It was no other than Doris Napier!
Casteno recognised her almost at the same moment that I did. The effect
upon him was just as great, for he, too, halted and gazed at me with an
expression of vague but sincere concern.
"This is odd--very odd!" he muttered. "I had no idea that Miss Napier
was out of London. I wonder, now, how she came to have missed all news
of her father's death? Can she have mixed herself up in this manuscript
hunt--under pressure from Lord Cyril Cuthbertson or the Earl of
Fotheringay, for instance? I remember, now, that she was a great
patriot at one time--used to speak for the Primrose League and
organisations like that. It would have been a masterly stroke on their
part to get hold of her--to work on my father--for he has had always a
very soft corner in his heart for her, and in the old days the colonel
used to say there was nothing he would refuse her. What do you think,
Glynn?" he added, turning suddenly to me. "Is it your idea that she has
come under some lofty notion that England's interests are in peril both
from the Jesuits and from Spain, and if she doesn't circumvent these
enemies the Lake of Sacred Treasure will be lost to this country for
ever?"
But I refused to be drawn. Her appearance was sudden, too unexpected.
"I don't know," I answered. "I can't even guess. The thing may be a
ruse on the part of the wretch that killed her father. He may fear the
effect of her disclosures. I must wait; just now I cannot see."
"At all events, I am sure the hunchback is no partisan to any move like
that last one you mention," returned Casteno stoutly, with something
resembling offended family pride vibrating through his voice. "Indeed,
I am certain that as yet he knows nothing, absolutely nothing, about the
tragedy at Whitehall Court. He has been too busy trying to decipher the
manuscripts to have had any time or strength to glance at the Saturday
night or Sunday morning papers. As for Captain Sparhawk, like all
enthusiastic inventors, he is a man of one idea. He can think of
nothing, talk of nothing, dream of nothing, read of nothing but the
flying machine which he is going to try to-morrow in the Quarry at the
great floral fete."
With a nod that might mean anything or nothing I fell into step with my
companion. By this time Doris, the hunchback, and the aeronaut had got
quite a considerable distance ahead. As a matter of fact, I was just
then struggling with a fierce desire to rush forward--to see Doris face
to face--to speak with her--to tell her all that had happened--to warn
her of her dangers--to assure her and myself that nothing on earth could
part us. Hence it was I could not carry on any conversation no matter
how important. I had first to conquer myself. Haste would ruin all.
Unfortunately, we had not proceeded many yards before the worst we could
have anticipated happened. All at once the three whom we were pursuing
stopped at a gate which led, by way of a drive, up to a large,
superior-looking house. A tall, interesting stranger with the clear-cut
features of a typical barrister, who has not been down long enough from
'Varsity life to forget all the graces, stepped up to them, and then the
entire party moved round and went into the house, the door of which
closed behind them.
"Confound it! we shall learn nothing like this," snapped Casteno, biting
his lips in his annoyance. "I thought I knew my father's habits and
methods pretty well, but ever since I have been down here at Shrewsbury
he has managed to throw me out of my reckoning continually. Now, what
are we to do, Glynn? Had we better grin and bear it, or ought we to try
if we can't find out for ourselves what is happening in this place?"
I turned round stolidly and motioned to a boy who was passing, his eyes
fixed in admiration on the uniform I was wearing--that of a sergeant in
the Royal Engineers. "Who lives in this house?" I asked, and a
sixpenny piece travelled from my palm to his.
"Nobody--often," answered the lad, with a smile. "As a matter of fact,
it belongs to the Earl of Fotheringay, like the most of the property
does hereabout. He came down here late last night. I know, because I
serve him with milk." And with a self-conscious nod the juvenile
tradesman pulled himself together and passed on.
"There! What did I tell you?" asked Casteno. "Didn't I suggest Miss
Napier had been inveigled into this business to help Lord Fotheringay
out of his difficulties? You mark my words. This walk of theirs--this
meeting--this encounter outside these gates--are all a plant--a trap
designed to get the hunchback into the Government's clutches. Our duty
now is clear. We must find our way inside and checkmate any of their
moves at once."
