Long afterwards, when the bitterness of that moment had ceased to rankle
in my heart, the Prior and Casteno related how eagerly they had watched
me from that long lancet-shaped window while I boldly advanced to the
detective. For their own part, they were sure Naylor meant mischief to
me, but as to the means he would employ they were all at sea, and so
they were for the time all strain and attention.
Luckily, I, too, was well on my guard, and so I did not show any
undignified haste in the negotiations. Indeed, I purposely asked the
inspector to explain why he had sent so earnest a message to me, and,
finally cornered, he began the serious part of the conversation.
"I suppose you guess," he said, looking aimlessly first to one side of
him and then to the other, "why I've brought a posse of men with me and
surrounded that queer place I found you in?" And with a wave of the
hand he indicated the monastery.
"In truth, I don't," I answered promptly, "unless," and here I paused
rather effectively, "unless, Naylor, you have taken leave of your
senses."
The man tried to smile, but it was a sickly effort, foredoomed to
failure.
"Ah," he observed, "you always were a hot 'un, Mr Glynn, in any game of
`bluff' but it won't do this time--you've gone a bit too far for your
own comfort--and we're going to see you worsted."
"Well, that's all right," I responded cheerfully. "You won't object to
that, will you? It isn't love for me that's making you look so precious
uneasy, now, is it? Well, then, get on with your work, I shan't
object." And producing my cigarette case I opened it and passed it
carelessly to my companion, who pushed it rather petulantly on one side.
"I don't want to smoke--I am much too serious for that," he snapped.
"Oh," I rejoined. "Well, I am not." And I struck a match and lit a
cigarette.
"I don't think I ought to beat about the bush any longer," he proceeded
after an irritated glance at my magnificent assumption of carelessness.
"The fact is just this, I hold warrants for the arrest of yourself and
that young Spanish adventurer, Jose Casteno, or to give him his proper
name, Joseph Zouche."
"Indeed," said I, trying to look politely interested, "that's news if
you like. On what charge, pray?"
"Robbery, with violence, on Worcester Racecourse--three old manuscripts,
the property of Mr Peter Zouche, the hunchback, who held them as
bailee!"
"You surprise me," I remarked. "Really, you do. Where does Worcester
happen to be?" And I gave him a look of mild and innocent inquiry that
I believe would have done credit to a child of six.
"You will find out all the geography you care to learn in the police
station," he said, stiffly repressing a very obvious temptation to swear
roundly; "for the present you must consider yourself under arrest." And
he beckoned one of his men from a distance and told him to go to St
Bruno's and to ask for Jose Casteno, who joined us a few moments later,
clad in ordinary clothes, and was then told of the charge against us,
whilst I perched myself on the root of a fallen tree and went on puffing
away at my cigarette.
"Now," said Naylor in conclusion, much impressed by the manner of his
own eloquence, "if you two gentlemen don't mind, one of my mates will
fetch a four-wheeler, and we'll drive off to Bow Street."
"Do," I put in, "it will be warmer there than it is here." And I
pretended to shiver as I added: "It seems to me, Naylor, there is always
a cold streak in the air on Hampstead Heath; don't you think so?"
The man shot me a look charged with malice and uncharitableness. But he
did not take the bait. "I have," he went on with a certain amount of
hesitation, "a search warrant, duly executed to go over that house
there--St Bruno's. Of course, I don't want to make myself needlessly
unpleasant, so if you would like to hand over the manuscripts, the
subjects of the charge against you, I will not put it into execution."
Jose looked at me, and I looked at him. We would both of us have dearly
liked to have palmed off those forgeries upon this short-tempered
individual; but it would not do.
"We know nothing about your business," I said slowly, and, taking my
cue, my friend nodded in support. "You must do really what strikes you
as the best; but," and the inspector's eyes glittered, expecting some
concession or admission, "don't--don't ask us any questions," I added
sweetly, "for that is beyond your duty and outside your place."
With a muffled curse Naylor turned on his heel and despatched a
messenger for the cab he had mentioned. Then he summoned two or three
other constables, handed them certain documents, and whispered to them
quickly certain instructions. Afterwards a four-wheeler drove up, and
giving our words that we would make no effort to escape, the three of us
stepped inside, and began that long and tedious journey to Bow Street.
