THE interview with Miralda left me in better spirits than I had been at any moment since my imprisonment. She had confirmed my own view that my life was safe so long as I refused to release Gompez and his companions, and had assured me that she herself was in no serious or immediate danger.
But best of all she had given me another proof of her trust. A fresh bond was created between us and the old one cemented more firmly than ever. Despite the fact that those who had sent her to induce me to yield were actually listening to every word that passed, she had contrived to let me know the real truth of the position.
I could understand the pressure which had been applied to force her to come on such an errand. Her manner when she entered and uttered the first lines of the part in which she had been carefully drilled had revealed her feelings; and the nervous, quickly whispered word of warning told me why she had yielded.
She knew the risk she was running should her act be discovered, but she had faced it unflinchingly for my sake, resolved to put me on my guard let the consequences be what they might to her. Barosa and Inez had little dreamt that the trick of forcing her to try and mislead me would result in the strengthening of my resistance! And it was Miralda’s own shrewdness and care for me which had brought it all about.
The thought was infinitely sweet; and all the discomfort and pain I was enduring were forgotten in the delightful contemplation of Miralda’s courage and zeal for me.
The discomfort would soon be over now, moreover. Many hours had passed since Bryant saw me enter the house, and I was certain that he was now at work to secure my liberation.
If I had not been blinded in the morning by my alarm for Miralda I should have taken the precaution to tell him what steps to take. But I had not thought there would be any danger in Inez’ house. I ought to have foreseen that she would send for Barosa, and have given Bryant definite instructions what to do if I did not return to him.
What was he likely to do? He would keep a watch on the house of course. He would thus see Barosa arrive, and probably also the men who must have been sent for afterwards. I read the thing in this way. Inez had sent word to him almost as soon as I was in the house. He had come at once and then had probably sent Miralda to me in order to overhear what passed between us.
Recognizing the danger, he had then sent for such of his companions as he could thoroughly trust and had laid the trap into which I had fallen. But he saw that unless he could get the men on the Rampallo free, I still held the key to the situation. He had tried first to trick me with that pretence of submission, and when that had failed, he had fallen back on threats, carrying the threat to the very extreme limit in the hope that I should yield when death appeared the inevitable alternative.
Then, threats having failed, he resorted again to cunning. Inez rushed in and saved my life, and then Miralda had been sent again.
When Bryant saw first Barosa and then the men arrive, he would be shrewd enough to understand that I was in danger. In an hour or two he would be in a parlous fix what to do. Unwilling to leave the house, lest I should be brought out of it, he would have to devise some way of getting it watched; and it was an easy guess that he would solve the difficulty by finding a messenger of some kind to carry word to the men on the launch to fetch the skipper.
The question they had to settle was whether they would enter the house themselves or put the police on the track. The skipper would be for doing it themselves—that was his blunt way; but Bryant’s was a much more cautious nature, and he was far more likely to make up some yarn and set the police to work.
All this would occupy a lot of time, but I felt certain that the night would still be young when they would act.
I lay back on my mattress no longer fretting and chafing at the slow passage of time. I had ample food for thought. I pieced together these speculative doings of Bryant in the intervals of giving rein to the fresh hopes and new delights engendered by my interview with Miralda. I recalled word by word all she had said, treasuring her little asides, her significant glances, her changes of tone and manner, as jewels whose every facet reflected her trust, her courage, and above all her care for me.
I was confident now of success, and it was she who had given me confidence. As the darkness deepened I rejoiced. Each minute was bringing nearer our delivery and reunion.
Some long time after she had left me—perhaps an hour or perhaps two hours, I had no means of reckoning the time, but it had long been quite dark—I heard footsteps approaching the room; and I guessed the curtain was to go up for the next scene.
Barosa and Inez entered together. He carried a lamp, and I could see by its light that the faces of both were very pale. He set the lamp down on the little table and then bent over me.
“Mr. Donnington!” he said. His voice was low and slightly husky, either from suppressed passion or anxiety.
I made no reply, and when he repeated my name and shook me I moaned as if in great pain. There was little enough pretence about it indeed, for the tightness of my bonds was causing acute suffering.
I rolled my eyes upon him, uttered another moan, shook my head feebly, and then closed my eyes.
“He is almost unconscious, Manoel,” said Inez.
