THE time of waiting was inconceivably long and dreary. When Marjory and I had been waiting for death in the water-cave, we thought that nothing could be so protracted; but now I knew better. Then, we had been together, and whatever came, even death itself, would be shared by us. But now I was alone; and Marjory away, and in danger. In what danger I knew not, I could only imagine; and at every new thought of fear and horror I ground my teeth afresh and longed for action. Fortunately there was something to do. The detectives wanted to know all I could tell them. At the first, the chief had asked that Mrs. Jack would get all the servants of the house together so that he might see them. She had so arranged matters that they would be together in the servants’ hall, and he went down to inspect. He did not stay long; but came back to me at once with an important look on his face. He closed the door and coming close to me said: “I knew there was something wrong below stairs! That footman has skipped!” For a few seconds I did not realise what he meant, and asked him to explain.
“That footman that went out gallavantin’ at nights. He’s in it, sure. Why isn’t he in the hall where the others are? Just you ask the old lady about him. It’ll be less suspicious than me doing it.” Then it dawned on me what he meant.
[375]
“There is no footman in the house!” I said.
“That’s so, Mister. That’s just what I’m tellin’! Where is he?”
“There is none; they don’t have any male servants in the house. The only men are in the stables in the village.”
“Then that makes it worse still. There is a man who I’ve seen myself steal out of the house after dark, or in the dusk; and sneak back again out of the wood in the grey of the dawn. Why, I’ve reported it to Mr. Adams. Didn’t he warn you about it; he said he would.”
“He did that.”
“And didn’t you take his tip?”
“No!” here from the annoyed expression of his face I took warning. It would never do to chagrin the man and set him against me by any suspicion of ridicule. So I went on:
“The fact is, my friend, that this was a disguise. It was Mar—Miss Drake who used it!” He was veritably surprised; his amazement was manifest in his words:
“Miss Drake! And did she put on the John Thomas livery? In the name of thunder, why?”
“To escape you!”
“To escape me! Wall, I’m damned! That elegant young lady to put on livery; and to escape me!”
“Yes; you and the others. She knew you were watching her! Of course she was grateful for it!” I added, for his face fell “but she couldn’t bear it all the same. You know what girls are,” I went on apologetically, “They don’t like to be cornered or forced to do anything. She knew you were all clever fellows at your work and didn’t take any chances.” I was trying to conciliate him; but I need not have feared. He was of the right sort. He broke into a laugh, slapping his thigh loudly with his open hand as he said heartily:
“Well, that girl’s a daisy! she’s a peach; she’s “It”![376] To think of her walking out under our noses, and us not having an idea that it might be her, just because we didn’t think she’d condescend to put on the breeches—and the footman’s at that. Well, it’s a pity we didn’t get on to her curves; for it might have been different! Never mind! We’ll take her out of her trouble before long; and Mr. Whisky Tommy and his push will have to look out for their skins!”
This little episode passed some of the time; but the reaction to the dreary waiting was worse than ever. As I began again an endless chain of surmises and misgivings, it occurred to me that Don Bernardino might be made of some use. The blackmailers had evidently watched him; it might be that they would watch him again. If so, he could be the means of a trap being laid. I turned the matter over in my mind, but at present could see no way to realise the idea. It gave me another thought, however. The Don had been very noble in his attitude to me; and I might repay some of his goodness. Although he was so quiet and silent, I knew well that he must be full of his own anxiety regarding the treasure, now exposed as it might be to other eyes than his own. I could ask him to go to see after it. With some diffidence I broached the matter to him, for I did not want in any way to wound him. Since I had determined to relinquish the treasure if necessary, I was loth to make the doing so seem like an ungracious act. At first he almost took offence, reminding me with overt haughtiness that he had already assured me that all the treasures of Spain or of the Popedom were secondary to a woman’s honour. I liked him all the better for his attitude; and tried to persuade him that it was his duty to guard this trust, as otherwise it might fall into bad hands. Then a brilliant idea struck me, one which at once met the case and made the possibility of a[377] trap. I told him that as the blackmailers had watched him once they might have done so again, and have even followed him to my house. As I was speaking, the thought struck me of how well Providence arranges all for the best. If Don Bernardino had not taken from the library the typescript of the secret writing, it might have fallen into the hands of the gang. When I mentioned the idea to him he said in surprise:
“But I did not take the papers! I read them on the table; but did not think of moving them. Why, had I done so, I should have at once made suspicion; and it was my purpose to keep the secret if I could.” An idea struck me and I ran over to the table to look where the papers usually were.
There was not a sign of them about. Somebody had secured them; it could hardly have been Marjory who lacked any possible motive for doing so. The Spaniard, eagerly following my face, saw the amazement which I felt; he cried out:
“Then they have taken them. The treasure may yet prove a lure through which we may catch them. If it be that they have followed me to your house, and if they have any suspicions that came to me on reading that paper, then they will surely make some attempt.” If anything were to be tried on this line, there was no time to lose. I had to carry out the matter privately; for on mentioning to Don Bernardino that I should ask one of the detectives to go with him, he at once drew back.
“No!” he said, “I have no right to imperil further this trust. The discovery was yours, and you knew of the hiding place before I did; but I could not with my consent allow any other person to know the secret. Moreover, these men are enemies of my country; and it is not well that they should know, lest they should use[378] their knowledge for their country’s aid. You and I, Senor, are caballero. To us there is, somewhere, a high rule of honour; but to these people there is only law!”
“Well,” I said, “............