I FIND AN UNEXPECTED FRIEND
Glen bade Roper take the handkerchief from my mouth, and when that was
done his creased face smiled at me over the lantern.
"About the _Royal Fortune?_" he said smoothly.
Peter Tortue nodded, and absently cleaned the blade of his knife upon
the thighs of his breeches. There was no reply for me to make, and I
waited.
"You were over to St. Mary's to-day?"
"Yes."
"What did you do there?"
"I bought a pair of silk stockings and some linen."
George Glen sniggered like a man that leaves off a serious
conversation to laugh politely at a bad joke.
"But it's true," I cried.
"Did you speak of the _Royal Fortune?_"
"No," and, as luck would have it, I had not--not even to the Rev. Mr.
Milray.
"Not to a living soul?"
"No."
"Did you go up to Star Castle?"
"No."
"Did you speak to Captain Hathaway?"
"No."
"'There's poor old George,' you said. 'Old George Glen,' says you,
'what was quartermaster with Cap'n Roberts on the _Royal_----'"
"No," I cried.
"Did you mention Peter Tortue?" said the Frenchman.
"No. Would you be sitting here if I had? There would be a company of
soldiers scouring the island for you."
"That's reasonable," said Tortue, and the rest echoed his words. In a
little there was silence. Tortue set to work again with his knife. It
flashed backwards and forwards, red with the candle light as though it
ran blood. It shone in my eyes and dazzled me, and somehow, there came
back to me a recollection of that hot night in Clutterbuck's rooms
when everything had glittered with an intolerable brightness, and Dick
Parmiter had been set upon the table to tell his story. I was vaguely
wondering what they were all doing at this moment in London,
Clutterbuck, Macfarlane, and the rest, when the questions began again.
"You came back from St. Mary's to New Grimsby?"
"Yes."
"Did you tell Parmiter?"
"No."
"From St. Mary's you crossed the island to Merchant's Point?"
"Yes."
"Did you tell the girl?"
Here a lie was obviously needful, and I did not scruple to tell it.
"No."
Peter Tortue leaned forward to me with a shrewd glance in his keen
eyes.
"You are her lover," he said. "You told her."
I lifted my eyes from his knife, looked him in the eyes, and sustained
his glance.
"I am not her lover," I said; "that is a damned lie."
He did not lose his temper, but repeated:
"You told her," and George Glen looked in again with his whole face
screwed into a wink.
"You said to her, 'My dear,' says you, 'there's old George,'" and at
that I lost my temper.
"I said nothing of the kind," I cried. "Am I a parrot that I cannot
open my lips without old George popping out of them? But what's the
use of talking. Do what you will, I have done. If I had betrayed your
secret, do you think I should be walking home alone, and you upon the
island? But I have done. I had a bargain to strike with you, I thought
to find you all at the inn--but I have done."
To tell the truth, I had no longer any hope of life. Glen, for all his
winks and smiles, would stop short of no cruelty. Peter Tortue quietly
polished his knife upon his thigh. He was a big Brittany man, with
shrewd eyes and an unchanging face. The rest squatted and stared
curiously at me. The light of the lantern fell upon their callous
faces, they were lookers-on at a show, of which perhaps, they had seen
the like before, they were not concerned in this affair of the _Royal
Fortune_ nor how it ended.
"So you told no one."
"No one."
I closed my eyes and leaned back against the partition. I was utterly
helpless in their hands, and I hoped they would be quick. I remember
that I regretted very much I could send no word to the girl at
Merchant's Rock, and that I was very glad she had not delayed her
music till tomorrow night, but both regret and gladness were of a
numbed and languid kind.
Then Glen asked me another question, and it spurred my will to
alertness.
"How did you know that I was quartermaster on the _Royal Fortune?_"
I could not remind him that he had let the ship's name drop from his
lips four years ago. It would be as much as to say that Helen had told
me. It would confess that I had spoken with her of the _Royal
Fortune_. Yet I must answer, and without the least show of hesitation.
I caught at the first plausible reason which occurred to me. I said:
"Cullen Mayle told me," and that answer saved my life. For Glen
remarked, "Yes, he knew," and nodded to Tortue: Tortue lifted the
knife in his hand, and again I closed my eyes. But the next thing I
heard was a snap as the blade shut into the handle, and the next thing
after that Tortue's voice deliberately speaking:
"George Glen, you never had the brains of a louse. You can smirk and
wriggle, and you're handy with a weapon, but, you never had no
brains."
I opened my eyes pretty wide at that, and I saw that the three younger
faces were now kindled out of their sluggishness. It was that mention
of Cullen Mayle which had wrought the change. These three took no
particular interest in the _Royal Fortune_, but they had every
interest in the doings of Cullen Mayle, and they now alertly followed
all that Tortue said. George Glen leaned forward.
