"Too busy and too poor for luxuries of the kind."
"Ah, well, everything comes to those who wait. If you haven't, you
don't know how I felt in this; if you ever do, you'll understand me.
I'm ready now, and feel fit. I'm off to the hotel."
"You'd better see the chief and tell him. He can do more than you."
"He can't save Sarita from Quesada, and I can, and will. Of course,
there's the chance that these agents of his will lay me by the heels,
and we must reckon with that. I don't know what's going to happen; but
I do know this, that where Sarita goes, I follow; and so long as I'm
outside a gaol I'll try and communicate with you twice a day. If a day
passes and you don't hear from me, then tell the chief what's wrong; and
if he can't get me out of any bother, then let the people at the Palace
know. So much for emergencies. As for the rest, I'll cut the knots as
I find them."
"You'll come out on top, Ferdinand, I'm sure of that. I wish to Heaven I
had your energy."
With that we parted for the time, and a good deal was to happen before
we shook hands again.
As I drove to the Hotel de l'Opera I saw the city was as full of
soldiery as if it had been under siege; but no one interfered with me,
and at the hotel the marks of increased respect with which I was
received evidenced the influence of the previous night's message from
the King.
Everything else was wrong, however.
Mrs. Curwen and Mercy were waiting for me in a condition of nervous
excitement, and Madame Chansette was with them. But as I had more than
half dreaded, Sarita was gone. She had slept with Mercy and had got up
early, dressed, and written a note for me before Mercy had awoke.
"She was just leaving, and her kiss woke me," said Mercy, who was in
sore trouble. "I did my utmost to persuade her to stay, at all events
until you came, but I could do nothing against her resolve. I asked her
where she was going, but she would not say. 'I am going to my friends,
who are in trouble and have need of me. I have work to do, and under no
circumstances could I stay with you. Give your brother a note I have
written,' was all she would answer. I am so sorry, Ferdinand."
"It is not your fault, Mercy; I more than half feared it, and blame
myself for not having stayed here in the hotel. Do you know anything of
her movements, Madame Chansette?"
"She did not come home. I sent here the first thing in the morning for
news of her, and when word came that she was no longer here, I hurried
to the hotel myself. I meant to tell her I will not stay any longer in
Madrid. I cannot. I am miserable. It will kill me, this incessant
danger," and she wrung her hands.
"She will be sure to let you hear from her," I said, quietly, wishing to
calm her anxiety.
"How can she if she is in one of those horrible prisons?"
"She is not there, and I shall find her, be assured," I answered, with
much more confidence than I felt. "Do you know where Ramon is?"
"I never know where he is," was the helplessly spoken reply. "But I
believe some days ago he was somewhere near Saragossa, or Daroca, or
some such place. But I don't know. I know nothing."
"Do you know what name he is using?"
"No--yes--I think so. I believe it is Solano."
"Good. I will find him, at any rate. Now I will see what she says to
me;" and I opened the letter.
"I have thought over everything, and have decided not to see you again.
Do not seek me: it will be useless. To stay here longer would be
treachery to those who have been ruined by your act; and for us to meet
would cause only pain to both. You cannot prove what you said, for I
know the facts. One last request I make you--go to England and forget
we ever met. Good-bye. Sarita Castelar."
"Does she tell you anything?" asked Madame Chansette, eagerly, for I had
read the letter twice with long pauses of thought.
"Not a word as to where she is going. She tells me only that she does
not wish to stay and see me." I spoke calmly, and tried to hide every
sign of the feelings of dismay, pain, and anxiety that were gnawing at
my heart; and, putting the letter in my pocket, I added: "And now as to
your plans. I should like you to return to London, Mercy, with Mrs.
Curwen."
"Do you think I am going away under such circumstances?" burst in Mrs.
Curwen, in a tone of indignation, "and leave you in this pickle of a
mess? If I can't help you find the senorita--and I don't suppose I can
do much good in that--I can at least be at hand to help you when you've
found her. And here I stop."
"Mr. Mayhew is arranging for a special train," I said.
"Then Mr. Mayhew can travel in it, and take this dear old lady and
Mercy. I stop in Madrid, and nothing shall move _me_--unless you want
me to be somewhere else in this detestable country."
"And I can't go without Mrs. Curwen, Nand, can I?" cried Mercy.
"I call it just real mean of her to have gone off in this way; but I
will say she is a brick to stick to her friends in a mess. And if ever
she wants a friend, I am on call; and that's all about it. Don't you
think Madame Chansette had better stay with us until the senorita's
found?"
"You are a true friend, and I shall never forget this," I answered; and,
indeed, I was much moved by her spirited declaration, and more by her
praise of Sarita. "I will not say another word about it. But I must
get to work."
I wrote a letter to the young King, apologising for not being able to go
to the Palace, and pleading urgent and most embarrassing business; and,
having despatched it, promised Mrs. Curwen and Mercy to let them know
how things went, if I could, and said that in any case they would hear
of me through Mayhew.
