SILVE NELLIE K.BLISSLi'i 1 THE SILVER KEY A Romance of the Days of Charles II By NELLIE K. BLISSETT Author of " The Bindweed" Etc. NEW YORK THE SMART SET PUBLISHING CO. LONDON AND CHICAGO 1906 'THIS new copyright story by NELLIE K. BLISSETT is a fascinating historical romance, the scenes of which are laid in England and in France. The author made her name with "The Bindweed," a novel that ranks among the best fiction of the year. "The Silver Key" is published at THE SMART SET PUB. CO. Copyright, 1905, by THE SMART SET PUBLISHING CO. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. "THE DAY OF THE DEAD" . . . ' I II. I SUP WITH THE DEVIL . . . .15 III. THE SILVER KEY . . . . .29 IV. THE HUNTRESS DIANA . . . .43 V. THE HOUSE IN THE RUE GABRIELLE . . 5? VI. THE HOTEL DE CHEVRON . . .75 VII. IN QUEST OF ROBIN CAREWE . . .91 VIII. THE BLACK RIBBAND . . . .107 IX. SIR THOMAS COMES AND GOES . 124 X. " LA BERGERE D'ANGLETERRE " . . . 140 XI. A RESCUE! . . . . .158 XII. MILADY Di RETURNS FROM Exin . . 176 XIII. "THE BEST OF BROTHERS" . . .192 XIV. THE KING'S EVIDENCE . . . .207 XV. FAREWELL TO DOVER I . . . . 223 XVI. THE CHICORY WATER . . . .238 XVII. THE CLOSED DOOR . . . .256 XVIII. THE PRIVY GARDEN AT HAMPTON . . 273 XIX. THE SECRET is BROUGHT TO LIGHT . . 287 XX. THE HEART GATE OF HUNTINGFORD . . 305 THE SILVER KEY CHAPTER I "THE DAY OF THE DEAD" I REMEMBER it as well as yesterday it began so innocently, this day which was to change my life for me. I remember riding out of Paris under a yellow sunset sky and autumn leaves that fluttered noiselessly down before my horse's very nose. I remember that one struck me in the face, and I shook my head in brief, almost childish annoyance. Ah, I was unused to annoyance then, or so slight a thing would not have disturbed me. Indeed, the world, up to that day, had used me well enough. Picture me, as I picture my- self, when I look back, riding out of Paris on a good horse, in the richest of riding-suits, (it was of fine sable cloth, I recollect, to match the sadness of the day). I was twenty- five years old that summer, of birth as good as most, of fortune better than many. I had no very near relations, but that weighed lightly 2 THE SILVER KEY upon my mind, for no man misses what he has never known. I was cheerful in disposition, and strong enough to make my way in a fight, and I shouid not have feared to meet anyone with a rapier in my hand. All my life I had had good luck at the cards, good luck in such quarrels as I had drawn upon myself, which were not many. As for the other sort of luck, which men say never goes with luck at cards well, to tell the truth, I had never seen the woman then who seemed to me worth a hand- ful of trumps. I did not care a louis for the prettiest woman in all France; and it does not hurt my vanity, for I never had much, to swear that there was no one who cared any more for me. So I present myself to you riding out of Paris on the Jour des Morts, 1669; a favorite of Fortune, by name Herve-Richelieu (after the great Cardinal, whom my father had the honor to serve), and by title the Marquis d'Oreville and Seigneur de Valais-Savary. It was for Oreville that I was bound that evening, after a day spent much in my own company, of which I had not at that time had "THE DAY OF THE DEAD" 3 enough to find it seriously inconvenient. Oreville is no more than an evening's ride from Paris, and I had some little business to transact on my estate. Fichet, my servant, and my father's before me, rode at my heels a little, shrivelled figure of a man, but mar- vellously faithful to his master. We spoke idly of the changes of the weather as we went; and so, innocent of all that was to follow, we rode into the tiny village of Chevron-Savary, and dismounted at the sign of the Golden Horse for a glass of wine. By this time the dusk had fallen, and in the parlor where we sat it was almost dark. The girl who had brought the wine lingered, it may be in hope of a fee ; she was a tall, dark- faced wench, with an over-bold manner and an over-loud voice at least for my taste. She stood in the doorway with her arms akimbo, and the light without made a shadow of her dark, keen face. Suddenly, as she stood there, a man passed behind her, paused for a second, and then, pushing her aside, burst in upon us in a great flurry of ill-chosen words, with a great show 4 .THE SILVER KEY of fury. Heaven knows I was innocent enough of meddling with the girl, as he seemed to imply that I had done. He was half drunk, and I had no wish to pick a quarrel with a man in his condition; but when he lurched up to me, and struck me sharply on the cheek, I thought the game was going too far, and drew upon him, thinking the sight of cold steel might cool his heated humor. I had no intention of attacking him there in the dark room, for indeed there was not light enough for sword-play; but at the sight of my weapon he whips out a rapier and falls upon me so shrewdly that I have to use my own, if only in self-defence. To this day I do not know how the thing happened. It was dark, as I say, and the man's attack was so sudden that it put me out. I meant to parry a stroke of his that came too near me for comfort, and felt the whole weight of his body upon my blade. With a sickening sort of gasp he went backwards, tearing the blade out of my hand, and lay on the floor in a limp, helpless heap, while I stood by, too amazed to realize what I had done. "THE DAY OF THE DEAD" $ The girl had fled at a hint of bloodshed, though I had not thought her so mighty thin- skinned before. Fichet, with a cry, came to me, and knelt down by the fallen man. And then, from the dim doorway, a light flashed upon us, and a figure muffled in a heavy horse- man's cloak came softly into the room. I am not likely to forget anything that hap- pened that day; least of all am I likely to for- get the face which the lighted taper in the new-comer's hand showed me so clearly. It was a thin, nervous face, pale, rather delicate, and extraordinarily alive I can find no other word to describe a look to which mere de- scription cannot do justice. I have seen that same vivid expression on other faces, both before and since that evening, but I have never seen it in quite the same degree. It was the look of a man who, himself shut out in the darkness, unseen and unsuspected, watches in a lighted room the drama which decides his life or death. I do not know how better to express myself; the look has haunted me to this day. The man advanced upon us softly and 6 THE SILVER KEY swiftly. He shut the door as he came, and then bent down over the limp figure at my feet, and set the taper on the floor. For a moment he touched my assailant here and there with light, rapid fingers. Then he