The Silver Whistle Blows

: The Doomsman

Constans remained motionless at the window. Every instinct of

self-preservation urged him onward, but yet he stopped and listened to a

girl's laughter. It ceased, and he sprang forward--too late! for already

the blood-hounds were upon him.



Fangs, the bitch, was in the lead, and as she sprang Constans kicked out

savagely, his heavy boot catching the animal squarely on the flank. The

portico had no guard-ra ling, and the dog, taken off her balance, was

precipitated to the terrace below. Constans shouted exultantly, but

there was still Blazer with whom to deal. Before he could recover, the

brute had him by the throat and was bearing him downward; man and dog

rolled together on the stone-paved floor of the gallery. Something

passed with the swift rustle of wind-distended garments, but Constans

could see nothing, his eyes being blinded by the acrid foam from the

animal's jaws. Fortunately, the high collar of leather that he wore

prevented the dog's teeth from fastening on his actual throat, but that

advantage could not endure, and already he could feel that the animal

was shifting its hold for a better one. Then, as he despaired, his right

hand struck upon something round and hard in the outside-pocket of his

doublet; it was the handle of the loaded revolver that he had carried

for a month past. A supreme effort and he managed to seize it; without

attempting to draw it from the pocket he pulled the trigger. The report

followed, and immediately he felt the dog's grip relax; he pushed the

dead weight from off his chest and rose to his feet.



Up from the river terrace came Esmay, and behind her ran Quinton Edge.

Constans turned to meet them; then, as they gained the portico, he saw

the girl's face go white and realized dizzily the danger that still

menaced him. But he was past caring now, and so stood stupidly in his

tracks as the great, black bitch crawled up behind him, her belly close

to the ground, and crouching for her rush. He heard Quinton Edge shout

and saw him raise his hand; the dog, recognizing her master's voice,

even as she leaped, was quick to obey, arching and stiffening her back

in mid-air so as to break the force of her spring; he saw her fall in a

heap at his feet, and lie there whimpering. Whereupon, for a brief

moment, the trees seemed to bow themselves before him and the sky grew

black.



When again he found himself, he saw Quinton Edge bending over the dead

hound and inspecting, with curious attention, the ragged hole in its

chest. But the Doomsman asked no questions; he spoke, lightly and

carelessly, as was his wont.



"Fortunate that I happened to be returning from an excursion on the

river, for my pets are a difficult pair to manage, even for one who

carries a thunderbolt in his doublet-pocket. You scored nicely on poor

Blazer, but I venture to think that Fangs would have avenged her mate

had I let her have her way." He stopped and patted the brute's huge

head. "My compliments, old woman; doubtless this visitor of ours will

always remember you respectfully as one who feared neither God, man; nor

devil, but only Quinton Edge. Now be off with you." The hound licked her

master's hand and limped away. Quinton Edge straightened up and passed

his lace-edged handkerchief across his lips. Then, with smooth irony:

"An honor, indeed, to entertain so unexpected a guest at Arcadia House;

to what happy chance am I indebted?"



"That I am here should be condemnation sufficient for your purpose,"

said Constans, slowly. "I have nothing to add to it."



He hardly troubled to look up as he spoke; exhausted and dispirited as

he was, what did it matter what he answered.



"Then you do not even plead a first offence?"



Constans remained silent. Like a disobedient school-urchin, he told

himself, glowering sulkily in the presence of his tutor. Between this

man and himself lay an enmity that was deeper than the grave, and yet to

Quinton Edge he was merely the petulant boy to be scolded and punished

or, even more contemptuously, ignored. Was he never to stand before him

as man to man?



"It is just as well," continued the Doomsman, "since there have been

other eyes who have kept watch for me. I am not entirely uninformed

concerning a romantic adventure of two days ago at the pavilion in the

garden. But perhaps on this count the maid may choose to answer for

herself, speech being a woman's prerogative, and ofttimes her

opportunity."



But Esmay, holding herself as straight and white as the portico column

behind her, made no sign of even hearing, and Quinton Edge fell upon a

sudden earnestness of speech and manner.



"Then since neither of you have a word to say, you must perforce listen

to me of a matter equally concerning you, Esmay Scarlett, a daughter of

the Doomsmen, and you, Constans, son of Gavan of the keep. For to-day

the fate of the world lies between us three--a ball that we may toss

from hand to hand.



