"Why, then, didst not tell us this before, friend?"
"What now!" I shouted with a show of anger as I sheathed my sword. "Am
I, then, to cry my business out to every brace of thieves I meet?"
"You speak with heat, not knowing," whined the lantern-bearer. "Verily,
we are no thieves, but honest fighters for the cause, seeking horses,
which are sorely lacking. And if we had known the nature of thy
business, we----"
"Fool!" I broke in fiercely. "Cease thy prating, and open that door at
once, or methinks 'twill be the worse for you. One word of this delay
to Dr. Ferguson, and----"
Back flew the door, and, as I moved slowly forward, the opener of it
laid a trembling hand upon my arm, saying:
"Pray you, sir, get not two honest fellows into trouble. 'Twas done in
ignorance."
"I will consider that," I answered sternly, striding beside my mare into
the yard with great relief. Truly, one Ferguson had served my purpose
handsomely!
Turning to the left, in order to avoid the crowded yard, I passed down a
well-known entry, and so came out into a dark and now quite deserted
street.
"That was a narrow squeak, old girl," I whispered, stroking Kitty's
silken neck, and, as though she understood, the pretty creature whinnied
gently. Then I mounted, and away we fled for home.
In view of what had happened at the stable, I judged it best to keep as
far as possible to by-ways; and so, instead of going through the town
(the nearest road), I struck into a narrow, high-banked lane with
sheltering trees on either side.
'Twas now dusk. Far off I heard the tumult of the town, rising and
falling in a ceaseless hum; but here all seemed silent and deserted.
Yet, even so, it was not long before I proved that Monmouth's men were
guarding even such unlikely avenues; for just as Kitty, with a hill
before her, dropped into an easy trot, I suddenly made out a group of
fellows gathered near the top, beneath the shadow of a tree.
This was plaguy awkward, but yet more so when, as I drew nearer, they
spread themselves across the road, and I made out they were armed with
muskets. Still, there was nothing for it save to put a bold face on the
matter; so, bringing Kitty to a walk, I went forward whistling
carelessly, and had come within fifty yards of them, when one, who
seemed to be a leader, stepped out, and holding up his hand, cried:
"Stop! Thy name and business, friend!"
At that I pulled up the mare, and shouted back:
"What's that you say?"
Fingering his musket-lock, he came a few steps nearer me, and bawled:
"Thou'rt somewhat hard of hearing, friend. I said, Thy name and
business? Prithee, give both quickly."
"My name is of small account," I answered; "and for my business, know
that it concerns one Robert Ferguson."
That name had done so well for me before, that I could think of nothing
better; but, alack! it failed me this time.
"That will not serve thee, friend. 'Tis not sufficient," quoth the man
sternly. "If thy business indeed concerns our chaplain, show thy pass,
or give the watchword."
"Aye, verily! thy pass or watchword," sang another who had now come up
with him.
Here, truly, was an ugly state of things. To turn and flee might mean a
musket-ball for me or Kitty. I thought a moment. Yes, to surprise them
was my only chance.
"The watchword, say ye? Yes, with all my heart."
So saying, I bent forward in the saddle, and, pressing my knees upon the
mare's flanks, spoke softly to her. She gave an angry snort, down went
her ears, and next instant she was rushing forward like a mad thing.
'Twas all so sudden that, for the nonce, those valiant keepers of the
road were utterly confounded. With startled cries, they broke and fled
towards the banks. Yet barely was I past them ere a musket-shot rang
out, and a ball sang dangerously near my head. Another and another
followed, but by that time I was beyond their reach.
Not till I was well past Uplime did I draw rein; then, pulling up beside
a little wood, I stopped to breathe and think. Truly, my mare and I had
already had a taste of what rebellion meant. A few short hours had made
our quiet roads unsafe for honest men. "'Tis a pretty thing," I
muttered, "if a fellow cannot ride home peacefully without the danger of
a pistol bullet through his head. If this be the way of 'honest
Protestants', then give me Popery! The sooner I am at The Havering, the
better."
With that I turned my horse, and, entering a lonely lane, which, as it
seemed, was certain to prove empty, cantered on my way. But I had not
gone far before I overtook some half-score fellows who were hurrying
Lymewards. As they drew aside to let me pass, I reined up suddenly and
scanned their faces. They were heavy, lumbering yokels, farm hands for
the most part, and several were known to me.
"Well, and whither go you?" I asked.
"Up over, into Lyme," said they, "to join the Duke o' Monmouth. Hast
not heard the news, sir?"
"Yes, I have heard it right enough," I answered; "but, if you would be
warned in time, go home again, for methinks your present way leads
straight to hanging."
Their mouths fell open at my words, and for a moment there was silence;
then one of them, a big-limbed fellow, cried:
"A Monmouth! Down with Popery! The Protestant religion!"
The others joined in lustily, and so I left them and rode on. Alack! I
was to see three of those simple-minded rustics dangling from a rope-end
in the days to come!
On drawing near Hay House (a lonely place), where lived the Mayor of
Lyme, I saw a horse come out into the road, with two men on it, riding
double.
This seemed so strange that I must needs pull up to look at them, and
so, as they came abreast of me, I found the foremost one was Dassell.
Both had swords and pistols.
"What now?" said I.
"Hush!" said he. "The very trees have ears to-night. I ride to raise
the country on these rebels--to Crewkerne first--and friend Thorold here
goes with me."
"Yes, but why ride ye so?" I asked.
"Because there is no other way," he answered, smiling grimly. "'Tis
certainly a heavy beast--a coach-horse surely; but 'twill serve,
methinks. At any rate, 'twas the only horse in Master Gregory's
stable."
"And is the Mayor at home?"
"Nay, there is no one save his sister. All his men have joined the
rebels. The Mayor fled long ago to Exeter, to warn the Duke of
Albemarle."
