Kitty's Conquest

CHAPTER XIV

Another minute the match, spluttering in the damp night air, was extinguished; but I had seen enough. To the amaze of my companion, to the scandal of any legal or professional education I might have had, indignation got the better of all discretion, and I burst through the shrubbery and laid my hand on the rein.

"Mr. Peyton, I believe," said I, in a tone intended to be double-shotted with sarcasm. "Think we had the pleasure of meeting at Judge – "

"Hell!" hissed a startled voice. "Quick, – drive on!" Crack! went the whip; the horse plunged violently forward; the wheel struck me full on the left leg and hurled me against the stout branches of some dripping bush, and with a whirr of wheels and crushing of gravel the buggy disappeared in the darkness. Mr. Parker ran to my assistance, and together we rushed to our own cab.

"Follow that buggy! Be lively!" was all I could find breath to say to our driver, and then we were off in pursuit. We heard their hoofs and wheels thundering over the bayou bridge, and saw their light vehicle flash under the lamps at the Canal Street end, and that was the last we ever did see of them. Our old horse with his heavy load was no match for theirs. Long before we reached the open road beyond the cemeteries, they were spinning along hundreds of yards out of sight ahead, and gaining at every stride. In hurried words I told the aide-de-camp who the youth was and what I knew about him, and, like myself, he was eager to overhaul him; but it was useless. Not a trace could we find of the precious pair as we drove in town. Day was breaking, and all our thoughts now turned to Amory. Where was he, and how had he escaped the trap?

In the cold, misty dawn we reined up at the Magazine Street warehouse. The sentry, with his head wrapped in the cape of his overcoat, called out the corporal of the guard, and of him we eagerly inquired. Yes. The lieutenant had returned, about an hour ago, his horse covered with mud and much "blown." The lieutenant seemed to have a chill, and had gone right to his room. Thither we followed, and noiselessly ascending the stairs, made our way out to the gallery. A dim light burned in the window; the door was half open, and by the bedside sat a soldier, who at sight of Mr. Parker rose and saluted respectfully.

"What has been the matter, orderly?" asked the aide-de-camp, in a whisper.

"I don't quite know, sir. Lieutenant Amory came home with a bad chill about an hour ago, and quick as he dismounted I came over with him, and he took some quinine and got to bed. He's just gone to sleep. He hasn't been to bed for forty-eight hours, sir, and must be used up."

We stepped forward and bent over him. He had removed his heavy riding-boots and trousers; his cavalry jacket was thrown on the chair at the foot of the bed; and, muffled up in blankets, he lay there, sleeping heavily yet uneasily. He moaned in his slumber, and threw himself restlessly on the other side as we raised the light to see his face. Placing my hand lightly on his forehead, I found it burning; so were his cheeks, his hands. Fever had certainly set in after his chill, but of how severe a character we could not judge, and it would never do to awaken him. We stepped out on the landing, and after a brief consultation, decided that Parker should find the attending surgeon and send him to us as soon as possible. Meantime, I would remain with Amory.

In less than an hour the doctor arrived. Very thoroughly, yet very gently, he examined his patient as to pulse and temperature; closely scrutinized his face, and then replaced the bed-clothing that in his fevered tossing Amory had thrown off. Seeing the anxiety in my eyes, he spoke, —

"Very feverish, and probably quite ill. You did right not to wake him. He will not sleep long, and every little helps. I will stay for the present, and be with him when he does wake, for until then I cannot really judge of his condition. What a night you have had of it, Mr. Brandon! Parker has been telling me something of it."

I glanced half reproachfully at Parker. We had agreed to keep the thing to ourselves until I could see Harrod and consult with him. But the aide promptly relieved me of any misapprehension. He had "named no names," nor had he spoken of the part played by Peyton. Then, at the doctor's suggestion, we withdrew, to seek such rest as we could find after our night in the rain. Leaving Parker at headquarters, with the promise to meet him late in the afternoon, I went to my own rooms, gave my suspicious-looking landlady directions that I was not to be disturbed until noon, and, tired out, slept until after two o'clock.

When I opened my eyes, Harrod Summers rose from an easy-chair in the sitting-room, and came forward to greet me with outstretched hand. One glance at his face showed that he had something of lively interest to tell me, and as I sat up half sleepily in bed and answered his query as to whether I felt rested or any the worse for the night's adventures, I could see plainly that there was some matter that worried him, and divined quite readily that he wanted to speak with me. It all came out while I was shaving and dressing, and, dovetailed with what was already known to Mr. Parker and myself, "a very pretty quarrel" as it stood was unfolded to my ears.

