IN THE HANDS OF THE DUKE
To Rob the world had suddenly fallen very hopeless and forlorn. By
no conspiracy of Fate could matters have worked out more to his
undoing. The precious paper entrusted to him by Dr. Cameron, full of
he knew not what vital news and directions regarding the hidden
treasure, had been stolen, but worse still by an unknown hand. It is
comforting in a dreary way to know who has played the thief. But Rob
had not even that poor satisfaction.
He had been taken asleep, and between that time and the journey to
Fort Augustus the paper had mysteriously vanished. A horrible
thought presented itself. Was it taken from him before he was bound
by the soldiers? Muckle John had disappeared without a word or an
effort to save him. He had half-heartedly hoped for a rescue on the
road, but no sign of living soul had met his eyes.
And at last, at sunset, they had reached the Fort, and he was
conducted to a guard-room and there left to his own thoughts.
Suddenly the door opened softly and the angular form of Captain
Strange slid into the room. Rob started to his feet and waited in
silence for him to speak.
But that Strange seemed in no hurry to do. Instead, he took to
walking slowly up and down the room with his hands coiled behind his
back and his chin sunk upon his chest.
Then, "Rob," said he, "what did I tell ye in Inverness?"
To which he received no reply. Rob had the rare gift of silence.
"Did I no tell ye that a gibbet was like enough to watch your capers
before very long? Maybe ye've no seen a man hanged by the neck, Rob.
It's no a bonny sight, say what you will; and in my way of thinking,
no a pleasant prospect for onybody, least of all for a lad of spirit
like yersel', Rob, for I'll no deny I admire your pluck," and he
breathed heavily and stared out of the window.
"Did you come to talk about hanging?" asked Rob, struggling to speak
with composure.
"In passing, Rob--merely in passing. It is a subject that fascinates
me, I'll no deny. Come here a minute; ye can see the hanging-tree
against the sky-line. It's a rare poseetion, Rob--there'll be nane
will pass this way but will ask 'Who's dangling there?' and they'll
learn it was Rob Fraser, executed for meddling with what didna
concern him. It's a braw fool ye'll look, then, Rob--no great rebel
dying for his principles, but just a silly laddie who ran a big risk
for other people's dirty profit."
"You can call it what you will," cried Rob, stung to anger, and
paused.
"Say your say, Rob; dinna be afraid," encouraged Strange softly.
Rob shut his lips seeing there was a trap being laid for him.
Perceiving that he would not speak, the other frowned a moment, then
with an appearance of kindly sympathy he patted him upon the shoulder.
"Forget my foolish havers," he said. "I was only warning you for
your ain good, for it's a dangerous game you're playing, Rob, and a
game that you are playing in the dark. Will ye hear me out and say
if what I'm telling ye is no true," and he drew a stool near to the
boy.
"Let me run over your movements for the last week or so," he went on.
"After Culloden--and ye mind I did my best to save ye that night in
Inverness--you came to Lovat's country, and thence down to Arkaig.
There you met Cameron and buried the gold. There also you escaped
out of our hands, and I'll grant no so clumsily, though you were not
to blame for that. Then, accompanied by the desperate man ye ken as
Muckle John, you made to the north and were captured yesterday in
Captain Campbell's camp. Now, Rob, is that no the truth?"
"It is," said Rob, "though what you have to say against Muckle John
should be kept for his own ear. It is wasted on mine."
"Brawly said, Rob, but what do ye ken o' this Muckle John? However,
that can keep. I'd wager ye'd turn white did ye ken who Muckle John
really is. But when you left Cameron you had a paper, Rob.
Supposing that paper fell into our hands, Rob, or those of the Duke,
what would happen, think ye? There would be no gold for your Prince,
and from the information in the letter--supposing there should be
any, which I am assured there is--there would be such a clearing of
Jacobites, including the Pretender, as would end their cause for
ever. That is, I repeat, supposing such a paper fell into the hands
of the Duke. But there are those, Rob, who are Scotch after all, and
no verra partial to such measures. There are mony, Rob, who do nane
so badly oot of your Jacobite friends, and it's poor shooting where
there's no game," and he smiled very knowingly, baring his teeth like
a fox.
Rob was puzzled by the note of suggestion in his speech. Had Strange
the map or not? If not, had Muckle John taken it? If Strange had it
what was to be gained by such words? Would he not take it to the
Duke at once?
He glanced quickly at the man facing him. In his eyes he read
avarice, cruelty, and cunning.
"If I hand you the paper," said Rob, "what do you propose to do?
