TREACHERY.
Thomas Glynne and Jack De Vinne found life in the bandits’ camp very
irksome. They were not exposed to physical danger, for they were not
called upon to accompany any of the bands which left camp on what they
supposed to be predatory excursions.
Neither had forgotten the object of his visit to Corsica. Each wished to
continue the search for Bertha Renville and be the first one to meet
her; but they knew they were closely watched, and that any attempt to
leave camp without Cromillian’s consent would be resisted by force, and
their careers cut short, perhaps, by rifle-bullets. So they were forced,
against their wills, to remain “lookers-on in Vienna,” and bide their
time. The life they led was as enervating as it would have been in
prison. Each asked for something to do to pass away the time, and it was
arranged that Jack should keep the camp supplied with fresh water, while
Glynne felled trees and cut the firewood.
They were kept in a state of nervous excitement, for they expected any
day that they might be called before Cromillian to learn the decision to
which he had come after visiting Bertha. Each naturally felt that his
claim was the stronger and would be respected. Glynne considered that
his rights as guardian were paramount, while Jack thought, if Bertha
acknowledged her love for him, as he felt sure she would, that the
verdict would be in his favour.
After leaving Barbera’s _cabaret_, Villefort had started off with the
fixed intention of finding Cromillian and divulging Count Mont d’Oro’s
plot against Vandemar Della Coscia, for he felt sure that his discovery
of the dual identity of Victor Duquesne would be fully substantiated.
Villefort did not know where to find Cromillian. He had heard rumours of
the location of the bandits’ camp--but camps can be easily changed from
one place to another. They are like song-birds, or one’s good luck--here
to-day and gone to-morrow.
He had heard that “All roads lead to Rome,” and it was equally true that
all the roads in Corsica, within twenty miles, at least, led to Ajaccio.
He knew that Cromillian’s emissaries came to town, usually disguised,
and to do this they must follow the roads, or one of them.
By chance, for fortune favours wicked people as often as it does good
ones, Villefort took the most direct road to Cromillian’s camp. After a
long and weary tramp, he came to a small cottage, where he determined to
ask for food and an opportunity to rest. As he neared the house, a girl
about ten years of age opened the door and started to run down the path
which led to the roadway, but, seeing Villefort, she stopped suddenly.
“Who lives here?” he asked.
“My mother,” said Lulie, for it was she.
“Yes, I suppose so,” remarked Villefort, “but what is your father’s
name?”
“My father is dead: my mother is called the Widow Nafilet.”
Villefort started. He had heard that name before--but in what
connection? He stood in deep thought, Lulie regarding him attentively,
wondering, childlike, what the object of his visit could be, for few
strangers were seen in that out-of-the-way locality. As the result of
his deliberation, Villefort gave up for a time, at least, his intention
of asking for food, and said:
“I want to find a man named Cromillian. Do you know him?”
“What--Uncle Cromillian?” asked the child. “He is the best friend we
have--mother and I.”
“Where can I find him?” persisted Villefort.
“Are you alone?” queried Lulie.
Villefort nodded.
“I see you have no gun. Is there a pistol or a stiletto inside your
jacket?”
Villefort threw it open. “I am unarmed,” he said. “Come and see if I do
not speak the truth.”
Lulie approached, and her bright eyes searched him from head to foot.
“Clasp your hands behind you,” said she. “I will take your arm and lead
you to him. But if you unclasp your hands, I shall give the danger
signal and Uncle Cromillian will shoot you dead with his rifle.”
The fact was that Cromillian went often to the Widow Nafilet’s house.
Although he usually lived upon it for weeks at a time, he did not relish
the coarse food rudely prepared by his men, and for that reason had
arranged with the Widow Nafilet to cook and send his meals to him when
his camp was within a reasonable distance, Lulie being the messenger.
Cromillian had accounts to keep and letters to write. In camp, the
facilities for such work were very poor, and he found that a snug room
and large table, a high-backed chair and a bright wood fire were much
better suited to his wants and comfort than the arbour in the woods
which he was obliged to use in an emergency.
Lulie led Villefort into the kitchen, where her mother was at work.
“Mother,” she cried, “keep your eye on this man! If he unclasps his
hands, give the signal and Uncle Cromillian will come out with his
rifle.”