It seems that on leaving the theatre the night previous, Colonel Summers had stepped ahead of Kitty and her friend, Lieutenant Turpin, and was searching for me. Seeing nothing of me in the crowd around the entrance, he looked in at one or two resorts along Canal Street, thinking it possible that he might meet some officers who could tell him of Amory's movements, and so enable him to judge of mine. Meantime, Turpin and Kitty strolled homeward, arm in arm. On reaching the Clay statue, Harrod decided to search no farther, but to go home, feeling sure that if anything were wrong I would follow him thither. At the house Pauline met him with anxious inquiry. Had he seen or heard anything of Mr. Amory? Kitty had returned ten or fifteen minutes before; had bidden Mr. Turpin a very abrupt good-night, and excused herself on the plea of fatigue and headache; and Pauline, following her to her room, found her very pale and nervous, and learned from her that Amory had been at the theatre, looking "so strangely" she thought he was ill; and, as they came down the street, two men in a buggy drove up close beside them, and leaned out and stared at them. She was utterly upset by Amory's appearance, perhaps, and thinking of him, did not notice this performance until Mr. Turpin suddenly dropped her arm and strode fiercely towards the buggy, as though to demand the meaning of the conduct of its occupants; whereupon they had whipped up and dashed off around the first corner; and one of them – though his hat and coat-collar concealed his face – one of them looked, she said, strangely like Ned Peyton. Pauline, seeing her nervousness and fright, had soothed her with arguments as to the impossibility of Peyton's being there; but she very anxiously spoke of the matter to Harrod. Then, after we had made our midnight visit, Kitty, in her loose wrapper, white as a sheet and trembling with dread and excitement, had stolen to Pauline's room. Her own window overlooked the balcony and the street, and unable to sleep, as she told Pauline, she was lying wide awake, when she heard rapid hoof-beats on the pavement coming from Canal Street, – a horse at rapid trot, but with no sound of wheels in company, and the horse halted before their door. Unable to restrain her curiosity or anxiety, she had risen, stolen to the window, and peered out through the slats of the blind. A gas-lamp threw its light upon the street in front, and there, plainly illumined by its glare, sat Frank Amory in the saddle, gazing up at her window. She turned instantly, she knew not why, and stepped back. He could not have seen her, yet, in another moment, rapidly as he came, he rode away, turned to the left at the corner, and she heard his hoof-beats dying away in the direction of Dauphin Street. That was all, until we came, and not until I had gone had she courage to creep over to Pauline and tell her what she had seen.

Early in the morning Harrod had gone to headquarters; found Amory's address, and on going thither was told by a soldier that the lieutenant was too ill to see anybody. But, on sending up his name, the doctor and Mr. Parker came down, and from them he learned that Amory had a sharp attack of fever; nothing like as serious as Vinton's, and one that would soon yield to treatment, provided nothing else went wrong. "There has been some sore trouble or anxiety which has been telling upon Amory," said the doctor, "and that complicates matters somewhat. He may have had some delirium last night, but not enough to cause such a freak as an all-night gallop. In fact, Parker has confided to me that Mr. Brandon and himself know something of the matter, and that they mean to have a talk with you."

"And that," said Harrod, "is what brought me here four hours ago, though I had the grace not to disturb you. Now, what is it? What do you know? Has that young cub Peyton been at the bottom of this?"

And then I told Harrod the story of our night's adventures. He listened at first with composure; but when it came to the description of the two skulkers at Gaston's and the conversation I had overheard, he rose excitedly and began pacing rapidly up and down the room, tugging fiercely at his moustache. Every now and then some muttered anathema fell from his lips. He was evidently powerfully and unpleasantly moved, and when at last my prolix recital was brought to an end with the discovery of Peyton, and our fruitless chase, Harrod burst out into genuine imprecation, —

"The doubly damned young scoundrel!" he groaned. "Why, Brandon, I believe there is no cowardly villainy of which that fellow is not capable. I ought to have gone with you. I knew I ought to have gone."

"Why so?"

"Then we could have secured him by this time. It is too late now, I fear. He is off for Havana or Mexico."

"But what good would that have done? What could we prove? What would you want him secured for now that we have Amory safe and warned against him in the future? You would not care to have the thing made public, would you?"

