Kitabı oku: «The Fate of a Crown», sayfa 8

CHAPTER XVIII
A NARROW ESCAPE

The man did not seem to notice my presence at first. For a time he remained motionless in the position the guards had left him, his vacant eyes fixed steadily upon the opposite wall.

Then, with a long-drawn sigh, his gaze fell and wandered to the table where stood the remains of my luncheon. With a wolflike avidity he pounced upon the tray, eagerly consuming every scrap that I had left, and draining a small bottle of wine of the last dregs it contained.

When he had finished he still continued to fumble about the tray, and presently picked up a large, two-tined steel fork and examined it with careful attention. They had brought no knife into the room, and I had scarcely noticed the fork before; yet now, as the Mexican held it firmly in his clinched fist, and passed it to and fro with a serpent-like motion, I realized with a thrill of anxiety that it might prove a terrible weapon in the hands of a desperate man.

Evidently my fellow-prisoner had the same thought, for after a time he concealed the fork in his bosom, and then turned to examine the room more carefully. His first act was to approach the window, and when he started and shrank away I knew our ever-vigilant guard had warned him not to consider that avenue of escape.

Next he swung around and faced the place where I sat, slightly in the shadow. The day was drawing to its close, and he had not noticed me before. A swift motion toward his breast was followed by a smile, and he advanced close to me and said, in his stumbling English:

“Aha! My American frien’ to which I gave the ring! It is safe, señor? It is safe?”

I nodded, thinking to humor him. Indeed, I could not determine at that moment whether the man was still insane or not.

He drew a chair to my side and sat down.

“Listen, then, my frien’. Together we will find riches – riches very great! Why? Because we Mexicans – Careno and myself – we build the door of the big vault under this house. So? They bring us here blindfold. We work many days on the big plate with strange device cut in the steel. Careno was expert. Only one place, cut with great cunning, shot the bolts in their sockets. For myself, I am clockmaker and gem-cutter. They tell me to cut emerald so it fit the plate, and mount it in ring. Yes, it was I, Señor Americano, who do that fine work – I, Manuel Pesta!

“Then they carry us away, blindfold again, to the border of Uruguay. We do not know this house – we cannot find it again ever. So they think. But to make sure they hire men to assassinate us – to stab us to the heart in those Uruguay Mountain. Fine pay for our work – eh, señor? But, peste! Careno and I – we stab our assassins – we escape – we swear vengeance! For two year we wander in Brazil – seeking, ever seeking for the house with the vault.

“How clever they are! But we, are we not also clever? On a railway train one day we see a lady with the ring! We cannot mistake – I made it, and I know my work. It is key to the big vault! Careno cannot wait. He sit beside lady and put his knife in her heart. The train rattle along and the lady make no noise. But the ring sticks, so Careno cuts off finger and puts in pocket. Are we not clever, señor? Now we have ring, but yet know not of the house with the vault. We keep quiet and ride on to Rio. There the dead lady is carried out and all is excitement. She is Señora Izabel de Mar, daughter of Dom Miguel de Pintra. She come from her father’s house at Cuyaba. This we hear and remember. Then a man they call Valcour he rush up and cry, ‘Her finger is gone! The ring – where is the ring?’ Aha! we know now we are right.

“So we go away and find out about Miguel de Pintra – the head of great rebellion with millions of gold and notes to pay the soldiers when they fight. Good! We know now of the vault. We know we have key. We know we are now rich! Careno and I we go to Cuyaba – we find this house – we hide in the bushes till night. Then Careno get mad for the money – he want it all, not half – and he try to murder me. Ah, well! my pistol is quicker than his knife, that is all. He is wearing ring, and it stick like it stick on lady’s hand. Bah! I cut off Careno’s hand and carve away the ring. It is simple, is it not?

“But now the soldiers gallop up. The house is fill with people. So I must wait. I hide in secret place, but soon they drag me out and make me prisoner. What! must I lose all now – millions – millions of gold – and no Careno to share it? No! I am still clever. I keep ring in mouth until I meet you, and I give it to you to keep. When they search me, there is no ring.”

He sprang up, chuckling and rubbing his hands together in great delight. He danced a step or two and then drew the steel fork from his breast and struck it fiercely into the table-top, standing silently to watch it while the prongs quivered and came to rest.

“Am I not clever?” he again asked, drawing out the fork from the wood and returning it to his breast. “But I am generous, too. You shall divide with me. But not half! I won all from Careno, but you shall have some – enough to be rich, Señor Americano. And now, give me the ring!”

By this time his eyes were glittering with insanity, and at his abrupt demand I shifted uneasily in my seat, not knowing how to reply.

“Give me the ring!” he repeated, a tone of menace creeping into his high-pitched voice.

