CHAPTER VI
HE DRAWS ONE CARD
O'Rourke fumbled in his pocket desperately, his fingers on that key all the time; but he did not want to give it up, he did not care to see Monsieur Chambret—not just yet. A dozen pretexts to escape the meeting, to prolong the interview, flashed through his brain in a brief moment; but none that he dared use.
Meanwhile, the rosy palm of his princess was outstretched to receive the key, and she was eying him with no great favor, biting her lip with impatience, because of his dalliance. In the end O'Rourke had to surrender both the key and all hope of delaying the introduction.
Madame la Princesse, with an audible sigh of relief, swept over to the door. O'Rourke remained, standing, at the side of the desk. Perhaps it was entirely by accident that his elbow touched the edge of the lamp shade, and replaced it in its former position; perhaps he made the adjustment in his preoccupation; perhaps—not.
At all events, that was what immediately happened, before the princess had time to get that door open; and then the line of the light cut sharply across the lower part of O'Rourke's shirt bosom, as he stood there, leaving the upper portion of his body—his face, in particular—deeply shadowed.
He turned toward the door in uneasy expectancy.
Now it was at last open; the princess stood to one side, her hand on the knob, bowing mockingly and with a laugh.
"Welcome, monsieur!" she cried. "But you are late."
"I was delayed."
"But just in time, as it is," added the girl.
The newcomer nodded moodily, hesitating at the door, looking from the princess to the man with whom she had been closeted, and back again—as one with the right to demand an explanation.
The princess was prompt to give it.
"Monsieur Adolph Chambret," she said ceremoniously: "my new-found friend and our ally in this affair, Monsieur the Colonel O'Rourke, Chevalier of the Legion of Honor!"
Both men bowed, O'Rourke deeply, Chambret with a trace of hauteur and without removing a remarkably penetrating gaze from the countenance of the Irishman.
"You see, I have succeeded!" continued the princess triumphantly. "The hour grew late—I judged that you had failed, monsieur."
"You were right," assented Chambret—still eying the Irishman. "I failed lamentably."
He breathed rapidly as he spoke, his face red as with unaccustomed exertion, and his clothing—impeccable evening dress—somewhat disordered and dusty.
He was a man largely framed, and a trifle overweight, carrying himself well, with a suggestion of activity and quickness in his bearing; his face showed intellectuality of a high order—and an uncertain temper; he was bearded, full-cheeked; and one of his cheeks bore the red stamp of a recent blow.
Remarking, for the first time, his disheveled appearance, the girl inquired concerning its cause. "You have had an accident, monsieur?" she asked solicitously.
"Nothing of moment," he replied carelessly: "an encounter with a loafer of the streets, who attempted to assault me."
"And—and—?" she suggested.
"It was nothing—nothing, madame," he returned with ease. "I was forced to call a gendarme, and give the fellow in charge, to be rid of him. He will spend the night in prison, which may improve his manners," he added.
His veiled meaning was quite unintelligible to O'Rourke, who drew his breath sharply, otherwise exhibiting no emotion at the Frenchman's remarkable account of the affair.
"Me faith!" he chuckled to himself. "So I've been arrested, have I? Good! That lets me out. He neither recognizes nor suspects me!"
A clock in the library chimed softly, twice. Upon the sound the princess turned, and looked at the dial.
"Half-past three!" she cried. "So late! Indeed, we are just in time, messieurs. I have no time to waste explaining to you, Monsieur Chambret, how remarkably Colonel O'Rourke was sent to me in my need," she continued. "I go at once to my brother and his—council! I will return for you in—say, ten minutes at the most."
She courtesied gaily to the two men, and left the room.
To O'Rourke it seemed as though the study, bereft of her presence, acquired an entirely new and uncomfortable atmosphere. He inspired harshly again—half a sigh, half in expectation of what might follow.
Chambret, bowing reverently at the door as the princess passed out, straightened himself, almost with a jerk, and shut it sharply. He stood for a moment as if lost in thought, then wheeled about, and came down the room deliberately, slowly removing his gloves, his gaze again full upon the face of the Irishman.