lifted to me a face convulsed with a strange combi- nation of rage and disappointment. " Dead! " he said, with a kind of snarl of fury in the word, though he spoke scarce above his breath. " Dead as a door-nail curse him! I might have known he would slip through my fingers in the end." The words were so extraordinary, the state of mind they sug- gested was so unusual in one who presumably was a friend of the dead man, that for a mo- ment I stared at him in silence. He took the taper from the floor and stood up, looking at me with haggard, burning eyes, and an ex- pression of the liveliest resentment. " I might have expected it," he said, in the same low tone of intense bitterness. " It is always the same story Fortune herself has a grudge against me, the ill-tempered jade! Here at the top of my hopes just within sight of success everything is ruined again. "THE DAY OF THE DEAD" 7 r A. man I have never seen a passer-by a stranger you, monsieur," I can hear still the passion which he threw into the little un- important word, making it sound like an accu- sation, "you, whose very name I do not know, are sent to thwart me." He paused for a moment, and fell into a bitter reverie, standing there before me with the flickering taper in his hand and the dead man at his feet. The strange thing about his speech was that, though he seemed to resent his friend's mishap so fiercely, there was in his resentment no touch of personal sorrow, but rather a blind rage as against someone who had cheated him, who had had a part to play for him, and had failed him at the last moment, as he had said. It was plain that he and his dead companion had been bound upon some eventful and perhaps desperate errand, upon which the fortune of one, or even both, would seem to have depended. He roused himself from his dream with a start and a shrug. c Well, it is over," he said, in a cooler tone. " No use to cry over spilt milk, I suppose. 8 THE SILVER KEY And you, monsieur what do you propose to do?" Something in his look stung me. " I do not think that is any business of yours," I answered curtly. For reply, he put the taper on the table, and then sat down be- side it, swinging one rather muddy boot, and staring me out of countenance with the oddest and worst-matched pair of eyes I have ever seen. But fo.r his eyes he might have been well-looking enough. Both were of a greyish color, it is true, but one was lighter than the other, and they seemed to be set in his head in two different ways. Their whole effect, their steely color, the unpleasant variety of their shades, lent something unspeakably sin- ister and unattractive to their owner's face. " Oh, so it is no business of mine, is it? " he said. " I take the liberty of disagreeing with you, monsieur. I imagine it is very much my business. . . . Here, send this man of yours away I must have a moment with you alone." I bade Fichet leave us after all, I owed some sort of reparation to one whose affairs had evidently suffered some serious derange- "THE DAY OF THE DEAD" 9 ment through a quarrel which had been thrust upon me, and in which I had, however acci- dentally, played the better part. " You must be aware," I said, as the door closed upon Fichet, " that your friend, mon- sieur, was in no reasonable frame of mind. He attacked me so suddenly that I was forced to defend myself. His death was an accident for which I do not hold myself responsible." Again he shrugged his shoulders. " Yet men have gone to the galleys for less." I started a little. "Are you threatening me, monsieur?" He looked down at the muddy toes of his riding-boots with a reflective air. " You have put me to the most cursed in- convenience," he answered, in a more civil tone. " When you take a bone away from* a hungry dog, I think you can hardly wonder that the dog snaps at your heels eh,monsieur? Well, you have taken my bone, and I am re- lieving my feelings by a snarl or two. We will not talk about threats. Nevertheless, I could send you to the galleys, as I suppose you know." io THE SILVER KEY " There is my servant's evidence to be reckoned with, monsieur he would bear wit- ness that the quarrel was none of my making." He gave a sudden little laugh. " Your servant! Do you think the evidence of a servant would be believed? We all know that servants are paid, monsieur 1" I looked steadily at his downcast face. " In a word, monsieur you do threaten me? Let us speak plainly, if you please." He lifted his odd eyes slowly, with a kind of malicious deliberation. " Very well as you wish it I do threaten you." " I do not think you could do me much harm, but you could most likely put me to a good deal of inconvenience. It might suit me better to meet you. I suppose you want money." An unpleasant smile flickered for a second over his face. " I perceive that you have sense, monsieur. Yes, I want money but not yours. I want something that you cannot possibly give me. "THE DAY OF THE DEAD" n His eyes fell agam to the man lying at his feet, and, with a hideous, strangled curse, he leaned forward and stirred the dead thing with the toe of his riding-boot. " You might have given it to me, fool ! " he said. " But no you were always a clumsy bungler, and you have bungled again, as I should have known you would do." There was something so brutal, so inexpress- ibly inhuman, in this callous mishandling of a dead man, that I sprang forward, and pulled the limp figure out of the reach of his com- panion's foot. " Be good enough to confine your remarks to the living," I said, with some sternness. " Abuse me, if you choose, monsieur, but leave the dead alone." I can see the scene now the slight figure in the heavy cloak seated on the table, the pale face and ill-matched eyes lighted by the un- certain glimmer of the one poor taper, the half-smile, half-sneer upon the thin lips. Sud- denly, as he looked at me, kneeling beside the man whom I had slain, his expression changed, he leaned forward quickly, a gleam 12 of something like hope showed in the reckless anger of his eyes. " Why not? " he said, as though to himself. "Why not?" Then in a moment he had slipped down from the table, and was standing over me, surveying me with almost feverish scrutiny. "Why not?" he said again; and then changed his tone. " No I do not want money," he went on. " I do not want money I will spirit the evidence of your excellent swordsmanship away, as though he had never been and all for nothing, monsieur for nothing! What do you think of that? I will not snarl at you any more come, we will be the best of friends. It is no more to my inter- est than yours that my friend should be found here in this sad condition. I have a coach waiting. One moment I will call my people." He slipped out of the room, leaving me alone with the dead man, whom, for the first time, I took occasion to examine a little more closely. He was of about my own age, I should say, and near my own height and size. 