The Shadow of Tyburn Tree

o'clock that night.

Returning to his lodgings he arranged with Ostermann to serve dinner and gave him his other instructions. Lastly he saw Zaria. First he impressed upon her that in no circumstances was she to come down from her attic that evening until he came up to fetch her; then he told her that she was to go to bed and sleep that afternoon, as he had a special task for her which would mean her staying up from ten o'clock till dawn.

Having thought the matter over with considerable care he had decided that whether he succeeded in securing Count Yagerhorn's laisser-passer, or not, he would set out that night. Natalia, would have to start back for the Peterhof soon after ten. If all went well, Yager­horn would by then have been hots de combat for some hours; so it should not be difficult to keep him captive until the following morning, in order to prevent him from going straight to the police, reporting that he had been attacked, and raising an immediate hue and cry. By the time the Count was free Roger hoped to have put many miles between himself and any possible pursuit. Natalia, Ostermann and Zaria would believe that he had gone off on his fishing-expedition, and the Finn would be baffled by his disappearance. If Yagerhorn did then go to the police Roger thought it unlikely that, the first excitement being over, they would interest themselves much in a fight between two foreigners; and that, although he might be called on to answer their questions on his return to St. Petersburg, providing he had not done the Count any serious injury, nothing would come of the matter.

By the time he had completed his arrangements it was near mid­day, so he lay down on his divan and put in a few hours' rest against the long night-journey that lay ahead of him.

At three o'clock he woke from a light doze and flexed his muscles thoughtfully, as he wondered what the outcome of his encounter with his enemy would be.

CHAPTER xvi

THE AMBUSH

NATALIA ANDREOVNA arrived a little before four, smirking like an exceptionally pretty vixen who has just robbed the hen-roost, with the news that Erik Yagerhorn had swallowed the bait without a qualm, and, short of an earthquake, could be counted on to arrive at seven o'clock. Then they sat down to dine.

The excitement they were both feeling detracted somewhat from their appetites, but they drank fairly copiously; although Roger was careful not to overdo it to an extent which might put him to a dis­advantage when he rame face to face with his intended victim. By a quarter to seven he had had enough to make him just ripe for a fight, and he was becoming impatient for the Count's arrival.

Since there could be no hiding Natalia's part in the plot, she had decided against concealing herself; so they cleared the middle of the room and drew the table across the embrasure of the window, arranging it so that when seated behind it she was as well installed for the coming spectacle as if in a Royal box. Roger took up his position behind the door, so that he could not be seen by anyone on first entering the room; then, sinking their voices to a whisper, they began to count the moments to the springing of their ambush.

At length there came footfalls on the stairs, the door was opened and Ostermann showed Count Yagerhorn in. His glance immediately lit on Natalia Andreovna at the far side of the room, and, his florid face wreathed in smiles, he hastened forward to greet her. As Ostermann closed the door Roger stepped from behind it and exclaimed: 'Turn, Sir! 'Tis I who will provide your entertainment this evening.'

The tall Finn spun round, his mouth gaping open, as Roger went on sternly: 'You recall me, do you not? And the last time we met? 'Tis your turn now to take a beating.'

'I recall you well enough, Monsieur,' snapped the Count. Then swinging about, he cried to Natalia: 'And so Madame, you have led me into a trap! Are you not ashamed to sit smiling there at your own perfidy?'

'Nay, Count,' she laughed lightly. 'It is but tid-for-tat. Some two months past you pressed me to afford you an opportunity for an explanation with Monsieur de Breuc, and I obliged you. Now that he has made a similar request, how could I refuse him?'

'Yet there is a difference,' Roger intervened. 'You were not man enough to cross your sword with mine, so brought four bullies with cudgels to aid you. I am content to make do without such hired ruffians and grant you at least an even chance to defend yourself from chastisement.'

'Your complaint on that score should be addressed to the Baroness Stroganof,' sneered the Count, 'for she it was who ordered me to make certain you should not escape the penalty of her displeasure.'

'For shame!' cried Roger. 'Is it not enough that you are a coward, and a traitor to your King, without seeking to father your craven conduct on a woman?' And, raising the riding-switch with which he had armed himself, he struck the Finn full across, the face.

As Yagerhom recoiled with a sharp cry, Natalia Andreovna gave a gasp of thrilled excitement; but the Count was quick to recover from the blow. Before Roger could get in another he had sidestepped and came charging in upon him.

Roger was equally agile and, springing away, slashed at the Count's head. He winced under the cut, but, swerving, managed to grasp Roger's arm. A second later they had clinched and stood swaying together in the centre of the room.

They were of about equal height, but the Finn was of a broader build and much the heavier of the two. His left hand was still encased in a black kid glove, but whatever unsightliness the glove was worn to cover did not incommode him in the full use of it. He got the gloved hand on Roger's throat and his grip was as tenacious as that of a bull­dog.

Locked together as they were, Roger's whip was no longer an asset to him but an encumbrance. Dropping it, he jabbed the Count sharply in the face; but the Finn's grip on his throat did not relax. Roger felt himself forced back; there was a sharp pain in his lungs from the lack of air and his head was singing. He knew that if he could not break the hold upon his windpipe within another minute he would be forced to the ground and ignominiously receive the beating that he had intended to give his enemy.

Desperate measures were necessary and, he considered, justified. Bringing his knee up sharply, he jabbed it into his adversary's groin.

The sudden move had the desired effect. With a gulp Yagerhorn loosened his hold. Roger jerked his head back, pushed him off and sprang away. He was not a skilled pugilist, having devoted him­self by preference to fencing and pistol practice, but he had picked up enough of the noble art at Sherborne to be much more adept at it than the majority of Continental noblemen, who despised fisticuffs

as the sport of churls. As the black-gloved hand darted out to renew its grip, Roger struck it up with his right and landed a heavy left on the Count's eye.

The Finn staggered back, recovered and came in again, throwing out both hands to catch Roger in a bear-like hug. But Roger was wary now. He had experienced the great strength that lay in his opponent's massive arms and knew that he could not match it. Darting aside he struck Yagerhorn hard, first in the ribs, then on the side of the face.

Panting harshly, the heavier man swerved and made another bull-like rush. Again Roger checked it with a body-blow, and another that glanced across his red, perspiring cheek. It seemed now that the more agile Englishman had the Finn's measure. Circling round him he got in blow after blow till Yagerhorn was reeling and it seemed that he must succumb.

But suddenly the Count dashed to the side of the room, seized a chair by its back, and swinging it aloft, struck with its legs at Roger's head. His jump to save himself was a second too late; one leg caught his head a glancing blow, another crashed upon his shoulder. With a gasp of pain he fell half-stunned to the floor. Next moment the Count flung himself on top of him, driving the breath out of his body.

Natalia Andreovna leapt to her feet. Her green eyes were flashing like those of a wild animal who smells blood. Leaning right- across the table to see the better, she let out a shrill screech of intense excitement; but she made no move to come to her champion's aid.

Breathless, his wits befuddled, his left shoulder half dislocated from the blow and the arm below it numb, Roger writhed impotently be­neath the weighty body of the Count. As in a nightmare he felt the black-gloved hand grasp his throat once more, and knew himself now to be at his enemy's mercy.

Suddenly it flickered through his mind that Yagerhorn, driven to a frenzy by the blows he had received, might kill him. The thought had no sooner entered his head that it became a conviction. The fright­ful clutch upon his neck and the agonising pains that pierced his chest were the last sensations he would ever know. This then was death.