suspicion, and without being followed, to visit El Morro. They
approached it apparently by accident, at the end of a long walk
through the suburbs, and so timed their progress that, just as the sun
set, they reached the base of the hill on which the fortress stood.
They found that on one side the hill sloped gently toward the city,
and on the other toward the sea. The face toward the city, except for
some venturesome goats grazing on its scant herbage, was bare and
deserted. The side that sloped to the sea was closely overgrown with
hardy mesquite bushes and wild laurel, which would effectually conceal
any one approaching from that direction. What had been the fortress
was now only a broken wall, a few feet in height. It was covered with
moss, and hidden by naked bushes with bristling thorns. Inside the
circumference of the wall was a broken pavement of flat stones.
Between these, trailing vines had forced their way, their roots
creeping like snakes over the stones and through their interstices,
while giant, ill-smelling weeds had turned the once open court-yard
into a maze. These weeds were sufficiently high to conceal any one who
did not walk upright, and while Peter kept watch outside the walled
ring, Roddy, on his hands and knees, forced his way painfully from
stone to stone. After a quarter of an hour of this slow progress he
came upon what once had been the mouth of the tunnel. It was an
opening in the pavement corresponding to a trap in a roof, or to a
hatch in the deck of a ship. The combings were of stone, and were
still intact, as were also the upper stones of a flight of steps that
led down to the tunnel. But below the level of the upper steps,
blocking further descent, were two great slabs of stone. They were
buried deep in a bed of cement, and riveted together and to the walls
of the tunnel by bands of iron. Roddy signalled for Peter to join him,
and in dismay they gazed at the formidable mass of rusty iron, cement
and stone.
"We might as well try to break into the Rock of Gibraltar!" gasped
Peter.
"Don't think of the difficulties," begged Roddy. "Think that on the
other side of that barrier an old man is slowly dying. I admit it's
going to be a tough job. It will take months. But whatever a man has
put together, a man can pull to pieces."
"I also try to see the bright side of life," returned Peter coldly,
"but I can't resist pointing out that the other end of your tunnel
opens into a prison. Breaking into a bank I can understand, but
breaking into a prison seems almost like looking for trouble."
The dinner that followed under the stars in their own court-yard did
much to dispel Peter's misgivings, and by midnight, so assured was he
of their final success, that he declared it now was time that General
Rojas should share in their confidence.
"To a man placed as he is," he argued, "hope is everything; hope is
health, life. He must know that his message has reached the outside.
He must feel that some one is working toward him. He is the entombed
miner, and, to keep heart in him, we must let him hear the picks of
the rescuing party."
"Fine!" cried Roddy, "I am for that, too. I'll get my friend Vicenti,
the prison doctor, to show you over the fortress to-morrow. And we'll
try to think of some way to give Rojas warning."
They at once departed for the cafe of the _Dos Hermanos_, where the
gay youth of Porto Cabello were wont to congregate, and where they
found the doctor. During the evening he had been lucky at baccarat,
and had been investing his winnings in sweet champagne. He was in a
genial mood. He would be delighted to escort the friend of Senor Roddy
over the fortress, or to any other of the historical places of
interest for which Porto Cabello was celebrated.
"Where Alvarez punishes traitors," exclaimed Roddy in a loud tone, "is
what we most desire to see. And," he added, scowling darkly through
the smoke-laden cafe, "if we could see others who are still at liberty
in the same place we would be better pleased."
The remark, although directed at no one in particular, caused a
sensation, and led several of those who had been for two years in
exile to hurriedly finish their chocolate ices and seek their homes.
After making an appointment for the morrow with Doctor Vicenti, and
when they were safe in their own _patio_, Peter protested mildly.
"Your devotion to Alvarez," he said, "is too sudden. You overdo it.
Besides, it's making an expert liar of you. Don't get the habit."
