A TIGHT CORNER
Captain Gompez was about my own height but very strong, as agile as a
cat, and mad with rage. Under equal conditions I should have had no
chance in such a struggle with him. Fortunately for me, however, the
conditions were not equal.
He had been up all night, hard at work in laborious and unusual toil.
He was responsible for the management of the _Rampallo_ and had had to
teach his crew of amateurs their work, and he was also the leader in
this critical part of the abduction plot. The combined strain of all
this had told on him and made tremendous demands upon his strength and
endurance.
At the same time, he had the two most powerful motives which can drive
a man to set his life on an issue such as that involved in this attack
on me. He knew that in some way I had thwarted the plot, and the
knowledge filled him with a frenzy of rage, while he believed that, on
his success in overpowering me, depended not only his own safety but
that of all who were relying upon his leadership. This rendered him
desperate.
My advantage was that I was as fresh as paint after the hours of sleep
I had had during the night; and I felt that if I could hold my own in
the first minutes of the affair, the frantic efforts he was making
would tire him out and give me the victory. Time would give me another
advantage. The _Stella_ would soon be alongside, when Burroughs would
quickly have command of the _Rampallo_.
The struggle between us began in a somewhat curious fashion. The attack
had taken me by surprise, as I have said, and forced me back against
the side of the cabin. As he grabbed for the revolver, I shot my right
hand up as high as I could stretch it, to hold the weapon out of his
reach. You may have seen one child use a similar tactic when teasing
another, and you may know how difficult it is to bend an arm held rigid
in such a position, when there is no marked advantage in height.
That was the problem the captain had to solve, and he fought with
tremendous energy. He held my right wrist in his left, tugging and
straining to lever it down so that he might venture to release his
right, which held my left in a grip of steel, and grab the prize.
His shouts to the others to break the door open were not answered, and
he soon ceased to call, concentrating all his strength in the struggle
for my weapon.
He displayed such strength that I realized he would beat me before the
energy which frenzy gave him was exhausted; and as I was convinced that
the first use he would make of his victory would be to put a bullet
into my head, I resolved to empty the revolver as a defensive measure.
I fired three shots in rapid succession when he suddenly released my
left arm and fastened both hands on my right wrist and tugged and
strained at it in the desperate effort to drag the weapon within his
reach.
This was more than I could resist, and I thought he would dislocate my
shoulder and wrench the sinews. But I succeeded in discharging two more
cartridges before my power of resistance was broken, and then I let the
weapon fall and at the same moment I got my left hand on his throat and
pressing my foot against the wall pushed him violently backwards.
The manœuvre took him by surprise and he slipped and fell, dragged me
down with him, to resume the struggle under different conditions. I had
some advantage now, however. I was top dog. But he writhed and wriggled
with such agility that I could make little use of my position.
He fought at this stage like a savage. He kicked me viciously, butted
my face with his head, tried every trick to get his hands on my throat,
writhing the while like a snake to change his position so that he could
wriggle back to the spot where the revolver lay, the possession of
which meant life or death to me and freedom or ruin to him.
Again I realized that he was the better man and that I was going to
be beaten. By a very clever movement he got me again at a terrible
disadvantage. I was holding on to his throat when he twisted to one
side, drew his knees up with a sudden jerk and thrust one of his feet
into the pit of my stomach with such force as to drive the wind clean
out of me. My grip on his throat relaxed and I fell back sick and dizzy
and beaten.
Only the merest luck saved my life then. As I fell, my hand came in
contact with the revolver and I gripped it and pulled the trigger. Even
as the shot flashed, he was on to me; and he wrenched the weapon from
me, and pulled the trigger three or four times at my head in the hope
that there was still a cartridge left.
Maddened with rage and disappointment he raised it and tried to strike
me on the head; but I had sense enough to protect myself with my arms,
and then my rage began to lend me strength. I grappled with him again,
and as the effects of the kick passed off and I recovered my wind, I
renewed the fight.
