"Why am I afraid that the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs may get
wind of the discovery of those manuscripts which locate the exact
whereabouts of the Lake of Sacred Treasure in Mexico?" repeated the
Member of Parliament fiercely; and he came to a dead stop at the corner
of the turning into Peter Street.
"For the best of all reasons," he snapped. "He is the one man in the
world I hate with all the force I am capable of. He has proved himself
my evil genius. In politics, in preferment, in marriage he has beaten
me every time we have come into conflict; and if he could only recover
this possession for England--for, as you will find, this lake really
belongs to this country and not to Mexico or to Spain or to the
Jesuits--he would make himself that great, popular hero he is ever
striving to become. How? you ask. In the most simple fashion. He
would merely use all those millions that are to be recovered from its
depths as baits for the electors, baits for payers of income-tax, men
who drink spirits, enthusiasts about old-age pensions, better houses for
the poor. Indeed, there is no end to the crazy ambition of this
pinchbeck Napoleon. He lives simply to become the idol of the mob in
such a way as England's history with all her Gladstones, her
Beaconsfields, and other political leaders of real note, has never
known--never. Even the popularity of the throne is not safe with so
terrible a pride as his! He cares nothing for any personage or any
institution. His one colossal lust is to lift himself so high that no
man shall be his equal, but that his word shall travel through the
Empire with a power which Bismarck never aimed at and even the German
Emperor has never felt competent to aspire to.
"I know the man like nobody else does in the House. Once we were
friends--before appeared the inevitable woman. I was his one confidant.
We occupied the same house; we sat side by side, night after night,
over the dinner-table, building the same castles in the air; but, as we
laid our plans, and he waxed strong, the power to will and to achieve in
this muddy, political life of England came also to me. Hence, while we
quarrelled and hated like only one-time bosom companions can, we have
ever carried on a terrific underground fight which has been all the more
deadly because it was hidden. Few expected it; and none of the fools
around me ever realised that a humble, insignificant member like myself
was hugging the idea of the eventual overthrow of this wonderful strong
man, who had risen up, phoenix-like, from the ashes of a dismembered and
distrusted party in the State and had brought back to Parliament the
misty legend of a leader who directed the attack by the sheer magic of
his own inherent will.
"But there!" added Mr Cooper-Nassington, suddenly changing his tone as,
away in the distance, he caught the sound of rapidly approaching
footsteps. "I am sure I don't know why I ramble on like this--to you.
After all, those manuscripts are the real object of our expedition,
aren't they? and in regard to them I suppose we have done the best that
could be done in such a bewildering set of circumstances. You had
better return now to the man who sent you and report to him all that has
transpired since you fetched me out of the House. He will understand,
particularly if you add two words to your narrative."
"Yes," said I eagerly; "and what must those be?"
"`In reparation,'" he returned, "`in reparation.'" And, signalling to a
belated hansom, he held out his hand to me.
"Good-night, Mr Glynn," he said; "I have trusted you to-night more than
anybody else in my life. I can't tell you why, but I have, and I am
sure you will not make use of anything I have said to my disadvantage.
Doubtless, we shall meet again over this strange, wild quest. If we
do--nay, whatever happens--remember I am your friend; but for your
actual employer I repeat I have only one message, `in reparation!'"
And, squeezing my hand, he sprang into the cab, crying to the driver:
"Ashley Gardens." The next instant the cab had gone and I had started
to find my way home on foot.
Unfortunately, that was not destined to be the last of my adventures
that night, although I was tired and worn by the stirring scenes I had
passed through. I don't think Mr Cooper-Nassington had left me a
minute before I was conscious of that ugly sensation of being followed.
At first I tried to believe it was a mere phantom of my imagination--
that my nerves had got a trifle upset by the things which the hunchback
had shown to us in the way of tricks that had been played upon him since
he had obtained those manuscripts.
Thus I didn't attempt to look behind me, but went on my way whistling
merrily, making the pavements re-echo with my noisy steps, for by that
time the streets were practically empty. All the same, I couldn't rid
myself of my suspicion that I was being shadowed, and, finally, feeling
that the chase was getting intolerable, I decided on a rather curious
ruse. I had reached Westminster Bridge, and, walk to near the centre,
suddenly stopped and turned my face towards the swirling waters that
were eddying past the buttresses beneath.
Next instant I staggered back in the fickle light of the lamp, and,
throwing my coat off my shoulders, cried in a muffled, stifled kind of
voice: "Ah! I can bear it no longer. I must do it. Good-bye,
good-bye." And with a frantic bound I leaped on to the parapet by the
aid of a lamp-post and threw my arms upward with a wild, convulsive
movement, as though the next second must be my last, and that I had but
to take one downward glance to hurl myself into the turgid torrent
beneath.