"You know both the strength and the weakness of Doom. We have lost

heavily in the expedition to the south; every man in the reserve must

now be called upon to fill up the ranks. Dom Gillian is fast sinking

into the grave, where Boris already lies. Ulick, who must now succeed,

in the ordinary course, has only physical courage to recommend him. That

is not enough if Doom is to remain mistress of the world.



"Yet if our weaknesses are patent, no less apparent are our springs of

power. Here in Doom and here alone will you find that unity of action

which makes for empire. Were the Stockaders and the House People to join

hands they could overwhelm us in a night, but they will not, since

jealousy digs an ever-widening chasm. Moreover, it is a strong position

that we hold here in this wilderness of stone, when every brick is a

man. There is no need for boasting; this is the truth, as you know.



"Yet there is one thing lacking--a man to lead and a brain to guide.

Ulick may possess the strong arm, and doubtless I have the wits, but I

fear that, like oil and water, we, too, shall never mix. Besides, I may

grow weary of the business, or the time may come when I must turn my

back upon it all. Yet I could not be content that chaos should reign in

my stead. I must leave a man behind me, and that man is you, Constans,

son of Gavan.



"Nay, but hear me out. Apostate, renegade--I know what you would say.

Yet what are these but words--mere words. You are alone in the world,"

and here for just an instant Quinton Edge dropped his eyes, although the

even tones of his voice never wavered. "You owe no debt of gratitude to

either Stockader or Houseman. A crust from one, a bone from the other;

they would have done as much for a starving dog. You see that I have

watched you longer than you have been aware.



"And so I offer you the first and last of the things that all men crave.

The first is love, and she who stands there is fair, else why do I find

you in my garden? The last is power, and it is the world that I put

under your feet."



He stopped abruptly and seemed to catch at something mounting upward in

his throat. Then he continued:



"There is still the blood-debt between us, and I promise you it shall be

paid and to the last drop. The only condition is that you must leave it

to another to name the day of reckoning; that privilege belongs neither

to you nor to me. Rest assured that when that day does come, I shall be

ready; ay, more than ready to pay my score."



Again silence fell between them for the space of a full minute. Quinton

Edge turned to adjust the jabot of fine lace about his neck, and that he

might have both hands free he laid upon a wicker garden table the

object he had been carrying. Constans saw that it was a bunch of

May-bloom, a glorious cluster of pink-and-white blossom.



"I am waiting for my answer," said Quinton Edge.



Constans tried to command his voice, but he could not speak, and Quinton

Edge turned to Esmay:



"We have both of us omitted to remember where courtesy is first due.

Madam, I should have informed myself of your pleasure in this matter."



"No, oh no!" she stammered.



The Doomsman laughed. "Yet I must ask you to reconsider; nay, even to

use what arts you possess to induce this short-sighted young gentleman

to accept my generous proposition. For, mind you, there is a consequent

upon his refusal--and yours."



The hidden fire in the girl's eyes seemed to leap forth, a bolt of fiery

scorn that would have fused, upon the instant, metal less resisting.



"A consequent--of course. And it is----"



"A lofty one. He mounts either to Dom Gillian's chair or to the yard arm

of the Black Swan. A spy's death for a spy--it is but justice."



Esmay turned to Constans.



"Surely it were shame enough for any woman to find herself made part of

such a bargain. But my humiliation goes even deeper, for I must parade

my poor wares before you like any huckster, beseeching you to buy. My

lord, it is for your life, and I am but a flower that it may please you

to wear to-day and cast aside to-morrow. Buy of me, my lord, and at what

price you will--it is for your life. But be quick; he will not wait

over-long." She plucked at his sleeve. "Do you not understand? The men

are coming; you can hear the rattle of the sheaf-blocks at the mast-head

of the galley--Constans!"



But Constans looked only at his enemy, Quinton Edge. "I am ready," he

said, coldly.



Esmay passed through the long window and so into the drawing-room. To

her overly excited senses the signal was already sounding in her ears,

and a gradual faintness mounted to her brain, even as water rises about

the swimmer advancing through the shingle to the first shock of the

surge. Then, in deadly truth, she heard Quinton Edge blow his whistle,

and the darkness closed in upon her.



