"The tangle is a shocking one - lies, lies everywhere, and in the places where they were least to be expected." Wellington's anger flashed out. "Do you realise what awaits you as a result of all this damned insanity?"
"I do, sir. That is why I place my resignation in your hands.
The disregard of a general order punishable in any officer is beyond pardon in your adjutant-general."
"But that is the least of it, you fool."
"Sure, don't I know? I assure you that I realise it all."
"And you are prepared to face it?" Wellington was almost savage in an anger proceeding from the conflict that went on within him.
There was his duty as commander-in-chief, and there was his friendship for O'Moy and his memory of the past in which O'Moy's loyalty had almost been the ruin of him.
"What choice have I?"
His lordship turned away, and strode the length of the room, his head bent, his lips twitching. Suddenly he stopped and faced the silent intelligence officer.
"What is to be done, Grant?"
"That is a matter for your lordship. But if I might venture - "
"Venture and be damned," snapped Wellington.
"The signal service rendered the cause of the allies by the death of Samoval might perhaps be permitted to weigh against the offence committed by O'Moy."
"How could it?" snapped his lordship. "You don't know, O'Moy, that upon Samoval's body were found certain documents intended for Massena. Had they reached him, or had Samoval carried out the full intentions that dictated his quarrel with you, and no doubt sent him here depending upon his swordsmanship to kill you, all my plans for the undoing of the French would have been ruined.
Ay, you may stare. That is another matter in which you have lacked discretion. You may be a fine engineer, O'Moy, but I don't think I could have found a less judicious adjutant-general if I had raked the ranks of the army on purpose to find an idiot.
Samoval was a spy - the cleverest spy that we have ever had to deal with. Only his death revealed how dangerous he was. For killing him when you did you deserve the thanks of his Majesty's Government, as Grant suggests. But before you can receive those you will have to stand a court-martial for the manner in which you killed him, and you will probably be shot. I can't help you. I hope you don't expect it of me."
"The thought had not so much as occurred to me. Yet what you tell me, sir, lifts something of the load from my mind."
"Does it? Well, it lifts no load from mine," was the angry retort. He stood considering. Then with an impatient gesture he seemed to dismiss his thoughts. "I can do nothing," he said, "nothing without being false to my duty and becoming as bad as you have been, O'Moy, and without any of the sentimental justification that existed in your case. I can't allow the matter to be dropped, stifled. I have never been guilty of such a thing, and I refuse to become guilty of it now. I refuse - do you understand? O'Moy, you have acted; and you must take the consequences, and be damned to you."
"Faith, I've never asked you to help me, sir," Sir Terence protested.
"And you don't intend to, I suppose?"
"I do not."
"I am glad of that." He was in one of those rages which were as terrible as they were rare with him. "I wouldn't have you suppose that I make laws for the sake of rescuing people from the consequences of disobeying them. Here is this brother-in-law of yours, this fellow Butler, who has made enough mischief in the country to imperil our relations with our allies. And I am half pledged to condone his adventure at Tavora. There's nothing for it, O'Moy. As your friend, I am infernally angry with you for placing yourself in this position; as your commanding officer I can only order you under arrest and convene a court-martial to deal with you."
Sir Terence bowed his head. He was a little surprised by all this heat. "I never expected anything else," he said. "And it's altogether at a loss I am to understand why your lordship should be vexing yourself in this manner."
"Because I've a friendship for you, O'Moy. Because I remember that you've been a loyal friend to me. And because I must forget all this and remember only that my duty is absolutely rigid and inflexible. If I condoned your offence, if I suppressed inquiry, I should be in duty and honour bound to offer my own resignation to his Majesty's Government. And I have to think of other things besides my personal feelings, when at any moment now the French may be over the Agueda and into Portugal."
Sir Terence's face flushed, and his glance brightened.
"From my heart I thank you that you can even think of such things at such a time and after what I have done."
"Oh, as to what you have done - I understand that you are a fool, O'Moy. There's no more to be said. You are to consider yourself under arrest. I must do it if you were my own brother, which, thank God, you're not. Come, Grant. Good-bye, O'Moy."
And he held out his hand to him.
Sir Terence hesitated, staring.
"It's the hand of your friend, Arthur Wellesley, I'm offering you, not the hand of your commanding officer," said his lordship savagely.
Sir Terence took it, and wrung it in silence, perhaps more deeply moved than he had yet been by anything that had happened to him that morning.
There was a knock at the door, and Mullins opened it to admit the adjutant's orderly, who came stiffly to attention.
"Major Carruthers's compliments, sir," he said to O'Moy, "and his Excellency the Secretary of the Council of Regency wishes to see you very urgently."
There was a pause. O'Moy shrugged and spread his hands. This message was for the adjutant-general and he no longer filled the office.
"Pray tell Major Carruthers that I - " he was beginning, when Lord Wellington intervened.
"Desire his Excellency to step across here. I will see him myself."
