WITH A THREE-ANGLED HOE.
It is curious how no two people can speak the same words with identical
intonation. Perhaps this is noticeable to some men more than to others.
I know some folks never forget a face, others a walk; but for myself,
though these things may pass from memory, a voice once heard never
escapes me. I suppose it is because I have been at much pains to
distinguish between sounds. I'm rather musical, you know.
And so as I lay squatted there beneath a sloe-bush, and the tones of a
voice grating as those of the corncrake came to me through the chinks
in the wall, I knew that Weems was at large once more, and pressing on
with his errand.
I might have expected him, and yet his arrival was a bit of a surprise;
and on the spur of the moment I could not for the life of me think what
was best to do. One couldn't nobble the man, and still I didn't intend
that he should read that Recipe. So, being unable to make up my mind to
any other course of proceeding, I just cowered quietly where I was and
awaited developments. As it turned out, these were not very long in
coming. Weems had lifted up his voice to get rid of his guide, and the
guide, in eloquent Minorquin, was refusing to understand. At last the
schoolmaster, in desperation, translating his arguments into silver,
called to mind a word from some American novel, and commanded his
attendant to "vamose." Then the native poured out thanks, pocketed the
cash after a great show of refusing it, and went; and Weems, waiting
till he was out of sight, climbed the wall. He was a bit chary of
stepping down amongst the prickly scrub on the inner side, and so as he
was taking his time about it, I stood up and watched him. He did not
see me till he was firm on his feet again; but when he did slew round,
he stepped back with a gasp as though some one had rammed a sail-needle
into him.
However, he pulled himself together quickly enough--I give him credit
for that--and slipped a hand into his coat pocket, which I noted was
bulging with some heavy weight--presumably a pistol. Then he resorted
to what I suppose he considered diplomacy, and remarked that it was a
lovely country.
"Damn you," said I, "you didn't come here to talk to me about scenery,
did you? Because if that's the case, I'd rather you'd quit for a while.
I've got some business on hand here that I want to work out alone. So
git, you mean little brute."
"And I also have a trifling piece of research to make, for which I
desire complete privacy. And this, Mr. Cospatric, is a point upon which
I am prepared to insist."
Hereupon out came the revolver, a cheap pin-fire tool, brilliantly
nickel-plated. Weems fingered it with unholy awe, and his face began to
bleach. He wasn't used to the situation.
"Did you get that thing in Marseille?" I asked.
"No, sir. I procured it from an acquaintance in Mahon this morning. And
acting upon his advice, I shall not hesitate to use it if you press
me."
The little man's manner as he struggled between dignity, greediness,
and common funk was so irresistibly funny that I roared.
"You need not fear my failing to be as good as my word," he snapped
out. "They don't hang people in Spain."
"You fool, of course they don't. They garrote. And as the inhabitants
of these islands, take them as a whole, are as mild and peaceable a lot
as one could find on the face of the globe, a bit of murder would
strike them as being in such bad taste that you'd wear the iron collar
as sure as you'd earned it. But that's not the point. You're not going
to shoot me----"
"Then you will go away."
"I shall do nothing of the kind. You are not going to shoot me, simply
because you can't. Man alive, I've been racketing about the evil places
of this world ever since I left Cambridge, and this isn't the first
time I've looked down the small end of a pistol. If you'd seen as much
shooting as I have, you'd just jump with astonishment at the awful big
percentage of men who get missed even by good shots, and at short rise.
And you! You, you small swab, I can see by the way you're holding it
that you've never had a revolver in your fist before this day, much
less fired one at a 'live mark. Put the thing back in your pocket, and
behave like a rational being."
"I shall do nothing of the kind," said Weems, sticking up his left arm,
and sighting the pistol over the elbow-joint.
By this time he had got into such a pitiable funk that I was afraid
lest out of sheer nervousness his finger might press home the trigger
any minute. The chances were big against his hitting me, but I knew
that the report would bring spectators, and those I most particularly
didn't want. Still, I could not see any means of getting the weapon
into my own hands without its going off. It was impossible to "rush"
him. The dozen yards which separated us was one solid tangle of
scrub-bushes interwoven with brambles. It would have taken at least
forty seconds to tear through them, and in that time he could most
assuredly snap off all six chambers, however big a duffer he might be.
This would bring up some of the country people without fail; and
besides, out of the six, he might fluke one shot into me. About that
last possibility I didn't trouble my head much, as it was remote; but
the other was a fatal objection. A good satisfactory row with the
natives would effectually upset the apple-cart for both of us.
