"Thank you," I said; "you've restored my self-respect. Dr. Manning
told me I was a fool, and I should have been horribly depressed if I
thought you shared his opinion."
"Dr. Manning thinks everyone is a fool except himself," she answered.
"It's the only mistake I have ever known him to make."
"Most clever scoundrels have the same delusion," I assured her.
"That's what keeps half the criminal barristers in practice."
Christine lit another cigarette, and sat for a moment staring into
the fire, as if trying to arrange her thoughts. At last she turned
towards me.
"Do you know that your uncle once went under the name of Stephen
Gardiner?" she asked.
"No," I said, "I didn't know, but I can quite believe it. I should
think he was the sort of gentleman who had probably had half a dozen
names." I paused. "Where did you come across him first?" I asked.
"At Rio, two years before the war," she answered.
"What, Rio in Brazil?" I asked
She nodded. "We were living there then. My uncle had a big ranch
about twenty miles outside the town, and of course he knew nearly
everybody. At that time the whole of Brazil was in a frightful state
of dissatisfaction. There was a great deal of feeling against the
President, Gomez, who had been in for years and years, and Uncle
Philip was one of the leading people who were trying to turn him out.
It was through this that he and your uncle became friends."
"But what on earth had my uncle got to do with it?" I demanded. "He
was an Englishman and a stranger, and I should think he must have had
a pretty rotten reputation even then."
"I can't tell you that," she said. "I was only sixteen, and
naturally they didn't talk about things in front of me. I suppose
that somehow or other he had managed to make himself useful to them;
anyhow, I know they all trusted him absolutely."
"They seem to have been a nice confiding lot," I observed. "I
wouldn't mind betting they paid for it too."
She smiled mirthlessly. "Yes," she said, "they paid for it. I
daresay you remember what happened; there must have been some account
in the English papers."
I shook my head. "I wasn't reading the papers just then," I
explained. "I was chasing about the Pacific learning to be a sailor."
"Everything that we had planned was betrayed to the Government," she
said fiercely. "There was to be a general rising in Rio early one
morning while the soldiers were asleep in their barracks. It was
almost certain that if our people could seize the public buildings
and capture the President the whole thing would be practically over.
A great many of the troops were friendly, and the rest would have
been quiet enough as soon as they heard that Gomez was a prisoner.
That was only part of the plot, however. About a hundred miles up
the Amazon there's a place called Cinatti. It's close to two or
three big diamond mines which belong to the Government, and all the
stones are collected and sorted there before they come down to Rio.
Our people had found out through one of the sorters that a specially
valuable lot would be sent off on the very morning that was fixed for
the revolution. We wanted money badly, and Uncle Philip and several
of the others decided that the best plan was to attack the train
before it reached the capital. They knew that it would mean some
terrible fighting, because the stones are always sent down under a
strong military guard, but there was no difficulty in finding dozens
of men who were quite ready to risk their lives. One of the first
people chosen was Stephen Gardiner. He was appointed second in
command, so that if anything happened to Uncle Philip he would be in
charge of the party."
She paused, and drew in a deep breath.
"There were twenty-five of them altogether," she went on quietly.
"They met just before midnight at the place which had been agreed
upon. It was where the train had to cross a bridge over a deep
gully. They blew away part of the bridge with dynamite, and hid
themselves as well as they could on both sides of the line. When the
train came along of course the driver saw what had happened. He
pulled up, and directly the engine stopped Uncle Philip gave the
signal. He was badly wounded himself almost as soon as he jumped out
of the bushes, but about twenty of the others managed to reach the
cars. There was a dreadful fight for a minute or two; then the
officer in command of the guard was killed by a bullet, and after
that the soldiers must have lost their heads. Anyhow, half of them
threw down their guns, and the rest gave in to save their own lives."
"They would," I said; "it's a habit with all South-American
regulars." I pushed away the tray, and leaned forward with my arms
on the table. "What about the diamonds?" I asked.
"Oh, the diamonds were there," she answered, in the same curiously
level voice. "They were packed in two sealed boxes, and they were a
magnificent lot of stones. One of the men who knew something about
jewels put their value at a hundred thousand pounds. As a matter of
fact, he was altogether wrong. They were worth double that amount."
I whistled gently. "And de Roda being knocked out," I said, "Mr.
Stephen Gardiner was in charge of the proceedings?"
She made a gesture of assent.
"Go on," I added grimly. "Tell me what happened."
"By the time the soldiers had surrendered," she said, "Uncle Philip
had lost consciousness. Three of the others were dead and six or
seven badly wounded. This man, Gardiner, divided the party into two.
He left ten of them behind to look after their friends, and rode off
towards Rio with the other five, taking the diamonds with him. No
one dreamed that there was anything wrong. Gardiner had fought as
bravely as anybody, and they all imagined that when they got to Rio
they would find our people in control of the town."