Lulie entered an adjoining room, closing the door quickly. The widow
Nafilet kept on with her work, but one eye or the other was fastened on
Villefort who, apparently at his ease, was considering the best manner
in which to open his conversation with the redoubtable bandit, at the
mere mention of whose name citizens of Ajaccio and the surrounding
country trembled with an inexplicable fear. He had not harmed them as
yet, but they did not know what he might do if his demands were not
promptly satisfied.
Lulie opened the door and beckoned to Villefort. “Come in--he will see
you,” she said.
Cromillian was seated at the table, which was covered with documents and
letters, when Villefort entered.
“And what does Monsieur Villefort wish from me?” were Cromillian’s first
words.
“You know me, then?” asked Villefort.
“Yes, and but little to your credit. You are the hired minion of young
Count Mont d’Oro, who is a spendthrift and a profligate. I have an open
account, which I shall settle with him soon.”
“Perhaps I can aid you to get what is due you,” said Villefort, for he
thought that he must improve his standing with the bandit as soon as
possible.
“Perhaps you can,” cried Cromillian, “but I shall pay you nothing if you
do.”
“I do not ask for any reward.”
“I understand,” said Cromillian. “You two rascals have fallen out. He
has wronged you, or you think he has, and you have come to me to betray
him--in other words, you wish to get even with him through my kind
offices.”
Villefort felt that the situation was critical. He must come at once to
the point.
“You know, of course, that Vandemar Della Coscia is in Corsica.”
In spite of his great power of self-command, Cromillian gave an
involuntary start. Villefort perceived his advantage and went on:
“You know, of course, that Count Mont d’Oro fought a duel with a
Lieutenant Duquesne, who is attached to the British frigate now at
Ajaccio.”
Cromillian nodded. Villefort nerved himself for the coming ordeal.
“Count Mont d’Oro put me on the track of the young Englishman and I have
discovered that he is no Englishman at all, but that he is a Corsican,
and his right name is Vandemar Della Coscia!”
Cromillian’s face was unmoved. “Does the Count know this?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Villefort; “he hired me to follow the man and, when he paid
me, he cheated me out of a louis d’or which I had to give to Barbera for
writing a letter.”
“But what matters all this to me?” asked Cromillian.
Villefort reflected before answering. Was Cromillian really ignorant, or
was he only trying to draw him out before saying anything himself? Then
Villefort, as many other rascals have done under similar circumstances,
having told what he felt to be the truth, decided to rely in future upon
invention. Cromillian had turned his face away and was gazing intently
at the blazing wood fire in the fireplace.
“I suppose you know,” Villefort went on, and he watched Cromillian
closely to see the effect of his words, “that Manuel Della Coscia is
also in Corsica under an assumed name.”
Cromillian turned his head and looked Villefort squarely in the face.
“Under what name did you say?” he asked.
Villefort was dumfounded. This was asking too much--more than he had
bargained for. He felt that he must fall back upon the truth, so he
replied:
“I do not know.”
“Can you tell me anything more that you do know?”
“I can relate some suspicious circumstances,” said Villefort.
“Go on!”
“I am well acquainted with the Batistelli servants. Adolphe is easily
bribed; Snodine is a woman to whom a secret is of no value unless she
can tell it; while Manassa is a garrulous old fool who will tell all he
knows for nothing.”
“What have you found out?” This question was uttered in a tone that was
sharp and commanding.
“Just this,” said Villefort, and he adopted a confidential manner; “you
see, I am well acquainted at the hotel, and hotel servants are very
observing--and very communicative under certain circumstances. It seems
that one day an old man--no one at the hotel knew who he was--brought a
letter from somebody for Lieutenant Duquesne. After reading this letter,
probably, he cut his initials--V. D. C.--into the table. Those initials
gave me my first clue.”
“But what about the old man?” asked Cromillian, for the first time
showing some interest in what was being told to him.
“All right, I’ll tell you all I know,” said Villefort, still more
confidentially than before. “One of the hotel servants had occasion to
walk up the road and saw the old man going into the Batistelli castle. I
learned from Adolphe, for a consideration, that he listened and heard
Pascal Batistelli tell the man that he would give him a hundred louis
d’or for something, but Adolphe could not hear just what it was. Several
days ago, a shepherd boy brought a letter to Pascal Batistelli. Adolphe
followed the boy and saw him give something to a man who was in the
maple grove--but Adolphe says he was not the old man who first came to
see Pascal. Two things Adolphe noticed--that the man wore a red vest
under his jacket, and that he had lost the thumb and forefinger of his
right hand.”
