JEALOUSY
The interview with Miralda left me in better spirits than I had been
at any moment since my imprisonment. She had confirmed my own view
that my life was safe so long as I refused to release Gompez and his
companions, and had assured me that she herself was in no serious or
immediate danger.
But best of all she had given me another proof of her trust. A fresh
bond was created between us and the old one cemented more firmly
than ever. Despite the fact that those who had sent her to induce me
to yield were actually listening to every word that passed, she had
contrived to let me know the real truth of the position.
I could understand the pressure which had been applied to force her
to come on such an errand. Her manner when she entered and uttered
the first lines of the part in which she had been carefully drilled
had revealed her feelings; and the nervous, quickly whispered word of
warning told me why she had yielded.
She knew the risk she was running should her act be discovered, but she
had faced it unflinchingly for my sake, resolved to put me on my guard
let the consequences be what they might to her. Barosa and Inez had
little dreamt that the trick of forcing her to try and mislead me would
result in the strengthening of my resistance! And it was Miralda’s own
shrewdness and care for me which had brought it all about.
The thought was infinitely sweet; and all the discomfort and pain I was
enduring were forgotten in the delightful contemplation of Miralda’s
courage and zeal for me.
The discomfort would soon be over now, moreover. Many hours had passed
since Bryant saw me enter the house, and I was certain that he was now
at work to secure my liberation.
If I had not been blinded in the morning by my alarm for Miralda I
should have taken the precaution to tell him what steps to take. But I
had not thought there would be any danger in Inez’ house. I ought to
have foreseen that she would send for Barosa, and have given Bryant
definite instructions what to do if I did not return to him.
What was he likely to do? He would keep a watch on the house of course.
He would thus see Barosa arrive, and probably also the men who must
have been sent for afterwards. I read the thing in this way. Inez had
sent word to him almost as soon as I was in the house. He had come at
once and then had probably sent Miralda to me in order to overhear what
passed between us.
Recognizing the danger, he had then sent for such of his companions
as he could thoroughly trust and had laid the trap into which I had
fallen. But he saw that unless he could get the men on the _Rampallo_
free, I still held the key to the situation. He had tried first to
trick me with that pretence of submission, and when that had failed,
he had fallen back on threats, carrying the threat to the very
extreme limit in the hope that I should yield when death appeared the
inevitable alternative.
Then, threats having failed, he resorted again to cunning. Inez rushed
in and saved my life, and then Miralda had been sent again.
When Bryant saw first Barosa and then the men arrive, he would be
shrewd enough to understand that I was in danger. In an hour or two
he would be in a parlous fix what to do. Unwilling to leave the house,
lest I should be brought out of it, he would have to devise some way of
getting it watched; and it was an easy guess that he would solve the
difficulty by finding a messenger of some kind to carry word to the men
on the launch to fetch the skipper.
The question they had to settle was whether they would enter the house
themselves or put the police on the track. The skipper would be for
doing it themselves--that was his blunt way; but Bryant’s was a much
more cautious nature, and he was far more likely to make up some yarn
and set the police to work.
All this would occupy a lot of time, but I felt certain that the night
would still be young when they would act.
I lay back on my mattress no longer fretting and chafing at the slow
passage of time. I had ample food for thought. I pieced together these
speculative doings of Bryant in the intervals of giving rein to the
fresh hopes and new delights engendered by my interview with Miralda. I
recalled word by word all she had said, treasuring her little asides,
her significant glances, her changes of tone and manner, as jewels
whose every facet reflected her trust, her courage, and above all her
care for me.
I was confident now of success, and it was she who had given me
confidence. As the darkness deepened I rejoiced. Each minute was
bringing nearer our delivery and reunion.
Some long time after she had left me--perhaps an hour or perhaps two
hours, I had no means of reckoning the time, but it had long been quite
dark--I heard footsteps approaching the room; and I guessed the curtain
was to go up for the next scene.
Barosa and Inez entered together. He carried a lamp, and I could see by
its light that the faces of both were very pale. He set the lamp down
on the little table and then bent over me.
“Mr. Donnington!” he said. His voice was low and slightly husky, either
from suppressed passion or anxiety.
I made no reply, and when he repeated my name and shook me I moaned as
if in great pain. There was little enough pretence about it indeed, for
the tightness of my bonds was causing acute suffering.
I rolled my eyes upon him, uttered another moan, shook my head feebly,
and then closed my eyes.
“He is almost unconscious, Manoel,” said Inez.