Her voice shook, and for just an instant she seemed to be on the
point of breaking down.
"As a matter of fact," she continued, with a kind of desperate
calmness, "they were riding straight to their death. At the last
moment everything we had planned had been betrayed to Gomez. He had
brought troops secretly into all the public buildings, and when our
people came out into the streets they were shot down like dogs before
they could move a step. Six hundred of them were killed in less than
ten minutes. Gomez had given orders that there should be no
prisoners, and the soldiers went on firing at the wounded until there
wasn't a soul left alive."
"And I suppose my infernal uncle was at the bottom of the whole
business?" I broke in.
"You can judge for yourself," she answered. "When he and the other
five reached the town they found troops everywhere. In the very
first street they came to they were held up by a patrol. Before
anyone quite realised what was happening Gardiner rode forward and
said something to the officer in command. They let him through at
once, and he galloped away up the street, leaving the rest behind
him. Some of our men tried to shoot him, but they were too late.
Directly he was past the soldiers opened fire and--" She broke off
with a little mute gesture that needed no further words.
"My God! What a swine!" I exclaimed. "Do you mean to say he led all
his friends to their death, and then handed the stones over to Gomez?"
She laughed again in the same mirthless fashion as before. "You are
doing him an injustice," she said. "Anybody can be a traitor to his
friends; it takes a genius to betray the other side as well." She
paused a moment, her curious dark eyes fixed steadily on mine.
"Gomez knew nothing about the attack on the train," she went on.
"For once in his life he had met a man who was even more cunning and
wicked than himself. Your uncle had sold him all the rest of our
plans, but had kept that part an absolute secret. When the patrol
let him pass they thought that he was going straight to the
President. He had promised Gomez to bring in news of what was
happening outside the town, but instead of doing that he galloped his
horse down to the harbour, where he had a motor-boat waiting for him.
Before they discovered the truth he was six miles out to sea, with
the diamonds on board. That was the last that anyone in Brazil ever
saw of Mr. Stephen Gardiner."
"Well I'm damned!" I remarked without thinking. Then, feeling that
an apology would be rather futile, I leaned across and took her hand,
which was resting on the corner of the chair. "And de Roda and the
others, Christine," I said. "What happened to them?"
"Three of them were shot the next day," she answered. "They were the
lucky ones. Uncle Philip and the rest were flung into prison at Rio.
You can probably guess how they were treated. When Gomez died six
years later Uncle Philip was the only one left alive. Almost the
first thing the new President did was to release him, but it was too
late to be of much service. He came out so terribly changed that
none of his friends recognised him. He had been starved and tortured
until his brain and body had almost given way. He had one idea
only--one idea that had been burning into his mind night and day for
all those six dreadful years--revenge on the man who had betrayed
him."
"I can imagine his feelings," I said with considerable sympathy.
"But how the dickens did he find out where my uncle had hidden
himself?"
"It wasn't easy," she admitted. "Gomez had offered an enormous
reward to anyone who could arrest him and get back the stones, but
although the police in Europe had been on the look-out, they had
never been able to discover the slightest trace of him. In the end
it was just pure chance. A few of our friends had escaped after the
revolution, and amongst them was a man called da Silva. He had
settled down in London, and one day, when he was out walking, he saw
your uncle on the other side of the street. Although it was nearly
seven years since they had met he recognised him at once.
"Some people, I suppose, would have given him up to the police, in
the hope of getting part of the reward which was still on offer. Da
Silva was not that sort of man. He followed your uncle back to where
he was living, and then very secretly and carefully he set about
making enquiries. When he had found out everything he wanted, he
wrote and told Uncle Philip."
"I wonder if the old ruffian guessed that he'd been spotted," I said.
"If he did, that would explain why he shut himself up here."
She shook her head. "He was already trying to buy the island. I
think he must have seen in the paper that Uncle Philip had been let
out of prison."
I suddenly remembered what Bascomb had told me the night we talked
together in the hall.
"You're right, Christine," I said. "That's what happened beyond a
doubt, and I don't wonder he got the wind up. It must have been
rather like reading one's own death-warrant."
"I hope it was," she said mercilessly. "I should like to be sure
that he suffered before he died. When I think of the way he escaped
us I sometimes feel that there's no justice in the world."
"But surely you knew he was dead before you started from Brazil?" I
interrupted. "Your friend da Silva had plenty of time to write to
you."
"We never heard from da Silva again," she said. "Three weeks after
he sent his first letter he was killed in that big railway accident
at Croydon. Until you spoke to me on the boat we both believed that
Gardiner was alive."
"Good Lord!" I exclaimed. "No wonder you were a bit flabbergasted."
