BAROSA’S SECRET
I stayed a few minutes after Inez’ arrival so that she should not think
she had scared me away, and I left the house more in love with Miralda
than ever and convinced that had she been free the interview would have
had a very different result.
I saw Barosa’s sinister influence behind. Sampayo had evidently told
him at once what I had done; he had instantly sent instructions to
Miralda to take the letter but not to read it; and his power over her
was too great for her to dare to disobey.
To break down his influence appeared impossible; it meant a fight
against the whole forces of this infernal conspiracy. And then a
somewhat wild, harum-scarum alternative occurred to me--to carry her
away from it all on the _Stella_. Vasco was out of danger, and so far
as she herself was in danger from the Government, she could smile at it
when we were once in old England.
Vasco was already on the yacht. Could I use him to get her there? And
if I did, would she resent my trick or come to view it as the best, if
not the only way out?
Burroughs was at my rooms when I arrived, and he was just the man to
help me in such a plan; but I would not broach it until I had had more
time to think it round.
I was still undecided when Barosa arrived. I guessed his object but
greeted him pleasantly. He was, however, too engrossed by the reasons
which had brought him to make any sort of pretence, and the moment we
had shaken hands, he plunged into the subject.
“I have come to see you about Major Sampayo, Mr. Donnington. I regret
to hear that you and he have quarrelled.”
“Scarcely quarrelled, doctor. At least I should not use that term; and
pardon me if I say that it is a strictly personal matter.”
“I cannot regard it so; that is why I have come. You have threatened
to use certain information you possess and have required him to leave
Lisbon at once.”
“I should put it very differently, of course.”
“We need not split hairs,” he replied bluntly.
“I do not care to be addressed quite so curtly, Dr. Barosa. If you wish
to tell me anything or to make any sort of request, I am willing to
listen in a friendly spirit. But not otherwise.”
“I have no wish to offend, but the matter is serious. I have explained
to you once before that we are under great obligations to Major
Sampayo, and any action directed against him is felt to be directed
equally against us.”
“Of course I cannot take that view. I have nothing to do with your aims
or concerns or plans. My action is strictly individual. But perhaps you
will put in plain terms exactly what you wish.”
“That your persecution of Major Sampayo shall cease.”
“Persecution! There is no persecution. Are you aware that he even
attempted my life?”
“Not for a moment, Mr. Donnington. You refer to the Rua Catania letter.
That has all been explained. He was not satisfied that you would keep
your pledge of secrecy and intended that merely as a test.”
“Is it possible that he has persuaded you to believe that?”
“Otherwise I should not say it, Mr. Donnington.”
“Well, I don’t, and nothing would ever make me. He forged my name to
the letter and managed to let you know of it somehow in his belief that
you would deal with me as a liar and traitor. I know the man.”
“So do I. And the fact that he warned us of the raid so that nothing
should be discovered satisfies me of his good faith.”
“Very well, then, we must be content to differ about it.”
“You will not forget that he had stronger cause for distrusting you
than we had. We believed that you had come here for very different
reasons from those openly given--reasons which touched him very closely
indeed.”
“Did he think I came after him, do you mean?” I asked with a smile.
“No, of course not,” he replied, nettled by my smile,--as, indeed,
I intended he should be. “He believed that you had come on a very
different person’s account.”
Why did he fight shy of mentioning Miralda by name? And why was he
himself so interested in forcing Sampayo to marry her, when the man
himself had offered to take any oath I wished that he would not? “I
don’t care a rap what he believed,” I said, after a moment’s pause.
“But we care, Mr. Donnington?”
I paused and then asked sharply: “What is Miralda Dominguez to you, Dr.
Barosa?”
The question took him by surprise, and the sudden light which gleamed
in his eyes answered my question.
“She is nothing to me, personally, of course,” he protested.
“You misunderstand my question. What is she to you and your friends?”
It was not prudent yet to show him that I believed I had guessed his
secret of secrets.
“She is one of us, Mr. Donnington. She is in a position to render our
cause valuable help, as she has already done. It is more to the point
to ask what she is to you.”
I had another shaft ready, but to prepare the way for the surprise
I paused, gave a shrug and a smile of indifference, and then said
quickly: “I hope to make her my wife.”
Once more the sudden flame in his eyes confirmed my former diagnosis.
“That will not be possible, Mr. Donnington.”
“We shall see. I doubt if I am more easily turned from a course I have
once taken than you yourself. I’ll tell you how I view the thing, for
it is the pith and marrow of this business with Sampayo. I came here
for the express purpose of asking her to become my wife. I found her
promised to Major Sampayo. I set my wits to work and my money, and
ascertained that she had been driven to compromise herself in your
politics. By means of money I succeeded in learning how she had been
forced to join you. My whip-hand over Sampayo led him to admit that
he did not really wish to marry her--and I found that you were really
the background force which made him shrink from an open rupture with
her. He agreed to a secret one and gave me a letter to her. I took that
letter and she absolutely refused to open it. I saw, therefore, that
Sampayo had been to you and that you had ordered her not to read it.
