_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
WHEN I WAS CZAR.
The _Court Circular_ says:--“There is always something supremely
audacious about Mr. Marchmont’s books. This, however, I will say, that
for a long evening’s solid enjoyment ‘When I was Czar’ would be hard to
beat.”
The _Nottingham Guardian_ says:--“The best story of political intrigue
which has been written since ‘The Prisoner of Zenda,’ with which it
compares for the irresistible buoyancy by which it is told and the
skill in which expectation is maintained on tiptoe till the last move.”
The _Freeman’s Journal_ says:--“A very brilliant work, every page in it
displays the dramatic talent of the author and his capacity for writing
smart dialogue.”
AN IMPERIAL MARRIAGE.
The _Sporting Life_ says:--“Every page is full of incident and bright
dialogue. The characters are strongly and vividly drawn, and the
development of the whole story shows the author to be a thorough master
of his craft.”
The _Scotsman_ says:--“The action never flags, the romantic element
is always paramount, so that the production is bound to appeal
successfully to all lovers of spirited fiction.”
The _Notts Guardian_ says:--“The interest is absorbing and cumulative
through every chapter, and yet the tale is never overloaded with
incident. The vigour and reality of the story does not flag to the last
page.”
The _Court Journal_ says:--“One of those intricate webs of intrigue and
incident in the weaving of which the author has no equal.”
BY SNARE OF LOVE.
The _Dundee Courier_ says:--“To say that the clever author of ‘When I
was Czar’ has eclipsed that stirring romance is to bring one within the
sphere of the incredible. But it is true. The present novel is full
to overflowing of boundless resource and enterprise, which cannot but
rouse even the most blasé of readers.”
The _Daily Mail_ says:--“The story is undoubtedly clever. Mr. Marchmont
contrives to invest his most improbable episodes with an air of
plausibility, and the net result is an exciting and entertaining tale.”
The _Birmingham Post_ says:--“Mr. Marchmont creates numerous thrilling
situations which are worked out with dramatic power, his description
of the interior of a Turkish prison, with all its horrors, being a
realistic piece of work.”
IN THE CAUSE OF FREEDOM.
The _Times_:--“Mr. Marchmont’s tales always have plenty of go. He is
well up to his standard in this busy and exciting narrative.”
The _Globe_:--“Mr. A. W. Marchmont can always write an exciting story
bristling with adventures and hazard, and incidents of all sorts. ‘In
the Cause of Freedom’ furnishes a good example of his talent. Vivid,
packed with drama, with action that never flags, this novel ought to
appeal successfully to all lovers of romantic and spirited fiction.”
The _People’s Saturday Journal_:--“It is an admirable example of the
type of exciting fiction for which Mr. Marchmont is justly famous, and
lacks nothing in the way of plot and incident.”
THE QUEEN’S ADVOCATE.
The _Daily News_ says:--“Written in a vigorous and lively manner,
adventures throng the pages, and the interest is maintained throughout.”
The _Belfast Northern Whig_ says:--“As one book follows another from
Mr. Marchmont’s pen we have increased breadth of treatment, more
cleverly constructed plots and a closer study of human life and
character. His present work affords ample evidence of this.”
_Madam_ says:--“A thrilling story, the scene of which takes us to the
heart of the terrible Servian tragedy. We are taken through a veritable
maze of adventure, even to that dreadful night of the assassination of
the Royal couple. A very readable story.”
A COURIER OF FORTUNE.
The _Daily Telegraph_ says:--“An exciting romance of the ‘cloak and
rapier.’ The fun is fast and furious; plot and counterplot, ambushes
and fightings, imprisonment and escapes follow each other with a
rapidity that holds the reader with a taste for adventure in a state
of more or less breathless excitement to the close. Mr. Marchmont
has a spirited manner in describing adventure, allowing no pause in
the doings for overdescription either of his characters or their
surroundings.”
The _Bristol Mercury_ says:--“A very striking picture of France at
a period of absolute social and political insecurity. The author’s
characters are drawn with such art as to make each a distinct
personality. ‘A Courier of Fortune’ is quite one of the liveliest books
we have read.”
