The Masqueraders

It had all happened so quickly that Markham, no less than Letitia, was taken quite by surprise. From the moment of the horses being pulled up to the moment of the breaking glass there had been no more time than sufficed to sit up exclaiming: ‘What’s toward?’ Before Markham could pull the pistol from his pocket he was covered, and had perforce to sit perfectly still, glaring at that deadly barrel.

Letty’s heart beat fast. It was a highwayman, beyond all doubt, but she was not in the least afraid. Nothing could be worse than her elopement, and she was inclined to think that it would be better to be killed by a highwayman than to be married to Mr Markham. If fortune smiled Mr Markham might be killed, which would be an excellent thing. She sat up all agog with excitement, and stared through the broken glass at the man who held that pistol.

He was speaking. ‘Put up your hands!’

The voice made Letty jump, so oddly familiar was it. She leaned forward, trying to see the horseman’s face. There was a black mask over his eyes, and a tricorne was pulled low over his brow. He was a slight man, as far as she could see for the many-caped greatcoat that enveloped him. A wild hope sprang up in her breast: she peered at the stranger’s right hand, holding the pistol just inside the window. There was a glint of gold on the little finger. The hand moved a fraction, and the moonlight caught a ring, cunningly wrought.

‘The Unknown!’ Letty gasped, and began to tremble with excitement, relief, and a queer glad sensation she had never known till now.

‘Hands up!’ The voice was sharp and compelling. There was nothing for Markham to do but to raise his arms above his head. Inwardly he was cursing: this meant not only delay, but loss of all the money he had brought with him.

‘Madam,’ – the Unknown was speaking to Letty, but he did not take his eyes from Markham’s face – ‘oblige me by searching this gentleman’s pockets for a pistol.’

Letty pulled herself together. He spoke as to a stranger: she was not to know him then. Oh, here was romance indeed! Romance, and a rescue such as she had not dreamed to be possible. She pushed back her cloak, and with hands that shook, but with a business-like determination in her small face, dived into the pocket nearest her. There was nothing there. She stretched an arm across Mr Markham, taking care not to obtrude herself between his person and the Unknown’s pistol, and felt in the right-hand pocket. As her fingers closed round the butt of a pistol she felt Mr Markham’s hard breathing; and guessed his impotent fury. With a little laugh caught in her throat she pulled out the weapon. ‘I have it, sir! I’ll take care of it!’

She saw the flash of white teeth. ‘Bravo, madam! Hold fast to it. Sir, be pleased to come down!’

The chafing, fidgeting horse was pulled back; the Unknown bent gracefully in the saddle, and his hand left the bridle to swing open the coach door. Letty sat grasping the pistol, and pointing it at Mr Markham. Her eyes were bright, and her pretty mouth was set tightly. Mr Markham took one look, with a vague notion of wresting the pistol from her, but decided that the further he got from a weapon held in such determined but inexpert hands the better. He jumped down on to the road, just as the Unknown sprang lightly from the saddle.

‘You damned footpad!’ Mr Markham exploded. ‘By God, I’ll have you hunted down for this! You cowardly fools there, why didn’t you fire?’ He had flung round angrily to look at the men on the box, and saw soon enough the reason for their inanition. In spite of that first shot no one seemed to be hurt, but the two men on the box sat huddled together, staring with popping eyes at the long barrel of a pistol held by a second horseman, who had them covered. The man on one of the leaders sat as still as the fretting horse would let him, and his gaze was as fixed and as fearful as his companion’s. On the road lay a heavy blunderbuss: there had evidently been no time to fire the cumbersome weapon, and it had been surrendered immediately. This second horseman was masked as well and greatcoated. Letty peeping out, could see only the line of a square jaw, and a stocky silhouette. He did not appear to be much interested in what his companion was about, but kept his head and his pistol turned towards the box of the coach.

The Unknown had flung off his greatcoat. ‘Oh, what an unkind spirit!’ he mocked in answer to Mr Markham. ‘But I’m generous: I offer you a fight, a fair fight, when I might shoot you like the dog you are. Come, where’s your sword, sir? Here’s the gracious moon to light us, and witnesses enough to see fair play!’

‘Fight a damned cut-throat robber?’ cried Markham. ‘If I’d a cane you should taste of it!’