"Steadily," I replied, "steadily," pulling the excited Spaniard down a
long, narrow, leaf-covered passage that ran by the side of a wall which
skirted the limit of the grounds attached to the house. "It is all very
well to pull up these theories in this fashion; but there is one great
helper of ours always ready to checkmate both Fotheringay and
Cuthbertson, and him you have quite forgotten. Now, remembering the
existence of Mr Cooper-Nassington, why should we go and put our necks
in jeopardy, eh?" And out of the corner of an eye I shot a quick glance
at Casteno. It had been long on my mind to find out what that
Honourable Member was up to, and I realised that this was a most
favourable chance. After all, we had to wait for a decent interval.
There was just a possibility that the trio might re-appear and return to
the Green Dragon.
Casteno, however, seemed to be on this occasion perfectly frank.
"Cooper-Nassington," he explained, "is by no means idle. He is as hard
at work as you or I. As a matter of fact, he has run up to Whitby, in
Yorkshire, where he has an interest in a shipbuilding yard and an iron
mine, and he is fitting out an expedition for Mexico, which will leave
immediately we get wind of the exact spot where the Lake of Sacred
Treasure may be found."
"And he does all this for England, and so do you?"
"Yes--in a way--yes," the Spaniard replied hesitatingly. "There is a
lot of things to explain which I can't explain yet. But that's the
substantial fact."
"Then why do you fight the hunchback, you a Spaniard," I queried, "when
all the benefit will go to England if you succeed, not to Spain?"
Casteno never flinched. "That's another thing which I can't make clear
to you just now; but perhaps it may be enough for you if I say the whole
thing turns on my quarrel with my father and my love for Camille
Velasquon. But stop," he went on in a different voice; "we can't go on
exchanging confidences like this or we shall never get down to business
at all. What do you say to slipping over this wall and stealing across
the grounds? Often most valuable clues can be picked up by spies who
get beneath windows and peer in at the corners at critical times."
"All right. Time presses. Let's see what we can manage," I said.
After all, I had now no love for Lord Fotheringay. I was just as glad
of an opportunity of upsetting his little schemes as was Casteno.
Besides, did not every move I made then take me just a little nearer to
the solution of that mysterious appearance of Doris?
Selecting a point where the wall stood but seven or eight feet from the
ground we quietly scrambled to the top by the aid of some projecting
stones and then dropped on the other side to the turf at that extremity
of the garden. Between ourselves and the house lay a belt of thick,
high shrubs, then a long stretch of greensward, and afterwards two or
three terraces flanked by urns, in which geraniums and other
gaudily-coloured flowers had been planted. In the deepening shadows we
flitted like two spectres--swiftly and silently--until at length we
found beneath our feet the beds of plants which blossomed outside the
quaint old mullioned windows in the front of the house.
Stealthily we crept from point to point, intent on hearing the voices of
the trio we sought, or at least of catching some token of their
presence. Time after time we raised our heads above the level of the
window-sills and peered into the interiors, so cool, so fresh, so
tastefully furnished. Nothing but disappointment seemed to dog our
footsteps. We could not catch a glimpse of a single living person in
the entire ground floor of that house.
At last Casteno stopped. "Look here!" he said in that quick, decisive
way of his. "We can't go on like this. The more I examine this place
the more convinced I am that there is something radically wrong about it
and in that arrangement between Fotheringay and the hunchback. Now the
point is this: will you make a bold stand if I do? You are in disguise;
so am I. If we are caught, let us pretend that we are sweethearts of
two of the servants who, we regret to find, have left--but, at all
events, let us slip through these rooms and see what we can discover."
"Very well," I answered. "But if we are to have any success, we must
have no pride. First of all, we must take off our boots and carry
them."