Now I’ve spoken frankly and invite similar freedom from you. Why did
you do this?”
“I cannot explain to you without entering into matters that are
secret--political matters, I mean, of course,” he replied, making the
addition quickly.
“Very good. Then you come to me and tell me that I must not do as I
please with regard to Sampayo. You call it persecution. I apply that
term to Mademoiselle Dominguez’ treatment. Cease that, give her back
her freedom of action, and I’ve done with Sampayo. He can stop here or
go to the devil for all I care.”
“I have told you it is not possible, Mr. Donnington,” he said firmly.
“You mean that you, for motives personal to yourself, will not permit
it.”
“You have no reason to draw any such inference.”
“Well, I do draw it, and shall continue to believe it and act upon it
until I learn it is wrong.”
“I tell you it is wrong, wholly wrong and preposterous.”
I looked at him with a purposely aggravating smile and shook my head.
“As a matter of fact, I know,” I said. Pure bluff this, of course, but
useful.
He paled with anger and his eyes flashed again. “You wish to insult
me,” he said between his teeth.
“I should not regard it as an insult if you suggested that I admired
a very beautiful woman, but if I got as angry as you are, you would
conclude that you were right.”
He sprang up. “Then you intend to disregard my warning and set us all
at defiance,” he cried, beside himself with rage.
“Are you threatening me?”
“Take it as you will, sir.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I knew he was the agent
of the Pretender and reply to his threat with one to denounce him to
Volheno. But I checked myself. “You understand I shan’t take it lying
down. I shall hit back. And now I think we are at the end of this stage
of the affair,” I said; and he left me.
It was evidently a fight to be with the gloves off, and I might look
for trouble without any fear of being disappointed. But I should be on
my guard.
I had gained more than a warning by the interview, however. I had
learnt the secret which had been in the background. Barosa was in love
with Miralda; and Sampayo was only the stalking-horse to keep other
men away until he could declare himself. I could not resist a smile at
his dilemma. He could not do anything at present without changing Inez
from friend to enemy and I saw how this interesting embarrassment could
be turned to excellent account with her.
But the axis of things was shifted. It was not Sampayo who had so
tortuously woven the web which had entangled Miralda. It was Barosa
himself. And then came the question why Sampayo had been so pliant a
tool in his hands and so frightened of him. There was one probable
answer to that--that Barosa knew what I knew about that South African
villainy.
Vasco arrived when I was turning over the problem. I told him that I
had obtained his confession from Sampayo and that the latter would
not trouble him any more; and he thanked me profusely, making earnest
protestations that he would never touch a card or a dicebox again as
long as he lived. Men generally make resolutions of that sort at such a
moment, of course. He told me how much he owed to his fellow-officers,
and I gave him the amount.
Then I suggested that he should return to the _Stella_ until Sampayo
had left Lisbon. This was not my real reason. I really wished to have
him on board in case I should decide upon the drastic step of carrying
off Miralda and could use him to get her to go to the yacht.
But he jumped away from the suggestion as if it were a red-hot iron. “I
am sorry I cannot, Mr. Donnington. I’ll do anything else, but to-morrow
I must go on duty.”
“Why?” I asked with surprise at his exaggerated love of discipline.
“Don’t ask me that. I cannot tell you. I cannot really.”
“But you’ve told me a good deal.”
“I’d tell you anything else. You’re the best friend a fellow could
have. But this is not my secret. Please don’t question me.”
“Not your secret, eh? Then it’s some of this conspiracy business. It
strikes me you’re going to make a fool of yourself. You’d much better
have nothing to do with it.”
“For heaven’s sake don’t say any more.”
“Very well. By the way, you wanted to have my yacht for a day?”
His tell-tale face was instantly so troubled that I took it he
connected the question with what I had said before.
“I shan’t want it, thank you,” he said quickly; and added with
stammering hesitation: “You see, I’ve given up the idea of taking those
fellows out.”
“All right. But all I was going to suggest was that you should come for
another outing with me and perhaps get your sister to join you.”
“Oh, I’ll do that any time--but not to-morrow, or--or the next day. Any
other time. I know Miralda would go--at least--if----” and he stopped.
“Well, we’ll fix a day soon,” I said, and let him go.
Evidently something serious was to take place on the morrow. What could
it be? Was it something I ought to know for Miralda’s sake? Clearly the
sooner I could get her away the better.
Later in the evening Burroughs told me a curious incident. We were
smoking, and he broke one of the pauses with a sudden laugh. “A rum
thing happened yesterday,” he said, in response to my glance of
surprise.
“Well?”
“Say, is the king of this benighted country in the habit of playing the
Haroun Al Raschid game?”
“I don’t know, Jack.”
