Thereafter, though his mandibles and appendages ceased their disorderly motion, Alfred CCLVI fell into a deep lassitude. Try as he might, and despite the exhortations of the many members of our lousely clan which gathered about, he was unable to take pen in foreleg until the excitement which ensued following the reappearance of the villain Rascogne de Sevigneois. Then, most nobly, did Alfred CCLVI rise and scribble the accounts of that episode, upon the completion of which he dropped dead.
The chapter heading was thus written by his successor, Alfred CCLVII, of whose eccentricities we will become all too shortly acquainted. But before I take up that regrettable piece of my clan’s history, I will present the final pages of the illustrious Alfred CCLVI’s career, that his name might shine forth in history. Only this portion of the chapter exists.
* * *
“Halt!”
The coach screeched to a halt. The occupants peered out the window, there to perceive a body of horsemen.
“It’s Sheriff Pike and the Posse!” exclaimed the florid and well-dressed man of some middle years.
“And who are they?” demanded the imperious dowager La Madame.
“The local law enforcement agency, Madame,” explained Zulkeh, “if such they can be called.”
“And what do they wish?” demanded the imperious dowager La Madame.
Her answer was provided by the Sheriff himself. “We’re looking for Rascogne de Sevigneois, the notorious highwayman! Do not move until I’ve inspected the coach!” The Sheriff trotted his horse over to the coach window in order to search the interior. Pushing down the peak of his pique hat to cover his widow’s peak and peeking through the window, Pike’s pique peaked as La Madame’s peke bit him on his peak of a nose.
“How piquant!” exclaimed the imperious dowager La Madame.
[Chronicler’s note: These last sentences—grotesque and baroque—were, of course, the penultimate symptom of Alfred CCLVI’s fatal condition, which even now approached its sad end.]
“Vicious beast,” growled the Sheriff, but he forbore further quarrel.
“The highwayman’s not here!” he announced to the Posse. Then, to the driver: “You may be off!”
But, just as the coach began to move, a new voice cried out.
“Stand and deliver!”
The coach stopped again. The passengers leaned out the window. Imagine their astonishment when they perceived that where had seemed to stand the Sheriff and the Posse, stood instead, none other than Rascogne de Sevigneois himself.
“It is I, Rascogne de Sevigneois, cleverly disguised as the Sheriff and the Posse! Descend and be robbed!”
The driver, guard, and all the passengers climbed down from the coach.
“Why is the youth so illy treated?” demanded the highwayman, seeing the prisoner shackled to the warden. Upon hearing the explanation, Rascogne smiled at the youth and said, “Fear not! I shall not permit such injustice to continue!”
It took but a moment for the rascal to strip the passengers of their wealth. Upon seeing the wizard and Shelyid, he said, “So! We meet again!” Here the impudent rogue seized Shelyid by the nape and suspended him in midair, turning the gnome this way and that. The dwarf did protest this treatment—indeed, he swung his little fists most energetically at the highwayman, but all to no avail.
“A snarl-friend, eh?” mused Rascogne, inspecting the dwarf from every angle. “Most strange, most strange.”
He deposited Shelyid back on the ground. Then, looking about at the other passengers, he demanded: “But where is La Contessa and her decrepit but doughty spouse?” He stroked his mustachios. “I confess I was much taken by the fair lady.”
Shelyid, his indignation replaced by concern, cried out, “Oh, it’s horrible! They threw her in prison—her and Il Conde both, because he wouldn’t pay the Consortium’s fine!”
“What?” demanded Rascogne. “O infamous deed! And where are they held? In the Caravanserai gaol?”
Shelyid nodded.
Rascogne’s face flushed with anger. A most ferocious smile, like unto a wolf’s, spread across his features. He stroked his mustachios vigorously.
“Well!” he exclaimed. “We shall have to deal with this—most certainly!”
Just then a cry was heard. “It’s Rascogne de Sevigneois! After him, men!” Turning, all saw that a sizable body of men had appeared on the eastern horizon.
“It’s the Hue and Cry!” exclaimed the driver.