And re-seating himself, as Marsh went out, he finished his breakfast.
The two at the window, after exploding once or twice in an attempt to stifle their laughter, drew in their heads, and, still red in the face, marched solemnly past the Colonel, and out of the room. His seat, now the window was clear, commanded a view of the street, and presently he saw the two young bloods go by in the company of four or five of their like. They were gesticulating, nor was there much doubt, from the laughter with which their tale was received, that they were retailing a joke of signal humour.
That did not surprise the Colonel. But when the door opened a moment later, and Marsh came hastily into the room, and with averted face began to peer about for something, he was surprised.
"Where the devil"s that snuff-box!" the sallow-faced man exclaimed.
"Left it somewhere!" Then, looking about him to make sure that the door was closed. "See, here sir," he said awkwardly, "it"s no business of mine, but for a man who has served as you say you have, you"re a d----d simple fellow. Take my advice and don"t go to Lemoine"s at three, if you go at all."
"No?" the Colonel echoed.
"Can"t you see they"ll all be there to guy you?" Marsh retorted impatiently. He could not help liking the man, and yet the man seemed a fool! The next moment, with a hasty nod, he was gone. He had found the box in his pocket.
Colonel Sullivan smiled, and, after carefully brushing the crumbs from his breeches, rose from the table. "A good man," he muttered. "Pity he has not more courage." The next moment he came to attention, for slowly past the window moved Captain Payton himself, riding Flavia"s mare, and talking with one of the young bloods who walked at his stirrup.
The man and the horse! The Colonel began to understand that something more than wantonness had inspired Payton"s conduct the previous night.
Either he had been privy from the first to the plot to waylay the horse; or he had bought it cheaply knowing how it had been acquired; or--a third alternative--it had been placed in his hands, to the end that his reputation as a fire-eater might protect it. In any event, he had had an interest in nipping inquiry in the bud; and, learning who the Colonel was, had acted on the instant, and with considerable presence of mind.
The Colonel looked thoughtful; and though the day was fine for Ireland--that is, no more than a small rain was falling--he remained within doors until five minutes before three o"clock. Bale had employed the interval in brushing the stains of travel from his master"s clothes, and combing his horseman"s wig with particular care; so that it was a neat and spruce gentleman who at five minutes before three walked through Tralee, and, attending to the directions he had received, approached a particular door, a little within the barrack gate.
Had he glanced up at the windows he would have seen faces at them; moreover, a suspicious ear might have caught, as he paused on the threshold, a scurrying of feet, mingled with stifled laughter. But he did not look up. He did not seem to expect to see more than he found, when he entered--a great bare room with its floor strewn with sawdust and its walls adorned here and there by a gaunt trophy of arms. In the middle of the floor, engaged apparently in weighing one foil against another, was a stout, dark-complexioned man, whose light and nimble step, as he advanced to meet his visitor, gave the lie to his weight.
Certainly there came from a half-opened door at the end of the room a stealthy sound as of rats taking cover. But Colonel John did not look that way. His whole attention was bent upon the Maitre d"Armes, who bowed low to him. Clicking his heels together, and extending his palms in the French fashion, "Good-morning, sare," he said, his southern accent unmistakable. "I make you welcome."
The Colonel returned his salute less elaborately. "The Maitre d"Armes Lemoine?" he said.
"Yes, sare, that is me. At your service!"
"I am a stranger in Tralee, and I have been recommended to apply to you. You are, I am told, accustomed to give lessons."
"With the small-sword?" the Frenchman answered, with the same gesture of the open hands. "It is my profession."
"I am desirous of brushing up my knowledge--such as it is."
"A vare good notion," the fencing-master replied, his black beady eyes twinkling. "Vare good for me. Vare good also for you. Always ready, is the gentleman"s motto; and to make himself ready, his high recreation.
But, doubtless, sare," with a faint smile, "you are proficient, and I teach you nothing. You come but to sweat a little." An observant person would have noticed that as he said this he raised his voice above his usual tone.
"At one time," Colonel John replied with simplicity, "I was fairly proficient. Then--this happened!" He held out his right hand. "You see?"
"Ah!" the Frenchman said in a low tone, and he raised his hands. "That is ogly! That is vare ogly! Can you hold with that?" he added, inspecting the hand with interest. He was a different man.
"So, so," the Colonel answered cheerfully.
"Not strongly, eh? It is not possible."
"Not very strongly," the Colonel a.s.sented. His hand, like Bale"s, lacked two fingers.
Lemoine muttered something under his breath, and looked at the Colonel with a wrinkled brow. "Tut--tut!" he said, "and how long are you like that, sare?"
"Seven years."
"Pity! pity!" Lemoine exclaimed. Again he looked at his visitor with perplexed eyes. After which, "Dam!" he said suddenly.
