CHAPTER IIIBENEVOLENCESSeñor José Fagasta was seated in a deep chair on the balcony of his house overlooking the plaza. It was a hot afternoon, and he had exchanged his black coat for a loose jacket of white alpaca. An awning and his broad-brimmed Panama hat gave shelter from the sun. At his side was a small table, with a glass and a decanter. Between his lips there was a long cigar. It had gone out: the gobernador was asleep.He was suddenly roused by the sound of cheering up the street. Rubbing his eyes, and taking automatically a pull at his extinguished cigar, he let out a smothered ejaculation, struggled to his feet, and hastened into the house. The cause of these abrupt movements was the appearance of a party of horsemen trotting into the plaza at the upper end--the Prefect of the province, accompanied by a small escort.The gobernador hurried to his dressing-room, threw off his jacket, and was struggling into his frock coat when he was summoned to attend the Prefect below. He durst not delay. He held the Prefect in awe, as was only natural, seeing that it was the Prefect who had appointed him to his office, at the cost of a very considerable fee. In his haste and perturbation he forgot that he wore a Panama, and was only reminded of it when the Prefect, who was just entering the hall as Señor Fagasta came to the foot of the staircase, looked with stern disapproval over his head."A thousand pardons, señor," said the confused gobernador. "I was taking a brief siesta, and did not expect to be honoured by a visit from your excellency."He swept off his hat, bowed his head before his superior, and politely invited him to a seat in the patio.The Prefect, a tall sharp-featured man of about forty years, with keen black eyes over which bushy eyebrows met, and a heavy moustache twisted into long points, accepted the chair, laying his three-cornered hat on a table. His manner made the gobernador uneasy."An extraordinary rumour has reached me, señor doctor," said the Prefect, "that you were seen yesterday in a very undignified position, unworthy of your office, riding on a motor-cycle behind the young Inglés.""It is true, señor," said the gobernador. "I had never experienced that novel mode of locomotion, and I assure your excellency that I shall never try it again.""Such conduct, señor, is calculated to bring your responsible office into contempt. It cannot be overlooked: you are dismissed."For a moment the gobernador's emotion rendered him speechless. He thought of the many good English sovereigns with which he had bought his office, and the terrible eclipse of all his importance in the town. Then he pulled himself together: perhaps if the Prefect knew all he would have mercy."Your excellency," he said humbly, "I admit that my conduct may seem wanting in dignity; but I beg that you will hear my explanation. I was returning from my interview with you, full of zeal for the duty with which you had entrusted me, when I was seized by four villainous brigands in the hills. They bound me to a tree, and but for the courageous intervention of the young Inglés, who mounted me on his machine and brought me home, I should probably either not be alive to-day, or be a much poorer man than I am. Not that I am rich," he added hastily. "In these circumstances I trust that your excellency will have the goodness to overlook my unintentional delinquency.""That is impossible, señor. Your dismissal is registered. It cannot be rescinded. Still, as a special act of grace, in consideration of your zeal, I may authorise your reappointment.""Your kindness overwhelms me, señor," said the grateful gobernador, unaware how truly he spoke."But there is a condition, señor," the Prefect continued. "I am hard pressed for funds to carry on my campaign against the brigands. Your zeal is such that you will not refuse to make a small contribution on behalf of the cause--say £500. I shall then have the greatest pleasure in reinstating you as gobernador of this town."Señor Fagasta writhed. He knew that protest was useless. He must pay, or be disgraced. How much of his contribution would go to support the cause, and how much into the Prefect's own pocket, he could only suspect. The interview soon came to an end, and the Prefect left the house richer by £500.The idlers who had gathered outside cheered him again as he remounted. They expected to see him ride back to San Juan. To their surprise he struck into the rough track northward, which led only to the hacienda of Mr. O'Hagan, to another that lay some few miles beyond, and then to the hills. Evidently the Prefect's visit was of more than usual importance.[image]MapHalf an hour later the Prefect reined up at the door of Mr. O'Hagan's house. The family were at tea in the patio. On seeing his visitor through the open door, Mr. O'Hagan rose with a muttered exclamation of annoyance, and went to greet him. He was forestalled by Pardo, who had run from the office and was holding the horseman's stirrup. Mr. O'Hagan felt that he could do no other than invite the Prefect to drink a cup of tea, and that gentleman was soon seated in the patio, stirring his cup, and talking to Mrs. O'Hagan in the charming manner for which he had a name among ladies."I wish to thank your son, señor and señora," he said presently, "on behalf of the government, for his spirited action yesterday in the cause of law and order. There, my boy," he went on, taking a sol--equivalent to a florin--from his pocket, "accept that as a token of my high consideration."Tim looked at his father."Pardon me, señor," said Mr. O'Hagan, swallowing his irritation, "your generosity is quite unnecessary. My son needs no reward.""That is very high-minded," said the Prefect, pocketing the coin. "He will allow me to shake him by the hand and compliment him on his courage and resource?"Tim gave him a limp hand: it was not so bad as the gobernador's hug and kiss."I am glad to be able to number you and your family, señor," the Prefect continued, "among my declared adherents.""Don't make a mistake, señor," said Mr. O'Hagan quickly. "My son had no political motive in his action. It was a mere impulse of humanity.""The cause of the government is the cause of humanity," said the Prefect impressively. "The brigands represent anarchy. Brigandage is chaos. I am determined to stamp it out. My action is in the true interests of all law-abiding citizens, and especially of such enterprises as yours, which depend on the reign of law for their prosperity."At this point, after an almost imperceptible sign from Mr. O'Hagan, his wife rose and went with Tim into the drawing-room. The Prefect gallantly opened the door for her, and bowed with extreme deference: he was the pink of politeness. Then he returned to his chair. Mr. O'Hagan guessed what was coming. A few years before this, the Prefect, by bribery and intrigue, had ousted his predecessor in office, one Señor Mollendo, and had since maintained his position by corruption, and by levying forced loans on such of the wealthy men as had not the courage to resist him. The public taxes were already sufficiently heavy; but the province was so remote from Lima that its prefect was practically a dictator, and appeals to the central government would have been fruitless.Señor Mollendo, knowing that his life was hardly safe, had taken refuge in the hilly district in the heart of the province, and was there joined by his partisans, who grew gradually in number as the Prefect's exactions increased. These Mollendists were what we should call a political party in opposition: in Peru the government termed them brigands. It was natural enough that they should include among their number many lawless irreconcilables of the true brigand type; and opposition which would in England take the form of public meetings and demonstrations found expression here in raids and robberies. Mr. O'Hagan had been several times approached indirectly for contributions to the Prefect's war fund, but he had always refused to comply."As I was saying, señor," the Prefect resumed, lighting the cigar Mr. O'Hagan offered, "your security depends on the supremacy of law. That being the case, and my treasury being in temporary need of funds, I have every confidence in inviting you to subscribe a small sum--say £1000--to a loan for the more active prosecution of the work of suppressing the brigands which we all have at heart.""I am a man of few words, señor," said Mr. O'Hagan. "I have bought my land; I pay my legal taxes, which are heavy enough; and I am entitled to the protection of government. My people are contented; I have had no trouble with them; the people you call brigands have not molested me; if they do I shall claim your protection, but I don't anticipate anything of the kind. I must therefore decline your invitation.""I beg you not to be hasty, señor. Your security may yet be rudely shocked: no man can call himself safe while the brigands are at large; and I should be very much distressed if you were to suffer loss through the unfortunate penury of the government. A contribution of £1000--merely by way of loan--would probably prevent a much greater loss.""Not one peseta, señor," said Mr. O'Hagan bluntly. "I must beg you to believe that that is final."The Prefect smiled blandly."Ah! you Inglésas!" he said."I'm an Irishman, señor: that's worse.""Well, señor, I must thank you for your hospitality and take my leave. I wish you every success, and a large share of the sunlight of prosperity. I only regret that by your reluctance to support me you are helping to let loose the forces of lawlessness and giving hostages to brigandage--in fact, breeding worms that will eat into the tissues of industrial enterprise. I bid you good-day, señor."Mr. O'Hagan was not impressed by the Prefect's picturesque language. Tall talk is the foible of Peruvians. But after he had seen the last of his visitor, he returned to the house in a state of intense irritation. His wife was awaiting him in the patio."He wants to bleed me," he said angrily: "demanded a trifle of £1000. This country is a hot-bed of corruption. And I wish that motor-cycle were at the bottom of the sea.""Why, dear," said Mrs. O'Hagan placably, "what has that to do with it?""It gives the fellow an excuse for saying that I'm on the side of the Mollendists. Why do you let me spoil that boy, Rose?"Mrs. O'Hagan smiled, remembering that she had begged her husband to wait until Tim was a little older before giving him the motor-cycle. Wisely she did not remind him of that, but simply said:"Don't worry, dear. Things mayn't be so bad as you think.... And Tim is notreallyspoilt, you know."CHAPTER IVGASNext day Tim went into the town on an errand for his mother. He was looking at the window of the only book-shop, when he felt a touch on his sleeve. Looking round, he saw Alfonso, the gobernador's son, a sallow, weedy boy of about his own age, whom he had often vainly tried to induce to have a game at cricket in a field behind Mr. O'Hagan's house. He did not think much of Alfonso, who always called him señor!"Follow me, señor," said the boy mysteriously, "but don't let people know."He moved off at once. Tim might have thought that he was being enticed away for a practical joke of some kind, only he remembered that the Peruvians never played practical jokes except in carnival time. "I may as well go," he said to himself; so, pushing his hands into his pockets, he sauntered after Alfonso Fagasta. Several persons gave him pleasant greetings, and he stopped once or twice to exchange a word, always keeping his eye on Alfonso.The Peruvian boy walked past the church in the plaza, and turned into a narrow street, or rather lane, bounded on one side by the wall of the presbytery, on the other by a high wall enclosing a garden. Tim knew the place well; indeed, in days gone by