"As the son of the man who is trying to destroy Alvarez," declared
Roddy, "my position is extremely delicate. And next week it will be
more so. McKildrick got a cable to-day saying that Sam Caldwell is
arriving here by the next boat. His starting for Porto Cabello the
very moment Vega arrives here means trouble for Alvarez, and that the
trouble is coming soon. For, wherever you find Sam Caldwell, there you
will find plotting, bribery, and all uncleanliness. And if I'm to help
Rojas out of prison I must have nothing to do with Sam. Alvarez
recognizes no neutrals. The man who is not with him is against him. So
I must be the friend of Alvarez and of his creatures. For public
occasions, my hand must be against the F. C. C., against Vega, and
especially against Sam Caldwell, because everybody knows he is the
personal agent of my father. Vega's friends know that my father treats
me as though he could not trust me. The Alvarez crowd must know that,
too. Even as it is, they think my being down here is a sort of
punishment. None of them has ever worked in his life, and the idea of
a rich man's son sweating at a donkey-engine with a gang of Conch
niggers, means to them only that my father and I have quarrelled. It
will be my object hereafter to persuade them that that is so. If I
have to act a bit, or lie a bit, what are a few lies against the
freedom of such a man as Rojas? So, to-morrow, if you should be so
lucky as to see Rojas, don't be a bit surprised if I should insult
that unhappy gentleman grossly. If I do, within an hour the fact will
be all over the cafes and the plazas, and with Alvarez it would be
counted to me for righteousness. Much that I may have to do of the
same sort will make the gentlemen of Vega's party consider me an
ungrateful son, and very much of a blackguard. They may, in their
turn, insult me, and want to fight more duels. But it's all in the
game. To save that old man is my only object for living, my only
interest. I don't care how many revolutions I tread on. I would
sacrifice everybody and everything--for him."
After his long speech, Roddy drew a deep breath and glared at Peter as
though inviting contradiction. But, instead of contradicting him,
Peter smiled skeptically and moved to his bedroom, which opened upon
the court-yard. At the door he turned.
"'And the woman,'" he quoted, "'was very fair.'"
The next morning the two Americans met Doctor Vicenti in the
guard-room of the fortress, and under his escort began a leisurely
inspection of the prison. They themselves saw to it that it was
leisurely, and by every device prolonged it. That their interest in
the one prisoner they had come to see might not be suspected, they
pretended a great curiosity in the doctor's patients and in all the
other prisoners. After each visit to a cell they would invite Vicenti
to give them the history of its inmate. They assured him these little
biographies, as he related them, were of surpassing brilliancy and
pathos. In consequence, Vicenti was so greatly flattered that, before
they reached the cell of General Rojas, each succeeding narrative had
steadily increased in length, and the young doctor had become
communicative and loquacious.
When at last they had descended to the lowest tier of cells, Vicenti
paused and pointed toward an iron-barred double door.
"In there," he whispered to Peter, "is our most distinguished
political prisoner, General Rojas. There is no one Alvarez would so
willingly see dead. And, if he keeps him here a month longer, Alvarez
will have his wish."
"But they say the man is a traitor," protested Roddy.
The doctor shrugged his shoulders.
"In my country," he answered, "every man who is not for the government
is a traitor."
He directed the turnkey who accompanied them to unlock the gate of the
cell, and with a gesture invited the Americans to enter. As they did
so, each dropped his right hand into his outside coat pocket. When it
came forth again, concealed under each little finger was a tiny roll
of rice-paper torn from a book of cigarette-wrappers. On each, in
pencil, was written, "54-4" and the word "Hope." The night previous
Peter and Roddy had prepared the papers, on the chance that while one
of them occupied the attention of the guide, the other could slip his
message to Rojas. Roddy had insisted upon the use of rice-paper,
because it could be swallowed without indigestion, and instead of the
word "Hope," had preferred a freehand drawing of an anchor, arguing
that the anchor was the emblem of hope, and was more picturesque than
the written word. To this Peter had objected that while they knew an
anchor signified hope, Rojas might not, and as they were risking their
lives to get a message to him, it was important he should understand
it. They compromised on the numerals, which would show Rojas his own
cipher messages had been received and understood, and the word "Hope"
was added to put heart into him and strengthen his desire to cling to
life.
But on entering the cell they saw at once that there would be no
chance to deliver their message. General Rojas was seated at a table
some ten feet from them, and the turnkey, who had submitted with ill
grace to the Americans entering any of the cells, and who seemed
especially to resent their presence in this one, at once placed
himself aggressively on guard.
As he did so he commanded sharply: "The visitors will not speak to the
prisoner."
"That is understood," Vicenti answered.
The Americans saw a room some forty by twenty feet in size, with
walls, arched ceiling and floor entirely of stone. There were no
windows, but it was well lighted by candles, and the lanterns carried
by Vicenti and the turnkey threw a full light into each corner. They
saw a cot, a table, a chair, a number of shelves loaded to the bending
point with books and, at one end of the cell, an immense archway. This
archway had been blocked with stone, roughly hewn and held together by
cement. At the first glance, it was obvious that this was the other
entrance to the tunnel. As he beheld its solid front, the heart of
each of the young men sank in dismay.