I arose and walked toward the window, getting the table between us. Then I turned and faced him.

“They have taken the ring from me,” I said.

He stood as if turned to stone, his fierce eyes fixed upon my own.

“They have opened the vault with it,” I continued, “and found it bare and empty.”

He gave a shrill scream at this, and began trembling in every limb.

“You lie!” he shouted, wildly. “You try to cheat me – to get all! And the vault has millions – millions in gold and notes. Give me the ring!”

I made no reply. To reiterate my assertion would do no good, and the man was incompetent to consider the matter calmly. Indeed, he once more drew that ugly fork from his breast and, grasping it as one would a dagger, began creeping toward me with a stealthy, cat-like tread.

I approached the edge of the round center-table, alert to keep its breadth between me and my companion. The Mexican paused opposite me, and whispered between his clinched teeth:

“Give it me! Give me the ring!”

“The guard will be here presently,” said I, fervently hoping I spoke the truth, “and he will tell you of the ring. I am quite sure Senhor Valcour has it.”

“Ah, I am betrayed! You wish to take all – you and this Valcour! But see, my Americano – I will kill you. I will kill you now, and then you have nothing for your treachery!”

Slowly he edged his way around the table, menacing me with his strange weapon, and with my eyes fixed upon his I moved in the opposite direction, retaining the table as my shield.

First in one direction and then in the other he moved, swiftly at times, then with deliberate caution, striving ever to take me unawares and reach me with his improvised dagger.

This situation could not stand the tension for long; I realized that sooner or later the game must have an abrupt ending.

So, as I dodged my persistent enemy, I set my wits working to devise a means of escape. The window seemed my only hope, and I had lost all fear of the sentry in the more terrible danger that confronted me.

Suddenly I exerted my strength and thrust the table against the Mexican so forcibly that he staggered backward. Then I caught up a chair and after a swing around my head hurled it toward him like a catapult. It crushed him to the floor, and e’er he could rise again I had thrown up the sash of the window and leaped out.

Fortune often favors the desperate. I alighted full upon the form of the unsuspecting sentry, bearing him to the ground by my weight, where we both rolled in the grass.

Quickly I regained my feet and darted away into the flower-garden, seeking to reach the hedges before my guard could recover himself.

Over my shoulder I saw him kneeling and deliberately pointing at me his carbine. Before he could fire the flying form of the Mexican descended upon him from the window. There was a flash and a report, but the ball went wide its mark, and instantly the two men were struggling in a death-grapple upon the lawn.

Away I ran through the maze of hedge and shrubbery, threading the well-known paths unerringly. I heard excited shouts as the guardsmen, aroused by their comrade’s shot, poured from the mansion and plunged into the gardens to follow me. But it was dusk by this time, and I had little fear of being overtaken.

The estate was bounded upon this side by an impenetrable thick-set hedge, but it was broken in one place by a gardeners’ tool-house, which had a door at each side, and thus admitted one into a lane that wound through a grove and joined the main highway a mile beyond.

Reaching this tool-house I dashed within, closed and barred the door behind me, and then emerged upon the lane.

To my surprise I saw a covered carriage standing in the gloom, and made out that the door stood open and a man upon the box was holding the reins and leaning toward me eagerly as if striving to solve my identity.

Without hesitation I sprang into the carriage and closed the door, crying to the man:

“Quick! for your life – drive on!”

Without a word he lashed his horses and we started with a jerk that threw me into the back seat.

I heard an exclamation in a woman’s startled voice and felt a muffled form shrinking into the corner of the carriage. Then two shots rang out; I heard a scream and the sound of a fall as the driver pitched upon the ground, and now like the wind the maddened horses rushed on without guidance, swaying the carriage from side to side with a dangerous motion.

These Brazilian carriages have a trap in the top to permit the occupants to speak to the driver. I found this trap, threw it upward, and drew myself up until I was able to scramble into the vacant seat. The reins had fallen between the horses, evidently, but we were now dashing through the grove, and the shadows were so deep that I could distinguish nothing distinctly.

Cautiously I let myself down until my feet touched the pole, and then, resting my hands upon the loins of the madly galloping animals, I succeeded in grasping the reins and returned safely to the box seat.

Then I braced myself to conquer the runaways, and when we emerged from the grove and came upon the highway there was sufficient light for me to keep the horses in the straight road until they had tired themselves sufficiently to be brought under control.

During this time I had turned to speak a reassuring word, now and then, to the unknown woman in the carriage.

Doubtless she had been both amazed and indignant at my abrupt seizure of her equipage; but there was not yet time to explain to her my necessity.

