CHAPTER XXII.

PURSUIT OF A FELON.

One by one Margaret's faculties deserted her; her power of speech first

of all, then her power of motion, her power of resistance, even her

power of fear. All save the seeing sense left poor Margaret, and she

watched with distended eyeballs and a dull, ghastly feeling of interest

the movements of the man who was to murder her.

What had he done to her that had thrown her into this helpless lethargy?

A faint, sweet odor pervaded the car.

It was the insidious chloroform stealing her consciousness from her and

deadening every nerve. She saw him take a tiny vial from his pocket, fit

a perforated top upon it, and direct a spurt of deadly perfume, fine as

a hair, into her face.

She tried to move, but could not. The breath was cut off from her

nostrils by that fatal jet; she could only gaze with a sad, anguished

look into those flaming eyes opposite her.

Something in the harrowing intensity of that silent look troubled the

man.

He missed his aim, and the death-giving essence streamed harmlessly upon

the bosom of her dress.

Again and again he adjusted the cunning little tube so as to force her

to breathe its fatal contents; but his hand trembled, his face waxed

white--he quailed before the ghostly appeal of those fixed orbs.

Minutes passed. Why did not the man finish his victim.

Was ever yet a woman more completely in a murderer's power?

Her attendant drugged into a senseless clod beside her, her faculties

all benumbed, no eye to watch the tragedy, no hand to seize the

villain--why did he not act out his instructions?

She held him by that mesmeric gaze, where the soul stood plainly forth

pleading for mercy. She was so young, so gentle, so sorrowful.

Oh! he cowered away from his fell purpose; he dallied with his chance,

and that chance slipped by.

The tram glided into a station shed; the red lights glowed in at the

window, palling the flickering tin lamp hanging from the roof. Strangers

rushed pell-mell across the platform; and at last the door of this car

was opened, and a young man looked in.

Margaret vehemently sought to cry out to him, to stretch out her hands,

to moan, even, but in vain. She seemed petrified.

The young man's eyes passed aimlessly over the white-faced woman in

black and her sleeping escort, and fastened doubtfully upon the

disconcerted ruffian.

"Is Richard O'Grady in this car?" shouted he.

"I am the chap you want," returned the man in the fur coat.

The other handed him a telegram and vanished instantly, and the car

moved on.

She saw him hold out a slip of paper to the dim flame and master its

message, and the sickly pallor crept out of his cheeks and the coarse

red came back.

He looked hard in her face with a sinister light on his visage, and

smiled at her with a certain kind of grim admiration.

"You've overcrowded him, have you, my clever wench?" mattered he. "You

must be a sharp 'un to do _him_. Curse your haunting eyes! you've all

but overcrowded _me_, in spite of my leather hide. Confound you! I'll

never get rid of them great eyes."

He broke out into a volley of fearful maledictions upon her, himself,

and the "beast" who had given him the job, tearing up the telegram into

inch pieces and tossing them insolently into Margaret's lap.

It was evident that he considered her blind and deaf, as well as

paralyzed, else he never would have exposed his principal as he did in

these violent imprecations.

So the train glided on upon its midnight journey, and the man turned his

back to his intended victim. But she was adoring God in her heart of

hearts for her dear life's preservation.

Her cold stoicism melted, the bitter fortitude with which she had looked

for death fled. How _could_ she have cast that reproachful thought at

Heaven and believed herself forsaken?

Her heart swelled with gratitude and remorse now that she saw her

mistake; and, although she could not move an eye-lash, her emotion

surged higher and higher until it burst through the barriers of the

spell which bound her, and great tears gushed from her eyes.

At the first station they came to, the man rose to leave the car. He

glanced sharply at Margaret's wet face, and jerked down the window that

she might have some air, then, with an oath, stumbled over Purcell's

feet and got out.

Then the long night crept by, and gradually the lady and her servant

recovered, and spoke to each other.

"Purcell, do you know me?"

She was chafing the old man's temples, and applying her smelling-salts

to his nose.

"Eh? ha? My conscience! Is that you, miss?" mumbled the steward, with a

thick tongue and a vacant look at her.

"Are you better?"

"Humph! not much. Tush! What's in my mouth? Fever?"

"No, no, Purcell. You've been asleep--that's all."

"I've been dead, I think--dead for years and years. I think I was in

another world. Dear bless me! My legs are as heavy as lead. I say, Miss

Margaret, what took me--a fit?" whispered the steward, in a fright.

"No. You were put to sleep with chloroform by that man who sat opposite.