I read that use of his name to mean much. She had been asking herself
the question I had suggested--about the real reason for detaining
Miralda--and finding it unanswerable had passed it on to him.
“Mr. Donnington!” he said again angrily.
It was my object to waste time, of course; so I took no notice except
to sigh heavily, open my eyes again and close them instantly as if the
effort tried my strength.
“You are not so bad as all that,” he said, and shook me again very
roughly. When this had no effect, he felt my pulse, and in doing so put
a finger under the rope which bound my left hand.
“See how swollen the hands are, Manoel,” said Inez, holding the lamp
close to me. “It must be torture.”
But Barosa knew better than to be taken in by my malingering. “He can
speak well enough as he is if he pleases. Mr. Donnington, we have come
to set you at liberty.”
Then why didn’t he do it, was my natural thought. But I went through
another little pantomime. I showed slightly more strength this time, as
if invigorated by the news, but sank back again exhausted.
“He is only shamming, curse him,” muttered Barosa.
“These cords are cruelly tight, Manoel. Ease them, and see the effect.
I’ll go and fetch some brandy.”
She went away and Barosa began to unfasten the knots. He was very
suspicious and went to work cautiously. But he need not have feared.
The instant the cords were released and the stagnant blood began to
course again through the veins, I was not only helpless but in positive
agony, from my aching head to my throbbing feet.
Inez had been back some time before I could bear to move and when I
strove to sit up in order to take the spirit she had fetched, I fell
back like a log, sick, dizzy and as helpless as a new-born babe. Barosa
held me up while she poured a little brandy between my chattering teeth.
The pain subsided slowly and the brandy stimulated me, and after a long
interval--I made it long enough to try Barosa’s patience sorely--I
struggled to a sitting posture.
“What is this you have told Contesse Inglesia?” he asked.
I passed my hand across my forehead and stared at him vacantly.
“You know well enough what I mean. Repeat it to me.”
“What about?” I muttered.
“About Mademoiselle Dominguez. Some lie Major Sampayo is said to have
told you.”
I looked from him to Inez, and met her eyes fixed upon me intently.
“Tell me,” I said to her.
“What Major Sampayo said about the reason why Miralda was betrothed to
him.”
I turned slowly to Barosa. “If the contesse has told you, why bother me
about it?”
“Repeat it,” he said sternly.
I shook my head. “You know already.”
“Repeat it,” he cried again furiously. “And then admit you lied.”
“I do not lie,” I answered and turned again to Inez. “So you have asked
that question?”
“Repeat it, I say,” he thundered. “If you dare.”
“Oh, I dare. Sampayo told me that you had him at your mercy because you
found out the facts about his South African doings and threatened to
expose him. I had the same knowledge with an addition which frightened
him even more. He said that you had forced this betrothal, but that it
was only a sham and that you did not mean him to marry Miralda because
you yourself loved her.”
Out came a storm of oaths and denial, with fierce and passionate
threats against Sampayo for having coined the lie and against me for
having dared to repeat it.
Inez was scarcely less moved; and from what passed it was clear that
there had been a very warm quarrel between them before they had come up
to me. I learnt that she had threatened to sacrifice everything and go
straight to M. Volheno.
It was a long time before I could get a word in, and then I brought
them back to the real point. “Sampayo told me that after my interview
with him he begged you to get rid of me by doing what I wanted--freeing
Miralda from all this trouble. But you refused and tried to get rid of
me in another way--by inciting Henriques to murder me.”
“It is a lie, a lie. It is all lies,” he exclaimed furiously.
“Well then, why have you kept Miralda in the toils? If Sampayo lied,
what is the truth?”
That roused Inez again, and another altercation followed, fiercer even
and more prolonged than the first. He had evidently tried to answer the
question with fifty subtle pretexts, but Inez was jealous and knew too
much not to be able to see that there was no reason except the true
one.
In their anger they let out other valuable facts. The plot to abduct
the king had not been discovered, and Miralda had been prevented from
flying on the pretext that no discovery was likely to be made and
that she would be wanted for the next scheme which might be hatched.
My arrival with the news that I could reveal the whole conspiracy and
meant to do so had cut even this ground from under Barosa’s feet,
and then my repetition to Inez of Sampayo’s story had completed his
discomfiture.
I was delighted to find that Inez was now as anxious as I was that
Miralda should fly the country; and instead of making her my enemy, as
she had declared, she was resolved that I should take Miralda away.