BY WIT OF WOMAN.
The _Morning Leader_ says:--“A stirring tale of dramatic intensity,
and full of movement and exciting adventure. The author has evolved a
character worthy to be the wife of Sherlock Holmes. She is the heroine;
and what she did not know or could not find out about the Hungarian
Patriot Party was not worth knowing.”
The _Standard_ says:--“Mr. Marchmont is one of that small band of
authors who can always be depended upon for a distinct note, a novel
plot, an original outlook. ‘By Wit of Woman’ is marked by all the
characteristic signs of Mr. Marchmont’s work.”
THE LITTLE ANARCHIST.
The _Sheffield Telegraph_ says:--“The reader once inveigled into
starting the first chapter is unable to put the book down until he has
turned over the last page.”
_Manchester City News_ says:--“It is no whit behind its predecessors
in stirring episode, thrilling situation and dramatic power. The story
grips in the first few lines and holds the reader’s interest until
‘finis’ is written.”
The _Scotsman_ says:--“A romance, brimful of incident and arousing
in the reader a healthy interest that carries him along with never a
pause--a vigorous story with elements that fascinate. In invention and
workmanship the novel shows no falling off from the high standard of
Mr. Marchmont’s earlier books.”
IN THE NAME OF THE PEOPLE
[Illustration: “‘To whom are you going to give the papers you have just
received from M. Dagara?’” (Page 193.)]
IN THE NAME OF
THE PEOPLE
By
ARTHUR W. MARCHMONT
_Author of “When I was Czar,” “The
Queen’s Advocate,” etc., etc._
_ILLUSTRATED_
WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED
LONDON, MELBOURNE AND TORONTO
1911
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I AN UNPROPITIOUS START 9
II DEVELOPMENTS 18
III THE RECEPTION 28
IV MIRALDA 38
V INEZ 49
VI DR. BAROSA 59
VII SAMPAYO IS UNEASY 70
VIII MIRALDA’S MASK 79
IX THE INTERROGATION 90
X A DRASTIC TEST 100
XI POLICE METHODS 110
XII THE REAL “M.D.” 121
XIII MIRALDA’S CONFIDENCE 132
XIV ALONE WITH SAMPAYO 143
XV IN THE FLUSH OF SUCCESS 151
XVI BAROSA’S SECRET 161
XVII A LITTLE CHESS PROBLEM 172
XVIII DAGARA’S STORY 180
XIX SPY WORK 190
XX A NIGHT ADVENTURE ON THE RIVER 199
XXI PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT 207
XXII READY 216
XXIII ON THE _RAMPALLO_ 226
XXIV A TIGHT CORNER 235
XXV ILL NEWS 244
XXVI IN SIGHT OF VICTORY 253
XXVII DR. BAROSA SCORES 263
XXVIII “YOU SHALL DIE” 272
XXIX MIRALDA’S APPEAL 280
XXX JEALOUSY 289
XXXI A NIGHT OF TORMENT 299
XXXII A HUNDRED LASHES 309
XXXIII THE LUCK TURNS 318
XXXIV ON THE TRACK 327
XXXV THE PROBLEM OF AN EMPTY HOUSE 335
XXXVI UNTIL LIFE’S END 343
CHAPTER I
AN UNPROPITIOUS START
“318, RUA DE PALMA,
“LISBON,
“_September 20, 1907_.
“My Dear Muriel,--
“I’m here at last, and the above is my address. The _Stella_ dropped
her anchor in the Tagus yesterday afternoon, and within half an
hour I was at the Visconte de Linto’s house. That will show you I
mean my campaign to be vigorous. But the Visconte and his wife are
at Coimbra, and Miralda is with them. I should have been off in
pursuit of her by the first train; but I managed to find out that
they are with friends there and will be back to-morrow for a big
reception. As that is just the sort of place I should choose before
all others for the meeting with Miralda, I promptly set to work to
get an invitation. I have done it all right. I got it through that
M. Volheno whom you and Stefan brought on a visit to us at Tapworth,
just after I got home from South Africa. Tell Stefan, by the way,
that Volheno is quite a big pot and high in the confidence of the
Dictator. I told him, of course, that I had come here about the
mining concessions in East Africa; and I shall rub that in to every
one. I think his mouth watered a bit at the prospect of getting
something for himself; anyway, he was awfully decent and promised me
all sorts of a good time here. Among the introductions he mentioned
was one to the de Lintos! I kept my face as stiff as a judge’s; but
I could have shrieked. Imagine a formal introduction to Miralda!
