Kitobni o'qish: «Клуб самоубийц. Уровень 2 / The Suicide Club», sahifa 3

“It is a pack of fifty-two cards,” whispered Mr. Malthus. “Watch for the ace of spades, which is the sign of death, and the ace of clubs, which designates the official of the night. Happy, happy young men!” he added. “You have good eyes, and can follow the game. Alas! I cannot tell an ace from a deuce across the table.”

And he proceeded to equip himself with a second pair of spectacles.

“I must at least watch the faces,” he explained.

The Colonel rapidly informed his friend of all that he learned from the honorary member, and of the horrible alternative that lay before them. The Prince swallowed with difficulty, and looked from side to side like a man in a maze.

“One bold stroke,” whispered the Colonel, “and we may still escape.”

But the suggestion recalled the Prince's spirits.

“Silence!” said he. “Let me see that you can play like a gentleman.”

And he looked about him. His heart beat thickly, and he was conscious of an unpleasant heat in his bosom. The members were all very quiet and intent. Everyone was pale, but none so pale as Mr. Malthus. His eyes protruded; his head was nodding involuntarily upon his spine. His hands found their way, one after the other, to his mouth, where they made clutches at his tremulous and ashen lips. It was plain that the honorary member enjoyed his membership rather strangely.

“Attention, gentlemen!” said the President.

And he began slowly dealing the cards about the table in the reverse direction. He was pausing until each man showed his card. Nearly everyone hesitated. Sometimes you could see a player's fingers stumble more than once before he could turn over the momentous slip of pasteboard. As the Prince's turn drew nearer, he was conscious of a growing and almost suffocating excitement. But he had the gambler's nature, and recognised almost with astonishment that there was a degree of pleasure in his sensations. The nine of clubs fell to his lot; the three of spades was dealt to Geraldine; and the queen of hearts to Mr. Malthus, who was unable to suppress a sob of relief. The young man of the cream tarts almost immediately afterwards turned over the ace of clubs, and remained frozen with horror. The card was still resting on his finger; he was there not to kill, but to be killed. The Prince in his generous sympathy almost forgot the peril that still hung over himself and his friend.

The deal was coming round again, and still Death's card did not come out. The players held their respiration, and only breathed by gasps. The Prince received another club; Geraldine had a diamond; but when Mr. Malthus turned up his card a horrible noise, like that of something breaking, issued from his mouth. He rose from his seat and sat down again, with no sign of his paralysis. It was the ace of spades.

Conversation broke out again almost at once. The players began to rise from the table and stroll back by twos and threes into the smoking-room. The President stretched his arms and yawned, like a man who has finished his day's work. But Mr. Malthus sat in his place, with his head in his hands, and his hands upon the table, drunk and motionless.

The Prince and Geraldine made their escape at once. In the cold night air their horror was redoubled.

“Alas!” cried the Prince, “to be bound by an oath in such a matter! to allow this wholesale trade in murder to be continued with profit and impunity! If I could forfeit my pledge!”

“That is impossible for your Highness,” replied the Colonel, “whose honour is the honour of Bohemia. But I dare, and may with propriety, forfeit mine.”

“Geraldine,” said the Prince, “if your honour suffers in any of the adventures into which you follow me, not only will I never pardon you, but-what is more terrible-I shall never forgive myself.”

“I receive your Highness's commands,” replied the Colonel. “Shall we go from this accursed spot?”

“Yes,” said the Prince. “Call a cab in Heaven's name, and let me try to forget in slumber the memory of this night's disgrace.”

But it was notable that he carefully read the name of the court before he left it.

The next morning, as soon as the Prince was stirring, Colonel Geraldine brought him a daily newspaper, with the following paragraph marked:

“Melancholy Accident¹⁷

This morning, about two o'clock, Mr. Bartholomew Malthus, of 16 Chepstow Place, 30Westbourne Grove, on his way home from a party at a friend's house, fell over the upper parapet in Trafalgar Square, fracturing his skull and breaking a leg and an arm. Death was instantaneous. Mr. Malthus, accompanied by a friend, was engaged in looking for a cab at the time of the unfortunate occurrence. As Mr. Malthus was paralytic, and his fall was occasioned by another seizure. The unhappy gentleman was well known in the most respectable circles, and his loss will be widely and deeply deplored.”

“If Hell exists,” said Geraldine solemnly, “that paralytic man is there.”

The Prince buried his face in his hands, and remained silent.

“I am almost rejoiced,” continued the Colonel, “to know that he is dead. But for our young man of the cream tarts I confess my heart bleeds.”

“Geraldine,” said the Prince, raising his face, “that unhappy lad was last night as innocent as you and I. This morning the guilt of blood is on his soul. When I think of the President, my heart grows sick within me. I do not know how it will be done, but that scoundrel will repent! What an experience, what a lesson, was that game of cards!”

