LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2320, 10 September 1881, Page 4

LITERATURE.

THREE SHOTS WITH A REVOLVER. ( Concluded .) All this was fully In accord with all that I had ever heard of the eccentric restlessness of this great Russian lady, nor had I the faintest reason, after hearing of the telegram from my employers, to doubt the simple good faith of so pretty and altogether attractive a young lady as Mademoiselle Lenoir. Still there was ono obvious precaution that I ought to take, and I did take it; for I wish to make It absolutely clear that I acted in all respects as the most prudent of men could have done.

* Mademoiselle will permit me to ask,’ said I, ‘ simply as a matter of business form, if she has the written authority— ’ •Of Madame la Princea?e ? Assuredly,’ said she, with a bright smile. *lt is good to treat with a monsieur of tha prudence of monsieur!’ She handed mo at once a little sealed note, perfumed and gracefully written, that ran as follows :

Villa Stefanla, January 12. * Monsieur Alfred Morris, on the part of Messrs , will have the goodness to accompany the bearer, Mademoiselle Lenoir, to the Villa Stefania, without any delay, there to execute the commission with which he is charged. ‘ Stephanie de Mouranov.’ I have that note still, to remind me of— But the end is not yet come. Suffice it that doubt, under tha circumstances, never entered my mind; nor, I dare to swear, would it have entered the reader’s had he to judge the event, as I had to do. * * * *

I found Mademoiselle Lenoir an exceedingly pleasant companion on the way to Villa Stefania, which fanoifully-namod residence wo reached in about an hour and a-half, partly by rail and partly on voltnra. I supposed it some eccentrioity on the part of tho princess that she did not, as she certainly might have done, send a carriage to convey ns the whole way. Perhaps she was one of those people who take a pleasure in little mysteries and pointless conspiracies. Mademoiselle Lenoir talked the whole time about all sorts of things and places, and I found her sympathetic, Intelligent and singularly wall-informed, as well as charming. I even began to flatter myself that I had made a by no means unsatisfactory impression upon mademoiselle. Villa Stefania, where we arrived after darkness had fallen, I could not very distinctly see ; but I made out that it was a small house, probably not long bnilt, standing alone and apart from all other dwellings in a sort of shrubbery, and approached through a tiny court past the lodge of the concierge. We were at once admitted, without any ringing or waiting.. Mademoiselle conducted me up a staircase and along a passage, both scarcely half lighted, into a room so dark that I could scarcely see where I was, or anything at all. 1 Imbeciles !’ cried Mademoiselle Lenoir. ‘ Not a light in the salon; not even a candie! That is how one is served when ono has twenty servants, monsieur, eaoh with duties. We must have a twenty-first, to do nothing but see that the sconces shall not be empty in tho salon—unless, perhaps, it shall be some fancy of madams for nobody to know you aro hero. I will see. Monsieur is a bravo man? He is not afraid of being left alone in the dark till madams shall arrive ? It will be in one moment, monsieur. Madame is very anxious, very anxious for tbe— ’

I thought my being asked to wait in pitch darkness a little odd, but I could only say—- * It is many years since I believed in bogy, mademoiselle.’

* Bien! it shall not bo long.’ And she was gone, closing the door behind her, if my ears told truly. Without believing in Bogy, it is not a pleasant thing to be left alone in a strange room in tbe dark, all the same. Fancies will come into one’s head, especially when the seconds grow into minutes without counting themselves on a visible watch face, and when one has on one’s person diamonds worth many thousands of pounds. Everything was all right, of course; and yet I could not help wishing that the Princess Mouranov had received me at Lea Bosquets by tha light of at least one candle, if not of day. And, though I was but a tradesman’s employe, common French courtesy should not have kept mo quite so long waiting for a light, even though a fine lady might not be ready to see me tho very instant I arrived. I felt mv way to a very comfortable sofa, on which I sat down and waited on, waxing impatient, and feeling rather like a prisoner condemned to the dark cell. Manners forbade me to doze or whistle, and— But impatience was soon to change into something more. Chapter 111.

Was that sound of voices in the room or no ? If not in the room, close to the room it must have been ; for I heard them plainly—sometimes darkness itself will strangely sharpen our oars, and there are certain words which, onco heard, sharpen them yet more keenly. I heard throo voices. One was Mademoiselle Lenoir’s. Ono was a strange woman’s. Tbe third was a man’s.

• Neatly trapped enough,’ said the last, so slowly, in the German manner, that they brought their whole significance homo to my dull British ears.

‘ But for the rest,’ said Mademoiselle Lenoir, * what ought ono to do ? If ho goes back to England—’ ‘ Ho must not go back to England,’ said the voice of the other woman —it was singularly cold, firm, and clear. I He must not leave France ; ho must not leave Paris till wo are tafo'y gone. Those diamonds—’ ‘ If tho worst comes to the worst,’ said the man ‘ what then ? We are man to man. If he does not behavo himself, he will have to reckon with me. These things are awkward, because of the police. But— ’ • He will not resist,’ said Mademoiselle Lenoir. ‘ And if ho does —’

I thought I heard a sigh, so sharp had my oars grown. But from whom came the sigh ? Whether from Mademoiselle Lenoir or that other woman I could not tell. *lf he does,’ said the man, ‘ be it on hia own head, whatever comes You understand me, ray friend. I do not like too much blood ; but if there be resistance, there mint be—what there must be. He must not trace the diamonds, cor you.’