So I put it to him squarely that, come what might, I didn't intend to
go and leave the coast clear for him; and that if he fired a shot,
whether or not he jugged me and tasted _el garrote_ into the
bargain, he would most assuredly not get hold of the Recipe.
These points seemed to strike him as strong ones; and as, being unused
to such strong emotions, he was by this time in very nearly a fainting
condition, he saw fit to ease the strain from his nerves by beginning
to treat for terms. How much would I go for? He had bills in his
pockets for francs and pesetas, which amounted in all to eighteen
pounds four shillings and some odd pence English. That was the absolute
sum-total of all he possessed out of England. If he handed it over,
would I promise to depart forthwith?
I think it caused him no real surprise to learn that I would do nothing
of the kind.
"Look here," he went on, "I'll tell you what I'll do as well. I'll send
you a ten-pound note from England when I get back there, if you'll give
me your address."
"Oh, go to the devil!" said I, beginning to get in a fury with him. "If
you're on for bargaining, I'll give you my bill for five hundred at two
months to clear out."
"You can't expect it, Mr. Cospatric----"
"Of course I can't expect you to sell your chances for a mess of
pottage; still less need you have thought me idiot enough to do such a
thing. Now look here, you are new at the scrapping game, whereas I am
not by any means. So in case of a tussle the odds are big that you'll
finish underside. And, besides, if you have a bit of a whip-hand over
me, I'd have you remember that until I've got my terms, you are
standing under a Damocles arrangement which may tumble on your hat at
any moment. And it doesn't take much of a wizard to tell that your
nerves aren't good to stand that strain for over-long."
"The heat----"
"Oh yes, the heat's making you sweat streams, and sending your face
chalky-green, and setting your knees to play _castanetas_ in
_cachucha_ time. We'll call it the heat. Anyway, it's exposure to
an atmosphere that you aren't accustomed to, and it doesn't suit you.
You'd better try a change, or else you'll topple off in a
faint--perhaps you'll die. Now look here: it's just foolery to let this
Dog-in-the-Manger Company hold the stage any longer. Let's recast it,
and play 'The Partners.' Come, what do you say? It's only a three-part
piece, and there's a thumping good treasury to draw upon."
"Three parts!" shrieked Weems, lifting up his pistol on to his elbow
again, where it gleamed like a dancing mirror in the hot sunshine. Then
as another thought struck him, he lowered the weapon to his side once
more, and broke out into the ghost of a smile. "Oh, I see. Yes, of
course. Two for me, Mr. Cospatric, and one for you. That's much more
right and proper."
I chuckled, and mentioned that one Haigh and myself were going shares
over this matter, and that I didn't intend to see Haigh defrauded; and
then the battle of words began over again.
By this time I was so thoroughly sick of the brute's meanness that I
made up my mind stubbornly not to give way a single peg. He argued, he
prayed, he commanded, he threatened; he appealed to all my better
feelings individually and then collectively; but it was no good. All
that he could get out of me was an assurance that he might feel himself
very lucky if he fingered the proffered third, and a threat that if he
didn't accept it quickly he'd find himself empty-fingered
altogether--and probably minus a sound vertebral column into the
bargain. And in the end he sobbed out an agreement to the terms, and
then flopped down amongst the bushes, deadly sick.
This last development I was not altogether unprepared for, and, had it
seemed good to me to do so, I might have taken advantage of his plight
to grab the nickel-plated weapon and repudiate the treaty--as he most
assuredly would have done by me had the positions been reversed. But
over-reaching that kind--euphemistically termed "keen business
instinct" by some--has never been among my catalogue of acquirements
(more's the pity), and so I just hung round till he had disburdened his
stomach and recollected his wits a bit, forbearing to interfere either
by word or deed.
"It's the heat," he explained at last.
"We'll log it down as such," said I, to prevent argument, "and for
God's sake don't let us squabble any more. If you're right again, we
may as well turn-to and get at the _cache_ without further
dawdling. You have a spade, I suppose?"
"A spade! Oh dear, oh dear! what an oversight. If you'll believe me,
Mr. Cospatric, I never remembered that digging implements would be
required till this moment. The excitement of the last few days----But
don't let us speak of that now. We must use your spade in turn."
I laughed. "It strikes me we're a pair of first-class fools. I haven't
got one either. We both put out from Mahon in such a flaming hurry that
accessories never got a thought. Well, we must get one here if we can,
though that's doubtful, seeing that the native hoe, which is pick and
shovel combined, is the popular instrument hereabouts. However, I'll go
and see if something can't be got. Give me a couple of pesetas, will
you?"
"What for?"
"Why, to hire the thing, or buy it if needs must."
