The Shadow of Tyburn Tree

The thought appalled him. His life was so full and gay, and there were so many joys in it that he had not yet experienced. Yet he could neither shout to Natalia for help, nor even beg for mercy had he wished. Only a faint hissing sound escaped his purple lips, and as through a reddish mist, he could see the Finn's blue.eyes, glaring with implaccable hatred, boring down into his own.

The instinctive urge to escape death, rather than any remaining strength in Roger's limbs, still kept him jerking frenziedly in abortive efforts to throw the Count off. His clawing right hand stabbed ineffect­ively at the livid features above him, but was smashed aside and fell limply to the floor. By the will of Providence it struck the handle of the riding-switch that he had dropped some minutes earlier. His fingers closed avidly upon it, and with the butt- end foremost, he struck savagely at the murderous face leering down into his own.

The metal butt thudded dully against Yagerhorn's eye. He gave a bellow of pain, his grip on Roger's throat tightened convulsively, then eased a fraction. Blindly, frantically, with tl maniacal strength of despair, Roger struck again and again.

The Finn's eyes became suffused and swimming; his nose was broken and began to drip great splashes of blood; his cheeks and forehead were lacerated where the metal had torn the flesh, yet he still hung on. But his aching fingers no longer had the power to check Roger's gasps for breath. Suddenly the metal whip-butt caught the Count on the temple, and half-stunned, he lurched sideways. Roger jerked free his neck but remained where he lay, still pounding with all his remaining strength on his enemy's face and head.

For a moment the Count struggled up into a sitting position, astride Roger's body, and swayed there, thrusting out his arms in an effort to protect himself; then he gave a moan and rolled over onto the floor.

Panting, gasping, dripping with sweat, Roger pulled his legs from beneath those of his enemy, and supporting himself with one hand got up onto his knees. He could not yet believe that he had escaped with his life, and still felt that it was in imminent peril as long as Yager­horn had a kick left in him. Filled with mingled fear and rage he rained blow after blow with his whip upon the Count's head and shoulders until they ceased to writhe and he lay insensible.

Not till then did Roger slowly regain full possession of his own senses. For a few moments he remained kneeling there staring at the blood-spattered mass beside him. Then he slowly got to his feet, lurched across to the couch and fell upon it, still fighting for breath, and utterly exhausted.

Natalia had come out from behind the table and, running to him, began to smother his bloodstained face with kisses, as she exclaimed:

' 'Twas a truly marvellous fight. Never have I seen a finer. I would not have missed it for the world; nay, not even for a promise from the Empress of a ribbon of her Order. There came a time in it when I was quite fearful for you, but I knew full well that in the end my brave Roje Christorovitch must emerge victorious.'

Knowing that she had stood by watching with fascinated enjoy­ment while his life was being choked from him, Roger made a feeble attempt to push her away. Yet, as she rattled on, praising his dexter­ity and courage, he found it difficult to maintain his belief that she had failed to attempt his rescue solely on account of the sadistic delight she was deriving from the hideous conflict. Her inner mind was still an unfathomable deep to him, and he could not feel positive that she had not, in fact, refrained from aiding him owing to a complete faith in his ability to get the better of this enemy. In consequence, he sighed; and, when she had fetched water to bathe his hurts, submitted to her ministrations without further protest.

By the time he had revived a little he saw that Yagerhorn was com­ing round; so he got to his feet and, fetching some lengths of cord that he had placed handy for the purpose, he tied the Count's wrists and ankles, and stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth; then lay down again.

For the best part of an hour he remained sprawled upon the settee, while Natalia sat beside him gently stroking his hair and whispering endearments. At last, when he felt more like himself, he got up once more and, with Natalia's help, dragged the Count into the bedroom. When they had levered his body on to the divan Roger sent her back into the sitting-room to fetch a cloth for use as a proper gag, as Yager­horn too had now more or less recovered and was growling and biting like a savage animal.