General Rojas had risen, and stood shading his eyes from the
unaccustomed light of the lanterns.
"I have taken the liberty of intruding upon you," Vicenti was saying,
"because these two gentlemen are interested in the history of the
fortress."
General Rojas bowed gravely, and with a deprecatory gesture, glanced
at the turnkey, as though to explain why he did not address them.
"This part of the fortress," Vicenti began hurriedly, "is very old. It
was built in the sixteenth century, and was, I think, originally the
messroom. It is now used only for the most important political
prisoners."
For an instant there was an awkward silence, and then Roddy broke it
with a laugh, short and contemptuous.
"You mean traitors," he sneered.
General Rojas straightened as suddenly as though Roddy had struck at
him. The young doctor was no less moved. He turned on the American
with an exclamation of indignation.
"You forget yourself, sir!" he said.
Though Peter had been warned that Roddy might try by insulting Rojas
to make capital for himself, his insolence to a helpless old man was
unpardonable. He felt his cheeks burn with mortification. The turnkey
alone showed his pleasure, and grinned appreciatively. Roddy himself
was entirely unashamed.
"I have no sympathy for such men!" he continued defiantly. "A murderer
takes only human life; a traitor would take the life of his country.
In the States," he cried hotly, "we make short work with traitors. We
hang them!"
He wheeled furiously on Peter, as though Peter had contradicted him.
"I say we do," he exclaimed. "It's in the Constitution. It's the law.
You've read it yourself. It's page fifty-four, paragraph four, of the
Constitution of the United States. 'Punishment for Traitors.' Page
fifty-four, paragraph four."
Apparently with sudden remorse at his impetuosity, he turned to the
doctor.
"I beg your pardon," he exclaimed. "I _did_ forget myself. But to me,
men like that are intolerable."
Vicenti was not to be mollified.
"Then you had better avoid their presence," he said angrily.
With an impatient gesture he motioned the two Americans into the
corridor, and in distress approached the prisoner.
"I apologize, sir," he said, "for having subjected you to such an
incident."
But General Rojas made no answer. To his surprise, Vicenti found that
the old man was suffering from the scene even more keenly than he had
feared. Like one suddenly bereft of strength, General Rojas had sunk
into his chair. His bloodless, delicate hands trembled upon the table.
Great tears crept down his white, wrinkled face. In the two years
through which the young doctor had watched his patient he had never
before seen in his eyes the strange, mad light that now shone there.
To the medical man, it meant only that the end was nearer than he had
supposed. Shocked and grieved, the doctor made a movement to withdraw.
"I am deeply sorry," he murmured.
General Rojas raised his head. With an effort he drew over his face
its customary, deathlike mask.
"It is nothing!" he exclaimed. "What is one more insult, what is one
more degradation, when I know that my end is near!" He raised his
voice; it was strangely vigorous, youthful, jubilant; it carried
through the open bars to the far end of the corridor. "What does
anything matter," he cried, "when I know--that the end is near!" His
head sunk upon the table. To hide his tears, the General buried his
face in his hands.
Outside, in the darkness, Peter clutched Roddy by the hand, and for an
instant crushed it in his own.
"Do you hear?" he whispered. "He is answering you."
"Yes," stammered Roddy. The excitement or the dampness of the prison
had set him shivering, and with the back of his hand he wiped the cold
moisture from his forehead. He laughed mirthlessly. "Yes," he
answered, "he understood me. And now, we've _got_ to make good!"
That afternoon when the carriages of the aristocracy of Porto Cabello
were solemnly circling the Plaza, Roddy came upon McKildrick, seated
on one of the stone benches, observing the parade of local wealth and
fashion with eyes that missed nothing and told nothing. McKildrick was
a fine type of the self-taught American. He possessed a thorough
knowledge of his profession, executive skill, the gift of handling
men, and the added glory of having "worked his way up." He was tall,
lean, thin-lipped, between thirty and forty years of age. During
business hours he spoke only to give an order or to put a question.
Out of working hours, in his manner to his assistants and workmen, he
was genially democratic. He had, apparently, a dread of being alone,
and was seldom seen without one of the younger engineers at his elbow.
With them he was considered a cynic, the reason given for his cynicism
being that "the Chief" had tried to "take a fall out of matrimony,"
and had come out of it a woman-hater. Officially he was Roddy's
superior, but it never was possible for any one in the pay of the F.