The most weary rides, however, come to an end some time--and so did
this. At length the police station was reached, and we all walked
boldly into the charge office, where the warrant was read over to us, to
which we made no reply, of course; and, pending our formal remand by a
magistrate, I begged and obtained permission that we should be both
placed in the same cell. In answer to the usual question: Did we wish
to communicate with any legal advisers or friends? both Casteno and I
said: "Yes." After a whispered consultation we decided on this plan of
action. I sent this telegram:
"Cooper-Nassington, _House of Commons, SW_.
"Casteno and I have been arrested on extraordinary charge of robbery
with violence, and lodged at Bow Street. Please see hunchback and
explain error, and do your best to secure our immediate release.--Hugh
Glynn."
"It will not, then, be my fault if the round-table conference fails to
come off," I reasoned. But at the bottom of my heart, I own, I felt
strangely disturbed at the turn affairs had taken. I could not rid
myself of some curious suspicion that Lord Fotheringay and his friends
had got some new trick to work, and that, after all, we might be now,
quite unconsciously, riding for a nasty fall.
Casteno himself elected to appeal to Lord Cyril, and after we had been
both searched and had all our valuables taken from us he was permitted
to take a sheet of notepaper and to write as follows:--
"_Bow Street Police Station_.
"Dear Lord Cyril,--The matter is too serious for me to stand on any
ceremony with you, and, therefore, I write quite straightforwardly to
you, to report what you will doubtless hear in the course of your
official duties--that Mr Hugh Glynn, the Secret Investigator, and
myself have been arrested, and are now detained at the above address on
some trumped-up charge of stealing certain manuscripts from my father on
Worcester Racecourse.
"This action of the authorities, of course, quite precludes all chance
of our meeting you and Colonel and Miss Napier and Lord Fotheringay at
Stanton Street to-night. I put it to you now quite pointedly whether it
is to the welfare of England that this interview should not take place?
"I suggest that you see the Home Secretary and get this action quashed.
Otherwise, please regard our offer to treat with you as withdrawn, and,
if necessary, we shall appeal to His Majesty the King himself, to see
that there is no party jugglery with so vital a national issue as this
recovery of the sacred lake of Tangikano. As to the charge of theft and
assault, that, of course, is absurd, and must fail.
"Yours obediently, Jose Zouche Casteno."
This note was read very carefully by the officers in charge of the
station. But they had evidently received some secret instructions about
us, for they pretended to treat it quite as an ordinary and commonplace
communication, and permitted Casteno himself to enclose it in an
envelope and hand it to a constable to carry to the Foreign Office.
Then we were conducted to a cell and left to our own devices, and for a
time we kept ourselves lively enough, speculating on what would be the
issue of the strong commanding line we had taken.
But as hour after hour slipped by and we received no sign from the outer
world our hearts began to sink within us. Maybe, too, the atmosphere of
that small, tightly-barred cell, with its narrow walls and depressing
suggestions, had its baneful effect upon us. At all events, a sensation
of fear seemed to seize us. We felt caged--bound--removed from the
live, throbbing world of action to which we had grown so accustomed, and
then, thus deprived of movement, we insensibly began to languish. All
at once we realised what freedom really means--that it yields of itself
a thousand pleasures, as a fish is surrounded by the unconscious
sustenances of the sea.
Finally, as the night began to close in, a heavy step was heard in the
whitewashed passage outside, and the wicket door was thrust open.
"Here is tea for two," cried a gruff voice, "also a letter for Jose
Casteno." And I hastened to the entrance and received a tray on which
stood two coarse mugs of tea and three or four huge slabs of real
police-station bread and butter.
Trembling with excitement Casteno seized the letter that had been
brought for him and tore open the envelope, on the flap of which was
embossed in red the Royal Arms, with the words "Foreign Office" let into
the outer circle. Then he unfolded the note, which, in response to a
gesture from him, I read over his shoulder.
"_Foreign Office, Whitehall, SW_.
"Sir,--I am desired by His Majesty's Secretary of State for Foreign
Affairs to acknowledge your letter of this day's date and to inform you
that the subject-matter thereof has no connection with him in either a
personal or official capacity.
