DEVELOPMENTS
My view of the trouble was that it was a case of robbery. The
disordered condition of the city was sure to be used by the roughs as
a cover for their operations; and I jumped to the conclusion that the
woman whose cry I was answering had been decoyed to the house to be
robbed.
But as I ran down the stairs I heard enough to show me that it was in
reality a sort of by-product of the riot in the streets. The woman was
a prisoner in the hands of some of the mob, and they were threatening
her with violence because she was, in their jargon, an enemy of the
cause of the people.
To my surprise it was against this that she was protesting so
vehemently. Her speech, in strong contrast to that of the men, was
proof of refinement and culture, while the little note of authority
which I had observed at first suggested rank. It was almost
inconceivable, therefore, that she could have anything in common with
such fellows as her captors.
The door of the room in which they all were stood slightly ajar, and as
I reached it she reiterated her protest with passionate vehemence.
“You are mad. I am your friend, not your enemy. I swear that. One of
you must know Dr. Barosa. Find him and bring him here and he will bear
out every word I have said.”
[Illustration: “Holding my revolver in readiness, I entered.”]
“That’s enough of that. Lies won’t help you,” came the reply in the
same gruff bullying tone I had heard before. “Now, Henriques,” he
added, as if ordering a comrade to finish the grim work.
Holding my revolver in readiness, I entered. There were three of the
rascals. Two had hold of the woman who knelt between them with her back
to me, while the third, also with his back to me, was just raising a
club to strike her.
They were so intent upon their job and probably so certain that no one
was in the house, that they did not notice me until I had had time to
give the fellow with the club a blow on the side of the head which sent
him staggering into a corner with an oath of surprise and rage. The
others released their hold of the woman, and as I stepped in front of
her, they fell away in healthy fear of my levelled weapon.
They were the reverse of formidable antagonists; rascals from the
gutter apparently; venomous enough in looks, but undersized, feeble
specimens; ready to attack an unarmed man or a defenceless woman, but
utterly cowed by the sight of the business end of my revolver.
They slunk back toward the door, rage, baulked malice and fear on their
ugly dirty faces.
“A spy! A spy!” exclaimed the brute who had the stick; and at the word
they felt for their knives.
“Put your hands up, you dogs,” I cried. “The man who draws a knife will
get a bullet in his head.”
Meanwhile the woman had scrambled to her feet, with a murmured word
of thanks to the Virgin for my opportune intervention, and then to
my intense surprise she put her hand on my arm and said in a tone of
entreaty: “Do not fire, monsieur. They have only acted in ignorance.”
“You hear that, you cowardly brutes,” I said, without turning to look
at her, for I couldn’t take my eyes off the men. “Clear out, or----”
and I stepped toward them as if I meant to fire.
In that I made a stupid blunder as it turned out. They hung together
a second and then at a whisper from the fellow who appeared to be the
leader, they suddenly bolted out of the room, and locked the door
behind them.
Not at all relishing the idea of being made a prisoner in this way, I
shouted to them to unlock the door, threatening to break it down and
shoot them on sight if they refused. As they did not answer I picked up
a heavy chair to smash in one of the panels, when my companion again
interposed.
But this time it was on my and her own account. “They have firearms in
the house, monsieur. If you show yourself, they will shoot you; and I
shall be again at their mercy.”
She spoke in a tone of genuine concern and, as I recognized the wisdom
of the caution, I put the chair down again and turned to her.
It was the first good square look I had had at her, and I was surprised
to find that she was both young and surpassingly handsome--an
aristocrat to her finger tips, although plainly dressed like one of
the people. Her features were finely chiselled, she had an air of
unmistakable refinement, she carried herself with the dignity of a
person of rank, and her eyes, large and of a singular greenish brown
hue, were bent upon me with the expression of one accustomed to
expect ready compliance with her wishes. She had entirely recovered
her self-possession and in some way had braided up the mass of golden
auburn hair, the dishevelled condition of which I had noticed in the
moment of my entrance.
“You are probably right, madame,” I said; “but I don’t care for the
idea of being locked in here while those rascals fetch some companions.”
I addressed her as madame; but she couldn’t be more than four or five
and twenty, and might be much younger.
“There will be no danger, monsieur,” she replied in a tone of complete
confidence.
“There appeared to be plenty of it just now; and the sooner we are out
of this place, the better I shall be pleased.” And with that I turned
to the window to see if we could get out that way. It was, however,
closely barred.