For the second time the Doomsman raised the pipe to his lips. It slipped

from his fingers and fell to the garden-table at his side.



As he bent to recover it the subtle, uprising scent of the May-bloom

struck him like a blow; a dark flush overspread his brow. He spoke,

quickly, insistently:



"The canoe is still at the landing-stage. Go, while there is yet time."



He seized Constans by the shoulders, slewing him around and pushing him

towards the steps that led to the terrace.



"Go, and forget all that you have seen and heard in Doom the Forbidden.

You and your secrets are known; be content to leave my people with

theirs. And to me my memories."



The madness of protest, of resistance, was still upon Constans, and yet

he found himself yielding to this stronger will. Mechanically, he leaped

to the terrace below, and from thence ran on to the landing-stage just

as Kurt, the Knacker hobbled around the corner of the house at the head

of a squad of sailors from the Black Swan. An arrow or two flew wild,

but Constans quickly had the boat in the current, which was running out

on a strong ebb-tide, and so was safe from further molestation. Half a

mile down-stream he ventured to make a landing. The dozen or so of

rifles and store of ammunition that he had left in hiding at this point

were too precious a treasure to be abandoned without an effort. Yet

hardly had he transferred the last case of cartridges to his boat than

he became aware that the Doomsmen were close upon him, and this time he

got a bruised shoulder from a spent cross-bolt by way of a parting

salute. The canoe was heavily laden, but fortunately the wind had gone

down with the sun, and the water was unusually smooth. Constans bent to

his paddle, shaping his course to the southwest, the direction of his

old home on the West Inch.



How cool and pure the air! How clean and sweet the stars that shone

above him! Little by little the fever and the fret of life departed from

him, and he was at peace. He wondered now at the madness that had

possessed him, at the passion that had thrilled him at the touch of a

woman's hand. He had come so near to proving himself a traitor, a

recreant to all that was sacred in his life. And then a hound had bayed,

and a girl had laughed, and the shining bubble had vanished into the

air. Beguiled, betricked, betrayed--base repetition of the ancient

injury. What a fool he had been!



Then, his heart being sore, he tried to comfort himself after a man's

fashion. It had been all a mistake from the beginning; he had never

really loved this amber-haired enchantress; it had been the infatuation

of passion only, and he had escaped; let him be thankful. Or even

granting that love lay behind, was not all of life before him? One day

had passed, but another was soon to dawn, a day for new purposes, fresh

consecrations. In his present exalted mood, even his long-cherished

vengeance upon Quinton Edge seemed a small, a contemptible thing. What

were either his love or his hate in the world-drama that was being

enacted under his eyes. Again, as in days long past, he thrilled to the

thought of a new and larger life, the redemption of humanity, the

establishment of peace and righteousness, the shadow of Doom forever

lifted from the land. There were the rifles and ammunition lying at his

feet, potencies irresistible; surely this was the fulness of time. What

a splendid vision! How glorious his own part in it might be! And so,

through the night, he dreamed and drifted.



* * * * *



It was a week later that Esmay looked into Nanna's face bending over

her, and knew that remembrance had come again. She had listened

silently, as Nanna, between fits of weeping and stormy self-reproach,

made her confession, of her eavesdropping at the door, of her jealous

terror lest she should be separated from her darling, of her new-born

hatred of this Constans, who dared to stand between herself and Esmay,

of the final madness that had tempted her to the unchaining of the dogs.

Yet, when it was finished, Esmay had put forth her hand and drawn the

rough, tear-stained face close to her own. "You could not know, dear,"

she said, quietly, "and it was all for love of me."



It was not until the end of another week, a sunny day, when she had

ventured out for the first time, that Esmay found courage to ask the

question that had risen so often to her lips.



"When did the Black Swan sail away?"



"That same morning," answered Nanna. "Although it's a living wonder that

I should have cared to take notice of anything beyond your face that lay

so still and white upon my arm."



"And our master--he carried out his purpose?"



Nanna looked puzzled. Then she answered, carelessly, "Does he ever fail

in that?"



There was a pause, and Esmay turned again to look upon the shining

river.



"He might have saved his life--and lost it," she whispered to herself.

"I am glad for him. And for myself--for now he knows."