The Strong Arm by Robert Barr

R >> Robert Barr >> The Strong Arm

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22

But the King drank alone, none other raising flagon to lip. Then Baron
Brunfels cried aloud:

"_Gentlemen: the King!_"

And never in the history of Alluria was a toast so heartily honoured.

THE HOUR-GLASS

Bertram Eastford had intended to pass the shop of his old friend, the
curiosity dealer, into whose pockets so much of his money had gone for
trinkets gathered from all quarters of the globe. He knew it was
weakness on his part, to select that street when he might have taken
another, but he thought it would do no harm to treat himself to one
glance at the seductive window of the old curiosity shop, where the
dealer was in the habit of displaying his latest acquisitions. The
window was never quite the same, and it had a continued fascination for
Bertram Eastford; but this time, he said to himself resolutely, he
would not enter, having, as he assured himself, the strength of mind to
forego this temptation. However, he reckoned without his window, for in
it there was an old object newly displayed which caught his attention
as effectually as a half-driven nail arrests the hem of a cloak. On the
central shelf of the window stood an hour-glass, its framework of some
wood as black as ebony. He stood gazing at it for a moment, then turned
to the door and went inside, greeting the ancient shopman, whom he knew
so well.

"I want to look at the hour-glass you have in the window," he said.

"Ah, yes," replied the curiosity dealer; "the cheap watch has driven
the hour-glass out of the commercial market, and we rarely pick up a
thing like that nowadays." He took the hour-glass from the shelf in the
window, reversed it, and placed it on a table. The ruddy sand began to
pour through into the lower receptacle in a thin, constant stream, as
if it were blood that had been dried and powdered. Eastford watched the
ever-increasing heap at the bottom, rising conically, changing its
shape every moment, as little avalanches of the sand fell away from its
heightening sides.

"There is no need for you to extol its antiquity," said Eastford, with
a smile. "I knew the moment I looked at it that such glasses are rare,
and you are not going to find me a cheapening customer."

"So far from over-praising it," protested the shopman, "I was about to
call your attention to a defect. It is useless as a measurer of time."

"It doesn't record the exact hour, then?" asked Eastford.

"Well, I suppose the truth is, they were not very particular in the old
days, and time was not money, as it is now. It measures the hour with
great accuracy," the curio dealer went on--"that is, if you watch it;
but, strangely enough, after it has run for half an hour, or
thereabouts, it stops, because of some defect in the neck of the glass,
or in the pulverising of the sand, and will not go again until the
glass is shaken."

The hour-glass at that moment verified what the old man said. The tiny
stream of sand suddenly ceased, but resumed its flow the moment its
owner jarred the frame, and continued pouring without further
interruption.

"That is very singular," said Eastford. "How do you account for it?"

"I imagine it is caused by some inequality in the grains of sand;
probably a few atoms larger than the others come together at the neck,
and so stop the percolation. It always does this, and, of course, I
cannot remedy the matter because the glass is hermetically sealed."

"Well, I don't want it as a timekeeper, so we will not allow that
defect to interfere with the sale. How much do you ask for it?"

The dealer named his price, and Eastford paid the amount.

"I shall send it to you this afternoon."

"Thank you," said the customer, taking his leave.

That night in his room Bertram Eastford wrote busily until a late hour.
When his work was concluded, he pushed away his manuscript with a sigh
of that deep contentment which comes to a man who has not wasted his
day. He replenished the open fire, drew his most comfortable arm-chair
in front of it, took the green shade from his lamp, thus filling the
luxurious apartment with a light that was reflected from armour and
from ancient weapons standing in corners and hung along the walls. He
lifted the paper-covered package, cut the string that bound it, and
placed the ancient hour-glass on his table, watching the thin stream of
sand which his action had set running. The constant, unceasing, steady
downfall seemed to hypnotise him. Its descent was as silent as the
footsteps of time itself. Suddenly it stopped, as it had done in the
shop, and its abrupt ceasing jarred on his tingling nerves like an
unexpected break in the stillness. He could almost imagine an unseen
hand clasping the thin cylinder of the glass and throttling it. He
shook the bygone time-measurer and breathed again more steadily when
the sand resumed its motion. Presently he took the glass from the table
and examined it with some attention.

He thought at first its frame was ebony, but further inspection
convinced him it was oak, blackened with age. On one round end was
carved rudely two hearts overlapping, and twined about them a pair of
serpents.

"Now, I wonder what that's for?" murmured Eastford to himself. "An
attempt at a coat of arms, perhaps."

