The Moonless Night (19 page)

Don’t keep your eyes in your pocket? She pondered this. He meant of course that he would go alone, and the groom was to keep his eyes open here.

“
Compris
,” the man replied jauntily. “
Vous avez le pistolet
?”

“
Bien entendu
,” Sanford answered, patting a bulge in his pocket.

Of course he had a pistol. Naturally a traitor would not run about unarmed. The saddle was buckled on, Sanford hopped up and went out of the stable, while Marie waited on tenterhooks for the groom to leave, that she might dash out after Sanford and see which way he had gone. The stubborn Frenchman took his time about leaving. It seemed an hour he stood looking all around with a suspicious eye, but at last he turned and walked off towards the grooms’ room, and she could make a hasty dart to the yard to watch Sanford.

He was off to Madame Monet’s, she assumed, but was no longer sure. If this were the night Napoleon was to be rescued, he might be going elsewhere. And David and Benson wasting their time spying on Madame Monet! She soon realized it was no such a thing. Only David was gone there. Benson had somehow discovered this was the night, and was already out in advance of Sanford to thwart his plans. She felt a swelling of triumph, also considerable relief to know the whole onus was not on her own slim shoulders. How noble of Everett to have gone alone, to keep David out of danger. It was just like him.

Looking around in the darkness, for with the heavily-clouded sky there was a very poor illumination, she saw Sanford headed not into town but off up the hill to Bolt’s Point. He was going up to the telescope. To await a signal before going into action? She had to discover of course, and in a flash she was back in the stable, very silently and carefully leading her own mare out the door. The Frenchie might come back and discover it gone, but she must take the chance and hope he had his eyes in his pocket. Her own had some trouble keeping Sanford in sight. For minutes at a stretch she lost him, but from time to time he was visible, proceeding directly to the telescope.

When she came to a point about a quarter of the way from the summit, she realized she could not go barging in on horseback, and tethered her mare to a tree, only to see that Sanford had done the same thing not ten yards away. She wasted precious moments backtracking and going off to the left to keep her own mount invisible from any chance comers. She couldn’t believe Sanford was to do the whole by himself.

Creeping forward as silently as a bat, straining her eyes into the distance, she saw only one form on the summit by the telescope. The thorn bushes might conceal others, but she thought Sanford was all alone, using the telescope now, or trying to. She could not believe he could see a thing in the darkness. Then suddenly a light flashed, right in his hand. Once, twice, three times, and it was covered again. He had a covered lantern he was signaling with. How had he got it? It must have been up here waiting for him. He hadn’t taken it out of the stable.

Then he waited. No further signals were given, but he walked to the very edge of the precipice and leaned over. He was carrying something in his hands. Not a large object, and apparently not heavy, as he moved swiftly, lightly. A rope, she decided at last, catching some little glimpse of a longish object bobbing from his fingers. He then lay down on his stomach and threw the rope over the cliff.

There wasn’t a single doubt in her mind that she would soon see Napoleon Bonaparte being hauled up that rope. Often she had heard Sanford mention this exact means of escape for him. But how stupid Sanford was! He should tie the rope around a tree. His own weight was not great enough to safely tether the rope at this end. He would go sliding down the cliff himself, and Bonaparte on the other end of the rope. And wasn’t that a just fate for the pair of them? She realized it was not the fate she wanted for either one. She was seized with a trembling that shook her whole body to consider such a calamity.

Just as she was on the verge of dashing forward, the man began to rise. He stood up, reeling in the rope, empty, to judge by the speed of his movements. Then she saw it was not quite empty. There was some small object attached to its end. Sanford fumbled with the knot, removing the object. It was small, cylindrical in shape, and had a little sheen to it. A metallic tube of some sort. It was not Bonaparte himself that was the object of tonight’s operation, but a message only. So it was no idle boast that he knew how the secret messages were relayed. He had managed to bribe a good swimmer to carry messages in a sealed metal tube. That must be it. He had probably passed on David’s idea of a masquerade to Napoleon, and was getting the General’s response. Instructions as to how he must proceed ashore to complete the escape.