'THE DAY OF THE DEAD" 13 Handsomer than I shall ever be, certainly, with a fair, reckless face which kept, even in death, some part of the expression it had worn in life. He was well dressed; a fair periwig cov- ered his own hair, so that I could not see its color, and from his wrist hung a little vel- vet mask, such as men often use when on an errand upon which they would not be known. A gentleman, in short, though perhaps one whose path had lain in curious ways. After a moment or two the door opened once more and the other man returned, fol- lowed by a couple of lackeys in rather shabby liveries. They lifted the dead man between them, and supported rather than carried him out of the little parlor and along the passage to the door of the Golden Horse. In the gloom which had fallen upon all things the little procession had less the air of a funeral escort than of a convivial party bearing away the vanquished from the peaceful lists of Bacchus. Probably this was the appearance which the dead man's companion desired, for he turned to me with his odd, unpleasant smile 14 THE SILVER KEY as the door of the Golden Horse closed upon his servants and their burden. "The galleys recede into the distance," he said. The familiarity of his tone, as with one whom he had bought by a service, did not suit my humour. "And your price, monsieur?" I asked stiffly. The sinister light came into his eyes as he looked at me. " My price," he said very softly, " is that you should spend the night here, and take supper with me, monsieur." " And if I do not care to do that? " " I think you will care," he answered sig- nificantly. " The galleys, as you are aware, have not receded so far but that a signal might bring them back. And after all what is a supper, monsieur? " What was it, after all? " Very well, I will sup with you," I said. CHAPTER II I SUP WITH THE DEVIE WE sat down to supper in the room in which 1 the unknown man had fallen upon me, and the circumstance in itself seemed to me to mark, even more sharply than before, the utter cal- lousness of my companion's feelings towards his unfortunate friend, or, at least, fellow- traveller. And yet it was obvious from his manner, from every look which he gave me from those unattractive eyes of his, that the other's death had interfered seriously with his plans. I confess to a natural curiosity as to the connection between the two, which so oc- cupied my fancy that only when the supper brought by the girl who had been, indirectly, the cause of the whole affair stood on the table did I recollect that I was ignorant of the very name of the man with whom I was about to break bread. I said as much to him, and he laughed shortly. 16 THE SILVER KEY " One name is as good as another," he said. " Call me anything that pleases your fancy it will be all one to me." " It will hardly be all one to me, however," I answered a trifle suspiciously. " I am afraid I must ask you to be more precise." He gave a shrug which expressed un- disguised contempt for my conventional scruples. " Oh, anything to oblige you, monsieur," he said airily. " Some of my friends call me the Chevalier du Bac." " And I " " Pray do not trouble yourself to give me a name," he responded, not without a touch of irony. " I have no need of any credentials in your case. I do not want to know who you are, and I shall be grateful if you will not insist on forcing the knowledge upon me. Let us proceed to business, monsieur." The supper, I am bound to admit, was ex- cellent, whatever the company in which it was to be eaten. The Chevalier du Bac, as I must call him here, though, as I afterwards dis- covered, it was not his real name, did less jus- I SUP WITH THE DEVIL 17 tice to it than I did. He spoke with little interest of the badness of the roads after the recent heavy rains, and similar subjects of a like importance; but all the time I had a secret impression that his desire to sup with me had some very different object than a mere idle wish for my society. Once or twice I caught his eyes fixed upon me with the same unpleas- ant scrutiny which had shown in them when he had slipped down from the table and sur- veyed me with such sudden eagerness as I knelt by the dead man's side. It seemed as though he weighed me in his mind as though he sought to read something in my face which would show me suitable for some purpose of his own. When the meal was over, and we lingered over our wine, he suddenly lifted his head and fixed me again with a glance which made me not a little uncomfortable. "I suppose you take no interest in al- chemy? " he said. I did not, for I had had at least one friend who had ruined himself and ended his life in a fit of madness because of the failure of his i8 THE SILVER KEY essays in that mysterious science. The Chev- alier heard my denial in silence. " Many think as you do," he said. " They are ignorant and uninstructed some day they will know better. You are a singularly strong-minded person, evidently. I suppose you believe in no occult arts, then? " " I neither believe nor disbelieve I do not meddle with them." "Indeed!" he said, with a faint smile. " Not even with so small and simple an affair as fortune-telling, for instance?" "Perhaps you are a fortune-teller, mon- sieur? " " Oh, I told you that you were strong- minded! What a contemptuous tone! Well, and if I were a fortune-teller? " " I do not think that you could tell my fortune." He laughed. " You tempt me to challenge you, monsieur. Come, let us make a bargain. I will tell your fortune, and, if it comes true, you shall pledge yourself to believe in fortune-telling for the rest of your life," I SUP WITH THE DEVIL 19 He was so clearly in earnest that I was amused, almost against my will. He was the last person in the world whom I should have credited with a belief in such follies. " // you tell my fortune, monsieur, and if it should come true, I will certainly pledge my- self to think better of fortune-telling than I have done hitherto." "That is a compact," he said quietly. " Well, monsieur, I will do my best." As he spoke a little whining and scratching noise at the door arrested my attention. M.y. companion heard it too, and, rising quickly from his chair, opened the door to admit the entrance of a very small and exceedingly beau- tiful liver-and-white spaniel, which leaped upon him and licked his hand with every appearance of pleasure and affection. The Chevalier returned his favorite's caresses kindly, and, lifting her in his arms, placed her on the corner of the supper-treble. " Minette and I will tell your fortune," he said. He drew from his breast a small object, not unlike a lump of rough glass, and, making a S0 THE SILVER KEY culiar sign to the spaniel, placed it upon ?