‘Mademoiselle Dominguez. Mr. Donnington,’ and those eyes of hers wide
with astonishment, and her lips struggling to suppress her laughter!
I really think I must let him do it, just to see her face at the
moment. Anyway, I shall see her to-morrow night. Ye gods! It’s over
four months since I fell before her beauty as intuitively as a pagan
falls before the shrine of the little tin god he worships. I hope no
one has got in the way meanwhile; if there is any one--well, I’ll do
my best to give him a bad time. I’m not here for my health, as the
Yanks say; nor for the health of any other fellow. By all of which
you will see I am in good spirits, and dead set on winning.
“By the way, I hear that things are in the very devil of a mess in
the city; and Volheno told me--unofficially of course--that the
streets are positively unsafe after dark. But I was out for a couple
of hours last night, renewing my acquaintance with the city, and
saw no ripple of trouble. After his warning I shoved a revolver in
my pocket; but a cigar-holder would have been just as much good. I
should rather like a scrap with some of the Lisbon ragamuffins.
“I’ve taken a furnished flat here; yacht too awkward to get to and
from; and a hotel impossible--too many old women gossips.
“Love to your hub and the kiddies.
“Your affect. brother,
“RALPH.
“PS. Think of it. To-morrow night by this time I shall have met her
again. Don’t grin. You married a Spaniard; and for love too. And
you’re not ashamed of being beastly happy. R. D.
“PPS. Mind. I hold you to your promise. If there is any real trouble
about M. and I need you, you are to come the moment I wire. Be a good
pal, and don’t back down. But I think I shall worry through on my
own.”
I have given this letter because it explains the circumstances of my
presence in Lisbon. A love quest. In the previous March, my sister’s
husband, Stefan Madrillo, who is on the staff of the Spanish Embassy
in Paris, had introduced me to Miralda Dominguez--the most beautiful
girl in Paris as she was generally acknowledged; and although up to
that moment I had never cared for any woman, except my sister, and the
thought of marriage had never entered my head, the whole perspective of
life was changed on the instant.
The one desire that possessed me was to win her love; the one possible
prospect which was not utterly barren and empty of everything but
wretchedness, was that she would give herself to me for life.
I had one advantage over the crowd of men whom the lodestone of her
beauty drew round her. I had lived in her country, spoke her language
as readily as my own, and could find many interests in common.
Naturally I played that for all it was worth.
From the first moment of meeting I was enslaved by her stately grace,
her ravishing smile, her soft, liquid, sympathetic voice, the subtle
but ineffable charm of her presence, and the dark lustrous eyes into
which I loved to bring the changing lights of surprise, curiosity,
interest and pleasure.
I was miserable when away from her; and should have been wholly
happy in her presence if it had not been for the despairing sense of
unworthiness which plagued and depressed me. She was a goddess to me,
and I a mere clod.
For three weeks--three crazily happy and yet crazily miserable weeks
for me--this had continued; and then I had been wired for at a moment’s
notice, owing to my dear father’s sudden illness.
I had to leave within an hour of the receipt of the telegram, without
a chance of putting the question on which my whole happiness depended,
without even a word of personal leave-taking. And for the whole of the
four months since that night I had had to remain in England.
During nearly all the time my father lay hovering between life
and death. At intervals, uncertain and transitory, he regained
consciousness; and at such moments his first question was for me. I
could not think of leaving him, of course; and even when the end came,
the settlement of the many affairs connected with the large fortune he
left delayed me a further two or three weeks.
