Part 5 (1/2)

The Scotchman buckled on his sword and disappeared into the next room.

When he returned a pair of huge cavalry pistols peeped from under his cloak.

”Going to the wars, my Lord?” I quizzed gaily.

”Perhaps. Will you join me?”

”Maybe yes and maybe no. Is the cause good?”

”The best in the world.”

”And the chances of success?”

”Fortune beckons with both hands.”

”Hm! Has she by any chance a halter in her hands for Kenn Montagu and an axe for Balmerino since he is a peer?”

”Better the sharp edge of an axe than the dull edge of hunger for those we love,” he answered with a touch of bitterness.

His rooms supplied the sermon to his text. Gaunt poverty stared at me on every hand. The floor was bare and the two ragged chairs were rickety. I knew now why the white-haired peer was so keen to try a hazard of new fortunes for the sake of the wife in the North.

”Where may you be taking me?” I asked presently, as we hurried through Piccadilly.

”If you ask no questions----” he began dryly.

”----You'll tell me no lies. Very good. Odd's my life, I'm not caring! Any direction is good enough for me--unless it leads to Tyburn. But I warn you that I hold myself unpledged.”

”I shall remember.”

I was in the gayest spirits imaginable. The task I had set myself of thwarting Volney and the present uncertainty of my position had combined to lend a new zest to life. I felt the wine of youth bubble in my veins, and I was ready for whatever fortune had in store.

Shortly we arrived at one of those streets of unimpeachable respectability that may be duplicated a hundred times in London. Its characteristics are monotony and dull mediocrity; a dead sameness makes all the houses appear alike. Before one of these we stopped.

Lord Balmerino knocked, A man came to the door and thrust out a head suspiciously. There was a short whispered colloquy between him and the Scotch lord, after which he beckoned me to enter. For an instant I hung back.

”What are you afraid of, man?” asked Balmerino roughly.

I answered to the spur and pressed forward at once. He led the way along a dark pa.s.sage and down a flight of stone steps into a cellar fitted up as a drinking room. There was another low-toned consultation before we were admitted. I surmised that Balmerino stood sponsor for me, and though I was a little disturbed at my equivocal position, yet I was strangely glad to be where I was. For here was a promise of adventure to stimulate a jaded appet.i.te. I a.s.sured myself that at least I should not suffer dulness.

There were in the room a scant dozen of men, and as I ran them over with my eye the best I could say for their quality in life was that they had not troubled the tailor of late. Most of them were threadbare at elbow and would have looked the better of a good dinner. There were two or three exceptions, but for the most part these broken gentlemen bore the marks of recklessness and dissipation. Two I knew: the O'Sullivan that had a.s.sisted at the plucking of a certain pigeon on the previous night, and Mr. James Brown, alias Mac-something or other, of the supple sword and the Highland slogan.

Along with another Irishman named Anthony Creagh the fellow O'Sullivan rushed up to my Lord, eyes snapping with excitement. He gave me a nod and a ”How d'ye do, Montagu? Didn't know you were of the honest party,” then broke out with--

”Great news, Balmerino! The French fleet has sailed with transports for fifteen thousand men. I have advices direct from the Prince. Marshal Saxe commands, and the Prince himself is with them. London will be ours within the week. Sure the good day is coming at last. The King--G.o.d bless him!--will have his own again; and a certain Dutch beer tub that we know of will go scuttling back to his beloved Hanover, glory be the day!”

Balmerino's eyes flashed.

”They have sailed then at last. I have been expecting it a week. If they once reach the Thames there is no force in England that can stop them,” he said quietly.

”Surely the small fleet of Norris will prove no barrier?” asked another dubiously.