There was no clue to the meaning of the hieroglyphics, and Eastford,
with the glass balanced on his knee, watched the sand still running,
the crimson thread sparkling in the lamplight. He fancied he saw
distorted reflections of faces in the convex glass, although his reason
told him they were but caricatures of his own. The great bell in the
tower near by, with slow solemnity, tolled twelve. He counted its
measured strokes one by one, and then was startled by a decisive knock
at his door. One section of his brain considered this visit untimely,
another looked on it as perfectly usual, and while the two were arguing
the matter out, he heard his own voice cry: "Come in."

The door opened, and the discussion between the government and the
opposition in his mind ceased to consider the untimeliness of the
visit, for here, in the visitor himself, stood another problem. He was
a young man in military costume, his uniform being that of an officer.
Eastford remembered seeing something like it on the stage, and knowing
little of military affairs, thought perhaps the costume of the visitor
before him indicated an officer in the Napoleonic war.

"Good evening!" said the incomer. "May I introduce myself? I am
Lieutenant Sentore, of the regular army."

"You are very welcome," returned his host. "Will you be seated?"

"Thank you, no. I have but a few moments to stay. I have come for my
hour-glass, if you will be good enough to let me have it."

"_Your_ hour-glass?" ejaculated Eastford, in surprise. "I think
you labour under a misapprehension. The glass belongs to me; I bought
it to-day at the old curiosity shop in Finchmore Street."

"Rightful possession of the glass would appear to rest with you,
technically; but taking you to be a gentleman, I venture to believe
that a mere statement of my priority of claim will appeal to you, even
though it might have no effect on the minds of a jury of our
countrymen."

"You mean to say that the glass has been stolen from you and has been
sold?"

"It has been sold undoubtedly over and over again, but never stolen, so
far as I have been able to trace its history."

"If, then, the glass has been honestly purchased by its different
owners, I fail to see how you can possibly establish any claim to it."

"I have already admitted that my claim is moral rather than legal,"
continued the visitor. "It is a long story; have I your permission to
tell it?"

"I shall be delighted to listen," replied Eastford, "but before doing
so I beg to renew my invitation, and ask you to occupy this easy-chair
before the fire."

The officer bowed in silence, crossed the room behind Eastford, and sat
down in the arm-chair, placing his sword across his knees. The stranger
spread his hands before the fire, and seemed to enjoy the comforting
warmth. He remained for a few moments buried in deep reflection, quite
ignoring the presence of his host, who, glancing upon the hour-glass in
dispute upon his knees, seeing that the sands had all run out silently
reversed it and set them flowing again. This action caught the corner
of the stranger's eye, and brought him to a realisation of why he was
there. Drawing a heavy sigh, he began his story.

* * * * *

"In the year 1706 I held the post of lieutenant in that part of the
British Army commanded by General Trelawny, the supreme command, of
course, being in the hands of the great Marlborough."

Eastford listened to this announcement with a feeling that there was
something wrong about the statement. The man sitting there was calmly
talking of a time one hundred and ninety-two years past, and yet he
himself could not be a day more than twenty-five years old. Somewhere
entangled in this were the elements of absurdity. Eastford found
himself unable to unravel them, but the more he thought of the matter,
the more reasonable it began to appear, and so, hoping his visitor had
not noted the look of surprise on his face, he said, quietly, casting
his mind back over the history of England, and remembering what he had
learned at school:--

"That was during the war of the Spanish Succession?"

"Yes: the war had then been in progress four years, and many brilliant
victories had been won, the greatest of which was probably the Battle
of Blenheim."

"Quite so," murmured Eastford.

"It was the English," Casper cried,
"That put the French to rout;
"But what they killed each other for,
"I never could make out."

The officer looked up in astonishment.

"I never heard anything like that said about the war. The reason for it
was perfectly plain. We had to fight or acknowledge France to be the
dictator of Europe. Still, politics have nothing to do with my story.
General Trelawny and his forces were in Brabant, and were under orders
to join the Duke of Marlborough's army. We were to go through the
country as speedily as possible, for a great battle was expected.
Trelawny's instructions were to capture certain towns and cities that
lay in our way, to dismantle the fortresses, and to parole their
garrisons. We could not encumber ourselves with prisoners, and so
marched the garrisons out, paroled them, destroyed their arms, and bade
them disperse. But, great as was our hurry, strict orders had been
given to leave no strongholds in our rear untaken.

