A DANGEROUS MOMENT
Not since I parted with him in the road on the morning of Dom Miguel’s
murder had I seen Paola or heard from him directly.
At that time, after giving me two men who had proved faithful both to me
and the Cause, he had ridden on to the house of death—“to breakfast with
his sister.” From that moment his actions had been a mystery not only to
me but to all his fellow-conspirators.
But now it seemed easy to understand that the Minister of Police had
been attending to the Emperor’s business, and that he had also been
playing a double game from the beginning, and promoting the revolution
that he might the more easily crush it.
As he rose to his feet after saluting the Emperor, Paola glanced around
the room and noted my presence. I could not well disguise the scorn I
felt for this treacherous fellow, and as he met my eyes he smiled and
twirled his small moustache with a satisfied air.
“Well?” demanded the Emperor.
“All is indeed well, your Majesty,” returned the minister, lightly. “The
leaders of the conspiracy, with one exception, are now under arrest.”
“And that one?”
“Sanchez Bastro, a coffee-planter with a ranch near by. He has crossed
the border. But it is unimportant.”
“And Mendez?”
“Imprisoned in the citadel.”
“Barros?”
“He is comforting Mendez, in the same cell.”
“Treverot?”
“Unfortunately we were obliged to shoot him. He chose to resist.”
“Hm! And Piexoto?”
“Is below, under arrest.”
“Have him brought here.” The captain left the room, and again the
Emperor turned to Paola.
“You have done well, senhor; and your reward shall be adequate. It was a
far-reaching plot, and dangerous.” And Dom Pedro sighed as if greatly
relieved.
Paola brushed a speck of dust from his sleeve and laughed in his silly
fashion.
“The serpent is only dangerous, your Majesty, until its fangs are
pulled,” he drawled, and strolled away toward Valcour, while the
soldiers brought in Senhor Floriano Piexoto.
The famous patriot was not only hand-cuffed, but his elbows were bound
together by cords across his back. But despite his bonds he walked
proudly and scowled into Dom Pedro’s face as he confronted him. Indeed,
I was filled with admiration to find that this man whom Fonseca had
called “croaker” could be brave when occasion demanded it.
“So, my clever statesman has seen fit to turn traitor,” began the
Emperor, sternly regarding the prisoner.
“A champion of Liberty must needs be a traitor to Dom Pedro,” replied
Piexoto, with equal sternness.
“But the conspiracy is at an end, and I am inclined to be merciful,”
resumed the Emperor. “I am told you were the trusted friend of Miguel de
Pintra, and knew his secrets. If you will inform us how to unlock the
secret vault, I will promise to regard your offense lightly.”
Piexoto stared at him a moment indignantly. Then he turned with a frown
upon Paola.
“Ask of your Minister of Police,” he retorted; “for there stands a
double traitor! It was he who stood closest to de Pintra, winning his
confidence only to betray it. It was Francisco Paola who planned the
secret vault. Who should know better than he how to open it?”
The Emperor turned to Paola with suspicion written visibly upon his
stern features.
“Did you plan the vault?” he demanded.
“Truly, your Majesty. Otherwise the records would have been scattered in
many places. I planned the vault that all might be concentrated in one
place—where we should find them when we were ready to explode the
conspiracy. Records—plans—money—all are now at our hand.”
“But we have not the key. Why did you plan so complicated a lock?”
“Nothing else would have satisfied de Pintra. As for the lock, it is
nothing. A drill through one of the steel panels would have admitted us
easily. But—”
“But what, sir? Why do we not drill now, instead of seeking this cursed
ring?”
The Minister smiled and again twirled his moustaches.
“Because Dom Miguel suddenly developed inventive genius on his own part.
I was absent when the work was completed, and too late I discovered that
de Pintra had made pockets everywhere between the steel plates, and
filled every pocket with nitro-glycerine.”
“Well?”
“That is all. To drill into the vault is to explode a pocket of
nitro-glycerine, which in turn will explode all the other pockets
through concussion.”
“And then?”
“And then the contents of the vault would be blown to atoms. Of the
mansion itself not one stone would remain upon another. The records we
seek would be lost irrevocably.”
Valcour, pale with fear, uttered a cry and dashed through the door,
while the Emperor rose to his feet with a look of terror upon his face.
“They are drilling now!” he gasped.
Silently we stood, none daring to move; and into our drawn faces Piexoto
gazed with a grim and derisive smile.
Paolo, more composed than any of the others, except Piexoto, began
rolling a cigarette, but remembering the Emperor’s presence he ceased.
And so we stood, motionless and silent, until footsteps were again heard
and Valcour re-entered wiping the perspiration from his forehead with an
embroidered handkerchief. His face wore a look of relief, but there was
a slight tremor in his voice as he said:
“I have ordered the drilling stopped, your Majesty.”
Dom Pedro, thus reassured, strode back and forth in evident perplexity.
“We must have the key!” he said, angrily. “There is no other way. And
the key cannot be far off. Has your prisoner, the Mexican, recovered?”
“I will go and see,” answered the detective, and again left the room.
I caught a look of surprise upon the face of the Minister of Police. It
was fleeting, but I was sure it had been there.
“May I inquire who this prisoner is?” he asked. One of the men who acted
as secretary to the Emperor, receiving a nod from Dom Pedro, informed
Paola of the finding of the dead body in the shrubbery, and of the
consequent arrest of the Mexican.
“And the key was not found in his possession?” he inquired, eagerly.
“No.”
“Then he secreted it, fearing arrest. Have the out-buildings been
searched?”
“Not yet.”
“Let it be done at once.”
Valcour, entering in time to hear this, flushed angrily.
“That is my business, Senhor Paola. I will brook no interference from
the police.”
“Ah! had it not been for the police, Senhor Valcour would have blown his
Emperor into eternity,” returned Paola, smiling blandly into the spy’s
disturbed countenance.
“Enough of this!” cried the Emperor. “Let the grounds and out-buildings
be carefully searched. Is your prisoner recovered, Valcour?”
“He is raving mad,” returned the detective, in a surly tone. “It
requires two soldiers to control him.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, for I had feared the Mexican, in his
terror, would betray the fact that he had given me the ring.