With that I hurried away to commence my search.
*CHAPTER XXII*
*AN UNEXPECTED MEETING*
My knowledge of Sarita's real relations with the Carlist leaders was, of
course, too slight to enable me to form anything approaching a definite
opinion as to where she would go. I could only guess, build up a
workable theory, and act upon it until something turned up to guide me.
I had one or two points in my favour, the chief being that her brother
was probably to be sought, under the name of Solano, either at Saragossa
or Daroca. I regarded it as likely that she would endeavour to join
Ramon, if other considerations did not render such a course undesirable.
My plan was quickly formed. I intended to adopt the Carlist character
of Ferdinand Carbonnell, and in that name push my inquiries among the
Carlists themselves. The name was a sure passport among them, or it
would be unless Sarita herself should proclaim me an impostor. That was
a contingency which I did not anticipate, but I had no option but to
face it.
In this character, there were two men who might be valuable allies--Dr.
Vedia, at whose house I had been the previous night, and Vidal de
Pelayo, either in Saragossa itself, or at Huesca.
I resolved to go first to the doctor, and hurried to the Calle Valencia.
If Sarita had left Madrid, I guessed it would have been by the doctor's
help, and I worked on that theory. I found Dr. Vedia in a condition of
considerable nervous excitement.
"It is very dangerous to come here, senor," he said, directly.
"It is not a time to think of personal considerations, doctor. You have
had Senorita Castelar here, and I am anxious to know that she succeeded
in getting the disguise she sought to leave the city." I deemed it best
to appear to know everything, and I watched him like a lynx for any sign
that my guess was right. The start he gave was very slight, but
perceptible to eyes looking for it, and without waiting for his answer I
made a further shot. "The railway to Saragossa is watched with Argus
eyes by Quesada's men--you know that, of course--but I thought she might
learn through you if the attempt to get away might be dared."
"She told me you knew nothing of her journey," he said, completely off
his guard in surprise.
"That is immaterial," I replied, nodding my head, smiling, and waving
the remark aside as a superfluity, seeing that I had already shown my
knowledge. "I thought that either a peasant's or a nun's dress would be
safest, and knew, of course, that she could get from you one or the
other." It was notorious that disguises of the kind were frequently
kept in the houses of the Carlist agents. "And she came to you because
of all our houses in Madrid, yours will be the least suspected."
"I don't understand you," he said then, cautiously.
"Nor is it necessary," I returned, warmly, with an air of offended
authority. "It is your part, senor, to comply with the requests laid
upon you, not to question their wisdom or expediency." My
sternly-uttered, insolent bluff succeeded where anything else might well
have failed.
"I did all that lay in my power," he replied, almost apologetically.
"All I want to know is that she got away. So much depends upon her
mission that I came for the news at first hand. Will she get through to
Daroca--you know the movement there?"
"I knew nothing of it until I read the news this morning, which the
senorita confirmed. I have every hope she will get through. Heaven
send she may be in time."
"So we all pray to-day," I answered, mysteriously; for I did not in the
least know what news he meant and dared not question him. I had the
news I wanted, however, and was turning to leave when he stopped me.
"I ought to tell you, I think, that she warned me particularly against
you."
"She was quite right, but she knows no more than you, senor. These are
troubled times;" and having given him this conundrum to chew at leisure,
I added: "I am glad to tell you the trouble will pass your house
untouched," and then left him, congratulating myself that I had
completely mystified him and had much impressed him with my importance
as a Carlist emissary.
The next problem was how to get out of the city and follow Sarita to
Daroca. As I had said to Dr. Vedia, the railways were infested with
police, and watched closely. In all probability every applicant for a
ticket would be under observation, and would have to give a sufficient
reason for his journey as well as a good account of himself; and not
only had I no papers of any kind, but I must almost inevitably be the
object of embarrassing police solicitude.
As I neared the station, therefore, I entered a restaurant, and calling
for some wine, told the waiter to bring me a time-table and a newspaper.
A glance at the paper showed me it was full of the Carlist troubles.
There was a short official account of the young King's adventure and a
dozen unofficial ones, while from all parts of the country were scores
of telegrams speaking of Carlist outbreaks, actual and anticipated.
Among these was one that arrested my attention instantly.
The Carlist movement was described as being in chief force along the
eastern littoral, from Alicante to the north of Barcelona; and spreading
over the whole of Catalonia and Aragon; while Huesca, Saragossa and
Daroca were referred to as so many central danger spots inland.
The message from Saragossa contained the following:
"Telegrams from Daroca suggest that that secluded place, being so
difficult of access, has been used as a kind of headquarters for a
strong and active Carlist body; the proximity to the mountains having
rendered it especially liked by those bands of wild and lawless
mountaineers who are known to be deeply embroiled in the present
disturbances. The government agents here (Saragossa) have learnt that a
man known as Solano, believed to be one of the most reckless and
venturesome of the Carlist propagandists, came here lately from Daroca.
