A DESPERATE PLAN.
Ethel's plan was hastily revealed. The position was exceedingly
perilous; time was short, and this was the only way of escape.
It was the priest who had concocted it, and he had thought of it as
the only plan by which Hawbury's rescue could be effected. This
ingenious Irishman had also formed another plan for the rescue of
Minnie and her sister, which was to be attempted in due course of
time.
Now no ordinary mode of escape was possible for Hawbury. A strict
watch was kept. The priest had noticed on his approach that guards
were posted in different directions in such a way that no fugitive
from the house could elude them. He had also seen that the guard
inside the house was equally vigilant. To leap from the window and run
for it would be certain death, for that was the very thing which the
brigands anticipated. To make a sudden rush down the stairs was not
possible, for at the door below there were guards; and there, most
vigilant of all, was Girasole himself.
The decision of the Irish priest was correct, as has been proved in
the case of Dacres, who, in spite of all his caution, was observed and
captured. Of this the priest knew nothing, but judged from what he
himself had seen on his approach to the house.
The plan of the priest had been hastily communicated to Ethel, who
shared his convictions and adopted his conclusions. She also had
noticed the vigilance with which the guard had been kept up, and only
the fact that a woman had been sent for and was expected with the
priest had preserved her from discovery and its consequences. As it
was, however, no notice was taken of her, and her pretended character
was assumed to be her real one. Even Girasole had scarcely glanced at
her. A village peasant was of no interest in his eyes. His only
thought was of Minnie, and the woman that the priest brought was only
used as a desperate effort to show a desire for her comfort. After he
had decided to separate the sisters the woman was of more importance;
but he had nothing to say to her, and thus Ethel had effected her
entrance to Minnie's presence in safety, with the result that has been
described.
The priest had been turning over many projects in his brain, but at
last one suggested itself which had originated in connection with the
very nature of his errand.
One part of that errand was that a man should be conveyed out of the
house and carried away and left in a certain place. Now the man who
was thus to be carried out was a dead man, and the certain place to
which he was to be borne and where he was to be left was the grave;
but these stern facts did not at all deter the Irish priest from
trying to make use of this task that lay before him for the benefit of
Hawbury.
Here was a problem. A prisoner anxious for escape, and a dead man
awaiting burial; how were these two things to be exchanged so that the
living man might pass out without going to the grave?
The Irish priest puzzled and pondered and grew black in the face with
his efforts to get to the solution of this problem, and at length
succeeded--to his own satisfaction, at any rate. What is more, when he
explained his plan to Ethel, she adopted it. She started, it is true;
she shuddered, she recoiled from it at first, but finally she adopted
it. Furthermore, she took it upon herself to persuade Hawbury to fall
in with it.
So much with regard to Hawbury. For Minnie and her sister the
indefatigable priest had already concocted a plan before leaving home.
This was the very commonplace plan of a disguise. It was to be an old
woman's apparel, and he trusted to the chapter of accidents to make
the plan a success. He noticed with pleasure that some women were at
the place, and thought that the prisoners might be confounded with
them.
When at length Ethel had explained the plan to Hawbury he made a few
further objections, but finally declared himself ready to carry it
out.
The priest now began to put his project into execution. He had brought
a screw-driver with him, and with this he took out the screws from the
coffin one by one, as quietly as possible.
Then the lid was lifted off, and Hawbury arose and helped the priest
to transfer the corpse from the coffin to the straw. They then put the
corpse on its side, with the face to the wall, and bound the hands
behind it, and the feet also. The priest then took Hawbury's
handkerchief and bound it around the head of the corpse. One or two
rugs that lay near were thrown over the figure, so that it at length
looked like a sleeping man.
Hawbury now got into the coffin and lay down on his back at full
length. The priest had brought some bits of wood with him, and these
he put on the edge of the coffin in such a way that the lid would be
kept off at a distance of about a quarter of an inch. Through this
opening Hawbury could have all the air that was requisite for
breathing.
Then Ethel assisted the priest to lift the lid on.
Thus far all had been quiet; but now a slight noise was heard below.
Some men were moving. Ethel was distracted with anxiety, but the
priest was as cool as a clock. He whispered to her to go back to the
room where she belonged.
"Will you be able to finish it?" she asked.
"Sure an' I will--only don't you be afther stayin' here any longer."
At this Ethel stole back to Minnie's room, and stood listening with a
quick-beating heart.
