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Witness to the Deed, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 54. Barron-Dale Has A Relapse |
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_ CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR. BARRON-DALE HAS A RELAPSE Brettison's progress was slow, but he refused to sit down and rest. "We must get there," he said; "we must get there." Stratton shuddered slightly, and for the moment felt that he ought to press on; but he knew that his words would have ten times the force with the admiral backed up by Brettison's presence, so he restrained himself and helped his companion along till they came in sight of the rocks, a good-sized boat keeping pace with them a couple of hundred yards out, its owners having hard work to stem the current which ran along the shore. "Is it much farther?" said Brettison at last. "I am weaker than I thought." "Seventy or eighty yards; just beyond those rocks," cried Stratton. "Hah, then I am strong enough," cried Brettison, with a sigh of relief; and after a few moments' pause he stepped out again; they passed the rocks, and the doubt which had existed in Stratton's mind as to whether the party would still be where he left them was set at rest. But he started as he saw that they were gathered together as if there were some cause of excitement. "Come along," he whispered quickly. They were hurrying along, when there was a joyful cry, and the sturdy Breton woman chosen for Dale's attendant cried out: "Ah, monsieur; quick! quick! Here--help!" Stratton quitted Brettison's side and rushed forward, to see, as the group opened, a sight that made his blood boil with rage. Dale was holding Myra's wrist with his left hand and struggling violently with the admiral and Guest, who were afraid to exert their strength for fear of injuring Myra, who was supported by Margot with one arm, while with her strong fingers she grasped her patient's wrist in turn. "Quick, monsieur!" cried Margot; "it is a fit. He is half-mad." Forgetting everything but the fact that Myra was in this scoundrel's grasp, Stratton sprang at him, catching him by the throat to try and make him quit his hold. "Mr Stratton!" cried Sir Mark in angry amazement. The name acted like magic. Dale shook himself free of the admiral and Margot, loosening Myra's wrist in the act, and with an angry snarl, like that of some wild beast, fixed his hands on Stratton's throat. In spite of his last meeting Guest flew to his friend's assistance, and Margot bravely flung her arms about her patient's waist; but in spite of all the man's strength for the moment was gigantic, and, paying no heed to the others, he sought to vent his rage upon Stratton, who felt himself growing weaker and weaker in his enemy's grasp. Twice over as they swayed here and there he caught sight of Myra's face convulsed with horror while she clung to her cousin, and her look unnerved him so that it would have gone hard with him but for the arrival of a party of four men who had landed from the boat that had kept pace with them along the shore. One of these was the fisherman, the two others were a couple of _gendarmes_ and another fisher, and the two officers threw themselves into the fray, with the result that the next minute Dale was firmly secured and held. "This is the man, then," panted one of the officers. "Yes," said the fisherman from the cottage. "I say he tried to strangle this gentleman in the night at my place. Look at his throat." "It is quite true," said Brettison. "And you told us, monsieur," cried the fisherman reproachfully, "that your friend was imbecile, and that we need not fear." "Yes," said Brettison sadly. "I was wrong, but I have been punished for my sin. Malcolm Stratton," he continued, turning to his friend, who stood there with his breast heaving still, and gazing wildly at Myra, who met his eyes with a piteous look, mingled of gratitude, sorrow, and despair, "I call upon you for the sake of all here to denounce this man to the officers." "I cannot," said Stratton, with a quick look from Myra to Sir Mark and back. "That task shall never be mine." "Will monsieur say those words in French?" said the officer who had spoken before, and who was busy brushing the sand from his uniform. "I understand English a little, but I cannot trust myself at a time like this." "Forgive me, then, Sir Mark," said Brettison firmly, and speaking now in excellent French, "and you, too, my child," he said, taking and kissing Myra's hand. "I have tried for your sake and that of the man I love as a son to spare you pain, but the