All worry for Sanford’s safety vanished. She had to get the message, had to find out his plans. What to do? But again there was movement at the point before she could do anything. A silent black shadow darted out of the bushes, and Sanford crumpled to the earth. The metal tube was snatched up, and the attacker disappeared back into the concealing darkness. A secret smile of pride and triumph glowed on her face, unseen. Benson on the alert, knowing every move in advance, had come here and got the message away from Sanford. His whole plan would soon be revealed to the London agent.

Her instinct was to rush forth and congratulate him, but the crumpled heap on the ground began to stir, and she remained hidden. It sat up, rubbing its head, and suddenly the air was rent with a truly wicked curse. Then the man got to his feet, looked all around, and soon flew right past her. She shook her head in bewilderment. It was not Lord Sanford. It was Benson!

Everett had come to receive the message, and Sanford had somehow discovered it, and gone after him. It took her a moment to recover from the shock, but as soon as she did so she darted out from behind the bushes to offer her services to Benson. She was too late. He was already pelting down the hill on his horse. Where had he had it hidden? She hadn’t seen a sign of it, nor heard a single whinny.

The excitement over, she returned at a slower gait to untie her own mare and go home. She lingered a while, purposely going slowly to allow the men to get out of the stable before she should enter. When finally she went in, all mounts were accounted for except David’s. For once she had been on the scene, and he had missed all the fun. She mentally corrected the frivolous word—activity.

She was extremely curious to hear all about it from Benson, and went to him to console him on his loss, and of course devise plans for the message’s recovery. The night’s excitement was not over yet. She flung her pelisse off in the kitchen and dashed up to the saloon, to find him looking through a book with a somewhat bored expression on his face, as if he had been there an hour. He was not disheveled nor perturbed in the least.

“Mr. Benson!” she cried in surprise. “I thought you would be going after Lord Sanford to get back the message.”

He blinked his eyes and frowned. “I beg your pardon?” he asked.

“You don’t have to dissemble with me. I saw the whole. I went to the stable after David left...”

“Where did David go?” he asked.

“After you, to Madame Monet’s. He thought you had gone there, but when I went to check to see if Sanford’s horse was gone, Sanford came into the stable, and I followed him to the Point.”

“You shouldn’t take such risks, Marie. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you. And do you mean to tell me Sanford went up to the telescope tonight?”

“But you were there! Surely it was you he hit on the head and stole the message from.”

“My dear girl, I haven’t an idea what you’re talking about.” He demanded an explanation from her, and at its termination, he said, “But it wasn’t me. I have been back from town this half hour, and was wondering where everyone was. I waited up only in the hope that you would come downstairs again, as it is not at all late.”

“I made sure it was you! Of course in the darkness I really couldn’t see very well. I thought it was you, and saw what I was looking for, I suppose.”

“I am flattered you were looking for me.”

“Who could it have been, I wonder.”

“Someone else who is mixed up in this. There is more than one plan to rescue Bonaparte—half a dozen of them, I daresay. But Sanford claims he, too, wishes to stop any attempt, you know, and he has heard somehow of this plan and caught the fellow up. It was well done of him.”

She tried to explain to him the error of his thinking. The brass buttons on the coat, unseen by him, were mentioned, along with all the other suspicious behavior. She thought she had convinced him, and her next speech was, “You must get that message from him. I am convinced it was a message from Napoleon.”

“He has already read it. Not much point in going after it, except that it would be well for us to know, too, of course.”

“We must know. It is
crucial
.”

“Yes, I’ll take care of it. I don’t want you involving yourself, my dear.” His glowing eyes regarded her tenderly, sadly.

“Let me help you,” she offered.

“That is not necessary. I have ways.”

A pretty good way soon presented itself as Lord Sanford strolled down the stairs, wearing again his brass-buttoned jacket. Marie looked at the buttons, then with great significance to Benson! “I’ll detain him—you go and search his room now,” she said in an undertone. He sat a moment chatting so his departure would not be too obvious.

“Back are you, Mr. Benson?” Sanford asked in a normal conversational tone.

“Yes, I had some business in Plymouth.”

“What sort of business does one conduct at night? Sounds like romantic business to me.”

