In front of the veranda, and to the right of the brick walk, the latticework of a small summerhouse could be discerned through a maze of shrubbery and weeds. No path led toward it, yet we made the difficult passage, by pressing aside the foliage, and discovered a rustic seat within, where we were completely screened from observation. I felt the slight trembling of the woman's form from suppressed excitement, but the adventure with Coombs had only served to stiffen my nerves. With flushed cheeks, and eyes bright and questioning, she could scarcely wait for me to begin.
"Now tell me; surely we are out of sight and hearing."
"I do not think I shall ever be entirely assured as to that until I know more of our exact situation," I replied, speaking cautiously. "We may have been seen coming here, and those weeds would easily conceal an eavesdropper. The truth is, I have gained very little information of value, and am as mystified as ever. If that fellow told the truth it is beyond my understanding."
"But you are sure he knows nothing of those men who sent you here?"
"Yes, he had never heard of Vail, and all he knew about Neale was that name was signed to the orders of the new overseer."
"Under what authority is the man acting?"
I hesitated, not venturing to look at her, conscious of a personal feeling which I must conceal.
"Do you not wish to tell me?"
"It is not that," I hastened to explain, but finding the words hard to speak. "I think he lied, and yet cannot be sure. He claims to be working under the orders of Philip Henley."
"What! Impossible!"
"So I felt, and consequently hesitated to tell you, but now that I have been compelled to do so, I will explain in full. He said this under the menace of a revolver, a condition which often inspires men to speak the truth. I can scarcely imagine his making up such a story, for he is a dull-witted fellow, and even before he had threatened to test your claims to be Henley's wife."
"You told him, then?"
"Everything, except the original cause of our being here. I determined this morning to fight in the open, under my own name. That is the right way, is it not?"
"Yes, I think so," and she lifted her eyes to mine.
"I like you better for that."
"I think I like myself better also," I said with a laugh. "I confess I did n't care much at first. The whole affair merely represented a lark, an adventure with me. But after what you said the night of our arrival I began to view the thing in a new light, and to despise my part in It. Yet even then I felt bound to carry out my agreement. It was only when you told me your identity, that I felt free to decide otherwise."
"Why should that make such a difference? If I had not been the one, then it would have been some other woman defrauded."
"True, but a mere unknown, a shadow. Besides, I had no reason previously to know that a fraud was contemplated—those rascals told a most plausible story, leaving me to believe I served the real heirs. Now I comprehend their true purpose and—and, well, knowing you it has become personal."
"I do not altogether understand."
"Why, it is simply this," I went on desperately, "I want to serve you, and I want you to respect me. Down in your heart you have n't really been assured that I was not one of that gang of conspirators. You came down here to watch me. Now I am going to stand up as Gordon Craig, and fight it out for you."
There was a knot of blue ribbon at her throat, and I reached out and unpinned it before she had time to protest.
"See, there are your colors, and I do battle under them. Whatever the final results you are never going to doubt me any more—are you?"
Her eyes were veiled by long lashes, and I could see the heaving of her breasts.
"No—no. I scarcely think I ever did doubt you, only it was all very strange. Nothing seemed real; it was more like a stage-play in which I acted a part—our first meeting, our being thrown together on this quest. I have not known what to think, even of myself."
"We are both getting our heads above the mist now," I interrupted gently, "and deep as the mystery appears, when finally solved it will likely prove a very sordid, commonplace affair. The main thing is for us to thoroughly understand and trust each other."
"You need not doubt me."
"I have already learned that. It is more important that you fully trust me."
"I do," and both her hands were impulsively extended. "I have from the very first. I did not come here to watch, but because I believed in you. Truly this was my motive rather than any thought of the property. Indeed I hardly realized at the start that this was my affair; I merely had a feeling that you needed me. That—that morning on the bench," she paused, her voice choking in her throat, her eyes misted, "why, I—I was scarcely rational; my mind could not even grasp clearly what you endeavored to tell. I was so far from being myself that I failed to recognize my own name. Perhaps that was not strange as I always lived under another. So it was not that, not any selfish motive, which impelled me to accompany you. I came because—because I knew you needed me. I had an intuition that you were going into danger, into some trap. I cannot explain, no woman can, how such knowledge lays hold upon her. I merely acted instinctively. It was not until that afternoon that I realized clearly what this all meant to me personally. I seemed to wake up as from a dream. Then I sat down in the rest room of one of those big department stores, and thought it all out. At first I determined to tell you everything, but I did—did not know you at all. I trusted you, I believed in you; you had impressed me as being a real man. But this was merely a woman's intuition. There were circumstances that made me doubt, that compelled caution. I—I had to test you, Gordon Craig."
