DAGARA having finished both his task and his lunch was waiting in some concern to know what was to come next, and he appeared relieved when I said he was to return in the launch.
“I wish you to go back,” I told him, “and act precisely as if our meeting had never taken place. With this exception—should any change be made in these arrangements for the King’s arrival to-morrow evening, let me know them and do not divulge them to any one.”
“And about Mademoiselle Dominguez?” he asked.
“Well, what about her?” I repeated, not understanding.
“She got you to meet me to-day after sending me word where to go.”
“Oh no, that was a fairy tale of mine. I wrote that cipher letter. Yours has not yet reached her brother. But it will do so very soon now, and she will no doubt go to your house as usual.”
“But how did you get the cipher?” he asked in blank astonishment.
“Never mind about that. The question is, will you do exactly as I ask? I will call at M. Volheno’s office to-morrow afternoon and you must manage to see me and——”
“He has an appointment from four to five with M. Franco at the latter’s bureau. If you come then I could see you privately without exciting any suspicion.”
I agreed to do this and then, having got from him his address and the time when he would reach his house and give the papers to Miralda, I made certain that no one on the Rampallo was taking stock of our movements, and smuggled him into the launch.
As soon as he had left to return to his office I sent the men with the launch to wait at the usual landing-stage on the quay.
When I reached my rooms, the little farce had been played and Henriques had gone. I calculated that his first step would be to deliver the letter to Vasco, who would immediately send Miralda for the papers, and my intention was to meet her as she left Dagara’s house.
It was essential that I should know to whom she was to hand them and that person must be shadowed from the moment they were in his or her possession.
In the meanwhile I had to ascertain whether Sampayo had left the city, and to do this I sent my servant, Bryant, a sharp fellow, with a letter for Sampayo. I told him to say it was to be given into Sampayo’s own hands, and if asked, he was to say it was from Dr. Barosa.
I wrote one line: “Give you one more hour.”
He returned with the news that Sampayo had gone. The furniture was being removed and all the evidences of a speedy departure were everywhere. I concluded, therefore, that Sampayo had learnt of the failure of his little scheme the previous night and had fled.
In the meanwhile Burroughs and I had discussed the spy work that had to be done. My opinion was that the papers would be given to Inez, and if so, the difficulties would be considerable.
“Simmons is sharp enough to do it,” said Burroughs; “but I should suggest that you put both him and your man, Bryant, on it, and let Simmons rig himself up as a Portuguese long-shoreman.”
I adopted the suggestion and we sent the man out to buy the necessary disguise.
“I must be on hand to point out the quarry,” I said; “but the devil of it is, if she takes them to her house we shall have the trail cut and shall need to shadow every one who comes out. And that’s precisely where she is most likely to take them.”
“Say, I’ve a great idea,” exclaimed Burroughs, clashing his big fist on the table excitedly. “What price my offering to ship aboard that yacht, the Rampallo?”
“What’s that got to do with this sleuthing business?”
“Nothing, but you want to know what game’s going on on board her.”
“My dear fellow, let’s stick to one thing at a time.”
“It would be great though, wouldn’t it? I’d make ’em sit up.”
“Do you imagine for an instant that you are not known to belong to the Stella?”
“I didn’t think of that,” he said crestfallen, shaking his head.
“Well, don’t think any more of it, and let’s worry this other thing out.”
“I can’t get that infernal boat out of my head.”
We did worry with it until it was time to set out; but the only thing I could see to do, if Inez took the papers home, was to call at her house myself.
Being entirely new to this spy business, I was abominably nervous and possessed with the conviction that every one we met knew quite well the reason why we were strolling along the street with an entirely exaggerated air of indifference.
Burroughs and I went ahead, Simmons, got up as a rather theatrical Portuguese fisherman, was behind us, and Bryant, who apparently was the coolest of the four, followed on the opposite side of the street.
We had barely reached the neighbourhood of Dagara’s house when Miralda drove up in a hired carriage. She stopped the driver a hundred yards short of the street and got out, leaving the driver to wait.
