BUNOL’S PLOT.
The man who had said he was Henri Clairvaux, of Paris, was in truth
Miguel Bunol, a scheming and villainous young Spaniard.
Bunol had first met Luke Durbin on the race track in New Orleans, and,
being congenial rascals, they became very well acquainted. But Durbin
was a rather slow, thick-witted rascal, while Bunol was quick,
pantherish and full of crooked schemes.
It was some time after this meeting, that Durbin became acquainted in
Chicago with Dunbar Budthorne, who had commenced a career of dissipation
and seemed anxious to spend as swiftly as possible his portion of the
fortune left him at the death of his mother.
Durbin saw his opportunity, and determined to help Budthorne get rid of
that fortune. At that time Budthorne was plunging on the races, and
Durbin professed to have “inside information” and tips of the greatest
value. With the aid of assistants, who professed to be bookmakers or
pool-room men, Durbin succeeded in getting several thousands of dollars
belonging to the reckless young man.
This money he spent freely, and it simply whetted his appetite for more.
When Nadia Budthorne fully realized the pace at which her brother was
going she devised the plan of inducing him to take her abroad, hoping
that in this manner he would escape from his evil companions.
But ere leaving Chicago Budthorne went on one last spree, met Durbin in
a saloon and told the rascal of his plans.
Durbin did not try to dissuade the fellow, but he took passage on the
same steamer, and it was during the voyage across that Nadia suffered
the humiliation of an introduction to the man, who succeeded in keeping
Dunbar constantly under the influence of liquor and fleeced him
awkwardly at cards.
In London Durbin ran across Miguel Bunol, who, with Hector Marsh,
formerly a student at Fardale, as an assistant, was working a fake
hypnotic and fortune-telling scheme.
Durbin told Bunol and Marsh about Budthorne and his pretty sister. They
expressed a desire to meet Budthorne, and directly the three of them
were concerned in the plot to ruin the young American.
But, as was entirely natural, being far shrewder than Luke Durbin,
Miguel Bunol soon became the chief mover and head of the rascally trio.
On his first sight of Nadia, Bunol became infatuated, and two days later
he announced to his companions that he was determined to make her his
wife.
“All the money you can get from her brother, Durbin, you shall have—you
and Marsh,” said the Spaniard. “I will help you get it from him, too.
But for me I must have Nadia and her share of the fortune. My part of
the graft this shall be.”
To this the others agreed, yet not without some growling from Durbin.
Bunol, however, had the power to command and control the man, and he
exercised this power with little difficulty.
In truth, the Spaniard possessed hypnotic influence, although he had not
fully developed it. This influence he brought to bear on Budthorne. He
likewise tried it on Nadia, but her mind was stronger, and she
successfully fought against his baleful influence.
Budthorne refused to believe his sister’s assertion that his comrades
were cheating and robbing him; but at last, through the cleverness of
Dick Merriwell, they were exposed, and he swore he would never again
have anything to do with them.
Fearing his will power would not be strong enough to hold out, Nadia had
induced him to leave London and come north into Scotland, thinking the
rascals might be tricked and baffled.
But Bunol had succeeded in tracing them, while Marsh and Durbin remained
behind and watched Merriwell’s party, correctly fancying that Dick and
his friends intended to join the Budthornes later.
Dick, Brad, and Professor Gunn were followed to Edinburgh by the two. In
Edinburgh, by the merest accident, the scoundrels learned that the
Budthornes had gone to Kinross.
Without the knowledge of Dick and his friends, the very train that bore
them north to Kinross carried Marsh and Durbin in another compartment.
Thus the opposing forces were gathering at a point on Lochleven, where
it seemed that another clash between them might occur.
Bunol had wired his pals in London, but not until after they had left
for the north. He had received no answer from them.
Having left the Ben Clench and walked as far as the woods, the Spanish
youth turned and looked back. His keen eyes surveyed the house, and even
at that distance he fancied he saw one of the curtains move at an upper
window.
“If they are looking,” he muttered, “I am now too faraway for them to
recognize me.”
At the back of the inn he saw a small man appear and wave something
white.
“It is well,” muttered the rascal.
Then he turned and disappeared into the woods.
The trees broke the biting wind, but Bunol cursed the cold and the
country.
Coming to a little footpath where the thin snow showed the imprints of
many feet, he turned off and walked a short distance to the shore of the
lake, on which lay a stout boat.
Sitting on a fallen tree near the boat was a sandy-haired, bearded,
rough-looking man, who had a rather brutal face, and, judging by his
massive frame, possessed great strength.
“Well, MacLane, I am returned,” said Miguel.
The man nodded.
“I see ye are,” he said. “Did ye ha’ guid luck?”
“Oh, yes; you were right in saying my birds were at the Ben Cleuch. Now,
if Aaron keeps his part of the contract——”
“Fear nawt, he wi’ keep it,” nodded MacLane. “Aaron kens Rob MacLane fu’
well, an’ he dare na disobey me. He will come.”
“I think he will,” agreed Bunol. “I looked back, and a small man waved
something at me from the back of the house.”