"Who's cap'en here, Peter Tortue?" said he. "Was you with us on the
Sierra Leone River? Nat Roper there, Blads, you James Skyrm, speak up,
lads, was he with us?"
"My son was," said Tortue calmly.
"And what sort of answer is that? 'Tis lucky for you Cap'en Roberts
isn't aboard this shed. He wouldn't have understood that language, not
he--and he wouldn't have troubled you for an explanation neither.
Here's a fine thing, lads! If a man dies, his father, what's been
lying in the lap of luxury at home, is to have his share. That's a
nice new rule for gentlemen adventurers, and not content with his
share, wants to set up for cap'en. I have a good mind to learn you
modesty, Peter, just as Roberts would have learnt you."
He was talking quite smoothly, with a grin all over his face, but I
never saw a man that looked so dangerous. Peter Tortue, however, was
in no way discomposed.
"Why, you blundering fool," he answered, "where would you ha' been but
for me? No, I wasn't on the Sierra Leone River with you, or you
wouldn't be eating your hearts and your pockets empty upon Tresco. No,
I am not your captain, or you wouldn't never have lost track of Cullen
Mayle at Wapping."
There were four faces now alertly watching Peter Tortue, and the
fourth was mine. It was not merely that my life hung upon his
predominance, but there was the best of chances now that I might get
to the bottom of the mystery of their watching.
"You talk of Roberts," he continued, "well you're not the only man
that knew Roberts, and would Roberts have let Cullen Mayle slip
through his fingers--at Wapping too? Good Lord, it makes me sick to
look at you, George Glen!" and he turned to Roper, "Who was it found
the track for you; was it him or me?" he cried. "Who was it found the
nigger and sailed from the port o' London to Penzance, ay, and would
ha' found out the nigger's message if he hadn't had the sickness on
him. Was it him or was it me? Why the nigger knowed you all! Would he
ha' sailed to Penzance on that boat if he had seen a face on board
that he had known? not he."
"That's true," said Roper.
"Who brought you all to Tresco, eh? Who hindered you from rushing the
house, ay, hindered you in the face of your captain, and a deal you'ld
ha' found if you had rushed the house. A lot he knows, your captain.
P'raps he thought Adam Mayle was the man to leave a polite note on his
mantelshelf, telling us where to look. Who told you to wait for Cullen
Mayle?"
"We have waited," answered Glen. "How long are we to wait? Where is
Cullen Mayle?"
Peter Tortue threw up his hands.
"No wonder you all dry in the sun at the end of it," he cried, "my
word! We haven't got Cullen Mayle, but haven't we got the man as knows
him? What's he doing at Tresco if he wasn't sent by Cullen Mayle who
daren't show his face because we're here? Not worth my share, ain't I?
and you that can't add two and two! See here! Dick Parmiter goes to
London, don't he? He goes after the nigger come; what for, but to find
Cullen Mayle, and say as we're here? He knows where Cullen's to be
found, and down comes the stranger here. And we ha' got him tucked up
comfortable, and we know tricks that Roberts taught us to make him
speak, don't we? And you want to jab a knife into him. You make me
sick, George Glen--fair sick! Suppose you do jab a knife into him, and
bury him here under the stones, do you think the girl'll take it quite
easy and natural? Or will you go down the hill and rush the house? And
then if you please, what'll you all be doing to-morrow? Well, you are
captain, George Glen, but what has your crew to say to this? Come! Am
I to talk to Mr. Berkeley, or will you set your own course, and steer
for execution dock?"
There was no hesitation in the answer. With one accord they leaned to
Tortue's proposal.
I could not see that I was in a much better case. Tortue was to put to
me questions, the very questions which I wished to ask, and I was
expected to answer them. I should have to answer them if I was to come
off with my life. The men sat hungrily about me awaiting my answers.
It would not take them long to discover that I was tricking them, that
I had no knowledge whatever about their concerns beyond that one
dangerous item that Glen and Tortue had sailed on the _Royal Fortune_,
and when that discovery was made, why, out of mere resentment they
would let Glen have his way.
However, I was still alive, and the girl was still at Merchant's
Point. These men were plainly growing impatient of their long stay
upon the island; and once I was out of the way, who was to stand
between them and the girl?