"And save his skin!" said I. "Well, have a care. The roads are guarded,
and 'tis but a chance that I am not the heavier by a bullet."
"Ah! is that so?" quoth Dassell, glancing at his pistols.
"It is," said I, and, wishing them God-speed, rode on my way.
On reaching home I found the yard deserted, and so, vowing vengeance on
our truant fellows, I led Kitty to the stable. There I had removed her
harness, fed and watered her, when I heard a footstep just outside; and
turning, found my father standing in the doorway with a lantern in his
hand.
"Is that you, my son?" he asked, in a voice which methought was strange
and hollow.
"Yes, sir," I answered, and was about to start forth on a full account
of all that I had seen and heard, when, as my father raised the light, I
noticed that his face was deathly white, and that his eyes were full of
fear, a look which I had never seen in them before. Then, and not till
then, I thought of Tubal Ammon, and the guarding of the window.
"What is it, sir?" I asked with great anxiety.
"Come, quickly, Michael," he replied, and turning, led the way towards
the house.
He took me straight into the study, where one glance sufficed to prove
that something bad had happened. The window, a pane of which above the
fastener had been broken, lay wide open; papers were littered on the
floor; while with a thrill of fear, I noticed that my mother's portrait
was displaced.
"Father, what is wrong?" I asked, turning to the spot where he stood
staring at me in dumb, frightened fashion.
He made no answer, but going over to the secret panel, opened it, and
pointed to a darkened corner.
With trembling hand I took a candle from the table, and, kneeling,
looked inside.
The Black Box was not there!
*CHAPTER VI*
*"Too Late"*
When I glanced up, amazed and stupefied, it was to find my father's eyes
fixed on me with a look that I shall ne'er forget. 'Twas one of fear,
and bitterness, and deep reproach. For a moment I was stricken dumb,
then, scarce knowing what I said, I gasped:
"Gone! How?"
My father waved a hand towards the window, and, in a low voice,
answered:
"You have failed me, Michael."
I did not, could not answer him, and so he went on in the same low,
crushing voice:
"Yes, Michael, you have failed me utterly. You have placed your father
in the shadow of the gallows."
Those words to me were like the plunging of a knife into my heart.
Shame, self-reproach, could silence me no longer.
"Sir!" I cried, springing to my feet, and facing him with tight-clenched
hands, and burning cheeks, "you judge me harshly! I did not fail you
willingly! I----"
"You did not get my letter, then?" he put in sternly.
"Yes, sir, I got your letter, but other stirring things clean drove it
from my mind."
"And, pray, what stirring things are those?"
"Why, hast not heard the news?"
"I have heard naught. I have not long returned, and though methought I
heard a sound of some commotion in the town, I took but little heed. My
thoughts were far away. My friend is dead. But, say, what news is that
which made you fail your father?"
"Duke Monmouth landed here, at Lyme, to-night!"
With one deep, sobbing groan, my father staggered back into a chair, and
there sat, limp and helpless, like a man bereft of reason.
"Monmouth--landed--here--at--Lyme!" he gasped at length. "Then are we
utterly undone, and both may look upon the gallows as our own. For,
verily, the words I spake this morning are now proven. He who hath thus
put us into jeopardy is in truth a creature of that plotter, Robert
Ferguson, and----"
"Nay, sir," I broke in desperately, like one who grasps at silken
threads to save himself; "it surely is not proven yet--perchance some
other----"
In speaking I had moved a step towards my father, and now, as if to mock
me and to prove his words, a something grated underneath my foot.
Stooping, I picked it up; and holding it upon my outstretched palm,
stared at it fixedly.
"'Tis proven now," I murmured.
"What's that?" rejoined my father, starting forward in his chair.
"The sign of Tubal Ammon," I replied, still gazing hard at what lay in
my hand. "'Tis one of those small carven balls he did his trick with by
the roadside. He has been here beyond a doubt."
"I knew it, and no proof was needed," groaned my father, sinking back
again. "And not only hath he robbed me, but he most likely heard and
saw all that passed between us here this very morning. Oh, Michael,
Michael! to think that you, my son, should thus have failed me!"
He wrung his hands.
"Yes, yes! and I will make amends for it," I answered fiercely, as, hand
on sword, I turned towards the door.
"Stay! whither go you?" cried my father.
"To seek this fellow out," I answered savagely. "To find him, and--to
kill him."
"Then save yourself the trouble," rejoined my father firmly. "Two
follies never made a wise thing yet, and never will. And this were
rankest folly. For, look you, this fellow Ammon will be far away by now;
aye, verily, perchance aboard ship, making for his master."
"Not so," said I, "for his master is already here in Lyme."
"What!" cried the old man, springing to his feet. "Ferguson in England?"
"Yes, he landed with Monmouth here to-night." And in a few hot,
breathless words I told him all that I had seen and heard that day;
while he paced to and fro, now stopping for a moment, now spreading out
his hands, and all the time casting wild, hunted glances round the room.
"Michael," he said when I had finished, "the bolt is shot, and nothing
now can save me from the gallows; nay, verily, I feel the noose about my
neck already."
"No, no!" I cried out in my desperation. "Say not that. I cannot bear
it. There is still hope that naught may come of it."
"There--is--no--hope," replied my father, slowly. "Whatever comes of
this rebellion, Ferguson will still have power to bring me to
account--to crush me! Nor will he stay his hand. I know him well. To
be avenged is very life to him. Yes, Ferguson the Plotter will have
vengeance! There is no hope! Oh, why is this? Why have I lived to see
this awful day?"
Clenching his hands, he raised them high above his head, and stood
before me thus--a haunting picture of despair and anguish, awful to
remember. It seemed as though the hands were raised to curse me; but it
was not so, for, as I stood there with bowed head, they came down gently
on my shoulders.
