Rex Stout - Her Forbidden Knight

However, he felt that he must bend to the wishes of the lady. Perhaps, after all, it would be a breach of decorum. But he was unable to speak; he merely stepped to one side as a sign that he obeyed the will of the majority against his own.

Sherman attempted to make his exit with dignity. But his step was considerably hurried as he crossed the room, and it degenerated into a run at the head of the stairs; and he forgot his hat and gloves. Dumain saw them on the table and threw them down the stairs after him.

Then Lila sank into a chair and burst into tears.

This rattled Dumain and Dougherty more than the presence of a dozen Shermans would have done. The little Frenchman walked about as though in search of a means of escape, and finally began examining a vase on the mantel with minute care.

The ex-prizefighter was seized with a fit of coughing and went over to close the door, banging it with a force that shook the house. They avoided meeting each other’s eyes and kept their backs turned toward Lila.

Dougherty watched Dumain fingering the vase till he could stand it no longer, then burst forth:

“You fool, can’t you do anything?”

Whereupon Lila smiled through her tears, and Dumain, turning, saw her, and sighed with immense relief.

“It’s I that am a fool,” said Lila, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief, “but I just couldn’t help it. Oh, I am so glad you came! I thank you — thank you, with all my heart. And now he — Mr. Dougherty, why is he so afraid of you?”

“Him!” the ex-prizefighter snorted. “He’s afraid of everyone on earth, including himself. What was he doing here?”

Lila stammered, coloring.

“He... he wanted me to do something. It would do no good to tell you. I hope I shall never see him again. He frightens me. I am so glad you came!”

Then she forgot her confusion when she realized that she had not offered them chairs, and begged them to be seated. They obeyed her, Dumain with a flourish, Dougherty awkwardly.

There was a silence. Each of the men was waiting for the other to speak, and Lila gazed at each in turn.

Finally she said:

“Did you come from the hotel?”

“Yes,” echoed the two men.

Another silence. Dougherty moved about uneasily in his chair. Dumain twirled his mustache. Lila tried to think of something to say, but found her tongue tied by their embarrassment.

It was Dougherty who finally burst forth with a prodigious effort:

“I suppose you know why we came?”

Lila shook her head and invited an explanation.

“Well, we saw you wasn’t at the hotel, and we thought maybe you was at home, so we came up to see.”

“We thought perhaps eet was eelness.”

“You are very kind,” Lila murmured.

“And,” Dougherty continued, swallowing hard and forcing the words between his lips, “we wanted to talk to you about Knowlton.”

Lila turned her eyes full on the speaker, and Dumain threw him a nod of applause and encouragement.

“You see, we saw Sherman last night, and he told us all about it. I don’t want you to think we had anything to do with it. We wouldn’t peach on a guy, no matter who he was.”

“I didn’t think you would,” said Lila.

“But,” continued Dougherty, now fully started, “we ain’t sorry he got it. We’re glad he’s put away where he can’t do any more harm. We don’t like the way—”

“Did Mr. Sherman say — anything — about me?” Lila interrupted.

The ex-prizefighter looked away from her.

“Yes,” he said finally. “We know everything.”

“Then why did you come—”

“That’s what I’m going to tell you. And that’s why I started like I did. I want you to understand that we’re dead against Knowlton.

“Now, there’s no use talking about what’s past. We don’t care what you’ve done; we ain’t even going to say, ‘I told you so.’ What we want is to help you now.

“Knowlton’s done for, so there’s no use worrying about him, but from what Sherman said last night we was afraid you might get tangled up so you might have some trouble to get loose, and we want to let you know we’re right on the job to help you out of it. I guess that’s about all.”

Lila leaned forward in her chair.

“But you say — you are ‘dead against’ Mr. Knowlton?”

Dougherty said “Yes” with emphasis, and Dumain nodded vigorously.

“Then — I thank you,” said Lila.

Her tone caused the ex-prizefighter to look at her quickly.

“You mean—”

Lila rose to her feet. Tears were in her eyes, and her hands were clasped together so that little spots of red and white showed on them. Her voice, when she spoke, was low and quavering, but it held that depth of tone which is heard only when the words come from the heart.