I summoned my wits together, and ran quickly over my mind what I did
know. I had a few fresh hints from Tortue's arguments to add to my
knowledge. I knew why they were watching for Cullen Mayle. He was to
show them where to look for something. It was that something about
which Glen had talked to Adam Mayle the night Cullen was driven away;
Cullen had overheard, and he had gone out in search of it to the
Sierra Leone River. Glen and his companions had done likewise. It was
in some degree apparent now what that something was: namely, treasure
of some sort from the Royal Fortune, and buried on the banks of the
Sierra Leone River. They had not found it, and their presence here,
and certain words, told me why. Adam Mayle had been first with them.
So much I could venture to think of. For the rest I must wait upon the
questions; and, fortunately for me. Glen was a man of much garrulity.
"You spoke of a bargain," said Tortue. "What do you propose?"
"Halves!" said I, as bold as brass.
There was an outcry against the proposal, and it mightily relieved me,
for it proved to me I was right. It was treasure they were after, but
of what kind? I had now to puzzle my brains over that. Was it specie?
Hardly, I thought, for Adam Mayle would not have hidden money upon
Tresco. Was it a treasure of jewels, then?
"Halves," said George Glen with a titter. "A very good proposal, Mr.
Berkeley, by daylight, with a company of soldiers within call."
Jewels, I thought: yes, jewels--jewels that might be recognized,
jewels that Adam Mayle would keep hidden to himself so long as there
was no pressing need to dispose of them.
"As it is," continued Glen, "we take all, but we give you your life.
That's a fair offer."
"Yes, that's fair," said Roper.
I hazarded it.
"Very well," said I. "You can find your jewels for yourselves."
I expected an explosion of wrath; I met with only mute surprise.
"Jewels!" said Roper at length.
"Well, isn't the cross thick with them?" said Tortue to Roper.
"It wouldn't be of much use to us without," sniggered Glen. "Lord, but
that was a clever stroke of Roberts'--the cleverest thing he ever
done. Right under the guns of the African Comp'ny's fort she lay in
Sierra Leone harbour--a Portuguese ship of twenty guns. At a quarter
to eleven there was her crew, as many as might be--we could hear 'em
singing and laughing as we pulled across the water to 'em--and at ten
minutes past three there wasn't a mother's son of them all alive; and
no noise, mind you. Rich she was, too. Sugar--we had run short of
sugar for our punch, and welcome it was--sugar, skins, tobacco, ninety
thousand moidors, and this cross with the diamonds for the King of
Portugal. Roberts himself said he had never seen stones like it, and
he was a good judge of stones was Roberts. He was quick, too. Why,
we had that cross on the dinghy and were well up the Sierra Leone
River before daybreak, just the three of us--Roberts, me, and Adam
Mayle--Kennedy he called himself then, being a gentleman born and with
more sense than the rest of us. He buried the cross, two days sail up
the Sierra Leone River, and Roberts made a chart of its bearings. He
gave it to me on the deck of the _Royal Fortune_ when he was mortally
wounded, and I kept it all the time we were in prison. I showed it to
Adam Mayle when we escaped, but we had no means to get at it--at
least, I hadn't. Adam, he was a gentleman born, and had got his
savings placed all safe in his own name."
I hoped Glen would go on in this strain until my slip was forgotten. I
was, besides, acquiring information. But Roper cut him short.
"It was a cross--it wasn't jewels," said he, suspiciously; and
suddenly Tortue interrupted.
"'Halves' was what you said, I think," he remarked, rather quickly,
and I could almost have believed that he was trying to cover up my
mistake. I took advantage of his interruption as quickly as he had
made it.
"Half for you, half for Cullen," said I; and immediately Tortue flung
out in an extravagant passion. He threatened me, he threatened Cullen,
he opened his knife and gesticulated, he cursed, until I began to
wonder: was he acting? Was this anger a pretence to divert attention
finally from my unlucky guess? I could not be sure. I could conceive
no reason for such a pretence. But certainly, whether he intended it
or not, he brought about that result; for his companions began to fear
he would make an end of me before they had got the information where
the cross was hid, and so busied themselves with appeasing him. He
permitted himself at the last to be appeased, and George Glen took up
the argument.
"Look you here, Mr. Berkeley," said he, "we're reasonable men, and
it's no more than fair you should be reasonable too, seeing as how you
are uncomfortably placed. That was took up by Adam Mayle, and he never
meant his son to finger it. 'A damned ungrateful, supercilious whelp,'
says he to me in the lad's own bedroom; yes, in his own bedroom"--for,
as may be imagined, I had started. Here was the explanation of how
Cullen discovered George Glen's business. I hoisted myself up against
the partition as well as I could. How I prayed that Glen would go on!