"Michael," he said, "take not this thing too much to heart. You spoke
truly--I have judged you harshly. The fault is mine, not yours; for had
I not first trafficked with this Ferguson, for the sake of usury, for
filthy lucre, this had not happened. Yes, yes, the fault is mine, and
whatever evil comes of it, no harm shall come to you. I swear it.
Forget my hasty words."
A curse had been much easier to bear than this.
"Nay, sir, I will not have it so," I almost shouted. "The fault is mine.
I have been faithless, as you said, and would now make amends for it.
What can be done?"
"Hush!" said my father gently. "Naught can be done--to-night. I would
think this matter over quietly, alone, here. Therefore, leave me,
Michael; go to rest. We may see clearer in the morning. Good-night, my
son!"
Our hands met in a long, firm grip, even as they had done in the early
morning of that selfsame day, when I had sworn strict secrecy concerning
that which now, alas! through my unfaithfulness had thus been turned
into a power of threatening danger.
Going over to the fatal, mischief-working window, I slowly closed the
tell-tale casement; then once more turned towards my father; and spite
of all his efforts at concealment, I read within his eyes the awful
words "Too late!" And so I left him.
*CHAPTER VII*
*The Plotters*
Such had been the throbbing interest and excitement of that eventful
day, that I had taken scarcely anything to eat or drink--I had not
thought of it--and now my only craving was for water. Of that I took a
long, cold draught, then went up to my lonely bed-chamber. But not to
rest; there could be no rest for me now!
Pacing the room I thought bitterly of the state of things, and how
different it might all have been but for my own surpassing carelessness;
thought, too, of the old man who sat lonely and disconsolate below; of
Tubal Ammon and his mischief-working master.
Thus to and fro I went, I know not for how long, while shame and
self-reproach hung close and heavy at my heels: but at every turn the
hopelessness and desperation of my mind increased, until at length I
could endure my thoughts no longer. The confines of that little chamber
seemed to grow smaller and more suffocating every moment, until they
were as those of some pestiferous dungeon in which I was a maddened
prisoner. I must do something--take action, no matter how preposterous
and wild--or lose my senses.
Going over to the open window I stood there looking out across the bay.
A cool sea breeze played most refreshingly upon my heated face; I drew
it in with thankfulness.
The tumult in the town had sunk to silence, the night was dark and still
as death. Far off I saw the bobbing lanterns of the three black ships
whose coming had so altered everything.
It all seemed like a dream or ugly nightmare, and I was thinking so when
suddenly I saw a tiny twinkling light upon the cliffs, it might be half
a mile away. On this--I know not why, unless it was presentiment--my
eyes became fixed in a fascinated stare. Who at such an hour ('twas now
close on midnight) had business in so desolate and wild a spot? Barely
had I asked the question, when another light, a trifle larger, blinked
forth in answer, some distance from the first one. Even as I watched,
they quickly drew together, got close enough to make them seem one
light, and then were lost to me.
Here, then, was what I craved for--chance of action! Some mystery was
afoot there on the cliffs. I would endeavour to make out the nature of
it.
Recking nothing of the risks I ran, careless of everything save blessed
movement, I stuck two loaded pistols in my belt, crept downstairs with a
noiseless stealth, and left the house.
If ever youth went forth blindfolded on a reckless, wild adventure, I
surely was that youth; if ever mind was nearly bursting with a
hare-brained folly, such certainly was Michael Fane's as he passed out
into the darkness of that fateful night. Yet, had I been assured that
Death himself was waiting to embrace me in his icy clasp, 'tis certain I
would still have gone. Fate urged me on, nor did I need much driving.
As I have said, the night was dark, the moon being hidden by a mighty
bank of clouds: and naught was to be seen save here and there a
twinkling light among the distant houses of the town, where doubtless
some late sitters talked upon the happenings of that stirring day, or
those engaged upon rebellion laid their plans. Thus I had nothing more
than chance to guide me to the spot where the two tell-tale lights had
drawn so close together and then vanished.
Going full cautiously, stopping every now and then to listen, I crept
across the open space which lay between me and the cliffs. Bush and
bracken broke the ground at intervals, and thus, with no clear path
discernible in such a darkness, it behoved me to move warily, lest by
stumbling I might warn instead of catch.
Thus going in and out among the shrubs and ferns, and ever moving like
some beast of prey, I came at length upon the narrow path which runs
along the cliff-top. There, beaten, and inclined to curse my
foolishness, I stood straight up and listened.
A rabbit scuttered somewhere close at hand, the sea moaned plaintively
upon the shore below me, but not another sound was to be heard; it
seemed, indeed, as though the silence whispered of my folly!
Had, then, my eyes deceived me? Had a seething, maddened brain struck
lights where no lights were! It seemed so; or, if not, the bearers of
those lights had gone their way, for I was certain that I was not far
from where they had thus strangely met and disappeared. Yes, truly, I
was minded to call one Michael Fane a fool!
Stay, though, what was that? A hundred yards or so away, across the
scrub, I caught the sudden twinkle of a lantern. With bated breath I
watched it for a moment, then, dropping down upon the ground, moved
towards it like a slinking tiger. Scarcely had I started ere the light
vanished just as quickly as it came, but that did not stop me. On hands
and knees, feeling for every bush, I crawled on through the darkness.
The cracking of the tiniest twig seemed like a gunshot to my anxious,
straining ears, my tight-held breathing like the roaring of a grampus.
So slow and stealthy were my movements that a score yards took near half
as many minutes: and having covered double that without result except a
good array of scratches, I had again begun to doubt my eyes and mutter
at my folly, when, as I paused a moment to consider matters, a sound
like that of humming voices reached me from ahead.
