MY record of events approaches its conclusion.
On the next day we returned to the hotel in London. At Romayne's
suggestion, I sent the same evening to my own house for any letters
which might be waiting for me. His mind still dwelt on the duel; he was
morbidly eager to know if any communication had been received from the
French surgeon.
When the messenger returned with my letters, the Boulogne postmark was
on one of the envelopes. At Romayne's entreaty, this was the letter that
I opened first. The surgeon's signature was at the end.
One motive for anxiety--on my part--was set at rest in the first lines.
After an official inquiry into the circumstances, the French authorities
had decided that it was not expedient to put the survivor of the
duelists on his trial before a court of law. No jury, hearing the
evidence, would find him guilty of the only charge that could be
formally brought against him--the charge of "homicide by premeditation."
Homicide by misadventure, occurring in a duel, was not a punishable
offense by the French law. My correspondent cited many cases in proof
of it, strengthened by the publicly-expressed opinion of the illustrious
Berryer himself. In a word, we had nothing to fear.
The next page of the letter informed us that the police had surprised
the card playing community with whom we had spent the evening at
Boulogne, and that the much-bejeweled old landlady had been sent to
prison for the offense of keeping a gambling-house. It was suspected
in the town that the General was more or less directly connected with
certain disreputable circumstances discovered by the authorities. In any
case, he had retired from active service.
He and his wife and family had left Boulogne, and had gone away in debt.
No investigation had thus far succeeded in discovering the place of
their retreat.
Reading this letter aloud to Romayne, I was interrupted by him at the
last sentence.
"The inquiries must have been carelessly made," he said. "I will see to
it myself."
"What interest can you have in the inquiries?" I exclaimed.
"The strongest possible interest," he answered. "It has been my one hope
to make some little atonement to the poor people whom I have so cruelly
wronged. If the wife and children are in distressed circumstances
(which seems to be only too likely) I may place them beyond the reach of
anxiety--anonymously, of course. Give me the surgeon's address. I shall
write instructions for tracing them at my expense--merely announcing
that an Unknown Friend desires to be of service to the General's
family."
This appeared to me to be a most imprudent thing to do. I said so
plainly--and quite in vain. With his customary impetuosity, he wrote the
letter at once, and sent it to the post that night.