The Colonel stared.
"It is not right!" the Frenchman continued, frowning. "I--no! Pardon me, sare, I do not fence with _les estropies_. That is downright! That is certain, sare. I do not do it."
If the Colonel had been listening he might have caught the sound of a warning cough, with a stir, and a subdued murmur of voices--all proceeding from the direction of the inner room. But he had his back to the half-opened door and he seemed to be taken up with the fencing-master"s change of tone. "But if," he objected, "I am willing to pay for an hour"s practice?"
"Another day, sare. Another day, if you will."
"But I shall not be here another day. I have but to-day. By-and-by," he continued with a smile as kindly as it was humorous, "I shall begin to think that you are afraid to pit yourself against a _manchot_!"
"Oh, la! la!" The Frenchman dismissed the idea with a contemptuous gesture.
"Do me the favour, then," Colonel John retorted. "If you please?"
Against one of the walls were three chairs arranged in a row. Before each stood a boot-jack, and beside it a pair of boot-hooks; over it, fixed in the wall, were two or three pegs for the occupant"s wig, cravat, and cane. The Colonel, without waiting for a further answer, took his seat on one of the chairs, removed his boots, and then his coat, vest, and wig, which he hung on the pegs above him.
"And now," he said gaily, as he stood up, "the mask!"
He did not see the change--for he seemed to have no suspicion--but as he rose, the door of the room behind him became fringed with grinning faces. Payton, the two youths who had leant from the window of the inn and who had carried his words, a couple of older officers, half a dozen subalterns, all were there--and one or two civilians. The more grave could hardly keep the more hilarious in order. The curtain was ready to go up on what they promised themselves would be the most absurd scene.
The stranger who fought no duels, yet thought that a lesson or two would make him a match for a dead-hand like Payton--was ever such a promising joke conceived? The good feeling, even the respect which the Colonel had succeeded in awakening for a short time the evening before, were forgotten in the prospect of such a jest.
The Frenchman made no further demur. He had said what he could, and it was not his business to quarrel with his best clients. He took his mask, and proffered a choice of foils to his antagonist, whose figure, freed from the heavy coat and vest of the day, and the overshadowing wig, seemed younger and more supple than the Frenchman had expected. "A pity, a pity!" the latter said to himself. "To have lost, if he ever was professor, the joy of life!"
"Are you ready?" Colonel John asked.
"At your service, sare," the Maitre d"Armes replied--but not with much heartiness. The two advanced each a foot, they touched swords, then saluted with that graceful and courteous engagement which to an ignorant observer is one of the charms of the foil. As they did so, and steel grated on steel, the eavesdroppers in the inner room ventured softly from ambush--like rats issuing forth; soon they were all standing behind the Colonel, the sawdust, and the fencers" stamping feet as they lunged or gave back, covering the sound of their movements.
They were on the broad grin when they came out. But it took them less than a minute to discover that the entertainment was not likely to be so extravagantly funny as they had hoped. The Colonel was not, strictly speaking, a tyro; moreover, he had, as he said, a long reach. He was no match indeed for Lemoine, who touched him twice in the first bout and might have touched him thrice had he put forth his strength. But he did nothing absurd. When he dropped his point, therefore, at the end of the rally, and, turning to take breath came face to face with the gallery of onlookers, the best-natured of these felt rather foolish. But Colonel John seemed to find nothing surprising in their presence. He saluted them courteously with his weapon. "I am afraid I cannot show you much sport, gentlemen," he said.
One or two muttered something--a good day, or the like. The rest grinned unmeaningly. Payton said nothing, but, folding his arms with a superior air, leant, frowning haughtily, against the wall.
"_Parbleu_," said Lemoine, as they rested. "It is a pity. The wrist is excellent, sare. But the pointing finger is not--is not!"
"I do my best," the Colonel answered, with cheerful resignation. "Shall we engage again?"
"At your pleasure."
The Frenchman"s eye no longer twinkled; his gallantry was on its mettle. He was grave and severe, fixing his gaze on the Colonel"s attack, and remaining blind to the nods and shrugs and smiles of amus.e.m.e.nt of his patrons in the background. Again he touched the Colonel, and, alas! again; with an ease which, good-natured as he was, he could not mask.
Colonel John, a little breathed, and perhaps a little chagrined also, dropped his point. Some one coughed, and another t.i.ttered.
"I think he will need another lesson or two," Payton remarked, speaking ostensibly to one of his companions, but loudly enough for all to hear.
The man whom he addressed made an inaudible answer. The Colonel turned towards them.
"And--a new hand," Payton added in the same tone.
Even for his henchman the remark was almost too much. But the Colonel, strange to say--perhaps he really was very simple--seemed to find nothing offensive in it. On the contrary, he replied to it.