"My only wonder is that you retained any confidence."
"Oh, but I did," she insisted warmly. "That alone brought me here. I thought of appealing to a lawyer, to the police, and then your face rose up before me, and my decision was made. I came back to you that night because—because I believed you to be a gentleman."
"And now? henceforth?"
Her eyes never wavered, although there was a high color in her cheeks as my hands clasped her own more closely.
"I am convinced I chose aright. You are the man I thought you to be. I am glad I came."
For an instant the hot blood coursed through my veins; I seemed to see only the beauty of her flesh. Wild words leaped to my lips, only to be choked back unspoken, although I scarcely knew what strength combined to win the swift struggle. Impulse, made with sudden revelation of love, swept me perilously near to outburst, yet reason held sufficiently firm to restrain; the flood of passion. I knew I must refrain; I read it in the calm depths of those eyes fronting me in frank friendship. A word, a single, mad, ill-considered word, would sever the bond between us as though cleft by a sword. With any other I might have dared all, but not with her. Reckless as my nature had grown in the hard school of life, I shrank from this test, dreading to see her face change, her attitude harden. And it would; there had already been sufficient revealment of her character to make me aware of how firm a line she drew between right and wrong. It was not in her nature to compromise. She trusted, me—yes! But as a "gentleman." Should I fail in that test of her faith I could never again hope to regain my place in her esteem. I have wondered since how I ever won that swift, deadly battle; how I ever crushed back the wild passion, the mad impulse to clasp her In my arms. Yet, under God's mercy I did, my voice emotionless, my face white from restraint, my lips dry as with fever. The one thing I was sure about just then was that we must break away from this personal conversation; flesh and blood could stand the strain no longer.
"Let's not talk of ourselves then," I said, releasing her hands, "but of what we must face here. We trust each other; that is enough for the present surely. You will not leave, and let me ferret out the mystery alone, so we must work together in its solution. I have told you that Coombs claims to be working under the orders of your husband. Is that possible?"
"I cannot conceive clearly how it could be, and yet he might have received notice of his father's death in time to assume control of the estate by telegraph, or even by letter."
"I hardly think Coombs has been here so short a time."
"He might have been the old overseer, however, and retained."
"True; yet how could Philip Henley know that he had inherited the property?"
She thought a moment seriously, a little crease in the center of her forehead.
"Of course, I can only guess," she hazarded at length, "but it would seem likely he was notified of his father's death by one of the administrators, and doubtless told at the same time of his inheritance. He was the only son, and there were no other near relatives. It would be only natural for him to retain the old servants until he could come here and select others."
"There is only one fact which opposes your theory," I acknowledged, "otherwise I would accept it as my own also. Coombs plainly threatened to confront you with Henley to test your claim to being his wife."
She pressed her hand to her temple in perplexity.
"Even that would not be impossible," she admitted reluctantly, "for he must have known of the Judge's death even before—before I left. Only I do not believe it probable, as he was in no condition to travel, and had very little money. Besides," her voice strengthening with conviction, "those men who sent you here—Neale and Vail—would never have ventured such a scheme, had they been uncertain as to Philip Henley's helplessness. I believe he is either in their control, or else dead."
"Then Coombs lied."
"Perhaps; although still another supposition is possible. Someone else may claim to be the heir."
This was a new theory, and one not so unreasonable as it appeared at first thought. Still it was sufficiently improbable, so that I dismissed it without much consideration. She apparently read this in my face.
"It is all groping in the dark until we learn more," she went on slowly. "Have you decided what you mean to do?"
"Only indefinitely. I want to make a careful exploration of the house and grounds by daylight. This may reveal something of value. Then we will go into Carrollton before dark. I cannot consent to your remaining here another night after what has occurred. Besides, we should consult a lawyer—the best we can find—and then proceed under his advice. Do you agree?"
"Certainly; and how can I be of assistance?"
"If you could go back to the house, and keep Sallie busy in the kitchen for an hour; hold her there at something so as to give me free range of the house."
"With Sallie!" she lifted her hands in aversion. "It does n't seem as though I could stand that. But," she added, rising resolutely to her feet, "I will if you wish it. Of course I ought to do what little I can. Why, what is this? a seal ring?"