"Everything went well until we came to the town of Elsengore, which we
captured without the loss of a man. The capture of the town, however,
was of little avail, for in the centre of it stood a strong citadel,
which we tried to take by assault, but could not. General Trelawny, a
very irascible, hotheaded man, but, on the whole, a just and capable
officer, impatient at this unexpected delay, offered the garrison
almost any terms they desired to evacuate the castle. But, having had
warning of our coming, they had provisioned the place, were well
supplied with ammunition, and their commander refused to make terms
with General Trelawny.

"'If you want the place,' said the Frenchman, 'come and take it.'

"General Trelawny, angered at this contemptuous treatment, flung his
men again and again at the citadel, but without making the slightest
impression on it.

"We were in no wise prepared for a long siege, nor had we expected
stubborn resistance. Marching quickly, as was our custom heretofore, we
possessed no heavy artillery, and so were at a disadvantage when
attacking a fortress as strong as that of Elsengore. Meanwhile, General
Trelawny sent mounted messengers by different roads to his chief giving
an account of what had happened, explaining his delay in joining the
main army, and asking for definite instructions. He expected that one
or two, at least, of the mounted messengers sent away would reach his
chief and be enabled to return. And that is exactly what happened, for
one day a dusty horseman came to General Trelawny's headquarters with a
brief note from Marlborough. The Commander-in-Chief said:--

"'I think the Frenchman's advice is good. We want the place; therefore,
take it.'

"But he sent no heavy artillery to aid us in this task, for he could
not spare his big guns, expecting, as he did, an important battle.
General Trelawny having his work thus cut out for him, settled down to
accomplish it as best he might. He quartered officers and men in
various parts of the town, the more thoroughly to keep watch on the
citizens, of whose good intentions, if the siege were prolonged, we
were by no means sure.

"It fell to my lot to be lodged in the house of Burgomaster Seidelmier,
of whose conduct I have no reason to complain, for he treated me well.
I was given two rooms, one a large, low apartment on the first floor,
and communicating directly with the outside, by means of a hall and a
separate stairway. The room was lighted by a long, many-paned window,
leaded and filled with diamond-shaped glass. Beyond this large drawing-
room was my bedroom. I must say that I enjoyed my stay in Burgomaster
Seidelmier's house none the less because he had an only daughter, a
most charming girl. Our acquaintance ripened into deep friendship, and
afterwards into----but that has nothing to do with what I have to tell
you. My story is of war, and not of love. Gretlich Seidelmier presented
me with the hour-glass you have in your hand, and on it I carved the
joined hearts entwined with our similar initials."

"So they are initials, are they?" said Eastford, glancing down at what
he had mistaken for twining serpents.

"Yes," said the officer; "I was more accustomed to a sword than to an
etching tool, and the letters are but rudely drawn. One evening, after
dark, Gretlich and I were whispering together in the hall, when we
heard the heavy tread of the general coming up the stair. The girl fled
precipitately, and I, holding open the door, waited the approach of my
chief. He entered and curtly asked me to close the door.

"'Lieutenant,' he said, 'it is my intention to capture the citadel to-
night. Get together twenty-five of your men, and have them ready under
the shadow of this house, but give no one a hint of what you intend to
do with them. In one hour's time leave this place with your men as
quietly as possible, and make an attack on the western entrance of the
citadel. Your attack is to be but a feint and to draw off their forces
to that point. Still, if any of your men succeed in gaining entrance to
the fort they shall not lack reward and promotion. Have you a watch?'

"'Not one that will go, general; but I have an hourglass here.'

"'Very well, set it running. Collect your men, and exactly at the hour
lead them to the west front; it is but five minutes' quick march from
here. An hour and five minutes from this moment I expect you to begin
the attack, and the instant you are before the western gate make as
much noise as your twenty-five men are capable of, so as to lead the
enemy to believe that the attack is a serious one.'

"Saying this, the general turned and made his way, heavy-footed,
through the hall and down the stairway.

"I set the hour-glass running, and went at once to call my men,
stationing them where I had been ordered to place them. I returned to
have a word with Gretlich before I departed on what I knew was a
dangerous mission. Glancing at the hour-glass, I saw that not more than
a quarter of the sand had run down during my absence. I remained in the
doorway, where I could keep an eye on the hour-glass, while the girl
stood leaning her arm against the angle of the dark passageway,
supporting her fair cheek on her open palm; and, standing thus in the
darkness, she talked to me in whispers. We talked and talked, engaged
in that sweet, endless conversation that murmurs in subdued tone round
the world, being duplicated that moment at who knows how many places.
Absorbed as I was in listening, at last there crept into my
consciousness the fact that the sand in the upper bulb was not
diminishing as fast as it should. This knowledge was fully in my mind
for some time before I realised its fearful significance. Suddenly the
dim knowledge took on actuality. I sprang from the door-lintel,
saying:--

"'Good heavens, the sand in the hour-glass has stopped running!'