>er head. The dog sat immovable before him, and by not so much as an incautious breath disturbed the balance of the crystal. The Chevalier gazed fixedly for a few minutes 4t the small round thing. Presently he uttered ts n exclamation of astonishment. Then he re- sumed his study of the crystal. He appeared to see something much more interesting than the little rough object before him, and from time to time uttered stifled exclamations of surprise which had, at any rate, the merit of sounding quite natural and spontaneous. At last he made another curious sign, removed the crystal from the dog's head, and returned it to the place from which he had taken it. "Well, monsieur, you have a startling fu- ture," he said, turning to me. I did not then, and I do not now, place the; slightest belief in the man's occult powers; but; I saw that it would be best to humor him. " Perhaps you will tell me what it is." He looked at me fixedly, as though to test my earnestness. " Perhaps, before I do so, you will permit I SUP WITH THE DEVIU 21 me to ask a question. You are at the present moment under no engagement of marriage? " I could have laughed in the man's face. Here was the eternal, and in my case, at least most stale and unprofitable promise of a rich and beautiful wife I " I have no contract of the sort upon my mind." " Yet within twelve hours," he said, with impressive solemnity, "you will find yourself united to a lady whose face you have never seen before of whose very existence you are probably ignorant now." It was useless I could not quite control my merriment. " I will remember you, M. le Chevalier, when I stand at the altar." A peculiar and not particularly genial smite crossed his face. " I have no doubt you will remember me," he said dryly. " Of course you do no1 believe what I say, though I think you will admit that I can have no reason for deceiving you. Come, monsieur; what if I show you the scene will you believe me then? *' 22 THE SILVER KEY " I will believe you if you can do anything so unlikely; but you cannot." "We will see," he answered quietly. I confess that his manner of taking my dis- belief surprised me. I had expected an out- burst of some sort, but his tone was perfectly cool. He took from his pocket a little silver, stoppered box, not unlike a snuff-box in ap- pearance, and proceeded to unscrew the lid. From this little box he poured into an empty dish before him a quantity of greyish-colored powder, which he piled with the tip of his finger into a small heap in- the middle of the dish. Then he took out a tinder-box and set fire to the little heap of powder. It burned up at once, sending out a cloud of reddish smoke which filled the room with a pleasant, aromatic odor. I sat silent on the opposite side of the table, and watched the operation with a sceptical eye. The smoke became every moment thicker, and the aromatic odor grew so strong that it affected my head with a sort of dizziness. I felt vaguely uneasy. Through the smoke I saw the odd, bright eyes of this mysterious Chevalier du Bac watching me I SUP WITH THE DEVIL 23 with a malicious amusement which he was at no pains to conceal. I think I tried to rise from my chair, but of this I have no very clear recollection. I am sure I tried to speak, but, for some reason, no words would come. The smoke thickened un- til even the dim figure of the Chevalier van- ished; my last conscious remembrance of that extraordinary and humiliating scene is of fall- ing forward across the table, and of hearing, as I fell, a faint, mocking laugh from the Chevalier du Bac. Now I do not, as I have said, believe in the occult powers of this man; but without doubt he had gifts unknown to most people, as I was to discover for myself ere long. Certainly he had that night a very wonderful influence over me, which some may ascribe to witch- craft, if they will. What his power was I do not pretend to judge I can only speak of my own experiences ; and they were as follows : I think the smoke stupefied me at first, but for how great a length of time I cannot tell. I seemed enveloped in rolling clouds, in thick, aromatic mists which clung to me like some- 24 THE SILVER KEY thing alive. I was not conscious of any par- ticular discomfort, I felt incapable of any sort of reflection even the uneasiness which I had experienced as the first fumes of the smoke began to take effect had very soon passed away. Presently this torpid condition also changed. I was conscious of movement, of the sound of wheels, of horses galloping at a break-neck speed through the night. I was in a coach, but whether alone or not I was not sure. It seemed to me that some unseen yet powerful Presence was at my side some liv- ing but impalpable thing which in some strange way directed my actions, so that I my- self had nothing to do with anything I did. The sound of wheels, of galloping horses, lulled me into a comfortable kind of dream. I was as a man wearied out, both physically and mentally, who goes through an appointed task mechanically, almost without realizing what it is he does. Presently the horses stopped, the wheels ceased to revolve. I suppose I must have left the coach, though the actual fact of leaving it seemed to have escaped my memory. I was in a small chapel, very dimly I SUP WITH THE DEVIL 25 lighted, in which three distinct figures seemed to be waiting for me an old priest, whose sightless eyes rested with a vacant expression upon me, and two women, one shorter than the other, and both dressed in black, and very closely veiled. I myself was habited in the same mournful color, and I remember that I must have been masked, for I had to peer through the narrow eye-holes of a mask in order to make out the waiting figures more clearly. I was conscious of a sense of relief which seemed to lessen the tense expectation of the three people, or shadows, which waited for me. The taller of the two women moved forward to meet me as I came up the nave ofi the chapel. My next recollection is of kneeling Hefore the priest, of words which I did not seem to understand, but to which I made answer me- chanically, and presumably correctly, for there seemed to be no hitch in the proceedings. I was borne up all through this strange cere- mony by that same sense of a Presence which directed my actions which I had felt in the coach. I answered mechanically, I moved 26 THE SILVER KEY mechanically, I felt no wonder at the odd part I was playing. It was all very like a dream, in which the most extraordinary events move one no more than the usual routine of every- day life. The ceremony over, I