While she was absent Roger swiftly searched the Count's inner pocket. From it he pulled a batch of papers, and to his great satis­faction, found among them a laisser-passer. One glance was enough to show that it was what he sought, as the Russian text was translated below in both French and German. Without further examination he stuffed the whole lot inside his* shirt. A minute or two later Natalia rejoined him. Together they re-gagged the Finn more efficiently, made certain that his bonds were secure, then returned to the sitting-room.

Not having eaten much dinner Roger now felt hungry; so, at his suggestion, they sat down to demolish the remains of a venison-pasty and some fruit. They were almost silent during their meal, and towards the end of it Natalia amused herself by spitting cherry-stones with com­mendable accuracy right across the room into the wood-basket beside the stove. When she had run out of ammunition she said: 'Tell me, Roje Christorovitch, what have you in mind to do with that miserable Yagerhorn?'

'Keep him here for the night in uncertainty as to his fate,' Roger replied casually, 'then let him go in the morning.'

'The villain deserves worse,' she remarked with a shrug. 'But you are magnanimous by nature; and wise too, for the Empress might inquire into the matter with serious results to yourself should any permanent harm befall him. Otherwise I would suggest that you should mark him in some way, so that he should never forget this night of your triumph over him.'

Roger gave her a side-long glance. Her harshness towards a man whom she had once taken with glad laughter as her lover was quite incomprehensible to him. During these past weeks her beauty had never failed to rouse his passion or her intellect to stimulate his mind. Yet he knew that in his heart he hated and despised her, and would have broken with her long since had it not been for her usefulness to him in securing the type of information he had come to Russia to obtain. Now that he was again in full possession of his senses the vicious delight that she had displayed, when he caught glimpses of her while he and Yagerhorn were locked in mortal combat, sickened and revolted him. He thanked his stars that their liaison depended only on his own convenience, and that as soon as he was better established at the Court he would be able to break it. He felt that he would not have married her for a million, and that there could be few more frightful fates than to find oneself tied to such a woman for life.

As he did not reply she stood up, came round to him, and perched herself upon his knee. 'My poor Roje Christorovitch,' she murmured. 'What a gruelling experience you have been through; but it is past, and your victory should serve to incite you to triumphs of another kind. I am the spoil of victory and yours to do what you will with. Yet I have none too much time to reward you as you deserve, for it's near half after nine already, so in less than an hour I must be gone.'

Suddenly he realised that at some point of time within the past few hours his passion for her had died. Apart from a slight soreness in his throat and a dull ache in his left shoulder he was feeling perfectly fit again; yet he had not the least desire to make love to her, and doubted now if he would ever feel the urge again. On the other hand he knew that he could not yet afford to dispense with her. So, although he shook his head, he smiled at her and said diplomatically:

'Nay, my beautiful Natalia Andreovna. For once I fear that I must disappoint you. I still feel sick and heady from the recent brawl, and am not equal to challenging you in love's lists tb-night. I pray you excuse me and allow me to rest again, while you solace my sadly frail and aching body by the very fact of lying quiescent by my side.'

Immediately she was all concern, and on his pretending a renewed attack of vertigo, she helped him to the settee; then lay beside him with one arm about his neck. They remained so, hardly speaking, until, at ten o'clock, Ostermann knocked upon the door and announced that the lady's carriage awaited her below. She poured a final glass of wine, and while they drank it, he assured her that he would send her a message asking for a rendezvous immediately on his return from Lake Ladoga.

This night of strife and blood seemed to have had exactly contrary effects on them. Never before had her farewells been so lingering and so loving; and she swore that if any ill befell him she would die of grief on account of it. Her declarations were so fervid that he found it difficult to doubt their sincerity, and he had to admit to himself that, in her own extraordinary way, she must certainly have a very deep and genuine feeling for him.

At a quarter past ten, she put on her hooded cloak and mask, and despite her protests, he saw her down to her carriage. She had allowed an ample safety margin of time for her return and she would have lingered, had he