My sister assured me that, through some friend or other, she had
contrived to let Miralda know something of the facts; but this was no
more than a cold comfort. When at length I turned the _Stella’s_ head
toward Lisbon, steaming at the top speed of her powerful engines, I
felt how feeble such a written explanation, dribbling through two or
three hands and watered down in the dribbling process, might appear to
Miralda, even assuming that she had given me a second thought as the
result of those three weeks in Paris.
But I was in Lisbon at last; and although I could not help realizing
that a hundred and fifty obstacles might have had time to grow up
between us during the long interval, I gritted my teeth in the resolve
to overcome them.
Anyway, the following night would show me how the land lay; and, as
anything was better than suspense, I gave a sigh of relief at the
thought, and having posted the letter to my sister, set off for another
prowl round the city.
I had not been there for several years--before I went out with the
Yeomanry for a fling at the Boers--and it interested me to note the
changes which had taken place. But I thought much more of Miralda than
of any changes and not at all of any possible trouble in the streets.
After a man has had a few moonlights rides reconnoitring kopjes which
are likely to be full of Boer snipers, he isn’t going to worry himself
grey about a few Portuguese rag-and-bobtail with an itch for his purse.
Besides, I felt well able to take care of myself in any street row. I
was lithe and strong and in the pink of condition, and knew fairly well
“how to stop ’em,” as Jem Whiteway, the old boxer, used to say, with a
shake of his bullet head when he tried to get through my guard and I
landed him.
But my contempt for the dangers of the streets was a little premature.
My experiences that night were destined to change my opinion entirely,
and to change a good many other things too. Before the night was many
hours older, I had every reason to be thankful that I had taken a
revolver out with me.
It came about in this way. I was skirting that district of the city
which is still frequently called the Mouraria--a nest of little,
narrow, tortuous by-ways into which I deemed it prudent not to venture
too far--and was going down a steep street toward the river front, when
the stillness was broken by the hoarse murmur of many voices. I guessed
that some sort of a row was in the making, and hurried on to see the
fun. And as I reached a turning a little farther down, I found myself
in the thick of it.
A small body of police came tearing round the corner running for their
lives with a crowd of men at their heels, whooping and yelling like a
pack of hounds in full sight of the fox.
As the police passed, one of them struck a vicious blow at me with a
club, and I only just managed to jump back and escape the blow. I drew
into the shelter of a doorway as the mob followed. The street was very
narrow and steep at this point, and the police, seeing the advantage it
gave them, rallied to make a stand some forty or fifty yards up the
hill above me.
The foremost pursuers paused a few moments to let a good number come
up; and then they went for the police for all they were worth. The
fight was very hot; but discipline told, as it will; and although the
police were tremendously outnumbered, they held their ground well
enough at first.
Meanwhile the racket kept bringing up reinforcements for the mob, and
some of them began to get disagreeably curious about me. Here was a
glorious struggle going on against the common foe, and I was standing
idly by instead of taking a hand in it.
One or two of them questioned me in a jeering tone, and presently some
fool yelled out that I was a spy. From taunts and gibing insults, those
near me proceeded to threats, fists and sticks were shaken at me, and
matters looked decidedly unpleasant.
I kept on explaining that I was a foreigner; but that was no more than
a waste of breath; and I looked about for a chance to get away.
I was very awkwardly placed, however. If I went up the street, I
should only run into the thick of the fight with the police; while the
constant arrival of freshcomers below me made escape in that direction
impossible.
Then came a crisis. One excited idiot struck at me with a stick, and
of course I had to defend myself; and for a time I was far too busy to
heed what was going on in the big row higher up the street. I tried
fists at first and, putting my back to the wall, managed to keep the
beggars at bay. Then a chance came to seize a big heavy club with
which a little brute was trying to break my head; and with that I soon
cleared quite a respectable space by laying about me indiscriminately.
