THE CAVE OF ST. LAZARE.
Captain Ducie had one immense advantage over the man of whom he was in
pursuit: he knew the Island thoroughly, having lived on it for several
years when a boy at school. With that portion of it especially which
stretches from St. Brelade on the south to Greve-de-Lecq on the north,
he was intimately acquainted. Without much exaggeration it might be
said that he knew every yard of the ground. Accordingly, when he had
tracked the footprints of the mulatto to a point where the sandy beach
ended and the shelving rock began, he troubled himself no further
about them, but climbing straight up the face of the cliff with an
agility that few men of his years could have imitated, he neither
halted nor looked back till he had reached a small overhanging bluff
that commanded the entire range of the precipice up which he had just
clambered. This range of rock was only about a hundred yards in
extent, and was shut in at the opposite end by another bluff which
stretched out so far that its foot was already covered by the
advancing tide.
From the smaller bluff, which Ducie had chosen as his eyrie, he could
see every living thing larger than a rat that might move either along
the sands or attempt to climb the rock. At the foot of this rock where
it touched the sands there were several fissures large enough for two
or three men to hide in. In addition to these there was a still larger
opening known as the Cave of St. Lazare. Now, it was quite evident to
Ducie that the mulatto must be in hiding either in one of the minor
fissures or in the cave itself, so that all he had to do was to wait
patiently till Cleon should choose to quit his lair.
It is true that he might have gone down to the sands and have sought
an encounter with the mulatto at close quarters. But he had an ugly
recollection of Cleon's skill with the knife; besides which he had
something of that feeling which induces a cat to play with a mouse
before finally putting it out of its misery. So he crept forward on
his hands and knees over the wet grass to the edge of the bluff, and
there ensconced himself behind a thick clump of brushwood whence he
could see, without being seen, everything that might transpire on the
sands.
His first care was to satisfy himself as to the condition of his
revolver. When he had made his mind easy on that score, he took a pull
at his brandy flask and munched a biscuit, but still keeping a wary
watch for the faintest movement below.
The _Demoiselle_ and the Belle Rose had disappeared already, those in
charge of them being intent on getting back to St. Helier as quickly
as possible, for the weather was threatening. A drizzling rain was
still falling, and Ducie was by no means sorry that such was the case:
no prying tourists would think of visiting the cave on such a day.
The grim Corbière rocks were lashing themselves with whips of spray,
like monks doing penance, and a heavy tide was rolling rapidly in. The
strip of sand at the foot of the rocks was growing narrower from
minute to minute, and soon the whole of it would be hidden.
"He must come out of his den before long, if he does not wish to be
drowned like a rat in its hole," muttered Ducie to himself as he
marked the creaming billows frothing up almost to the foot of the
rock. "I shall not have long to wait."
In fact, only two courses were left open to the mulatto: either to
show himself and climb the rock under cover of Ducie's revolver, or
else to remain in hiding till the tide swept up and drowned him. From
Ducie's post of vantage the narrow entrance to the cave--so narrow
that only one person could enter at a time--was clearly visible.
