstep behind

me.

. i »>

Huh!" said Brutus, " I go tell the cap-
tain. No. It is all right. I tell the captain.
He is happy. It will please him. Hun!"

[264!

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN

His long speech seemed to have taken his
breath, for he paused, grinning broadly.

"Huh!" he said finally. "Mr. Lawton
shoot Mr. Jason. Shoot him with pistol oft
the table. The captain is happy."

But before Brutus could turn to go, my
father was in the doorway, smoothing the
bandage on his arm.

"Let us say relieved, Brutus," he an-
swered smoothly. "It is dangerous ever to
use superlatives."

Then he glanced from Mademoiselle to
me, and his smile broadened.

"Very much relieved," he said, "and yet
— and yet I still feel thirsty. The rum de-
canter, Brutus."

1265]