Just as I expected, my pursuer rushed pell-mell into the trap that I had
baited for him. No sooner did he catch a glimpse of what he thought
were my preparations for a sudden and effective suicide than he
instantly abandoned all pretence of concealing his presence, darted out
of the shadows in which he had been lurking, and raced as swiftly as a
greyhound towards me and caught me by the sleeve and dragged me
backward.
"You fool," he cried, "what are you up to now?" And in a flash I
recognised who it was--Detective-Inspector Naylor.
With a quick spring I reached the pavement again and turned a face full
of merriment towards the officer.
"Ah," said I, picking up my coat, "so it was you who was stalking me,
was it? I thought my little trick would fetch you much more rapidly and
effectively than if I had turned round and tried to pick you up. Now,
what's your game dogging my footsteps, eh? You don't think I'm a young
monk who has got spoiled in the making, do you? No; you've some deeper,
deadlier design than that, so you might as well own up at once."
"I can't," he returned, and his face, now he realised how I had duped
him, was a study in rage and mortification. "I--I am out on business
just as much as you are. You play your hand, I'll play mine. Only take
care what you are up to--that's all. When we at Scotland Yard take up a
case we usually make some inquiries into the good faith and past history
of our clients. It's a pity you don't do the same. Good-night." And
with a nod full of meaning he strolled off towards the embankment,
leaving me to digest his enigmatic remark in silence and alone.
With a good-humoured laugh I took my way homeward and tried to shake off
the effects of his ominous words, which, I own, caused me a certain
amount of disquietude, for, after all, I hadn't a ghost of an idea then
as to the real identity or object of Don Jose Casteno. For a time, I
own, I felt rather fearful. But first one thing and then another
engaged my attention. For instance, I had to find out whether I was
still being followed. I decided I was not. I had also to dodge the
human night-bird of London intent on rows or alms. Finally, by the time
I had reached Trafalgar Square the ill effects of the detective's
warning had quite disappeared. All I thought of was a good night's
rest, to be followed by another ride on my motor car to Hampstead, and
another entrance to that mysterious home of the Order of St Bruno.
When, however, I reached the street in which my offices were situate I
was surprised to see the thoroughfare presented anything but its usual
drab and sombre appearance. Something extraordinary was certainly in
progress therein. Instead of the place being deserted and silent like
the neighbouring streets, no fewer than three carriages with flashing
lamps and horses in glittering harness were drawn up by one side of the
curb, and near a door stood quite a group of footmen, and loafers and
policemen drawn thither by the unusual assemblage.
As I got nearer I was even more surprised to find that this strange
gathering was centred round the door of my own offices, which I was
stupefied to see were brilliantly lit up. "What on earth can have
happened?" I gasped, and, quickening my steps, I half ran towards the
tiny crowd gathered round the door, which seemed somehow to be expecting
me, and gave way instinctively at my approach.
Another moment and I had thrust open my office door. The place was half
filled by tobacco smoke, but through the mist I was astounded to see
three persons had calmly seated themselves in my room to await my
return--Lord Fotheringay, Colonel Napier, and a stranger who, as he
turned his determined but forbidding looking features upon me, I
recognised instantly as Lord Cyril Cuthbertson, His Majesty's Secretary
of State for Foreign Affairs.
"You must excuse us, Glynn," Fotheringay began almost at once. "I own I
had no right to come here at all at this hour and open your office.
Most of all, I oughtn't to have put on your hearth two friends without
your consent. Only, as perhaps you guessed from the scene at the
auction, we live in rather stirring times just now, and we had no margin
left in which we could observe the ordinary courtesies. With Colonel
Napier you are, of course, well acquainted. Let me introduce to you
another distinguished man." And he made a movement in the direction of
Lord Cyril Cuthbertson, who rose and bowed.
"Pray be seated," I hastened to exclaim as I took the chair at my desk
and faced the trio. "I mustn't say, of course, I expected this honour,
because, after the way Fotheringay sprang at me in the auction market, I
certainly got the impression he had no particular friendliness for me
left--but--"
"But that is precisely what we have come about," interposed the earl
eagerly. "Those three old manuscripts which we made so terrific a fight
over--"
My lips closed, and a new look of resolution came into my face.
"I see," I replied. "Then, as it is a matter of business, I beg you
tell me what you desire in a plain, business-like fashion."