"I have the honour to remain, Sir, Your most obedient servant, Reginald
Wyke, Assistant Secretary.
"_To_ Jose Zouche Casteno, The Police Station, Bow Street, WC."
"What a terrible snub," I cried, pushing the tray on to the wooden
bedstead. "What can it mean?"
"They've done us, that's all," panted Casteno, his eyes flashing with
indignation. "Either they've got hold of the manuscripts when they
searched St Bruno's, or we've been sold in some fashion we least
expect."
"Is it Cooper-Nassington?" I hazarded. "Remember, I have had no reply
to my telegram!"
"I don't know," said the Spaniard, gloomily beginning to pace up and
down the cell. "We must wait, I suppose, before we can see. At present
we've played our cards to the bitter end, and we've got nowhere."
"How about the king?" I queried nervously.
"We can do nothing there until we see what Cooper-Nassington has
developed into." He relapsed into moody reflection. For a few minutes
we did not exchange a word, and then, stopping his restless promenade
suddenly, he gripped me excitedly by the arm. "I've got it," he cried,
"I've got it. Deserted by all, we'll try the Jesuits."
"And sell England, I suppose," I answered coldly. "Not a bit of it."
"Oh no. We shall thus procure even more powerful adherents for England
than even Lord Cyril is. We will strike a bargain with them, to side
with us."
"You won't succeed," I said.
"I will," he thundered, and he caught the chain attached to a prisoner's
bell and rung it violently.
"Mind," I returned impressively, "you do this thing against my better
judgment, and when you know for a fact that the Jesuits have been as
keen almost to get hold of these documents as we have. Bad as our
plight is now, I am sure it will be a thousand times worse after you
have entrusted our secrets to these subtle sons of St Ignatius. Make
no mistake. Understand you have been warned, and that you do this thing
with your eyes wide open."
"I understand perfectly," he rejoined. "But I am at the last ditch. I
shall turn now and fight ruffians of the stamp of Cuthbertson with his
own weapons. He has insulted me grossly in that last letter of his,
penned by an assistant secretary, I see, and I will repay him `a tooth
for a tooth, an eye for an eye, burning for burning'!" And his hands
clenched, and upon his features there glowered a look of diabolical
rage.
I would have said more, but just then a police sergeant answered his
summons, and at his request brought him a fresh sheet of notepaper and
an envelope, as well as pad, pen, ink, and blotting paper. Thereon he
sat down once again on the side of the bed and wrote as under:
"_Bow Street Police Station, Cell 12,973_.
"_To_ The Rev Father Provincial of the Society of Jesus, Church of the
Immaculate Conception, Farm Street, Berkeley Square, W.
"Rev Father,--As one who was for some years as a small boy educated at
your society's Stoneyhurst College, I beg to crave your assistance. A
friend and I have been arrested on a perfectly frivolous and futile
charge for grave purposes of the State, connected with the disappearance
of three manuscripts relating to the sacred lake of Tangikano, in which
I understand your society has a very real and vital interest. Can you,
therefore, make it convenient to come and see me on the matter, or at
least send a representative to me who is capable of giving me the best
and most disinterested advice at this juncture? If so, words will fail
to express my gratitude to you.
"Your distracted servant, Jose Zouche Casteno."
"Please have that sent at once," he said, passing the letter open for
the officer to read.
"Any answer?" replied the man, taking the note and preparing to leave.
"Yes; pray tell the constable to wait," returned Casteno, and the
sergeant disappeared, and once more we were alone.
For my own part, I was too disgusted then to wrangle any further with
the Spaniard. In a swift comprehensive fashion I realised that it was
too late to upbraid, the mischief now was done, and that all I could do
was to stand by and fight as best I could for the welfare of my own
country independent of any adventurers like Cuthbertson on the one hand
or of the Jesuits on the other.
After all, I saw, if I became too vocal, Casteno was in no mood to brook
lectures from me. He always had a remedy against me--he could ask to be
placed in a separate cell, and then I should be in a worse position than
ever. I should know nothing of what he was doing to injure England,
nothing at all.