"Does the senorita generally lock her doors?" I asked Carlos.
"I have never known her to do it before, senor."
"Something is wrong; we must break our way in;" and I sent Carlos down
at once for tools.
"What can it mean?" he said, in a tone of dismay; and as soon as the
tools were brought he set about forcing an entrance.
"Did you see the senorita after Colonel Livenza left?" I asked the man.
"My wife did, senor. She said she was tired, and complained of a
headache, and that she would go to bed early, and asked us to keep the
house quiet and not disturb her."
"She has gone," I exclaimed, as the meaning of it all rushed upon me.
"He brought with him the means for her to escape, and under some pretext
induced her to fly, after she had lulled the suspicions of these two
with this plea."
And so it proved. The rooms were empty; and an open window, from which
hung a knotted rope fastened to a bedstead, told us plainly enough how
the escape had been made. For a moment my heart sank with dismay at the
sight; but I rallied under pressure of the need for instant action.
"We must follow and find them," I said, promptly. "Which way can they
have taken? It is clear that he induced her to escape, and while they
were together they were making these preparations. He left about an
hour ago, and as the senorita had then to complete her arrangements she
cannot have been gone very long. How can we trace them?" A question to
Carlos sufficed to show that they must have left by the lane we had
come; for it led nowhere but to the house. They had not passed us on
the road, and it was clear, therefore, that they must have turned in the
opposite direction from the capital.
There were two horses in the stable, and I had these saddled, and rode
off with Rubio, ordering the carriage with Rubio's assistant to follow
us at such pace as the coachman could get out of the smoking, lathered
animals who had brought us so well from Madrid.
At first the trail was broad and easy to follow. We had scarcely turned
into the high road when we met some men, who told us enough to show that
Livenza and his companion were on horseback, riding at a moderate pace,
and were not more than a mile or two distant. We covered four or five
miles at the gallop, stopping wherever we met anyone on the road to make
inquiries; and it was soon abundantly clear that we were overtaking them
fast. They seemed to be keeping to the high road, for what purpose or
whither bound it was impossible to guess; nor did it matter much so long
as we were rapidly closing up to them.
Then the scent failed suddenly. We had rattled along for a couple of
miles or so, and I was expecting to overtake them at any moment, when a
carter whom we questioned declared that no one answering to the
description had passed him. The news was serious indeed; it was now
late, there were few people abroad; the sparsely-scattered houses and
cottages were closed, and the inmates abed; we had passed more than one
branch road; and thus the chances of our tracking them ran down to zero.
We turned our horses' heads, and at the first of the branch roads drew
rein to confer. Rubio had no stomach for the work of further search,
and was for doing no more until we could get sufficient help to continue
the hunt vigorously the next morning in the daylight. This, no doubt,
was a counsel of reason; but I was in anything but a reasonable mood,
and would not listen to him--much to his disgust.
"We know just about where they were last seen on the high road," I said.
"They can't ride about all night in these by-lanes; if they were making
for any definite town they would have had to stick to the main road; and
we must take these by-roads in turn, and ride a few miles along each of
them. You follow the first, and I'll take the next. We shall find them
in that way."
"It is useless, senor. We shall only wear ourselves and our horses out
to no purpose," he protested; but I insisted, and sending him down the
first lane, I rode on to the next, and dashed along it through the rain
that was now falling in gusty, blusterous squalls. But I found nothing
to help my search; not a soul did I see, not a cottage or building of
any kind; and with something like a groan of disappointment, I pulled up
at length, and began to retrace my steps.
Then what might have been expected happened--I lost my way. Puzzled by
the darkness I took a wrong turning which, instead of leading me back to
the high road, brought me out by a rough zig-zag way on to a wild, bleak
hillside, where it ended; and I was stranded, far away from any sign of
a habitation, in the pitch darkness, with the wind howling round me and
the rain falling in torrents.
For an hour or more I groped about, having at times to dismount and lead
my horse, until I realised that I was hopelessly lost, and that I had
not only no chance of discovering Sarita that night, but should be lucky
if I had not to spend the night in the open.
I was halting for the twentieth time under the shelter of trees to
escape some of the pelting rain, when my luck turned, and I caught sight
of a glimmer of light faintly quivering through the darkness above me.
Where light was, some human being must be also, and if money or force
could prevail, that human being should guide me back to the high road
and safety; and I led my horse in a bee-line toward the light,
stumbling, floundering, and slipping over the sloppy, uneven ground, now
blundering into a ditch or sinking ankle deep into a vegetable patch, or
almost breaking my shins against stone heaps, until I found that the
light came from the window of a cottage.
