The Lion's Skin. Rafael Sabatini
me?” roared Green. “I represent the Secretary of State.”
“Ye'll represent a side of raw venison if you tarry here,” the earl promised him. “D'ye dare look me in the eye? D'ye dare, ye rogue? D'ye know who I am? And don't wag that pistol, my fine fellow! Be off, now! Away with you!”
Mr. Green looked his name. The rosiness was all departed from his cheeks; he quivered with suppressed wrath. “If I go—giving way to constraint—what shall you say to my Lord Carteret?” he asked.
“What concern may that be of yours, sirrah?''
“It will be some concern of yours, my lord.”
Mr. Caryll interposed. “The knave is right,” said he. “It were to implicate your lordship. It were to give color to his silly suspicions. Let him make his search. But be so good as to summon my valet. He shall hand you my garments that you may do your will upon them. But unless you justify yourself by finding the letter you are seeking, you shall have to reckon with the consequences of discomposing a gentleman for nothing. Now, sir! Is it a bargain?” Mr. Green looked him over, and if he was shaken by the calm assurance of Mr. Caryll's tone and manner, he concealed it very effectively. “We'll make no bargains,” said he. “I have my duty to do.” He signed to one of the bailiffs. “Fetch the gentleman's servant,” said he.
“So be it,” said Mr. Caryll. “But you take too much upon yourself, sir. Your duty, I think, would have been to arrest me and carry me to Lord Carteret's, there to be searched if his lordship considered it necessary.”
“I have no cause to arrest you until I find it,” Mr. Green snapped impatiently.
“Your logic is faultless.”
“I am following my Lord Carteret's orders to the letter. I am to effect no arrest until I have positive evidence.”
“Yet you are detaining me. What does this amount to but an arrest?”
Mr. Green disdained to answer. Leduc entered, and Mr. Caryll turned to Lord Ostermore.
“There is no reason why I should detain your lordship,” said he, “and these operations—The lady—” He waved an expressive hand, bent an expressive eye upon the earl.
Lord Ostermore seemed to waver. He was not—he had never been—a man to think for others. But Hortensia cut in before he could reply.
“We will wait,” she said. “Since you are travelling to town, I am sure his lordship will be glad of your company, sir.”
Mr. Caryll looked deep into those great brown eyes, and bowed his thanks. “If it will not discompose your lordship—”
“No, no,” said Ostermore, gruff of voice and manner. “We will wait. I shall be honored, sir, if you will journey with us afterwards.”
Mr. Caryll bowed again, and went to hold the door for them, Mr. Green's eyes keenly alert for an attempt at evasion. But there was none. When his lordship and his ward had departed, Mr. Caryll turned to Rotherby, who had taken a chair, his man Gaskell behind him. He looked from the viscount to Mr. Green.
“Do we require this gentleman?” he asked the spy.
A smile broke over Rotherby's swam face. “By your leave, sir, I'll remain to see fair play. You may find me useful, Mr. Green. I have no cause to wish this marplot well,” he explained.
Mr. Caryll turned his back upon him, took off his coat and waistcoat. He sat down while Mr. Green spread the garments upon the table, emptied out the pockets, turned down the cuffs, ripped up the satin linings. He did it in a consummate fashion, very thoroughly. Yet, though he parted the linings from the cloth, he did so in such a manner as to leave the garments easily repairable.
Mr. Caryll watched him with interest and appreciation, and what time he watched he was wondering might it not be better straightway to place the spy in possession of the letter, and thus destroy himself and Lord Ostermore, at the same time—and have done with the task on which he was come to England. It seemed almost an easy way out of the affair. His betrayal of the earl would be less ugly if he, himself, were to share the consequences of that betrayal.
Then he checked his thoughts. What manner of mood was this? Besides, his inclination was all to become better acquainted with this odd family upon which he had stumbled in so extraordinary a manner. Down in his heart of hearts he had a feeling that the thing he was come to do would never be done—leastways, not by him. It was in vain that he might attempt to steel himself to the task. It repelled him. It went not with a nature such as his.
He thought of Everard, afire with the idea of vengence and to such an extent that he had succeeded in infecting Justin himself with a spark of it. He thought of him with pity almost; pity that a man should obsess his life by such a phantasm as this same vengeance must have been to him. Was it worth while? Was anything worth while, he wondered.
Lord Rotherby approached the table, and took up the garments upon which Mr. Green had finished. He turned them over and supplemented Mr. Green's search.
“Ye're welcome to all that ye can find,” sneered Mr. Green, and turned to Mr. Caryll. “Let us have your shoes, sir.”
Mr. Caryll removed his shoes, in silence, and Mr. Green proceeded to examine them in a manner that provoked Mr. Caryll's profound admiration. He separated the lining from the Spanish leather, and probed slowly and carefully in the space between. He examined the heels very closely, going over to the window for the purpose. That done, he dropped them.
“Your breeches now,” said he laconically.
Meanwhile Leduc had taken up the coat, and with a needle and thread wherewith he had equipped himself he was industriously restoring the stitches that Mr. Green had taken out.
Mr. Caryll surrendered his breeches. His fine Holland shirt went next, his stockings and what other trifles he wore, until he stood as naked as Adam before the fall. Yet all in vain.
His garments were restored to him, one by one, and one by one, with Leduc's aid, he resumed them. Mr. Green was looking crestfallen.
“Are you satisfied?” inquired Mr. Caryll pleasantly, his good temper inexhaustible.
The spy looked at him with a moody eye, plucking thoughtfully at his lip with thumb and forefinger. Then he brightened suddenly. “There's your man,” said he, flashing a quick eye upon Leduc, who looked up with a quiet smile.
“True,” said Mr. Caryll, “and there's my portmantle above-stairs, and my saddle on my horse in the stables. It is even possible, for aught you know, that there may be a hollow tooth or two in my head. Pray let your search be thorough.”
Mr. Green considered him again. “If you had it, it would be upon your person.”
“Yet consider,” Mr. Caryll begged him, holding out his foot that Leduc might put on his shoe again, “I might have supposed that you would suppose that, and disposed accordingly. You had better investigate to the bitter end.”
Mr. Green's small eyes continued to scrutinize Leduc at intervals. The valet was a silent, serious-faced fellow. “I'll search your servant, leastways,” the spy announced.
“By all means. Leduc, I beg that you will place yourself at this interesting gentleman's disposal.”
What time Mr. Caryll, unaided now, completed the resumption of his garments, Leduc, silent and expressionless, submitted to being searched.
“You will observe, Leduc,” said Mr. Caryll, “that we have not come to this country in vain. We are undergoing experiences that would be interesting if they were not quite so dull, amusing if they entailed less discomfort to ourselves. Assuredly, it was worth while to cross to England to study manners. And there are sights for you that you will never see in France. You would not, for instance, had you not come hither, have had an opportunity of observing a member of the noblesse seconding and assisting a tipstaff in the discharge of his duty. And doing it just as