Kneeling, I listened breathlessly, and with an eagerness as though my
very life depended on the act, and yet, for all I knew, it might have
been but poachers setting out their snares; therefore 'twould seem
indeed as though black fate and dread presentiment went hand in hand
that night.
As near as I could tell, the voices came from a spot not far away, and
straight ahead of me, but so low and muffled were they that 'twas no
easy matter to judge rightly on this point.
For a time I knelt there listening with all my might, first cocking this
ear and then that, but all in vain--not one word reached me: the buzzing
hum continued in a maddening fashion; indeed, it might have been a hive
of droning bees for all that I could make of it.
Down on all-fours I went again, and, with the sound to guide me, crawled
towards it.
Some twelve yards farther on I once more stopped to listen, and thus
discovered that the talkers were on the far side of a ridge or hillock
up which I had commenced to climb; and what was more, I made out that
which stiffened me with dread, and set my heart off thumping like a
hammer. For now I was near enough to separate the voices, low though
they were, and one of them spoke in broadest Scotch--'twas Ferguson's;
while the other there was no mistaking either--Tubal Ammon's!
Digging my fingers deep into the turf, for very fear lest overmastering
astonishment should cause me to exclaim and so betray myself, I paused a
moment, then, with cat-like stealth, crept up the bank.
'Twas a risky, daring business sure enough; the snapping of a twig, the
rattle of a stone, and I had brought on me two desperate fellows, who
would as soon take life as toss a penny. Still, as it seemed to me,
'twas worth a world of danger--nay, 'twas a stroke of glorious luck--to
come thus on those two arch-plotters in their midnight tryst, catch them
red-handed, as it were, and, perchance, confound them. And had I needed
any goad to urge me forward (which I did not), there was the thought of
him whom I had wronged, and who doubtless even then sat lonely and
distracted in his study, brooding helplessly upon the dangers which
beset him.
Thus I crept up, foot by foot--nay, inch by inch were nearer to the
mark, my going was so slow--until at last I was near enough to make out
wellnigh every word as it was spoken. Then, stretched full length upon
the cool, soft turf, I lay there with a thumping heart and listened,
drinking in all I heard as greedily as ever thirst-parched man drank
water.
"'Tis so, then," Ferguson was saying; "you come here to drive a hard and
grievous bargain, eh?"
"Aye, truly," answered Ammon; "no words could put it better: a
bargain--a hard and grievous bargain if you will."
"And not to serve the godly cause?" whined Ferguson.
"Pish to your godly cause!" sneered Ammon. "I trow its value is the
same to both of us--and that is money."
"What's that?" returned the chaplain fiercely.
"Cold truth, and nothing else," replied the other. "Look you, Doctor
Robert Ferguson, methinks we know each other well--at least 'tis time we
did. You, for a groat, would kill a man; by the same token, so would I.
Let that suffice us both. We came not here to warble sweet religion
through our noses, but to bargain. Let us therefore to the business of
the night, without more vain pretence, or, by the Lord, I will away and
leave you wanting what you hoped to gain."
"Enough!" groaned Ferguson. "A godless man is not to be persuaded of
his evil-doing."
"Nor yet beguiled," snapped Ammon.
"Tut, tut, no more of that. You named a price. Let's see, now" (here I
heard him scratch his tousled wig), "was it not fifty guineas?"
"The godlessness is on your side, methinks, friend Ferguson," sneered
Ammon. "For verily you have a lie upon your lips. Full well you know
the price was double that."
"What?" cracked Ferguson. "A hundr-r-ed guineas! Why, 'tis shee-r-r
madness, man! Pr-r-e-poster-rous!" (His "r's" rolled like a drum.)
"Nathless, 'tis my price," returned the other coldly.
"But, man, good man! I have not such a wicked price upon me!"
"Another lie! for verily I see your pockets bulging with it. Have a
care, friend Ferguson, or it may well go higher still."
"Nay, nay, that were impossible. Come, friend, let us bargain fairly.
Say eighty guineas, and 'tis yours this instant."
"A hundred guineas!" answered Ammon sharply, "and that also instantly,
or verily I take the thing away with me for ever. Look you, friend
Ferguson, for over half an hour we have sat parleying here, and still
you clutch your filthy gold and strive to trick me of my due. Have I
not risked my very life to get this paltry thing, and was not the price
agreed upon between us? Aye, verily; and unless 'tis paid down now,
before these lips of mine have counted ten, that which you crave is gone
from you for ever. Methinks I might make more of it elsewhere.
One--two----"
"Stay! the box is with you, is it?" asked the chaplain, as a man who
clutches at a straw.
"Fool!" snapped Tubal Ammon. "Have I not told thee so at least a dozen
times already. Three--four--five----"
"Then prove it! Let me see it. Thou hast not done that yet."
"True, by my life, for once. Then here it is. Six----"
"Ah, my wee, black, bonny bairn! How dear thou wast to me! Wilt let me
hold it, friend?"
"Yes, when the gold is counted out. Not till. Seven--eight. Nine!"
"Hast the key to it?"
"Nay, how should I? But 'tis easily forced open."
"Then I must prove the contents ere I pay so vast a sum. That is but
fair; for, look you, friend, the box might very well be empty."
"'Tis not so," answered Ammon. "Listen!" He shook it, and I heard the
fatal papers rustle.
"But other papers might have been put in," persisted Ferguson.
"Therefore, I say, it must be proven. Burst it open, friend; but have a
care in doing so, for verily I love it as a child."
The love of Tubal Ammon for it did not seem to count for much, for, with
what sounded like a savage crack, he forced the lock and dragged the
papers forth.
"Ah, let me see them! Give them to me," said the chaplain eagerly.
"Nay, not so quick, friend Ferguson," quoth Ammon. "Not till the price
is paid, that is. Mayst see them if you will, but nothing more. Look
you, here they are!"