The advancing tide had completely swallowed up the strip of sand and
was licking the foot of the precipice before the slightest sign of
human life was discernible below. Ducie crouching behind the bushes,
with his hand on his revolver, and every nerve in his body on the
alert, watched and waited in silence. The first thing that he saw was
a yellow claw protruded from the interior of the cave. This claw
grasped the edge of the rock, and next moment a yellow face was pushed
out, the two terror-stricken bloodshot eyes of which roved frantically
around as in search of some unseen foe. But there was nothing to be
seen save the inrushing tide, the barren rock above and around, and a
clump of brushwood on the cliff bending before the wind. Apparently
reassured, he crept wholly out of hiding, and after another cautious
look round, he turned his face to the cliff and began to climb. But he
had not made more than two steps upward when the sudden ping of a
pistol smote his ear, and the same instant a bullet struck the rock
about two feet above his head, breaking off some fragments which
rattled down into the sea. The mulatto gave utterance to a wild yell
of terror, and loosing his foothold, he slipped back into the water
which now reached up to his knees. Another moment and he had
disappeared within the cave. Better run the risk of being drowned than
again put himself in the way of that terrible revolver. It is doubtful
whether he was aware that every high tide completely filled up the
cavern. He may have thought that by climbing on to some of the higher
ledges inside he would be safe till the subsidence of the water, by
which time his enemy might probably be tired of waiting for him, or
salvation might come in the shape of help from others. In any case, to
venture outside the cave was certain death; to stop inside may have
seemed to afford some chance of ultimate escape. But Ducie was well
aware that to stop inside was certain death. When firing his revolver,
his intention had been to frighten Cleon back into hiding, not to
wound or kill him. It would be so much pleasanter if Cleon would allow
himself to be quietly drowned in the cave, instead of compelling him,
Ducie, to put a bullet through his head. There might be people foolish
enough to construe such a transaction as the one last named into
wilful murder. The former could be put down as nothing more than an
ugly accident.
So Ducie watched and waited, fully determined that by one mode or the
other Cleon should that day come by his death. The tide rose higher
and higher, but no yellow horror-stricken face was seen again outside
the entrance to the cave. Then Ducie knew what would happen within. By
and bye the green lips of the waves kissed the roof of the doorway.
Then Ducie knew that all was over, and that he had only to wait for
the subsidence of the tide. He finished the brandy in his flask, and
lighted a cigar, and waited.
It was considerably past mid-day before the water was low enough for
him to venture into the cave. When he did venture in the water came up
to his waist. He waded slowly in, grasping the slippery rock carefully
at each step that he took. He knew what he should find inside, and for
the first time a feeling of awe crept over him. At length he stood in
the middle of the cave and ventured to look round. A dim green light
pervaded the place, too faint to discern anything that might be there.
Ducie was not unprepared for such an emergency. He had brought with
him a small box of the wax matches he sometimes used for lighting his
cigar. He struck one of these on the bottom of the box and held it
aloft. It burned for a minute, and that minute served to show him a
black shapeless heap of humanity lodged high up on one of the ledges
of rock. To that spot the mulatto had climbed in the vain hope of
escaping the ever-rising tide.
There was another ledge close to the one on which the body lay. On to
this ledge Ducie climbed, and by kneeling on one knee and leaning over
he could touch the dead man. He wanted to ascertain whether he had the
Great Mogul Diamond hidden anywhere about his person.
"What if he has swallowed it? What if he has thrown it into the sea?"
Ducie asked himself. Then his hand touched the dead man's cheek, and
he shuddered from head to foot.
He paused for a moment or two, and with an intense effort steadied his
nerves to go through the task he had set himself to do. It was gone
through carefully and thoroughly, but the Diamond was nowhere to be
found. At length Ducie paused in sheer despair.
"He has evidently made away with the Diamond when he found that he
could not escape, and so has carried his revenge beyond the grave,"
muttered Ducie.
Suddenly a thought struck him. Once more he bent over the dead man,
and with both hands wrenched open his mouth. Another instant, and he
had found the Diamond hidden away under the tongue that would never
speak more.
Strong man though he was, the revulsion of feeling was almost more
than he could bear. Tears of joy came into his eyes. He needed a
minute or two to recover himself. As soon as his heart began to beat
more calmly, he wrapped the Diamond in his handkerchief and stuffed
the whole into an inner pocket of his waistcoat. Then he leaped down
on to the sandy floor of the cave, and leaving the dead man on his
rocky bed, he waded out by the way he had come; and having breasted
the hill, he set out at a sharp pace across the moorland on his way to
St. Helier. His clothes had been soaked through and through in the
course of the day, but just now he was not in a frame of mind to give
any thought to such a trifle.