It had all passed through my ears to my slaking heart long ago, Fool that I had been to listen to a woman’s story, however plausible it might seem! Some plot, invented and carried out with fiendish cunning, had brought mo into a den of robbery and murder, X was to wait for death in that lonely house, and that horrible dark chamber I

What, in the name of Heaven, in the name of desperate helplessness, was I to do ?

The voices grew confused, then ceased altogether. I was alone. Nobody know me In Paris ; nobody would miss me there. If I did not return, my employers would set me down as having run off with the jewels ; my mother and sisters themselves would believe me guilty, and break their hearts and starve. Could I escape from the house P Impossible —through unknown pasaageaa a locked door I

Instinctively I felt for my revolver, useless as it must be in a dark room. The murderer, or murderers, knowing tho premises, could bo upon me at any moment, and have me down before I could know of their approach ; end ono must have some faint light for an aim. I had known that all sorts of atrocities are even more common in Paris than in London ; but how could I dream that such a doom as this, all for believing in the smooth tongue of a pretty serpent, would ever be mine ? I say I felt for my revolver, though knowing all the whila how vain a toy it would be now. A knife for close quarters would have been ten times its value; and that, too, would have been vain. I don’t think myself less bravo than other men, yet I could not help a groan of despsir at the thought that I was about to bo murdered bo helplessly, so hopelessly. How soon would it bo ?

I drew out my revolver, and, in doing so, a llttlo fusee-box, with a few wax matches in it, fall on tho floor. One moment’s light would be something, though tha last gleam t was over to see. I groped for the box, found it at my feet, and struck one of tho matches. Heaven! what met my eyes ? The gleam of flame had indeed come not a moment too soon.

Straight in front of me, coming towards me through an open door, was as evil-looking a ruffian as I had ever seen ; a murderous ruffian, if ever there wss one, hidecnaly livid, and with eyes that glared towards mine. Thank heaven for that one gleam of light! It might be enough for a straight aim. . . No time mast be lost. ... I am no fighting man. Heaven knows. . . . But ... 1 fired.

For a moment tho smoke clouded my eyes. But I heard a cry. The flsun from my match had not wholly died. And by its light I saw— Great Heaven ! I had not had one murderer to deal with. A whole gang of brigands were upon me and ray diamonds. What was to be done ?

Five more brigands at least wore there. Well, I dared not pray for so hopeless a thing as life ; but I would at least bo true to my trust, and sell it dearly. My name, my honour, might yet be saved. First to right, then to loft, I fired, and fired again—twice—three times—

And then the match went out, and left me to the mercy of the robbers and cutthroats into whose hands I had been drawn by a woman’s words. OIIAITEB IV. Suddenly a blaze of light filled the room, so bright, that my eyes, till now blinded by darkness, were more blinded still, ' What madman is here ?’ cried a woman’s voice—that other woman’s, not Made’ moiselle Lenoir’s, *O!O !O ! My poor, dear, beautiful boudoir I Send for the gendarmes I’ Was 1 alive ? I suppose so, since I could still hear and see. And how can 1 describe the scene that I beheld ? I was in an elegantly furnished room. On my left hand, with clasped hands, gazing at me with a face full of amazement, was Mademoiselle Lenoir. On my right, looking at mo with wild looks of mingled anger, despair, and terror, was a handsome lady, who resembled a queen of tragedy, ‘ O Amelia I’ cried the latter. ‘ O Madame la Prinoesse!’ echoed Mademoiselle Lenoir. * My favourite clock !’ moaned the righthand lady. * And three whole mlr ’ mademoiselle was beginning, when I felt ray arms grasped tightly behind my back, and a man’s stern slow voice in my ear—- * Who are you ? Are you madman or brigand ? What doss this mean ? Who are yon that make havoc with the boudoir of Madame la Prinoosae de Mouranov ? Who, I say V 1 must confess it at last ! lam a little near sighted; and, by the dim light of the match, had mistaken the sixfold reflection ol myself in the panels of an otagonal room lined with large mirrors for a band of murderers. And that talk of death and diamonds behind the wall! Well, as I learned afterwards, the P icceas Mouranov was, as It seemed half the world knew, busily occupied in flying from the pursuit of a husband from whom she was trying to keep not only herself, but her famous diamonds. Her eccentric movements had baffled him for long ; but the temporary sojourn of her parnre with our firm had nearly put him on the traces. Read the talk by the light of this, and you will understand—even the big talk of Madame’a last champion, a German Baron, who did meet the Prince in mortal fight with swords, and came off second best with a gash that went through his sword arm. Who has got the diamonds now 1 neither know nor care.

But as for revolvers—well, if you must keep such awkward things at all, you can’t spend three shots from one better than in obeying the precept, ‘ Briae le miroir infidele Qui vous cache la verite.’

Smash every lying looking-glass, whether it tells you you are a murderer, or whether —as is more common—lt tells you, as my own, once upon a time, used to tell me, that I was a handsome as well as a near sighted man. Alas, since that terrible night, no looking glass dares to tell me that lam handsome any more. For I never saw an uglier ruffian in my life than my own double seen by the light of that fusee.