Through Russian Snows (11 page)

The wind was but light, and keeping a smart look-out for British
cruisers, and lowering their sails down once or twice when a suspicious
sail was seen in the distance, they approached the rocky shore some two
miles east of the entrance to the bay at ten o'clock on the second
evening after starting. A lantern was raised twice above the bulwark,
kept there for an instant, and then lowered.

"I expect it is all right," the captain said, "or they would have sent
up a rocket before this. Half-past eight is the time arranged, and I
think we are about off the landing place. Ah, yes, there is the signal!"
he broke off as a light was shown for a moment close down to the water's
edge. "Yes, there it is again! Lower the anchor gently; don't let it
splash."

A light anchor attached to a hawser was silently let down into the
water.

"Now, off with the hatches; get up the kegs."

While some of the men were engaged at this work, others lowered the
second boat, and this, and the one towing behind, were brought round to
the side. Julian saw that all the men were armed with cutlasses, and had
pistols in their belts. Rapidly the kegs were brought up on deck and
lowered into the boat.

"Ah, here comes Thompson," the captain said, as a very small boat rowed
up silently out of the darkness. "Well, my friend, is all safe?" he
asked in broken English as the boat came alongside.

"Safe enough, captain. Most of the revenue men have gone round from here
to the other side of the bay, where they got news, as they thought, that
a cargo was going to be run. The man on duty here has been squared, and
will be away at the other end of his beat. The carts are ready, a
quarter of a mile away. I made you out with my glass just before sunset,
and sent round word at once to our friends to be in readiness."

The boats started as soon as their cargoes were on board, and the work
went on uninterruptedly for the next two hours, by which time the last
keg was on shore, and the boats returned to the lugger. The men were in
high spirits. The cargo had been a valuable one, and the whole had been
got rid of without interruption. The boats were at once hoisted up, the
anchor weighed, and the lugger made her way out to sea.

"What port do you land at?" Julian asked Markham.

"We shall go up the Loire to Nantes," he replied; "she hails from there.
To-morrow morning you had best put on that sailor suit I gave you
to-day. Unless the wind freshens a good deal we sha'n't be there for
three or four days, but I fancy, from the look of the sky, that it will
blow up before morning, and, as likely as not, we shall get more than we
want by evening. There is generally a cruiser or two off the mouth of
the river. In a light wind we can show them our heels easily enough, but
if it is blowing at all their weight tells. I am glad to be at sea
again, lad, after being cooped up in that cursed prison for two years.
It seems to make a new man of one. I don't know but that I am sorry I
shot that fellow. I don't say that he didn't deserve it, for he did; but
I don't see it quite so strongly as I did when I was living on bread and
water, and with nothing to do but to think of how I could get even with
him when I got out; besides, I never calculated upon getting anyone else
into a mess, and I am downright sorry that I got you into one, Mr.
Wyatt. However, the job is done, and it is no use crying over spilt
milk."

Markham's prediction turned out correct. A fresh wind was blowing by the
morning, and two days later the lugger was running along, close under
the coast, fifteen miles south of the mouth of the Loire, having kept
that course in order to avoid any British cruisers that might be off the
mouth of the river. Before morning they had passed St. Nazaire, and were
running up the Loire.

FOLLOWING A TRAIL

Frank had started early for a walk with one of his school friends.
Returning through the town at three in the afternoon, he saw people
talking in groups. They presently met one of their chums.

"What is going on, Vincent?"

"Why, have you not heard? Faulkner, the magistrate, has been shot."

"Shot!" the two boys exclaimed. "Do you mean on purpose or
accidentally?"

"On purpose. The servants heard a gun fired close by, and a minute later
his horse galloped up to the door. Two men ran along the drive, and, not
a hundred yards from the house, found him lying shot through the body.
Three of the doctors went off at once. Thompson came back ten minutes
ago, for some instruments, I believe. He stopped his gig for a moment to
speak to the Rector, and I hear he told him that it might be as well for
him to go up at once, as there was very little probability of Faulkner's
living through the night."

