I STAYED a few minutes after Inez’ arrival so that she should not think she had scared me away, and I left the house more in love with Miralda than ever and convinced that had she been free the interview would have had a very different result.
I saw Barosa’s sinister influence behind. Sampayo had evidently told him at once what I had done; he had instantly sent instructions to Miralda to take the letter but not to read it; and his power over her was too great for her to dare to disobey.
To break down his influence appeared impossible; it meant a fight against the whole forces of this infernal conspiracy. And then a somewhat wild, harum-scarum alternative occurred to me—to carry her away from it all on the Stella. Vasco was out of danger, and so far as she herself was in danger from the Government, she could smile at it when we were once in old England.
Vasco was already on the yacht. Could I use him to get her there? And if I did, would she resent my trick or come to view it as the best, if not the only way out?
Burroughs was at my rooms when I arrived, and he was just the man to help me in such a plan; but I would not broach it until I had had more time to think it round.
I was still undecided when Barosa arrived. I guessed his object but greeted him pleasantly. He was, however, too engrossed by the reasons which had brought him to make any sort of pretence, and the moment we had shaken hands, he plunged into the subject.
“I have come to see you about Major Sampayo, Mr. Donnington. I regret to hear that you and he have quarrelled.”
“Scarcely quarrelled, doctor. At least I should not use that term; and pardon me if I say that it is a strictly personal matter.”
“I cannot regard it so; that is why I have come. You have threatened to use certain information you possess and have required him to leave Lisbon at once.”
“I should put it very differently, of course.”
“We need not split hairs,” he replied bluntly.
“I do not care to be addressed quite so curtly, Dr. Barosa. If you wish to tell me anything or to make any sort of request, I am willing to listen in a friendly spirit. But not otherwise.”
“I have no wish to offend, but the matter is serious. I have explained to you once before that we are under great obligations to Major Sampayo, and any action directed against him is felt to be directed equally against us.”
“Of course I cannot take that view. I have nothing to do with your aims or concerns or plans. My action is strictly individual. But perhaps you will put in plain terms exactly what you wish.”
“That your persecution of Major Sampayo shall cease.”
“Persecution! There is no persecution. Are you aware that he even attempted my life?”
“Not for a moment, Mr. Donnington. You refer to the Rua Catania letter. That has all been explained. He was not satisfied that you would keep your pledge of secrecy and intended that merely as a test.”
“Is it possible that he has persuaded you to believe that?”
“Otherwise I should not say it, Mr. Donnington.”
“Well, I don’t, and nothing would ever make me. He forged my name to the letter and managed to let you know of it somehow in his belief that you would deal with me as a liar and traitor. I know the man.”
“So do I. And the fact that he warned us of the raid so that nothing should be discovered satisfies me of his good faith.”
“Very well, then, we must be content to differ about it.”
“You will not forget that he had stronger cause for distrusting you than we had. We believed that you had come here for very different reasons from those openly given—reasons which touched him very closely indeed.”
“Did he think I came after him, do you mean?” I asked with a smile.
“No, of course not,” he replied, nettled by my smile,—as, indeed, I intended he should be. “He believed that you had come on a very different person’s account.”
Why did he fight shy of mentioning Miralda by name? And why was he himself so interested in forcing Sampayo to marry her, when the man himself had offered to take any oath I wished that he would not? “I don’t care a rap what he believed,” I said, after a moment’s pause.
“But we care, Mr. Donnington?”
I paused and then asked sharply: “What is Miralda Dominguez to you, Dr. Barosa?”
The question took him by surprise, and the sudden light which gleamed in his eyes answered my question.
“She is nothing to me, personally, of course,” he protested.
“You misunderstand my question. What is she to you and your friends?” It was not prudent yet to show him that I believed I had guessed his secret of secrets.
“She is one of us, Mr. Donnington. She is in a position to render our cause valuable help, as she has already done. It is more to the point to ask what she is to you.”
I had another shaft ready, but to prepare the way for the surprise I paused, gave a shrug and a smile of indifference, and then said quickly: “I hope to make her my wife.”
Once more the sudden flame in his eyes confirmed my former diagnosis.
“That will not be possible, Mr. Donnington.”
“We shall see. I doubt if I am more easily turned from a course I have once taken than you yourself. I’ll tell you how I view the thing, for it is the pith and marrow of this business with Sampayo. I came here for the express purpose of asking her to become my wife. I found her promised to Major Sampayo. I set my wits to work and my money, and ascertained that she had been driven to compromise herself in your politics. By means of money I succeeded in learning how she had been forced to join you. My whip-hand over Sampayo led him to admit that he did not really wish to marry her—and I found that you were really the background force which made him shrink from an open rupture with her. He agreed to a secret one and gave me a letter to her. I took that letter and she absolutely refused to open it. I saw, therefore, that Sampayo had been to you and that you had ordered her not to read it. Now I’ve spoken frankly and invite similar freedom from you. Why did you do this?”