he had sometimes scaled the garden wall in quest of ripe plums or peaches. He followed Alfonso for some distance, until he came to the rear of the enclosure, where there was a dense plantation extending up the slope of a hill. Here Alfonso made signs to him to wait, and disappeared through a wicket gate into his father's garden."Why couldn't he tell me where to come?" thought Tim impatiently. "What's the silly secret?"He climbed a tree by way of passing the time, and presently, from his leafy bower, he saw the gobernador open the wicket gate, glance cautiously round, and then come swiftly towards the plantation. He looked this way and that, and gave a jump when Tim called out, just above his head:"Here I am, señor doctor.""Ha! my young friend, come down," said the gobernador.Tim dropped at his feet."I have something to say to you," continued the gobernador hurriedly. "Pardon me for not receiving you in my house with the respect due to my preserver, but there are reasons...." He nodded with an air of mystery. Then he went on in nervous haste: "Tell your good father to be on his guard to-night. See that everything is secure. He must be careful not to arouse suspicion among his staff. Few are to be trusted in these disturbed times. If he sleeps at all, let him sleep with one eye open.""What's going to happen, señor?" asked Tim."I say no more. Perhaps I have said too much. But I owe you so much gratitude----""Don't mention it, señor," said Tim, backing. "Thanks for your warning.""Do not breathe my name to any one but your father," said the gobernador anxiously. "I must go. Next time I see you I hope it will be at my front door, with open arms.""I hope it won't," thought Tim. He shook hands with the flurried gentleman, who, with another cautious look around, returned to the gate and slipped through into his garden.Tim was very thoughtful as he walked home. Such a warning in Spanish America was not to be disregarded, and he could not help connecting it with the Prefect's visit, the object of which he had learnt from his mother. He had a lively imagination. Such a man as the Prefect was not likely to accept amiably the snub administered by Mr. O'Hagan. He might use other means than persuasion to enforce his will.He wanted money. To-morrow was pay-day at the hacienda, and there was a large sum in the safe. San Rosario had no bank. The branch of a Lima bank at San Juan had shut its doors on the accession of the present Prefect to office: the managers feared that their floating assets would be attached by the new official, ostensibly for public purposes. Since then the employers of labour had had to be their own bankers, drawing cash at intervals from Lima by well-armed convoys. There could be little doubt that the gobernador had somehow got wind of a plot to rob Mr. O'Hagan on the coming night.Tim wondered what his father would do to defeat the attempt. How would the burglars go to work? The safe was kept in the office. The key was on Mr. O'Hagan's bunch. To reach the office the robbers would have to pass through one or other of the patios. The middle patio had French doors opening on the garden. They were always locked and bolted at night, like the main door and the servants' entrance. It would be difficult to enter without making a noise, unless the servants were in league with the burglars. Tim thought of each of them in turn, and felt sure that all were trustworthy.All at once a brilliant idea struck him. His father was rather vexed with him--or with the motor-cycle, which amounted to the same thing; what a score it would be if he could deal with this matter himself, without his father knowing anything about it! He chuckled with delight as he imagined himself telling at the breakfast-table, as calmly as though it were an everyday matter, how he had defeated an attempted burglary. But how was it to be done? Mr. O'Hagan was a light sleeper; a slight noise would disturb him, and Tim was at a loss for any means of routing the burglars silently.He thought of wire entanglements; but he could not erect them without his father's knowledge. He thought of a booby-trap; but that was bound to make a noise. He had almost reached home before a plan occurred to him; it pleased him so much that he laughed. There was a large quantity of ammonia solution in the house, kept for household purposes and for use with the refrigerator which was a domestic necessity in this tropical climate. Tim had only recently left school in England, so that his knowledge of chemistry had not yet evaporated. If he heated some of this liquid, and led the vapour into the patio at the critical moment, the fumes would be obnoxious enough, he thought, to choke off any rash intruders.As soon as he got home, he took into consultation an old mestizo named Andrea, who was gardener and odd man, a family servant of many years' standing. Andrea was rather troubled, and advised that the warning should be given to Mr. O'Hagan; but few could resist Tim's persuasiveness, and the old man at length consented to assist his young master.Tim's bedroom was next to the office. At the bottom of the wall next to the patio there was a grating which could be removed. That night, when all the rest had retired, Andrea brought to Tim's room a large oil-can with a narrow neck, containing a quantity of the ammonia solution. Tim had already provided himself with a short length of garden hose, with a nozzle at the end. Drawing the rubber tubing over the neck of the can, he placed the nozzle end in the hole from which the grating had been removed, in such a way that when the cock was turned it would allow the fumes to enter the patio within a few inches of the office door. Having lighted a large spirit-lamp beneath the oil-can, he set a chair against the door, on which he could mount to reach a ventilator above, opening on to the patio, and sat down on his bed, quivering with excitement, to wait for the expected attack.Hours passed, and he grew fidgety. Every now and then he got on the chair, and peeped through the ventilator. All was dark and silent."I don't believe they're coming," he whispered disconsolately to Andrea."So much the better, señorito," said the old man.But Tim did not agree with that; he did not want to be disappointed of his fun.At last he heard a slight sound from without. Jumping on the chair, he peered through the ventilator. He could see nothing, but he guessed by the sounds that the putty was being scraped from one of the glass panes of the French door. Presently he dimly saw several dark, shadowy forms pass from side to side. The men were removing the pane. One after another the intruders stepped quietly across the patio towards the office door. Just as they reached it Tim slipped off the chair, stooped to the floor, and noiselessly turned on the cock of the nozzle.For a few seconds there was no effect. He heard the slight click of a key as it was inserted in the lock of the office door. But then, as the ammonia fumes began to diffuse, there was a sniff, a stifled cough, and a whispered exclamation. Presently there were louder coughs, long-drawn gasps, and the men, in the effort to repress these fatal sounds, choked and spluttered violently, until, half-blinded, half-suffocated, they turned away, cursing with what breath was left to them, and tumbled over one another in a rush for the door.At the same moment the door of Mr. O'Hagan's room was flung violently open, and that gentleman, roused by the noise, rushed into the patio in his pyjamas, a gun in his hand. Seeing that the pane was removed, he ran to the door, and sent a charge of duck-shot after the dark figures scampering over the garden-beds. The sound of firing roused all the household, and the affrighted servants came flocking into the patio."What's this confounded smell?" gasped Mr. O'Hagan, turning when the marauders had vanished into the night. There was a chorus of coughs from the servants.Tim had turned off the stream of gas, and now opened his door; he felt very much annoyed with the burglars; why had they made such a silly row?"One of your tricks, Tim?" said Mr. O'Hagan. He gasped again. "Ammonia, begore!""It is, Father," said Tim meekly."What on earth do you mean by disturbing the whole household in this way? ... Get back to bed," he cried in Spanish to the servants; "all's well now.... Now, sir, just explain this tomfoolery.""May I come into your room?" asked Tim, anxious that old Andrea should not get into trouble."You may, and apologise to your poor mother for disturbing her rest. Now, what have you to say for yourself? Were those fellows outside friends of yours, in the plot too? If so, you're responsible for the murder or maiming of some of them.""Indeed they're not. They are burglars, and I spoilt their game with ammonia.""Burglars, eh? But how did you know they were coming? You must have made preparations?""I did. Old Fagasta told me to look out for them to-night, and I did so.""Indeed now! What did the gobernador know about it, then?""He didn't tell me. He only asked me to tell you to be on your guard to-night.""Why didn't you do so, then?""I thought I would make them scoot myself, and not disturb you. Who could know the donkeys would make such a silly row!"Mr. O'Hagan's mouth twitched at his son's indignant tone."Well, Tim," he said, "sure 'twas very considerate of you, but next time you are asked to give me a message, give it. And no more tricks of this kind, mind ye. We don't wish to be blown up one night.""I dished them, anyway.""I don't deny it. But 'twas lucky the noise woke me; for a few pellets in their carcasses will be a more enduring lesson than a stink. Now, to bed!"When Tim had gone, Mr. O'Hagan said to his wife:"The Prefect has made his first move, Rose.""Tim was quite upset, poor boy!" replied Mrs. O'Hagan.CHAPTER VPARDO DISMISSES HIMSELF"I am going into the town," said Mr. O'Hagan at breakfast next morning. "Last night's affair must not be passed over. I shall lay a formal complaint before Señor Fagasta. It won't be any good, but it would never do to take no notice. When Pardo comes, Tim, tell him that he must get the ledger posted to-day; he is rather behind. And if any of the people are curious about the shots last night--they must have heard them--don't answer any questions. I have already told the servants to hold their tongues."Setting off on horseback, he rode straight to the gobernador's house. He noticed that the magistrate greeted him nervously. When the usual civilities had been exchanged, he said:"I have to report, señor, that an attempt was made last night to break into my house, and to ask that you will do what you can to discover the villains and bring them to justice.""This is very distressing, señor," said the gobernador. "It will give the town a bad name, especially as it happened the day after the visit of our illustrious Prefect.""Yes, that is decidedly unfortunate," remarked Mr. O'Hagan ironically."I will of course do what I can with the few police at my disposal," the gobernador continued. "Had it happened on the night before, I should have been better able to deal with the matter, for the Prefect left a few of his escort of gendarmes behind. They were quartered on me; but they departed yesterday evening. Perhaps you will give me full particulars, which I will draw up in proper form."Mr. O'Hagan related the circumstances, which the gobernador wrote down with great deliberateness and solemnity. While he was doing this, Mr. O'Hagan had time to put two and two together. He had little doubt that the attack had been made by men left behind for that purpose by the Prefect, and guessed that the gobernador had learnt or suspected their design from something they had let fall while quartered in his house.The report having been drawn up, Señor Fagasta gravely stamped it with the official seal, and