Barosa was equally determined that I should do nothing of the kind, and
hence the bitterness of both and the _impasse_ to which matters were
brought.
Another result of the quarrel was that it gave me time to recover my
strength, and as that increased, I began to see whether I could not
take advantage of the position to escape. I was more than a match for
Barosa even after my experiences in that room. It was probable that
he had a revolver on him, and if I could get that, I could soon put a
different complexion on matters.
But he and Inez had crossed to the other end of the room, she had
closed the door lest the sound of their angry voices should be heard by
others in the house; and I could not get to him, however quick my rush,
before he would have time to draw his weapon.
In his present frenzy he would shoot me the instant he drew, and things
were going too favourably for me to take that risk.
I waited therefore in the hope that he would return to my end of the
room and give me the chance I sought.
But before I had such a chance, some one knocked hurriedly at the door
and Marco rushed in.
“I must speak to you at once,” he said excitedly to Barosa, and the two
men went out together.
Inez was literally convulsed with jealous rage. Her face was white,
her features drawn and haggard, her hands fiercely clenched, and she
was shaking from head to foot. As the two men went out, she watched
Barosa, her strange eyes gleaming like those of a tigress watching her
prey. And when the door closed behind them, she crossed to me, her hand
pressed tightly to her heart.
“Get Miralda from this house or I will not answer for myself,” she
said, her lips shivering and her voice low and hoarse with passion.
I threw up my hands with a gesture of helplessness.
With fingers that shook so violently that she could scarcely command
them, she tore open the bosom of her dress, took out a revolver and
thrust it into my hands.
“Wait here a few minutes until I return. She shall be ready to go,” she
whispered and then turned to the door.
“Inez! Quick. For God’s sake!” cried Barosa; and the next moment I was
alone again.
I rose and paced the room to shake off the lingering effects of the
cramp caused by the cords. My legs were still stiff, but a few turns
across the room put me all right.
Presently I opened the door and stood listening for Inez’ return.
Although I was within a few minutes of complete success, I was in a
fever of impatience.
There was no sound anywhere in the house, and it was all dark. I
fetched the lamp from my room and went to the stairhead.
Was it after all nothing but some fresh ruse?
I examined the revolver Inez had given me. It was loaded.
I was mystified.
I began to descend the stairs, but paused.
If I carried a light I should be an easy mark for any one having a
fancy to make a target of my body.
Setting the lamp down I felt my way by the balustrade and crept down in
the dark, careful to make as little noise as possible and halting every
now and again to listen.
In this way I descended two storeys, and tried in vain to remember how
many flights I had been carried up, that I might know on which floor I
stood.
Feeling in my pockets I found my matches and was about to strike one
when I heard a footstep followed by a smothered exclamation, as if some
one had stumbled in the dark. The sound came from some distance below.
Instinctively I shrank back against the wall and stood holding my
breath and listening intently.
All was as still as a vault.
My eyes had now grown sufficiently accustomed to the dark to enable
me to make out that I was on a wide landing on to which several rooms
opened. I felt my way round and listened cautiously at each. Not
a sound. Two of the doors were ajar, but each of the rooms was in
darkness.
I hesitated when I reached the stairs again what to do. That stumbling
footstep below had been full of unpleasant suggestion. But it was
useless to stop where I was, so I continued my descent, more cautiously
and slowly than before.
When I reached the next floor I paused again, waiting a long time and
straining my ears for some clue to the baffling situation. Not hearing
a sound, I again made a circuit of the landing, feeling my way by the
wall. There were three doors here, and each was ajar, and all three
rooms in darkness.
Feeling my way back to the stairs, I stumbled against a low pedestal
placed at some little distance from the wall. There was a large plant
on it and in preventing it from falling, the leaves shook with a
rustling noise almost disconcerting in the dead stillness of the house.
I crouched as still as a statue behind it, listening and holding my
breath again. Then I heard other rustling with a curiously regular beat
or infinitesimal throbbing. For a long time this puzzled me; until at
length I discovered that the throbbing was that of my own heart and the
rustling due to the movement of my coat lapel against the stiff edge of
my collar.
I crept on then to the stairs and descended, still using the same
caution. I reached the bottom. I was now in the hall. The feel of the
marble under my foot told me this.
I remembered the direction of the front door and turned toward it.
But I had not taken two steps in its direction before I was seized, a
hand was pressed on my mouth before I could utter a sound, and my hands
were wrenched back violently and pinioned behind me.