I was in a very different mood now. He had attempted to take my life
and I no longer tried merely to exhaust his strength. I fought like a
madman. For the moment, indeed, I was mad, crazed with blood lust,
white-hot for revenge.
Disappointment at finding the weapon, which he had striven so
frantically to gain, useless, disheartened him; his strength was nearly
used up and he had no passion left to answer to that which burned like
a fever in me.
I got him under me again, my left hand fastened on his throat while I
dashed my fist again and again into his face, finding a brutal pleasure
in the punishment I inflicted, until his resistance weakened and he lay
still and helpless.
Then I rose and sat on the berth, breathing hard and watching him as
if he were some dangerous wild beast who had mauled me and from whose
fangs I had only just escaped with my life--as indeed I had.
I was not seriously hurt. That kick of his had only winded me. My
arms were painful from the blows I had received from the revolver in
shielding my head, but they were only bruised, and I had every cause to
be glad matters were no worse.
Nor was my opponent badly injured. His face was damaged and his lips
swollen and bleeding, but the blood was chiefly from his nose; and he
soon recovered sufficiently to sit up.
His first movement brought me to my feet, but he had no strength left
to make any fight. Moreover my own rage had cooled and, to tell the
truth, I was a little ashamed of my savagery; so I made no effort to
interfere with him.
He spat out some of the blood from his mouth and had plenty more on his
face, so I threw him a towel.
“Are you going to try any more of this?” I asked.
He was wiping his face with the towel, and paused to look up at me,
shook his head, and continued his task.
At that moment the _Stella_ came alongside with a force which sent a
shiver through the _Rampallo_ from stern to stern; and the sounds of
the trampling of many feet on the deck above our heads followed.
“What’s that?” he exclaimed and started to scramble up.
“You’ll find it safer to stop just where you are,” I said curtly.
He glanced up at me and, not liking my looks, abandoned the attempt.
“What is the meaning of it all?” he asked sullenly.
“I was on this boat the night before last when you were all discussing
your plans and I decided to play the king’s part in this business.”
“You?” and he ran his eyes over my much slighter form.
“You’ll find the remainder of His Majesty under the bunk here; the
shot-weighted clothes and all the rest of it.”
“And what’s your object?”
“Never mind. I had one and have gained it. My yacht, the _Stella_,
followed us all through the night; and the row up there means that my
men have just come aboard.”
The racket on deck was dying down now and I soon heard Burroughs
calling my name loudly and anxiously.
“Donnington! Ralph! Where are you?”
I opened the cabin door and answered him.
“Is all well with you?” he cried, eagerly. “I was getting worried about
you.”
“It’s all right, Jack, but it was touch and go, owing to Captain Gompez
here, the leader of the lot.”
“Been making trouble, has he? Have you left any kick in him?”
“What are you going to do with us?” interposed Gompez.
“Send you to sea for a week in charge of my friend here, Mr.
Burroughs--and a crew chosen from my own yacht. At the end of that
time I shall probably hand you over to the authorities with a full
statement of all this.”
“I protest----” he began angrily.
“Waste of time,” I cut in laconically. “Bring him along to the rest,
Jack.”
We went to the yacht’s saloon where the other prisoners were. Burroughs
had done things thoroughly. There were seven of them, and he had
handcuffed them all and put a couple of men over them, with loaded
revolvers.
“I’m taking no risks, Ralph,” said Burroughs in explanation, and then
fastened Captain Gompez’ wrists in similar fashion.
A more dejected forlorn set of men I had never cast eyes on. Grimed
from head to foot, worn out with sleeplessness, toil and anxiety, they
were broken by the utter defeat of their scheme and the certainty that
ruin, disgrace, dishonour and possibly death was all they had to face.
Two or three had dozed off, and the rest turned as I entered and looked
at me with lack-lustre eyes without even the energy to show anger.