said:"Be assured I will do what I can, señor. I trust that the señora and your excellent son are well?""Quite, señor, thank you," said Mr. O'Hagan.Neither had mentioned the incident of the bicycle or the warning given by the gobernador, from whose manner Mr. O'Hagan judged that he did not wish those matters to be alluded to. On his side, he felt that it would be indiscreet and probably useless to press the magistrate for particulars of what he knew or suspected. He had done a good turn in giving the warning, no doubt risking the vengeance of the Prefect if his action should come to that worthy's knowledge.Taking leave of the gobernador, Mr. O'Hagan rode home and went straight to the office. It was empty. He called to Tim, who was practising with an air-gun at a target set up at the end of the lawn."Where's Pardo?" he asked."He hasn't turned up, Father. He sent a kid over to say that he's grieved to the heart at not being able to attend to his duties, owing to a painful attack of lumbago. I don't like the chap, Father.""Because he's got lumbago?""No; because I think he's a bit of a fraud. Last time he stayed away it was a sore heel, you remember; but I happened to see him picking oranges in the evening when the men had gone home, and he walked well enough.""You didn't mention it to me.""Well, his heel might have been sore, and I didn't want to meddle, especially as you think a good deal of him, Father.""I do. He's the best book-keeper I ever had. I'll get your mother to send him some turpentine: that'll put him to rights."In the course of the day Romaña was despatched by Mrs. O'Hagan with a bottle of turpentine for the sick man. Pardo was not to be seen. The old half-breed woman who looked after him told Romaña that her master had not risen that day, complaining of pains and stiffness in his back."Has he sent for the doctor?" he asked."Not yet. He says it is a chill, and will soon pass.""The mistress has sent some stuff to cure him. The instruction is to rub it into the skin very thoroughly. Take it to Señor Pardo, and ask if I can do anything for him."The old woman went off with the bottle. Romaña had noticed Pardo's coat lying over the back of a chair. As soon as he was alone, he lifted the coat, cast a rapid but searching glance over it, and laid it on the chair again."Many thanks, señor," came Pardo's voice from the inner room. "Thank the gracious lady for me, and say that I hope to return to my beloved duty in a day or two.""Is the pain very severe, señor?" asked Romaña sympathetically."Not so severe as the stiffness, señor. Take care that you don't take a chill.""Thanks, my friend. I myself am always careful of the night air. Good-day; I will give the mistress your message."Romaña hurried back to the house, and sought his master in the office."Well, how is the invalid?" asked Mr. O'Hagan. "Did you see him?""No, señor: he was keeping his bed. I would suggest that you should send your own doctor to him.""That's not necessary, surely. A good rubbing is all that he needs for lumbago.""If it is lumbago!" said the man. "Will you give me a moment, señor?""Of course," replied Mr. O'Hagan, laying down his pen. "What is it?"He leant back in his chair, frowning a little. A most unsuspicious man himself, he was annoyed at Romaña's suggestion of malingering, coming on top of the doubts hinted by Tim."On the day when the señor gobernador rode on the bicycle," said Romaña, "Señor Pardo sent a letter to his excellency the Prefect.""What of that? and how do you know?" asked Mr. O'Hagan sharply."I saw his Cholo messenger ride away with it to San Juan, señor, and a friend reported to me that the Cholo took it to the Prefect's house. As you know, the Prefect came to San Rosario two days after, and visited the gobernador. He then rode here. Señor Pardo held his stirrup while he dismounted. He returned to San Juan, but left some of his gendarmes behind. Then came the matter of last night. To-day Señor Pardo is not to be seen.""What are you driving at?" asked Mr. O'Hagan irritably."Have patience, señor. I have been ten years in your service, and you have no complaint against me?""That is true, but I don't like this air of mystery and suspicion. Say plainly what you have in your mind.""I have just seen Señor Pardo's coat--the one he was wearing yesterday: there were several little black holes in the back. I think if you send your doctor to him, you will find that he suffers not from lumbago but from shot wounds."Mr. O'Hagan stared in amazement."You suggest that he was among those villains who tried to break in last night?" he asked."I do, señor.""And that the Prefect was concerned in it?""The Prefect's gendarmes, señor. As for the Prefect himself!..."He shrugged expressively."And that Señor Pardo is in the Prefect's pay?""That is my belief, señor.""Romaña, are you a spy?""Señor, I am a Mollendist," replied the man with dignity.Mr. O'Hagan was much perturbed. He was loth to believe that Pardo was a traitor, but the chain of events as linked together by Romaña was unpleasantly consistent. Perhaps what troubled him most of all was the discovery that, careful as he had been to hold aloof from local dissensions, two of his servants were mixed up in them, on opposite sides. It was now easier to understand the mutual antagonism between the two men, of which, though veiled by the outward forms of civility, he had always been conscious."You have told no one else what you suspect?" he said, after a few moments' deliberation."Nobody, señor.""Then take care not to do so. I believe that you mean well, but I hope to find you mistaken. We shall see."When Romaña had gone, Mr. O'Hagan sought his wife and told her everything."I have never liked Pardo," she said, "though I can't say why. Perhaps it would be as well to ask Dr. Pereira to see him.""I prefer not to. I shall put it to the fellow direct when he comes back to work. One thing is certain: Romaña must go. I can't have a Mollendist about the place. If it became known, the Prefect would make it another reason for worrying me, or worse.""Won't you write to the British consul at Lima?""I'm afraid that would be useless. He's too far away to be able to do anything. We're in a desperately awkward position, Rose. The Prefect will have his knife in me, and young Tim has certainly offended the Mollendists by releasing the gobernador. Whatever they meant to do with him, they will be furious at being baulked by a youngster. When I send my next convoy to the capital, I think you and the boy had better go too. You'll be out of harm's way there.""Indeed I will do nothing of the kind, Tim. I will not leave you. And I can't believe that there's any danger to a British subject here. Write to the consul at once, dear; it's just as well to be beforehand with trouble.""I will do so. Say nothing to Tim, by the way. He'd only worry."Three days afterwards Pardo returned. He looked rather pale, and after greeting his employer launched out into a voluble description of his sufferings."But the gracious lady's lotion worked wonders, señor," he said."Rather painful, isn't it?" said Mr. O'Hagan, noticing with misgiving that the man wore a new coat."Not at all, señor. Its application was most soothing. It is a most excellent remedy."Mr. O'Hagan remembered how, when suffering from lumbago himself, the friction with turpentine had left his back sore and smarting for days."Sit down, Pardo," he said. "I've something to say to you."The man sat down awkwardly on his chair, smiling amiably."You remember the night of the attempted robbery," Mr. O'Hagan went on. "No doubt my shots disturbed you.""Not at all, señor. I slept the sleep of the just.""How often do you correspond with the Prefect?"The sudden question obviously took Pardo aback. He looked uncomfortable, but recovered himself in a moment, and said with a feeble smile:"A humble clerk and book-keeper does not correspond with so important a person as his excellency, señor.""Nevertheless, you sent a letter to his excellency a few days ago. He visited me two days after, and left a party of his gendarmes in the town when he returned to San Juan. I have reason to suspect that they were concerned in the attempt to rob me. How did they know that at that precise moment I had a large sum of money in my safe?""These are very strange questions, señor," said Pardo. His manner was quiet and restrained, but Mr. O'Hagan, intently watching him, noticed a look of fear in his eyes."They are," he said. "Here's another: where is your old coat? I mean the coat you were wearing last time you were here. It was nearly new."Pardo started to his feet."Señor, this is intolerable," he cried. "I don't know what you mean, but your questions are an insult to a perfect gentleman." (Every Peruvian is a perfect gentleman.) "You will please to accept my resignation.""Very well, Pardo: perhaps it is best." He handed him his week's wages."And let me tell you this, Señor Inglés," cried the man furiously as he pocketed the money: "a Peruvian gentleman does not take lightly such insults to his honour. You will repent this. You will feel the weight of my just anger. You treat me like a dog: dogs can bite. I will not accept your money."He took it from his pocket and threw it on the floor. "You shall learn what it is to insult a perfect gentleman."Snatching up his hat, he swept it round in ironical salutation, and flung out of the room.CHAPTER VITIM IS HELD TO RANSOMTim had many acquaintances but few friends among the youth of San Rosario and the neighbourhood. He often felt the lack of a chum of his own age, and looked forward eagerly to the time, now drawing very near, when he would return to England and enter an engineering college. His most intimate friend in Peru was a young fellow, two or three years older than himself, named Felipe Durand, who lived on his father's hacienda, about twelve miles north of the town. Durand had been educated in England, and being a very fair batsman, he sometimes joined Tim in getting up a cricket match between elevens of the Japanese workers.On the day after Pardo's dismissal, Tim rode out to Durand's house to arrange for a match in the following week. The path was only a rough track; it was indeed not a public thoroughfare at all, but was maintained by Señor Durand and Mr. O'Hagan for their own convenience. Much of it ran through woods, and on each side the ground rose gradually to a considerable height.Tim met nobody on the way, but within a few miles of the hacienda he noticed a group of men at the edge of the wood some little distance from the path. Thinking that they were peons of Señor Durand he gave them only a fleeting glance and passed by. He reached his friend's house about twenty minutes after starting, and discussed the proposed match in a little summer-house, over a dish of fruit and a glass of lemonade."I say, O'Hagan," said young Durand, after arrangements had been made, "I wish I had seen your performance with the gobernador. It must have been great sport."The two boys always used English when together."Indeed, it was good fun," said Tim. "The pater was in a bit of a fizz: he thinks the Mollendists won't like it.""I dare say not. He should do as my governor does.""What's that?""Pay up. My father gives them a regular subscription.""That's rather dangerous, isn't it? The Prefect would drop on him if he knew.""The Prefect has dropped on him as it is. He has borrowed a good deal that he'll never pay back. My father grumbles, of course; but he likes a quiet life, and would rather pay than be worried. He subscribes to the Mollendists' funds for the same reason; they leave him alone. He says that old Mollendo will get the better of the Prefect one of these days, and as the old chap is fairly honest he won't be sorry. Your pater had better do the same.""I'm sure he won't. He says corruption is the