“I cannot explain to you without entering into matters that are secret—political matters, I mean, of course,” he replied, making the addition quickly.
“Very good. Then you come to me and tell me that I must not do as I please with regard to Sampayo. You call it persecution. I apply that term to Mademoiselle Dominguez’ treatment. Cease that, give her back her freedom of action, and I’ve done with Sampayo. He can stop here or go to the devil for all I care.”
“I have told you it is not possible, Mr. Donnington,” he said firmly.
“You mean that you, for motives personal to yourself, will not permit it.”
“You have no reason to draw any such inference.”
“Well, I do draw it, and shall continue to believe it and act upon it until I learn it is wrong.”
“I tell you it is wrong, wholly wrong and preposterous.”
I looked at him with a purposely aggravating smile and shook my head. “As a matter of fact, I know,” I said. Pure bluff this, of course, but useful.
He paled with anger and his eyes flashed again. “You wish to insult me,” he said between his teeth.
“I should not regard it as an insult if you suggested that I admired a very beautiful woman, but if I got as angry as you are, you would conclude that you were right.”
He sprang up. “Then you intend to disregard my warning and set us all at defiance,” he cried, beside himself with rage.
“Are you threatening me?”
“Take it as you will, sir.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I knew he was the agent of the Pretender and reply to his threat with one to denounce him to Volheno. But I checked myself. “You understand I shan’t take it lying down. I shall hit back. And now I think we are at the end of this stage of the affair,” I said; and he left me.
It was evidently a fight to be with the gloves off, and I might look for trouble without any fear of being disappointed. But I should be on my guard.
I had gained more than a warning by the interview, however. I had learnt the secret which had been in the background. Barosa was in love with Miralda; and Sampayo was only the stalking-horse to keep other men away until he could declare himself. I could not resist a smile at his dilemma. He could not do anything at present without changing Inez from friend to enemy and I saw how this interesting embarrassment could be turned to excellent account with her.
But the axis of things was shifted. It was not Sampayo who had so tortuously woven the web which had entangled Miralda. It was Barosa himself. And then came the question why Sampayo had been so pliant a tool in his hands and so frightened of him. There was one probable answer to that—that Barosa knew what I knew about that South African villainy.
Vasco arrived when I was turning over the problem. I told him that I had obtained his confession from Sampayo and that the latter would not trouble him any more; and he thanked me profusely, making earnest protestations that he would never touch a card or a dicebox again as long as he lived. Men generally make resolutions of that sort at such a moment, of course. He told me how much he owed to his fellow-officers, and I gave him the amount.
Then I suggested that he should return to the Stella until Sampayo had left Lisbon. This was not my real reason. I really wished to have him on board in case I should decide upon the drastic step of carrying off Miralda and could use him to get her to go to the yacht.
But he jumped away from the suggestion as if it were a red-hot iron. “I am sorry I cannot, Mr. Donnington. I’ll do anything else, but to-morrow I must go on duty.”
“Why?” I asked with surprise at his exaggerated love of discipline.
“Don’t ask me that. I cannot tell you. I cannot really.”
“But you’ve told me a good deal.”
“I’d tell you anything else. You’re the best friend a fellow could have. But this is not my secret. Please don’t question me.”
“Not your secret, eh? Then it’s some of this conspiracy business. It strikes me you’re going to make a fool of yourself. You’d much better have nothing to do with it.”
“For heaven’s sake don’t say any more.”
“Very well. By the way, you wanted to have my yacht for a day?”
His tell-tale face was instantly so troubled that I took it he connected the question with what I had said before.
“I shan’t want it, thank you,” he said quickly; and added with stammering hesitation: “You see, I’ve given up the idea of taking those fellows out.”
“All right. But all I was going to suggest was that you should come for another outing with me and perhaps get your sister to join you.”
“Oh, I’ll do that any time—but not to-morrow, or—or the next day. Any other time. I know Miralda would go—at least—if——” and he stopped.
“Well, we’ll fix a day soon,” I said, and let him go.
Evidently something serious was to take place on the morrow. What could it be? Was it something I ought to know for Miralda’s sake? Clearly the sooner I could get her away the better.
Later in the evening Burroughs told me a curious incident. We were smoking, and he broke one of the pauses with a sudden laugh. “A rum thing happened yesterday,” he said, in response to my glance of surprise.
“Well?”
“Say, is the king of this benighted country in the habit of playing the Haroun Al Raschid game?”
“I don’t know, Jack.”