I read that use of his name to mean much. She had been asking herself the question I had suggested—about the real reason for detaining Miralda—and finding it unanswerable had passed it on to him.
“Mr. Donnington!” he said again angrily.
It was my object to waste time, of course; so I took no notice except to sigh heavily, open my eyes again and close them instantly as if the effort tried my strength.
“You are not so bad as all that,” he said, and shook me again very roughly. When this had no effect, he felt my pulse, and in doing so put a finger under the rope which bound my left hand.
“See how swollen the hands are, Manoel,” said Inez, holding the lamp close to me. “It must be torture.”
But Barosa knew better than to be taken in by my malingering. “He can speak well enough as he is if he pleases. Mr. Donnington, we have come to set you at liberty.”
Then why didn’t he do it, was my natural thought. But I went through another little pantomime. I showed slightly more strength this time, as if invigorated by the news, but sank back again exhausted.
“He is only shamming, curse him,” muttered Barosa.
“These cords are cruelly tight, Manoel. Ease them, and see the effect. I’ll go and fetch some brandy.”
She went away and Barosa began to unfasten the knots. He was very suspicious and went to work cautiously. But he need not have feared. The instant the cords were released and the stagnant blood began to course again through the veins, I was not only helpless but in positive agony, from my aching head to my throbbing feet.
Inez had been back some time before I could bear to move and when I strove to sit up in order to take the spirit she had fetched, I fell back like a log, sick, dizzy and as helpless as a new-born babe. Barosa held me up while she poured a little brandy between my chattering teeth.
The pain subsided slowly and the brandy stimulated me, and after a long interval—I made it long enough to try Barosa’s patience sorely—I struggled to a sitting posture.
“What is this you have told Contesse Inglesia?” he asked.
I passed my hand across my forehead and stared at him vacantly.
“You know well enough what I mean. Repeat it to me.”
“What about?” I muttered.
“About Mademoiselle Dominguez. Some lie Major Sampayo is said to have told you.”
I looked from him to Inez, and met her eyes fixed upon me intently. “Tell me,” I said to her.
“What Major Sampayo said about the reason why Miralda was betrothed to him.”
I turned slowly to Barosa. “If the contesse has told you, why bother me about it?”
“Repeat it,” he said sternly.
I shook my head. “You know already.”
“Repeat it,” he cried again furiously. “And then admit you lied.”
“I do not lie,” I answered and turned again to Inez. “So you have asked that question?”
“Repeat it, I say,” he thundered. “If you dare.”
“Oh, I dare. Sampayo told me that you had him at your mercy because you found out the facts about his South African doings and threatened to expose him. I had the same knowledge with an addition which frightened him even more. He said that you had forced this betrothal, but that it was only a sham and that you did not mean him to marry Miralda because you yourself loved her.”
Out came a storm of oaths and denial, with fierce and passionate threats against Sampayo for having coined the lie and against me for having dared to repeat it.
Inez was scarcely less moved; and from what passed it was clear that there had been a very warm quarrel between them before they had come up to me. I learnt that she had threatened to sacrifice everything and go straight to M. Volheno.
It was a long time before I could get a word in, and then I brought them back to the real point. “Sampayo told me that after my interview with him he begged you to get rid of me by doing what I wanted—freeing Miralda from all this trouble. But you refused and tried to get rid of me in another way—by inciting Henriques to murder me.”
“It is a lie, a lie. It is all lies,” he exclaimed furiously.
“Well then, why have you kept Miralda in the toils? If Sampayo lied, what is the truth?”
That roused Inez again, and another altercation followed, fiercer even and more prolonged than the first. He had evidently tried to answer the question with fifty subtle pretexts, but Inez was jealous and knew too much not to be able to see that there was no reason except the true one.
In their anger they let out other valuable facts. The plot to abduct the king had not been discovered, and Miralda had been prevented from flying on the pretext that no discovery was likely to be made and that she would be wanted for the next scheme which might be hatched. My arrival with the news that I could reveal the whole conspiracy and meant to do so had cut even this ground from under Barosa’s feet, and then my repetition to Inez of Sampayo’s story had completed his discomfiture.
I was delighted to find that Inez was now as anxious as I was that Miralda should fly the country; and instead of making her my enemy, as she had declared, she was resolved that I should take Miralda away.