I heard him smooth the parchments out; then caught the flicker of a
lantern as he held it up for Ferguson to see them.
"What? there are three of them!" exclaimed the chaplain. "Well, that
boots not. The one I want is there--the one you hold in front. Now,
place them here betwixt us, underneath the box, while I count out thy
most extortionate reward."
He gave a cracking laugh, of which the other took no heed; then came the
clink of slowly-counted gold, the counting of a usurer who weighed each
piece and loathed to part therefrom. "Thou art a hard, tight-fisted
fellow, Tubal Ammon," snarled Ferguson when all was ready. "Here, then,
is thy hard-wrung price, and may the Lord requite thee for the taking of
it from a man so poor as me!"
Here Tubal Ammon laughed (or barked, were a truer name for it) and said:
"'Tis well; now we are quits, methinks, for each hath what he sorely
wanted. As for your poverty, most worthy chaplain, I would right gladly
barter it for mine. Yea, friend, I always thought you rich, yet was not
sure of it; and now that it is clearly proven--now I learn that thou art
poor! Enough; we never know the truth. _Docendo discimus_. Pardon
such faulty Latin. But, what say you, shall we now let go a psalm upon
the night? Truly, our voices are a trifle cracked, but yet methinks
'twould make a fine duetto. Hark you! Like this--join in!"
He raised a rasping, high-pitched voice, and sang a note or two.
"Stop, fool!" hissed Ferguson. "Wouldst bring danger on us? We know
not who may be in earshot of such owlish screeching! Art clean daft?"
"Nay, only wondrous happy," answered Ammon.
"Yes, and why?" growled Ferguson. "Because, like Shylock, thou hast
claimed thy pound of flesh?"
"Yea, verily, and got it; which is much more to the point."
"Yes, got it," quoth the chaplain bitterly. "Wrung it from me like the
clutching Jew you are. Let that suffice, and add not gibe to injury."
"Ah, no! was ever miser yet who could bear parting with his gold, no
matter how it had been earned?" sighed Ammon mockingly.
"The devil take thee!"
"Nay, I am his already--thanks to thee, most godly chaplain."
"Provoke me not too far," hissed Ferguson. "I am not to be trifled
with. You know me well, friend Ammon."
"Yes, verily, I know you far too well."
"Then keep your rasping tongue still. There was more inside the box
than I had bargained for; and I would scan these papers carefully in
peace."
"And by the same token, sir," mocked Ammon, "I would fain count my
money, lest, haply, thou hast overpaid me. Thus are we quits again."
Here, then, I had the real Tubal Ammon, so different from the sly,
tale-telling wretch whom I had met beside the road; and here also was
the real Ferguson. But of him I had already known so much that his
present character seemed quite in keeping with my knowledge of him.
And now the crackling of parchment and chink of gold was all that
reached my ears.
I lay there listening for a while, and then an overmastering desire came
over me to look upon these workers of iniquity. Next moment I was
moving like a serpent up the bank, holding my breath and fearful lest
the very thumping of my heart might give the scoundrels warning and undo
me.
At last I gained the ridge, and, having paused a moment, took a cautious
peep beneath a little bush. And there I saw a sight indeed. 'Twas worth
the risk. The rays of a lantern, set within a cleft, fell on the
wicked, red-blotched face of Ferguson, as he sat there, with knees drawn
up wellnigh to his chin, poring over his ill-gotten gain; it fell, too,
on the evil, cunning face of Tubal Ammon, as, crouching low, he counted
up his money with a greedy care. And, midway between them lay the
rifled box. Never have I seen a sight more diabolical, and 'tis,
perhaps, small wonder that the thought came rushing to my mind: Two
Satans, with the light of Hades on them!
From my hiding-place behind the bracken I stared at them like one
bewitched, till Ammon, having dropped the last gold-piece into a
leathern pouch, glanced up at his companion. Then, fearing lest he
might arise, I ducked my head and drew back down the bank a foot or two.
"Right to a single piece," quoth Tubal, jingling the pouch.
"I knew that well enough," growled Ferguson. "Have you a piece of cord
wherewith to fasten up the box?"
"Yes, by my life, here is the very thing," replied the other. "Truly my
usefulness exceeds all reckoning."
The chaplain murmured something which I did not catch, then, as it
seemed to me, he folded up the papers, placed them in the box, and
having tied the cord around it, said:
"And now to further business, friend."
"With all my heart; name it, I pray you," answered Tubal Ammon.
"These Fanes, then; you have seen them both?"
"Yes, more than once. Moreover, the coxcomb of a son I have twice come
near killing."
"Ah, and what kind of man is he?"
"A great big lusty fellow, over six feet high. I owe him much, and will
repay it. Yea, verily, his days are numbered."
"See thou to that. 'Tis no concern of mine. I have no quarrel with the
son. But the old man, the father, Ammon" (here he lowered his voice
into an ugly whisper), "he who robbed me--str-r-uck me down--I would
have vengeance on that man. Yea, I would have him swept from off the
earth. Canst do it?"
"Yes, easily."
"How, then? By pistol, bullet, or by knife?"
"Neither. I have a softer way than those, though no less sure."
"What's that?"
"Why, look you," answered Ammon, after fumbling in his coat, "see
here--this tiny bow and arrows; things for boys to play with, say you?
And yet a prick from one of them would kill the strongest man within an
hour. Naught could save him, for they are dipped in deadliest poison."
"No, no! away with them! away with them!" cried Ferguson. "I could not
think of it. 'Twere cruel, heathenish, nay, worse, 'twere rankly
wicked!"
"Then, verily, our sense of wickedness is far from tallying, friend,"
sneered Ammon. "Killing is killing, as it seems to me, and the way of
doing it makes little difference."