My first step was to get rid of the carriage, by telling the man he would not be wanted and paying his fare with the addition of a liberal tip.
In a few minutes Miralda returned and was profoundly surprised to find me instead of the carriage, and her hand trembled as she put it in mine.
“I have sent your carriage away. I knew you were coming to M. Dagara’s house and the reason, and I was compelled to speak to you alone.”
“You have frightened me. What is the matter?”
“I am only going to ask you to trust me. You will?”
“Need you ask that?” and her eyes flashed in reproach. “But I may be seen with you,” she added, glancing round.
“I am not going to keep you long enough to explain everything—only to ask you two questions. I will tell you everything another time. To whom are you going to give the papers you have just received from M. Dagara?”
“Mr. Donnington!” she cried with a start and a stare of astonishment.
“No, not to me,” I replied with a smile. “Let us walk on a little. You will not think I mean anything that is not entirely to help you in asking this.”
“No. I know that. But I—I can’t tell you. Besides, I have been ordered not—not to speak to you.”
“I guessed something of the sort and that’s partly the reason why I arranged this meeting instead of coming to your house. You generally give such things to the Contesse Inglesia. Shall you give her these?”
Again she was startled. “But how can all this be known to you? Do you mean others know it?”
“Certainly not. But please tell me.”
“How you have learnt all this, I can’t imagine; but you are right. I do generally give them to Inez. But there has been some unaccountable delay and I am to give them to Vasco.”
“That’s good news, for a start.”
“Why good news?” she asked quickly.
“You must let me be a little mysterious for the present. And now, the second question—can you tell me where he is to take them?”
“I know no more than you—not so much indeed it seems;” and she smiled faintly.
“That’s better—that you can smile, I mean. When will you give them to him? Is he waiting at your home for them?”
“No. He hurried in to tell me to fetch them at once and that he would come back for them. He was very excited about something and very strange.”
“When is he to return for them?”
“I don’t know.”
“But I must know. It is absolutely vital. Can you so arrange that he does not get them until, say, eight o’clock this evening?”
“Why?”
“Don’t ask me. Can you do it?”
“It may be dangerous, but I—I will try.”
“It must be certain,” I said firmly. “I must know definitely.”
“Then of course I promise you.”
“Good. I shall depend on you. Let me say how I thank you for this trust.”
“As if I should not,” she said again, with a look of reproach. “But—but can’t you tell me something? I am all at sea.”
“I wish we both were,” I cried impulsively. “That would put an end to all this ugly business.”
Her face clouded. “I can see no end to it but trouble and disaster,” she replied with a gesture of despair that went to my heart.
“I believe I can see the end, if all goes well just now. But if I fail——” I paused and looked at her earnestly.
“If you fail?” she repeated questioningly.
“There is still the sea,” I said, with as much under-current of meaning as I could put into tone, looks, manner.
She sighed. “Yes, there is still the sea; but——” and she shook her head despondently.
“Would you dare?” I asked in little more than a whisper.
“I am fettered like a slave—oh, once more to be free!” she sighed.
“Will you dare it now?”
But at that she flinched. “I am talking like a madwoman. It is impossible, impossible.”
“I don’t understand that word when I am in such earnest as now. Sampayo has left Lisbon. I have driven him away. I will sweep every other obstacle out of our path. Miralda?”
She trembled as I uttered her name and took her hand in mine; the colour flushed her cheeks and she stood hesitating with downcast eyes.
“Miralda?” I said again appealingly, hoping she would yield.
“Ah, how you tempt me!” she whispered.
“In less than an hour we can be out of the river, homeward bound. For God’s sake come—now,” I said passionately.
But I failed. She started as if from a dream and shivered. “You made me forget, but——”
“Remember only your happiness and the freedom from all these troubles. Trust me.”
She shook her head, sighed deeply, and withdrew her hand. “It is not that I distrust. But there is my mother. If I were to play these men false they would visit it upon her.”
