Naturally he told them nothing of his past secret activities, but he was able to regale them with tales of his early days in France, as a lawyer's apprentice, and of his travels in Egypt, India, Brazil and the West Indies, to which they listened wide-eyed, and they were greatly flattered to have secured such a handsome and interesting man of his years as their cavalier.
He soon learned Lady Mary's history. Her family was an old one, having first been ennobled during the Wars of the Roses, and later elevated to an earldom by Charles II. But her great-grandfather had been ruined in 1720 by the South Sea Bubble. For the past ninety years the family had lived very simply on a small property near Maidenhead. Mary herself was an only child and an orphan. Her mother had died in giving birth to her, and her father the previous year. On his death, the Maidenhead property had passed, with the title, to a distant; cousin: a Canon of Peterborough Cathedral, who was man of no fortune and had a large family of his own, could do little for her. In consequence, she was very badly off, with only a small income, which she was now ekeing out by staying for long periods with friends such as Deborah, whom she had known at the Seminary for Young Ladies at which she had been educated. But, in spite of her straitened circumstances and inability to afford expensive clothes, she was always cheerful and faced her uncertain future with courage.
During the fortnight after he first met the girls, as well as seeing them in the daytime, he twice dined at the Legation and saw them several times at receptions and dances in other houses.
It was on the 13th February that, after a drive on a pleasant sunny afternoon, he was handing them from the carriage outside the Legation, when he suddenly caught sight of de Queircoz. With him at the foot of the Legation steps were two Portuguese guardas. Suddenly pointing at Roger, de Queircoz cried:
'That is he! Seize him and he shall answer for the death of the Marquis de Pombal'
12
He Who Laughs Last
Dumbfounded, Roger stared at the dark browed diplomat. After a moment his brain again began to function. The Marquis had died in distant Brazil, but evidently on the return of his sister, the Senhora de Arahna, particulars of his death had become known in Lisbon, and de Queircoz knew, or thought he knew, who had killed him. But why should he be the person to accuse Roger? And why had he left his post in London to return to Lisbon? That could be explained by his having come to the conclusion that Colonel de Breuc and Roger Brook were the same person. The strong resemblance of the two, together with the fact that it was the Colonel who had captured Lisala's affections in Teheran, and Mr. Brook who ad later married her, were ample grounds for such a belief.
Within seconds Roger had solved the riddle. On meeting him in London de Queircoz had seen an opportunity to be avenged. He had dangled the de Pombal inheritance as bait, Roger had swallowed it, and his enemy had obtained leave so that he could follow Roger to Lisbon and denounce him. Yet Roger had a feeling that behind the jealous malice of the Portuguese lay the still greater malevolence of Lisala's evil spirit seeking his destruction.
To have been tried and condemned for murder in Prussia had been ordeal enough. His life had been saved by Davout only at the eleventh hour, and his rescue from a prison van by rioting students had been a piece of unforeseeable good fortune. To be tried again, only eight months later, for another murder he had not committed, seemed an outrageous injustice. And this time he would not be so lucky. The de Pombal family had great influence and the sympathies in a law court would be with them. Knowing how black a case could be made against him, he felt that once in the hands of the Portuguese his fate would be as good as sealed.
There was only one course open to him. It was to fight his way into the British Legation and seek sanctuary there.
His resolution was taken within half a minute of de Queircoz having called on the guardas to seize him. The taller guarda produced a warrant, stepped up to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. Roger gave him a violent shove that sent him reeling back, then darted toward the steps leading up to the door of the Legation. Before he could reach them the other guarda had flung his arms round his waist and had him in a bear-like hug. Exerting all his strength, Roger strove to free himself, and bashed with his fists at the man's head, but he buried his face in Roger's chest and gamely clung on. In desperation, Roger kneed him in the groin. His eyes popped, he gave a yelp of agony and relaxed his hold. But, only an instant after he had pushed the man away, his arms were seized from behind. The taller guarda had come to his companion's assistance. In vain Roger kicked out backward, his heels failed to find a mark and his arms were forced behind his back.
Even as his heart sank at the realization that his bid to escape capture had failed, help came from an unexpected quarter. Little Mary ran forward, shouting, 'Desist, fellow! How dare you lay hands on a Englishman!' Then, lifting her parasol, she jabbed it over Roger's shoulder at the guarda's face.
The iron ferrule caught him on the cheek, ripping the skin up toward the side of his left eye. With an oath, he let Roger go and clapped his hand to the wound, from which blood was flowing freely.
Roger lost not an instant and again dashed for the steps. The man he had kneed in the groin was crouching in the gutter, retching, and incapable of making any attempt to stop him. But de Queircoz swiftly stepped into his path. Drawing back his fists, Roger feinted with his right, then with his left hit the Portuguese a terrific blow on the side of the jaw. His head jerked back, his knees gave way, and he collapsed in a heap on the lowest step. Next moment Roger had jumped over him, mounted the rest of the flight and come to a halt, panting, just inside the Legation doorway.
The two girls ran up and joined him. Mary, her green eyes bright with excitement, asked, 'Is it really true that you killed the Marquis de Pombal?'
'No,' he panted. 'No, but it might prove devilish hard for me to prove that I did not. And… bless you… Mary, for your courage. Had you not come so bravely to my rescue I… would shortly have found myself in a Portuguese prison, and heaven only knows if I'd ever have got out of it, except to be marched to a scaffold. If His Excellency is in, I must see him at once and explain to him my situation.'
Five minutes later, the three of them were with the Minister in his study. When he had been told of the scene that had just occurred outside the Legation, Roger said:
'This is a very different legacy left to me by my late wife. As Your Excellency knows, she was the Marquis de Pombal's daughter. I accompanied her family when the Prince Regent fled to Brazil and, for a short while, shared a house with them in Rio. For some time past, Lisala had been my mistress. I had asked the Marquis for permission to marry her but he refused it and desired me to find some other lodging, because he felt that my constantly being in Lisala's company would prejudice his securing for her a husband from among the Portuguese nobility.