Cynthia's Chauffeur
misguided wrath should prove unsurmountable.
But Marigny! He wanted to feel his fingers clutching that slender
throat, to see that pink and white face empurple and grow black under
their strain, and it was all-important that the scoundrel should be
brought to book before the Vanrenens returned to London. He gave a
passing thought to Mrs. Leland, it was true. If she shared with
Vanrenen the silly little secret of his identity, it was beyond
comprehension that she should let her friend hold the view that he
(Medenham) was merely an enterprising blackguard.
Still, these considerations were light as thistle-down compared with
the need of finding Marigny. He and Dale began to hunt London for the
Frenchman. But they had to deal with a wary bird, who would not break
covert till it suited his own convenience. And then, the sublime cheek
of the man! On the Friday morning, when Medenham rose with a fixed
resolve to obtain the services of a private detective, he received
this note:
DEAR VISCOUNT MEDENHAM--I have a notion, as our mutual
acquaintance Mr. Vanrenen would say (Do you know him? Now
that I consider the matter, I think not), that you are
anxious to meet me. We have things to discuss, have we not?
Well, then I await you at the above address.
Yours to command,
EDOUARD MARIGNY.
CHAPTER XIV
--AND GOOD JUDGMENT YIELDS TO FOLLY
At any other moment the tone of confidence underlying the effrontery
of this letter would certainly have revealed its presence to a brain
more than ordinarily acute. But in the storm and stress of his rage
against gods and men, Medenham did not wait to ponder subtleties of
expression. No matter what the hidden reason that inspired Marigny's
pen, it was enough for Medenham to know that at last that arch-plotter
and very perfect rascal was within his reach. He breakfasted in a fury
of haste, crammed on a hat, and rushed away, meaning to drive in a cab
to the hotel in Northumberland Avenue from which Marigny wrote.
Such was his agitated state that he was not even surprised when he
found the Mercury waiting outside, with Dale, taciturn as ever,
scrutinizing the day's sporting news. In sober fact, the man was
almost as perturbed as his master. For an hour in the morning, and
again during certain periods of suspense in the afternoon, he forgot
his troubles in the effort either to "spot winners" or to persuade
himself that the horses he had selected for particular races had not
run, since their names failed to appear among the "first three." But
these spasms of anticipation and disillusionment soon passed. During
the remainder of the long hours of daylight Dale was ever on the _qui
vive_ for a wild rush of two or three hundred miles in pursuit of the
woman whose charms had so effectually subjugated the young Viscount.
Even the hunt for Marigny did not weaken Dale's belief, and Medenham
was never in Cavendish Square or at his club at any practicable hour
that the Mercury was not at hand, with petrol tanks full, luggage
carriers attached, and a full stock of spares and reserve spirit
on board. At any rate, on this occasion Medenham merely gave him
Marigny's address, and jumped inside. Dale was disappointed. He
expected the order to be "Carlisle," at the least.
Soon his lordship was being conducted by an hotel servant to a private
sitting-room. The Frenchman, who was seated at a table, writing, when
he entered, rose and bowed politely.
"I thought it highly probable that I should have the honor of seeing
you this morning, Viscount Medenham," he said, and there was a touch
of restraint, of formal courtesy, in his voice that the other, even in
his anger against the man, did not fail to notice. Oddly enough, it
savored of brutality to attack him without preface, and Marigny seemed
to be unconscious of his visitor's unconcealed animosity.
"I am glad you are here," he went on glibly. "Recent events call for
a full discussion between you and me, do you agree? But before we come
to close quarters, as you say in England, I wish to know whether the
argument is to be conducted on lines that befit gentlemen. On the last
occasion when we differed, you used the methods of the costermonger."
"They served their purpose," said Medenham, annoyed at finding the
Frenchman's coolness rather disconcerting.
Suddenly, he decided on a new plan of action, and resolved to let the
man say what he chose. Dearly as he would have liked to wreak physical
vengeance on him, he felt that such a proceeding offered the least
satisfactory way out of a situation fraught with no small risk of
publicity. Marigny must have had some all-powerful motive in sending
for him; better learn that before his bitter and contemptuous words
sealed an adversary's lips.
"Won't you sit down?" came the urbane request.
"I prefer standing, if you don't mind," said Medenham curtly; then he
added, after a little pause:
"It may clear the atmosphere somewhat if I tell you that I threatened
you at Bristol merely because a certain issue had to be determined
within a few seconds. That consideration does not apply now. You are
at liberty to say what you like without fear of consequences."
The Frenchman elevated his eyebrows.
"Fear?" he said.
"Oh, don't bandy words with me. You know what I mean. I suppose a man
must possess courage of a sort even to become a blackmailer, which is
what you threaten to develop into. At any rate, I promise to keep my
hands off you, if that is what you want."
"Not exactly," was the quiet answer. "One may draw distinctions, even
in that regard, but I do wish for an opportunity to discuss our
quarrel without an appeal to brute force."
"In other words," said Medenham sternly, "you want to be free to say
something which under ordinary conditions would earn you a thrashing.
Well--say it!"