Among those who were asleep, or feigning sleep, was Sampayo. He was
in a corner at the far end, his face averted and his head sunk on his
breast. The arrival of the _Stella_ had warned him that I was at the
bottom of the trouble, and he and the red-headed young fellow who had
tried to draw on me before had been the only ones to give trouble; but
they had gained nothing by it except a crack on the head.
Sampayo was not of course aware that I knew he was on board, and his
present attitude was probably due to the hope that he would escape my
notice.
“You can tell your companions my decision, Captain Gompez,” I said, and
went away with Burroughs to arrange for the stores to be transferred
from the _Stella_ and discuss the steps he was to take to guard against
any trouble from the prisoner-passengers.
“I shall run no risks, Ralph. I’ve been looking round and I can
separate them and shall keep them fastened up. The old man and I
discussed the course I’d better lay. There’s none too much coal on
board, so I shall steam due west for a day and if the weather holds
good shall just crawl about until the time’s up, and I’ve arranged
where he can pick us up if you want to before the week’s out. And of
course I shall keep well away from any vessels that may came along.”
The two yachts were still roped together, and while the stores were
transferred I went down to the “king’s” cabin and told Burroughs to
send Sampayo to me.
“I have sent for you to write a brief letter to Dr. Barosa telling him
what has occurred,” I said without preface.
“What use are you going to make of it?”
“Just what I decide. It is possible that I may not speak of this thing
at all.”
“I’ll tell you everything if you’ll put me ashore,” he said after a
pause.
“Characteristic, but out of the question.”
“Then I won’t write a word.”
“Very well. Then I’ll get one of the others.”
He looked at me eagerly, as if my words suggested a hope that matters
would be made easier if he complied. “Why do you want to hound us down?”
“So far as you are concerned, your old companion, Prelot, will do that.”
He caught his breath with a shudder at the mention of the name. “That
letter to Barosa will do no good. After you showed you knew about me,
I begged and prayed him to do the only thing that would get rid of
you--and he refused.”
He paused as if waiting for me to question him.
“He is mad with his love for Mademoiselle Dominguez,” he continued
after a pause. “I said that if he would let me break with her, you
would go away. He would not. It was he who planned that attempt on
your life the same night. He was with Henriques. He is mad, I say.
And nothing, not even this, will turn him from his purpose. He knows
something about that South African affair of mine, but not all. He has
had nearly all my money, he forced this farce of an engagement with
Mademoiselle Dominguez, and his intention was to use the influence he
would have if a revolution was provoked to force her to marry him.
That’s why she has been dragged into it, and he would sacrifice every
man of us rather than lose her. He would have been betrothed to her
openly, but he could not break with the Contesse Inglesia. Now you know
everything.”
“I knew most of that before,” I replied drily. “But how did you get the
visconte’s consent?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “He could not help himself. He was in this
thing also to some extent, but Barosa found out that he had been
stealing his wife’s money and I was put to threaten him with exposure
if he refused. I have been Barosa’s slave for months, curse him.”
There was no mistaking the bitter sincerity of this.
“You will do no good with the letter you want. It is more probable
that you will find that he fled from the city the moment he knew this
thing had failed and took Mademoiselle Dominguez with him. But if he is
still there, and still hopes to provoke a revolution, your only means
of dealing with him will be through the Contesse Inglesia. Rouse her
jealousy, and you may succeed. I would have done it, but I dared not.”
I did not let him see my alarm at his suggestion that Barosa had forced
Miralda to fly with him, but I determined to get back to Lisbon as fast
as the _Stella_ could carry me.
I took Sampayo back to the rest, wrote a line:--“We are prisoners in
the hands of Mr. Ralph Donnington, who knows everything;” and obtained
the signatures of them all to it; and then hurried up on deck.
The _Stella_ was just casting off, and with a last handshake with
Burroughs, I jumped on board.
“How long will it take us to get back to port, captain?” I asked the
skipper, who had good news for me.
“We’re not much more than thirty-five knots out,” he said. “These
fools couldn’t get more than a few knots an hour out of the _Rampallo_
and didn’t even know enough to keep a straight course. They’ve been
zigzagging about all night. Never saw such lubbers.”