“Well, it looks like it. I was on the Quay yesterday and some of the loafers began looking at me and nudging one another and chattering—you know what beggars they are for that—and the thing went on until there were two or three dozen of ’em gawking around. I was walking away when hang me if the whole lot didn’t off with the caps and sing out ‘Long Live the King.’ I looked round for the King, but he wasn’t there, and when I was going back in the launch to the Stella afterwards, one of the hands told me the crowd had taken me for him, and were pretty huffy because I hadn’t acknowledged the cheer. Wish I’d tumbled to it, I’d have played up to it.”
“You are surprisingly like him, Jack, now that I look at you,” I said with a grin.
“Rather be myself, a heap,” he replied drily, and after some chaff the matter dropped.
I had been considering how to tell him about Miralda, and after the next pause I asked him if he knew why we were in Lisbon.
“You haven’t told me,” he replied drily.
“You mean you have guessed?”
He took his pipe out of his mouth, glanced at it, and then at me and smiled. “I know the symptoms. I’ve had the fever myself. You’re the sort to take it badly too.”
“I have.”
“What’s the trouble?”
“All sorts and plenty of it.”
“Well, I’m with you, if you want me. I’d love a scrap.”
“I’m thinking of making a bolt of it.”
“Stella?” I nodded. “The lady willing?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t asked her. She’s been forced to give a promise to some one else. I’d better tell you something about it;” and I gave him a short outline of the position.
“It’s a mix up, sure,” he commented drily. “But she’s a lovely girl. That’s a cert.”
“A man has eyes, I suppose. She’s a good sailor too. Seemed to enjoy that bit of a racket on the yacht.”
“Yes,” I said, self-consciously.
“If you can get her to put one of her dainty feet into a rowing boat, I’ll answer for it that she doesn’t take it out again except to mount the Stella’s companion, and the rest would be as easy as shooting gulls.”
“But how to do it?”
He paused, shook his pipe out, refilled it and lit it. “If you leave it to me, I’d undertake to do it all right,” he said very deliberately.
“How?”
“I said leave it to me. I’ll tell you how when it’s done.”
“But you’ve never spoken to her.”
“All the better.”
“I should ask her first.”
“And spoil your chance. Ask her when we’re half-way across the bay.”
“It may have to come to that.”
“Better come first,” he said with his dry smile. “If you want to win.”
That was my own thought secretly; but I was half afraid Miralda herself might resent such a strong step.
We lapsed into silence and I sat thinking over the whole situation, and the longer I thought the stronger grew my conviction that to get Miralda away was at once the safest and simplest solution of all the difficulties. If she would go, of course. Would she? I could only answer that out of the hopes which her look that afternoon had roused. If she were free, I was certain of her. And free she certainly would be if I dared to carry her off in the Stella.
Presently we began to speak of another matter. We were sitting at the open window with no light except from that of the full moon, and Burroughs went out on to the verandah and leant over, looking about curiously.
“I suppose you think there may be something happen to-night by having us up here?” he asked as he sat down again.
“Scarcely likely, but I thought best to be prepared.”
“It’s turning-in time. I’ll keep the first watch.”
“What have you seen?” I asked.
“Nothing—except that any one could get in here easily enough.”
“Oh, I don’t think there’s any fear of that.”
“I wasn’t talking about fear of anything. But I shan’t turn in.”
“Neither shall I, yet. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Well, I reckon we don’t want to show ’em they’re expected;” and he got up and closed the window. “And we shall have plenty of other time to talk, so we’ll keep a close lip. From what you told me, this is the night they’re most likely to try some hanky-panky. I guess, too, we don’t want too fresh smoke for ’em to smell, so I’ll shake my pipe out.”
He did so and drew his chair away from the window, and I followed his example.
I was wrong about not being able to sleep. After a time I dozed off and, at Burroughs’ suggestion, lay down on a sofa close to him and went off into a sound sleep.
From a dream that I was being smothered I awoke to find a hand pressed tightly on my mouth.
“Hsh! Wake up. Something’s happening,” whispered Burroughs.
I looked round the room. It was almost dark, for the moonlight was no longer streaming through the window. I had evidently been asleep some hours.
Then Burroughs caught my sleeve and pulled it upwards. A sign to me to get up.
When I stood up he put his lips to my ear and whispered: “You stay this side of the window. I’ll go to the other.”
Without making a sound he crept away from me.
I stood listening intently, and presently bent down and peered cautiously at the window.
There was neither sign nor sound of anything.
The seconds of suspense lengthened into minutes.
Burroughs had clearly deceived himself.
And just when I was on the point of telling him so, the form of a man showed on the verandah.
In a second I was on my feet again in the shadow of the curtain.
Cautiously the window was pushed open. A man entered and stood motionless as a statue, listening and peering round the room.
With absolutely noiseless tread he stepped forward a couple of paces, paused again, and then returned to the balcony.
A couple of minutes passed before he re-entered, this time with a companion. The second man remained close to the window.
The small circle light of an electric lamp carried by the first comer flashed for an instant, and then he started to cross the room.