C. C. to forget that Roddy was the son of his father. Even McKildrick,
in certain ways, acknowledged it. One way was, in their leisure
moments, not to seek out Roddy, but to wait for the younger man
to make advances. On this occasion, after for a brief moment
contemplating McKildrick severely, Roddy, with an impatient
exclamation, as though dismissing doubts and misgivings, sat down
beside him.
"McKildrick," he began impetuously, "I want to ask you an impertinent
question. It concerns your moral character."
McKildrick grinned appreciatively.
"We court investigation," he said.
"Under what pressure to the square inch," demanded Roddy, "would a
secret confided to you be liable to burst its boiler?"
"I've never," returned the engineer, "had an accident of that kind."
"Good!" exclaimed Roddy. "Then suppose I said to you, 'McKildrick, I
know where there's buried treasure, but I don't know how to get it
out.' You _would_ know. Now, if I led you to the buried treasure,
would you, as an expert engineer, tell me how to dig it out, and then
could you forget you'd given that advice and that you'd ever heard of
the treasure?"
For a moment McKildrick considered this hypothetical case. Then he
asked: "Which bank are you thinking of opening?"
Roddy rose abruptly.
"I'll show you," he exclaimed.
That Roddy was acting, in spite of secret misgivings, was so evident,
that McKildrick good-naturedly demurred.
"Better not tell me anything," he protested, "that you'll be sorry for
when you're sober."
Roddy shook his head, and, not until they had left the suburbs and the
last fisherman's hut behind them and were on the open coast, did he
again refer to the subject of their walk. Then he exclaimed suddenly;
"And I forgot to mention that if Father finds out you advised me you
will probably lose your job."
McKildrick halted in his tracks.
"It's a pity," he agreed, "that you forgot to mention that. As a rule,
when I give expert advice I get a fat check for it."
"And what's more," continued Roddy, "if Alvarez finds it out you'll go
to jail."
"Your piquant narrative interests me strangely," said McKildrick.
"What else happens to me?"
"But, of course," explained Roddy reassuringly, "you'll tell them you
didn't know what you were doing."
"How about _your_ telling me what we are doing?" suggested the
engineer.
"From this point," was Roddy's only reply, "you crawl on your hands
and knees, or some one may see you."
The engineer bent his tall figure and, following in Roddy's trail,
disappeared into the laurel bushes.
"Why shouldn't they see me?" he called.
"One looks so silly on his hands and knees," Roddy suggested.
For ten minutes, except for the rustle of the bushes, they pushed
their way in silence, and then Roddy scrambled over the fallen wall of
the fort, and pointed down at the entrance to the tunnel.
"The problem is," he said, "to remove these slabs from that
staircase, and leave it in such shape that no one who is foolish
enough to climb up here could see that they had been disturbed."
"Do you really think," demanded McKildrick, smiling sceptically, "that
there _is_ buried treasure under these stones?"
"Yes," answered Roddy anxiously, "a _kind_ of buried treasure."
Cautiously McKildrick raised his head, and, as though to establish his
bearings, surveyed the landscape. To the north he saw the city; to the
east, a quarter of a mile away, the fortress, separated from the
mainland by a stretch of water; and to the south, the wild mesquite
bushes and laurel through which they had just come, stretching to the
coast.
"Is this a serious proposition?" he asked.
"It's a matter of life and death," Roddy answered.
McKildrick seated himself on the flight of stone steps, and for some
time, in silence, studied them critically. He drove the heel of his
boot against the cement, and, with his eyes, tested the resistance of
the rusty bars of iron.
"With a couple of men and crowbars, and a pinch of dynamite that
wouldn't make a noise," he said at last, "I could open that in an
hour."
"Could you put it back again?" asked Roddy.
There was a long pause.
"I guess," said McKildrick, "you'll have to let me in on the ground
floor."
The sun had set and the air had turned cold and damp. Roddy seated
himself beside his chief and pointed at the great slabs at their feet.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"It's like this," he began.
When, two hours later, they separated at the outskirts of the city,
McKildrick had been initiated into the Brotherhood of the White Mice.
They had separated, agreeing that in the future the less they were
seen together the better. But, in wishing to be alone, Roddy had
another and more sentimental reason.