He narrowly escaped capture, and in the room he had occupied were found
a quantity of compromising documents, such as addresses to the people
and stamped brevets of appointments in a Castilian rifle brigade. A
quantity of arms and ammunition were also discovered through the papers
he left when he fled. The situation here is decidedly serious. A
conflict has occurred between here and Huesca, in which blood was shed,
and the military beaten by the superior numbers of the Carlists. The
authorities have now closed all the known Carlist clubs, have arrested a
number of the leaders, and have placed many others under close police
and military surveillance. There is every fear of an outbreak."
The news might well make me grave. It was into this hornets' nest I had
to follow Sarita, and in following her had to take the double risk of
danger from both sides.
If the police agents identified me, I should be clapped into gaol by
them as the dangerous revolutionary, Ferdinand Carbonnell; while the
Carlists might very probably hold me for a spy and a traitor, the proper
mark for either bullet or dagger.
But go to Saragossa and on to Daroca, aye, and on to the end of the
world, I would, if necessary, and if I could get there, in search of
Sarita; and, putting down the paper, I picked up the railway guide to
find the route and the train time.
Then came a very pertinent and unpleasant reminder of the difficulties
ahead of me. Chancing to glance into the street, I saw three men in
earnest conversation close to the door, and recognised two of them;
Senor Rubio, the official who had been at Quesada's house the night
before, and the man who had come in search of me to the Hotel de
l'Opera. The third was a stranger.
They stood for two or three minutes talking earnestly, and when they
parted, the two I knew went together hurriedly toward the railway. I
sauntered to the door and watched them enter the station, after
exchanging a word with one or two men standing about in front of the
building.
How could I hope to get away unrecognised, was my perplexed thought as I
returned to my table. These men knew me personally, and had spoken to
me; one of them had my photograph, and I did not doubt that it had been
reproduced by the hundred and distributed among the police spies.
Quesada was not the man to do things by halves, and this Rubio was no
doubt both a willing and clever agent.
Still, the attempt must be made, and if they laid hold of me I must rely
on the Embassy or the palace to procure my liberty; and I turned up
Daroca in the guide. It was a beast of a place to get at and there was
no train for some hours.
It was the terminus of a loop-line some forty odd miles south of
Saragossa, and could only be reached by going to that place first. It
seemed to be a sort of _cul-de-sac_ with the mountains all about
it--just the place of all others in the country that would be most
difficult to reach, and having been reached, probably a hundred times
worse to leave. As I realised the inaccessibility of the spot, and the
proportionate increase in my difficulties and risks, my irritation and
chagrin found vent in a curse which paradoxically proved most
providential.
"Damn the place," I exclaimed aloud, heartily, as I tossed the book on
the table.
"That's just the sweetest word I've heard to-day, and if it is anything
to do with the railway, sir, I'd like to join you in the curse."
The speaker was a florid, flabby-faced, square-shouldered, middle-aged
man, who was sitting at the other end of my table, and received my look
of surprised and somewhat intolerant protest at his interruption, with a
broad, good-natured, knowing smile.
"No offence, I hope," he went on, glibly, "I meant none; but when I
heard you swear in dear old English, I couldn't help chipping in. This
is an infernal country to do business in at the best of times, but at
the worst, and I suppose this is about the worst; it's the most
God-forsaken, riotous, bundle-you-about,
stick-a-knife-into-you-if-you-say-anything, and run-you-in-if-you-don't
cursed hole that ever a man was condemned to travel in. I don't do much
in their beastly lingo at any time, and I haven't heard a word of
English this day till I heard your 'damn,' and if there's any sympathy
in any word of ours, I say it's in a good old hearty damn. And damn the
place I say too."
"You put it crudely, my friend, but there's something in the theory,
perhaps; though I haven't heard it before," I replied, amused, in spite
of myself. "What's your worry? I know what you call the lingo, and if
I can help you, well, we're both English, and that's enough."
"My name's Hunter, David Hunter, of the firm of Ross and Catter, the
lace people of London, Nottingham, Calais, and everywhere where lace
counts. You'll know them if you're on the road, or ever have been;" and
he gave me one of his business cards.
"I've been on a good many roads," said I, taking the card; "but never on
such a queer one as this."
"May I ask your name, sir?"
"Glisfoyle."
"Glisfoyle, umph, I haven't met it. In any particular line, may I ask?"
"In no particular line at present; travelling for myself, and not
exactly on business, commercial business, that is. But all the same, if
I can be of any service, I shall be glad."
"I wish you could, but it isn't anything to do with the language, as you
suggested. I can patter along in my way, sufficient for what I want.