He was sufficiently garrulous, if only he was not interrupted, and he
was arguing for all of them. "'A damned ungrateful, supercilious
whelp,' he said; 'and George,' said he, as I read out the chart, 'I'd
sooner let the cross rot to pieces in the Sierra Leone mud than fetch
it home for him to have a share of. I've enough for myself and the
girl. I'll not stir a finger,' says he, 'and if it was here now I'd
have it buried with me.' Those were his very words, which he spoke to
me not half an hour after he had driven Cullen from the house, and in
the lad's own bedroom, where we couldn't be overheard."
"But you were overheard," said I, "Cullen Mayle overheard you." Glen
jumped on to his feet, his mouth dropped, he stood staring at me in a
daze, and then he thumped one fist down into the palm of the other.
"By God it's true," he said, "he was in the curtains."
"He was in bed," said I.
"By God it's true," repeated Glen, and he sat down again on the floor.
"So that's how Cullen Mayle found out. I was mightily astonished to
find him at Sierra Leone on the same business as ourselves. But it's
true. I remember there was a noise, and I cried out, 'What's that?'
with a sort of jump, and Adam he says, pleasant like, 'It's the
hangman, George;' but it wasn't, it was Cullen Mayle."
I think that every one laughed as Glen ended, except myself. I could
even at that moment, but be sensible what a strange picture it made;
those two old ruffians sitting over against each other in the bedroom,
and Cullen waked up from his sleep in bed to lie quiet and overhear
them.
"So you see, it isn't reasonable Cullen should have half since his
father never meant him to have any," he continued.
"But without Cullen you would get nothing at all," said I.
"Why not since we have you?"--and then I made a slip--I answered: "But
Cullen Mayle told me where the cross is."
"But Cullen Mayle doesn't know," said Roper, "else would he have gone
hunting to Sierra Leone for it?"
"Told him where to look for the plan, he means." Tortue interrupted
again. This time I could not mistake. He glanced at me with too much
significance. For some reason, he was standing my friend.
"Of course," said I, "where to look for the plan."
So it was a plan they needed, a plan of the spot where Adam Mayle had
buried the cross. Where could that plan be, in what unlikely place
would Adam have hid it?
I ran over my mind the rooms, and the furniture of the house. There
was no bureau, no secretaire. But I had to make up my mind. This last
slip had awakened my captor's suspicions. The faces about me menaced
me.
"Well, where is the plan?"
I thought over all that Glen had said to-night--was a clue to be got
there?
"I haven't it," said I, to gain time.
"But where are we to look for it?" again asked Roper, and he put his
hand in his coat-pocket.
"Speak up," said Tortue, and I read his meaning in the glance of his
eyes. He meant--"Name some spot, any spot!" But I knew! It had come
upon me like an inspiration, I had no shadow of doubt where that plan
was. I said:
"Where are you to look for the plan? Glen has told you. Adam Mayle
would rather have had the cross buried with him than that Cullen
should have it. He couldn't have the treasure buried with him, but he
could and did the plan. Look in Adam Mayle's grave. You will find a
stick with a brass handle to it--a sword stick, but the sword's broken
off short. In the hollow of that stick you'll find the plan." Tortue
nodded at me with approval. The rest jumped up from the ground.
"We have time to-night," said Roper, and stretching out a hand he
pulled my watch from my fob. "It is eleven o'clock," and he put the
watch in his own pocket. "Where's Adam Mayle buried?" asked another.
"In the Abbey Grounds," said I.
"But we want spades," objected Tortue, "we want a pick."
"They are here," said Glen, with an evil smile, "we had them ready,"
and he grinned at me. "Mr. Berkeley comes with us, I think," said he
smoothly, "untie his legs."
"Yes," said Roper with an oath. He was in a heat of excitement. "And
if he has told us wrong, good God, we'll bury him with Adam Mayle."
But I had no doubt that I was right. I remembered what Clutterbuck had
told me of Adam's vindictiveness. He would hide that plan if he could,
and he could have chosen no surer place. No doubt he would have
destroyed that plan when he knew that he was dying, but he was struck
down with paralysis, and could not stir a finger. He could only order
the stick to be buried with him.
They unfastened my legs. Roper blew out the lantern, and we went out
of the shed, on to the hillside. Glen despatched Blads upon some
errand, and the man hurried up the hill towards New Grimsby. Glen
leisurely walked along the slope of the hill. I followed him, and the
rest behind me. The moon had gone down, and the night, though clear
enough, was dark. We walked on for about five minutes, until some one
treading close upon my heels suddenly tripped me up. My hands were
still tied behind my back, so that I could not save myself from a
fall. But Tortue picked me up, and as he did so whispered in my ear:
"Is the plan there?"
I answered, "Yes."
I would have staked my life upon it; in fact, I was staking my life
upon it.