Then something happened to fill me with the inspiring hope that my good
luck was far better than I could have dared to hope. I was close to the
cottage when I ran up against a couple of horses tethered to some
railings; and on running my hands over them I found both were saddled,
and that one carried a side saddle. My excitement at this was intense;
for I believed that luck, chance, fate, Providence, call it what you
will, had done what no judgment or skill could have had accomplished,
and had led me right to Livenza's hiding-place.
In a moment, all my instincts of caution were awake again. I led my
horse away from the others, fastened him securely, and crept up to the
window where the light glimmered. Although the rain and wind were
raging with such violence that no sound I made was at all likely to
penetrate within, I picked my way with the utmost care, and stealing up
to the window, peered in. I could not see much, as there was a dirty
ragged, white curtain, which prevented my getting more than a glimpse at
one side; but I saw enough to confirm my belief.
Livenza was there. I could see him plainly, as he stood by the door of
the room, leaning against it, his arms folded, his head bent down, and
his features moody, frowning, and dogged. As I watched him he looked up
toward the corner of the room by the window, and in his blood-shot,
haggard eyes was a wild, dangerous light that told all too plainly of
the fire of insanity. His lips moved, but I could not hear the words;
and at the instant a great gust of wind rushed against the small
casement window, and set it clattering and shaking as though to burst it
in.
Sarita I could not see, but when he spoke she made a movement forward,
which brought her face into the line of light, and her profile was
silhouetted for a second on the dirty, wind-rustled curtain.
Turning then, I felt my way to the door of the cottage, only to find it
fast bolted, apparently on the inside. I raised my riding whip to knock
for admission when a thought stayed me. If I was right, and Livenza's
mind had completely given way, what would be the possible effect of any
interruption? I scented danger plainly. It might drive him to the
instant execution of any plan which might have formed in his mad brain,
and the very effort at rescue might be only the signal for him to act.
This might mean nothing less than Sarita's death.
I went back to the window, therefore, in deep perplexity, searching my
wits for some means of ascertaining how matters stood. He was in the
same position as before, and just then another tempestuous gust of wind
dashed against the window, the casement of which strained and creaked on
its hinges. And this gave me an idea.
Taking off my overcoat I rolled it round my arm and waited for such
another gust, when I dashed my arm against the casement, bursting it
partially open, and then drew back hastily into the dark.
A cry from Sarita was followed by a shout from Livenza, who came across
hurriedly to the window.
"It's only the wind," I heard him say in a strident tone as he tore
aside the curtain. "Not the police. You needn't be afraid of
interruption." He tried unsuccessfully to shut the small casement, the
flimsy fastenings of which I had evidently smashed. He soon abandoned
his efforts, with an oath at the storm, and re-crossed the room. But I
could now hear what passed, and, as he did not think to rearrange the
curtain, I could see everything clearly.
For a time not a word was spoken, and then Livenza broke the silence.
"We may as well end this pretence, Sarita. I have lied to you. Your
Englishman is not coming here, he is lying snug, safely caged in a gaol
in Madrid, and I have brought you here for my own purposes. To tell you
again what you once used to let me tell you freely, and what you know
well enough--that I love you; love you, do you hear, as no cold-blooded
English dog knows how to love. You are mine now, and shall never belong
to another."
I saw Sarita start, and wince at the words. She looked across at him,
and appeared to realise in a moment the extremity of the case, her
imminent peril, and his wild insanity. She hesitated as if calculating
her chance of either outwitting or struggling against him; and I would
have given anything to have been able to let her know I was at hand.
The dead calmness of her tone, as she replied, told me how clearly she
understood her danger.
"I have never let you tell me that, Colonel Livenza," she said, very
quietly.
"But you knew it. You could read it in my eyes, in my acts, in how I
served you, in my work for the Carlists, in everything," he answered,
vehemently. "You are more to me than life--you know that. Life, do I
say"--and he laughed--"Why, I have wrecked my very soul for your love,
Sarita; and have within the last few hours done murder that you might be
free to be mine."
"What do you mean?" she asked, in the same clear, cool, even voice. She
was leading him to talk in order to gain time to think and plan.
"What should I mean but that I have killed the only man who stood
between us. No, not your Englishman," he cried bitterly, in answer to
her changing look. "He never stood between us. A far stronger than
he--Quesada. You told me of his treachery. He gave you to me, and all
the time was scheming and lying that he might cheat me of you and have
you for himself. But he will lie and cheat no more;" and he laughed
again, wildly and recklessly. "Unless he does it in hell. He is dead,
do you understand, dead, shot through the brain at the very moment when
he was setting another cursed trap for me."