“One,” said the Colonel, “never to be repeated.”

The Prince did not say a word. Geraldine was alarmed.

“You cannot mean to return,” he said. “You have suffered too much and seen too much horror already. The duties of your high position forbid the repetition of the hazard.”

“There is much in what you say,” replied Prince Florizel, “and I am not altogether pleased with my own determination. Alas! In the clothes of the greatest potentate what is there but a man? I never felt my weakness more acutely than now, Geraldine, but it is stronger than I. Can I cease to interest myself in the fortunes of the unhappy young man who supped with us some hours ago? Can I leave the President to follow his nefarious career unwatched? Can I begin an adventure, and not follow it to an end? No, Geraldine, you ask of the Prince more than the man is able to perform. Tonight, once more, we take our places at the table of the Suicide Club.”

Colonel Geraldine fell upon his knees.

“Will your Highness take my life?” he cried. “It is his-his freely; but do not, O do not! let him ask me to countenance so terrible a risk.”

“Colonel Geraldine,” replied the Prince, with some haughtiness, “your life is absolutely your own. I only looked for obedience. When that is unwillingly rendered, I don't need it. I add one word: your importunity in this affair has been sufficient.”

The Master of the Horse regained his feet at once.

“Your Highness,” he said, “may I be excused in my attendance this afternoon? I dare not, as an honourable man, venture a second time into that fatal house until I have perfectly ordered my affairs. Your Highness shall meet, I promise him, with no more opposition from the most devoted and grateful of his servants.”

“My dear Geraldine,” returned Prince Florizel, “I always regret when you oblige me to remember my rank. Dispose of your day as you think fit, but be here before eleven in the same disguise.”

The club, on this second evening, was not so fully attended. When Geraldine and the Prince arrived there were not above half a dozen persons in the smoking-room. His Highness took the President aside and congratulated him warmly on the demise of Mr. Malthus.

“I like,” he said, “to meet the capable man. Your profession is of a very delicate nature, but I see you are well qualified to conduct it with success and secrecy.”

The President was affected by these compliments. He acknowledged them almost with humility.

“Poor Malthy!” he added, “the club will continue its activity without him. The most of my patrons are boys, sir, and poetical boys, who are not much company for me. Malthy had some poetry too; but it was of a kind that I can understand.”

“I can readily imagine you liked Mr. Malthus,” returned the Prince. “He was a man of a very original disposition.”

The young man of the cream tarts was in the room, but painfully depressed and silent. His late companions sought in vain to lead him into conversation.

“I repent,” he cried, “that I brought you to this infamous den! Begone, while you are clean-handed. The old man was screaming as he was falling. The noise of his bones upon the pavement! Wish me, if you have any kindness – wish the ace of spades for me tonight!”

A few more members dropped in as the evening went on, but the club did not muster more than the devil's dozen when they took their places at the table. The Prince was astonished to see Geraldine so much more self-possessed than on the night before.

“It is extraordinary,” thought the Prince, “that a will, made or unmade, should so greatly influence a young man's spirit.”

“Attention, gentlemen!” said the President, and he began to deal.

Three times the cards went all round the table, and neither of the marked cards fell from his hand. The excitement as he began the fourth distribution was overwhelming. There were just cards enough to go once more entirely round. The Prince sat second from the dealer's left. So Florizel will receive the second last card. The third player turned up a black ace – it was the ace of clubs. The next received a diamond, the next a heart, and so on; but the ace of spades was still undelivered. At last Geraldine, who sat upon the Prince's left, turned his card; it was an ace, but the ace of hearts.

When Prince Florizel saw his fate upon the table in front of him, his heart stood still. He was a brave man, but the sweat poured off his face. There were exactly fifty chances out of a hundred that he was doomed. He reversed the card; it was the ace of spades. A loud roaring filled his brain, and the table swam before his eyes. He heard the player on his right break into a fit of laughter. It sounded between mirth and disappointment. The company was rapidly dispersing, but his mind was full of other thoughts. He recognised how foolish, how criminal, was his conduct. In perfect health, the heir to a throne, he has gambled away his future and that of a brave and loyal country.

“God,” he cried, “God forgive me!”

To his surprise, Geraldine has disappeared. There was no one in the card-room but his butcher was consulting with the President. The young man of the cream tarts slipped up to the Prince and whispered in his ear,

“I could give a million, if I had it, for your luck.”

His Highness wanted to answer that he could sell his opportunity for a much more moderate sum.

The conference now came to an end. The holder of the ace of clubs left the room with a look of intelligence. The President approached the unfortunate Prince, and proffered him his hand.