But this isn't the lingo. I wanted to get to Daroca; a big order
depends on my getting certain samples there, and now they tell me the
place is full of those hot-headed fools of Carlists, and that it's as
much as a man's life is worth to poke his head into the hole. I like my
firm, and like a good order too, but I like my head a thundering sight
better; and so I say, damn the place and the Carlists too--stopping
business in this fat-headed way."
The mention of Daroca set my ears tingling, as may be imagined. Here
might be a chance in a thousand for me to get there, and while he
chattered, I thought and planned.
"I am going to Daroca," I said quietly. "If you like we could travel in
company, and if one of us chanced to get killed--not, perhaps, a great
improbability--the other could deliver your samples. The order might
thus reach your firm, and even if you were not fortunate to live and
profit by it your widow might be glad of the commission. I know there's
danger there, but then a man can only die once, Mr. Hunter, and how
better than in the performance of his duty?"
His fat, flabby face paled slightly, and I went on to give a vivid and
coloured picture of the risks, until he was obviously very much
frightened indeed.
"And you are going to such a place?" he asked, looking at me as though I
were a madman.
"Oh yes, why not? It's so difficult to find a little excitement
nowadays," I said, in a rather languid, bored tone. "You'll find it
pleasant enough after a bit."
"No thank you, sir. David Hunter doesn't travel in bullets and guns and
explosives. My skin ain't warranted not to puncture either. It's out
of my line altogether. But if you really mean that you are going, that
you're really bent on going----" he stopped and looked at me.
"Well?"
"I wouldn't do a blessed thing to persuade any fellow creature to shove
his head into such a devil's pit, but if you are going, perhaps you
wouldn't mind undertaking a little commission for me."
"Not the least in the world. What is it?"
"It's only to deliver a few samples--they aren't big enough to bother
you, and just say they're from me," and he gave me particulars of what
he wanted. "It wouldn't take me an hour, and I'd be awfully obliged to
you, and so would my firm."
"I don't care a cent for your firm, but I'll do it to oblige you, Mr.
Hunter, if you think you can trust me with the samples."
"I hope I know a gentleman when I see one, Mr. Glisfoyle; and you're one
of the right sort. Besides, the samples are of no great value;" and
this excellent caution made me smile.
"I won't run away with them, anyhow; and if you'll go to the station
when the time comes and get me a ticket--get a return if you can, and if
any questions are asked just give your own name and the lace business as
the reason for the journey, and you may consider the thing settled." I
handed him a bank-note.
"Oh, you think they mightn't let you go then?" he said, shrewdly.
"They will let a man with definite business to do pass much more readily
than one who can plead nothing more than a wish to see the fun."
He gave me a meaning look, a knowing twist of the head, and a wink.
"I twig. I'll soon have a ticket," he said, and went off briskly. He
was soon back with the ticket. "It's all right. I gave a card and
showed 'em my samples, and that did the trick. And if you don't mind my
giving you a wrinkle, you take my case with you and some of my cards.
Looks workmanlike;" and seeing the policy of it, I accepted the case.
"We'll go over together when the train's due out," I said; "and as there
might still be some questions asked, you'd better appear to be going
until the last moment."
In this way we managed. Just before the train was due out we went
together and I kept as much out of sight as possible; and taking care to
avoid Rubio and the other official who knew me, I succeeded, under the
pretence of seeing Mr. Hunter off, in getting away without any
difficulty at all. It was so simple a matter indeed that I was disposed
to laugh at my careful precautions; but I had ample reason to be glad of
them before we had travelled far. Not once only but half a dozen times
I had to show my ticket and explain the purpose of my journey, and that
I was Mr. David Hunter, representing the great lace firm of Messrs. Ross
& Catter.
Nor were those the only exciting incidents of the journey. We made a
stoppage of some minutes at a station some thirty miles out from Madrid,
Guadalajara, and there I made the unpleasant discovery that the police
agent Rubio was travelling by the same train. I caught sight of him as
he was walking along the platform scanning the passengers pretty
closely. I thrust my head out of the opposite window, therefore, and
kept it out until we started again, feeling, I must admit, profoundly
uncomfortable.
He did not see me, however, or at any rate recognise me, but I did not
breathe freely until we were well clear of the station and again
steaming north, when I drew in my head and resumed my seat, with a
casual look at the fresh passengers who had entered the carriage at the
station. And then I made a discovery, which sent the blood for an
instant rushing to my heart and made me catch my breath in sudden
dismay.
Right opposite me, their knees almost touching mine and their eyes
staring full into my face, were two men, whom I recognised instantly,
and who were as unwelcome fellow-passenger's as the keenest scented
police spy in Spain could have been.
They were two of the men from whose hands I had snatched the young King
on the previous day. One was the man I had ridden down and then knocked
unconscious on the road, and the other was he who had come running up at
the last moment, whose horse I had borrowed for the young King's use.
If they recognised me, and both were staring at me as though trying to
place me in their memory, who could tell what would be the result? We
had over 100 miles to travel together, if they were bound for Saragossa;
and the thought of it might well set my teeth on edge.