She stooped, and picked the article up from the floor, out of a litter of dead leaves, and held it to the light between her fingers. As she gazed her cheeks whitened, and when her eyes again met mine they evidenced fear.
"What is it?" I asked, when she failed to speak. "Do you recognize it?"
She held it out toward me, her hand trembling.
"That—that was Philip Henley's ring," she said gravely. "Family heirloom; he always wore it."
This apparently convincing evidence that Henley was not only alive, but had preceded us to Carrollton, left us staring into each others' faces, more deeply mystified than ever.
"He must be here," she articulated faintly.
"At least it would seem that he has been. The seal is a peculiar one, not likely to be duplicated. But I doubt if he is here now, for he could have no reason for avoiding us, unless—"
"I know what you mean," she replied, as I hesitated, "unless he intended to repudiate me, to refuse me recognition."
"Is he that kind of a man?"
"No; not when sober. Under the influence of liquor he becomes a brute, capable of any meanness."
"Perhaps that may be the secret then. The others here may be keeping him intoxicated, and hidden away for purposes of their own. However, this need not change our plans. Will you go in to Sallie?"
"Yes; it will be a relief to be busy, to feel that I am accomplishing something."
I stood upon the bench, from where I could look out above the weeds and tangled bushes, and followed her course to the house. At top of the steps she paused an instant to glance back, and then disappeared within. I waited patiently, knowing that if she failed to discover the housekeeper, she would give some signal. Meanwhile I watched the weed-grown area about me carefully in search of any skulker observing our movements. I could see little through the tangle, yet succeeded in convincing myself that I was alone, and free to begin my explorations. Yet I faced this work with less enthusiasm than I felt when first proposing it. The knowledge that Philip Henley was alive; that any discoveries I might make would benefit him even more than his wife, had robbed me of my earlier interest in the outcome. Nothing I had heard of the man was favorable to his character. I felt profoundly convinced that whatever affection his wife might have once entertained for him had long ago vanished through neglect and abuse. My sympathies were altogether with her, and I had already begun to dream of her as free. She had come into contact with my life in such a way as to impress me greatly; we had been thrown together in strange familiarity. Little by little I had grown to appreciate her beauty, not only of face, but also of womanly character. Already she swayed and controlled me as no other of her sex ever had. I thrilled to the touch of her hand, to the sweep of her dress, and the glance of her eye. Not until now did I realize fully all she had unconsciously become to me, or how I dreaded the reappearance of Henley. Would she return to him? Would she forgive the past? These were haunting questions from which I found no escape. I could not be ignorant of the fact that she liked me, trusted me as a friend. But beyond this rather colorless certainty I possessed no assurance. I thought I had read a deeper meaning in her eyes, enough to yield a flash of hope, but nothing more substantial. And now—now even this must be rubbed out. She was not the kind to ever compromise with duty, nor to pretend. No love for me, even if it had already begun to blossom in her secret heart, would make her disloyal to sacred vows. I knew that, and deep down in my own consciousness, honored her the more, even while I struggled against the inevitable. Yesterday I might have spoken the words of passion on my lips, but now they were sealed, and I dare not even whisper them to myself, yet it was out of this very depth of impossibility that I came to know love in its entirety, and realize what Viola Henley already was to me.
But I was never so much a dreamer, as a man of action, and the necessity of active service forced me to cast aside such thoughts almost instantly. There was work, and danger, ahead, and I welcomed both eagerly. This was the way to forget. Aye! and the way to serve. I felt the revolver in my pocket, took it out and made sure it was in readiness; then advanced cautiously toward the house. The hall was empty, and so was the front room. The latter appeared desolate and grim in its disorder and dirt. My thought centered on that picture of Judge Henley hanging against the further wall. Perhaps it had not moved; the supposition that it did might have been an illusion, produced by some flaw in the mirror opposite, or by a freak of imagination. Yet I could never be satisfied until I learned absolutely what was concealed behind that heavy gilded frame. There was mystery to this house, and perhaps here I had already stumbled upon the secret. I opened the door leading to the rear, silently, and listened. There were voices talking at a distance, two women, one a pleasant contralto, the other cracked and high pitched. The lady was doing her part; I must do mine. I closed the door gently, and stole over toward the picture, half afraid of my task, yet nerving myself for the ordeal.