"But why should I pay----"
"Damnation man, because I don't own a brown cent. Go scout for a tool
yourself if you care to. I'm not keen on the job. Only you don't speak
the language, and I thought you'd prefer to sit still and recruit a bit
more before beginning to bustle about again."
"Oh, I beg pardon," said he, and counted out the money in copper and
small silver.
I turned to the Talayot, and climbed to its top. Two fields off,
towards clustered Alayor, a man was guiding a single-handed plough
drawn by a small ox and a sixteen-hand mule. Scrambling down again, I
went in a bee-line across the intervening walls. The ploughman saw me
coming, and nothing loath, pulled up his team and desisted from
scratching the furrow any further. A chat was just the thing he wanted.
I could not get clear of him for a good half-hour, and in the end was
only able to raise what I expected--to wit, a broad-bladed triangular
hoe with a short crooked handle. However, as we did not propose to go
in for any systematic navvying, and as there was nothing better to be
got, back I went with it, and found Weems quite alive again, and on the
prowl for what he could find.
"The soil has been turned up here in places," said he, pointing, "and
this is just the side where, according to Lully's diary, the entrance
passage lies. And if you notice, there are other patches rooted up
yonder, and again yonder."
"Pigs," said I. "This island's celebrated for them, and so is Mallorca.
Black, elegant, well-to-do swine, that are exported to Spain in
steamer-loads. They're the most celebrated breed of porkers in Europe.
But never mind them now. Which do you spot as our point of
commencement?"
"Somewhere between where we are standing and that palm-bush."
"Very well, then. We'll set to work at the other side of this fallen
wall-stone; and here goes for the first drive."
For a while we took spell and spell about at the hoe, working like
fiends. I had stripped to the vest at the first set-off, and by degrees
Weems let his eagerness overpower dignity till he had discarded a
similar number of garments. There was not a breath of air stirring, and
the sunbeams poured down upon us in a brazen stream. Being used to hard
work, I naturally could do the larger share; but to give the little
schoolmaster his due, he did stick to it for all he was worth; and
though he did drop more than one hint that such physical toil was
degrading to a man in his station, he didn't try to shirk doing his
just portion.
The ground was desperately hard to get through. There was very little
soil. What we came across chiefly were stones fallen from the sides of
the Talayot woven together by a network of roots. Over these we hacked
and sweated and strained, and tore our hands and wrenched our sinews.
And by degrees the heap of big stones and smaller stones and rubble and
earth and other debris grew larger amongst the bushes, and our jagged
pit sank deeper.
Those hours were the only ones in which I ever felt the smallest
respect for Weems. He hadn't chucked away his bless-you-I-know-best air
by any means. For instance, scorning example, he plucked a prickly pear
off a clump that grew out of the Talayot, and sucked the pulp out of
the skin in spite of seeing me devour one in other fashion. And then he
complained of the damnableness of a needle-sown palate. Also he
persisted in following his own theories about the extraction of the
large stones, although these seldom came off. But he stuck at work like
a Trojan, and one can't help having some respect for a man who keeps
his thews in action.
Whilst the white sun burned to overhead, and whilst it fell half-way to
the water again, did we hack and grovel and wrench, till our pit was
well-nigh twelve feet deep, and we were beginning to have dismal
forebodings that we were either delving in the wrong place, or that
Raymond the philosopher had lied most unkindly. But at last, when we
were both nearly sick with weariness and growing disgust, we came upon
a flat stone which rang hollow when the hoe struck it, and in an
instant our hopes sprang to a feverish height again.
Weems tugged at the edges of the stone, screaming and swearing in his
excitement; but it had lain in that bed for many ages, and would not
budge for such puny efforts as his. From the lip of the pit I was
bawling at him to come up out of the way; but not until he had strained
himself well-nigh senseless would he unlock his fingers from their
grip, and even then he would not voluntarily resign his place. But I
could not wait. Sliding down into the pit, I hoisted him on to my
shoulder and gave an upward heave, and then turned-to with the hoe,
battering savagely.
The flagstone was of granite, and I doubled up my weapon but scarcely
splintered the hard surface. So the edges had to be dug round
laboriously; and even then, when thoroughly loose, the weight was so
great that I could scarcely lift it. But at last the great slab was
heaved up on edge, and below there lay a hole whose blackness almost
choked the falling sunbeams. The sight of it--or the wet earthy smell
which came through--somehow made me shiver.
I looked up. Weems was craning over the edge of the pit, his eyes
goggling, and lips drawn back from his clenched teeth. He looked
unpleasant, to say the least of it, and a thought dangerous as well.
There was a bit of the wild beast peeping out somewhere.
"Come along," said I.
"How can we see?"