But suddenly the club was knocked out of my hands, and a howl of
delight hailed my discomfiture. Then I remembered my revolver. I
whipped it out and a rather happy thought occurred to me. Shouting at
the top of my lungs that I was an Englishman and had nothing to do
with either the mob or the police, I grabbed hold of the ringleader of
my assailants, and used him as a sort of hostage. Keeping him between
myself and the rest, I shoved the barrel of the revolver against his
head and sung out that I would blow out his brains if any other man
attempted to harm me.
The ruse served me well. The crowd hung back; and my prisoner, in a
holy scare for his life, yelled at his friends to leave me alone.
Whether the trick would have really got me out of the mess I don’t
know. There was not time to tell, for another development followed
almost immediately. Some fresh arrivals came up yelling that the
soldiers were close at hand; and we soon heard them.
The mob were now caught between two fires. The police were still
holding their own above us, and the troops were hurrying up from the
other direction. Some one had the wit to see that the crowd’s only
chance was to carry the street against the police and clear that way
for flight. A fierce attack was made upon them, therefore, and they
were driven back to one side, leaving half the roadway clear.
The throng about me melted away, and I let my prisoner go, intending to
wait for the troops. But I soon abandoned that idea; for I saw they had
clubbed their muskets and were knocking down everybody they saw.
I had already had a blow aimed at me by the police, and had been
threatened by the mob; and being in about equal danger from both sides,
I was certain to get my head cracked if I remained. Their tactics were
to hit first and inquire afterwards, and I therefore adopted the only
alternative and took to my heels.
Being among the last to fly I was seen. A tally-ho was raised and
four or five of the police came dashing after me. Not knowing the
district well, I ran at top speed and bolted round corner after corner,
haphazard, keeping a sharp look-out as I ran for some place in which I
could take cover.
I had succeeded in shaking off all but two or three when, on turning
into one street, I spied the window of a house standing partly open.
To dart to it, throw it wide, clamber in, and close it after me took
only a few seconds; and as I squatted on the floor, breathing hard
from the chase and the effects of my former tussle, I had the intense
satisfaction of hearing my pursuers go clattering past the house.
That I might be taken for a burglar and handed over to the police by
the occupants of the house, did not bother me in the least. I could
very easily explain matters. It was the virtual certainty of a cracked
pate, not the fear of arrest from which I had bolted; and that I had
escaped with a sound skull was enough for me for the present.
But no one came near me; so I stopped where I was until the row outside
had died down. It seemed to die a hard death; and I must have sat there
in the dark for over an hour before I thought of venturing out to
return to my rooms.
Naturally unwilling to leave by the window, I groped my way out into
the passage and struck a match to look for the front door. Close to
me was a staircase leading to the upper rooms; and at the end of the
passage a second flight down to the basement.
Like so many houses in Lisbon this was built on a steep hill, and
guessing that I should find a way out downstairs at the back, I decided
to use that means of leaving, as it offered less chance of my being
observed.
I had just reached the head of the stairway, when a door below was
unlocked and several people entered the house. A confused murmur of
voices followed, and among them I heard that of a woman speaking in a
tone of angry protest against some mistake which those with her were
making.
The answering voices were those of men--strident, stern, distinctly
threatening, and mingled with oaths.
Then the woman spoke again; repeating her protest in angry tones; but
her voice was now vibrant with rising alarm.
“Silence!”
The command broke her sentence in two, and her words died away in
muffled indistinctness, suggesting that force had been used to secure
obedience.
Then a light was kindled; there was some scuffling along the passage;
and they all appeared to enter a room.
I paused, undecided what to do. The thing had a very ugly look; but I
had had quite enough trouble to satisfy me for one night. I didn’t want
to go blundering into an affair which might be no more than a family
quarrel; especially as I was trespassing in the house.
A few seconds later, however, came the sound of trouble; a blow, a
groan, and the thud of a fall.
I caught my breath in fear that the woman had been struck down.
But the next instant a shrill piercing cry for help rang out in her
voice, and this also was stifled as if a hand had been clapped on her
mouth.
That decided things for me.
Whatever the consequences, I could not stop to think of them while a
woman was in such danger as that cry for help had signalled.