curse of this country, and he won't have anything to do with either of the parties.""That's very honourable and British, but it won't pay.... Have those robbers been caught yet?""They have not. D'you know, I believe our man Pardo had a hand with them; the pater gave him the sack yesterday. He resigned, but only to avoid a sacking. I'm not sorry.... Well, you'll come over on Monday, then. It's a holiday, so we'll make a day of it."Tim had ridden only a few miles on his homeward way when he was brought to a sudden check. The path was blocked by a tree which had apparently fallen since he passed a couple of hours before. He dismounted, resting his bicycle against the trunk. The tree was obviously too heavy to be lifted, and he was looking for a way round it when a number of men rushed at him from the bushes on each side of the track, and in a few seconds he was a prisoner. Among his captors he saw one of the brigands who had snapped up the gobernador."You will not get away this time, Señor Inglés," said the man, laughing. "You will please to come with us."Tim was helpless. He could only put the best face on it. The men led him along the track northward, in the direction of Durand's house, two following with the bicycle. As they neared the house, they struck into the woods on the left, not returning to the track until they were some distance beyond, at a wooden bridge over a ravine. The district to the north had a bad name. It was the immemorial haunt of outlaws, whether revolutionist or criminal. The outlawed criminal was invariably a revolutionist; though among the revolutionists there were many, like their leader, Mollendo himself, who were quite respectable members of society.After a few miles the country became very wild and rugged. The men in charge of the bicycle grumbled at their laborious task; they were not used to wheeling so heavy and cumbersome an object, and in the rougher places it was difficult to balance. Every minute Tim expected to see the machine escape from their hands, topple over, and dash itself to pieces on the rocky declivity.The track became steeper and steeper. It wound this way and that, a rough wall of rock rising high on the left hand; on the right long slopes and sheer descents, crossed by yawning gullies, stretching downwards for hundreds of feet. Now and then white gull-like mountain birds flew screaming in front of the party; hundreds of squirrels were disporting on the rocky ramparts, darting among the trees that clothed the ravines when they saw the intruders upon their solitudes. They marched on for hours, covering, perhaps, a mile and a half an hour, until night threw its purple shade upon the hills. Then they halted in a narrow glen. The leader of the party gave Tim the option of being tied up or passing his word not to attempt escape."You are Inglés," he said. "I can trust your word."Tim did not appreciate the compliment; but since it was quite clear that he could not escape with his bicycle, he gave his word, looking as pleasant as he could. The men bivouacked, making a supper of parched maize, which they took from their wallets, and weak spirits from their flasks. They offered Tim a share of their provisions; he accepted the maize, but declined the spirits, longing for a draught of water.He spent a very uncomfortable night. The rocky ground cut into his light summer clothes, which afforded but a poor defence against the cold of this upland region. He slept fitfully, wondering in the wakeful intervals what was going to happen to him, and thinking of the distress his parents must suffer at his absence. "Durand was right," he thought. "When I get free I'll ask Father to give these Mollendists a subscription. But I bet he won't."The march was resumed in the morning. The track still ascended, until it reached a ridge, from which Tim caught glimpses on the other side of a river meandering far below between wooded banks. In front the ridge rose gradually. In about three hours the party, passing between two tall rocks like gate-pillars on either side of the track, found themselves suddenly in an encampment of considerable size. Two or three hundred men were assembled in a sort of courtyard surrounded by tumble-down buildings of unworked stone. Tim knew at a glance that he was in the ruins of an ancient Inca fortification, castle, or observation plaza, built by that vanished race on a hill-top which had probably been flattened artificially. The men were encamped on two sides of the enclosure; on the other two sides a number of horses were hobbled.Tim had no time to take in more details of the scene. The arrival of his captors was hailed with shouts, and he was led through the excited throng to an angle of the courtyard, where, in a little recess, a Peruvian between fifty and sixty years of age, and of benevolent aspect, was reclining on rugs before a slab that served as a table."Señor," said the leader of the party, "this is the young Inglés who released the man Fagasta."Señor Mollendo rose and made a courtly salutation."Good-morning, Señor Inglés," he said. "I have heard of you and your respected father. It gives me the greatest pain to see you in your present unhappy plight.""You can relieve your pain at once by releasing me, señor," said Tim boldly.Mollendo gave him an indulgent smile."I have to consider the claims of justice, my young friend. See how the case stands. You were taken with the man Fagasta, the hireling of the usurping Prefect. You were released, but with rank ingratitude returned and set free the gobernador, the agent of the odious dictator, the man who had been heard to boast of his intention to root out the friends of liberty from this oppressed region. Your offence could scarcely be more serious. It is dangerous for a foreigner to interfere in our domestic affairs; especially is it unbecoming in an Englishman, a citizen of that glorious land of freedom, a lover of liberty and of equal laws, to associate himself with the agents of a corrupt and shameless tyranny. It is necessary to signalise the abhorrence with which such action must be viewed by all right-thinking men. You shall be a recipient of such poor hospitality as I can extend to you until your unworthy conduct is redeemed by the payment of £250, and the engine by means of which you effected your reprehensible intervention on behalf of the oppressor will be confiscated to the use of the patriots."Tim was quite unused to having such eloquence hurled at him. His head master had contented himself with a few sharp words and half a dozen swishes--infinitely preferable to such a lot of "jaw." He felt overwhelmed, and had nothing to say. "Jolly cheek!" he thought, "asking £250. I wish he may get it."His parole was demanded again, and he was strictly forbidden to stray beyond the limits of the enclosure. He was given a dinner consisting of mutton boiled with vegetables, and toasted maize, with water from a stream, almost dried up by the summer heat, that flowed into the broader river below. Mollendo offered him a Manilla cigar, which he put in his pocket.He was allowed to roam about the encampment. So well placed that one might approach within a few yards without discovering it, it overlooked the surrounding country for hundreds of square miles. On the east he could see the track by which he had come, winding east and south-east through the hills. On the west a few steps cut in the rock led to what had once been an Inca road, running into the path that led southward to the highway to San Juan. Southward flowed the hill-stream, through a rough and precipitous gully. To the north the ground rose steeply to inaccessible snow-capped peaks.Tim passed a restless and unhappy day. He supposed that Mollendo had sent one of his men to demand the ransom from his father; but no information was given him. The only mitigation of his captivity was afforded by the brigands' experiments with the motor-cycle. None of them was able to ride it; few were anxious to try. They were good horsemen, no doubt; but Tim soon came to the conclusion that they would never make motor-cyclists. He watched with amusement their first attempts in the middle of the courtyard. One man tried to mount the bicycle when stationary, and became violently angry at each failure to maintain his balance. Then he got two of his comrades to support him, one on each side, and thrust at the handles. No movement resulting, his supporters pushed the machine for a few yards, then let it go. It toppled over, and the rider's leg being crushed between the cycle and the ground, he swore bitterly, and retired to digest his discomfiture.Señor Mollendo looked on at all this with much disappointment. The confiscated machine, apparently, was not to be so valuable an acquisition as he had supposed. He smiled with pleasure, however, when the machine was set in motion by a series of accidents. While one man was in the saddle; held up on both sides, another happened to discover the petrol tap, and turned it on. The supporters pushed the bicycle for a few feet, the engine began to fire, and the rider chancing to move the throttle switch, the machine started forward with a suddenness that caused the two men at the sides to lose their grip. There were shouts of delight from the onlookers; but the rider was so much amazed at his own inadvertent skill that he lost his head, and could neither stop nor steer his unmanageable steed. Only by sprinting across the courtyard at full speed did Tim save man and cycle from being dashed disastrously against the stone wall.After this the machine was left severely alone, until Tim, weary for want of something to do, offered to instruct the men in its manipulation. This won Señor Mollendo's warm approval, and Tim spent several hours of that day and the next in teaching the younger members of the party how to ride. They had no personal feeling against him; and with the prospect of their lean treasury being increased by £250 on his account, they began to regard him with even more kindliness than his willingness and good temper had already won.On the third day the messenger sent by Señor Mollendo to claim the ransom, returned, bringing with him not merely the money, but a rumour of the manner in which the midnight raiders had been received at Mr. O'Hagan's house. That they were part of the Prefect's escort was an open secret. Mollendo called Tim to him and asked if the story was true. Tim saw no reason to conceal anything, and gave a full description of what had happened, only suppressing the fact that his information had come from the gobernador."You showed remarkable ingenuity, my young friend," said Mollendo, greatly tickled by the picture of the spluttering crew stumbling out into the darkness. "I quite understand why your good father should consider you worth £250. He has sent the money; you are free. And as a mark of my appreciation of your service to the cause of liberty by discommoding the usurper's minions, I have much pleasure in returning"--("How much?" wondered Tim in excitement)--"your motor-cycle. Four of my supporters will assist you to the path below. When you meet your father, convey to him my salutations, and assure him that the money will be put to a good use in upholding the flag of freedom."He shook hands warmly, bowed with his hat to his breast, and with a politea reveder, the Spanish equivalent ofau revoir, he ended Tim's captivity.
CHAPTER III
BENEVOLENCES
Señor José Fagasta was seated in a deep chair on the balcony of his house overlooking the plaza. It was a hot afternoon, and he had exchanged his black coat for a loose jacket of white alpaca. An awning and his broad-brimmed Panama hat gave shelter from the sun. At his side was a small table, with a glass and a decanter. Between his lips there was a long cigar. It had gone out: the gobernador was asleep.