As for the latter, he appreciated the fact that it was a ticklish moment for him, an encounter fraught with peril. His only course was to face the man down, to defy him, to rely upon his effrontery—if it so happened that Chambret had indeed recognized him.
He was not long to be left in doubt,—if he did honestly doubt.
Deliberately, Chambret approached the table, halting by its edge, not a yard distant from the Irishman, his brow black with rage, his eyes scintillating with hate. Abruptly he brought his gloves down, with a sharp slap, upon the polished wood.
"So, canaille!" he said sharply.
"What?" demanded O'Rourke audaciously. His manner said plainly enough, "Is it possible? Can I believe me ears? What does he mean?"
Chambret quickly swung up the shade of the lamp, nodding in satisfaction as the glare disclosed the lineaments of the Irishman.
"I thought so," he said. "I was not mistaken."
O'Rourke dropped languidly, easily, into the chair, swinging a careless leg over one of its arms.
"Upon me word!" he mused aloud. "What is he driving at now, d'ye think? Is the man mad?"
Chambret's attitude was a puzzle to him. If the man had immediately identified him, why had he not been denounced to the princess at once? Why this delay, this playing to the gallery for melodramatic effect?
"Of course," he admitted, "the man's a Frenchman; 'tis not in the likes of him to miss a chance of showing off. But nobody's watching him now, save me. What for is he waiting?"
However, he was yet to become acquainted with Monsieur Adolph Chambret. That gentleman took his full time, carefully mapping out his plan of action behind that high, thinking forehead of his, as carefully subduing his anger—or, rather, keeping his finger upon the gage of it, that it might not get beyond his control.
"You are wondering what I propose to do with you, monsieur?" he queried at length, in a temperate, even tone.
"Faith, I was wondering what I'd have to do to ye, to make ye keep quiet," amended O'Rourke, abandoning all pretense.
The Frenchman moved impatiently. "You are presumptuous, monsieur," he said.
"I'm the very divvle of a fellow," admitted O'Rourke with engaging candor. "We'll take all the personalities for granted, if ye please, Monsieur Chambret. But as to business—"
"I am debating whether or not to hand you over to the gendarmes."
"Ye harbored that identical delusion a while ago, I believe. Don't bother with it; 'tis not so, really."
"And what is to prevent me, may I ask?"
"The answer, monsieur," returned O'Rourke, unruffled, "is—meself. Do ye connect with that?"
Chambret's eyes blazed; but still he held his temper in leash.
"May I inquire how you elbowed your way in here?"
"'Tis easy enough; I've no objection to telling ye. Ye called your policeman—I ran. Ye pursued—I saw the open door of madame's fiacre, thought it empty, jumped in, telling the driver I to go to the Gare du Nord. He went—bless him!—as though every gendarme in Paris was after him."
"And—"
"And so I became acquainted with madame; she knew me, it seems,—knew me record,—and asked me to join her in this affair. I agreed."
"You know—everything, then, monsieur?"
"Sure I do, me boy. And now, what are ye going to do about it?"
"Nothing," announced Chambret coolly, seating himself in the chair which the princess had vacated. "Nothing at all."
He directed a level stare at O'Rourke, who sat up and faced him suddenly.
"I'll be damned!" the Irishman prophesied admiringly. "D'ye mean it?"
"I do, most certainly."
"Why?" gasped O'Rourke, astonished.
"Because we need you, monsieur. More particularly, because madame needs you. My personal feelings must—wait, I presume."
"Upon me word, I'm disposed to apologize to ye!"
"You forget that there is no apology for a blow. I shall expect my satisfaction upon your return."
"Faith, ye can have it then—or now," O'Rourke fired up. "I'll say this to ye, for your own good: The next time ye see that a man's broke, don't throw it in his face. 'Tis worse than a red rag to a bull."
"An error of judgment, perhaps," agreed Chambret, thoughtfully.
"But as for your satisfaction—I'll permit no man to outdo me in generosity, sir; I'm at your service when ye please."
Chambret put his hand to his face; upon his cheek the red weal blazed. His brows darkened ominously; and he glanced from O'Rourke to the clock.
"We have time," he debated, "to settle our little affair before the return of madame."
"What d'ye mean, monsieur?" asked O'Rourke, wide-eyed.