time has come when this must end. Officers, this man, an imbecile save at rare intervals, when he has these violent homicidal fits, is James Barron, or Dale, a convict escaped from one of the English pris--" Myra uttered a wild cry and hid her face on her aunt's breast. "Brettison!" roared Stratton. "Mr Brettison, have you taken leave of your senses?" cried Sir Mark. "James Barron!" "Bah!" said the convict, "the game is up. Henderson's my name, Sam Henderson, James Barron's fellow-prisoner and mate. Poor old Dandy Jem was shot dead that night! Where's Stratton?" he cried, with a curious change coming over him. "Ah! there. Now, man, no shuffling. The game's in my hands, you know. Come, pay up like a man. They're waiting for you--at the church--my wife--what's her name--pretty Myra--my mate Jem's widow--gentleman James, sir--all the swell--but I did it--I engraved the notes." He smiled and chuckled. "Proud of them. Puzzled the clever ones. The Rothschilds hardly knew, eh, Jem? Well, you always were a swell. And so you mean to marry the gal? Well, I warn you; it's getting too hot. Better cut off together till the scent's cold. There, I've warned you. I thought so: nabbed. All right, gentlemen, I'll come quietly. Easy with my mate. Going to be married this morning. Do you hear, Stratton? married this morning! My wife, you can have her. My little widow. Hush! quiet, will you. We shall never do it. Oh, yes, I'm game. Ugh, hard work. They're after us, and we shall have to rush 'em. Right, Jem. I'll stand any risk. Hold together, and then down the rocks!" The man's face was working horribly, and his eyes were dilated with excitement as he rambled on wildly, mingling up the past in one tangle of confusion as he, in brief, gave suggestions to the horrified listeners of the various scenes enacted in his life. "Now, then," he whispered, "ready. Off. Ah!" he shrieked, "don't shoot--don't shoot. Cowards! Ugh! the water--a long swim--but it's for life--for life; and poor old Jem--handsome Jem, shot--shot!" The man's whole manner changed; the twitching of the muscles, the excited playing of the nerves, and the wild look in the eyes gave place to the vacant, heavy stare, and his hand rose slowly to his neck, and played about the back of his ear. "Shot," he said, "shot," looking up at the admiral and smiling. "A bullet--behind the ear--never found it yet--never found--" "Quick!" cried Stratton, stepping forward so as to hide the ghastly contortions that crossed the man's face from the ladies clinging together in a frightened group. "Yes," said Brettison, with a sigh of relief, "for Heaven's sake, officers, take him away." They bore him instantly toward the boat, just as Myra uttered a low sigh and fainted dead away. It was some minutes before she came to again, to find Stratton kneeling by her side holding her hand, while the others stood a little aloof. For a few moments there was a wild and wondering look in her eyes, but it was softened directly by her tears, as she whispered: "I don't quite grasp it all, Malcolm. Only tell me that is it true-- that you really love me, dear?" "As true as that I can hold your hand in mine, clear from all stain, and that you are free--my love, my wife." "But," cried the admiral in the further explanations which ensued, "do I understand, my lad, that you all along took this man for Dale?" "Of course." "But you had surely seen him at my house?" "I saw from a distance the man arrested on the wedding morn, but he was surrounded by the crowd, and I never caught his face." "But you were present at the trial," said Brettison. "No. I never entered the court. I could not go to gloat over my rival's fall. I merely waited for the result." "I remember now; I saw you waiting there," said Brettison thoughtfully. "And I, of course, saw the prisoners side by side, but from the gallery, right behind and far above. I never caught a glimpse of either face until they turned to leave the dock, and then it was this man's only-- the other prisoner went first." "And I could not see in this wretched madman's altered features the scoundrel I had seen in court!" cried the admiral. "Who could have dreamed it was the same?" cried Guest. "Poor wretch! his face was like an old well-worn shilling till that fit came on. Here! Mal, old fellow, quick!" "It is nothing--nothing," said Brettison faintly as Stratton saved him from a heavy fall. "My encounter last night--a little giddy still. Your arm, my boy; I'm better now. Well; for have I not saved you both-- brought you full happiness and joy?" _ |
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