He was suddenly roused by the sound of cheering up the street. Rubbing his eyes, and taking automatically a pull at his extinguished cigar, he let out a smothered ejaculation, struggled to his feet, and hastened into the house. The cause of these abrupt movements was the appearance of a party of horsemen trotting into the plaza at the upper end--the Prefect of the province, accompanied by a small escort.
The gobernador hurried to his dressing-room, threw off his jacket, and was struggling into his frock coat when he was summoned to attend the Prefect below. He durst not delay. He held the Prefect in awe, as was only natural, seeing that it was the Prefect who had appointed him to his office, at the cost of a very considerable fee. In his haste and perturbation he forgot that he wore a Panama, and was only reminded of it when the Prefect, who was just entering the hall as Señor Fagasta came to the foot of the staircase, looked with stern disapproval over his head.
"A thousand pardons, señor," said the confused gobernador. "I was taking a brief siesta, and did not expect to be honoured by a visit from your excellency."
He swept off his hat, bowed his head before his superior, and politely invited him to a seat in the patio.
The Prefect, a tall sharp-featured man of about forty years, with keen black eyes over which bushy eyebrows met, and a heavy moustache twisted into long points, accepted the chair, laying his three-cornered hat on a table. His manner made the gobernador uneasy.
"An extraordinary rumour has reached me, señor doctor," said the Prefect, "that you were seen yesterday in a very undignified position, unworthy of your office, riding on a motor-cycle behind the young Inglés."
"It is true, señor," said the gobernador. "I had never experienced that novel mode of locomotion, and I assure your excellency that I shall never try it again."
"Such conduct, señor, is calculated to bring your responsible office into contempt. It cannot be overlooked: you are dismissed."
For a moment the gobernador's emotion rendered him speechless. He thought of the many good English sovereigns with which he had bought his office, and the terrible eclipse of all his importance in the town. Then he pulled himself together: perhaps if the Prefect knew all he would have mercy.
"Your excellency," he said humbly, "I admit that my conduct may seem wanting in dignity; but I beg that you will hear my explanation. I was returning from my interview with you, full of zeal for the duty with which you had entrusted me, when I was seized by four villainous brigands in the hills. They bound me to a tree, and but for the courageous intervention of the young Inglés, who mounted me on his machine and brought me home, I should probably either not be alive to-day, or be a much poorer man than I am. Not that I am rich," he added hastily. "In these circumstances I trust that your excellency will have the goodness to overlook my unintentional delinquency."
"That is impossible, señor. Your dismissal is registered. It cannot be rescinded. Still, as a special act of grace, in consideration of your zeal, I may authorise your reappointment."
"Your kindness overwhelms me, señor," said the grateful gobernador, unaware how truly he spoke.
"But there is a condition, señor," the Prefect continued. "I am hard pressed for funds to carry on my campaign against the brigands. Your zeal is such that you will not refuse to make a small contribution on behalf of the cause--say £500. I shall then have the greatest pleasure in reinstating you as gobernador of this town."
Señor Fagasta writhed. He knew that protest was useless. He must pay, or be disgraced. How much of his contribution would go to support the cause, and how much into the Prefect's own pocket, he could only suspect. The interview soon came to an end, and the Prefect left the house richer by £500.
The idlers who had gathered outside cheered him again as he remounted. They expected to see him ride back to San Juan. To their surprise he struck into the rough track northward, which led only to the hacienda of Mr. O'Hagan, to another that lay some few miles beyond, and then to the hills. Evidently the Prefect's visit was of more than usual importance.
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Half an hour later the Prefect reined up at the door of Mr. O'Hagan's house. The family were at tea in the patio. On seeing his visitor through the open door, Mr. O'Hagan rose with a muttered exclamation of annoyance, and went to greet him. He was forestalled by Pardo, who had run from the office and was holding the horseman's stirrup. Mr. O'Hagan felt that he could do no other than invite the Prefect to drink a cup of tea, and that gentleman was soon seated in the patio, stirring his cup, and talking to Mrs. O'Hagan in the charming manner for which he had a name among ladies.
"I wish to thank your son, señor and señora," he said presently, "on behalf of the government, for his spirited action yesterday in the cause of law and order. There, my boy," he went on, taking a sol--equivalent to a florin--from his pocket, "accept that as a token of my high consideration."
Tim looked at his father.
"Pardon me, señor," said Mr. O'Hagan, swallowing his irritation, "your generosity is quite unnecessary. My son needs no reward."
"That is very high-minded," said the Prefect, pocketing the coin. "He will allow me to shake him by the hand and compliment him on his courage and resource?"
Tim gave him a limp hand: it was not so bad as the gobernador's hug and kiss.
"I am glad to be able to number you and your family, señor," the Prefect continued, "among my declared adherents."
"Don't make a mistake, señor," said Mr. O'Hagan quickly. "My son had no political motive in his action. It was a mere impulse of humanity."
"The cause of the government is the cause of humanity," said the Prefect impressively. "The brigands represent anarchy. Brigandage is chaos. I am determined to stamp it out. My action is in the true interests of all law-abiding citizens, and especially of such enterprises as yours, which depend on the reign of law for their prosperity."
At this point, after an almost imperceptible sign from Mr. O'Hagan, his wife rose and went with Tim into the drawing-room. The Prefect gallantly opened the door for her, and bowed with extreme deference: he was the pink of politeness. Then he returned to his chair. Mr. O'Hagan guessed what was coming. A few years before this, the Prefect, by bribery and intrigue, had ousted his predecessor in office, one Señor Mollendo, and had since maintained his position by corruption, and by levying forced loans on such of the wealthy men as had not the courage to resist him. The public taxes were already sufficiently heavy; but the province was so remote from Lima that its prefect was practically a dictator, and appeals to the central government would have been fruitless.
Señor Mollendo, knowing that his life was hardly safe, had taken refuge in the hilly district in the heart of the province, and was there joined by his partisans, who grew gradually in number as the Prefect's exactions increased. These Mollendists were what we should call a political party in opposition: in Peru the government termed them brigands. It was natural enough that they should include among their number many lawless irreconcilables of the true brigand type; and opposition which would in England take the form of public meetings and demonstrations found expression here in raids and robberies. Mr. O'Hagan had been several times approached indirectly for contributions to the Prefect's war fund, but he had always refused to comply.
"As I was saying, señor," the Prefect resumed, lighting the cigar Mr. O'Hagan offered, "your security depends on the supremacy of law. That being the case, and my treasury being in temporary need of funds, I have every confidence in inviting you to subscribe a small sum--say £1000--to a loan for the more active prosecution of the work of suppressing the brigands which we all have at heart."
"I am a man of few words, señor," said Mr. O'Hagan. "I have bought my land; I pay my legal taxes, which are heavy enough; and I am entitled to the protection of government. My people are contented; I have had no trouble with them; the people you call brigands have not molested me; if they do I shall claim your protection, but I don't anticipate anything of the kind. I must therefore decline your invitation."
"I beg you not to be hasty, señor. Your security may yet be rudely shocked: no man can call himself safe while the brigands are at large; and I should be very much distressed if you were to suffer loss through the unfortunate penury of the government. A contribution of £1000--merely by way of loan--would probably prevent a much greater loss."
"Not one peseta, señor," said Mr. O'Hagan bluntly. "I must beg you to believe that that is final."
The Prefect smiled blandly.
"Ah! you Inglésas!" he said.
"I'm an Irishman, señor: that's worse."
"Well, señor, I must thank you for your hospitality and take my leave. I wish you every success, and a large share of the sunlight of prosperity. I only regret that by your reluctance to support me you are helping to let loose the forces of lawlessness and giving hostages to brigandage--in fact, breeding worms that will eat into the tissues of industrial enterprise. I bid you good-day, señor."
Mr. O'Hagan was not impressed by the Prefect's picturesque language. Tall talk is the foible of Peruvians. But after he had seen the last of his visitor, he returned to the house in a state of intense irritation. His wife was awaiting him in the patio.
"He wants to bleed me," he said angrily: "demanded a trifle of £1000. This country is a hot-bed of corruption. And I wish that motor-cycle were at the bottom of the sea."
"Why, dear," said Mrs. O'Hagan placably, "what has that to do with it?"
"It gives the fellow an excuse for saying that I'm on the side of the Mollendists. Why do you let me spoil that boy, Rose?"
Mrs. O'Hagan smiled, remembering that she had begged her husband to wait until Tim was a little older before giving him the motor-cycle. Wisely she did not remind him of that, but simply said:
"Don't worry, dear. Things mayn't be so bad as you think.... And Tim is notreallyspoilt, you know."
CHAPTER IV
GAS
Next day Tim went into the town on an errand for his mother. He was looking at the window of the only book-shop, when he felt a touch on his sleeve. Looking round, he saw Alfonso, the gobernador's son, a sallow, weedy boy of about his own age, whom he had often vainly tried to induce to have a game at cricket in a field behind Mr. O'Hagan's house. He did not think much of Alfonso, who always called him señor!
"Follow me, señor," said the boy mysteriously, "but don't let people know."
He moved off at once. Tim might have thought that he was being enticed away for a practical joke of some kind, only he remembered that the Peruvians never played practical jokes except in carnival time. "I may as well go," he said to himself; so, pushing his hands into his pockets, he sauntered after Alfonso Fagasta. Several persons gave him pleasant greetings, and he stopped once or twice to exchange a word, always keeping his eye on Alfonso.
The Peruvian boy walked past the church in the plaza, and turned into a narrow street, or rather lane, bounded on one side by the wall of the presbytery, on the other by a high wall enclosing a garden. Tim knew the place well; indeed, in days gone by he had sometimes scaled the garden wall in quest of ripe plums or peaches. He followed Alfonso for some distance, until he came to the rear of the enclosure, where there was a dense plantation extending up the slope of a hill. Here Alfonso made signs to him to wait, and disappeared through a wicket gate into his father's garden.