We were headed straight for the station at Cuyaba, and I decided at once to send a telegram warning Mazanovitch of danger. For Paola had turned traitor, the vault had been opened, and the Emperor was even now on his way to Rio to arrest all who had previously escaped the net of the Minister of Police.

So we presently dashed up to the station, which was nearly deserted at this hour, and after calling a porter to hold the horses I went into the station to write my telegram.

Mazanovitch had asked me to use but one word, and although I had much of interest to communicate, a moment’s thought assured me that a warning of danger was sufficient.

So, after a brief hesitation, I wrote the word “Lesba,” and handed the message to the operator.

“That is my name, senhor,” said a soft voice behind me, and I turned to confront Lesba Paola.

CHAPTER XIX
THE WAYSIDE INN

Astonishment rendered me speechless, and at first I could do no more than bow with an embarrassed air to the cloaked figure before me. Lesba’s fair face, peering from beneath her mantilla, was grave but set, and her brilliant eyes bore a questioning and half-contemptuous look that was hard to meet.

“That is my name, senhor,” she repeated, “and you will oblige me by explaining why you are sending it to Captain Mazanovitch.”

“Was it your carriage in which I escaped?” I inquired.

“Yes; and my man now lies wounded by the roadside. Why did you take me by surprise, Senhor Harcliffe? And why —why are you telegraphing my name to Mazanovitch?”

Although my thoughts were somewhat confused I remembered that Lesba had accompanied her brother to Rio; that her brother had turned traitor, and she herself had ridden in the Emperor’s carriage, with the spy Valcour. And I wondered how it was that her carriage should have been standing this very evening at a retired spot, evidently awaiting some one, when I chanced upon it in my extremity.

It is well to take time to consider, when events are of a confusing nature. In that way thoughts are sometimes untangled. Now, in a flash, the truth came to me. Valcour was still at the mansion – Valcour, her accomplice; perhaps her lover.

To realize this evident fact of her intrigue with my brilliant foe sent a shiver through me – a shiver of despair and utter weariness. Still keeping my gaze upon the floor, and noting, half-consciously, the click-click of the telegraph instrument, I said:

“Pardon me, donzella, for using your carriage to effect my escape. You see, I have not made an alliance with the royalists, as yet, and my condition is somewhat dangerous. As for the use of your name in my telegram, I have no objection to telling you – now that the message has been sent – that it was a cypher word warning my republican friends of treachery.”

“Do you suspect me of treachery, Senhor Harcliffe?” she asked in cold, scornful tones.

I looked up, but dropped my eyes again as I confronted the blaze of indignation that flashed from her own.

“I make no accusations, donzella. What is it to me if you Brazilians fight among yourselves for freedom or the Emperor, as it may suit your fancy? I came here to oblige a friend of my father’s – the one true man I have found in all your intrigue-ridden country. But he, alas! is dead, and I am powerless to assist farther the cause he loved. So my mission here is ended, and I will go back to America.”

Again I looked up; but this time her eyes were lowered and her expression was set and impenetrable.

“Do not let us part in anger,” I resumed, a tremor creeping into my voice in spite of me – for this girl had been very dear to my heart. “Let us say we have both acted according to the dictates of conscience, and cherish only memories of the happy days we have passed together, to comfort us in future years.”

She started, with upraised hand and eager face half turned toward the door. Far away in the distance I heard the tramp of many hoofs.

“They are coming, senhor!” called the man who stood beside the horses – one of our patriots. “It’s the troop of Uruguayans, I am sure.”

Pedro, the station-master, ran from his little office and extinguished the one dim lamp that swung from the ceiling of the room in which we stood.

In the darkness that enveloped us Lesba grasped my arm and whispered “Come!” dragging me toward the door. A moment later we were beside the carriage.

“Mount!” she cried, in a commanding voice. “I will ride inside. Take the road to San Tarem. Quick, senhor, as you value both our lives!”

I gathered up the reins as Pedro slammed tight the carriage door. A crack of the whip, a shout of encouragement from the two patriots, and we had dashed away upon the dim road leading to the wild, unsettled plains of the North Plateau.

They were good horses. It surprised me to note their mettle and speed, and I guessed they had been carefully chosen for the night’s work – an adventure of which this dénouement was scarcely expected. I could see the road but dimly, but I gave the horses slack rein and they sped along at no uncertain pace.

I could no longer hear the hoof-beats of the guards, and judged that either we had outdistanced them or the shrewd Pedro had sent them on a false scent.

Presently the sky brightened, and as the moon shone clear above us I found that we were passing through a rough country that was but sparsely settled. I remembered to have ridden once in this direction with Lesba, but not so far; and the surroundings were therefore strange to me.

For an hour I drove steadily on, and then the girl spoke to me through the open trap in the roof of the carriage.

“A mile or so further will bring us to a fork in the road. Keep to the right,” said she.

