XIII
He was gone, like the shades of which he had spoken, and Mademoiselle and I were left staring at the black rectangle of the broken door. I drew a deep breath and looked about me quickly. It seemed somehow as though a spell were broken, as though the curtain had lowered on some final act in the theatre. Slowly my mind seemed to free itself from a hundred illusions, and to move along more logical paths. Brutus went to the arms rack in the corner, and selected a rusted cutlass from the small arms that still rested there, thrust it at me playfully and grinned. For a minute or even more, the single log that was still burning in the fireplace hissed drowsily, and I could hear the vines tapping gently on the windows. Then I heard a pistol shot, followed by a hoarse cry. Mademoiselle started to her feet, and then sank back in her chair again, and from where I was standing I could see that her face was white and her hands were trembling. So she loved him. My hand gripped hard against the back of a chair. Why should I have hoped she did not?
"God!" she gasped. "I have killed him!"
"You?" I cried, but she did not answer.
"Huh!" said Brutus, and his grin grew broader. "Monsieur's pistol. He kill him."
"Indeed," I said, for the sense of unreality was still strong upon me. "And whom did he kill, Brutus?"
Brutus cocked his head to one side, and listened. Somewhere behind came a confusion of shouts and the thudding of horses' hoofs.
"He kill Mr. Jason Hill," said Brutus.
"Are you sure?" Mademoiselle demanded sharply.
Brutus nodded, and the dull, fixed look went out of her eyes, and slowly a touch of color returned to her cheeks.
And then there was a clamor of voices and a tramp of feet and a crash on the door outside.
Brutus looked about him in wild indecision.
"We have callers," I observed, doing my best to keep my voice calm. "Who are they, Brutus?"
Brutus, however, had forgotten me, and had sprung into the hall. At almost the same instant, someone must have discovered that the door was unlocked, for a sudden draught eddied through the passage. Then there was a confused babel of voices, to which I did not listen. I was busy swinging up the sash of the nearest window.
"Quickly, Mademoiselle!" I whispered.
"Damn it!" someone shouted from the hall. "There's another of 'em!" And there came the crack of a pistol that echoed loudly in the passage.
"It is time we were going," I said. "Out of the window, Mademoiselle!"
In my haste I almost pushed her from the sill to the lawn, and was leaning towards her.
"Mademoiselle, listen! The stables are straight to the left. Can you saddle a horse?"
She nodded.
"The first stall to the right. I shall be there in an instant!" For I remembered my sword, and sprang back into the room to get it.
"Get that man!" someone was shouting. "In after him, you fools! Don't shoot in the dark!"
I had a glimpse of Brutus darting through the passage and making a leap for the stairs. Then there was a crash of glass.
"Begad!" came a hoarse voice. "He's jumped clean through the window!" And another pistol exploded from the landing above me.
"Five hundred dollars for the man who gets him." I could swear I had heard the voice before. "Damn it! Don't let him go! Out the door, all of you! Out the door, men! Out the door!"
There was a rush of feet through the passage. I had a glimpse of men running past, and then I was half out the window.
"Stop!" someone shouted. I took a hasty glance behind me to find that my Uncle Jason had entered the morning room, his clothing torn and disarranged, the good nature erased from his face, and a gash on his left cheek that still was bleeding.
"Stop!" he shouted again, "or I fire!"
Then I was out on the lawn with the cool air from the river on my face, and running for the stable. I wonder what would have happened if the evening had been less far advanced, or the sky less overcast, or Mademoiselle less adroit than providence had made her. She had bridled the horse and was swinging the saddle on him when I had reached the stable's shadow. I could hear my uncle shouting for assistance as I tightened the girths, but Brutus must have led his men a pretty chase.
I mounted unmolested, as I somehow knew I should, and helped her up behind me. Somehow with that first crash on our front door, I knew that the game had turned. I knew that nothing would stop me. An odd sense of exaltation came over me, and with it a strange desire to laugh. It would be amusing enough when I met my father, but I wondered—I wondered as I clapped my heels into my horse's flanks.
What had_my uncle to do in this affair?