"Why couldn't he tell me where to come?" thought Tim impatiently. "What's the silly secret?"
He climbed a tree by way of passing the time, and presently, from his leafy bower, he saw the gobernador open the wicket gate, glance cautiously round, and then come swiftly towards the plantation. He looked this way and that, and gave a jump when Tim called out, just above his head:
"Here I am, señor doctor."
"Ha! my young friend, come down," said the gobernador.
Tim dropped at his feet.
"I have something to say to you," continued the gobernador hurriedly. "Pardon me for not receiving you in my house with the respect due to my preserver, but there are reasons...." He nodded with an air of mystery. Then he went on in nervous haste: "Tell your good father to be on his guard to-night. See that everything is secure. He must be careful not to arouse suspicion among his staff. Few are to be trusted in these disturbed times. If he sleeps at all, let him sleep with one eye open."
"What's going to happen, señor?" asked Tim.
"I say no more. Perhaps I have said too much. But I owe you so much gratitude----"
"Don't mention it, señor," said Tim, backing. "Thanks for your warning."
"Do not breathe my name to any one but your father," said the gobernador anxiously. "I must go. Next time I see you I hope it will be at my front door, with open arms."
"I hope it won't," thought Tim. He shook hands with the flurried gentleman, who, with another cautious look around, returned to the gate and slipped through into his garden.
Tim was very thoughtful as he walked home. Such a warning in Spanish America was not to be disregarded, and he could not help connecting it with the Prefect's visit, the object of which he had learnt from his mother. He had a lively imagination. Such a man as the Prefect was not likely to accept amiably the snub administered by Mr. O'Hagan. He might use other means than persuasion to enforce his will.
He wanted money. To-morrow was pay-day at the hacienda, and there was a large sum in the safe. San Rosario had no bank. The branch of a Lima bank at San Juan had shut its doors on the accession of the present Prefect to office: the managers feared that their floating assets would be attached by the new official, ostensibly for public purposes. Since then the employers of labour had had to be their own bankers, drawing cash at intervals from Lima by well-armed convoys. There could be little doubt that the gobernador had somehow got wind of a plot to rob Mr. O'Hagan on the coming night.
Tim wondered what his father would do to defeat the attempt. How would the burglars go to work? The safe was kept in the office. The key was on Mr. O'Hagan's bunch. To reach the office the robbers would have to pass through one or other of the patios. The middle patio had French doors opening on the garden. They were always locked and bolted at night, like the main door and the servants' entrance. It would be difficult to enter without making a noise, unless the servants were in league with the burglars. Tim thought of each of them in turn, and felt sure that all were trustworthy.
All at once a brilliant idea struck him. His father was rather vexed with him--or with the motor-cycle, which amounted to the same thing; what a score it would be if he could deal with this matter himself, without his father knowing anything about it! He chuckled with delight as he imagined himself telling at the breakfast-table, as calmly as though it were an everyday matter, how he had defeated an attempted burglary. But how was it to be done? Mr. O'Hagan was a light sleeper; a slight noise would disturb him, and Tim was at a loss for any means of routing the burglars silently.
He thought of wire entanglements; but he could not erect them without his father's knowledge. He thought of a booby-trap; but that was bound to make a noise. He had almost reached home before a plan occurred to him; it pleased him so much that he laughed. There was a large quantity of ammonia solution in the house, kept for household purposes and for use with the refrigerator which was a domestic necessity in this tropical climate. Tim had only recently left school in England, so that his knowledge of chemistry had not yet evaporated. If he heated some of this liquid, and led the vapour into the patio at the critical moment, the fumes would be obnoxious enough, he thought, to choke off any rash intruders.
As soon as he got home, he took into consultation an old mestizo named Andrea, who was gardener and odd man, a family servant of many years' standing. Andrea was rather troubled, and advised that the warning should be given to Mr. O'Hagan; but few could resist Tim's persuasiveness, and the old man at length consented to assist his young master.
Tim's bedroom was next to the office. At the bottom of the wall next to the patio there was a grating which could be removed. That night, when all the rest had retired, Andrea brought to Tim's room a large oil-can with a narrow neck, containing a quantity of the ammonia solution. Tim had already provided himself with a short length of garden hose, with a nozzle at the end. Drawing the rubber tubing over the neck of the can, he placed the nozzle end in the hole from which the grating had been removed, in such a way that when the cock was turned it would allow the fumes to enter the patio within a few inches of the office door. Having lighted a large spirit-lamp beneath the oil-can, he set a chair against the door, on which he could mount to reach a ventilator above, opening on to the patio, and sat down on his bed, quivering with excitement, to wait for the expected attack.
Hours passed, and he grew fidgety. Every now and then he got on the chair, and peeped through the ventilator. All was dark and silent.
"I don't believe they're coming," he whispered disconsolately to Andrea.
"So much the better, señorito," said the old man.
But Tim did not agree with that; he did not want to be disappointed of his fun.
At last he heard a slight sound from without. Jumping on the chair, he peered through the ventilator. He could see nothing, but he guessed by the sounds that the putty was being scraped from one of the glass panes of the French door. Presently he dimly saw several dark, shadowy forms pass from side to side. The men were removing the pane. One after another the intruders stepped quietly across the patio towards the office door. Just as they reached it Tim slipped off the chair, stooped to the floor, and noiselessly turned on the cock of the nozzle.
For a few seconds there was no effect. He heard the slight click of a key as it was inserted in the lock of the office door. But then, as the ammonia fumes began to diffuse, there was a sniff, a stifled cough, and a whispered exclamation. Presently there were louder coughs, long-drawn gasps, and the men, in the effort to repress these fatal sounds, choked and spluttered violently, until, half-blinded, half-suffocated, they turned away, cursing with what breath was left to them, and tumbled over one another in a rush for the door.
At the same moment the door of Mr. O'Hagan's room was flung violently open, and that gentleman, roused by the noise, rushed into the patio in his pyjamas, a gun in his hand. Seeing that the pane was removed, he ran to the door, and sent a charge of duck-shot after the dark figures scampering over the garden-beds. The sound of firing roused all the household, and the affrighted servants came flocking into the patio.
"What's this confounded smell?" gasped Mr. O'Hagan, turning when the marauders had vanished into the night. There was a chorus of coughs from the servants.
Tim had turned off the stream of gas, and now opened his door; he felt very much annoyed with the burglars; why had they made such a silly row?
"One of your tricks, Tim?" said Mr. O'Hagan. He gasped again. "Ammonia, begore!"
"It is, Father," said Tim meekly.
"What on earth do you mean by disturbing the whole household in this way? ... Get back to bed," he cried in Spanish to the servants; "all's well now.... Now, sir, just explain this tomfoolery."
"May I come into your room?" asked Tim, anxious that old Andrea should not get into trouble.
"You may, and apologise to your poor mother for disturbing her rest. Now, what have you to say for yourself? Were those fellows outside friends of yours, in the plot too? If so, you're responsible for the murder or maiming of some of them."
"Indeed they're not. They are burglars, and I spoilt their game with ammonia."
"Burglars, eh? But how did you know they were coming? You must have made preparations?"
"I did. Old Fagasta told me to look out for them to-night, and I did so."
"Indeed now! What did the gobernador know about it, then?"
"He didn't tell me. He only asked me to tell you to be on your guard to-night."
"Why didn't you do so, then?"
"I thought I would make them scoot myself, and not disturb you. Who could know the donkeys would make such a silly row!"
Mr. O'Hagan's mouth twitched at his son's indignant tone.
"Well, Tim," he said, "sure 'twas very considerate of you, but next time you are asked to give me a message, give it. And no more tricks of this kind, mind ye. We don't wish to be blown up one night."
"I dished them, anyway."
"I don't deny it. But 'twas lucky the noise woke me; for a few pellets in their carcasses will be a more enduring lesson than a stink. Now, to bed!"
When Tim had gone, Mr. O'Hagan said to his wife:
"The Prefect has made his first move, Rose."
"Tim was quite upset, poor boy!" replied Mrs. O'Hagan.
CHAPTER V
PARDO DISMISSES HIMSELF
"I am going into the town," said Mr. O'Hagan at breakfast next morning. "Last night's affair must not be passed over. I shall lay a formal complaint before Señor Fagasta. It won't be any good, but it would never do to take no notice. When Pardo comes, Tim, tell him that he must get the ledger posted to-day; he is rather behind. And if any of the people are curious about the shots last night--they must have heard them--don't answer any questions. I have already told the servants to hold their tongues."
Setting off on horseback, he rode straight to the gobernador's house. He noticed that the magistrate greeted him nervously. When the usual civilities had been exchanged, he said:
"I have to report, señor, that an attempt was made last night to break into my house, and to ask that you will do what you can to discover the villains and bring them to justice."
"This is very distressing, señor," said the gobernador. "It will give the town a bad name, especially as it happened the day after the visit of our illustrious Prefect."
"Yes, that is decidedly unfortunate," remarked Mr. O'Hagan ironically.
"I will of course do what I can with the few police at my disposal," the gobernador continued. "Had it happened on the night before, I should have been better able to deal with the matter, for the Prefect left a few of his escort of gendarmes behind. They were quartered on me; but they departed yesterday evening. Perhaps you will give me full particulars, which I will draw up in proper form."
Mr. O'Hagan related the circumstances, which the gobernador wrote down with great deliberateness and solemnity. While he was doing this, Mr. O'Hagan had time to put two and two together. He had little doubt that the attack had been made by men left behind for that purpose by the Prefect, and guessed that the gobernador had learnt or suspected their design from something they had let fall while quartered in his house.