"Yes, but poison, friend, poison, I say, were cruel, heathenish; any way
but that!"
"Well, we will leave the way, then. You want this man, this Gilbert
Fane--well, let us say, removing. Is that so?"
"Yes; for not only do I hate him, but I also fear him somewhat."
"And you would have me do it for you?"
"Yes."
"Then I will do it--at a price."
"Price!" snapped Ferguson. "Oh, thou grasping, greedy fellow. Doth not
the hundred guineas cover this small extra service also?"
"Nay, by life it doth not," answered Ammon slowly. "One bargain doth not
drive a second."
"Well, well," groaned Ferguson. "What is your price, then? Name it."
"Ten guineas."
"What!" almost shrieked the chaplain. "Ten guineas just to kill a man?"
"Yes, and a low price too. I run great risk in doing it."
"Oh, thou extortioner! thou greedy leech! But, come, 'tis surely but a
jest. Say five and I am with thee."
"Ten guineas."
"Eight."
"Ten."
"No, no! I will not pay a sum so wicked."
"Then Gilbert Fane lives on for all I care, and with him, as you just
now showed, your fear and hatred of the man."
"O Lord!" sighed Ferguson, "when will this cruel bleeding of me cease?
Right well hast thou been named, thou godless, grasping Jew; for was not
Tubal one of Shylock's friends? But, say, if I agree with thee, when
wilt thou wipe this fellow off the earth? The Duke rides forth from
Lyme within a day or two, and I would be assured that Gilbert Fane is
dead before I leave. What, then?"
"He shall be dead before this time to-morrow," answered Tubal Ammon
firmly.
"But what proof shall I have that it is so?"
"Good proof, sure proof, a proof there can be no gainsaying."
"Name it, then."
"The key that fits that box," replied the other slowly. "It hangs by a
ribbon round his neck. I saw it as I watched him through the window.
That will I bring as proof."
"Enough, then; 'tis a bargain. Bring me that key and I will pay thy
cruel, wicked price. And now let me away before I am clean ruined."
Here both men rose; but now it was my turn. Throughout their foul
plotting my blood had risen pell-mell, till now, with the dastardly
completion of their bargain, 'twas surging through me like a burning
flood, which drowned all power of reasoning, and seemed to make me
someone that I knew not. 'Twas wildly, madly planned, I know--nay,
'twas not planned at all. I had done better to have crept up to the
ridge and tried to shoot them thence without their knowing it. I had
done ten times better still, to have used the knowledge I had gained to
save my father and gone off silently, leaving those thrice-accursed
fellows in their ignorance. I see that clearly now. But then the power
to reason, plan, nay, even think, had clean forsaken me; while as for
caution, danger, fear--I knew them not. One fierce, ungovernable wish
was mine--namely, to kill these would-be murderers of my father and
regain the box.
Drawing a pistol from my belt I rose suddenly and sprang upon the ridge.
Ferguson had just picked up the lantern, but now he flung it far away,
and uttering one loud, whelping cry of terror, fled off--with both hands
raised above his head--into the night. I took a flying shot at him, but
all in vain, for he had vanished ere I pulled the trigger.
'Twas far different with Tubal Ammon; snatching up his money-bags he
leapt back with a ringing oath, and there I could just make him out, a
dim, black, post-like blotch amid the darkness. In haste I whipped the
other pistol from my belt.
*CHAPTER VIII*
*A Fight for Life*
Click!--click! went both our pistol locks together, and, an instant
later, two shots rang out as one. Nor was there much to choose between
the aims. Tubal Ammon's bullet grazed my right side beneath the
arm-pit; while mine went smash into his money-bag, and ripping it,
brought forth a stream of coins which jingled thick and fast upon the
ground. Had it not been for this protection, it had most surely been a
stream of blood instead, for he had held the bag pressed tightly to his
side. Strange that gold should save the life of one who had but just
been bartering life for gold!
Again, had it not been for that wild, chancy shot at Ferguson I might
have had friend Tubal now, for, instead of fleeing, he dropped straight
down and grovelled in the gold, filling his pockets with it while he
muttered oaths and curses terrible to hear. Doubtless greed held him as
its own just then, for though my second pistol had been fired, he must
have known he ran great risk; and indeed I might have got him with my
sword before he could have saved himself. But the truth is, that the
pistol flashes had discovered that which for the nonce made Tubal Ammon
seem of small account. The Black Box, bound with cord, lay there
straight below me on the turf, dropped or for gotten, as I judged it, by
the chaplain in his terror-stricken flight.
Down I jumped into the hollow, and having seized my prize, was up again
before you could have counted ten.
Having stuffed the precious thing into my pocket, I stood upon the ridge
and once more looked at Ammon. He had risen and gone back a little; thus
much I could make out but nothing more, for now he was wellnigh
invisible. Dead, awful silence followed, and for the first time since
leaving home I felt afraid; afraid, that is, because I could not see
this murderous villain clearly, because he was now but a lurking,
threatening shadow in the darkness. But just as I was thinking swiftly
whether to speed home with what I had so luckily secured, or draw my
sword and try to end the mischief-working fellow's life, the heavy
westward clouds behind me broke; the moon burst forth; and, in a moment,
we were made plain to one another.
There, stiff and straight, stood Tubal Ammon with his hands behind him,
as motionless as though he had been carved in cold grey stone. The moon
shone full upon his yellow, wrinkled face, and, seen by that ghostly
light, he was, indeed, as much like Satan as a man could be. The very
gold-pieces, glistening here and there, deep red, among the grass, were
to my startled fancy as great drops of blood.
Thus, for the second time within the rounding of the clock, did I and
Tubal Ammon face each other; and 'tis small wonder that I, stiff as he,
stared at him like one spell-bound. And as I stared, I remember
wondering vaguely what had possessed him to remain thus, when he might
easily have fled to safety in the dark-ness. Surely not the gold, for
he had gathered most of that! What, then? Well, I was very soon to
know.