A black haircloth sofa, with broad mahogany arm, offered two easy steps, enabling me to tip the heavy frame sufficiently so as to peer behind. The one glance was sufficient. Underneath was an opening in the wall, much less in width than the picture, yet ample for the passage of a crouched body. The arm of the sofa made egress comparatively easy, while the frame of the picture, though appearing heavy and substantial, was in reality of light wood, and presented no obstacle to an active man. The passage was black, and I thrust my head and shoulders in, striving to discern something of its nature. For possibly three feet I could trace the floor, but beyond that point it seemed to disappear into impenetrable darkness. This line of change was so distinct that I surmised at once it marked a descent to a lower level, either by ladder or stairs. Well, this would benefit me, rather than otherwise, for if anyone was concealed therein it would be down below, where the light streaming into the upper passage, as I pressed back the frame to gain room for my body, would be unnoticed. There was no hesitancy as to what I must do. Now I had discovered this secret passage it must be thoroughly explored. The safest way was to burrow through the dark, trusting to hands and feet for safety, and prepared for any encounter. Whoever might be hidden away there would certainly possess some light, sufficient for any warning I needed. Every advantage would remain with me concealed by darkness.
If I felt any premonition of fear it was not serious enough to delay progress, nor did I pause to consider the possible danger. Wherever Coombs had gone, he was not likely to remain absent for long, nor could I expect Mrs. Henley to remain with Sallie a moment longer than she deemed necessary. This was my opportunity and must be utilized promptly. Standing on the sofa arm I found little difficulty in pressing my body forward into the aperture, until, extending at full length, the picture settled noiselessly back into place against the wall, excluding all light. After listening intently, fearful lest the slight scraping might have been overheard, I arose to a crouching position, able to feel both the sides and top of the tunnel with my fingers. Inch by inch, silently, my soft breathing the only noticeable sound, I worked forward, anxiously exploring for the break in the floor, which I knew to be only a few feet distance. Even then I reached it unaware of its proximity, experiencing a sudden, unpleasant shock as my extended hand groped about touching nothing tangible.
I was some time determining the exact nature of what was before me. There were no stairs, nor did any shafts of a ladder protrude above the floor level. Only as I lay flat, and felt cautiously across from wall to wall, could I determine what led below. All was black as a well, as noiseless as a grave, yet there was a ladder exactly fitting the space, spiked solidly into the flooring. My groping fingers could reach two of the rungs, and they felt sound and strong. With face outward I trusted myself to their support, and began the descent slowly, pausing between each step to listen, and gripping the side-bars tightly. The blackness and silence, combined with what I anticipated discovering somewhere in those depths below, set my nerves tingling, yet I felt cool, and determined to press on. Indeed, deep in my heart I welcomed the adventure, even hoped it might end in some encounter serious enough to arouse me to new thoughts—especially did I yearn to learn something definite about Philip Henley. This to me was now the one matter of importance; to be assured that he was living or dead. Nothing else greatly mattered, for nothing could again efface from my memory the woman he had called wife. Right or wrong, I knew she held me captive; even there, groping blindly in that darkness, every nerve strained to its utmost, my thought was with her, and her face arose before my imagination. Unexpectedly, unexplainably love had come into my life—the very love I had laughed at in others had made me captive. And I was glad of it, reckless still as to what it might portend.
I counted twelve rungs going down, and then felt stone flags beneath my feet, although the walls on either side, as I explored them with my hands, were still of closely matched wood. The passage, now high enough to permit of my standing erect, led toward the rear of the house, presenting no obstacle other than darkness, until I came up suddenly against a heavy wooden door completely barring further progress. As near as I could figure I must be already directly beneath the kitchen, and close in against the south wall. No sound reached me, however, from above, nor could I, with ear against the slight crack, distinguish any movement beyond the barrier. Cautious fingering revealed closely matched hard wood, studded thickly with nail heads, but no keyhole or latch. Secure in the feeling that no one else could be in this outer passage, and completely baffled, I ventured to strike a match. The tiny yellow flame, ere it quickly flickered out in some mysterious draft, revealed an iron band to the left of the door, with slight protuberance, resembling the button of an electric-bell. This was the only semblance to a lock, and I was in doubt whether it would prove an alarm, or some ingenuous [Transcriber's note: ingenious?] spring. There was nothing for it, however, but to try the experiment, and face the result.