The report having been drawn up, Señor Fagasta gravely stamped it with the official seal, and said:
"Be assured I will do what I can, señor. I trust that the señora and your excellent son are well?"
"Quite, señor, thank you," said Mr. O'Hagan.
Neither had mentioned the incident of the bicycle or the warning given by the gobernador, from whose manner Mr. O'Hagan judged that he did not wish those matters to be alluded to. On his side, he felt that it would be indiscreet and probably useless to press the magistrate for particulars of what he knew or suspected. He had done a good turn in giving the warning, no doubt risking the vengeance of the Prefect if his action should come to that worthy's knowledge.
Taking leave of the gobernador, Mr. O'Hagan rode home and went straight to the office. It was empty. He called to Tim, who was practising with an air-gun at a target set up at the end of the lawn.
"Where's Pardo?" he asked.
"He hasn't turned up, Father. He sent a kid over to say that he's grieved to the heart at not being able to attend to his duties, owing to a painful attack of lumbago. I don't like the chap, Father."
"Because he's got lumbago?"
"No; because I think he's a bit of a fraud. Last time he stayed away it was a sore heel, you remember; but I happened to see him picking oranges in the evening when the men had gone home, and he walked well enough."
"You didn't mention it to me."
"Well, his heel might have been sore, and I didn't want to meddle, especially as you think a good deal of him, Father."
"I do. He's the best book-keeper I ever had. I'll get your mother to send him some turpentine: that'll put him to rights."
In the course of the day Romaña was despatched by Mrs. O'Hagan with a bottle of turpentine for the sick man. Pardo was not to be seen. The old half-breed woman who looked after him told Romaña that her master had not risen that day, complaining of pains and stiffness in his back.
"Has he sent for the doctor?" he asked.
"Not yet. He says it is a chill, and will soon pass."
"The mistress has sent some stuff to cure him. The instruction is to rub it into the skin very thoroughly. Take it to Señor Pardo, and ask if I can do anything for him."
The old woman went off with the bottle. Romaña had noticed Pardo's coat lying over the back of a chair. As soon as he was alone, he lifted the coat, cast a rapid but searching glance over it, and laid it on the chair again.
"Many thanks, señor," came Pardo's voice from the inner room. "Thank the gracious lady for me, and say that I hope to return to my beloved duty in a day or two."
"Is the pain very severe, señor?" asked Romaña sympathetically.
"Not so severe as the stiffness, señor. Take care that you don't take a chill."
"Thanks, my friend. I myself am always careful of the night air. Good-day; I will give the mistress your message."
Romaña hurried back to the house, and sought his master in the office.
"Well, how is the invalid?" asked Mr. O'Hagan. "Did you see him?"
"No, señor: he was keeping his bed. I would suggest that you should send your own doctor to him."
"That's not necessary, surely. A good rubbing is all that he needs for lumbago."
"If it is lumbago!" said the man. "Will you give me a moment, señor?"
"Of course," replied Mr. O'Hagan, laying down his pen. "What is it?"
He leant back in his chair, frowning a little. A most unsuspicious man himself, he was annoyed at Romaña's suggestion of malingering, coming on top of the doubts hinted by Tim.
"On the day when the señor gobernador rode on the bicycle," said Romaña, "Señor Pardo sent a letter to his excellency the Prefect."
"What of that? and how do you know?" asked Mr. O'Hagan sharply.
"I saw his Cholo messenger ride away with it to San Juan, señor, and a friend reported to me that the Cholo took it to the Prefect's house. As you know, the Prefect came to San Rosario two days after, and visited the gobernador. He then rode here. Señor Pardo held his stirrup while he dismounted. He returned to San Juan, but left some of his gendarmes behind. Then came the matter of last night. To-day Señor Pardo is not to be seen."
"What are you driving at?" asked Mr. O'Hagan irritably.
"Have patience, señor. I have been ten years in your service, and you have no complaint against me?"
"That is true, but I don't like this air of mystery and suspicion. Say plainly what you have in your mind."
"I have just seen Señor Pardo's coat--the one he was wearing yesterday: there were several little black holes in the back. I think if you send your doctor to him, you will find that he suffers not from lumbago but from shot wounds."
Mr. O'Hagan stared in amazement.
"You suggest that he was among those villains who tried to break in last night?" he asked.
"I do, señor."
"And that the Prefect was concerned in it?"
"The Prefect's gendarmes, señor. As for the Prefect himself!..."
He shrugged expressively.
"And that Señor Pardo is in the Prefect's pay?"
"That is my belief, señor."
"Romaña, are you a spy?"
"Señor, I am a Mollendist," replied the man with dignity.
Mr. O'Hagan was much perturbed. He was loth to believe that Pardo was a traitor, but the chain of events as linked together by Romaña was unpleasantly consistent. Perhaps what troubled him most of all was the discovery that, careful as he had been to hold aloof from local dissensions, two of his servants were mixed up in them, on opposite sides. It was now easier to understand the mutual antagonism between the two men, of which, though veiled by the outward forms of civility, he had always been conscious.
"You have told no one else what you suspect?" he said, after a few moments' deliberation.
"Nobody, señor."
"Then take care not to do so. I believe that you mean well, but I hope to find you mistaken. We shall see."
When Romaña had gone, Mr. O'Hagan sought his wife and told her everything.
"I have never liked Pardo," she said, "though I can't say why. Perhaps it would be as well to ask Dr. Pereira to see him."
"I prefer not to. I shall put it to the fellow direct when he comes back to work. One thing is certain: Romaña must go. I can't have a Mollendist about the place. If it became known, the Prefect would make it another reason for worrying me, or worse."
"Won't you write to the British consul at Lima?"
"I'm afraid that would be useless. He's too far away to be able to do anything. We're in a desperately awkward position, Rose. The Prefect will have his knife in me, and young Tim has certainly offended the Mollendists by releasing the gobernador. Whatever they meant to do with him, they will be furious at being baulked by a youngster. When I send my next convoy to the capital, I think you and the boy had better go too. You'll be out of harm's way there."
"Indeed I will do nothing of the kind, Tim. I will not leave you. And I can't believe that there's any danger to a British subject here. Write to the consul at once, dear; it's just as well to be beforehand with trouble."
"I will do so. Say nothing to Tim, by the way. He'd only worry."
Three days afterwards Pardo returned. He looked rather pale, and after greeting his employer launched out into a voluble description of his sufferings.
"But the gracious lady's lotion worked wonders, señor," he said.
"Rather painful, isn't it?" said Mr. O'Hagan, noticing with misgiving that the man wore a new coat.
"Not at all, señor. Its application was most soothing. It is a most excellent remedy."
Mr. O'Hagan remembered how, when suffering from lumbago himself, the friction with turpentine had left his back sore and smarting for days.
"Sit down, Pardo," he said. "I've something to say to you."
The man sat down awkwardly on his chair, smiling amiably.
"You remember the night of the attempted robbery," Mr. O'Hagan went on. "No doubt my shots disturbed you."
"Not at all, señor. I slept the sleep of the just."
"How often do you correspond with the Prefect?"
The sudden question obviously took Pardo aback. He looked uncomfortable, but recovered himself in a moment, and said with a feeble smile:
"A humble clerk and book-keeper does not correspond with so important a person as his excellency, señor."
"Nevertheless, you sent a letter to his excellency a few days ago. He visited me two days after, and left a party of his gendarmes in the town when he returned to San Juan. I have reason to suspect that they were concerned in the attempt to rob me. How did they know that at that precise moment I had a large sum of money in my safe?"
"These are very strange questions, señor," said Pardo. His manner was quiet and restrained, but Mr. O'Hagan, intently watching him, noticed a look of fear in his eyes.
"They are," he said. "Here's another: where is your old coat? I mean the coat you were wearing last time you were here. It was nearly new."
Pardo started to his feet.
"Señor, this is intolerable," he cried. "I don't know what you mean, but your questions are an insult to a perfect gentleman." (Every Peruvian is a perfect gentleman.) "You will please to accept my resignation."
"Very well, Pardo: perhaps it is best." He handed him his week's wages.
"And let me tell you this, Señor Inglés," cried the man furiously as he pocketed the money: "a Peruvian gentleman does not take lightly such insults to his honour. You will repent this. You will feel the weight of my just anger. You treat me like a dog: dogs can bite. I will not accept your money."
He took it from his pocket and threw it on the floor. "You shall learn what it is to insult a perfect gentleman."
Snatching up his hat, he swept it round in ironical salutation, and flung out of the room.
CHAPTER VI
TIM IS HELD TO RANSOM
Tim had many acquaintances but few friends among the youth of San Rosario and the neighbourhood. He often felt the lack of a chum of his own age, and looked forward eagerly to the time, now drawing very near, when he would return to England and enter an engineering college. His most intimate friend in Peru was a young fellow, two or three years older than himself, named Felipe Durand, who lived on his father's hacienda, about twelve miles north of the town. Durand had been educated in England, and being a very fair batsman, he sometimes joined Tim in getting up a cricket match between elevens of the Japanese workers.
On the day after Pardo's dismissal, Tim rode out to Durand's house to arrange for a match in the following week. The path was only a rough track; it was indeed not a public thoroughfare at all, but was maintained by Señor Durand and Mr. O'Hagan for their own convenience. Much of it ran through woods, and on each side the ground rose gradually to a considerable height.
Tim met nobody on the way, but within a few miles of the hacienda he noticed a group of men at the edge of the wood some little distance from the path. Thinking that they were peons of Señor Durand he gave them only a fleeting glance and passed by. He reached his friend's house about twenty minutes after starting, and discussed the proposed match in a little summer-house, over a dish of fruit and a glass of lemonade.
"I say, O'Hagan," said young Durand, after arrangements had been made, "I wish I had seen your performance with the gobernador. It must have been great sport."
The two boys always used English when together.