“I am pleased to meet you, sir,” said he, “and pleased to serve you. At least, you cannot complain of delay. On the second evening – what a stroke of luck!”

The Prince endeavoured in vain to articulate something in response, but his mouth was dry and his tongue seemed paralysed.

“You feel a little sickish?” asked the President. “Most gentlemen do. Will you take a little brandy?”

The Prince signified in the affirmative.

“Poor old Malthy!” ejaculated the President, as the Prince drained the glass. “He drank near upon a pint, and little enough good it seemed to do him!”

“I am more amenable to treatment,” said the Prince. “And let me ask you, what are my directions?”

“You will proceed along the Strand in the direction of the City, and on the left-hand pavement, until you meet the gentleman who has just left the room. He will continue your instructions. You will obey him. And now,” added the President, “I wish you a pleasant walk.”

Florizel acknowledged the salutation rather awkwardly, and left. He passed through the smoking-room, where the bulk of the players were still consuming champagne. He was surprised to curse them in his heart. He put on his hat and greatcoat in the cabinet, and selected his umbrella from a corner. The familiarity of these acts caused a burst of laughter which sounded unpleasantly in his own ears. He dud not want to leave the cabinet, and turned instead to the window.

“Come, come, I must be a man,” he thought.

At the corner three men caught Prince Florizel, and he was unceremoniously thrust into a carriage, which at once drove rapidly away. There was already an occupant.

“Will your Highness pardon my zeal?” said a well-known voice.

The Prince threw himself upon the Colonel's neck in a passion of relief.

“How can I ever thank you?” he cried. “And how did you do that?”

He was overjoyed to return once more to life and hope.

“You can thank me effectually enough,” replied the Colonel, “by avoiding all such dangers in the future. And as for your second question, all is simple. I met this afternoon a celebrated detective. I paid for the secrecy. Your own servants are principally engaged in the affair. The house was surrounded since nightfall, and this, which is one of your own carriages, was awaiting you for there.”

“And the miserable creature who will slay me – what of him?” inquired the Prince.

“He left the club and was pinioned,” replied the Colonel, “and now awaits your sentence at the Palace.”

“Geraldine,” said the Prince, “you have saved me, and you have done well. I owe you not only my life, but a lesson. I shall be unworthy of my rank if I do not show myself grateful to my teacher.”

There was a pause, during which the carriage continued to speed through the streets. The two men were each buried in his own reflections. The silence was broken by Colonel Geraldine.

“Your Highness,” said he, “has by this time many prisoners. There is one criminal among them to whom justice must be dealt. Our oath forbids us all recourse to law. May I inquire your Highness's intention?”

“It is decided,” answered Florizel; “the President must fall in duel. It only remains to choose his adversary.”

“Your Highness has permitted me to name my own recompense,” said the Colonel. “Will he permit me to ask the appointment of my brother?”

“You ask me an ungracious favour,” said the Prince, “but I must refuse you nothing.”

The Colonel kissed his hand with the greatest affection. At that moment the carriage rolled under the archway of the Prince's splendid residence.

An hour after, Florizel in his official robes, and covered with all the orders of Bohemia, received the members of the Suicide Club.

“Foolish and wicked men,” said he, “those of you who were driven into this position by the lack of fortune. You will receive employment and remuneration from my officers. Those who suffer under a sense of guilt must address a higher and more generous Potentate than I. I feel pity for all of you, deeper than you can imagine. Tomorrow you will tell me your stories. If you answer frankly, I shall be able to remedy your misfortunes. As for you,” he added, turning to the President, “I have something to propose to you. Here,” laying his hand on the shoulder of Colonel Geraldine's young brother, “is an officer of mine who desires to make a little tour to Europe. I ask you, as a favour, to accompany him. Do you,” he went on, changing his tone, “do you shoot well with the pistol? Because you may need it. When two men go travelling together, it is best to be prepared for all. Let me add that, if by any chance you lose young Mr. Geraldine upon the way, I shall always have another member of my household to offer. And, Mr. President, I have long arms.”

With these words, said with much sternness, the Prince concluded his speech. Next morning the members of the club were suitably provided for by his munificence. The President set forth upon his travels, under the supervision of Mr. Geraldine, and a pair of faithful and adroit lackeys, well trained in the Prince's household. Not content with this, he put discreet agents in possession of the house in Box Court, and all letters or visitors for the Suicide Club were examined by Prince Florizel in person.

Here (says my Arabian author) ends The Story of the Young Man with the Cream Tarts, who is now a comfortable householder in Wigmore Street, Cavendish Square.

Those who want to pursue the adventures of Prince Florizel and the President of the Suicide Club, may read the history of the physician and the Saratoga trunk.