But the priest worked coolly and dextrously. He felt for the holes to
which the screws belonged, and succeeded in putting in two of them.
Then there was a noise in the hall below.
The priest began to put in the third screw.
There were footsteps on the stairs.
He screwed on.
Nearer and nearer came the steps.
The priest still kept to his task.
At last a man entered the room. Ethel, who had heard all, was faint
with anxiety. She was afraid that the priest had not finished his
task.
Her fears were groundless.
Just as the foremost of the men entered the room the priest finished
screwing, and stood by the coffin, having slipped the screw-driver
into his pocket, as calm as though nothing had happened. Three of the
screws were in, and that was as many as were needed.
The men brought no light with them, and this circumstance was in the
priest's favor.
"You've been keeping me waiting long," said the priest, in Italian.
"You may be glad it wasn't longer," said one of them, in a sullen
tone. "Where is it?"
"Here," said the priest.
The men gathered around the coffin, and stooped down over it, one at
each corner. Then they raised it up. Then they carried it out; and
soon the heavy steps of the men were heard as they went down the
stairs with their burden.
Ethel still stood watching and listening.
As she listened she heard some one ascending the stairs. New terror
arose. Something was wrong, and all would be discovered. But the man
who came up had no light, and that was one comfort. She could not see
who it was.
The man stopped for a moment in front of Minnie's door, and stood so
close to her that she heard his breathing. It was quick and heavy,
like the breathing of a very tired or a very excited man. Then he
turned away and went to the door of the front-room opposite. Here he
also stood for a few moments.
All was still.
Then he came back, and entered Hawbury's room.
Now the crisis had come--the moment when all might be discovered. And
if so, they all were lost. Ethel bent far forward and tried to peer
through the gloom. She saw the dark figure of the new-comer pass by
one of the windows, and by the outline she knew that it was Girasole.
He passed on into the shadow, and toward the place where the straw
was. She could not see him any more.
Girasole stepped noiselessly and cautiously, as though fearful of
waking the sleeper. At every step he paused and listened. The silence
reassured him.
He drew nearer and nearer, his left hand groping forward, and his
right hand holding a pistol. His movements were perfectly noiseless.
His own excitement was now intense, his heart throbbed fiercely and
almost painfully as he approached his victim.
At last he reached the spot, and knelt on one knee. He listened for a
moment. There was no noise and no movement on the part of the figure
before him.
In the gloom he could see the outline of that figure plainly. It lay
on its side, curled up in the most comfortable attitude which could be
assumed, where arms and legs were bound.
"How soundly he sleeps!" thought Girasole.
He paused for a moment, and seemed to hesitate; but it was only for a
moment. Then, summing up his resolution, he held his pistol close to
the head of the figure, and fired.
[Illustration: "HE HELD HIS PISTOL CLOSE TO THE HEAD, AND FIRED."]
The loud report echoed through the house. A shriek came from Minnie's
room, and a cry came from Mrs. Willoughby, who sprang toward the hall.
But Girasole came out and intercepted her.
"Eet ees notin," said he, in a tremulous voice. "Eet ees all ovair.
Eet ees only a false alarm."
Mrs. Willoughby retreated to her room, and Minnie said nothing. As for
Ethel, the suspense with her had passed away as the report of the
pistol came to her ears.
Meanwhile the coffin was carried out of the house, and the men,
together with the priest, walked on toward a place further up the
shore and on the outskirts of the woods. They reached a place where a
grave was dug.
At this moment a pistol-shot sounded. The priest stopped, and the men
stopped also. They did not understand it. The priest did not know the
cause of the shot, but seeing the alarm of the men he endeavored to
excite their fears. One of the men went back, and was cursed by
Girasole for his pains. So he returned to the grave, cursing every
body.
The coffin was now lowered into the grave, and the priest urged the
men to go away and let him finish the work; but they refused. The
fellows seemed to have some affection for their dead comrade, and
wished to show it by putting him underground, and doing the last
honors. So the efforts of the Irish priest, though very well meant,
and very urgent, and very persevering, did not meet with that success
which he anticipated.
Suddenly he stopped in the midst of the burial service, which he was
prolonging to the utmost.
"Hark!" he cried, in Italian.
"What?" they asked.
"It's a gun! It's an alarm!"
"There's no gun, and no alarm," said they.
All listened, but there was no repetition of the sound, and the priest
went on.
He had to finish it.
He stood trembling and at his wit's end. Already the men began to
throw in the earth.
But now there came a real alarm.