“You may accept my assurance. These men have been acting under a
complete misunderstanding. They will bring some one who will explain
everything to them.”
“Dr. Barosa, you mean?”
“What do you know of him?” The question came sharply and with a touch
of suspicion, as it seemed to me.
“Nothing, except that I heard you mention him just as I entered.”
She paused a moment, keeping her eyes on my face, and then, with a
little shrug, she turned away. “I will see if my ser--my companion is
much hurt,” she said, and bent over the man who was lying against the
wall.
I noticed the slip; but it was nothing to me if she wished to make me
think he was a companion instead of a servant.
She knew little or nothing about how to examine the man’s hurt, so I
offered to do it for her. “Will you allow me to examine him, madame? I
have been a soldier and know a little about first aid.”
She made way for me and went to the other end of the room while I
looked him over. He had had just such a crack on the head as I feared
for myself when bolting from the troops. It had knocked the senses
out of him; but that was all. He was in no danger; so I made him as
comfortable as I could and told her my opinion.
“He will be all right, no doubt,” was her reply, with about as much
feeling as I should have shown for somebody else’s dog; and despite
her handsome face and air of position, I began to doubt whether he
would not have been better worth saving than she.
“How did all this happen?”
She gave a little impatient start at the question, as if resenting it.
“He was brought here with me, monsieur, and the men struck him,” she
replied after a pause.
“Yes. But why were you brought here?”
“I have not yet thanked you for coming to my assistance, monsieur,” she
replied irrelevantly. “Believe me, I do thank you most earnestly. I owe
you my life, perhaps.”
It was an easy guess that she found the question distasteful and had
parried it intentionally; so I followed the fresh lead. “I did no more
than I hope any other man would have done, madame,” I said.
“That is the sort of reply I should look for from an Englishman,
monsieur.” Her strange eyes were fixed shrewdly upon me as she made
this guess at my nationality.
“I am English,” I replied with a smile.
“I am glad. I would rather be under an obligation to an Englishman than
to any one except a countryman of my own.” She smiled very graciously,
almost coquettishly, as if anxious to convince me of her absolute
sincerity. But she spoilt the effect directly. Lifting her eyes to
heaven and with a little toss of the hands, she exclaimed. “What a
mercy of the Virgin that you chanced to be in the house--this house of
all others in the city.”
I understood. She wished to cross-examine me. “You are glad that I
arrived in time to interrupt things just now?” I asked quietly.
“Monsieur!” Eyes, hands, lithe body, everything backed up the tone of
surprise that I should question it. “Do I not owe you my life?” I came
to the conclusion that she was as false as woman of her colour can be.
But she was an excellent actress.
“Then let me suggest that we speak quite frankly. Let me lead the way.
I am an Englishman, here in Lisbon on some important business, and not,
as the doubt underneath your question, implies--a spy. I----”
“Monsieur!” she cried again as if in almost horrified protest.
“I was caught in the thick of a street fight,” I continued, observing
that for all her energetic protest she was weighing my explanation very
closely. “And had to run for it with the police at my heels. I saw a
window of this house standing partly open and scrambled through it for
shelter.”
“What a blessed coincidence for me!”
“It would be simpler to say, madame, that you do not believe me,” I
said bluntly.
“Ah, but on my faith----”
“Let me put it to you another way,” I cut in. “I don’t know much of the
ways of spies, but if I were one I should have contented myself with
listening at that door, instead of entering, and have locked you all in
instead of letting myself be caught in this silly fashion.” Then I saw
the absurdity of losing my temper and burst out laughing.
She drew herself up. “You are amused, monsieur.”
“One may as well laugh while one can. If my laugh offends you, I beg
your pardon for it, but I am laughing at my own conversion. An hour or
two back I was ridiculing the idea of there being anything to bother
about in the condition of the Lisbon streets. Since then I have been
attacked by the police, nearly torn to pieces by the mob, had to bolt
from the troops, and now you thank me for having saved your life and in
the same breath take me for a spy. Don’t you think that is enough cause
for laughter? If you have any sense of humour you surely will.”
“I did not take you for a spy, monsieur,” she replied untruthfully.
“But you have learnt things while here. We are obliged to be cautious.”
“My good lady, how on earth can it matter? We have met by the merest
accident; there is not the slightest probability that we shall ever
meet again; and if we did--well, you suggested just now that you know
something of the ways of us English, and in that case you will feel
perfectly certain that anything I have seen or heard here to-night will
never pass my lips.”