“Well, it looks like it. I was on the Quay yesterday and some of the
loafers began looking at me and nudging one another and chattering--you
know what beggars they are for that--and the thing went on until there
were two or three dozen of ’em gawking around. I was walking away when
hang me if the whole lot didn’t off with the caps and sing out ‘Long
Live the King.’ I looked round for the King, but he wasn’t there, and
when I was going back in the launch to the _Stella_ afterwards, one of
the hands told me the crowd had taken me for him, and were pretty huffy
because I hadn’t acknowledged the cheer. Wish I’d tumbled to it, I’d
have played up to it.”
“You are surprisingly like him, Jack, now that I look at you,” I said
with a grin.
“Rather be myself, a heap,” he replied drily, and after some chaff the
matter dropped.
I had been considering how to tell him about Miralda, and after the
next pause I asked him if he knew why we were in Lisbon.
“You haven’t told me,” he replied drily.
“You mean you have guessed?”
He took his pipe out of his mouth, glanced at it, and then at me and
smiled. “I know the symptoms. I’ve had the fever myself. You’re the
sort to take it badly too.”
“I have.”
“What’s the trouble?”
“All sorts and plenty of it.”
“Well, I’m with you, if you want me. I’d love a scrap.”
“I’m thinking of making a bolt of it.”
“_Stella?_” I nodded. “The lady willing?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t asked her. She’s been forced to give a promise
to some one else. I’d better tell you something about it;” and I gave
him a short outline of the position.
“It’s a mix up, sure,” he commented drily. “But she’s a lovely girl.
That’s a cert.”
“How do you know?”
“A man has eyes, I suppose. She’s a good sailor too. Seemed to enjoy
that bit of a racket on the yacht.”
“Yes,” I said, self-consciously.
“If you can get her to put one of her dainty feet into a rowing boat,
I’ll answer for it that she doesn’t take it out again except to mount
the _Stella’s_ companion, and the rest would be as easy as shooting
gulls.”
“But how to do it?”
He paused, shook his pipe out, refilled it and lit it. “If you leave it
to me, I’d undertake to do it all right,” he said very deliberately.
“How?”
“I said leave it to me. I’ll tell you how when it’s done.”
“But you’ve never spoken to her.”
“All the better.”
“I should ask her first.”
“And spoil your chance. Ask her when we’re half-way across the bay.”
“It may have to come to that.”
“Better come first,” he said with his dry smile. “If you want to win.”
That was my own thought secretly; but I was half afraid Miralda herself
might resent such a strong step.
We lapsed into silence and I sat thinking over the whole situation,
and the longer I thought the stronger grew my conviction that to get
Miralda away was at once the safest and simplest solution of all the
difficulties. If she would go, of course. Would she? I could only
answer that out of the hopes which her look that afternoon had roused.
If she were free, I was certain of her. And free she certainly would be
if I dared to carry her off in the _Stella_.
Presently we began to speak of another matter. We were sitting at
the open window with no light except from that of the full moon, and
Burroughs went out on to the verandah and leant over, looking about
curiously.
“I suppose you think there may be something happen to-night by having
us up here?” he asked as he sat down again.
“Scarcely likely, but I thought best to be prepared.”
“It’s turning-in time. I’ll keep the first watch.”
“What have you seen?” I asked.
“Nothing--except that any one could get in here easily enough.”
“Oh, I don’t think there’s any fear of that.”
“I wasn’t talking about fear of anything. But I shan’t turn in.”
“Neither shall I, yet. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Well, I reckon we don’t want to show ’em they’re expected;” and he
got up and closed the window. “And we shall have plenty of other time
to talk, so we’ll keep a close lip. From what you told me, this is the
night they’re most likely to try some hanky-panky. I guess, too, we
don’t want too fresh smoke for ’em to smell, so I’ll shake my pipe out.”
He did so and drew his chair away from the window, and I followed his
example.
I was wrong about not being able to sleep. After a time I dozed off
and, at Burroughs’ suggestion, lay down on a sofa close to him and went
off into a sound sleep.
From a dream that I was being smothered I awoke to find a hand pressed
tightly on my mouth.
“Hsh! Wake up. Something’s happening,” whispered Burroughs.
I looked round the room. It was almost dark, for the moonlight was no
longer streaming through the window. I had evidently been asleep some
hours.
Then Burroughs caught my sleeve and pulled it upwards. A sign to me to
get up.
When I stood up he put his lips to my ear and whispered: “You stay this
side of the window. I’ll go to the other.”
Without making a sound he crept away from me.
I stood listening intently, and presently bent down and peered
cautiously at the window.
There was neither sign nor sound of anything.
The seconds of suspense lengthened into minutes.
Burroughs had clearly deceived himself.
And just when I was on the point of telling him so, the form of a man
showed on the verandah.
In a second I was on my feet again in the shadow of the curtain.
Cautiously the window was pushed open. A man entered and stood
motionless as a statue, listening and peering round the room.
With absolutely noiseless tread he stepped forward a couple of paces,
paused again, and then returned to the balcony.
A couple of minutes passed before he re-entered, this time with a
companion. The second man remained close to the window.
The small circle light of an electric lamp carried by the first comer
flashed for an instant, and then he started to cross the room.