He stupefied you with poisoned snuff, and then used chloroform. You need

not feel alarmed, though--you have recovered."

"Faith, miss, you look but poorly yourself," said Purcell, struck by her

extreme pallor. "Was--was he a thief, miss, and did he rob us?"

"He was a murderer, Purcell, and intended to kill me," said Margaret,

with tears in her eyes. "But God would not permit him to succeed."

She related the circumstances to the old man, who rose from terror into

fury when he realized how completely he had been taken in through his

favorite refreshment, snuff, and laid out like a corpse beside his

helpless young mistress.

She soothed his wounded feelings, and directed him to use caution during

the rest of his fateful journey.

At daybreak they came to Cirencester, and rested there for some hours,

and at nine o'clock took a coach for Llandaff.

They had not traveled a dozen miles, when a horseman galloped past the

great, lumbering coach, flashing a keen glance in at Margaret

Walsingham, and then disappeared upon the winding road ahead.

She gasped and grew white.

He wore a horseman's cloak and a slouched hat. But she was not deceived

in the brutal gleam of those steel-blue eyes. He was the ruffian who was

hired to kill her.

Almost fainting, she communicated her fears to her servant, who grew

very purple, and swore to be even with the varlet before long, and

stopped the coach to tell the driver that the chap who had just passed

was a villain, who ought to be arrested for attempted murder in a

railway car; and the driver grew hot and excited, and leagued with three

gentlemen on the outside to knock the fellow down and secure him the

first minute they set eyes on him.

So Margaret and her attendant continued their journey with some sense of

security; and, having the inside of the coach to themselves, could

encourage each other to meet future dangers, when anything cheerful

occurred to them to say.

But all through that afternoon they traveled safely, unmolested by even

a glimpse of Mortlake's accomplice; and at noon they rattled into

Llandaff, and stopped before Caerlyon's Hotel.

The groom was leading a smoking black horse round to the stables.

Margaret whispered to Purcell, and pointed the animal out to him.

"_His_ horse," she said. "Now, Purcell, see that you have him arrested.

Fly! There's no time to lose. You must get a constable to go with you, I

suppose."

Purcell disappeared in the bar to make inquiries, and Margaret at once

took refuge in her room, and sent for the proprietor himself.

The Welsh landlord bustled in, full of politeness and good humor.

"Has Dr. Gay, from Regis, Surrey, been here, yesterday or to-day?"

demanded the lady.

"No, matam, he has not."

"Is there no letter lying here for Miss Walsingham, of Regis, Surrey?"

"No, inteet, matam, nothing of te sort."

She turned suddenly, with a groan, from him, and her dark face grew

darker.

"Tricked--drawn into a trap! I might have known it--oh, I might have

known it!" she murmured, bitterly.

"Anyting I can to for you, my tear laty?" asked Mr. Caerlyon,

attentively.

"Yes; you can send a servant to keep watch at my door until my man

returns. And there is a person whom I want arrested upon the charge of

attempted murder--the man whose horse your hostler was attending to when

the coach arrived. Where is he?"

"My Got! _murterer!_" screamed the landlord. "You ton't say that, matam?

Oh, the peast! He must pe caught, of course. Put he took fery coot care

not to come to _me_, tear laty. He went somewhere into the town, and

sent his nak here to pait. I'll keep a coot lookout for him, I promise

him, the sneaking scoundrel!"

Muttering vituperations, he backed out of the room, and sent a woman to

attend the lady, and a great, hulking pot-boy to guard her door.

"Now, what am I to think?" mused Margaret, who had thrown herself upon a

sofa, and was feverishly watching the Welshwoman setting the table for

her dinner. "How am I to follow out the intricacies of that wretch's

plot? It is clear that he has amply provided against my escaping from

him. True enough, he is too clever to leave any door open for his

victim. I fondly thought that I had taken him by surprise when I escaped

the castle and threw myself on Emersham's protection; but he meets me on

the flight, and turns my purpose into another channel. I leave him

foiled at the castle; I fly to the executors; he has foreseen the move,

and meets me with the news of their disappearance. I turn to Mr.

Emersham for help. He has foreseen that, also, and meets me with a

forged letter, which turns my wishes all toward taking this journey. For

a moment he is taken back when he receives my letter, showing him the

precautions I have taken to expose him, and allows me to go on the

journey which he has already provided for, only because he has not time

to prevent me. But he telegraphs to his accomplice that I must not be

murdered yet, and his accomplice spares me. Instead of finishing his

work, he gets out at the next station, and probably telegraphs something

to his principal, and waits for a new order. That he received it, is

evident from his continuing his pursuit and haunting my steps as he has

done. Now why was I not murdered, according to their agreement? For what

was I reserved? And what was that fresh command which the accomplice

received per telegraph from Mortlake?"