"Well, I can't say that I am surprised," Frank said. "He has made
himself so disliked, there are so many men who have a grudge against
him, and he has been threatened so often, that I have heard fellows say
dozens of times he would be shot some day. And yet I suppose no one ever
really thought that it would come true; anyhow it is a very bad affair."

Leaving the other two talking together, Frank went on home. Mrs.
Troutbeck was greatly shocked at the news.

"Dear, dear!" she said, "what dreadful doings one does hear of. Who
would have thought that a gentleman, and a magistrate too, could have
been shot in broad daylight within a mile or two of us. I did not know
him myself, but I have always heard that he was very much disliked, and
it is awful to think that he has been taken away like this."

"Well, Aunt, I don't pretend to be either surprised or shocked. If a man
spends his life in going out of his way to hunt others down, he must not
be surprised if at last one of them turns on him. On the bench he was
hated; it was not only because he was severe, but because of his
bullying way. See how he behaved in that affair with Julian. I can't say
I feel any pity for him at all, he has sent many a man to the gallows,
and now his time has come."

At five o'clock it was already dusk, the shutters had been closed, and
the lamp lighted. Presently the servant entered.

"There is someone wants to speak to you, Master Frank."

Frank went out into the hall. The head of the constabulary and two of
his men were standing there. Much surprised, Frank asked the officer
into the other sitting-room.

"What is it, Mr. Henderson?" he said.

"It is a very sad business, a very sad business, Mr. Wyatt. Your brother
is not at home, I hear?"

"No. Julian went over this morning to have a day's rabbit-shooting with
Dick Merryweather. I expect it won't be long before he is back. There is
nothing the matter with him?" he asked, with a vague feeling of alarm at
the gravity of the officer's face.

"It is a very painful matter, Mr. Wyatt; but it is useless trying to
hide the truth from you, for you must know it shortly. I hold a warrant
for your brother's arrest on the charge of attempted wilful murder."

Frank's eyes dilated with surprise and horror.

"You don't mean—" he gasped, and then his faith in his brother came to
his aid, and he broke off indignantly: "it is monstrous, perfectly
monstrous, Mr. Henderson. I suppose it is Faulkner, and it is because of
that wretched smuggling business that suspicions fall on him, as if
there were not a hundred others who owe the man a much deeper grudge
than my brother did; indeed he had no animosity against him at all, for
Julian got the best of it altogether, and Faulkner has been hissed and
hooted every time he has been in the town since. If there was any
ill-feeling left over that matter, it would be on his part and not on
Julian's. Who signed the warrant? Faulkner himself?"

"No; it is signed by the Colonel and Mr. Harrington. They took the dying
deposition of Mr. Faulkner. There is no harm in my telling you that,
because it must be generally known when your brother is brought up, but
till then please do not let it go further. He has sworn that he overtook
Mr. Wyatt two or three hundred yards before he got to his own gate.
There was an altercation between them, and he swears that your brother
used threats. He had a double-barrelled gun in his hand, and as Faulkner
was riding up the drive to the house he was fired at from the trees on
his left, and fell from his horse. Almost directly afterwards Mr. Wyatt
ran out from the spot where the gun had been fired. Thinking he would
finish him if he thought he was still alive, Mr. Faulkner closed his
eyes and held his breath. Your brother came up and stood over him, and
having satisfied himself that he was dead, ran off through the trees
again."

"I believe it is a lie from beginning to end," Frank said passionately.
"Julian has brought him into disgrace here, and the fellow invented this
charge out of revenge. If it had been in the road, and Faulkner had
struck Julian as he did before, and Julian had had his loaded gun in his
hand, I don't say but that in his passion he might have shot him; still,
I don't believe he would, even then. Julian is one of the best-tempered
fellows in the world; still, I would admit that, in the heat of the
moment, he might raise his gun and fire, but to say that he loaded his
gun after Faulkner had gone on—for I am sure it was empty as he came
along, as I have never known him to bring home his gun loaded—and that
he then went and hid behind a tree and shot a man down. Why, I would not
believe it if fifty honest men swore to it, much less on the oath of a
fellow like Faulkner."

"I can't say anything about that, Mr. Wyatt; I have only my duty to do."