"I remained there motionless, all action struck from my rigid limbs,
gazing at the hour-glass on the table.

"Gretlich, peering in at the doorway, looking at the hour-glass and not
at me, having no suspicion of the ruin involved in the stoppage of that
miniature sandstorm, said, presently:--

"'Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you it does that now and then, and so you
must shake the glass.'

"She bent forward as if to do this when the leaden windows shuddered,
and the house itself trembled with the sharp crash of our light cannon,
followed almost immediately by the deeper detonation of the heavier
guns from the citadel. The red sand in the glass began to fall again,
and its liberation seemed to unfetter my paralysed limbs. Bareheaded as
I was, I rushed like one frantic along the passage and down the stairs.
The air was resonant with the quick-following reports of the cannon,
and the long, narrow street was fitfully lit up as if by sudden flashes
of summer lightning. My men were still standing where I had placed
them. Giving a sharp word of command, I marched them down the street
and out into the square, where I met General Trelawny coming back from
his futile assault. Like myself, he was bareheaded. His military
countenance was begrimed with powder-smoke, but he spoke to me with no
trace of anger in his voice.

"'Lieutenant Sentore,' he said, 'disperse your men.'

"I gave the word to disband my men, and then stood at attention before
him.

"'Lieutenant Sentore,' he said, in the same level voice, 'return to
your quarters and consider yourself under arrest. Await my coming
there.'

"I turned and obeyed his orders. It seemed incredible that the sand
should still be running in the hour-glass, for ages appeared to have
passed over my head since last I was in that room. I paced up and down,
awaiting the coming of my chief, feeling neither fear nor regret, but
rather dumb despair. In a few minutes his heavy tread was on the stair,
followed by the measured tramp of a file of men. He came into the room,
and with him were a sergeant and four soldiers, fully armed. The
general was trembling with rage, but held strong control over himself,
as was his habit on serious occasions.

"'Lieutenant Sentore,' he said, 'why were you not at your post?"

"'The running sand in the hour-glass' (I hardly recognised my own voice
on hearing it) 'stopped when but half exhausted. I did not notice its
interruption until it was too late.'

"The general glanced grimly at the hour-glass. The last sands were
falling through to the lower bulb. I saw that he did not believe my
explanation.

"'It seems now to be in perfect working order,' he said, at last.

"He strode up to it and reversed it, watching the sand pour for a few
moments, then he spoke abruptly:--

"'Lieutenant Sentore, your sword.'

"I handed my weapon to him without a word. Turning to the sergeant, he
said: 'Lieutenant Sentore is sentenced to death. He has an hour for
whatever preparations he cares to make. Allow him to dispose of that
hour as he chooses, so long as he remains within this room and holds
converse with no one whatever. When the last sands of this hour-glass
are run, Lieutenant Sentore will stand at the other end of this room
and meet the death merited by traitors, laggards, or cowards. Do you
understand your duty, sergeant?'

"'Yes, general.'

"General Trelawny abruptly left the room, and we heard his heavy steps
echoing throughout the silent house, and later, more faintly on the
cobble-stones of the street. When they had died away a deep stillness
set in, I standing alone at one end of the room, my eyes fixed on the
hour-glass, and the sergeant with his four men, like statues at the
other, also gazing at the same sinister object. The sergeant was the
first to break the silence.

"'Lieutenant,' he said, 'do you wish to write anything----?'

"He stopped short, being an unready man, rarely venturing far beyond
'Yes' and 'No.'

"'I should like to communicate with one in this household,' I said,
'but the general has forbidden it, so all I ask is that you shall have
my body conveyed from this room as speedily as possible after the
execution.'

"'Very good, lieutenant,' answered the sergeant.

"After that, for a long time no word was spoken. I watched my life run
redly through the wasp waist of the transparent glass, then suddenly
the sand ceased to flow, half in the upper bulb, half in the lower.

"'It has stopped,' said the sergeant; 'I must shake the glass.'

"'Stand where you are!' I commanded, sharply. 'Your orders do not run
to that.'

"The habit of obedience rooted the sergeant to the spot.