“You mistake, Lord Sanford. It is not I who conducts his amorous business in Plymouth.”

“One hears it is France you prefer.”

“It isn’t Mr. Benson who favors Frenchies for his amours, either,” Marie said angrily.

“I thought otherwise,” Sanford remarked with an air of indifference, and took up a seat. “Where is David?” he asked.

“Was his mount missing when you came back, my lord?” Marie asked, looking a challenge at him.

“Back? I haven’t been out,” he answered.

“Dear me, what a state your room must be in, that you have muddied your boots while lounging in it,” Marie said, glancing to his boots, where slight evidences of mud were visible along their edges.

“I didn’t like to mention it, but it is in need of a sweeping out,” he replied, his lips held steady with just a little difficulty. “Mind you, I am not complaining! The towels, for instance, are changed morning and night.”

Mr. Benson yawned, stretched, and said he thought he’d call it a night.

“Not a bad idea. I’m for bed, too,” Sanford said at once, looking at him with a sapient eye.

“Ah, before you go, Sanford, might I have a word with you?” Marie asked, smiling winningly.

“If Mr. Benson will promise not to be jealous. But really he doesn’t seem to be bothered by the green-eyed monster at all,” he answered.

Benson’s face assumed an angry hue, but he said nothing. He arose and strode out the door.

“Now what, I wonder, can suddenly account for your deigning to smile at me, and wishing to speak to me?” Sanford asked.

“I hope it is not so unusual as to occasion remark when I smile at a guest under my father’s roof,” she began, searching wildly for a topic to detain him.

“That must depend on the guest. Mr. Benson would not find it unusual. I have reason to.”

“I have been thinking about your very kind invitation for my aunt and myself to visit you at Wight,” she said, hitting hastily on a subject that might be stretched out to a quarter of an hour.

“Dare I hope you are overcoming your aversion to islands?” he asked with polite interest, and a twinkle in his eye she could not quite trust.

“As you pointed out, I was born and bred on an island, and I daresay once one got to Wight she would forget she was surrounded by water.”

“My home is right on the coast. It would be difficult to forget.”

“But I live on the coast here, too, and never think of the ocean at all.”

“Not even when you go to the dock, or out on the
Fury
, or to Bolt’s Point to use the telescope?” he asked.

She swallowed at the mention of the telescope and said, “Never think of being on an island, I mean...”

“In that case you might contrive to be comfortable at Wight.”

“I should like to hear something about it.”

“Certainly, I shall be happy to talk to you for half an hour, and you must doze off or listen, just as you see fit. How long does Mr. Benson require abovestairs?”

She gave a guilty start, her eyes darting towards the staircase in the hall.

“No, no, I have no notion of interrupting him. He sha’n’t find a thing there, and would not be nearly so interesting as yourself to lock in with me in my room. One clout on the head a night is enough for him, don’t you think?”

“It wasn’t he at Bolt’s Point,” she said, seeing no point in pretending to misunderstand him.

“Certainly looked like him.”

“I thought so, too, but it is only because we expected to see him.”

“I wasn’t at all sure it would be him. I hoped, for your sake, it would not be.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is a trifle incriminating, don’t you think, that he was in secret communication with the
Bellerophon
?”

“Incriminating! Oh, no, it’s...” She pulled to a stop, unsure how much she dared to tell, but knowing at least she ought not to reveal Benson’s secret job.

Sanford regarded her closely. “Don’t get yourself mixed up in this, Miss Boltwood. And don’t put too much faith in Mr. Benson’s lovemaking. He is not eligible.”

“He told me about losing Oakhurst! All about it,” she added in a tone of significance. “He does not pretend to be wealthy.”

“Does he pretend to be unattached?’

“Pretend to be! He
is
unattached.”

“Did he actually say so?”

“No, not in so many words, but he is, of course.”

“If you say so,” Sanford replied, with a look that told her she was a fool. They were ex-neighbors, these two. Was it possible Mr. Benson had a girl friend, even a fiancée back home? She soon solved this mystery. He had been courting someone, some mercenary girl who turned him off when he lost Oakhurst. Still, she was curious to hear it confirmed and asked, “Did he have a friend, a lady friend, in Devon?”