"It was the thought of Uncle Philip that upset me most. You see, it
was impossible for me to tell him then, and I felt certain that he
would never get over the shock and disappointment when he found out
for himself."
"But how about you?" I asked curiously. "Wasn't it rather a relief
to know that you were too late? You can't take the law into your own
hands in this country without paying for it pretty heavily."
"Do you suppose that mattered?" she demanded. "Do you think I cared
what happened to me as long as Gardiner was punished? Why, rather
than see him escape I would have killed him myself!"
"I believe you would," I said, with genuine admiration. Then,
lighting another cigarette, I added: "How long was it before de Roda
discovered the truth?"
"It was two days after we landed. Directly we came ashore he left me
at an hotel and went straight to da Silva's address. He had been
very puzzled at not hearing again and getting no answer to his
letters, but of course when he found out what had happened it
explained everything. Da Silva had told us about Greensea Island in
his first letter, however, so the next morning Uncle Phillip motored
down here to make enquiries. The first thing he learned was that
Gardiner was dead."
"How did he take it?" I enquired
"He seemed almost stunned when he came back. He sat all the evening
without saying a word, and, although I did my best to comfort him, I
don't think he even heard what I said. It was not until the next
morning that he told me he had taken a lease of 'The Laurels.' I
didn't bother him with any questions, but from the way he spoke I
felt sure he believed that the diamonds, or what was left of them,
were still hidden on the island. By this time he had got a kind of
half-insane conviction that they were his own property."
"I am inclined to agree with him," I said. "Anyhow, I'd a jolly
sight rather he had them than the Brazilian Government." I paused.
"Had he tumbled across the fact of my existence?" I asked.
"Not then," she replied. "Nobody down here had any idea of what
would happen to the property. I was the only one who knew, and that
was why I asked you to meet me that day in Bond Street. I was afraid
that directly Uncle Philip learned the truth he would suspect you of
having the stones. You were Gardiner's nephew too, and in the queer
state he was in that alone was quite enough to put your life in
danger."
"You've acted like a brick all through, Christine," I said gratefully.
"I only did what anyone else would have done," she went on hurriedly.
"I felt you ought to be warned, but at the time I little guessed the
real state of affairs." She stopped, with a queer expression in her
brown eyes. "You see, it was not until two days later that I first
met Dr. Manning."
"Ah!" I said softly. "Now we're getting to the part in which I take
a rather particular interest."
"I heard about him from the people at the inn," she continued. "I
wanted to find out the address of some medical man in case Uncle
Philip was ill, so I called in at the Gunner's Arms the morning after
we arrived and asked the landlord's advice. He told me that there
was no practising doctor nearer than Torrington, but that if I wanted
anyone in a hurry he had no doubt that Dr. Manning would come at
once. That very night my uncle had one of his worst heart attacks.
The only other person in the house was an old Frenchwoman we had
brought with us from London. I sent her to the barge with a note,
and Dr. Manning got up, dressed, and came along immediately." She
laughed again, even more bitterly than before. "I remember thinking
at the time how extraordinarily kind it was of him."
"Yes," I said. "He's very obliging in cases of that sort."
"When I look back now," she went on, "it seems a sort of crowning
irony that I should have asked him to the house myself. Not that it
really made the least difference."
"He knew, of course?" I interrupted. "I suppose he had found out
while he was on the island?"
She nodded. "Your uncle had been delirious for two days, and he had
evidently betrayed himself a dozen times over. I think what he said
must have been all very broken and confused, but it had been enough
for Dr. Manning. He had guessed that the stones were hidden there,
and he had made up his mind to get hold of them."
"Had he any idea that Señor de Roda was in the same line of
business?" I asked.
"He suspected it certainly," she replied. "Your uncle must have
mentioned the name, and no doubt he had put two and two together. He
was only waiting his time. If I hadn't sent for him that night he
would probably have come to see us next day."
"But what was his object?" I demanded. "From what I've seen of him I
should have thought his one idea would have been to get in first and
cut you out."
"So it was," she said. "Thanks chiefly to you, however, he was up
against a blank wall. He had had no chance of searching the place
properly while he was there, because Bascomb was always watching him,
and when you refused to sell the island that finished everything."
"It certainly came very near to finishing me," I observed grimly. "I
suppose there's no doubt that it was either he or Craill who shoved
me into the dock."
"It was Craill," she observed. "He is only half-witted, but he's
horribly cunning and dangerous, and absolutely under Manning's
influence."
"A jolly sort of pair to have as next-door neighbours," I remarked.
"And what was the doctor's actual proposition? He must have been
counting on some pretty effectual help from you if he was ready to go
shares."
"I think he had an idea that we knew where the stones were," she
replied. "When he discovered he was wrong it was too late for him to
draw back. Besides, he had no wish to then. He saw that he could do
just as he pleased with Uncle Philip, and--and--" She hesitated as
if half unwilling to go on.