“Well, let her rip. I must be back at the earliest moment. Get all you
can out of her.”
Sampayo’s words had fired me with impatience. A burning fever of unrest
had seized me and I should not know a second’s peace until I had
assured myself of Miralda’s safety.
The bare thought that she might be in Barosa’s power and that the very
act by which I had striven and risked so much to win her, might prove
to be the means of losing her, was torture unutterable.
The instant we were in the river I had the launch lowered and jumped
into her and shot away to the quay.
A few minutes now would tell me the best or the worst.
CHARIER XXV
ILL NEWS
Sampayo’s statement had not only roused my fears for Miralda’s safety
but had also decided me not to have any further dealings at all with
Barosa. As soon as I had satisfied myself that she was not in any
danger from him, I would go straight to Volheno and tell him about the
abduction plot and how it had been frustrated.
I could make a full statement of that without in any way violating the
pledge of secrecy I had given to Barosa. That pledge did not include
either my previous knowledge that he was an agent of the Pretender, Dom
Miguel, or anything I had overheard on the _Rampallo_ and the results.
I would keep my word in regard to all that had occurred in the Rua
Catania house and in the other house in the Rua Formosa, where I had
been subjected to the “test”; and should not give the names of any
one whose connexions with the plot I had learnt before my spy work on
Captain Gompez’ yacht.
My intention was to make one condition--that Miralda, her mother, the
visconte, Vasco and, if possible, Dagara, should be pardoned for their
complicity in the affair. They had been forced into the net by Barosa’s
tortuous cunning, and that I could prove if put to it.
I felt that I had a perfect right to impose such a condition as the
price of my services. I had thwarted the abduction plot, and my
own experiences proved that, but for me, nothing would have saved
the king. Moreover, I had risked my life--had very nearly lost it,
indeed--and, although I had chosen my own method instead of turning
informer in advance, that was my own concern. But the result had been
entirely successful, for it had led to my taking a batch of the men in
it red-handed.
In making this decision to go at once to Volheno, I had none but
personal considerations. I had no interest in the political issues
involved in the struggle between the Throne and the people. They were
nothing to me. The Government managed their own affairs in their own
way; and if I had been fool enough to have offered them suggestions,
they would have laughed at me for an impertinent interfering puppy.
At the same time, the part of informer was a profoundly hateful one to
play, and if I could have gained my end as easily and safely by dealing
direct with Barosa, I should have preferred that method.
But he was too dangerous a man. I had far too high an opinion of his
ability, shrewdness and resource to believe for an instant that I could
pit myself against him. It was much more by accident than anything else
that I had obtained the whip-hand over him now; and it would be sheer
folly to run the risk of giving him an opportunity to outwit me, when a
word to Volheno would lay him by the heels.
I took Bryant and Simmons ashore with me. I sent the latter up to my
rooms and, as I deemed it best not to go about alone, I drove with
Bryant to Miralda’s house and left him in the carriage to wait for me.
My anxiety on Miralda’s account rendered me nervously uneasy. This
feeling quickened into alarm when the servant told me she was not in
the house. The viscontesse was at home and I sent a message begging her
to see me at once.
The instant she entered the room I read ill news in her manner and
looks. She was greatly agitated, her face was white and drawn, her
eyes full of trouble, and she appeared both surprised and angry to see
me. She drew back and would not take my hand. “You asked for me, Mr.
Donnington? I wonder you dare to come here, sir.”
“Dare to come?” I repeated, bewildered by this reception.
“Why is not Miralda with you?”
The question filled the cup of my alarm and amazement.
“There is some mistake, viscontesse. I have just landed from my yacht
and have come straight here to see her.”
“For Heaven’s sake do not try to deceive me. I know what has happened.
It was cruel and shameful. I have been beside myself with grief and
suspense.”
“I give you my word of honour I have not seen Miralda since the day
before yesterday.”