The Unknown laughed merrily. ‘Should I, sir? Should I indeed? Keep him covered, madam!’

‘I am!’ avowed Letty, grasping her pistol tighter than ever.

The Unknown’s weapon was laid aside with his cloak. The plain buff coat he wore followed it, and the scabbard of his sword. ‘Come, sir, come! Will you not fight for the privilege of keeping the lady and the riches? Or shall I fleece you of all? What, must I call you coward?’ Off came the heavy riding boots, and the elegant flowered waistcoat. He stood straight in the moonlight, a lithe figure in a white shirt, with fair hair caught in the nape of his neck, and a strip of black velvet hiding the upper part of his face. A naked sword was in his hand; he shook it in the air, and the steel flashed in the moonlight. ‘A fair duel, sir, and you are the larger man! Faint heart!’ Again he laughed. ‘If I kill you the lady goes free but if you kill me you win all! Shall I rob you as you stand, or will you cross swords with me? Yours is the choice.’

‘You kill me, you miserable little dwarf ?’ Markham cried. ‘You’ll fight, will you? You’re tired of life! Hand down my sword, girl, this instant! By God, I’ll teach you a lesson, you impudent dog!’ He began to strip off his coat as he spoke, and kicked the buckled shoes from his feet.

The Unknown came to the coach door, and reached up a hand for the sword, and spread his fingers a moment for Letty to see the ring.

‘I know! Oh, I know!’ she whispered, looking down into the face that had haunted her dreams for so many nights past. ‘Kill him, oh, please kill him!’

‘I will,’ he promised, and took the sword from her trembling hold.

Mr Markham stood ready now and snatched his rapier from the Unknown’s hand. ‘You asked for this!’ he snarled. ‘You’ll regret it too late. I’m not a novice with the small sword! On guard!’

There was the briefest of salutes, and the blades rang together. Markham lunged in quarte; Letty had a moment’s sick apprehension and shut her eyes. They flew open the next instant, to see the Unknown disengaging adroitly.

There was no sound on all this deserted heath but the scrape of steel; no movement save of those two figures on the grass, fighting sternly, desperately, with lives at stake.

The silver moonlight flooded the scene, and tinted it with an unreal ghostliness, glinting along the blue-grey blades, and touching the fair head of the Unknown, and the dark head of Markham.

To Letty, st

anding in the doorway of the coach, it was as a dream. Her wide eyes never left the graceful figure of the masked man; they followed every lightning thrust, and every dexterous parry. He was slight and small indeed, but he seemed to be made of wires, so agile were his movements, so unerring and untiring his arm. To see both men one must feel him to be hopelessly overweighted. Markham had the advantage in height, in reach, and in strength; he was a good swordsman besides, with a quick eye and a steady wrist. He had once killed a man in a duel, Letty knew.

But even to her, ignorant of sword-play, it was plain that the smaller and the lighter man had a wizard’s cunning with the rapier. His style was quite different from Markham’s; he was a miracle of swift grace and neat footwork, with a wrist like flexible steel, and eyes like a hawk’s to descry an opening. Fascinated, Letty followed the quick thrust and parry, and she saw the smile still on the Unknown’s lips.

There was a scuffle of blades; Letty’s hands flew to her mouth to press back an involuntary cry; Markham had lunged forward savagely, and for an awful moment Letty thought that his point must go home. But there was a swift parry, and barely had Markham recovered than the Unknown’s sword flashed forward. Forte touched foible, and Letty saw Markham disengage quickly.

She threw a glance round at the second masked man, and saw him intent too on the strange duel. And the pistol in his hand was pointing no longer at the men on the box: it covered Mr Markham. John would have no compunction in shooting if aught befell his young master.

His lesser height and strength did not seem to discompose the Unknown; he showed no signs of tiring; he was fighting still with the same force and cunning; he even seemed to be pressing his opponent. There was a parry, and, it seemed to Letty, two simultaneous lunges. Mr Markham thought he had found an opening, but as he lunged the Unknown’s sword shot out in a time-thrust quicker than the eye could follow, took Markham’s foible in a flickering parry, and passed on without a check to the heart. It was all over in the flash of an eyelid; dimly Letty realized that she had seen a marvellous piece of sword-play. The Unknown sprang back, gasping for breath; Markham seemed to crumple where he stood, and fell heavily to the ground.