Part 39 (1/2)
”_Ach!_ that is better,” said Schmidt. ”To-morrow you will forgive and thank me. Let us look at the rascal.”
Together they moved forward, and while De Courval stood by in silence, Schmidt, kneeling beside Carteaux, turned over his insensible body.
”He is not dead,” he said, looking up at Rene.
”I am sorry. Your coming disturbed my aim. I am sorry he is alive.”
”And I am not; but not much, _der Teufel!_ The ball has torn his arm, and is in the shoulder. If he does live, he is for life a maimed man.
This is vengeance worse than death.” As he spoke, he ripped open Carteaux' sleeve. ”_Saprement!_ how the beast bleeds! He will fence no more.” The man lay silent and senseless as the German drew from Carteaux' pocket a handkerchief and tied it around his arm. ”There is no big vessel hurt. _Ach, der Teufel!_ What errand was he about?” A packet of paper had fallen out with the removal of the handkerchief. ”It is addressed to him. We must know. I shall open it.”
”Oh, surely not!” said Rene.
Schmidt laughed. ”You would murder a man, but respect his letters.”
”Yes, I should.”
”My conscience is at ease. This is war.” As he spoke, he tore open the envelop. Then he whistled low. ”Here is a devil of a business, Rene!”
”What is it, sir?”
”A despatch from Fauchet to the minister of Foreign Affairs in Paris.
Here is trouble, indeed. You waylay and half-kill the secretary of an envoy--you, a clerk of the State Department--”
”_Mon Dieu!_ Must he always bring me disaster?” cried Rene. He saw with utter dismay the far-reaching consequences of his rash act.
”It is to the care of the captain of the _Jean Bart_, New York Harbor.
The Jacobin party will have a fine cry. The State Department will have sent a man to rob a bearer of despatches. Who will know or believe it was a private quarrel?”
”How could I know his errand?”
”That will not save you. Your debt is paid with interest, but at bitter cost. And what now to do?” He stood in the road, silent for a moment, deep in thought. ”If he dies, it must all be told.”
”I should tell it myself. I do not care.”
”But I very much care. If he lives, he will say you set upon him, an unarmed man, and stole his despatches.”
”Then leave them.”
”That were as bad. I saw his treachery; but who will believe me? I must stay by him, and see what I can do.”
Meanwhile the man lay speechless. Rene looked down at him and then at Schmidt. He, too, was thinking. In a moment he said: ”This at least is clear. I am bound in honor to go on this hound's errand, and to see that these papers reach the _Jean Bart_.”
”You are right,” said Schmidt; ”entirely right. But you must not be seen here. Find your way through the woods, and when it is dark--in an hour it will be night--ride through Bristol to Trenton, cross the river there at the ferry. No one will be out of doors in Trenton or Bristol on a night like this. Listen to the wind! Now go. When you are in New York, see Mr. Nicholas Gouverneur in Beaver Street. At need, tell him the whole story; but not if you can help it. Here is money, but not enough.
He will provide what you require. Come back through the Jerseys, and cross at Camden. I shall secure help here, go to town, get a doctor, and return. I must talk to this man if he lives, else he will lie about you.”
”You will excuse me to the Secretary?”
”Yes; yes, of course. Now go. These people at the inn must not see you.”