"I'll take you at your word," concluded Chambret, arising suddenly. "You shall give me satisfaction now."
"The divvle ye say!"
O'Rourke, too, got upon his feet.
"Precisely. We can fight here as comfortably as anywhere. The room was designed for absolute quiet; the walls are sound proof."
"Faith!" cried the Irishman. "D'ye mean we're to duel with pistols—here?"
"Just so, monsieur."
"But—the weapons?"
Chambret pulled open a drawer of the desk, peered within and removed from it a revolver.
"This," he indicated.
"But that's only one!"
"All that will be necessary, monsieur. We will let the cards decide." He took from another drawer a deck of playing cards—new.
"We will deal, monsieur," he continued, "one to me, one to you, card by card. He who receives the ace of spades—You comprehend?"
"Suicide, d'ye mean?"
"No. The unlucky one of us to stand at the farther end of the room; the other to remain here with the revolver, to count three, aim and fire instantly. Are you agreeable?"
O'Rourke whistled his admiration—an emotion not, however, untinged with perturbation.
"Ye have your nerve with ye, if ye are in earnest," he protested. "Let's see, this is your proposition: First, we play an innocent game of cards; then one of us commits a murder? Is that it? Well—since ye are the one to propose it, I'm your man. Deal on, monsieur!"
Chambret nodded coldly, stripped the deck and shuffled with care, O'Rourke watching him narrowly. Finally Chambret was satisfied, took up the deck and drew off the top card.
"One moment, monsieur!" interposed O'Rourke. "There's a man of me race that has said, 'Trust every man, but cut the cards.' Faith, I'm thinking that's good advice."
The Frenchman ground an imprecation between his teeth, and slammed the deck upon the desk. O'Rourke cut them with care.
"Proceed," he consented calmly.
Trembling with anger, Chambret dealt: a card to himself first—the nine of hearts; a card to O'Rourke—
The Irishman felt the room swimming about him; he clutched the arms of his chair with a grip of agony, his gaze transfixed upon the card before him: the ace of spades.
He heard Chambret laughing lightly, saw the gleam of his white teeth in the lamplight, and staggered to his feet.
"Very well," he heard himself saying, as with another's voice, distantly. "'Tis the fortune of war. Proceed, monsieur."
He was aware that he walked, but as one dreaming, to the farther end of the apartment; he remembers turning and facing Chambret; he recalls folding his arms and reminding himself to hold his head high; but the heart of him was like water. He waited there what seemed an interminable time, while Chambret, grinning malevolently, tested the revolver, assuring himself that it was properly loaded.
And then his grimace faded; O'Rourke saw the weapon slowly swinging at the man's side; and he head a voice ringing through the room, reverberating upon his tympanums like the thunders of the Day of Judgment.
"One—two—"
The arm ceased to sway; in a moment it would arise, Chambret would fire; O'Rourke even fancied that he heard the beginning of the fatal monosyllable:
"Th—"
He closed his eyes—only to open them again immediately, as the voice of madame the princess sounded, following upon the sudden opening of the door:
"Messieurs!"
Chambret's half-raised arm fell. O'Rourke steadied himself with a hand against the wall; a dim mist swam before his eyes, seemingly almost palpable. Through it the voices of madame and Chambret came to him with odd and unfamiliar intonations.
"Monsieur Chambret! What is this?"
"A test of marksmanship, merely, madame. I am exhibiting my skill to Monsieur le Colonel O'Rourke; you will observe he holds a card in his hand."
O'Rourke clenched his teeth and so forced himself to a state of thought wherein he was capable of intelligent action. Chambret's concluding words were ringing in his ears; he glanced at his hand, saw that indeed he was holding the fatal ace of spades—which he must have picked up and retained unconsciously. He glanced at the woman, at Chambret; the latter stood stern and implacable; in his eyes O'Rourke read murder.
He divined the man's purpose to turn the farcical situation into a tragedy; but within him the instinct of self-preservation seemed dormant—or bound and helpless, enchained by the tenets of that thing called "honor."
Mechanically O'Rourke raised his arm, holding the card in his hand, a little to one side.
Chambret again took deliberate aim. The princess started forward with a cry of protest.
She was too late; Monsieur Chambret had fired.