She stared at me as if unable to believe or even understand me. “Have
not seen her?” she repeated hoarsely, after a pause. “Oh, that cannot
be true.”
“I assure you most earnestly and solemnly that it is true.”
As the conviction of my sincerity was forced upon her, her expression
changed. The trouble in her wide, staring eyes gave place to
unmistakable terror inspired by her new thoughts. Suddenly she reeled,
threw up her hands in despair, and then clasped them distractedly to
her face and sank on a couch with a moan of anguish.
“Then she is arrested or dead. Heaven have mercy upon my dear, dear
child,” she cried, a prey to overpowering emotion.
I was scarcely less alarmed by this most disconcerting news, and while
the viscontesse was striving to recover some measure of self-command, I
tried to realize all it meant and to think what to do.
“Don’t go, Mr. Donnington,” she said at length in the midst of her
sobs; and I waited, tormented by a thousand vague fears.
“I beg you to tell me all as soon as possible. Even minutes may be of
vital importance,” I said earnestly.
She made an effort to check her wild sobs. “But we cannot do anything,”
she wailed helplessly.
“Not unless you can let me know what has happened,” I replied sharply.
“If anything is to be done, it must be at once.”
“I will try to tell you,” she said a minute later, sitting up.
“I know that Miralda was here yesterday,” I said, “because I sent to
her and received a letter from her. That was early in the afternoon.
Will you tell me everything that occurred after that?”
“I know very little, Mr. Donnington. In the afternoon Inez came and
the two were alone together. Miralda came to me afterwards and I saw
that she was both greatly excited and distressed. It was in some way
connected with this miserable conspiracy business. She told me that
something very important was to happen; but that she herself did not
know what it was. She was to go for the evening to Inez. I was in great
trouble about Vasco, you know. He was in bed ill--he had been drinking
heavily the night before, I must tell you.”
“Did he leave the house yesterday?” I interposed.
“No. He was getting better toward the evening and said he had to go
out; but I went up later and found him sleeping so soundly that I could
not rouse him.”
“Was Miralda in the house then?”
“No, she had been gone about half an hour. Well, I waited by his
bedside for a long time, an hour or more--I could not say how long.
When Inez arrived I went down to her, and she asked me where Miralda
was. I said she had gone to her house. She had never reached there,
however; and then Inez said she had something very serious to tell me.
It was that Miralda had been in secret communication with you, and that
as some of their friends suspected you of having betrayed them in some
way, Miralda had also fallen under suspicion. She had disappeared, and
one of three things must be the cause. She had been arrested, or had
got into the hands of those who suspected her, or had run away with
you.”
“Can you fix the time the contesse was here?”
“Not that first visit, but she came again about ten o’clock, bringing
the news that your yacht had left the river and that it was plain that
Miralda had gone with you.”
So the _Stella_ had been missed, it seemed.
“What I tell you is true, viscontesse; I have not seen Miralda.”
“You think she has been arrested then?”
“It is impossible to be certain--but I do not think it.”
“Oh, but don’t tell me you believe she has fallen into the hands of any
of these people who will do her mischief? They would kill her.”
“Oh, no; I am certain that there is no fear of that.” I was, for it was
as clear as anything could be that Barosa would not allow anything of
the sort.
“You are so positive. Do you know anything that makes you so?”
“Yes; but I cannot tell you.”
“You get to learn so much. I suppose you know that my husband has left
the city.”
“No. When was that?”
“You warned him one afternoon that he was under suspicion; and he left
the next night. He has gone to Paris.”
“Would to Heaven you and Miralda had gone with him,” I exclaimed.
“We were going; but Miralda was prevented.”
“How prevented?”
“Dr. Barosa and Inez arrived when all was ready, and after what they
said to her, she told me she could not go.”
“But they let the visconte go?”
“And I could have gone too--but I could not leave my dear child.”
I began to get a grip of the situation now.
“And Vasco? Can I see him?”
“He is on duty this morning. He is better. What are you going to do?”
she asked as I rose.
“To find Miralda.”