There was an awkward pause; and then Lord Cyril began: "I understand,
Mr Glynn," he said in his most seductive tones, "from no less an
authority than the earl here, that you have been retained to get
possession of three historical documents that were found among the
effects of a certain dead refugee priest who called himself Alphonse
Calasanctius. Now, are you aware to what those deeds relate?"
I nodded, and the two men exchanged a quick look of intelligence. "That
being so," proceeded Lord Cuthbertson, "you will doubtless realise how
important it is that His Majesty's Government, and not an enemy of this
country, should obtain possession of them."
"Quite," I returned, determining to meet the statesman's strategy with
diplomacy as far-reaching as his own.
"And may I take it that you are prepared, as far as lies in your power,
to assist His Majesty's Government in this direction?"
"That is hardly necessary," I said, with a smile. "I have not got the
documents at all. They are in the hands of a man with whom I am but
little acquainted--Mr Zouche. Wouldn't it be better if pressure were
placed on him?"
"I can hardly agree in that," said the Foreign Secretary softly, and I
saw I had countered but not defeated him. "In the first place, Mr
Zouche is not an English subject, like yourself. He is Spanish, with
all the absurd notions of the average Spaniard as to the future glories
and magnificence of Spain. In the second place, he and Lord Fotheringay
have had this very point over between them, and the hunchback has
absolutely refused to assist us or the earl, who really put him on the
track of the documents, and who is now trying, in vain, unfortunately,
to frighten him out of them."
"In other words," I remarked sternly, "Lord Fotheringay first of all
threw in his lot with the hunchback, who went off with the plunder, and
won't divide it. Thereupon he bethought himself of his patriotism, and
has said to you: `Here is a matter of the honour and fair fame and
fortune of England. Come, let us sink all our personal greed and
differences and recover those deeds in the name and for the sake of our
common brotherhood of kin and blood.' My lord, it won't answer with me.
When I wanted help Fotheringay would not raise a finger for me, but
rather studied how he could throw me back. Now he's in trouble, let him
get out of it; but let him be a man over it, and don't let him bleat
about the needs of England when he really means his own greed."
"There's a good deal in what you say," remarked Lord Cuthbertson, "but
not everything. Bear with me a minute, and I will explain. I have no
doubt you are under the impression that when Fotheringay went to Mexico
he went simply because he'd got a lot of spare cash, and wanted a
change, and to bag some big game. As a matter of fact, he had no
thought of the sort. He went as a special and a private spy of the
Foreign Office; and his business was, under the harmless guise of an
enthusiastic sportsman, to investigate certain rumours we had heard as
to the discovery of these Jesuit plans of the sacred Lake of Treasure
which really belongs to England. Well, he did so, and so cleverly did
he manage that he penetrated the very monastery in which they were
hidden, and he got at the very prior of the Order--a member of which had
held them in his possession. A certain bargain was struck between the
prior and himself, but before the Foreign Office could send the big sum
of money required to ratify it this Father Alphonse Calasanctius ran
away with the documents to England, but was, we have reason to believe,
poisoned on his arrival by some compatriot or relative who knew nothing
of the value of the manuscripts, and thought only of the forced sale of
the goods which you and the earl attended. Therefore I beg you don't
judge your old companion unfairly and harshly. We all of us do many
things for England in our public capacity that we should not dare, or
even wish, to do for ourselves in our own private business. His sole
blunder was to get Zouche to help him, because Zouche is really a
villain who would dare any crime or fraud to help his country, Spain.
So it, of course, has happened as might have been expected. Zouche has
repudiated the earl, and unless you can give us a hand England is going
to lose this sacred lake and its millions and Zouche."
"He may not necessarily triumph," I answered.
"There are probably other people hot on the track of those manuscripts.
To-day there have been one or two attempts to make Zouche disgorge from
a source which is truly bold and daring and resourceful; I'll assume,
after what you say, it is the earl. Well, let the earl continue his
pressure. He may frighten him out of them, but I doubt it--I doubt it
very much. Then there is my employer."
"You must give that man up, Hugh," cut in Colonel Napier, who had not
hitherto spoken. "He's a scoundrel of the first water. I know all
about him. He escaped from that Mexican monastery at the same time as
Father Alphonse Calasanctius, but not before he killed Earl
Fotheringay's companion, young Sutton."
"That is false," suddenly interrupted a strange voice, "and the police
of London and Mexico know it, for the deed was done by Calasanctius
himself, and not by the novice at all." And to everybody's astonishment
the doors of my big cupboard were flung open, and there stepped
therefrom no less a personage than Don Jose Casteno himself.