Marigny nodded, pulled a chair round so that he was straddled across
it, facing Medenham, with his arms resting on the back. He lit a
cigarette, and seemed to draw inspiration from the first dense cloud
of smoke, for his eyes dwelt on it rather than sought the Englishman's
frown.
"In a dispute of this kind," he said, "it is well to begin at the
beginning, otherwise one's motives are apt to be misunderstood. Even
you, I suppose, will admit that I was first in the field."
There was no answer. To his credit, Medenham thought, Marigny showed a
curious unwillingness to mention Cynthia's name, but, no matter what
he had in mind, Medenham certainly did not intend to render his task
easier.
"You see," went on Count Edouard, after a thoughtful puff or two, "I
am quite as well-born a man in my country as you are in yours. I have
not ascertained the date when the Fairholme Earldom was created, but
there has been a Comte Marigny on the Loire since 1434. Of course, you
understand that I do not mention this trivial fact in any ridiculous
spirit of boasting. I only put it forward as constituting a claim to a
certain equality. That is all. Unfortunately, recent events in my
family have robbed me of those necessary appurtenances to rank and
position which a happier fate has preserved to you. I am poor, you are
rich; I must marry a wife with money, you can afford to marry for
love. Why then, Viscount Medenham, should you step in and rob me of a
rich wife?"
In spite of his loathing of the means adopted by this self-proclaimed
rival to snatch an advantage, Medenham did not hesitate to reply:
"My answer to that is, of course, that I have done nothing of the
sort. I simply intervened between a crew of adventurers and their
possible, though most improbable, victim."
"Unfortunately, our points of view are irreconcilable," went on the
Frenchman airily. "I might claim that the term adventurer, as applied
to me, is a harsh one. You may inquire where and how you choose in
Paris, and you will find no discredit attached to my name. But that
phase of the difficulty is now of no consequence. Let us keep to the
main issue. Some three months ago I made the acquaintance of a lady
fitted in every respect to fill my ideal. I was on good terms with her
father, and by no means distasteful to the lady herself. Given a fair
opportunity, I thought I might win her, and I was puzzling my wits to
know how best to attain that most desirable end when Fate apparently
opened a way. But you have no doubt observed in life that while one
can seldom misinterpret Fate's frowns, her smiles can be damnably
misleading. Sometimes they are little else than malicious leers; it
was so now, and I quickly found that I had erred badly in thinking
that I had been vouchsafed a golden opportunity----"
"Can't you spare me some of this theorizing?" broke in Medenham with a
cold impatience. "You happened to send for me at a moment when I was
exceedingly anxious to meet you. The fact that I am here in response
to your request stops me from carrying out the special purpose I had
in view. That can wait, though not very long. At any rate, you might
save yourself some hair-splitting and me some exercise of
self-restraint by telling me what it is that you want."
"A thousand regrets if I am boring you," said Marigny, leaning back in
the chair and laying the cigarette on the mantelpiece. "Yet bear with
me a little while, I pray you; these explanations are necessary. A
sane man acts with motive, and it is only reasonable that you should
understand my motive before you hear my project."
"Ah, then, there is a project?"
"Yes. You have stepped in between me and the realization of my dearest
wish, of my main object in life. You are, I take it, a soldier and a
gentleman. There is a way by which men of honor settle these
disputes--I invite you to follow it."
The fantastic proposal was made with an air of dignity that robbed it
of any inherent ludicrousness. Greatly as he despised this man,
Medenham could not wholly conceal the wonder that leaped to his eyes.
"Are you suggesting that we should fight a duel?" he asked, smiling
with incredulity, yet constrained to believe that Marigny was really
speaking in cold blood.
"Yes--oh, yes. A duel--no make-believe!"
A curious change came into Marigny's voice at that instant. He seemed
to bark each staccato phrase; a vindictive fire gleamed in his black
eyes, and the olive tint showed beneath the pink and white of his
skin.
Medenham laughed, almost good-humoredly.
"The notion is worthy of you," he said. "I might have expected it, but
I fancied you were more sensible. Surely you know enough of my world
to realize that such a thing is impossible."
"It must be made possible," said Marigny gravely.
"It cannot--I refuse."
"I am partly prepared for some such answer, but I shall be just to you
in my thoughts, Viscount Medenham. I know you are a brave man. It is
not cowardice, but your insular convention that restrains you from
facing me on the field. Nevertheless, I insist."
Medenham threw out an impatient hand.
"You are talking arrant nonsense, for what purpose I can hardly
conceive," he said, frowning with vexation at the tragi-comedy into
which he had been drawn. "Frenchmen, it is true, regard these things
from a different standpoint. That which seems rational to you is
little else than buffoonery to me. If that is your object in seeking
an interview, it has now been accomplished. I absolutely decline to
entertain the proposition for a moment. You have certainly succeeded
in lending an air of drivel to a controversy that I regard as serious.
I came here filled with very bitter thoughts toward you, but your
burlesque has disarmed me. It is only fair, however, that I should
warn you not to cross my path again, since one's sense of humor may
become strained, and that will be bad for you."