have a hazy recollec- tion of signing some paper, though with what name I could not tell it was not my own. I moved down the nave into the porch, and be- side me walked the taller of the two women. I suppose we went into the porch, for I felt the cool night air blowing upon my face even in the dream. There were wheels again I think the horses shied at our dark figures in the porch. The woman stood beside me, and something made me turn and look at her, but I could not see her face behind the thick black veil which floated almost to her feet. As we stood there she put her hand on mine. Some impulse out- side myself made me put my arm round her. A cloud had come before the faint moon which sailed high above us, and the porch was in darkness. I felt rather than saw the gesture with which she flung back the veil and lifted I SUP WITH THE DEVIL 27 her face to mine. I kissed her, and, for an in- stant, the strange, mechanical calm which had held me so far changed miraculously at the touch of this unknown woman's lips. For just that moment, during the whole affair, I became suddenly, passionately alive. Then . . . I was in the coach, alone, save for the mysteri- ous Presence which had been with me all the time, except for that one brief second in the chapel porch. The wheels were making a monotonous, rumbling -sound, I heard the thud-thud-thud of the horses, galloping through the night. Then even that ceased. A thick smoke, fragrant and stifling, seemed to fill the coach, and I knew no more. . . . When I came to myself daylight was peer- ing coldly into the room. I lifted my aching head, and stared about me in amazement. There was the deserted supper-table, which had been my pillow. There was the dish in which the Chevalier had poured the powder a little heap of grey ashes lay in it still. The Chevalier and his liver-and-white spaniel had vanished. Very slowly and uncertainly I got upon my ?.8 THE JVILVER ;eet, went to the door and threw it open, called for the landlord but he did not appear. At last the black-haired girl who had served supper came down the stairs with a lagging step, yawning ostentatiously as she came, and twisting her long elf-locks, as though dis- turbed at her toilette. The Chevalier? she said, with mucH stu- pidity, in answer to my inquiries. She knew of no Chevalier. The gentleman who had supped with monsieur was gone. He had said that monsieur would pay the reckoning. . . . My servant? Oh, monsieur's servant was in the barn. Probably he was not awake she would see. She went, with an irritating leisureliness. Five minutes later a shriek from the yard sent me flying after her as quickly as my still reel- ing head would permit. She was standing at the door of the barn, and just inside it lay my poor faithful Fichet, dead, with no mark of violence on his body, but with an awful ex- pression of pain and terror engraved upon his face. CHAPTER III THE SILVER KEY THAT was a gloomy home-coming to Oreville. Poor Fichet had been so long in my service that he had become something more than a lackey who ministers to one's comfort, and for whom one has but a selfish regard. It was his hand which had held me on my first pony, and put the first blunted foil into my clumsy, boyish fingers. The old man had grown to be more a part of my existence than many friends in a higher path in life, and, Heaven knows, it hurt me more to lose him, especially in such a sudden and horribly mysterious fashion, than it might have hurt me to part from anyone else of my acquaintance. The mystery of his death added a keener pang to my sorrow, for I felt that his end had come to him because he was in my service, and not for any personal quality of his own. Nay, the more I considered the matter, the more sure 29 30 THE SILVER KEY I felt that he had been done away with for the simple reason that he had been the only witness of my innocence in the affair which had been drawn upon me by the man whom I had killed. It had not suited the Chevaliei du Bac, as he called himself, that I should have any testimony available to prove that my assailant had been the aggressor. There- fore he had removed Fichet, with as little compunction as he would have stepped upon a worm that happened to be in his way. The chances were that I should never find the mur- derer, or be able to prove the murder against him, if I did. He had vanished into the night as suddenly as he had emerged from it, leav- ing me the poorer by the loss of a good friend, and the richer by an extraordinary experience which I could not call pleasant. For when I carru to myself, and, after the first shock of pooi Fichet's death, set my mud- dled brains to work over the matter, I really could not decide whether the thing could have been helped. The Chevalier had planned some vill'iny at the instant when he had slipped ' the table with that sudden "Why THE SILVER KEY 31 not? " which had seemed to me to have a sound of hope in the midst of his apparent dismay and despair. He had known his power, and known, too, that I was a fitting tool by which he might hope to achieve his end. Only what that end could be I could not imagine, how- ever long and sorely I racked my brains in a vain attempt to solve the problem. Surely his object could not have been merely to make a fool of a man whom he had never seen be- fore? No it was something more than that, I felt convinced. He had had a purpose which I could serve, and he had made me serve it; but how how? The thing worried me inconceivably. I could not sleep for thinking of it; it got hold of me in a way that made me almost fear for my reason. To be possessed by one idea is surely a kind of mad- ness; to be possessed by a question to which one can find no sort of answer seemed to me, at the moment, a very positive variety of in- sanity indeed. For a day or two I remained at Oreville, thinking the matter over. I think I had been there three days or so when. I was told that a 32 (THE SILVER KEY man wished to speak to me. I bade them send him up, wondering if a light might now be thrown on the tragedy of poor Fichet's end. A young man, very neatly dressed, with a pleasant, open face and quiet manner, was shown into the room where I sat. I returned his salutation, which was quite respectful but perfectly self-possessed, as though he had been used all his life to be with those of a higher rank than himself. Then I asked his business. " My poor uncle has just died in your service, monsieur," he said, and I saw that there were tears in his eyes. " It occurred to me that you might want someone to take his place, and, out of respect to my uncle's mem- ory, and also on account of the great affection he had for you, monsieur, I wished at least to offer myself to you. I have more than one who