"You needn't explain, Christine," I said. "I've seen something of
what you've had to put up with."
"Oh, it was horrible," she whispered, "but what could I do? My uncle
seemed to have no will of his own left. He believed everything that
Manning told him, and in a few days he hated you quite as bitterly as
he had ever hated Gardiner. I felt sure they intended to kill you,
and the only way in which I could be of any help was by trying to
keep on friendly terms with both of them. Even as it was, Manning
never trusted me altogether."
"What are their present plans, as far as you know?" I asked.
"Unless I am wrong," she said slowly, "they mean to attack the house
at once, while you and Bascomb are alone here. I believe that on the
night Manning stayed with you he found out, or thinks he found out,
exactly where the diamonds are hidden. He came to see us the next
day, and I could tell from his manner that he was extraordinarily
pleased and excited about something. After a long talk Uncle Philip
went away to Harwich the same evening. He told me he would probably
send me a wire, and that if he did I was to take it over to Dr.
Manning at once. It arrived about twelve o'clock this morning."
"What on earth took your uncle to Harwich?" I enquired curiously.
"I don't know for certain. I think, from one or two things I
overheard, that he wanted to buy a boat. The telegram was probably
to say that he had got it."
"That looks like business, anyhow," I remarked. "I suppose that if
they find the stones they mean to make a straight line for the
Continent." I paused. "When do you think I can expect the honour of
a visit?" I asked. "To-night?"
"It will be very soon, anyhow," she answered. "I believe they are
only waiting until my uncle comes back. Unless everything had been
arranged, Manning would never have behaved as he did this afternoon.
"He wouldn't have poisoned Satan either," I added. "It would have
been a mad thing to do if he wasn't prepared to follow it up at
once." I rose from my chair and took two or three paces up and down
the room. Then I halted just in front of her. "Christine," I said
desperately, "there's only one way out of this infernal mess. Stay
with me, and let them do just what they like. I am expecting Bobby
Dean here to-morrow, and he and Bascomb can take charge of the place
while we go up to London and get married. After that I don't care a
damn what happens. De Roda can have all the diamonds in the world as
far as I'm concerned."
Her lips moved, but before she could speak I went down on my knees
and put my arms round her.
"I love you, darling," I whispered. "I have loved you with all my
heart and soul ever since you came on board the _Neptune_. There
isn't----"
"Ah, no, no," she interrupted. "Don't--please! You make it so much
harder." Then with a little heart-broken sob she suddenly pressed
her face against mine, and I felt both our cheeks wet with her tears.
"Why not, Christine?" I pleaded. "You have done everything you can."
"It's my uncle," she said pitifully. "He has no one in the world
except me."
"But you can't go back after what has happened to-day?" I exclaimed.
"Even if Manning believes that my coming to the barge was pure
chance, he knows that I took you away in my boat, and he's simply
bound to suspect you. He is sure to tell your uncle, and with a
madman like de Roda----"
"I am not afraid," she broke in. "However mad Uncle Philip is, he
would never hurt me. Oh, my dear, I would stay if I could, I would
stay with you so gladly, but when I think of all he has suffered, how
can I leave him now just when he needs me most?"
"You think of everyone except yourself," I cried hotly. "I wish to
God I'd killed Manning on the barge. To feel that you may be alone
in the house with that devil----"
She placed her hand softly on my shoulder. "I shall be quite safe,"
she said. "Most likely Uncle Philip will come back this evening, and
in any case there is always Marie. She is kind to me in her way. If
I couldn't leave the house I am sure she would take a note for me to
Jimmy, so you see there's really no need for you to be anxious or
worried on my account. It's you who are in such dreadful danger."
"What, with Bascomb here and Bobby Dean turning up in the morning?" I
exclaimed. "Why, if I can't take care of my own skin with the help
of a prize-fighter and a V.C.--" I stopped short, as a sudden
difficulty occurred to me. "How about Bobby?" I added. "So far I
haven't even mentioned your name to him. He is under the impression
that the whole affair is a little private speculation of Dr.
Manning's."
"You will have to tell him the truth," she said "It's too late to
keep anything back." She glanced up at the clock above the
fireplace; then, bending forward, she took my face between her hands,
and looked long and tenderly into my eyes. "I must go, dear," she
whispered; "you must take me back to Pen Mill and put me ashore. I
daren't stay any longer, in case my uncle comes back unexpectedly."
Every instinct I possessed rose up in revolt, but, all the same, I
saw that any further protest would be useless. For a moment I knelt
there, holding her in my arms, and studying every curve of her
beautiful face. Then, hungry with love, I crushed her still closer
to my heart, and once again our lips met in a long, passionate kiss.