“That were Aaron. I told him to follow ye, man, when he left, but to
take guid care he were no’ observed. He will be here.”
“Well, I hope he comes soon, for this devil’s weather is uncomfortable.”
“Hoot man! Ye dinna ken what cauld weather is.”
“If that’s the case, I don’t want to know,” retorted Bunol. “This is
quite enough for me.”
They sat on the log, talking in low tones, until a little, bent man,
with a shawl wrapped about his shoulders, came gliding softly through
the woods and stood before them.
“Here’s Aaron,” said MacLane. “Aaron, this is the man I would ha’ ye
meet.”
Aaron said nothing, but surveyed Bunol with a pair of small eyes that
were set close together and were filled with a light of mingled cunning
and simplicity. It was not the face of a man to trust, yet for five
years Aaron had been with the Widow Myles, and had seemed faithful as a
grateful dog.
“Tell Aaron what ye want, man,” said MacLane. “He will do it.”
“Aaron, at the inn there are two guests—a brother and a sister.”
The little man in the shawl bobbed his little head.
“I will not attempt to explain my reasons to you, Aaron,” the Spanish
youth went on; “but this night MacLane and I will get our hands on the
man, and you must help us. You will be paid well.”
“I ha’ told him that,” interrupted the huge man. “I gied him the siller
ye ga’ me. Did I no gie ye th’ siller, Aaron?”
“Yes,” said Aaron, “I ha’ the siller.”
“You shall have twice as much more if you follow directions faithfully,”
promised Bunol, and the eyes of the little man glowed greedily. “If you
are half as shrewd as MacLane says, you’ll get into no trouble over it.
You wait on the guests at table?”
Aaron nodded.
“What does Budthorne drink at supper?”
“A cup o’ tay.”
“Well, see this package,” said the Spaniard, holding: up a tiny package.
“It contains a powder. To-night you must contrive to get it into
Budthorne’s cup of tea.”
“It is poison!” said Aaron fearfully.
“Nothing of the sort. Budthorne has been a drinking man, but he is
trying to stop. The effect of this powder will be to make him crazy for
liquor. Twenty minutes after he takes the powder he’ll be ready to
barter his soul for one drink. Then, Aaron—listen closely—you must
contrive to meet him and tell him somehow that you can get him a drink.
Tell him to step outside the house and come round to the back, promising
to meet him with liquor, but state that the stuff is some you have
stolen from the widow. Do you understand?”
“I do,” said Aaron. “But what will happen when he comes out?”
“MacLane and I will be hidden there. We’ll fall on Budthorne and carry
him off. MacLane is strong as a giant, and we’ll have little trouble.”
“Na! na!” exclaimed Aaron. “It is I that will hae th’ trouble!”
“It is not necessary.”
“What can I say?”
“You must tear your clothes, rumple your hair, cover yourself with dirt,
and half an hour after we have carried Budthorne away you may appear and
tell how he came outside, you spoke to him, and then you both were
attacked by a band of armed men, who struck you senseless. Of course you
will not know what has happened to Budthorne.”
“I must ken, man,” said Aaron grimly. “I dinna want ma neck strecht. I
canna hae hand in murder.”
Bunol laughed.
“But it’s not murder.”
“Then what is’t?”
“We are going to make Budthorne a prisoner for reasons of my own. He’ll
not be harmed, and in due time he’ll have his liberty.”
Aaron seemed doubtful. He turned fearfully to MacLane.
“Maun I do it?” he asked.
“Yea,” growled the big man.
Aaron was afraid of MacLane, but now he almost fiercely declared:
“I will na do it ’less I know where ye tak’ him.”
“Why do you want to know that?” impatiently demanded Bunol.
“Ye ha’ to satisfy me,” stubbornly said the little man. “I ha’ to know
ye really mean to keep him captive wi’out doing him harm. ’Less ye tell
me where ye tak’ him, I will no do it.”
MacLane knew Aaron to be immovable as the Scottish hills once he had set
his mind on anything, and therefore he turned to the Spanish youth,
saying:
“Ye hae to tell him, man.”
“But can he be trusted?”
“Aaron will na dare to betray me, but he has his whims, an’ ye’ll hae to
humor him.”
Bunol hesitated, not fancying the idea of trusting the little man with
the foolishly shrewd face to such an extent.
“It’s against my judgment,” he declared.
“Then tak’ th’ judgment o’ Rob MacLane. Ye canna do anything wi’ Aaron
till ye trust him fully, as he thinks he has tae trust ye.”
“All right,” said the Spanish youth. “He will be taken to the old castle
on the island, Aaron.”
“Wha Queen Mary were kept a captive?”
“Yes.”
“An’ ye swear to harm him nawt?”
“Sure. I’m going to make his sister marry me. It’s a way they have in
America of winning a bride. The Americans like it.”
“It’s a way they had years syne in Scotland,” chuckled MacLane, “only it
was th’ lassie hersel’ th’ lover stole awa’.”
“Is that a’?” exclaimed Aaron, apparently relieved.
“That is all.”
The little man took the powder.
“I will do all ye ask,” he promised.