Would you give it to the Duke?"
Strange checked a smile.
"That depends," said he, "for between ourselves, where the eagle
feeds there's poor pickings for the other birds. The truth is, Rob,
there are some things you could tell me, and in return I'd do a deal
more for you, for I am no an ungenerous man, and it's a dreary
prospect, the gibbet."
"It is all that," rejoined Rob, "but I cannot promise until I hear
what you want to know."
"That's mair reasonable, Rob--I knew ye were not the foolish ninny
that they took ye for. Now listen, Rob; if you will disclose the
hiding-place of Lovat and Archibald Cameron, and help us to lay
Muckle John by the heels--in return I will see that you are free this
very night, and mair, I will no forget ye when the treasure is come
to light o' day."
Rob turned sick at the words, but to learn more he simulated interest
and nodded his head doubtfully.
"But the Prince," said he.
"In return for Lovat I will spare the Prince."
"You?"
"Who else, for if you consent none but I will ever see the document
and its particulars."
"And you will keep the gold?"
Strange winked at that.
"We two, Rob," said he with a smile.
Then Rob, knowing all and realizing that Muckle John must have the
dispatch, rose to his feet.
"Whether I have been a scapegoat or not," he said, "I have only
myself to blame; and let me tell you at once, Captain Strange or
Macaulay, or whatever your dirty name may be, that nothing can save
me from the hangman's noose; neither you with all your promises nor
anything else, for I have not the paper you want," and he waited for
the storm to burst.
But the smile never died from the other's lips.
"Weel I know that, Rob," said he, "for I have it safe here," and he
drew the package, still sealed, from his coat pocket.
With a cry of rage Rob rushed at him, but the chains about his legs
tripped him up, and Strange, stepping aside with a snarl, took him by
the shoulder and flung him violently to the other end of the room.
"Down!" he cried, "or I will pistol you." In a grim silence he
thrust the package back into his pocket.
"Ye see, I hold the cards," he said in a malignant voice. "And now
is it to be a dislocated neck and your dead body the prey of
corbies--or the salvation of your Prince, a share in the gold, and
the taking of Lovat, which is inevitable in any case, and that of
Cameron, which is only a question of time? Neither will suffer the
extreme penalty, for Lovat is an old man who has sat at home, and
Cameron is a doctor and was no at Culloden at all. As for Muckle
John, I will tell ye why he made such a lot o' ye."
"No, no!" cried Rob.
"Whisht! Dinna take on so. Once a blind fool and never again,
surely. But did ye think Muckle John risked his life just for love
o' ye, Rob? Heaven preserve us--he was after..."
"I know," said Rob, "but say no more. I'll tell the Duke you have
the paper and throw myself on his mercy."
Strange uttered a shrill cackle of laughter.
"Tell the Duke, Rob! Oh, that's fine hearing. Mercy! It's little
mercy ye'll get frae him. No, no! I'll hand it him myself, thank
ye. Perhaps ye thought I was like your Muckle John, and playing for
my ain hand. You're uncommon green, Rob, but Jerry Strange is no
taken so doucely. Jerry is honest as the day, Rob--so come along and
see me hand it into the Duke's royal fingers. It'll mak' gran'
hearing, Rob, and there'll be sair confusion amongst the rebels now,"
and flinging open the door he drew his prisoner with him into the
passage.
Into a lofty room they went--the chains clanking about Rob's legs
very dismally.
A short, red-faced, stout young man of about twenty-five was sitting
at a table reading dispatches. He was dressed in a red coat, with
stars upon his breast and much gold cord. He wore a white peruke,
and had a choleric, somewhat peevish countenance and a hard blue eye.
There was nothing romantic or attractive in his commonplace features
or sturdy, clumsy figure. His countenance displayed neither humour
nor kindliness, and certainly not beauty--but only determination,
courage, and common sense in abundance. It would have been
difficult, indeed, to have laid hands on a young man so different in
every way from his rival Charles Edward. It almost seemed that
Justice had given him victory to compensate him for the odium of his
personality.
"Vell, Strange," said he, speaking with a thick German accent, "what
is it?"
"Your Highness," replied Strange, "I have here a notorious rebel,
though young as ye see. But he was carrying a package which
Archibald Cameron handed to him on the shores of Arkaig to deliver to
the Pretender. I have reasons for believing, your Highness, that it
contains not only a plan of where the treasure be hid, but also the
place of concealment of the Prince and the movements of the Jacobites
still at liberty. We have followed him according to our
instructions."