"Indeed, it was good fun," said Tim. "The pater was in a bit of a fizz: he thinks the Mollendists won't like it."
"I dare say not. He should do as my governor does."
"What's that?"
"Pay up. My father gives them a regular subscription."
"That's rather dangerous, isn't it? The Prefect would drop on him if he knew."
"The Prefect has dropped on him as it is. He has borrowed a good deal that he'll never pay back. My father grumbles, of course; but he likes a quiet life, and would rather pay than be worried. He subscribes to the Mollendists' funds for the same reason; they leave him alone. He says that old Mollendo will get the better of the Prefect one of these days, and as the old chap is fairly honest he won't be sorry. Your pater had better do the same."
"I'm sure he won't. He says corruption is the curse of this country, and he won't have anything to do with either of the parties."
"That's very honourable and British, but it won't pay.... Have those robbers been caught yet?"
"They have not. D'you know, I believe our man Pardo had a hand with them; the pater gave him the sack yesterday. He resigned, but only to avoid a sacking. I'm not sorry.... Well, you'll come over on Monday, then. It's a holiday, so we'll make a day of it."
Tim had ridden only a few miles on his homeward way when he was brought to a sudden check. The path was blocked by a tree which had apparently fallen since he passed a couple of hours before. He dismounted, resting his bicycle against the trunk. The tree was obviously too heavy to be lifted, and he was looking for a way round it when a number of men rushed at him from the bushes on each side of the track, and in a few seconds he was a prisoner. Among his captors he saw one of the brigands who had snapped up the gobernador.
"You will not get away this time, Señor Inglés," said the man, laughing. "You will please to come with us."
Tim was helpless. He could only put the best face on it. The men led him along the track northward, in the direction of Durand's house, two following with the bicycle. As they neared the house, they struck into the woods on the left, not returning to the track until they were some distance beyond, at a wooden bridge over a ravine. The district to the north had a bad name. It was the immemorial haunt of outlaws, whether revolutionist or criminal. The outlawed criminal was invariably a revolutionist; though among the revolutionists there were many, like their leader, Mollendo himself, who were quite respectable members of society.
After a few miles the country became very wild and rugged. The men in charge of the bicycle grumbled at their laborious task; they were not used to wheeling so heavy and cumbersome an object, and in the rougher places it was difficult to balance. Every minute Tim expected to see the machine escape from their hands, topple over, and dash itself to pieces on the rocky declivity.
The track became steeper and steeper. It wound this way and that, a rough wall of rock rising high on the left hand; on the right long slopes and sheer descents, crossed by yawning gullies, stretching downwards for hundreds of feet. Now and then white gull-like mountain birds flew screaming in front of the party; hundreds of squirrels were disporting on the rocky ramparts, darting among the trees that clothed the ravines when they saw the intruders upon their solitudes. They marched on for hours, covering, perhaps, a mile and a half an hour, until night threw its purple shade upon the hills. Then they halted in a narrow glen. The leader of the party gave Tim the option of being tied up or passing his word not to attempt escape.
"You are Inglés," he said. "I can trust your word."
Tim did not appreciate the compliment; but since it was quite clear that he could not escape with his bicycle, he gave his word, looking as pleasant as he could. The men bivouacked, making a supper of parched maize, which they took from their wallets, and weak spirits from their flasks. They offered Tim a share of their provisions; he accepted the maize, but declined the spirits, longing for a draught of water.
He spent a very uncomfortable night. The rocky ground cut into his light summer clothes, which afforded but a poor defence against the cold of this upland region. He slept fitfully, wondering in the wakeful intervals what was going to happen to him, and thinking of the distress his parents must suffer at his absence. "Durand was right," he thought. "When I get free I'll ask Father to give these Mollendists a subscription. But I bet he won't."
The march was resumed in the morning. The track still ascended, until it reached a ridge, from which Tim caught glimpses on the other side of a river meandering far below between wooded banks. In front the ridge rose gradually. In about three hours the party, passing between two tall rocks like gate-pillars on either side of the track, found themselves suddenly in an encampment of considerable size. Two or three hundred men were assembled in a sort of courtyard surrounded by tumble-down buildings of unworked stone. Tim knew at a glance that he was in the ruins of an ancient Inca fortification, castle, or observation plaza, built by that vanished race on a hill-top which had probably been flattened artificially. The men were encamped on two sides of the enclosure; on the other two sides a number of horses were hobbled.
Tim had no time to take in more details of the scene. The arrival of his captors was hailed with shouts, and he was led through the excited throng to an angle of the courtyard, where, in a little recess, a Peruvian between fifty and sixty years of age, and of benevolent aspect, was reclining on rugs before a slab that served as a table.
"Señor," said the leader of the party, "this is the young Inglés who released the man Fagasta."
Señor Mollendo rose and made a courtly salutation.
"Good-morning, Señor Inglés," he said. "I have heard of you and your respected father. It gives me the greatest pain to see you in your present unhappy plight."
"You can relieve your pain at once by releasing me, señor," said Tim boldly.
Mollendo gave him an indulgent smile.
"I have to consider the claims of justice, my young friend. See how the case stands. You were taken with the man Fagasta, the hireling of the usurping Prefect. You were released, but with rank ingratitude returned and set free the gobernador, the agent of the odious dictator, the man who had been heard to boast of his intention to root out the friends of liberty from this oppressed region. Your offence could scarcely be more serious. It is dangerous for a foreigner to interfere in our domestic affairs; especially is it unbecoming in an Englishman, a citizen of that glorious land of freedom, a lover of liberty and of equal laws, to associate himself with the agents of a corrupt and shameless tyranny. It is necessary to signalise the abhorrence with which such action must be viewed by all right-thinking men. You shall be a recipient of such poor hospitality as I can extend to you until your unworthy conduct is redeemed by the payment of £250, and the engine by means of which you effected your reprehensible intervention on behalf of the oppressor will be confiscated to the use of the patriots."
Tim was quite unused to having such eloquence hurled at him. His head master had contented himself with a few sharp words and half a dozen swishes--infinitely preferable to such a lot of "jaw." He felt overwhelmed, and had nothing to say. "Jolly cheek!" he thought, "asking £250. I wish he may get it."
His parole was demanded again, and he was strictly forbidden to stray beyond the limits of the enclosure. He was given a dinner consisting of mutton boiled with vegetables, and toasted maize, with water from a stream, almost dried up by the summer heat, that flowed into the broader river below. Mollendo offered him a Manilla cigar, which he put in his pocket.
He was allowed to roam about the encampment. So well placed that one might approach within a few yards without discovering it, it overlooked the surrounding country for hundreds of square miles. On the east he could see the track by which he had come, winding east and south-east through the hills. On the west a few steps cut in the rock led to what had once been an Inca road, running into the path that led southward to the highway to San Juan. Southward flowed the hill-stream, through a rough and precipitous gully. To the north the ground rose steeply to inaccessible snow-capped peaks.
Tim passed a restless and unhappy day. He supposed that Mollendo had sent one of his men to demand the ransom from his father; but no information was given him. The only mitigation of his captivity was afforded by the brigands' experiments with the motor-cycle. None of them was able to ride it; few were anxious to try. They were good horsemen, no doubt; but Tim soon came to the conclusion that they would never make motor-cyclists. He watched with amusement their first attempts in the middle of the courtyard. One man tried to mount the bicycle when stationary, and became violently angry at each failure to maintain his balance. Then he got two of his comrades to support him, one on each side, and thrust at the handles. No movement resulting, his supporters pushed the machine for a few yards, then let it go. It toppled over, and the rider's leg being crushed between the cycle and the ground, he swore bitterly, and retired to digest his discomfiture.
Señor Mollendo looked on at all this with much disappointment. The confiscated machine, apparently, was not to be so valuable an acquisition as he had supposed. He smiled with pleasure, however, when the machine was set in motion by a series of accidents. While one man was in the saddle; held up on both sides, another happened to discover the petrol tap, and turned it on. The supporters pushed the bicycle for a few feet, the engine began to fire, and the rider chancing to move the throttle switch, the machine started forward with a suddenness that caused the two men at the sides to lose their grip. There were shouts of delight from the onlookers; but the rider was so much amazed at his own inadvertent skill that he lost his head, and could neither stop nor steer his unmanageable steed. Only by sprinting across the courtyard at full speed did Tim save man and cycle from being dashed disastrously against the stone wall.
After this the machine was left severely alone, until Tim, weary for want of something to do, offered to instruct the men in its manipulation. This won Señor Mollendo's warm approval, and Tim spent several hours of that day and the next in teaching the younger members of the party how to ride. They had no personal feeling against him; and with the prospect of their lean treasury being increased by £250 on his account, they began to regard him with even more kindliness than his willingness and good temper had already won.
On the third day the messenger sent by Señor Mollendo to claim the ransom, returned, bringing with him not merely the money, but a rumour of the manner in which the midnight raiders had been received at Mr. O'Hagan's house. That they were part of the Prefect's escort was an open secret. Mollendo called Tim to him and asked if the story was true. Tim saw no reason to conceal anything, and gave a full description of what had happened, only suppressing the fact that his information had come from the gobernador.
"You showed remarkable ingenuity, my young friend," said Mollendo, greatly tickled by the picture of the spluttering crew stumbling out into the darkness. "I quite understand why your good father should consider you worth £250. He has sent the money; you are free. And as a mark of my appreciation of your service to the cause of liberty by discommoding the usurper's minions, I have much pleasure in returning"--("How much?" wondered Tim in excitement)--"your motor-cycle. Four of my supporters will assist you to the path below. When you meet your father, convey to him my salutations, and assure him that the money will be put to a good use in upholding the flag of freedom."
He shook hands warmly, bowed with his hat to his breast, and with a politea reveder, the Spanish equivalent ofau revoir, he ended Tim's captivity.