will speak for me here, and I am at pres- ent in the service of M. le Comte de St. Georges, who is leaving Paris for his estates in Provence, where he does not require so great a following. I told M. le Comte my reason for wishing to take my uncle's place, and he was good enough to approve of it, and THE SILVER KEY 33 to honor me with this letter, which perhaps you will trouble yourself to read." I knew the Comte de St. Georges, and I remembered seeing the young man among his servants his face, without being remarkable either for beauty or its reverse, was, somehow, one that stuck in the memory. His letter was very complimentary. Charles Fichet, St. Georges said, was a worthy nephew to my poor old friend. He himself was sorry to part with him at all, but he had to retire to Pro- vence to retrench after a run of the most cursed ill luck at the cards which it was possible to imagine. He would like to feel that Charles was comfortably settled with a good master before he left Paris, and he was certain that I would regret taking him as little as he should regret having recommended him. There was no more to be said. Even had I not been disposed to like the young man from the firs* even had he had no such claim upon me as his relationship to Fichet gave him I could not have disregarded such a letter of rec- ommendation, coming, as I knew it did, from one who was always sparing of his praise. I 34 THE SILVER KEY engaged Charles as a matter of course. Then we fell to discussing his uncle's death. I thought I owed it to him to speak freely of my extraordinary adventure at the Golden Horse. He heard the whole story with interest, and I saw that he took my view of the affair, and was sure the Chevalier du Bac WAS responsible for Fichet's murder. " Those alchemists are equal to anything," he said. " They call themselves alchemists, but I should call them poisoners. I have seen something of the tribe, monsieur, for M. le Comte, poor young gentleman, fell into their clutches some time ago. Alchemy! Well s it is one way of putting it, and no doubt th% have succeeded in making gold, but it is by no other science than that of making fools of those to whom Heaven has given less sense than ourselves. That is the true profession of all these fine gentlemen who call themselves Chevaliers and the like I think they have little right to any title but that of rogue and swindler. I could tell you some tales, mon- sieur! And the power of these men grows every day it is extraordinary the hold they THE SILVER KEY 3$ have upon people whom one would suppose to be the very last to believe in such nonsense. It is like an infatuation, this desire to make gold everything has to give way before it. I have seen that with " He broke off, and I guessed that he was thinking of St. Georges. " If you have had some experience of these scoundrels," I said, " it may be that you know this man who calls himself the Chevalier du Bac." I described him closely. At the mention of his eyes, and of the liver-and-white spaniel which had played such a strange part in my mysterious adventure, I saw that Charles was moved to some t >rt of excitement. "You know him?" I exclaimed, stopping abruptly in the midst of my description. " I do indeed know him," Charles answered, " for it was he whose evil influence nearly ruined my poor master. Monsieur, you have fallen in with the worst of the whole gang a man who, unless report lies very sadly about him, is infinitely more, and infinitely worse, than the most fraudulent alchemist that ever 36 THE SILVER KEY breathed. In his dealings with my master He did not call himself by the name he gave to you. I knew him as Mynheer Haerling, of The Hague, where as he told M. de St. Georges he made the acquaintance of the King of England, of whose favor he makes a great boast. I never heard much good of His Majesty King Charles, but, if he honors Haerling, or du Bac, or whatever his name is, with his royal confidence, he is a much more foolish person than I take him to be. You know, monsieur, that it is said of him that he never uttered a foolish word, or performed a sensible action, but, even so, I think he would not patronize du Bac if he knew his real character." " And where is this man to be found? " " That is impossible ro say. He visited my master at his own house, and when M. le Comte had to communicate with him, I was bidden to take the letter to a house in the Rue Gabrielle. There it was taken from me by a young girl I never saw du Bac, nor any sign of his presence." "One co-M at any rate make inquiries for THE SILVER KEY 37 him there. The people are very likely poor, and would give up his whereabouts for a Ice." Charles smiled with rather a peculiar ex- pression " I hardly think so, monsieur; the Chevalier has probably made it worth their while to be faithful, and thieves, you know, are not fond of betraying each other." "I will find the man somehow!" I cried. " I will search all France until I find him! If you had seen poor Fichefs face! If you had felt, as I have felt ever since, that his end was my faitf.t!" " You must not say that, monsieur; it was no fault of yours. The whole thing was a trap. You did du Bac an ill turn by killing his friend, who was no doubt his accomplice in some piece of lucrative villainy which was afoot. Du Bac determined to be avenged on you for your interference with his plans." " But the dream, Charles can you explain that? " He shook his head. " No, I cannot explain it; but I think that 38 TFU SILVER KEY he probably stupefied you with the powder you mentioned in order to murder my uncle undisturbed. The people of the inn were no doubt in his pay he had no interference to fear from them. You disposed of, he could do as he chose, and depart as mysteriously as he came." " I will find him," I repeated. " No mat- ter what the difficulty or the danger, I mean to find him." I was quite determined to try to do this, though in my heart I was not sure whether I should succeed. Du Bac, alias Haerling, seemed the kind of person who might give one a good deal of trouble before one found him. But at any rate I would make the at- tempt. On the whole I thought it might be best to stay at Oreville a few days longer. The Chevalier would probably be informed of my movements, and a hurried return to Paris might warn him that I meant him harm, and cause him to conceal himself more success- fully than ever. So I stayed at Oreville, where Charles joined me permanently the day after our first interview, It must have been THE SILVER KEY 39 at the end of the week that he came to me one morning and laid a small object on the table at which I was writing. " I thought you might be looking for this, monsieur," he said, and was about to retire, with an apology