Almost convinced that the pressure of my finger would ring an electric bell, I drew my revolver, and crouched low, prepared for any emergency, as I pressed the metal button. To my surprise and relief the only thing to occur was the slow opening of the door inward, a dim gleam of light becoming visible through the widening crack. The movement was deliberate and noiseless, but I dropped upon hands and knees in the deepest remaining shadow and peered anxiously into the dimly revealed interior. It was a basement room, half the width of the kitchen overhead, I should judge; the walls of crude masonry, the floor of brick, the ceiling, festooned by cobwebs, of rough-hewn beams. The light, flickering and dim, came from a half-burned candle in an iron holder screwed against the wall, revealing a small table, two chairs, one without a back, and four narrow sleeping berths made of rough boards. This was all, except a coat dangling from a beam, and a small hand-hatchet lying on the floor. There was, in the instant I had to view these things, no semblance of movement, or suggestion of human presence. Assured of this, although holding myself alert and ready, I slipped through the opening. Even as I stood there, uncertain, and staring about, a sharp draught of air extinguished the candle, and I heard the snap of the lock as the door behind blew back into position. About me was the black silence of a grave.
I backed against the wall, crouching low, revolver in hand, scarcely venturing to breathe, listening intently for the slightest sound to break the intense silence. My heart beat like a trip-hammer, and there were beads of cold perspiration on my face. The change had occurred so swiftly as to leave me quaking like a coward at the unknown terrors of the dark. Yet almost within the instant I gripped my nerves, comprehending all that had occurred, and confident of my own safety. There must be another opening into this underground den—one leading to the outer air—judging from that sudden and powerful suction. The very atmosphere I breathed had a freshness to it, inconceivable in such a place otherwise. With the first return of intelligence my mind gripped certain facts, and began to reason out the situation. That sudden sweep of air could only have originated in the opening of some other barrier—a door no doubt leading directly to the outside. I had seen no occupant of the room; without question it was deserted at my entrance. Yet someone had been there, and not long before, as was evidenced by the burning candle. Nor, by that same token, did this same mysterious party expect to be absent for any length of time. Apparently I had intruded at the very moment of his departure. Wherever that second passage might be, the former occupant of this underground den had evidently entered it previous to my opening the inner door. Still unaware of my presence he had unfastened some other barrier, and the resultant draught had extinguished the candle, and blown shut the door at my back. This seemed so clearly the truth that I laughed grimly behind clinched teeth. The solution was easy; I had but to discover the extinguished candle, relight it, search out the second passage, and waylay the fellow when he returned unsuspicious of danger.
Confident as to the correctness of my theory, and eager for action to relieve the tension on my nerves in that black silence, I began feeling a way along the wall toward the right, in the direction where I remembered the iron light bracket to be situated. The rough stone surface was unbroken, and I encountered no obstacles under foot, my groping search being finally rewarded by touch of the iron brace. I could clearly trace the form of the bracket, and determine how it was fastened into place, yet to my astonishment there was no remnant of candle remaining in the empty socket. Grease, still warm to the touch, proved conclusively that I had attained the right spot in my search, yet the candle itself had disappeared. Beyond doubt the draught of air had been sufficiently strong to dislodge it from the shallow socket, and it had fallen to the floor. I felt about on hands and knees, but without result, and finally, in sheer desperation, struck my last match. The tiny flare was sufficient to reveal the entire floor space as well as the wall, but there was no remnant of candle visible. I held the sliver of wood, until the flame scorched my fingers, staring about in bewilderment. Then the intense darkness shut me in.
I crouched back to the wall, revolver in hand, and it seemed as though the blood in my veins had turned to ice. What legerdemain was this! The candle was there, and not half burned, when I entered. I saw it with my own eyes. How then—in the name of God—could it have vanished so completely? There was no germ of superstition in my nature, and, had there originally been, it could never have out lived the practical experiences of the past few years. There was but one way to account for this occurrence—some human, aware of my presence, had removed the candle, had stolen through the pitch darkness silently, and as swiftly disappeared. I was locked in, trapped, and not alone!
I confess for an instant I was panic-stricken, shrinking back from the horror of the black unknown which enveloped me. I could see and hear nothing, yet I seemed to feel a ghastly presence skulking behind that impenetrable veil. My first inclination was to creep back to the door, and escape into the outer passage. Yet pride restrained me, pride quickly supplemented by a return of courage. It was a man surely, a thing of flesh and blood, I was called upon to meet. He was no better armed than myself, and he possessed no advantage in that darkness, except his knowledge of surroundings. I straightened up, and advanced slowly, testing the wall with my hand, every muscle stiffened for action, listening for the slightest sound. I encountered nothing, heard nothing, until my groping fingers touched the rough plank of a sleeping berth. I explored this cautiously, lifting the edge of a coarse blanket, and reaching up to make sure the one above was also unoccupied. Satisfied that both were empty I worked my way blindly along to the second tier. As I reached into the lower of the two bunks my finger came in contact with some substance that left the impression of a human body beneath the blanket. I jerked away, startled, expecting my light touch would arouse the occupant. There was no movement, however, nor could I distinguish any sound of breathing.