“But she can come with us. Let me see her.”
“It is impossible. Impossible. Would to Heaven it were not?”
“Then I’ll try the other way,” I said. “But if I fail——”
After a pause she lifted her eyes to mine, let them rest there a second and then smiled, but shook her head despondently again.
“It must be as you will,” I said. “And now there is one thing more. It may be necessary for me to communicate with you. If I send one of my people to your house, will you see him?”
“Yes. I will help you all I can and pray for your success.”
I held out my hand. “Till we meet again.”
She put hers into it with a delighting pressure.
“And if I fail,” I said again, “there is still the sea.”
“There is still the sea,” she whispered; “for you, but not for me.”
I watched her go and presently saw her enter a carriage.
Then Burroughs came up and I tried to think of other things; not very successfully at first. We returned to my rooms, and on the way Miralda’s eloquent smile, the thrilling pressure of her hand, the flush of tell-tale colour, and the proof of her trust, entangled my wits and made it difficult for me for a time to give coherent answers to the questions of my insistently curious companion.
My object in securing Miralda’s promise to delay the delivery of the papers to Vasco was to enable me to make preparations to follow him myself, and I set about them the instant we reached my rooms.
I had decided to use the Portuguese clothes which Simmons had obtained; and a few alterations in them together with a false moustache, the darkening of my eyebrows and the judicious application of a little picturesque dirt to my face and hands and clothes, so changed my appearance that even Miralda would have had difficulty in recognizing me.
I arranged that Burroughs should follow me, to be at hand in case of need; that Simmons should go to the launch and Foster remain for the night with Bryant at the flat.
It was dark when I reached the visconte’s house to wait for Vasco, and I had no fear that he would penetrate my disguise.
There was one trouble I had to guard against—the danger of the streets. The fact that a man of my apparent position was lurking about in such a neighbourhood might easily attract the attention of the police, but I was saved from that embarrassment by Miralda’s punctuality.
I had scarcely found a hiding-place when a carriage drove up and she and Inez alighted from it and entered the house. She had gone to Inez in order not to meet Vasco until the hour we had agreed.
Three minutes afterwards he came out and hurried away at a rapid pace, and the spy work commenced in earnest. While we were in the quieter streets, I followed at just sufficient distance to keep him in sight; but when he turned into the Rua Sao Benito I hastened to close up, for fear of losing him in that somewhat busy street.
As I hurried round the corner I nearly plumped into him. He stood looking about him, and I stopped and rolled a cigarette to fill the pause.
It turned out that he was waiting for a tram-car, and when he boarded it I had no option but to risk discovery and follow him. He sat close to the door and I passed him, with my face averted, choosing a seat on the same side, but at the other end.
He was in a condition of extreme nervous excitement and had been drinking freely, probably to drown his fears. He sat with his hands plunged in his pockets and took no notice of any one; and even when the other passengers got out at the Square of St. Paul, leaving him at one end of the long seat and me at the other with no one between us, he took no notice of me.
I had now lost Burroughs, of course. He had hung behind until he had missed the car; but this was perhaps all the better. If he had been in the car, Vasco might have recognized him.
When we reached the Praca do Commercio, Vasco got up and jumped off and hurried along the Rua da Alfandega. There was little fear of my attracting notice here as there were still plenty of people about, and I had no difficulty in following him.
I guessed now that he was making for the landing-stage near the Artillery Museum, and just as he reached that building he was accosted by two men in the dress of sailors. He drew back nervously at first, with a sharp stare; then began to talk to them; and they walked on together.
They were as much like sailors as I was like the cross of St. Paul’s, and walked with the stiff upright carriage of well-drilled soldiers.
It was clear that I was not the only person in Lisbon that night with a fancy for disguise, and this discovery confirmed my opinion that Vasco was making for the landing-stage.
Were Burroughs’ suspicions of that yacht, the Rampallo, about to be confirmed?
It looked uncommonly like it.