With an effort I pulled myself together, however, and to get my nerves
quite steady, I opened Mr. Hunter's despatch case, holding it on my
knees with the name turned towards them, and made a pretence of looking
through my samples, watching them well the while. I saw them
interchange a sneer and a shrug of the shoulders as they rolled fresh
cigarettes. I thanked my luck profusely. That little ruse of the small
silken mask had kept my secret safe, and they did not know me. Very
soon their interest in my features slackened, and they began to talk in
low tones.
When I felt safe, my doubts gave place to pleasure; and I set to work to
consider whether I could turn the incident to good account and make use
of the two men for the purpose I had in view.
What better chance could I ever hope to have of playing my part of
Carlist leader? These two were sure to be among the best known of the
Carlists; for none but picked men would have been told off for such a
task as theirs of the previous day. It was clear they did not know me;
and as Ferdinand Carbonnell was to them or to anyone no more than a
name, why should I not declare myself to them in that name? That I knew
them would be sufficient to impress them greatly; while the interchange
of the password would probably convince them of my sincerity.
It was an easy guess that they were on their way either to Saragossa or
to Daroca; and they had no doubt come so far on horseback or on foot,
deeming it safer to join the train where they had, than to risk going
back to do so at Madrid. In all probability their object in going there
was the same which had taken Sarita in the same direction. Either it
had been pre-arranged that the leaders should gather there in the event
of the abduction plot failing, or there had been some summons when the
failure was known.
All these thoughts and a hundred other conjectures rushed into my mind
as I sat fiddling with the bits of lace and making sham jottings in a
pocket-book. And I resolved to take the risk.
Catching one of them looking at a bit of the lace I smiled and, holding
it towards him, said casually--
"A pretty bit of work that, senor."
He took hold of it gingerly and nodded with a laugh, as if to humour me.
"Very, senor; but I don't know anything about it; and don't want any."
"I'm not offering to sell it you. But anyone can tell good lace, I
should think. That's a bit of a kind--fit for a King's ransom;" and I
looked him straight in the eyes. It was a somewhat daring move, but I
wanted them both to look well at me with the thought of the King in
their minds; and so that I could be quite positive that they did not
know me. They both grunted, and one of them swore softly under his
breath; but no look of recognition came into his eyes.
"Thank you, I don't want any, senor," was the answer, shortly spoken, as
though to close the conversation.
"Ah well, I suppose you've no King to ransom," I returned, and laughed
pleasantly; but as the laugh ended, I looked again at him meaningly; and
then surprise and question showed on his face.
"Do you travel in this?" he asked, sharply.
"Yes, my name's Hunter, David Hunter, of the great lace firm of Ross and
Catter, of London. Here's my card;" and I handed him one; I said this
for the benefit of the rest of the people in the carriage who were
listening. "If you care about such things, I can find you something of
interest."
"I don't, thank you, Senor Hunter. Odd time for such business, I should
think," and he returned the card.
"Depends on the business, of course," said I, "and of course on the man.
I'm going to Daroca; and expect to do a good stroke there," and while I
was speaking, I wrote on the back of the card: "Counting all Renegades
lovers of Satan. By the Grace of God;" and covering it with a piece of
lace, I handed it to him again. "Now, there's something you might care
to see."
The start he gave caused him to let his cigarette fall, and as he
stooped down to recover it, he whispered for me to hear--
"By the Grace of God," and when he sat up his face was set like steel in
his sudden excitement. He muttered a word to his companion and passed
him the card. He in his turn was scarcely less excited.
"It's quite a unique pattern. Very rare;" I said; and when he returned
me the lace and card, I scribbled hurriedly my name, "Ferdinand
Carbonnell;" and as they read it our eyes met.
"You are right, senor. We have never seen anything like it before, and
are more glad than we can tell you to have seen it to-day."
"I thought you would be interested," I replied, lightly; and taking the
card I tore it into a hundred pieces, and flung it out of the window;
and in silence put the samples away into the case.
All had gone well, so far, very well; for I had turned two of the most
dangerous enemies a man could well have, into two staunch allies at the
very moment of peril.
*CHAPTER XXIII*
*NEWS OF SARITA*
Having made myself known to my two travelling companions, I had next to
ascertain their destination and plans. I had not much doubt that they
were going to Daroca, and when I had allowed enough time for the
impression I had created to have due effect, I began to talk in the
casual tone one uses with chance acquaintances, covering the real
meaning of my words in the form of business chatter.
"I suppose you gentlemen are in the same line as myself, and going to
Daroca by way of Saragossa?"
"We are newspaper correspondents. I represent the 'Puebla,' and my name
is Cabrera, senor," replied the elder of the two--this was he whose head
I had cracked on the highway. "My friend, Senor Garcia, is of the
'Correo.' We are going up about the Carlist outbreak. We are going to
Daroca, of course," and gave me a significant glance, and added in a
lower tone, "But we shall ride from Calatayud; much quicker."
