Devil’s Cub at-2 Read online

  He began to laugh again, and walked forward. “Shoot then,” he invited, “and we shall know. For I am coming several steps nearer, my lady.”

  Miss Challoner saw that he meant it, shut her eyes and resolutely pulled the trigger. There was a deafening report and the Marquis went staggering back. He recovered in a moment. “It was loaded,” he said coolly.

  Miss Challoner’s eyes flew open. She saw that Vidal was feeling his left arm above the elbow, and to her dismay she watched a red stain grow upon his sleeve. She dropped the pistol, and her hand went up to her cheek. “Oh, what have I done?” she cried. “Have I hurt you very badly?”

  He was laughing again, but quite differently now, as though he were really amused. “You’ve hurt old Plançon’s wall more than you’ve hurt me,” he answered.

  M. Plançon himself burst into the room at this moment, his eyes fairly starting from his head. A flood of questions broke from him, accompanied by much excited gesticulation. My lord disposed of nun summarily enough. “Calm yourself, my friend. Madame merely wished to assure herself that my pistol was in order.”

  “But milor’, in my hdtel! My beautiful salle he is spoiled! Ah, mon Dieu, but regard me that hole in the wall!”

  “Put it down on the shot, you old villain, and remove your fat carcase from my sight,” said his lordship. He saw his steward behind the agitated landlord. “Fletcher, take the fool away.”

  “Certainly, my lord,” said Fletcher impassively, and drew M. Plangon out of the room.

  Miss Challoner said guiltily: “Oh dear, I am sorry! I did not know it would make such a stir.”

  Vidal’s eyes began to twinkle. “You’ve spoiled his beautiful salle, and you’ve spoiled my no less beautiful coat.”

  “I know,” said Miss Challoner, hanging her head. “But, after all, it was your fault,” she said with spirit. “You told me to do it.”

  “I may have told you to do it, but I can’t say I thought that you Would,” replied his lordship.

  “You shouldn’t have come any nearer,” she said severely.

  “Obviously,” he agreed. He began to strip off his coat.

  “I make you my compliments. I know of only one other woman who would have had the courage to pull that trigger.”

  “Who is she?” inquired Miss Challoner.

  “My mother. Come and bind up your handiwork. I’m spoiling old Plançon’s carpet.”

  Miss Challoner came promptly and took the handkerchief he held out to her. “Are you sure it is not serious?” she asked anxiously. “It bleeds dreadfully.”

  “Quite sure. I observe that the sight of blood don’t turn you queasy.”

  “I am not such a fool, sir.” Miss Challoner began to roll up his sleeve. “I fear the lace is ruined, my lord. Am I hurting you?”

  “Not at all,” said Vidal politely.

  Miss Challoner made a pad of her own handkerchief, and bound the wound up tightly with my lord’s.

  “Thank you,” he said when this operation was over. “Now if you will help me to put on my coat again, we will talk.”

  “Do you think you had better put it on?” asked Miss Challoner doubtfully. “Perhaps it may start to bleed again.”

  “My good girl, it’s the veriest scratch!” said Vidal.

  “I was afraid I had killed you,” confided Miss Challoner.

  He grinned. “You’re not a good enough shot, my dear.” He struggled into his coat, and then pulled a chair to the fire. “Sit down,” he said. She hesitated and he drew one of his own pistols from his pocket and gave it to her. “Shoot me with that next time,” he recommended. “You’ll find it easier.”

  She sat down, but though she smiled, her voice was serious when she answered. “If I shoot again, it had better be myself,” she said.

  He leaned forward and took the pistol away from her. “In that case, I’ll keep it.” He looked at her frowningly. “You had better explain,” he said abruptly. “I’ve a notion I was right in my first reading of your character.”

  “What was that, sir?”

  “I thought you were devilish strait-laced.” She nodded. “Yes, my lord,” she said simply.

  “Then in God’s name, girl, what possessed you to play this hoyden’s trick on me?”

  She clasped her hands in her lap. “If I tell you, my lord, I fear it will make you very angry.”

  “You can’t make me more angry than you’ve done already,” he said. “I want the truth now. Let me have it, if you please!”

  She was silent for a moment, looking into the fire. He sat still, watching her, and presently she said in her quiet way: “Sophia thought that she could make you wed her. She is very young and silly. My mother too—” she coloured painfully—“is not very wise. I did not think that you would marry Sophia. I thought that you would try to make her your mistress, and I was afraid for her because—because she behaved—foolishly, and because I knew that you would ruin her.” She paused, but he said nothing. “That letter you sent,” she went on, “was directed to Miss Challoner. I am the elder, you see, and it came to my hand. I knew it was writ by you, but I opened it. Sophia never saw it, my lord.”

  “Then all you told me at Newhaven was a lie?”

  Miss Challoner flushed. “Yes, sir, it was a lie. I wanted to be sure that you would never want to see Sophia again and it seemed to me that if only I could make you believe that she had tricked you—like that—you would be done with her for ever.”

  “You were right,” said Vidal grimly.

  “Yes. Only I did not know that you would force me to go instead. I didn’t know I should be obliged to tell you all this. I thought you would let me go at once, and I could travel back to London, and only my mother and Sophia be the wiser. Of course, I see now that I was very foolish. But that is the whole truth, my lord.”

  “Foolish?” he said. “You were mad! Good God, what a damnable muddle!” He sprang up, and began to pace to and fro. Over his shoulder he threw at her: “You little fool, Sophia was never worth the risk you took. You may have saved her from me, but there will be others soon enough.”

  “Oh no,” she said distressfully. “Oh no, my lord!”

  “I tell you, yes. Now what the devil’s to be done to get you out of this coil?”

  “If you would arrange a passage for me on the packet, my lord, I could manage very well,” she said.

  A swift smile lit his eyes. “What, dare you brave the sea again?”

  “I must,” she answered. “I dare say it will not be so rough this tune.”

  The smile died; he shook his head impatiently. “No, you can’t do that. There’s no going home now.”

  She looked startled. “Where else can I go? I must go home.”

  “You cant,” he repeated. “Do you realize you’ve been in my company since yesterday? My poor girl, it’s you who are ruined, not Sophia.”

  She said placidly: “But I am not ruined. I can think of some tale to tell that will satisfy people.”

  He gave a short laugh. “Once it’s known you were aboard my yacht, no one will believe you innocent, my dear,” he said.

  “But no one need—” She stopped, remembering the note she had left for her mother.

  He read her thought. “Left a letter, did you? Of course you did! What woman ever did not?”

  She felt abashed, and said nothing. He came back to the fireplace, and stood scowling down at her. “Let’s finish this bout with buttons off,” he said. “I don’t care to make mistakes. The fault may be mine, but what business have you with a mother—with a sister such as Sophia?”

  “Sir,” said Miss Challoner, giving nun a very straight look,

  “I don’t design to be thought above mamma or Sophia.”

  “Design!” he said scornfully. “You are above them. They

  —but I don’t wish to offend you more than I have done.”

  Miss Challoner said with composure: “You have insulted me in every conceivable way, sir, so pray do not boggle at plain speaking no