for interrupting me, when my reply stopped him. " This is not mine, Charles." I had never owned such a thing, certainly. It was a small silver key, about three inches long, of very fine workmanship, and with a heart-shaped top. I handled it idly, turning it to and fro, and Charles stood looking at me with a surprised face. " I found it in your pocket, monsieur are you sure it is not yours? " " It certainly is not mine. In which pocket did you find it? " " You have not worn the suit since I have been here, monsieur, but I took it down to brush it with your grey riding-suit, which you splashed with mud yesterday, and told me to clean. It was a black suit, of very fine cloth " I sprang from my chair, and let the silver 40 THE SILVER KEY key fall on the table as though it had been a piece of red-hot iron. " That was the suit in which I rode from Paris!" I cried. I stared at Charles, and he at me ; the silver key lay between us, winking like a live thing in the shaft of autumn sunshine that fell upon it from the window. Charles was the first to speak. " Surely the Chevalier would not leave you anything which might be a clue to his iden- tity," he said slowly. " And yet " He stopped. I think the revelation came to both of us at the same instant. I sat down suddenly, and gripped the edge of the table. It was too extraordinary too unbelievable; and yet I seemed to understand a good deal now. " Charles," I said solemnly the moment was really solemn, " that was no dream, that vision of mine. It was reality." He bent his head. "That has just occurred to me too, mon- sieur." " The drive in the coach the arrival at the THE SILVER KEY 41 chapel the ceremony all were real genu- ine. It was I who was the impostor. Those people were waiting there for the man I killed they thought me du Bac's companion. As for the key, it was not the Chevalier who gave it to me it was the woman whom I mar- ried married in the name of another man, and that man one whom I had killed only an hour or two before!" Unbelievable? Im- possible? I ought to have known that with such a man as Charles had described du Bac to be, nothing could be either one or the other. That marriage had fitted in with his plans in some way of which I was ignorant. His com- panion's death had interfered with the per- formance of the ceremony. Then he had had what one must only call a flash of inspiration, of veritable genius. He had detected some slight likeness to the dead man in myself, and, as the ceremony was arranged to take place, owing to reasons I could not guess then, in haste and secrecy, he had hit upon the diaboli- cal plan of using me for his purpose, and mak- ing me, while not in possession of my proper senses^ impersonate the man I had killed. It 42 THE SILVER was the only reasonable explanation of the affair I saw that at once, and wondered that it had not occurred to me before. Perhaps, but for the silver key, I should never have thought of it. Charles was evidently as much struck with the explanation as I was. " Yes, that must be it," he said. " The wo- man gave you the key when she parted from you at the chapel door. No doubt she But the whole horror of the affair burst upon me then, with a kind of ghastly humor which paralyzed me. "The truth is, Charles," I said, "that I am married legally married to a woman whose face I have never seen, and whose name I do not know." Oh, the humor of it was ghastly enough, but it was none the less irresistible for that! I lay back in my chair and laughed until the tears ran down my face; and Charles, recog- nizing, for the first time, the fact that the tragedy had its farcical side, regarded me with a respectful but sympathetic grin. CHAPTER IV THE HUNTRESS DIANA WHEN Charles had left me to my unpleasant reflections, I tossed my pen aside in despair. I felt bewildered, stupefied, as I had felt while the Chevalier's infernal smoke still hung in the air. The humor of the thing was only on the surface, after all; I had a moment of frank disgust at my own foolishness when I realized how fatally I had been duped. I remembered his prophecy, when he had pre- tended to read my fortune in the crystal it was easy to foretell events when one had the power to bring them to pass. Even then he had plotted to use me as a tool, to make me the liv- ing proxy of the dead man in whose marriage he had been concerned so deeply; and I fool that I was! had given him his chance. If I had only stopped his talk of fortune-telling in time I should not be in this extraordinary position now. And the chances were that I should never 43 44 THE SILVER KEY set eyes on the scoundrel again, and never dis- cover the identity of my unfortunate fellow- victim the woman who had been duped even more terribly than I. Was she waiting even now, perhaps, for the dead man to appear and claim her the dead man whose body this mysterious Chevalier had been able to spirit away as easily and completely as he had spirited away himself? In what direction could I begin to search for one who vanished as though he had been the devil whom he served so well? There seemed no cllie, and no chance of rinding one, for I saw that Charles had reason on his side when he doubted whether the Chevalier's accomplices in Paris could be bribed to betray him. But to Paris I would go, all the same. I called Charles back and gave him my orders; then I had a horse saddled, and went for a gallop, in the vain hope that that might clear my muddled brain. It was a bright, brisk morning, and the yel- low leaves on the trees shone like gold iri the sun. The gay autumn air soothed me, and I rode further than I had meant to do, and drew 45 up, with a start, just outside the great gates that bar the end of the avenue of the Chateau de Chevron. Even as I drew rein the great iron gates opened with a screeching of rusty hinges the place was seldom inhabited but by servants. I heard voices and laughter. Almost before I could get out of the way there dashed out upon me at full gallop a couple of riders who all but rode over me. There was a cry of recognition from the hindmost rider, who was my young friend Alain de Chevron. He checked his headlong pace, and called to his companion to do the same. A moment more and he was. grasping my hand, and assailing me with a number of questions, without giving me an instant in which to answer one of them. His companion, meanwhile, rode slowly back to us. Alain turned, as she approached, and took off his riding-hat with a gay flourish, indicating me in a gesture of airy introduc- tion. " Allow me to present you in due form," he said, laughing. " Ma cousine, this is the 46 THE SILVER KEY gentleman of whom I have already told you M. d'Oreville. Herve, I have the honor to present you to The Huntress Diana!" The