Convinced I had been mistaken, I reached in once more to assure myself of the truth, and my hand touched cold, clammy flesh. The shock of discovery sent me reeling backward so suddenly that I slipped and fell. It was a man—a dead man! In imagination I could see the wide-open, sightless eyes, staring toward me through the dark. Trembling with the unreasonable terror of unstrung nerves, I yet managed to regain my feet. It was not the dead body, so much as the black gloom, which robbed me of manhood. I could not see where to go, how to escape. At whatever cost I must procure light. The very desperation yielded me reckless courage. Shaking as with palsy, yet with teeth clinched, I reached forward, groping my way back to the side of the bunk. I touched the edge of the blanket, and thrust it away, feeling the body. The man was fully dressed, lying upon his back, and I experienced no difficulty in attaining the pockets of his coat. In the third I found what I sought—a box of matches.
Never before, or since, have I experienced such relief, as when my fingers closed over this precious find. I struck one, and as the phosphorus head burst into flame, stared about the vacant room, and then down into the dead face within the bunk. The man had been killed by the stroke of a hatchet, and was almost unrecognizable. Not until the blazing match had burned to my finger tips was I sure of his identity—then, to my added horror, I recognized Coombs. I struck a second match, assuring myself beyond doubt, and drew the blanket up over the disfigured face. As the brief light flickered and died, I grasped the full significance of the man's death, the probable reason for his being stricken down. Whoever had been hidden behind that picture, crouching in the passage, had overheard his confession to me. This was vengeance wreaked upon a traitor, the executed death sentence of desperate men. And it had just been carried out—within the hour! The murderers might be even now lurking within the shadows watching my every motion.
Again a slender match flared into tiny flame, casting about a dim radius of light, partially reassuring me that I was alone. Before it flickered out into darkness my eyes made two discoveries—the opening of a dark passage to the left of the bunks, and a ghastly hand protruding from the upper berth. I was scarcely sure this last was not a vision of my half-mad brain, but a fourth match revealed it all—above the murdered Coombs, hidden beneath blankets, was the body of the strange man shot in the upper room. My God! the place was a charnel house! a spot accursed! I crept back from that ghastly scene of death as though invisible hands gripped my throat. I fairly choked with the unutterable horror which overcame me. And yet I knew I must act, must go on to the end. Even as I crouched there, trembling and unmanned, seeing visions in the darkness, hearing imaginary sounds, my thought leaped back to the girl upstairs. It was the one remembrance which kept me sane. It was not the dead, but the living, I had to fear, and it was not in my nature to shrink back from any man. I could feel the courage returning, the leap of hot blood through my veins as I straightened up.
I risked one more match to make certain of the opening through the wall, dimly glimpsed beyond the berths. My eyes were not deceived; here was a second wood-supported passage, unblocked so far as I could perceive, but black as pitch. I held the flaming splinter aloft, anxiously scanning the few feet thus revealed, but as it sputtered out, the red ash dropping to the floor, I felt renewed confidence that I was alone, unobserved. Whoever those assassins might be, they had departed, leaving only the helpless dead behind. No doubt they would come again to remove the bodies, to seek refuge in this hidden hole. But for the moment I was there undiscovered, and must utilize each precious instant for discoveries and escape. Wild recklessness, a desire to break away from those grewsome surroundings, overcame all caution. Swiftly as I dared in the dense blackness I crept forward, feeling the smooth wall with eager fingers, my right hand still nervously gripping the revolver butt. Then I came to the door, similar to the other, although no groping about would reveal the catch, or enable me to force it open.
Again I struck a match, guarding the infant flame with both hands against a slight draught which threatened its extinction. There was no sound, no warning of imminent danger. All my coolness had returned, and my every thought centered on quickly discovering the lock of the door. Yet, even in that instant, I caught glimpse of a shadow on the wall, and made one swift, automatic effort to leap aside, dropping the fatal match. The movement was too late! Something descended crashing upon my head, and I pitched forward into unconsciousness.