"Not if that were all! By heaven! the easiest solution of the whole thing would be to let him try to trap Amory once more, and let Amory know all that – that we both know."

"Do you mean that he has been at other mischief than this mysterious attempt at Amory?"

"Yes. We thought him safely out of the way, – in Cuba. He was there, but must have come directly to this point when he heard of the verdict in those Ku-Klux cases. You know they acquitted Smith. No jury could be found that dared do otherwise, I suppose," he added gloomily.

"I knew that, of course; but why should that bring Peyton here?"

"He had to leave Havana, Brandon. Don't you remember father's anxiety at Sandbrook before we came away? and what he said about its perhaps being too late for any effort on his part? I was to have told you, but I couldn't bear to just yet. Why, that damned scoundrel forged father's signature to a large draft, and got the money there where the bankers knew them both. It was only discovered here in New Orleans when the draft came to the Hibernia, and as the loss comes on these old correspondents of father's in Havana, he feels bound to see them reimbursed, for he cannot bear the thought of disgrace to his name or that of a kinsman. By Peyton's arrest we might secure part of the money. That is all, for he has taken every cent father had in the world."

"Then the sooner we get to the chief of police and acquaint him with Peyton's movements and description the better it will be," said I, who felt no scruples whatever against bringing master Ned to the bar of justice.

"It's too late, Brandon, I'm afraid. He saw Amory yesterday and Kitty last night; he knows by this time we are here, and he is miles away. Father had telegraphed at once that he would refund the amount of Peyton's forged raise, and so suspended pursuit or arrest. Peyton of course has heard of this or he would not have ventured hither in the first place; but he well knows that with me here it is no place for him. We will go, of course, and start the detectives, but I fear we have lost him. Do you think Amory can see us this evening and tell us what he knows of this affair?"

"We must see him, unless the doctor prohibits it; but come first to the City Hall," said I. And as we rode thither in a street-car, both deeply engrossed in thought, Harrod turned suddenly towards me, —

"Brandon, this is the most extraordinary piece of cross-purposes to me. For three weeks – for a month past, Frank Amory has been a mystery. We all thought him growing very fond of Kitty, and after the affair on the Tennessee, where he was hurt, she seemed very much interested in him. Now for nearly a month he has avoided her, and she thinks that – well, she gave me a message for him the night we started, which virtually begged his forgiveness for something she had said or done to wound him. She would never have sent it if she did not believe he cared for her. Of course I have never delivered it, because she was here to speak for herself, and told me not to; but he has treated her with something like aversion, and she resents it, and now she's flirting with young Turpin, and then there will be more trouble. Great heavens! what a world of misunderstandings it is!" And Harrod laughed despite his anxiety.

Having some inkling by this time as to the secret of Amory's hesitancy and strange conduct towards Kitty, I told Harrod that a solution of the matter had occurred to me. There was an explanation, I believed, and a satisfactory one, and it would appear very shortly I thought. This, in profound wisdom and some mystery of manner, I imparted to the perplexed colonel. He gazed at me in bewilderment, but was polite enough to press the matter no further.

"A few days will straighten that matter," said I. "We will see when he is well enough to be about again." And in my purblind idiocy I really fancied that letter of mine to Bella Grayson was going to settle everything.

Our visit at police headquarters was brief and not particularly satisfactory. It was already past steamer time for both Havana and Vera Cruz. If Peyton were "wanted," a telegram to the quarantine station, with his full description, might establish whether or no he was on board; but there were no officers there to make the arrest, and an arrest was not wanted in any event, – it was the recovery of the money. If he had not left town it was just barely possible they might nab him; but dozens of river boats left New Orleans for a dozen different points every evening, and there were hundreds of hiding-places in the city itself. He would try, said the chief, and one or two solemn-looking men in civilian's dress came in at his call and listened attentively to our description of Peyton and his companion; but, one and all, they said they would like to hear Lieutenant Amory's account of what he had had to do with the pair. So, taking one of the detectives, we drove up to Amory's lodging.

The doctor was there and came down to meet us. I told him our dilemma, and asked if it were possible to hear Amory's story. He looked grave for a moment, and considered well before answering.

"You might see him, Mr. Brandon, if that will do. I would much rather he did not talk until to-morrow, but if there be an emergency, why, he can stand it. He is doing well, has slept well since his medicine began to take hold this morning, and now he's awake and inclined to be fretful. Something worries him, and perhaps it may be a benefit to see you."