“You have not mentioned your name, monsieur?”
“Ralph Donnington. I arrived yesterday and stayed at the Avenida. Would
you like some confirmation? My card case is here, and this cigar case
has my initials outside and my full name inside.”
“I do not need anything of that sort,” she cried quickly, waving her
hands. But she read both the name and the initials.
“What have you inferred from what you have seen here to-night?”
“That the rascals who brought you here are some of the same sort of
riff-raff I saw attacking the police and got hold of you as an enemy
of the people. I heard that bit of cant from one of them. That you are
of the class they are accustomed to regard as their oppressors was
probably as evident to them as to me; and when you expressed sympathy
with them----”
“You heard that?” she broke in earnestly.
“Certainly, when I heard you tell them to fetch this Dr. Barosa. But it
is nothing to me; nor, thank Heaven, are your Portuguese politics or
plots. But what is a good deal to me is how we are going to get out of
this.”
“And for what do you take me, monsieur?”
“For one of the most beautiful enthusiasts I ever had the pleasure of
meeting, madame,” I replied with a bow. “And a leader whom any one
should be glad indeed to follow.”
She was woman enough to relish the compliment and she smiled. “You
think I am a leader of these people, then?”
“It is my regret that I am not one of them.”
“I am afraid that is not true, Mr. Donnington.”
“At any rate I shall be delighted to follow your lead out of this
house.”
“You will not be in any danger, I assure you of that.”
As she spoke we heard the sounds of some little commotion outside the
room and I guessed that the scoundrels had brought up some more of
their kind.
“I hope so, but I think we shall soon know.”
“I have your word of honour that you will not breathe a word of
anything you have witnessed here to-night.”
“Certainly. I pledge my word of honour.”
The men outside appeared to have a good deal to chatter about and
seemed none too ready to enter. They were probably discussing who
should have the privilege of being the first to face my revolver. I did
not like the look of the thing at all.
“If they are your friends, why don’t they come in?” I asked my
companion. “Hadn’t you better speak to them?”
She crossed to the door and it occurred to me to place the head of a
chair under the handle and make it a little more difficult for them to
get in.
“You need have no fear, Mr. Donnington,” she said with a touch of
contempt as I took this precaution.
“It’s only a slight test of the mood they are in.”
As she reached the door the injured man began to show signs of
recovering his senses; and I stooped over him while she spoke to the
men.
“Is Dr. Barosa there?” she called.
Getting no reply, she repeated the question and knocked on the panel.
There was an answer this time, but not at all what she had expected.
One of the fellows fired a pistol and the bullet pierced the thin panel
and went dangerously near her head.
I pulled her across to a spot where she would be safe from a chance
shot. Only just in time, for half a dozen shots were fired in quick
succession.
She was going to speak again, but I stopped her with a gesture; and
then extinguished one of the two candles by which the room was lighted.
A long pause followed the shots, as if the scoundrels were listening to
learn the effect of the firing.
In the silence the man in the corner groaned, and I heard the key
turned in the lock as some one tried to push the door open.
I drew out my weapon.
“You will not shoot them, Mr. Donnington?” exclaimed my companion under
her breath.
“Doesn’t this man Barosa know your voice?” I whispered.
“Of course.”
“Then he isn’t there,” I said grimly.
I raised my voice and called loudly: “Don’t you dare to enter. I’ll
shoot the first man that tries to.” Then to my companion: “You’d better
crouch down in the corner here. There’ll be trouble the instant they
are inside.”
But she had no lack of pluck and shook her head disdainfully. “You must
not fire. If you shoot one of these men you will not be safe for an
hour in the city.”
“I don’t appear to be particularly safe as it is,” I answered drily.
There was another pause; then a vigorous shove broke the chair I had
placed to the door and half a dozen men rushed in.
As I raised my arm to fire, my companion caught it and stopped me.
For the space of a few seconds the scoundrels stared at us, their eyes
gleaming in vicious malice and triumph. I read murder in them.
“Throw your weapon on the table there,” ordered one of them.
Then a thought occurred to me.
I made as if to obey; but, instead of doing anything of the sort, I
extinguished the remaining candle, grabbed my companion’s arm, drew her
to the opposite side of the room and, pushing her into a corner, stood
in front of her.
And in the pitchy darkness we waited for the ruffians to make the first
move in their attack.