Cromillian brought his hand down upon the table with such force that
Villefort recoiled in astonishment. The bandit then set his teeth
tightly together and his brows were knit. He was recalling some
circumstances, and the memories were evidently unpleasant.
Paoli had wished to go and see his mother and had sent a man in his
place to carry that letter to Lieutenant Duquesne. Paoli had asked to go
again to see his mother, when he had wished him to go to Ajaccio. This
time Paoli had supplied another substitute--a man wearing a red vest,
who had lost the thumb and forefinger of his right hand.
Cromillian arose, went to a heavy oaken chest, unlocked it, and took out
a bag in which the coins clinked as he dropped it upon the table. He
counted out eleven louis d’or.
“Here,” he said, pushing it toward Villefort, “is the louis d’or which
Count Mont d’Oro should have paid you; here are ten more for the
information which you have given me, which may or may not prove
valuable. Be discreet, learn all you can, and your reward will be
doubled. Money comes easily to me and I consider it my duty to keep it
moving. Go, now! I will attend to Count Mont d’Oro and those who are
aiding him.”
The next morning, Cromillian returned early to his camp. Hardly had he
reached it, when Paoli came to him and announced, with tears in his
eyes, that his mother was dead and that he wished a furlough for several
days in which to attend to her burial and to secure the little
inheritance which was to come to him.
“I shall be busy for a while,” said Cromillian, “but I will soon send
for you and hear your report on what has taken place during the three
days I have been away. After that, you may go.”
As Paoli was walking away, Cromillian cried:
“Ah, Paoli, by mistake, I left something at the Widow Nafilet’s. Send
Borteno here. Since he lost his thumb and forefinger in that last
scrimmage with the _gens d’armes_ his fighting days are over, for he
cannot pull a trigger; but he will make a good messenger, for his legs
are sturdy and he can keep a secret.”
Borteno soon appeared.
“Tell Londora and Fabria that I wish to see them.”
In a short time Borteno returned, accompanied by the two men.
The arbour used by Cromillian for what might be called his private
office, ended at the base of a high hill, being, in reality, a
_cul-de-sac_.
“Go to the farther end of the arbour,” said Cromillian to Borteno. “I
wish to speak to you.”
After he had gone, Cromillian said in an undertone to the two men:
“If any one attempts to leave the arbour before I do, shoot him down.”
He turned and entered the grove, finding Borteno at the farthest
extremity.
“Borteno,” said he, “I am going to ask you a question, and whether you
live or die within the hour depends upon your answer.”
The man dropped his eyes and trembled visibly.
“My question,” said Cromillian, “has two parts to it, but it will take
but few words to answer both.”
Borteno made a strenuous effort to regain his composure, and partly
succeeded. “You are my chief, and your word is law,” he replied.
“Then listen,” said Cromillian. “On what night, and at what hour, will
Pascal Batistelli be in the maple grove behind his castle, and who of my
followers will meet him there to get a hundred louis d’or? Mind you, I
do not ask for what, for I already know.”
The man’s eyes almost started from their sockets--but he could not
speak.
“I do not blame you,” said Cromillian, “for you but obeyed orders, but
you must answer my questions.”
With trembling voice Borteno said: “To-morrow night, at nine o’clock.”
Cromillian approached the man and they stood face to face, eye to eye.
“What more?”
Borteno uttered but one word--“Paoli!”
“It is well,” said Cromillian. “Come with me.”
When they reached the entrance to the grove, Londora and Fabria stood
there, rifles in hand. Borteno was in the advance. Suddenly, Cromillian
grasped him by the collar of his jacket and pulled him backward.
“I had almost forgotten,” he muttered. To the two sentinels, he said:
“Bind him and gag him, and let no one approach him until I give you
orders.”
* * * * *
On the night of Vivienne’s birthday party, Cromillian, accompanied by
Londora, Fabria, and six more of his trusted men, made their way to
Alfieri and concealed themselves in the maple grove.
As Paoli opened his mouth to tell Pascal Batistelli that Lieutenant
Victor Duquesne was in reality Vandemar Della Coscia, a leaden messenger
from Cromillian’s rifle entered his brain.
After the fusilade, which caused the Batistelli brothers and Count Mont
d’Oro to retreat to the Castle, Cromillian turned to his men and said:
“There is but one proper reward for treachery--and that is death! Reload
and follow me! We shall have more and heavier work shortly.”