The Duke of Cumberland stared at Rob, then leapt to his feet.
"Goot, Strange," said he, smacking his lips audibly, "you are a
vonder. You vill not be forgotten, my man," and he ripped open the
seal and unwrapped the paper.
Rob could see that there was more paper than he had thought. But
what made his heart bound with sudden hope was the bewildered
expression upon the Duke's face.
"Is zis a joke, Strange?" he shouted, at last, flinging a sheaf of
papers upon the floor. "Those," said he in a white heat of fury,
"are accounts of charges for drugs. And zis," he added in a roar of
anger, holding a scrap with the tips of his fingers, "has ze
impertinence to say 'this is no ze goose that laid ze golden egg.'"
In the utter silence Rob laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks.
And all the time Cumberland glared at Strange, and the latter stood
with an utterly vacant expression, as though he had opened his mouth
to say something and then clean forgotten what it was.
Suddenly the Duke turned with a scream of fury upon Rob.
"To-morrow," he cried, his face livid with passion, "ve vill see 'ow
you laugh on the gibbet," and he stormed on Strange to go, turning
his back upon them both.
But Rob did not move.
"On what charge am I condemned?" he asked.
The Duke switched round.
"Charge!" he cried, and then paused. "Strange, what is the charge?"
he asked, stamping his foot.
"It was for carrying treasonable matter," replied Strange in a husky
voice; "but I suppose..."
"There was nothing against the throne in the package," broke in Rob.
"Strange," shouted the Duke, "am I to wrangle with a school boy? Is
'e not a rebel?"
"He is, your Highness. He was in arms at Culloden."
"Zen surely that is enough to 'ang any man."
"You have no witnesses," retorted Rob.
"Zen find vitnesses. Himmel!--make vitnesses!" broke out the Duke,
seating himself again at the table. "But go, Strange, before I
burst--and 'old--come back in half an hour. I would talk with you
over this and other matters."
In his cell Rob could have wept for joy had he been given to that
sort of thing. For he realized that though he had been the goose who
had drawn off the pursuit from Cameron, the Prince was safe, and that
the gold would yet be his.
In this elation of feeling he crossed slowly to the window. The last
rays of the sun were falling upon the blank bars of the gibbet, at
which he felt his heart sink, for it was a cold and melancholy ending
to his ambitions and his life.
* * * * *
A quarter of an hour later a trooper clattered out of the courtyard
of Fort Augustus, bound for Inverness and Miss Macpherson; and in due
course Captain Strange knocked upon the door of the Duke's room and
entered. In the intervening hour the latter had dined, and appeared
somewhat mollified in temper.
Indeed, there were those who said the Duke of Cumberland was genial
enough at heart, and though a hard man, one with a sense of justice
and honour. He has had few kindly words and many harsh ones, and
there is a saying that there is good in every man. As a German
prince he had no sympathy with the Jacobites. To him they were
savage rebels speaking a barbarous language and wearing a barbarous
dress, about whom he knew nothing except the misrepresentations that
were current in England.
"Oh, Strange, Strange," he laughed, wiping his eyes with the back of
his hand, "who is ze goose now, and where are ze golden eggs?"
"Your Highness," said Strange flushing, "it is humiliating, I'll
allow, but I must tell you that I was mair than unfortunate, being
bound hand and foot by Cameron and no knowing just what had taken
place. Cameron made good his escape, for my men were of his ain clan
and not anxious to bring dishonour on their name if another would do
as well. That he foresaw, I'll be bound, and so he sent this boy at
a run with a package, and the presence o' Muckle John lent him
additional importance."
"Oh, vell," said the Duke, "but ve must bring the boy to his senses,
Strange. Produce your vitnesses, and he'll show us things, I'll be
bound. Vot does he know, Strange? Can he tell us any ting?"
"He knows where Lovat is hid, your Highness, and ye ken what his
capture will mean. It will show the rebels we have long arms."
"True--but vill he tell, Strange?"
"A week or two by himsel' will work wonders, your Highness, once he
knows we can hang him."
"And Muckle John?"
Strange bit his lip.
"Would I could have taken him," he said bitterly.
"Your chance vill come, Strange. Ze net is closing. Soon ve vill
'ave ze Pretender, and zen all ze smaller fry vill be caught too--"
he yawned and pushed back his chair--"I am sick to death of zis
country," he said; "it is always rain, rain, rain, and nosings to eat
or drink."
And so Strange left him looking gloomily out of the window upon the
black Highland hills.