"Of course," I assented, trying to rally my scanty geographical
knowledge of the place to understand his meaning. I must not show
ignorance on such a point, seeing that my character was that of a kind
of flying scout who would be presumed to know all such things. "I think,
perhaps, I'll join you. They tell me business at Saragossa is seriously
interfered with, but that at Daroca something can still be done. I am,
therefore, going there."
"Good," said both.
"I suppose there's nothing really serious in this Carlist business?" I
said, in a tone of indifference. "You newspaper gentlemen generally know
these things."
"From our point of view you may call it serious, perhaps; seeing that we
are ordered to such a place as Daroca. The authorities too are pretty
much in earnest."
"Ah, yes, so it appeared at Madrid. By the way, I saw on the station
there, the great police agent, Rubio, I think his name is. He is
travelling in this very train; I suppose also on Carlist business."
"Rubio in this train, is he?" exclaimed Cabrera. "We must get hold of
him, Garcia, and see what he's after. He'll have news;" and both were
evidently surprised and somewhat uneasy.
"I suppose you know all these officials by sight?" said I, with a light
laugh. "That's the best of newspaper work; at least so it seems to me."
"We have not been long enough in the work to know many people, and we
are scarcely known by anyone."
"Then I am more fortunate than you, perhaps, for this Senor Rubio and I
have met, and I daresay he would know me again." They were quick enough
to read this as a caution that Rubio must not see me; and then I turned
the talk to general matters, and one or two other passengers joined in
it.
At the next station, the last we were to stop at before we alighted, our
fellow passengers got out. Our tickets were examined again; we were
once more questioned, and the two Carlists produced credentials from
their supposed newspapers, which proved sufficiently satisfactory. But
when the matter had just ended and the official was closing the carriage
door, an incident occurred that gave me a passing twinge of anxiety.
The police agent, Rubio, passed the carriage, and a quick little start
as his keen gaze flashed through the carriage showed me that he had
recognised me.
"Rubio has seen and recognised me," I whispered hurriedly to my
companions, in a sharp authoritative manner. "He may arrest me. In
that case do nothing, but go on to Daroca, and make it your chief charge
to find and protect, with your lives if need be, the Senorita Sarita
Castelar. I can get out of Ruble's clutches again quite safely."
"They shan't take you," said Cabrera, with grim earnestness.
"You will do nothing to prevent it. I can protect myself," and opening
my sample case, I began fingering the samples again while I waited
during three minutes of as anxious suspense as I have ever endured.
Then to my intense relief the train started, and I breathed freely. It
was moving along the platform when a young man, protesting excitedly
that he must go, opened the door, jumped in and sank breathless in the
corner seat, while the porter, swearing generously, ran alongside and
fastened the door after him.
"That was a near thing, wasn't it?" he said to me. "Wonder if they got
my luggage in;" and putting his head out, shouted vociferously to those
on the platform to throw his bags into the luggage break. "Good," he
exclaimed, as he sat down again. "They can do things if you only shout
at them. They got them in." Then rolling himself a cigarette, he asked
me for a light, and began to chat.
"A commercial traveller, I see," he said. He had a pleasant voice, and
to keep my character, I went all through the lace business again. In
reply he gave a long account of himself, to which I paid little
attention, and then he gradually led the conversation to Carlism, and
professed a good deal of sympathy with the Carlists who seemed to have
fallen on evil times.
"I am an Englishman, senor, and these things can be nothing to me except
so far as they are bad for trade," I answered, and commenced to make
some entries in a note book as if to close the conversation. He would
not be put off, however, and continued to talk, asking a host of
questions and trying to draw my companions into the conversation.
To my surprise they would not speak to him, not even replying when he
put questions direct to them, and after a while the talk ceased, and we
travelled a number of miles in silence. Then he began again, and
pestered me with questions as to my journey, where I had come from,
where I was going, what business I had done, and soon, and again made
strenuous efforts to get my companions to speak.
"We must be within a few miles of Calatayud," he said, at length, and at
that Garcia, having exchanged a glance with Cabrera, crossed the
carriage, and saying they would have the window closed now, pulled it up
and sat down opposite the stranger.
"You have been very anxious to make us talk with you, senor; may I ask
why?" he said.
"Merely because I hate travelling in silence."
"You are very interested in the Carlists, too, I notice," and Garcia
looking him straight in the face said, "Kindly tell us the nature of
that interest?"
"Mere sympathy with them of course. I think they're being very hardly
dealt with. That's all."
"Are you one of them?"
"Oh no, certainly not."
"Perhaps you know some of them?"
"No, I don't think I do." The answer was lightly spoken, but I noticed
that a shadow of anxiety began to show on his face.
"By sight, perhaps?"
"No. No, not even by sight." The tone was growing less firm.
"What did you say you were?"