“I mean — it is useless to talk to me longer, Mr. Dougherty. I am a very wretched girl. And now I shall offend you — I know it, but cannot help it. I can’t take your help, because I won’t desert Mr. Knowlton.”

Dougherty swore, and immediately was on his feet, stammering an apology, while Dumain glared at him fiercely.

Lila paid no attention to the interruption.

“You see — I can’t. Oh, don’t think me an ingrate — I know how kind you have been — but you don’t know as much about him as I do. And I can’t leave him without — I can’t think of him as you do” — she tried to smile — “because I am going to be his wife.”

“Mon Dieu!” gasped Dumain. Dougherty was speechless.

“Yes,” said Lila — and there was a note of pride in her voice — “we are to be married. So, of course, you know how I feel about it, and I couldn’t very well expect you to help me — us. I am sorry, because I do care for you, but you would never understand—”

She paused. The ex-prizefighter and the little Frenchman each heaved a prodigious sigh. They looked at each other, and each read in the other’s eyes his own thought. The Frenchman nodded significantly and Dougherty turned to Lila.

He said:

“We’re friends of yours, ain’t we, Miss Williams?”

She nodded, wondering.

“Old friends — pals?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I want to ask you a question. If you don’t want to answer it, all right. What I mean is, maybe I’ve got no right to ask it, but I want to know. Do you love this guy Knowlton?”

Lila’s face colored, she hesitated, and then answered simply:

“Yes.”

“How well do you love him?”

“As well” — the answer came as promptly as though it were printed in a catechism — as indeed it is — “as he loves me.”

Dumain cried “Bravo!” and Dougherty grinned. Then they rose, and each extended a hand to Lila, as a “pal.”

She understood, but could not speak, and took the outstretched hands, one in each of her own. Then she found her tongue and started to stammer her gratitude.

“Cut it!” said Dougherty rudely. He was unused to emotion of the tender sort, and this had been a trying scene. “The thing to do now is to get him out. And, little pal, leave it to us. It’s a cinch. But, believe me, you’ll have to pay for it. There’s one thing we’ve got to have.”

“A kees from zee bride?” Dumain suggested.

“No, you darned Frenchman. An invitation to the wedding!”

After a night in his cell at the Tombs Knowlton rose from his cot early in the morning with a racking headache and a poignant sense of desolation and despair.

But his breakfast, which he forced himself to swallow, and his bath, such as it was, considerably refreshed him, and he found that the night had, at least, cleared his brain and left him able to think. He sat on the edge of his cot and considered his calamity, if not calmly, with fortitude and a supply of the dry light of reason.

He tried to keep his mind off of Lila; he could not think of her with fortitude; it filled him with an overwhelming sense of her loyalty and bravery and sweet compassion.

He reviewed in his mind the probable evidence against himself, turning it over and over, trying to discover its value, but it was like groping blindly in the dark. He knew nothing of what was known.

Had Red Tim been captured? Did they have any direct evidence of any of his — he sought a word — transactions? Or had they counted on catching him “with the goods on” — and been foiled by Lila?

All the morning he sat and pondered on these questions when he was not thinking of Lila. He felt little anxiety concerning her; she had given, before him, so convincing an instance of her wit and courage that he felt assured of her safety. He knew she had escaped from the rooms, and though she had carried a dangerous burden she could have found no serious difficulty in disposing of it.

He remembered her embarrassed timidity as she had entered his rooms, her flash of anger at his seeming indifference, the light of awakening gladness in her eyes as he had told her his love — and then, her arms clasped about his neck, her lips pressed to his, her frank, sweet words of surrender.

And now — he glanced at the bare prison walls — this! He shuddered and groaned.

At that moment there came a voice from the grated door — the rasping voice of the turnkey:

“Knowlton! Someone to see you!”

The man on the cot sprang to his feet in surprise. Could it be — But no, surely it could not be Lila, he thought, and, hesitating, stammered:

“Who is it?”

Then he crossed to the door and peered through the grating.

“Dougherty!” he cried, astonished. “What in the name of Heaven brings you here?”

The ex-prizefighter, who was standing in the middle of the corridor, approached the door.