Glen bade Roper take the handkerchief from my mouth, and when that was done his creased face smiled at me over the lantern.
"About theRoyal Fortune?" he said smoothly.
Peter Tortue nodded, and absently cleaned the blade of his knife upon the thighs of his breeches. There was no reply for me to make, and I waited.
"You were over to St. Mary's to-day?"
"Yes."
"What did you do there?"
"I bought a pair of silk stockings and some linen."
George Glen sniggered like a man that leaves off a serious conversation to laugh politely at a bad joke.
"But it's true," I cried.
"Did you speak of theRoyal Fortune?"
"No," and, as luck would have it, I had not--not even to the Rev. Mr. Milray.
"Not to a living soul?"
"No."
"Did you go up to Star Castle?"
"No."
"Did you speak to Captain Hathaway?"
"No."
"'There's poor old George,' you said. 'Old George Glen,' says you, 'what was quartermaster with Cap'n Roberts on theRoyal----'"
"No," I cried.
"Did you mention Peter Tortue?" said the Frenchman.
"No. Would you be sitting here if I had? There would be a company of soldiers scouring the island for you."
"That's reasonable," said Tortue, and the rest echoed his words. In a little there was silence. Tortue set to work again with his knife. It flashed backwards and forwards, red with the candle light as though it ran blood. It shone in my eyes and dazzled me, and somehow, there came back to me a recollection of that hot night in Clutterbuck's rooms when everything had glittered with an intolerable brightness, and Dick Parmiter had been set upon the table to tell his story. I was vaguely wondering what they were all doing at this moment in London, Clutterbuck, Macfarlane, and the rest, when the questions began again.
"You came back from St. Mary's to New Grimsby?"
"Yes."
"Did you tell Parmiter?"
"No."
"From St. Mary's you crossed the island to Merchant's Point?"
"Yes."
"Did you tell the girl?"
Here a lie was obviously needful, and I did not scruple to tell it.
"No."
Peter Tortue leaned forward to me with a shrewd glance in his keen eyes.
"You are her lover," he said. "You told her."
I lifted my eyes from his knife, looked him in the eyes, and sustained his glance.
"I am not her lover," I said; "that is a damned lie."
He did not lose his temper, but repeated:
"You told her," and George Glen looked in again with his whole face screwed into a wink.
"You said to her, 'My dear,' says you, 'there's old George,'" and at that I lost my temper.
"I said nothing of the kind," I cried. "Am I a parrot that I cannot open my lips without old George popping out of them? But what's the use of talking. Do what you will, I have done. If I had betrayed your secret, do you think I should be walking home alone, and you upon the island? But I have done. I had a bargain to strike with you, I thought to find you all at the inn--but I have done."
To tell the truth, I had no longer any hope of life. Glen, for all his winks and smiles, would stop short of no cruelty. Peter Tortue quietly polished his knife upon his thigh. He was a big Brittany man, with shrewd eyes and an unchanging face. The rest squatted and stared curiously at me. The light of the lantern fell upon their callous faces, they were lookers-on at a show, of which perhaps, they had seen the like before, they were not concerned in this affair of theRoyal Fortunenor how it ended.
"So you told no one."
"No one."
I closed my eyes and leaned back against the partition. I was utterly helpless in their hands, and I hoped they would be quick. I remember that I regretted very much I could send no word to the girl at Merchant's Rock, and that I was very glad she had not delayed her music till tomorrow night, but both regret and gladness were of a numbed and languid kind.
Then Glen asked me another question, and it spurred my will to alertness.
"How did you know that I was quartermaster on theRoyal Fortune?"
I could not remind him that he had let the ship's name drop from his lips four years ago. It would be as much as to say that Helen had told me. It would confess that I had spoken with her of theRoyal Fortune. Yet I must answer, and without the least show of hesitation. I caught at the first plausible reason which occurred to me. I said: "Cullen Mayle told me," and that answer saved my life. For Glen remarked, "Yes, he knew," and nodded to Tortue: Tortue lifted the knife in his hand, and again I closed my eyes. But the next thing I heard was a snap as the blade shut into the handle, and the next thing after that Tortue's voice deliberately speaking:
"George Glen, you never had the brains of a louse. You can smirk and wriggle, and you're handy with a weapon, but, you never had no brains."