It must be I lay there practically dead for some time. I had no knowledge of being approached, or handled, and yet every pocket was rifled, the revolver jerked from my hand, and my coat ripped from my body. Like so much carrion the fellows had flung me back against the wall, so as to make room for the swinging open of the door. I lay there huddled up in shapeless disfigurement, blood staining the stones, one arm twisted above my head. Consciousness returned so slowly, the benumbed brain began to flicker into activity before a stiffened muscle relaxed. I was awake, able to perceive dimly, and to realize my situation, before my body responded to action. Returning life seemed to sweep downward as the mind grasped the realities, bringing consciousness of pain, throbbing head and aching muscles. Little by little, silently, comprehending now what had occurred, and warned by the sound of voices not far away, I changed posture slightly, straightening out cramped limbs, and so turning my head as to enable me to see along the passage where a ray of light streamed. There was a mist before my eyes, but this lessened, and I began to view intelligently the scene.
I lay twenty feet from the entrance to this habitation underground, thrust into the black shadow behind the door which stood partially ajar. My position precluded any possibility of learning what was beyond that wooden barrier, but I could plainly view the entire north portion of the interior, although the only light radiated from a flickering candle. One edge of the table came within my vision, a man sitting beside it, his back turned toward me. I made out little of this fellow's characteristics, as I saw only a pair of broad shoulders, encased in a rough shooting coat, and a fringe of black whiskers. He was smoking a short-stemmed pipe, and contented himself with a growling, indistinct utterance when addressed. Opposite, however, was a man of a different type, slender and active, his hair very dark and inclined to curl, a rather long face, slightly olive-hued, with a small mustache waxed at the ends. His black, sparkling eyes attracted me first, and then his long, shapely hands. These grasped a sheet of paper, and I noticed others, including several unopened envelopes, lying before him on the table. He laughed a bit unpleasantly, a row of white teeth visible beneath the dark mustache.
"It's just as I thought, Herman," he said genially. "The fellow is a mere adventurer. There will be no one to take his disappearance seriously. Look at this document."
He held out a half-printed, half-written sheet which I instantly recognized as my discharge, but the big man only nodded, his hands in his pockets.
"I not read English—you know dot," he said placidly.
"True, I had forgotten. This is the fellow's army discharge; only issued six or seven weeks ago at Manila. He was serving in the ranks over there. Got back to this country broke, most likely, and fell into the hands of those schemers up North, willing enough to do anything for a bunch of coin. The poor devil probably has n't got a friend on earth."
"But someone know he come here."
"Only the two who sent him, and they 'll never dare tell, and the woman. She is safe enough. Nigger Pete drove them out here, and we can close his mouth easily enough. It's been easy, Herman, and now with these two settled it leaves me a clear field."
"Maybe so—yes. But vat you think it all mean? I would know how eet vas dey come."
The younger man shuffled the papers restlessly, his eyes on the face of the other.
"I confess there are some details missing, Herman," he said slowly, "but in the main it is clear enough. I take it this man Neale is a damned rascal. He went North to find the heir, discovered that he was either dead, or had disappeared, ran into some scamp of the same kidney as himself, and, between them, determined to cop the coin. That's my guess. Then they picked up this penniless soldier, who, by the way, resembles the missing son a bit, and sent him down here to play the part. Wrote him out full instructions," tapping the papers suggestively, "and then sat down there to wait results."
"Vel, maybe so—but vat about the girl, hey?"
"Someone they picked off the streets. He 's told to do it in this letter. They thought it best to prove their man married, and so had to procure a woman. We won't have any trouble with her."
"Vat you do to be sure?"
"Turn her loose in New Orleans with a few dollars," carelessly. "All she knows about the affair can't hurt us if she does squeal. There are plenty of ways to shut her mouth. I 'll know better how to handle her case right when I see her. Broussard is a long time at his job."
"Perhaps she fight heem—hey?"
"The worse for her—that Creole is a wild-cat. But I wish he would hurry, so we can get through the Gut on the flood tide; that boat draws more water than is comfortable in this lagoon."
"You need not worry," said the German, placidly looking at his watch. "I take eet through safe. She dam good sea boat, an' where I come in I can go out. Ach! 'tis the fellow come now."
The newcomer passed so close beside me I could feel his foot touch mine. As he hurried forward I realized the eyes of the two men would be upon him, and that any movement of mine would be unobserved. The door remained ajar, and, if escape was possible, now was the time. With head reeling dizzily, I crept through the opening, yet held the latch, fascinated by the first spoken words within.