Mr. Caerlyon tapped at her door, and called out that there was a letter

for her, and the waiting woman brought it to Margaret, who received it

eagerly, hoping that it was from Dr. Gay, after all.

But she perceived in a moment that it was not, and saw, with disgust,

the large, sprawling characters on the back of the note, and the dirty

wafer which closed it, in lieu of an envelope.

With shrinking fingers she opened it, and read these words:

"MA'AM:--You knows doosed well who's a talkin' te yer by this

here. If you be's the brick I takes yer for, yer won't be

sulky, and throw away yer only chance, for mean spite. Come,

now, jest give me yer note of hand that yer'll return that 'ere

stole pocket-book to its owner whenever yer sees Regis agin,

and yer'll see more of yer admirin' friend; but act ugly, and

wake the devil in the col., and--ware-hawk! yer'll be awhile on

the road back--that's all.

"Yours to command,

"POCKET PISTOL."

"No, you wretch," said Margaret, "I shall not give up the pocket-book

which condemns Mortlake. I simply defy your threats, and shall be well

guarded in future. My doubts are answered. I know what Mortlake's new

order was; there it is," she cried, tossing the villainous-looking

scrawl upon the table, "and I defy it! He offers me my life in exchange

for my proofs, and I scorn his offer, I would rather bring such a fiend

to justice than live a happy life, knowing that I had suffered him to

elude his just punishment."

She called Mr. Caerlyon in.

"Who brought that letter?" asked she.

"A ferry rakket poy, matam," returned he.

"Is he waiting for an answer?"

"Yes, inteet, matam, ant playing with a crown-piece he says the

gentleman gave him to holt his tongue."

"Tell him that there is no answer, and send for a constable to follow

the boy, and to seize the man who sent him."

"I'll to that, my laty," cried the landlord, with spirit, and

disappeared with great alacrity.

In half an hour Mr. Caerlyon and Mr. Purcell came to announce to her

that both their pursuits had been fruitless; the villain had disappeared

as completely as the mirage which is lifted in air, and Purcell's

warrant and police force came too late.

The fire flashed from the indomitable woman's eyes; she crested her

head.

"We shall prepare for him, then," said she, with calm courage, "and meet

him suitably when he intrudes upon us. In an hour we shall start upon

our journey back to Regis, Purcell, so you must go and refresh yourself.

Mr. Caerlyon, you shall do me the favor of calling upon the chief of

police and handing him a note from me."

The steward retired to obey her command, and Caerlyon cheerfully

promised to do anything for such a brave lady, and waited for her to

write her letter.

It was a letter of instructions; she wished the chief of police to send

two of his sharpest detectives on the road to Cirencester a half hour

before she and her servant started, that they might thereafter travel in

company without rousing the suspicion of O'Grady by leaving Llandaff

together. She explained the case, and suggested the need of the

detectives, disguising themselves, that they might protect her

throughout the journey, without frightening away the ruffian, who would

doubtless attempt her life once more before she reached Regis. As soon

as she had finished, Caerlyon carried off the letter with all due

secrecy.

In an hour the return coach from Cirencester jolted up to the hotel, and

Margaret and her escort took their places inside, alone. There were some

men, as before, on the top, but O'Grady discreetly kept out of sight,

and since his black horse still munched his oats in Caerlyon's stable,

everybody thought that the travelers were leaving their enemy behind

them.

At the first inn two farmers stopped the coach and climbed in beside

Margaret. A respectful bow to her and Purcell revealed them as her

protectors, the detectives.

The liveliest imagination could never have discovered in these

heavy-faced, slow-spoken, and comfortably muffled farmers two lynx-eyed

emissaries of the law, on the track of a felon. Their disguise was

admirable.

When more passengers crowded in, the two farmers grunted out

agricultural jokes to each other, or read the county paper, or apprised

the intrinsic value of each snow-capped barn, and white-ridged field,

and huge wheat-stack they passed with a zest and eagerness positively

infectious, until every one inside was drawn into the argument, and a

few shrewd questions had been asked and innocently answered, which

disclosed the fact that a man in a fur coat had galloped up the road

three-quarters of an hour ago upon a gray horse.