Barosa was equally determined that I should do nothing of the kind, and hence the bitterness of both and the impasse to which matters were brought.
Another result of the quarrel was that it gave me time to recover my strength, and as that increased, I began to see whether I could not take advantage of the position to escape. I was more than a match for Barosa even after my experiences in that room. It was probable that he had a revolver on him, and if I could get that, I could soon put a different complexion on matters.
But he and Inez had crossed to the other end of the room, she had closed the door lest the sound of their angry voices should be heard by others in the house; and I could not get to him, however quick my rush, before he would have time to draw his weapon.
In his present frenzy he would shoot me the instant he drew, and things were going too favourably for me to take that risk.
I waited therefore in the hope that he would return to my end of the room and give me the chance I sought.
But before I had such a chance, some one knocked hurriedly at the door and Marco rushed in.
“I must speak to you at once,” he said excitedly to Barosa, and the two men went out together.
Inez was literally convulsed with jealous rage. Her face was white, her features drawn and haggard, her hands fiercely clenched, and she was shaking from head to foot. As the two men went out, she watched Barosa, her strange eyes gleaming like those of a tigress watching her prey. And when the door closed behind them, she crossed to me, her hand pressed tightly to her heart.
“Get Miralda from this house or I will not answer for myself,” she said, her lips shivering and her voice low and hoarse with passion.
I threw up my hands with a gesture of helplessness.
With fingers that shook so violently that she could scarcely command them, she tore open the bosom of her dress, took out a revolver and thrust it into my hands.
“Wait here a few minutes until I return. She shall be ready to go,” she whispered and then turned to the door.
“Inez! Quick. For God’s sake!” cried Barosa; and the next moment I was alone again.
I rose and paced the room to shake off the lingering effects of the cramp caused by the cords. My legs were still stiff, but a few turns across the room put me all right.
Presently I opened the door and stood listening for Inez’ return. Although I was within a few minutes of complete success, I was in a fever of impatience.
There was no sound anywhere in the house, and it was all dark. I fetched the lamp from my room and went to the stairhead.
Was it after all nothing but some fresh ruse?
I examined the revolver Inez had given me. It was loaded.
I was mystified.
I began to descend the stairs, but paused.
If I carried a light I should be an easy mark for any one having a fancy to make a target of my body.
Setting the lamp down I felt my way by the balustrade and crept down in the dark, careful to make as little noise as possible and halting every now and again to listen.
In this way I descended two storeys, and tried in vain to remember how many flights I had been carried up, that I might know on which floor I stood.
Feeling in my pockets I found my matches and was about to strike one when I heard a footstep followed by a smothered exclamation, as if some one had stumbled in the dark. The sound came from some distance below.
Instinctively I shrank back against the wall and stood holding my breath and listening intently.
All was as still as a vault.
My eyes had now grown sufficiently accustomed to the dark to enable me to make out that I was on a wide landing on to which several rooms opened. I felt my way round and listened cautiously at each. Not a sound. Two of the doors were ajar, but each of the rooms was in darkness.
I hesitated when I reached the stairs again what to do. That stumbling footstep below had been full of unpleasant suggestion. But it was useless to stop where I was, so I continued my descent, more cautiously and slowly than before.
When I reached the next floor I paused again, waiting a long time and straining my ears for some clue to the baffling situation. Not hearing a sound, I again made a circuit of the landing, feeling my way by the wall. There were three doors here, and each was ajar, and all three rooms in darkness.
Feeling my way back to the stairs, I stumbled against a low pedestal placed at some little distance from the wall. There was a large plant on it and in preventing it from falling, the leaves shook with a rustling noise almost disconcerting in the dead stillness of the house.
I crouched as still as a statue behind it, listening and holding my breath again. Then I heard other rustling with a curiously regular beat or infinitesimal throbbing. For a long time this puzzled me; until at length I discovered that the throbbing was that of my own heart and the rustling due to the movement of my coat lapel against the stiff edge of my collar.
I crept on then to the stairs and descended, still using the same caution. I reached the bottom. I was now in the hall. The feel of the marble under my foot told me this.
I remembered the direction of the front door and turned toward it.
But I had not taken two steps in its direction before I was seized, a hand was pressed on my mouth before I could utter a sound, and my hands were wrenched back violently and pinioned behind me.