I opened my eyes pretty wide at that, and I saw that the three younger faces were now kindled out of their sluggishness. It was that mention of Cullen Mayle which had wrought the change. These three took no particular interest in theRoyal Fortune, but they had every interest in the doings of Cullen Mayle, and they now alertly followed all that Tortue said. George Glen leaned forward.
"Who's cap'en here, Peter Tortue?" said he. "Was you with us on the Sierra Leone River? Nat Roper there, Blads, you James Skyrm, speak up, lads, was he with us?"
"My son was," said Tortue calmly.
"And what sort of answer is that? 'Tis lucky for you Cap'en Roberts isn't aboard this shed. He wouldn't have understood that language, not he--and he wouldn't have troubled you for an explanation neither. Here's a fine thing, lads! If a man dies, his father, what's been lying in the lap of luxury at home, is to have his share. That's a nice new rule for gentlemen adventurers, and not content with his share, wants to set up for cap'en. I have a good mind to learn you modesty, Peter, just as Roberts would have learnt you."
He was talking quite smoothly, with a grin all over his face, but I never saw a man that looked so dangerous. Peter Tortue, however, was in no way discomposed.
"Why, you blundering fool," he answered, "where would you ha' been but for me? No, I wasn't on the Sierra Leone River with you, or you wouldn't be eating your hearts and your pockets empty upon Tresco. No, I am not your captain, or you wouldn't never have lost track of Cullen Mayle at Wapping."
There were four faces now alertly watching Peter Tortue, and the fourth was mine. It was not merely that my life hung upon his predominance, but there was the best of chances now that I might get to the bottom of the mystery of their watching.
"You talk of Roberts," he continued, "well you're not the only man that knew Roberts, and would Roberts have let Cullen Mayle slip through his fingers--at Wapping too? Good Lord, it makes me sick to look at you, George Glen!" and he turned to Roper, "Who was it found the track for you; was it him or me?" he cried. "Who was it found the nigger and sailed from the port o' London to Penzance, ay, and would ha' found out the nigger's message if he hadn't had the sickness on him. Was it him or was it me? Why the nigger knowed you all! Would he ha' sailed to Penzance on that boat if he had seen a face on board that he had known? not he."
"That's true," said Roper.
"Who brought you all to Tresco, eh? Who hindered you from rushing the house, ay, hindered you in the face of your captain, and a deal you'ld ha' found if you had rushed the house. A lot he knows, your captain. P'raps he thought Adam Mayle was the man to leave a polite note on his mantelshelf, telling us where to look. Who told you to wait for Cullen Mayle?"
"We have waited," answered Glen. "How long are we to wait? Where is Cullen Mayle?"
Peter Tortue threw up his hands.
"No wonder you all dry in the sun at the end of it," he cried, "my word! We haven't got Cullen Mayle, but haven't we got the man as knows him? What's he doing at Tresco if he wasn't sent by Cullen Mayle who daren't show his face because we're here? Not worth my share, ain't I? and you that can't add two and two! See here! Dick Parmiter goes to London, don't he? He goes after the nigger come; what for, but to find Cullen Mayle, and say as we're here? He knows where Cullen's to be found, and down comes the stranger here. And we ha' got him tucked up comfortable, and we know tricks that Roberts taught us to make him speak, don't we? And you want to jab a knife into him. You make me sick, George Glen--fair sick! Suppose you do jab a knife into him, and bury him here under the stones, do you think the girl'll take it quite easy and natural? Or will you go down the hill and rush the house? And then if you please, what'll you all be doing to-morrow? Well, you are captain, George Glen, but what has your crew to say to this? Come! Am I to talk to Mr. Berkeley, or will you set your own course, and steer for execution dock?"
There was no hesitation in the answer. With one accord they leaned to Tortue's proposal.