I returned no answer, although I was burning to question her of many things. But time enough for that, I thought, when we were safely at our journey’s end. Indeed, Lesba’s mysterious actions – her quick return from Rio in the wake of the Emperor and Valcour, her secret rendezvous in the lane, which I had so suddenly surprised and interrupted, and her evident desire to save me from arrest – all this was not only contradictory to the frank nature of the girl, but to the suspicions I had formed of her betrayal of the conspiracy in co-operation with her treacherous brother.

The key to the mystery was not mine, and I could only wait until Lesba chose to speak and explain her actions.

I came to the fork in the road and turned to the right. The trail – for it had become little more than that – now skirted a heavy growth of underbrush that merged into groves of scattered, stunted trees; and these in time gradually became more compact and stalwart until a great Brazilian forest threw its black shadow over us. Noiselessly the carriage rolled over the beds of moss, which were so thick now that I could scarcely hear a sound of the horses’ hoofs, and then I discerned a short distance ahead the outlines of an old, weatherbeaten house.

Lesba had her head through the trap and spoke close to my ear.

“Stop at this place,” said she; “for here our journey ends.”

I pulled up the horses opposite the dwelling and regarded it somewhat doubtfully. It had been built a hundred yards or so from the edge of the dense forest and seemed utterly deserted. It was a large house, with walls of baked clay and a thatched roof, and its neglected appearance and dreary surroundings gave it a fearsome look as it stood lifeless and weather-stained under the rays of the moon.

“Is the place inhabited?” I asked.

“It must be,” she replied. “Go to the door, and knock upon it loudly.”

“But the horses – who will mind them, donzella?”

Instantly she scrambled through the trap to the seat beside me and took the reins in her small hands.

“I will look after the horses,” said she.

So I climbed down and approached the door. It was sheltered by a rude porch, and flanked upon either side by well-worn benches such as are frequent at wayside inns.

I pounded upon the door and then paused to listen. The sounds drew a hollow reverberation from within, but aroused no other reply.

“Knock again!” called Lesba.

I obeyed, but with no better success. The place seemed uncanny, and I returned abruptly to the carriage, standing beside the wheel and gazing up through the moonlight into the beautiful face the girl bent over me.

“Lesba,” said I, pleadingly, “what does all this mean? Why have you brought me to this strange place?”

“To save your life,” she answered in a grave voice.

“But how came you to be waiting in the lane? And who were you waiting for?” I persisted.

“By what right do you question me, Senhor Harcliffe?” she asked, drawing back so that I could no longer look into her eyes.

“By no right at all, Lesba. Neither do I care especially whether you are attached to the Empire or the Republic, or how much you indulge in political intrigue, since that appears to be the chief amusement of your countrymen. But I love you. You know it well, although you have never permitted me tell you so. And loving you as I do, with all my heart, I am anxious to untangle this bewildering maze and understand something of your actions since that terrible morning when I parted with you at Dom Miguel’s mansion.”

She laughed, and the laugh was one of those quaint flashes of merriment peculiar to the girl, leaving one in doubt whether to attribute it to amusement or nervous agitation. Indeed, where another woman might weep Lesba would laugh; so that it frequently puzzled me to comprehend her. Now, however, she surprised me by leaning over me and saying gently:

“I will answer your question, Robert. My brother is at the mansion, and in danger of his life. I was waiting with the carriage to assist him to escape.”

“But how do you know he is in danger?”

“He sent me word by a carrier-pigeon.”

“To be sure. Yet there is one more thing that troubles me: why were you in Rio, riding in the Emperor’s carriage with the spy Valcour?”

“It is simple, senhor. I went to Rio to assist in persuading Dom Pedro to visit the vault.”

“Knowing it was empty?”

“Knowing it was empty, and believing that the Emperor’s absence would enable Fonseca to strike a blow for freedom.”

“Then Fonseca is still faithful to the Cause?”

“I know of no traitor in our ranks, Robert, although it seems you have suspected nearly all of us, at times. But it grows late and my brother is still in peril. Will you again rap upon the door?”

“It is useless, Lesba.”

“Try the back door; they may hear you from there,” she suggested.

So I made my way, stumbling over tangled vines and protruding roots, to the rear of the house, where the shadows lay even thicker than in front. I found the door, and hammered upon it with all my strength. The noise might have raised the dead, but as I listened intently there came not the least footfall to reward me. For a time I hesitated what to do. From the grim forest behind me I heard a half-audible snarl and the bark of a wolf; in the house an impressive silence reigned supreme.

I drew back, convinced that the place was uninhabited, and returned around the corner of the house.

“There is no one here, donzella,” I began, but stopped short in amazement.

The carriage was gone.