"Oh, I forgot that. Feel for matches in my coat pocket."
"I've better than matches. A candle; what do you say to that?"
Still he stayed glowering at me.
"Well, why the devil don't you go and get it, man?" I asked.
"Oh yes, to be sure," said he, and disappeared.
"You'll go mad, my son," thought I, "if your delicate nerves are kept
under this strain much longer," and leaned back panting against the
side. The fellow seemed to take a long time hunting for what he wanted,
but at last I heard the sound of his footsteps and looked up.
Lucky for me did I look up then too, for my eye caught a glint of the
white sunshine as it was reflected off some bright surface, and with
the inspiration of the moment I stepped into the opening at my feet and
fell noisily through amid a small avalanche of rubble. Picking myself
up, I looked out from the darkness, and saw, as I expected, Weems
standing at the brink above nervously fingering the nickel-plated
revolver.
"What have you got that blasted thing for?" I sang out.
"Oh, you see--er--there's no knowing what one might meet with down
there--er--and it's well to be ready--er--in case----"
"You lying little viper."
"Oh, I assure you----"
"Thanks, I want none of your assurances. But I'll give you one. If you
put a foot below here, I'll cave in your head with this hoe."
Then he began to whine; and then, as I was stubborn, he swore to shoot
me as I came out, which I believed him quite capable of doing; and so
matters were again at a deadlock.
"Very well," said I at last. "As I won't trust you an inch beyond my
sight, heave that revolver down first, and then I won't touch you. If
you stick to it, I know you'll try to make cold meat of me in the hopes
I shan't be found down here."
"But you might shoot me, Mr. Cospatric--by accident, of course."
"Make your dirty little soul comfortable on that score. If I wanted to
be quit of you, I've got ten fingers quite capable of squeezing the
life out of your miserable carcass."
"Still, I think I'll unload it first, if you don't mind."
"Go ahead," said I, "if it amuses you." And out came the cartridges one
by one, and then the weapon was tossed down to me. One hand grip on the
barrel and another on the stock, a good strong pressure of the wrists
together, and that gaudy little weapon was effectually spiked.
"I may come in safety now?" asked Weems, after watching this operation
with a groan.
"You won't be touched by me if you behave yourself, although you do
deserve half-killing. But mind, if I catch you playing any more pranks,
I shall just do as I said--strangle you. See those fingers? They're
lengthy, and they're ve-ry strong. _Sabe?_"
Down he came, heralded by a brown tricklet of soil and a few stones. He
knelt at the edge of the opening for a moment, and I saw his white face
peering down with "funk" writ big all over it. But he soon mastered his
scruples, and dropped through on to the flooring beside me, though a
nervous upward lifting of one elbow showed that he wouldn't have been
surprised at getting a blow. However, I didn't meddle with him, but
only bade him curtly enough light that candle.
The sulphur match spluttered and stank, and I'm blessed if his fingers
didn't tremble so much when it came to lighting the wick that he
dropped the burning splinter altogether. I grabbed the things
impatiently enough out of his hands, got a light, and led the way.
The walls beside us sloped in towards the top, where they were bridged
by flat slabs some foot or eighteen inches above my head. The passage
had been built before men knew of the arch. Under foot the ground was
hard and dry, and as I should guess, we passed over some dozen yards of
it before we came into the chamber. That was built in much the same
way, with the courses overlapping, and the top crowned with a great
flat flag instead of a keystone. But with the architecture of the
Talayot we bothered our heads little then, and indeed our solitary
candle showed it up but poorly. Right opposite the entrance a strip of
the wall had been plastered, and at that the schoolmaster and I sprang
with a simultaneous rush.
There was some writing on it!
Steadying the flame in the hollow of my hand, I held it near and
withdrew the guard.
"Good God," shrieked Weems, "what's that!"
The one word I saw was--_Hereingefallen_, scrawled in white
letters, and on the ground beneath was a piece of billiard chalk. There
was nothing on the plastered surface beside, except the scratchings of
a knife-blade. Some one had been there, read the Recipe, and then
obliterated every letter.
In a flash these things occurred to me, and I turned to see my
companion collapse on to the ground like an empty sack. It required an
effort to avoid following his example. The shock was a cruel one.
The thing had been there. The old diary had lied in no single item. And
here the treasure had been snatched away from us when it was almost
within our grasp. And--then came the most strange conclusion of all--by
some one who knew we were to follow.
Haigh was out of the question. He knew no German. It was no elaborate
joke of his. But who could it be? I sat down on the earthen floor with
my head between my fists trying to think it out. _Hereingefallen!_
Yes, "sold" indeed. But who, who, who had done it?