It is not my purpose to describe the interview which took place between
my hero and Mr. Monk. Suffice it to say that when the young man again
emerged from the gloomy shadows of the dwelling there was a curious
smile upon his face, while Mr. Monk, who had followed him to the door,
and watched his retreating figure, wore a horrible expression of hatred
and fear.
No sooner had he disappeared than Monk left the house also, and,
following a footpath, through the woods, made straight for William
Jones’s cottage. Entering unceremoniously, he found that worthy seated
beside the hearth. Without a word he rushed upon him, seized him by the
throat, and began pummelling his head upon the wall.
The attack was so sudden that for several minutes William Jones offered
no resistance whatever. Indeed, so passive was he, and so violent was
the rage of his opponent, that there was every prospect of his head
being beaten to a jelly. Presently, however; Monk’s fury abating, his
unfortunate victim was allowed to pick himself up. He sat and stared
before him, while Monk, looking like the Evil One himself, glared
savagely in his face.
“You villain! You accursed, treacherous scoundrel!” he said. “Tell me
what you’ve done, or I’ll kill you!”
But William Jones was unconscious of having done anything, and he said
as much, whereupon Monk’s fury seemed about to rise again.
“Mr. Monk,” cried William Jones, in terror, “look ye now, tell me what’s
the matter?”
“I mean you to tell _me_ what you have been hiding from me all these
years. Something came ashore with that child--something that might lead
to her identity, and you have kept it, thinking to realize money upon
it, or to have me in your power. What means it? Speak, or I’ll strangle
you!” But William Jones was evidently unable to speak, being perfectly
paralyzed with fear. Monk stretched forth his hands to seize him again,
when the old man, who had been a horrified spectator of all this,
suddenly broke in with--
“Look ye, now, I know there was summat. It were a leetle book, stuffed
in the front of her frock!”
“A book!” returned Monk, eagerly; “and what did you do with it? Tell me
that, you old fool! Did you burn it?”
“Burn it?” exclaimed the other. “No, mister; we don’t burn nothin’,
William and me. You know where you put it, William dear, in the old
place.”
“Then curse you for an avaricious old devil,” thundered Monk. “The book
has been stolen--do you hear!--stolen by that young painter!”
He could say no more, the effect of his words upon William Jones was
electrical. He gave one wild shriek, and began tearing his hair. It now
became his turn to moan and rave, and for some time nothing coherent
could be got from him.
At length, however, Monk gathered that there was some secret
hiding-place which Brinkley had discovered.
“I thought his poking and prying meant summat,” moaned William Jones.
“I fancied, too, I seen marks i’ the sand, but I never could find no one
near, and I thought they was my own marks. Oh, what will come to me! I’m
ruined!”
“Curse your folly!” exclaimed Monk, “you’ve brought it all on yourself
by your own greed, and you don’t deserve I should help you; but I _will_
help you! Listen, then! It is clear that this young man has possessed
himself somehow of your secret and mine. But from what he said to me,
I fancy he has not as yet divulged it to a single soul. He is the
only human being we have to fear. We must cease to fear him. Do you
understand?”
No, William Jones did not understand; so in order to make his meaning
clear, Mr. Monk drew him out from the cottage, and whispered something
in his ear. William Jones turned as white as death, and began to tremble
all over.
“I couldn’t do it, sir,” he moaned. “Look ye now--I couldn’t do it!”
Monk stamped his foot impatiently; then he turned to his frightened
victim.
“Listen to me, William Jones. You ought to know by this time that I have
both the power and determination to effect my ends. Continue to oppose
me, and play the fool, and all that power shall be used against _you_.
Do you hear? I will ruin, you! I will hand you over to the authorities
as a thief--I will have you tried for concealing the papers which might
have proved the identity of the child found washed ashore fifteen years
ago! Do you hear?”
Mr. Monk evidently knew the nature of the man with whom he had to deal,
for after a little more conversation William Jones, cowering like a
frightened child, promised implicit obedience.
“Now, then,” said Monk, when he had brought matters to a satisfactory
termination, “you will show me this hiding-place of yours.”
To this William Jones at first objected, but Monk was firm.
“Who knows,” said he, “but there may be other things having reference to
the child? I mean to see for myself. Now, William Jones.”
So William Jones, seeing that resistance would be useless, promised to
conduct his friend to the cave; and after a good deal of hesitation and
of continued show of unwillingness on William Jones’s part, the two men
started off.
When they drew near to the cave, William Jones gave a cry, and pointed
to the sand. Looking down, Monk clearly saw footprints. They followed
them, and found that they led right to the mouth of the cave.
“It’s standing open!” cried William Jones, as he pointed down with
trembling finger.
“Follow me!” said Monk, crawling down into the hole.
Jones followed in terror.
As he reached the path below, he heard a sharp cry, and looking down
saw, by the dim light of a candle stuck in the wall, Brinkley struggling
helplessly in the powerful grip of Monk. He had been sprung upon from
behind, and was helpless through a sort of garotte.
Horrified and trembling, William Jones was rooted to his place.
Suddenly he saw the young man fall backward lifeless, and, with one last
gasp, lie perfectly still. Monk stooped over him, and looked into his
face.
“Oh, Mr. Monk!” cried William, “is he--is he----”
“He is dead,” was the reply. “So much the better.”
As he spoke, he bent down and searched the young man’s pockets. His brow
blackened, for he did not find what he sought. Then he took the light
from the wall, and held it close to Brinkley’s eyes.
Satisfied that he did not breathe, he climbed up the path and rejoined
his trembling companion. They passed out of the place, hurriedly
replaced the trap-door, and piled on sand and stones.
“There!” said Monk, with a wild smile on his deadly pale face. “He won’t
trouble either of us again. Come, come!”
And he strode hastily away, followed by William Jones, leaving the young
man of the caravan in the subterranean tomb.