"Well, Broussard, what is it?"
"All seen to, sir."
"The bodies are planted then?"
"The men attended to that."
"And the woman?"
"On her way; there was no trouble. Sallie had her doped, sir."
"I expected she would. Then that finishes our job here, Herman, and the quicker we are off the better." The two men arose to their feet, Herman grumbling something in German, but the younger man interrupted.
"We got the fellow after you left, Broussard; hit him a bit too hard it seems, but no one will ever investigate, so it's just as well. Adventurer named Craig, just discharged from the army."
"Where is he?"
"Lying there in the passage behind the door. Have Peters and Sam bury him along with the others, and then join us. We 'll go aboard."
I shut the door, and started down the passage. For a dozen steps it was black as night; then there was a sharp swerve to the right, and a gleam of daylight in the far distance. Already they were at the barrier, and I ran forward recklessly, eager to escape into the open. The way was clear, the floor rising slightly, yet without obstructions. I could hear voices, the pounding of feet behind, and I made desperate effort to outdistance my pursuers. That they were merciless I knew, and my only hope lay in attaining some hiding place in the weeds before they could emerge into the daylight. I thought of nothing else. But as I burst, straining and breathless into the open, hands gripped me from both sides. An instant I struggled to break free, fighting with a mad ferocity, which nearly accomplished the purpose. I had one down, a bearded ruffian, planting my fist full in his face, and sent the other groaning backward with a kick in the stomach, when the three from within burst forth and flung me face down into the earth, and pinned me flat beneath their weight. An instant later Broussard's belt was strapped tightly, binding my hands helplessly to my sides, and I was hurled over so that I stared up blindly into the face of the fellow in command. His black eyes were sneering, while the unpleasant smile revealed a row of white teeth.
"Great God, man," he exclaimed, "you must have the skull of an elephant. Are you actually alive?"
"Very much so," I gasped, defiant still.
"Maybe I finish heem, Monsieur," questioned Broussard, with knee still planted on my chest. "Then he not talk, hey?"
The leader laughed, with a wave of the hand. "You take the fellow far too seriously. Let him up. I 'll find a way to close his mouth if it ever be necessary. Besides, he knows nothing to do any harm. A bit groggy, my man. Hold him on his feet, you fellows."
I stood helpless, my arms bound, gripped tightly on either side, gazing full into the villain's face; out of the depth of despair and defeat there had come an animating ray of hope—they were going to take me with them. Even as a prisoner I should be near her. Would yet be able to dig out the truth.
"You take heem along, Monsieur?" It was Broussard's voice. "Zat vat you mean?"
"Certainly—why not? There's plenty of work for another hand on board. Trust me to break him in. Come, hustle the lad along, boys. I 'll be with you in a minute."
They drove me forward roughly enough, the German marching phlegmatically ahead, still silently puffing at his pipe, and leading the way along a narrow footpath through the weeds. This wound about in such crazy fashion that I lost all sense of both direction and distance, yet finally we emerged into an open space, from which I saw the chimneys of the old house far away to our left. The path led onward into another weed patch beyond, down a steep ravine, and then before us stretched the lonely waters of the bayou. Hidden under the drooping foliage of the bank was a small boat, a negro peacefully sleeping in the stern, with head pillowed on his arm. Herman awoke him with a German oath, and the way the fellow sprang up, his eyes popping open, was evidence of the treatment he was accustomed to. A hasty application of an oar brought the boat's nose to the bank, and I was thrust in unceremoniously, the three others following, each man shipping an oar into the rowlocks. Herman alone remained on shore, scattering the embers of a small fire, and staring back toward the house. A few moments we waited in silence, then the slender figure of the one who seemed the leading spirit, emerged from out the cane. He glanced at the motionless figures in the boat, spoke a few words to Herman, and then the two joined us, the latter taking the tiller, the former pushing off, and springing alertly into the bow.
Lying between the thwarts, face turned upward, all I could see distinctly was the black oarsman, although occasionally, when he leaned forward, I caught glimpses of the fellow I believed to be the captain of the strange crew. Our boat skirted the shore, keeping close within the concealing shadows, as evidenced by overhanging trees. The only word spoken was a growling command by Herman at the rudder, and the oars were noiseless as though muffled. Yet the men rowed with a will, and scarcely twenty minutes elapsed ere we were scraping along the side of a vessel of some size, and then came to a stop at foot of a boarding-ladder.