"Thought Caerlyon's mare was missing when I went to his stables,"

muttered one detective to the other; "he has got off before we left the

town. All right; we'll catch up."

But they did not catch up that night; and although the two officers

slept in a room across the passage from Miss Walsingham's, in the hotel

at Cirencester, they saw no one attempt either to communicate with her

or to molest her.

So it remained all during the next day's cold and weary journey, the

masked detectives carefully kept close by the threatened young lady, and

furtively watched each passenger who entered or left the car; but the

ruffian was not to be traced, his menace to Margaret was but an empty

vaunt; her precautions seemed to have effectually routed him.

At seven o'clock that Thursday evening the train glided into the Regis

station-house, the red lights glimmered on the platform, the crowd

jostled, surged, and receded; and when the way seemed clear, one of the

detectives got out to fetch a cab for Margaret before she should leave

the car.

While he was gone a close carriage rolled into the shed, and the driver,

touching his hat to Margaret, whom he could see at the car window,

offered his services and his cab.

"This will do," said she to Purcell. "When Adams brings the other cab,

our friends will need it to go to their hotel. Time is passing, and I

must keep my engagement with Mr. Emersham."

The remaining detective got out and stood a yard or so in advance of the

cab-driver, who was opening his coach-door; and Purcell assisted his

mistress out of the car to the platform, and then turned round and

stooped to pick up her traveling-bag from the planks where he had thrown

it.

In a moment the long-expected crisis came, so long delayed, so startling

now when they thought it was too late to fear it longer.

A man darted out of the shadow of the station-house, and sprang like a

panther on his victim. He threw the stooping Purcell violently upon the

ground, seized Margaret, and hurried her with a giant's strength to the

door of the cab, into which he tried to force her.

"Get in with you, or I'll blow your brains out!" hissed his desperate

voice in her ear.

Her shriek of terror had scarcely escaped when the detective, coolly

stepping forward from his watch, dealt the ruffian a blow on the back of

the head with his horny fist, which felled him like an ox, and the

leveled pistol fell from his relaxing hand and snapped off with the

concussion, lodging its bullet in the bottom panel of the nearest

railway car and startling the cabman's horses so violently that they

plunged off the platform with the cabman clinging to the reins.

A railway porter ran up to the scene of the assault, and held the

half-stunned O'Grady while the detective secured him, and Purcell,

having gathered himself up, with aching bones, led the agitated Margaret

into the station-house.

By this time the mob had assembled, and were crushing each other

unceremoniously to gain a glimpse of the prisoner, who lay cursing and

blaspheming on the wooden floor, with his conquerer grimly standing over

him, until Adams rattled up in the cab he had been in search of and

shared the onerous duty of jailer.

Margaret, glancing shudderingly out of the station-house window, saw the

wretched man pass on his way to the police station, his captors on

either side urging him to hasten. His hands were tied behind him, his

florid face was yellow with despair, his steel-blue eyes glared with

fear; a more abject picture of crime and ruin could scarce be conceived.

And when this wretched vision had vanished, another took its place. A

writhing, white face flitted, specter-like, from out of dim shadows, and

peered with staring eyeballs after the arrested man, and a scowl of

fury, terror, and despair descended on that devilish brow.

The next instant he, too, had melted into shadow, and was lost amid the

throng.

"Roland Mortlake," whispered Margaret, who was shivering as if she had

seen a phantom. "He has learned the truth. Great Heaven! he will

escape."

She stepped to the door and called the steward, who had gone to open the

cab-door.

"Go instantly in search of Mortlake," she cried; "he has just passed the

window; you must not permit him to escape. I will drive to Emersham's

law-office myself."

Away ran Purcell after two constables; and Margaret hurried into the

cab, and, undeterred by one heart-beat of compunction, she set herself

to compass her enemy's utter ruin.

For pitiful, kind, and great-hearted as she was, she could never suffer

a murderer to escape. No, not even to buy her own safety.

Margaret Walsingham alighted from the carriage at the door of Mr.

Emersham's law-office, and stepped into the room with the mien of a

Semiramis, flashing-eyed, carmine cheeked, and inexorable.

One glance around the room showed her the nimble young lawyer, and the

trembling old clergyman gazing white lipped into each other's faces, the

folded paper on the table between them, the locked pocket-book, and the

will; and the hand of the clock on the mantle-piece pointed to the

fifteenth minute after seven.

"Thank God! she is here," murmured Mr. Challoner, solemnly.

"I have come back," said Margaret, "to break these seals and to expose a

felon. Hasten, or the felon will escape."