Meanwhile the silence grew appalling, unsupportable. It must be broken.
"Once more!" I shouted.
"Once more," he answered, though in a voice so low and still as barely
moved his lips.
"What would you have?" I asked, scarce knowing what I said.
Another silence followed, and then two words came hissing through it
like a knife-thrust:
"Your life!"
Although this was no news to me, the utterance of it thus was something
of a shock. A threat made face to face gains ugly meaning, especially
from such a man as he who stood before me. I paused a moment, then
said, slowly:
"Yes, truly, you would kill me and my father also. I am forewarned of
that. For, look you, Tubal Ammon, all your foul plans are known to me.
I have been listening long enough to hear them one and all."
At that he gave a little start, so small as scarcely to be noticed, then
murmured:
"Ah! 'twas well done, friend, well, indeed!"
"Well or ill, 'twas done!" I answered hotly; "and now, listen, thou
wicked, murderous jail-bird: before this time to-morrow, the law shall
have both you and your accursed master by the heels."
"Ah, say you so?" quoth Tubal Ammon, with a mocking grin. "Well, now,
the law is what I take no great account of. It may be well enough for
some; but me it neither helps nor hinders, therefore, I say, it comes
not in my reckoning."
"That being so," I thundered, whipping out my sword, "I will dispense
with it and settle with you now!"
With that I sprang into the hollow bent on killing him, but even as I
did so, his hands came from behind him, and in them I beheld the little
bow with one of its poisoned arrows ready fitted to the string.
"Stop!" said he. "I give thee warning. Truly this will not carry far,
some twenty paces maybe; but come against me and I will promise thee
sure death within an hour. Go back, or die! Which shall it be, friend?
Choose!"
I did so instantly; for this was like waging warfare with the devil, not
with man. Shuddering with horror I leapt back to the crest and once
more faced my enemy.
"You have chosen wisely, friend," said he.
"I have chosen as a man must choose when matched against a cruel,
murderous demon such as you," I answered.
"Well, now, there is some truth in that," replied the shameless knave.
"Yes, but more in this," I put in fiercely. "Listen Tubal Ammon, limb
of Satan, as you surely are! Standing here I utterly defy you, dare you,
as an honest man may dare the devil! Do your worst or best, I care not!
Nay, I flout both you and your accursed master with those murderous
plans which I have overheard this night. I care no more for them or you
than that!"
Here I shook my sword at him, and having sheathed it with a loud,
emphatic smack, turned and strode down the bank and made for home.
That I was far from easy as to what lay behind me needs no saying, and
doubtless it was this that made me hurry when I reached the level
ground. Hurry, at least, I did, with long, quick strides; and thus, with
a moon to light the way, I should have reached The Havering (whose
chimneys rose above the distant trees) in no time, but for the wicked
wiles of Tubal Ammon.
I had left him standing, bow in hand, when I turned my back upon the
ridge; and it seemed to me assured that ere he moved he would gather up
the gold that yet remained strewn upon the grass: so much seemed certain
in a man so greedy, and, by way of proving it, I more than once glanced
cautiously behind me.
I had thus gone perhaps a hundred yards, when suddenly I heard what
sounded like the gentle clink of coins.
Turning, I drew my sword and looked back, listening carefully, but there
was nothing to be seen or heard. The night was still as death, and so,
perhaps, thought I, the sound of Ammon gathering up his gold had carried
thus far.
At any rate, I saw no reason for alarm, and therefore, with my sword
still drawn in readiness, strode on again a little quicker.
Another dozen yards or so, then--chink! chink! chink! Yes, there could
be no doubt about it; and 'twas nearer this time.
Remembering my experience with the oak tree, I went on a few more steps
as though unheeding, then turned sharply round. The plan succeeded
well; for there, sure enough, some fifty yards away, I saw a head pop
down behind a gorse bush.
And then, as in a flash, I saw it all. This was Tubal Ammon's latest
plan for dealing death; this was why he had remained and waited, and
allowed me to depart, as it appeared, without the least concern. I
understood. He had meant to follow me in stealth--to creep upon me from
behind, and shoot me in the back!
On realizing this I broke out in a sweat of fear and horror. I am no
coward, and vow that had it been a clean, straight sword-fight, man to
man, I would have waited for my foe without a qualm. But to be done to
death in that heathenish and most atrocious fashion was utterly beyond
me. I could not face it. Sheathing my sword I turned and fled for my
very life.
A low, fierce cry, and the pad of swiftly-running feet broke out behind.
Ammon was after me. Taking a quick, back shoulder glance, I saw him
coming like the wind. His feet seemed scarce to touch the ground. It
was as though the Evil One himself were in pursuit. Never before, I
trow, had such a breathless race 'twixt life and death gone forward on
those ancient, wave-washed cliffs.
Putting forth all the strength and length of limb which God had given
me, I strove to win, but all in vain. The light-toed villain gained
upon me every yard, the clink of gold grew nearer, louder, every moment,
until there could not have been twenty yards between us, and I could
even hear his hissing breath. At any moment now the poisonous prick
might come. The thought was unendurable. Better turn round and face
sure death than wait for it to strike me from behind, I knew not when.
With this thought in my head, I leapt aside, and such was Ammon's speed
that he had gone flying past a good ten yards ere he could stop himself;
then, as he turned, I drew my sword out and rushed at him. But he was
all too quick for me; with one great, cat-like spring, he saved himself,
so that my upraised weapon clave the air: then, as I turned to face him,
I saw his evil eye beyond the little bow as he took a hurried, deadly
aim.
Hiss! the murderous arrow struck me full in the breast and quivered
there, while by the sound of it, it had cut clean through to the bone.
