The Child Wife

“Whether known or not,” answered the ex-Governor, “they are there. Step forward to the window here, and I shall show you one of them.”

Maynard joined Kossuth at the window, where he had been for a time standing.

“You had better keep the curtain as a screen – if you don’t wish to be recognised.”

“For what should I care?”

“Well, my dear captain, this is your own country. Your coming to my house may compromise you. It will make you many powerful enemies.”

“As for that, Governor, the thing’s done already. All know me as your friend.”

“Only as my defender. All do not know you as a plotter and conspirator – such as the Times describes me.”

“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the elect of a German revolutionary committee. “Much do I care about that! Such a conspirator. I’d be only too proud of the tide. Where is this precious spy?”

As Maynard put the question, he stepped on into the window, without thinking of the curtain.

“Look up to that casement in the second storey,” directed Kossuth; “the cottage nearly opposite – first window from the corner. Do you see anything there?”

“No; nothing but a Venetian blind.”

“But the laths are apart. Can you see nothing behind them? I do distinctly. The scoundrels are not cunning. They forget there’s a back light beyond, which enables me to take note of their movements.”

“Ah!” said Maynard, still gazing. “Now I see. I can make out the figure of a man seated or standing in the window.”

“Yes; and there he is seated or standing all day; he or another. They appear to take it in turns. At night they descend to the street. Don’t look any longer! He is watching us now; and it won’t do to let him know that he’s suspected. I have my reasons for appearing ignorant of this espionage.”

Maynard, having put on a careless look, was about drawing back, when a hansom cab drove up to the gate of the house opposite, discharging a gentleman, who, furnished with a gate-key, entered without ringing the bell.

“That,” said Kossuth, “is the chief spy, who appears to employ a considerable staff – among them a number of elegant ladies. My poor concerns must cost your government a good sum.”

Maynard was not attending to the remark. His thoughts, as well as eyes, were still occupied with the gentleman who had got out of the cab; and who, before disappearing behind the lilacs and laurels, was recognised by him as his old antagonist, Swinton! Captain Maynard did that he had before refused, and suddenly. He concealed himself behind the window curtain! Kossuth observing it, inquired why?

“I chance to know the man,” was Maynard’s answer. “Pardon me, Governor, for having doubted your word! I can believe now what you’ve told me. Spies! Oh! if the English people knew this! They would not stand it!”

“Dear friend! don’t go into rhapsodies! They will stand it.”

“But I won’t!” cried Maynard, in a frenzy of indignation. “If I can’t reach the head of this fiendish conspiracy, I’ll punish the tool thus employed. Tell me, Governor, how long since these foul birds have built their nest over there?”

“They came about a week ago. The house was occupied by a bank clerk – a Scotchman, I believe – who seemed to turn out very suddenly. They entered upon the same day.”

“A week,” said Maynard, reflecting. “That’s well. He cannot have seen me. It’s ten days since I was here – and – and – ”

“What are you thinking of, my dear captain?” asked Kossuth, seeing that his friend was engaged in deep cogitation.

“Of a revanche– a revenge, if you prefer having it in our vernacular.”

“Against whom?”

“That scoundrel of a spy – the chief one. I know him of old. I’ve long owed him a score on my own account; and I am now doubly in his debt on yours, and that of my country – disgraced by this infamy!”

“And how would you act?”

Maynard did not make immediate answer. He was still reflecting.

“Governor!” he said, after a time, “you’ve told me that your guests are followed by one or other of these fellows?”

“Always followed; on foot if they be walking; in a cab if riding. It is a hansom cab that follows them – the same you saw just now. It is gone; but only to the corner, where it is kept continually on the stand – its driver having instructions to obey a signal.”

“What sort of a signal?”

“It is made by the sounding of a shrill whistle – a dog-call.”

“And who rides in the hansom?”

“One or other of the two fellows you have seen. In the day time it is the one who occupies the blinded window; at night the duty is usually performed by the gentleman just returned – your old acquaintance, as you say.”

“This will do!” said Maynard, in soliloquy.

Then, turning to Kossuth, he inquired:

“Governor! have you any objection to my remaining your guest till the sun goes down, and a little after?”

“My dear captain! Why do you ask the question? You know how glad I shall be of your company.”

“Another question. Do you chance to have in your house such a thing as a horsewhip?”

“My adjutant, Ihasz, has, I believe. He is devoted to hunting.”

“Still another question. Is there among Madam’s wardrobe half a yard of black crape? A quarter of a yard will do.”

“Ah!” sighed the exile, “my poor wife’s wardrobe is all of that colour. I’m sure she can supply you with plenty of crape. But say, cher capitaine! what do you want with it?”

“Don’t ask me to tell you, your Excellency – not now. Be so good as to lend me those two things. To-morrow I shall return them; and at the same time give you an account of the use I have made of them. If fortune favour me, it will be then possible to do so.”

Kossuth, perceiving that his friend was determined on reticence, did not further press for an explanation.

He lit a long chibouque, of which some half-dozen – presents received during his captivity at Kutayah, in Turkey – stood in a corner of the room. Inviting Maynard to take one of them, the two sate smoking and talking, till the light of a street-lamp flashing athwart the window, told them the day was done.

“Now, Governor!” said Maynard, getting up out of his chair, “I’ve but one more request to make of you – that you will send out your servant to fetch me a cab.”

“Of course,” said Kossuth, touching a spring-bell that stood on the table of his studio.

A domestic made appearance – a girl, whose stolid German physiognomy Maynard seemed to distrust. Not that he disliked her looks; but she was not the thing for his purpose.

“Does your Excellency keep a man-servant?” he asked. “Excuse me for putting such a question?”

“Indeed, no, my dear captain! In my poor exiled state I do not feel justified. If it is only to fetch a cab, Gertrude can do it. She speaks English well enough for that.” Maynard once more glanced at the girl – still distrustingly. “Stay!” said Kossuth. “There’s a man comes to us in the evenings. Perhaps he is here now. Gertrude, is Karl Steiner in the kitchen?”