“Pray God you may be successful. You will let me know?”
With a promise to do so, I left her. I had very little doubt that I
should find Miralda with Inez. She had been taken away from her home
as the result of that attempt at flight; and Barosa had used Inez for
the purpose. The thing must have been planned before the failure of the
previous night’s scheme was known; and being uncertain of the issue, he
was still afraid to break with Inez.
Under other circumstances he might have employed different
means--getting Miralda into his own hands; but he would shrink from
rousing Inez’ jealousy until he felt strong enough to set her at
defiance.
What the effect upon him would be of the failure of the scheme was of
course very difficult to say. But it was not of much consequence unless
he had already got Miralda away and I should know that as soon as I saw
Inez herself.
The lie which had been told about my having carried Miralda away was
intended merely to blind her mother’s eyes. It offered a plausible
reason for Miralda’s absence.
As I drove to Inez’ house I told Bryant to wait for me, but not to
remain in the carriage, as I did not wish him to be seen; and as soon
as the servant opened the door, I pushed my way in, lest Inez should
refuse to see me.
She did make the attempt. In reply to my message, she sent word that
she was unable to see me then, but would do so an hour later.
“Then I will wait,” I told the servant; and down I sat in the hall.
Inez’ unwillingness to face me confirmed my opinion that Miralda was in
the house; and nothing short of force would have made me leave.
After perhaps a quarter of an hour the servant came with another
message--her mistress would receive me in a few minutes. She was
leading the way upstairs when I stopped her, saying bluntly I preferred
to remain where I was until the contesse was quite ready.
I did not intend to give Inez a chance of smuggling Miralda out of the
house while I was cooling my heels shut up in a room upstairs. Whether
or not any attempt of the sort had been planned, I do not know; but
while I was close to the door and had a full view of the staircase it
was impracticable.
Another delay followed, and then the servant said Inez was waiting for
me; and she herself appeared at the top of the stairs, cool, smiling,
and apologetic.
“I am so sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Donnington,” she said as
she gave me her hand, and led the way into an adjoining room; “but your
call at this unusual hour found me quite unprepared to come to you.”
“It is not a conventional purpose which has brought me, madame,” I
replied as she settled herself gracefully upon a couch.
“No? Ah, well, I am grateful to any purpose which leads you to find
your way at last to my house,” she said with another smile.
I was in no mood for this kind of thing; so I said rather bluntly: “My
purpose is to see Mademoiselle Dominguez.”
Her start and look and gesture of extreme surprise were well acted. “My
dear Mr. Donnington! Miralda?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“But----” she paused, and then those strange eyes of hers expressed
perplexity and trouble and rising alarm. “I am afraid I--I don’t
understand.”
“Yet my words were very simple. I wish to see Mademoiselle Dominguez.”
“I heard that, of course. But is it possible, you believe she is here?
Do you mean you do not know what has occurred? You find out so many
things, you know,” she added with a quick thrust.
“I know that she came here last night. I have seen her mother this
morning; but, as you suggest, I do find out things. You were under the
impression last night that she did not reach your house; but”----and I
paused as I made a shot, speaking very meaningly--“I know how she came
to the house.”
A single swift up-lift of the deeply fringed lids told me that the
unexpected shot had pierced the armour-plate of her defence; and
when she looked up after a pause all the assumption of surprise had
disappeared.
“You have only yourself to blame, Mr. Donnington,” she said, tone and
manner both very earnest. She had as many moods as an actress has
costumes and was able to change them much more quickly.
“And that means--what, if you please?”
“I am genuinely sorry for you. I knew from the first that your object
here was Miralda; and you will remember that I warned you. You would
not heed the warning. You set to work to win back Miralda; and had she
been free, you would have succeeded. But she was not free; and when you
took the mad step of driving Major Sampayo from the city you--well, you
can understand what was sure to follow.”
“On the contrary I do not understand, madame.”
“You precipitated matters, of course. Miralda is Major Sampayo’s wife
and is now with his friends.”