Terence O'Rourke, Gentleman Adventurer
But O'Rourke was too vigilant for him; there was no possibility of escape.
"—of the States," he continued in an even tone, "married herself and her papa's money to a German count—the Count of Seyn-Altberg, we'll call him, because that's his title. He was a young chap, good-natured, weak, and a little lively—a captain in a crack infantry regiment of the German army, whose brother officers were a bad lot—such as von Wever here. One night, shortly after his marriage, he played cards with them. Someone—an officer who had fallen in love with the count's wife—accused the count of cheating. In fact, he proved it—found the cards up his sleeve, I believe. Eh, captain, dear?"
The German made no sign, and O'Rourke continued:
"Naturally, the others present were scandalized. They got together and agreed to keep silence, for the honor of their regiment, on one condition—the Count of Seyn-Altberg was to kill himself. He pledged his word to do so; and the others kept their words—all but one.
"This poor divvle of a count was frightened when he felt the touch of his razor on his throat. He weakened, and—fled here to Tangiers, without saying a word to a living soul save one—Captain von Wever! The count fell in bad ways. He was incognito, of course, and nobody gave a damn for him, and he gave a damn for nobody on earth but his wife, whom he looked upon as a memory. He never troubled the poor girl. But he went downhill faster than the pigs possessed by the devils that the priests will be telling ye about; he sunk lower and lower, and finally took to living in the native quarters—and the worst of them. And in the end, one bright and beautiful morning, the Count of Seyn-Altberg turned up missing.
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