"Yes, I understand that, Mr. Henderson. Of course he must be arrested,
but I am sure no one will believe the accusation for a minute. Oh!" he
exclaimed, as a fresh idea struck him, "what was Faulkner shot with?"

"It is a bullet wound."

"Well, that is quite enough," Frank exclaimed triumphantly. "Julian had
his double-barrelled gun with him, and had been rabbit-shooting; and if
it had been he who fired it would have been with a charge of shot. You
don't suppose he went about with a bullet in his pocket to use in case
he happened to meet Faulkner, and have another row with him. Julian
never fired a bullet in his life, as far as I know. There is not such a
thing as a bullet-mould in the house."

The officer's look of gravity relaxed. "That is important, certainly,"
he said, "very important. I own that after hearing the deposition read
it did seem to me that, as the result of this unfortunate quarrel, your
brother might have been so goaded by something Mr. Faulkner said or did,
that he had hastily loaded his gun, and in his passion run across the
wood and shot him down. But now it is clear, from what you say, that it
is most improbable he would have a bullet about him, and unless it can
be proved that he obtained one from a gunmaker or otherwise, it is a
very strong point in his favour. I suppose your brother has not returned
this afternoon?"

"No. I asked the servant, when I got home at three, whether he had
returned, though I did not expect him back so soon, and she said that he
had not come in, and I am sure he has not done so since."

"Then I will not intrude any longer. I shall place one of my men in
front of the house and one behind, and if he comes home his arrest will
be managed quietly, and we will not bring him in here at all. It will
save a painful scene."

When the officer had left, Frank returned to his aunt.

"What is it, Frank?" she asked.

"Well, Aunt, it is a more absurd affair than the other; but, absurd as
it is, it is very painful. There is a warrant out for the arrest of
Julian on the charge of attempting to murder Mr. Faulkner."

Mrs. Troutbeck gave a cry, and then burst into a fit of hysterical
laughter. After vainly trying to pacify her, Frank went out for the
servant, but as her wild screams of laughter continued he put on his
hat and ran for the family doctor, who lived but a few doors away. He
briefly related the circumstances of the case to him, and then brought
him back to the house. It was a long time before the violence of the
paroxysm passed, leaving Mrs. Troutbeck so weak that she had to be
carried by Frank and the doctor up to her room.

"Don't you worry yourself, Aunt," Frank said, as they laid her down upon
the bed; "it will all come out right, just as the last did. It will all
be cleared up, no doubt, in a very short time."

As soon as the maid had undressed Mrs. Troutbeck, and had got her into
bed, the doctor went up and gave her an opiate, and then went down into
the parlour to Frank, who told him the story in full, warning him that
he must say nothing about the deposition of Mr. Faulkner until it had
been read in court.

"It is a very grave affair, Frank," the old doctor said. "Having known
your brother from his childhood, I am as convinced as you are that,
however much of this deposition be true or false, Julian never fired the
shot; and what you say about the bullet makes it still more conclusive,
if that were needed—which it certainly is not with me. Your brother had
an exceedingly sweet and even temper. Your father has often spoken to me
of it, almost with regret, saying that it would be much better if he had
a little more will of his own and a little spice more of temper. Still,
it is most unfortunate that he hasn't returned. Of course, he may have
met some friend in the town and gone home with him, or he may have
stayed at Mr. Merryweather's."

"I don't think he can have stopped in the town anyhow," Frank said; "for
the first thing he would have heard when he got back would have been of
the shooting of Faulkner, and he would have been sure to have come home
to talk it over with me. Of course, he may have stopped with the
Merryweathers, but I am afraid he has not. I fancy that part of
Faulkner's story must be true; he could never have accused Julian if he
had not met him near his gate—for Julian in that case could have easily
proved where he was at the time. No, I think they did meet, and very
likely had a row. You know what Faulkner is; and I can understand that
if he met Julian he would most likely say something to him, and there
might then be a quarrel; but I think that his story about Julian coming
out and looking at him is either pure fancy or a lie. No doubt he was
thinking of him as he rode along; and, badly wounded as he was, perhaps
altogether insensible, he may have imagined the rest."