lady to whom he gave so strange a title bowed, and looked at me with an expres- sion of amusement. " M. d'Oreville will say that you have caught our English bad manners, Alain," she said, speaking in French, but with the pret- tiest of unfamiliar accents. " I thought you were more formal on this side of the Channel. I am sure our foolish Court nicknames do not reach so far, at any rate. Do not look at me so, monsieur," she added, laughing, but with- out any trace of embarrassment caused by my attention and indeed she was as used to being stared at as any queen could be " I am not a heathen goddess, as this silly boy would seem to make me out, but simply his cousin, Diana Royal, of whom I dare say you have never heard." The nickname given her, if report speak true, by King Charles himself had escaped my memory; but the name had not. I looked with redoubled interest at the beautiful Eng- THE HUNTRESS DIANA 47 lish girl on her beautiful English horse the girl of whom Madame de Castlemaine, that most imperious lady, had deigned to be jeal- ous, of whom Her Grace of Richmond was afraid, and of whom even pretty and good- humored Mistress Gwyn had said a' spiteful thing or two. Rumor would have it that Milady Diana could have out-duchessed them all, had she chosen to do more than laugh at her sovereign's devotion. And let me say it here no one else could laugh at it who had ever seen Diana Royal. I, who write this, have seen all the fairest women of their day, both at the English and French Courts Cleveland, and Portsmouth, and Nell Gwyn, and the Mazarin, and lovely, stupid Rich- mond; our own lamented princess, Henri- etta of Orleans, and her unlucky .maid-of- honor, La Valliere, Montespan and her rival Fontanges, and a score of others no less fair than these ; but not one of them all could com- pare with Diana Royal, sitting smiling in the sunshine on her chestnut horse, which almost matched in hue the chestnut a shade darker of her hair. 48 THE SILVER KEY " Milady Diana does us an injustice if she thinks we have not heard of her in France," I said. " Her fame has swum the Channel already. And now all our beauties will go on horseback, a la Diane, and wear white plumes in their riding-hats, like Henri de Navarre." Alain de Chevron laughed. " That is what I have been telling my cousin. Come, Herve, we are going your way let us ride together." I was nothing loth, and we cantered gaily away. Alain, as usual, had no lack of con- versation. He had always been a favorite of mine, this handsome, impetuous boy who had no people of his own, and depended al- most upon the charity of the sour-tempered, elderly Due de Chevron, whose heir-apparent he had been until a year ago, when the Due had married Diana Royal's younger sister, a girl of seventeen, " purely to spite me, and cut me out of the title," as Alain had said to me at the time, with his irresistible laugh which not even the prospect of losing a duke- dom could repress. Now there was a fat, 49 blue-eyed baby between Alain and the title and estates of Chevron; and the Due had been unkind enough to ask him down to the Cha- teau for the christening of the heir. "Or so he says," he added; " but in reality I believe it was because he was afraid to trust Diana to anyone else, and Madame la Duchesse would not rest until she came over, though she is in no case to play duenna at present. And Diana is so dangerous, you must know, that I expect every night that the Chateau will be sacked and burned before morning by some unlucky suitor whom she has driven to desperation. I have lost count of the poor things, there are so many of them. Is it not a fearful honor to be in charge of such a person, Herve?" " I wonder you are not afraid," I said, glancing at Milady Royal, as she rode beside me, with a demure smile in the shadow of her white plumes. "Oh, Diana does noC shoot her arrows at her poor little cousin we are too good friends for that. For the moment, however, my perils and duties are light. But to-morrow $o THE SILVER KEY we move in state to Paris, and then I shall be in danger, if you like! There will be jealous- ies by the score, and I shall do well if I escape a dozen duels a day, if Di but smiles at me too pleasantly for my fine gentleman's fancy, or gives me a moment's conversation too much." "You silly boy, what nonsense you talk!" Milady Diana said, with her pleasant, frank laughter. " It is no nonsense, as Herve will find out when he returns to Paris and finds you the reigning beauty, and the Montespan tearing her hair with rage because no one will look at her when you are by." " You offer me a tempting prospect," I said, " for I go to Paris to-day, and I shall hope that we may all meet again there ; and I will take a few of your duels off your hands, Alain, if you have too many to manage com- fortably. By the way," I added, thinking of the business which was taking me back to Paris, " do you know anything of a man who calls himself Haerling, or du $ac an astrol- oger?" THE HUNTRESS DIANA 51 Alain burst into a shout of laughter. "Know him! For my sins, I do. Why, there is nothing done with my precious uncle unless du Bac has been consulted. He was down here a week ago drawing the horoscope of the little angel my cousin oh, I tell you, he dangled a splendid future before that poor little morsel of pink-and-white flesh. Honors and riches without count but a dark spot in the midst of it all. He was to beware of me me!" the boy cried, with a mixture of amusement and anger. " Imagine the imper- tinence of the man! He read it out to us all, as cool as a cucumber, and Di fired up and took my part. * What harm do you suppose M. Alain will do my little nephew, M. le Chevalier? ' she says, with her pretty nose in the air. Be quiet, Di! I shall call it a pretty nose if I like, and no one shall prevent me. The fellow smiled in that way he has that always makes me want to throttle him. l Alas, milady, jealousy is the most dangerous of pas- sions ! ' he says, and looks at me with those ill-matched eyes that you know. ' Do not think I speak from any feeling of my own 52 THE SILVER KEY the stars direct my warning. I am but the humble instrument by which Heaven designs to prepare my noble patron for the evil which is to come.' By Saint Denys, I could have spitted the scoundrel with pleasure! But my uncle looks at me as though he thought I had a poisoned draught for the baby in my pocket, and stops the discussion. Never mind, I will be even with M. le Chevalier some day." I thought it prudent to say nothing about my own adventure for the moment. " And do you know where the man is now? r " No more than I know where yesterday's (wind is, Herve. In Paris, most likely, though, spinning fresh webs for fat spiders. I hate the