"Really, I am not here for examination," and I saw his hand go stealing
towards his pocket.
"Keep your hand out of your pocket, please. I must know more about you.
You are armed, I observe, and I must know why. My friend and I are of
the secret police; and our mission is in search of Carlist spies. You
are one; and we are going to search you." And almost before I grasped
the meaning of the thing, Garcia had whipped out a revolver, and the
stranger, now showing unmistakable signs of fear, was looking along the
barrel into the strong, threatening face. At that Cabrera crossed the
carriage and sat beside him. "The right pocket," said Garcia, coolly;
and his companion plunged his hand in and drew out a revolver.
"Put your hands up," cried Garcia, his voice ringing with menace.
"I'm no Carlist spy," cried the fellow, and then appealed to me. "You
won't see this done, senor, without trying to help me?"
"It's not my affair. I'm neither police nor Carlist," I answered. And
then in my turn I had a most disquieting surprise.
"You evidently know this man," said Garcia, in the same rough, blunt
tone, indicating me with a side jerk of the head. "Who is he?" while
Cabrera half turned toward me holding his revolver in readiness. "If
you won't answer, we'll find the way to make you. I believe you're both
Carlist spies." It was so naturally done that for the moment I more
than half believed I was really suspected. But I was not long in doubt.
While Garcia threatened him with the revolver, Cabrera searched him
thoroughly.
"Why, you infernal scoundrel, you are not only a Carlist spy, but you
dare to carry papers on you to make you out one of us secret police,"
cried Cabrera in a voice of thunder.
"I am a police agent," was the reply. "But I don't know you."
"Then who is this man here? You know him. I saw that the instant I
clapped eyes on you. You're here to spy on him, if you're one of us.
Quick, who is he? You want to keep this capture all to yourself, do
you, you selfish dog?"
"He's Ferdinand Carbonnell, and pretends to be an Englishman."
"And who the devil is Ferdinand Carbonnell?"
"Who should he be but one of the Carlist leaders?" was the answer
sullenly spoken, the tone showing that the fear for his life was passing
and giving place to the minor one of losing an important prisoner and
the credit of the capture.
"Good, then we'll see to him. As for you, you're a disgrace to the
whole of us, getting in and talking your magpie chatter about sympathies
with the Carlists and all the rest of it. Why, if we'd been Carlists
ourselves, we should have known you by your lying tongue. You must have
a lesson, my friend. If you knew this man, why didn't you arrest him at
the last station, or before? Or is the whole thing only a lie to cover
some Carlist trick?"
"He was only recognised at the last station, and there wasn't a strong
enough body of police there to take him. He may have a lot of friends
in the train. These are Senor Rubio's own orders. He is in the train
and has wired for help to Calatayud."
"Oh, well, we're going to make the capture now, not you. Now, Cabrera,"
he said quickly, and they both darted on him, and tied him up hands and
feet. "We shall be in Calatayud in a few minutes. Shall we shoot him
and pitch him out of the window? Dead men keep silence longest." And
Garcia looked so reckless and fierce that I thought he would do it on
the spot.
"Is that necessary?" I said, hastily, shrinking from the thought of
bloodshed. "Gag him and leave him under the seat. We need no
entanglements we can avoid."
For a moment the man's fate hung in the balance, and his bloodless face
and staring eyes of terror as he glanced from one to another were
sickening to look upon.
"For God's sake, don't kill me," he cried, eagerly. "I won't say a word
of what has passed. I swear on my soul I won't."
"He'll know us now by sight," muttered Cabrera, who was clearly of
Garcia's mind; and the argument was undoubtedly strong.
But I could not see murder done in cold blood, and in a very firm,
authoritative voice and manner I said:
"I will have no blood needlessly shed. Let it be as I say." And
somewhat to my surprise, and greatly to my satisfaction, the two yielded
to me.
"Mischief may come of a tongue that can wag as his does," growled
Cabrera, and his companion gave way with equal reluctance. But I
insisted, and the spy's bonds were tightened, he was gagged securely,
and laid for the while on the seat, while we held a whispered council.
"There'll be a strong body of men in waiting for us at Calatayud. What
are we to do?" asked Garcia; and in all truth it was an awkward puzzle.
It was clear we couldn't hope to make a fight of it. Any attempt of the
kind would be the instant signal for us to be surrounded and probably
shot. For the moment I was disposed to let my companions escape, and
give myself up to Rubio; but against this course were very strong
arguments arising out of the scene with the police spy. At the best of
it I should have some difficulty in explaining my presence, while the
treatment meted out to him constituted in itself an offence of which I
could not clear myself. If Rubio arrested me on such a charge and in
such an out-of-the-way place, it would be an easy matter for Quesada to
instruct him to put me away where the Embassy might not find me, and
inquiries even from the palace might prove abortive.
At all hazards I must get away therefore, and the question was--how? I
could only think of one means, and I explained it rapidly.