I felt no pain--nay, not a prick--and yet, so certain was I that a slow
and hideous death would surely follow, that in the terror of that awful
moment my strength seemed to forsake me, my sword fell to the ground,
and thus I stood and stared at Tubal Ammon, as some dumb stricken beast
might at the giver of its death-blow. I saw his drooping eyelids rise
and fall, his body quivered for a moment, then, with a ravening cry, he
sprang upon me.
So fierce and sudden was his rush that I had no chance to pick my sword
up, and as he leapt upon me I was driven staggering backwards for a yard
or two. Then such a fight began beneath that staring moon as makes me
shudder when I think upon it.
[Illustration: "THEN SUCH A FIGHT BEGAN AS MAKES ME SHUDDER WHEN I THINK
UPON IT"]
My strength must have been three times that of Ammon's in the way of
common wrestling, but so close and snake-like were his methods that from
the first he had the best of it. His legs and arms wound round me like
the tentacles of an octopus, every moment tightening with a crushing,
suffocating power.
In vain I struck and tore and wrenched: he seemed to have no flesh to
bruise, no bones to break; a thing of steel and hide had not been more
impervious to blows. His fetid breath was on my face, his cruel eyes
were close to mine; it was a very nightmare of a fight, in which all
skill and knowledge counted for nothing and were powerless to avail.
Thus to and fro we swayed like one, first this way and then that, until
my strength and breath began to fail by reason of the hopeless, stifling
struggle. With one last desperate wrench I tried in vain to cast the
clinging demon from me. His bony hand shot out and gripped me by the
throat, his left leg wound about my right, I staggered for a moment,
then fell crashing backward. My head struck something hard, the moon
shot zigzag down the sky, and with it went the grinning face of Tubal
Ammon. Black darkness followed.
*CHAPTER IX*
*The Shadow of Death*
"Coome, now, zur, another soop o' this and you'm a man agen."
The words fell on my muffled ears as though the voice were calling from
a distance; then the murmur of the sea broke in upon me like a sullen
roar, as, with a wild, bewildering rush I rose to life again.
And thus I found that I was sitting up (or lolling like a sack of flour
were better words for it), with a knee and arm behind me, while my head,
which ached abominably, lay back upon a shoulder. So much I made out in
that first dim gleam of consciousness, but for the rest of it I was
still half-dazed and could not think.
"Another drop--joost one, zur," urged the voice again.
Something (a leathern bottle, as I found out afterwards) was pressed
against my lips. I drew upon it with a will, then nearly choked. Hot,
burning stuff it was, that sent the blood a-dancing through my veins
like wildfire.
"Brandy!" I gasped, as soon as breath would let me.
"Aye, aye, you'm right, zur. Brandy it be--best French, too."
The cloud of black bewilderment was passing--the voice was now familiar.
Glancing up I met the keen grey eyes of Daniel Ratlaw (or Rat as he was
called), the greatest thorn in Dassell's side, because he was the king
of cargo runners.
"Smuggled?" said I.
"Right agen," he nodded, with a wink. "Smuggled sure enough it were,
but mebbe none the worse for that."
"Nay, surely, Rat," I murmured; then sat silent for a time, striving to
collect my scattered thoughts, which so far had remained a wild unruly
throng. The moon, which I had last seen shooting down the sky with
Ammon's head for company, now shone brightly; and what was that which
flashed its light back from the grass? My sword! When I saw that, the
past rushed on me pell-mell. The poisoned arrow! Surely it was time
that death was stealing over me! The throbbing of my head--was that not
part of it?
I gave a shuddering downward glance towards my breast. The murderous
little shaft was hanging from my coat. Ratlaw's eyes had followed mine
and seen it also.
"Whoy, what be that?" says he, and tried to seize it, but I dashed his
hand away.
"Have a care!" I cried, "'tis poisoned!"
And with that I plucked the arrow out and cast it clear into the bushes
at my back.
"Poisoned!" gasped Dan, and very nearly let me drop.
"Yes," said I, "tipped with deadly poison. Say," I added, "do I look
strange? Is my face black, or green, or blue?"
He laughed and answered:
"Nay, 'tis a lovely red, I vow."
That relieved me greatly; still, being far from satisfied, my hand went
creeping to the spot where, as it seemed, the arrow had struck clean
through to the breastbone, and there, beneath my coat, I felt the Black
Box.
"Heaven be thanked!" said I aloud. "It saved me."
"What saved thee, friend?" asked Ratlaw with a puzzled look.
"Nothing," I answered quickly; then added, "or rather, you did, surely."
"Mebbe I did," said he; "you'm right agen, I reckon. Another
minute--and----"
"Yes, yes," I put in eagerly; "pray, tell me all about it"--for indeed
it seemed astonishing that Tubal Ammon had not finished me while yet he
had the power to do so.
"Well, 'twere like this," quoth Ratlaw. "As I were a-cooming 'long oop
over from--well, from minding that as needs the minding, I saw what
looked like one great whopping man a-swaying in the moonlight. 'Twere a
terror of a thing, I tell 'ee, and I were just a bit afeard; but on I
coome, and then may I be drownded if that whopping man did not break
clean in two, and one half of it (that's you) went flop. I heard your
head go crack upon yon stump, then t'other half jumped on you, and I saw
the flashing of a knife. I were close by then--a dozen yards away, not
more--so I whips out my hanger here and cooms on roarin' like a lion.
Joost in toime and only joost. The knife wor raised to stroike, when,
hearing me, he joomps oop, snarls at me loike any dog, and flies off
cursing. And oh, the face of en! Zur, if 'twere not the Evil One
hisself, who wor it?"
"The Evil One himself," I answered slowly.
"Aye, sure, or you had killed a dozen such as he wi' that." He pointed
to my sword.