"'Send one of your men to General Trelawny,' I said, as if I had still
the right to be obeyed. 'Tell him what has happened, and ask for
instructions. Let your man tread lightly as he leaves the room.'

"The sergeant did not hesitate a moment, but gave the order I required
of him. The soldier nearest the door tip-toed out of the house. As we
all stood there the silence seeming the deeper because of the stopping
of the sand, we heard the hour toll in the nearest steeple. The
sergeant was visibly perturbed, and finally he said:--

"'Lieutenant, I must obey the general's orders. An hour has passed
since he left here, for that clock struck as he was going down the
stair. Soldiers, make ready. _Present_.'

"The men, like impassive machines levelled their muskets at my breast.
I held up my hand.

"'Sergeant,' I said as calmly as I could, 'you are now about to exceed
your instructions. Give another command at your peril. The exact words
of the general were, 'When the last sands of this hour-glass are run.'
I call your attention to the fact that the conditions are not
fulfilled. Half of the sand remains in the upper bulb.'

"The sergeant scratched his head in perplexity, but he had no desire to
kill me, and was only actuated by a soldier's wish to adhere strictly
to the letter of his instructions, be the victim friend or foe. After a
few moments he muttered, 'It is true,' then gave a command that put his
men into their former position.

"Probably more than half an hour passed, during which time no man
moved; the sergeant and his three remaining soldiers seemed afraid to
breathe; then we heard the step of the general himself on the stair. I
feared that this would give the needed impetus to the sand in the
glass, but, when Trelawny entered, the _status quo_ remained. The
general stood looking at the suspended sand, without speaking.

"' That is what happened before, general, and that is why I was not at
my place. I have committed the crime of neglect, and have thus
deservedly earned my death; but I shall die the happier if my general
believes I am neither a traitor nor a coward.'

"The general, still without a word, advanced to the table, slightly
shook the hour-glass, and the sand began to pour again. Then he picked
the glass up in his hand, examining it minutely, as if it were some
strange kind of toy, turning it over and over. He glanced up at me and
said, quite in his usual tone, as if nothing in particular had come
between us:--

"'Remarkable thing that, Sentore, isn't it?'

"'Very,' I answered, grimly.

"He put the glass down.

"'Sergeant, take your men to quarters. Lieutenant Sentore, I return to
you your sword; you can perhaps make better use of it alive than dead;
I am not a man to be disobeyed, reason or no reason. Remember that, and
now go to bed.'

"He left me without further word, and buckling on my sword, I proceeded
straightway to disobey again.

"I had a great liking for General Trelawny. Knowing how he fumed and
raged at being thus held helpless by an apparently impregnable fortress
in the unimportant town of Elsengore, I had myself studied the citadel
from all points, and had come to the conclusion that it might be
successfully attempted, not by the great gates that opened on the
square of the town, nor by the inferior west gates, but by scaling the
seemingly unclimbable cliffs at the north side. The wall at the top of
this precipice was low, and owing to the height of the beetling cliff,
was inefficiently watched by one lone sentinel, who paced the
battlements from corner tower to corner tower. I had made my plans,
intending to ask the general's permission to risk this venture, but now
I resolved to try it without his knowledge or consent, and thus
retrieve, if I could, my failure of the foregoing part of the night.

"Taking with me a long, thin rope which I had in my room, anticipating
such a trial for it, I roused five of my picked men, and silently we
made our way to the foot of the northern cliff. Here, with the rope
around my waist, I worked my way diagonally up along a cleft in the
rock, which, like others parallel to it, marked the face of the
precipice. A slip would be fatal. The loosening of a stone would give
warning to the sentinel, whose slow steps I heard on the wall above me,
but at last I reached a narrow ledge without accident, and standing up
in the darkness, my chin was level with the top of the wall on which
the sentry paced. The shelf between the bottom of the wall and the top
of the cliff was perhaps three feet in width, and gave ample room for a
man careful of his footing. Aided by the rope, the others, less expert
climbers than myself, made their way to my side one by one, and the six
of us stood on the ledge under the low wall. We were all in our
stockinged feet, some of the men, in fact, not even having stockings
on. As the sentinel passed, we crouching in the darkness under the
wall, the most agile of our party sprang up behind him. The soldier had
taken off his jacket, and tip-toeing behind the sentinel, he threw the
garment over his head, tightening it with a twist that almost strangled
the man. Then seizing his gun so that it would not clatter on the
stones, held him thus helpless while we five climbed up beside him.
Feeling under the jacket, I put my right hand firmly on the sentinel's
throat, and nearly choking the breath out of him, said:--

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22