"I think I have it," I said. "Calatayud is an out-of-the-way place with
not many police, and probably the men wired for by Rubio will be
soldiers--much easier folk to fool. Rubio will reckon that we have no
suspicion of his intentions, and will simply have wired to have the men
at the station to await his instructions. We'll leave the train as it
slows down before entering the station, therefore; and if any attempt is
made to interfere with us, we'll play another scene of this farce of
yours--that I'm an escaped Carlist and you're the police after me. Then
we must hustle things through as chance serves, and get horses as
quickly as can be."
"They'll be waiting for us at old Tomaso's," said Cabrera, readily.
"Yes, it'll do. Fortunately we're well at the back of the train, and
there's a curve through a cutting just before the station that will
serve us well; and Tomaso's isn't five hundred yards from the top of it.
We can slip out, dash up the side of the cutting, and be half-way there
before the train pulls up."
"And give this brute a whack on the head to keep him silent for a
while," put in Garcia, who seemed to have a keener appetite for violence
than his really sterner comrade.
"It'll serve no purpose, and may only get us charged with attempting to
murder him. There must be no violence," I said, and Cabrera agreed,
seeing the force of my words.
"We're close there now," he added; and giving a final look at our
prisoner to see that he was securely tied and gagged, we thrust him
under the seat and made ready to leave the carriage.
The place could not have suited better such a plan as ours. We were in
luck, too, for the train slowed down on approaching the curve, so that
we were able to leave it quite safely. I jumped out first and sprang
rapidly up the high bank, the others following me. I let them catch me
up before we reached the top, as I did not, of course, know in which
direction to run, and then together we darted off as fast as our legs
would carry us.
We had only one incident. Having crossed a field we leapt into the
road, and almost jumped on the top of a couple of soldiers who were
obviously on patrol duty. Up went their guns as they called us to halt.
"Now we've got you," cried Cabrera, fiercely, clapping his hand on my
shoulder. "Tie his hands, Garcia;" and with ready presence of mind he
turned to the soldiers and laughed, as he took his hat off and breathed
hard.
"They'll want you at the station," he said. "There's half a trainful of
these cursed Carlists, and our chief Rubio, from the capital, has only
got a handful of men with him, and is at his wit's end for help. But
he'll be glad we've netted this bird;" and, turning to me, he shook me,
cursing and abusing me with voluble violence.
The soldiers, completely taken in, lowered their weapons, and were
obviously interested in the smart capture.
"Who is he?" asked one, with a grin.
"He broke from the train, the brute," answered Cabrera, "and gave us all
the trouble. I wish you'd tell the chief we've taken him on, and that
he's safe in the lock-up. Come on, Garcia, or the beast may be up to
some of his tricks again. Let's get him under lock and key;" and,
shoving me forward, they pushed by the soldiers, who drew aside and
wished them luck for this good day's work.
"Thank the Virgin, we hadn't to break their heads with their own guns,"
growled Cabrera; and the moment we were out of sight of the men we set
off running again at full speed, and did not stop until we reached the
house where we were to find horses. This was an inn, and both my
companions were well known to the old man who came out to meet them. A
white-haired, exceptionally dark-skinned, and most picturesque-looking
old fellow, who greeted the two quietly, but cordially, and looked
suspiciously at me.
"Who's this?" he asked.
"The most honoured guest who ever crossed your threshold, Tomaso,"
answered Cabrera. "Take off your hat to him; and if his name were
whispered in your ear, you'd be ready to bow your head to his boots. We
must have three horses instantly. The dogs are close on our heels."
The old fellow raised his hat and bowed his head, and the long white
locks shone in the mellow light of the now dying sun. To act the part
which Cabrera had thus assigned to me, I returned the bow, and in a
quick, imperious tone, said:
"The horses, my good Tomaso, the horses, with all the dispatch you can
show. Even minutes may spell danger."
"Your lordship can depend upon me," he returned, deferentially, and,
turning, gave a sharp order to a groom who stood near. "You will take
wine while you wait. It will be but a minute."
We entered the house, and food and wine being laid out in readiness, we
ate and drank hastily; and the moment the horses were at the door I paid
him liberally, and we mounted.
"Is the road clear, Tomaso?" asked Cabrera.
"Yes, senor, I believe so. Juan and Andreas rode forward with the
senorita some four hours ago. I instructed them to ride with their eyes
open, and if they saw anything suspicious during the first half-score of
miles, one of them is to hide with the senorita and the other return and
warn you. After that you will be safe, and among our own people. I
wish you all God-speed on the journey, and glorious success at the end
of it. If there is any trouble, Andreas or Juan will show you the
mountain paths."
"The senorita?" I asked, pricking up my ears at his words.
"Aye, the blessings of the Holy Virgin rest ever on her lovely face--the
Senorita Castelar," and he bared his old head again, with a look of deep
enthusiasm on his rugged features.