Each evening since his return from Curacao he had made a pilgrimage to
the deserted home of the Rojas family, and, as the garden of Miramar
ran down to meet the shore of the harbor, as did the garden of his own
house, he was able to make the nocturnal visits by rowboat, and
without being observed. Sometimes he was satisfied simply to lie on
his oars opposite the empty mansion, and think of the young girl who,
so soon, was to waken it to life; and again he tied his boat to a
public wharf a hundred yards down the shore, and with the aid of the
hanging vines pulled himself to the top of the seawall, and dropped
into the garden. To a young man very much interested in a young woman,
of whom he knew so little that it was possible to endow her with every
grace of mind and character, and whose personal charm was never to be
forgotten, these melancholy visits afforded much satisfaction. Even to
pass the house was a pleasing exercise; and, separating from
McKildrick, he turned his steps to the Alameda, the broad avenue
shaded by a double line of trees that followed the curve of the
harbor, and upon which the gates of Miramar opened. As he approached
the house he saw, with surprise and pleasure, that in the future his
midnight prowlings were at an end. Miramar was occupied. Every window
blazed with light. In this light servants were moving hurriedly, and
in front of the gates the Alameda was blocked with carts loaded with
trunks and boxes.
Excited by the sight, Roddy hid himself in the shadows of the trees,
and, unobserved, stood impatiently waiting for a chance to learn if
the exiles had indeed returned to their own. He had not long to wait.
In a little figure bustling among the carts, and giving many orders,
he recognized his friend and ally, Pedro. Roddy instantly stepped into
the glare of the electric globes until he was sure Pedro had seen
him, and then again retreated into the shadow. In a moment the old
servant was at his side.
"Is she here?" demanded Roddy.
Appreciating that in the world there could be only one "she," the
little man nodded violently.
"Tell her," whispered Roddy, "I have seen her father, that he knows
what we are trying to do. I must talk with the _senorita_ at once. Ask
her if she will come to the steps leading from the gardens to the
wharf at any hour this evening. From my own house I can row there
without being seen."
Again Pedro nodded happily.
"I will ask the _senorita_ to be there at nine o'clock," he answered,
"or, I will come myself."
The alternative did not strongly appeal to Roddy, but the mere fact
that Inez was now in the same city with him, that even at that moment
she was not a hundred yards from him, was in itself a reward.
He continued on down the Alameda, his head in the air, his feet
treading on springs.
"Three hours!" his mind protested. "How can I wait three hours?"
In some fashion the hours passed, and at nine, just as over all the
city the bugles were recalling the soldiers to the barracks, Roddy was
waiting on the narrow stretch of beach that ran between the harbor and
the gardens of Miramar.
VI
At the last moment Roddy had decided against taking the water route,
and, leaving his rowboat at his own wharf, had, on foot, skirted the
edge of the harbor. It was high tide, and the narrow strip of shore
front on which he now stood, and which ran between the garden and the
Rojas' private wharf, was only a few feet in width. Overhead the moon
was shining brilliantly, but a procession of black clouds caused the
stone steps and the tiny summer-house at the end of the wharf to
appear and disappear like slides in a magic lantern.
In one of the moments of light the figures of a man and a woman loomed
suddenly in the gateway of the garden. Pedro came anxiously forward,
and Roddy leaped past him up the steps. He recognized Inez with
difficulty. In the fashion of the peasant women she had drawn around
her head and face a fringed, silk shawl, which left only her eyes
visible, and which hung from her shoulders in lines that hid her
figure. Roddy eagerly stretched out his hand, but the girl raised her
own in warning and, motioning him to follow, passed quickly from the
steps to the wharf. At its farther end was a shelter of thatched palm
leaves. The sides were open, and half of the wharf was filled with
moonlight, but over the other half the roof cast a black shadow, and
into this Inez passed quickly. Roddy as quickly followed. His heart
was leaping in a delightful tumult. His love of adventure, of the
picturesque, was deeply gratified. As he saw it, the scene was set for
romance; he was once more in the presence of the girl who, though he
had but twice met her, and, in spite of the fact that she had promised
herself to another man, attracted him more strongly than had any woman
he had ever known. And the tiny wharf, the lapping of the waves
against the stone sides, the moonlight, the purpose of their meeting,
all seemed combined for sentiment, for a display of the more tender
emotions.
But he was quickly disillusionized. The voice that issued from the
shadows was brisk and incisive.
"You know," Inez began abruptly, in sharp disapprobation, "this won't
do at all!"
Had she pushed him into the cold waters of the harbor and left him to
the colder charity of the harbor sharks, Roddy could not have been
more completely surprised. He stared at the cloaked figure blankly.
"I _beg_ your pardon!" he stammered.
"You must not expect me to meet you like this," protested the girl;
"it is impossible. You risk everything."
Bewildered by the nature and the unexpectedness of the attack, Roddy
murmured incoherently:
"I'm _so_ sorry," he stammered. "I thought you would wish to know."