I could not see that I was in a much better case. Tortue was to put to me questions, the very questions which I wished to ask, and I was expected to answer them. I should have to answer them if I was to come off with my life. The men sat hungrily about me awaiting my answers. It would not take them long to discover that I was tricking them, that I had no knowledge whatever about their concerns beyond that one dangerous item that Glen and Tortue had sailed on theRoyal Fortune, and when that discovery was made, why, out of mere resentment they would let Glen have his way.
However, I was still alive, and the girl was still at Merchant's Point. These men were plainly growing impatient of their long stay upon the island; and once I was out of the way, who was to stand between them and the girl?
I summoned my wits together, and ran quickly over my mind what I did know. I had a few fresh hints from Tortue's arguments to add to my knowledge. I knew why they were watching for Cullen Mayle. He was to show them where to look for something. It was that something about which Glen had talked to Adam Mayle the night Cullen was driven away; Cullen had overheard, and he had gone out in search of it to the Sierra Leone River. Glen and his companions had done likewise. It was in some degree apparent now what that something was: namely, treasure of some sort from the Royal Fortune, and buried on the banks of the Sierra Leone River. They had not found it, and their presence here, and certain words, told me why. Adam Mayle had been first with them.
So much I could venture to think of. For the rest I must wait upon the questions; and, fortunately for me. Glen was a man of much garrulity.
"You spoke of a bargain," said Tortue. "What do you propose?"
"Halves!" said I, as bold as brass.
There was an outcry against the proposal, and it mightily relieved me, for it proved to me I was right. It was treasure they were after, but of what kind? I had now to puzzle my brains over that. Was it specie? Hardly, I thought, for Adam Mayle would not have hidden money upon Tresco. Was it a treasure of jewels, then?
"Halves," said George Glen with a titter. "A very good proposal, Mr. Berkeley, by daylight, with a company of soldiers within call."
Jewels, I thought: yes, jewels--jewels that might be recognized, jewels that Adam Mayle would keep hidden to himself so long as there was no pressing need to dispose of them.
"As it is," continued Glen, "we take all, but we give you your life. That's a fair offer."
"Yes, that's fair," said Roper.
I hazarded it.
"Very well," said I. "You can find your jewels for yourselves."
I expected an explosion of wrath; I met with only mute surprise.
"Jewels!" said Roper at length.
"Well, isn't the cross thick with them?" said Tortue to Roper.
"It wouldn't be of much use to us without," sniggered Glen. "Lord, but that was a clever stroke of Roberts'--the cleverest thing he ever done. Right under the guns of the African Comp'ny's fort she lay in Sierra Leone harbour--a Portuguese ship of twenty guns. At a quarter to eleven there was her crew, as many as might be--we could hear 'em singing and laughing as we pulled across the water to 'em--and at ten minutes past three there wasn't a mother's son of them all alive; and no noise, mind you. Rich she was, too. Sugar--we had run short of sugar for our punch, and welcome it was--sugar, skins, tobacco, ninety thousand moidors, and this cross with the diamonds for the King of Portugal. Roberts himself said he had never seen stones like it, and he was a good judge of stones was Roberts. He was quick, too. Why, we had that cross on the dinghy and were well up the Sierra Leone River before daybreak, just the three of us--Roberts, me, and Adam Mayle--Kennedy he called himself then, being a gentleman born and with more sense than the rest of us. He buried the cross, two days sail up the Sierra Leone River, and Roberts made a chart of its bearings. He gave it to me on the deck of theRoyal Fortunewhen he was mortally wounded, and I kept it all the time we were in prison. I showed it to Adam Mayle when we escaped, but we had no means to get at it--at least, I hadn't. Adam, he was a gentleman born, and had got his savings placed all safe in his own name."
I hoped Glen would go on in this strain until my slip was forgotten. I was, besides, acquiring information. But Roper cut him short.
"It was a cross--it wasn't jewels," said he, suspiciously; and suddenly Tortue interrupted.
"'Halves' was what you said, I think," he remarked, rather quickly, and I could almost have believed that he was trying to cover up my mistake. I took advantage of his interruption as quickly as he had made it.
"Half for you, half for Cullen," said I; and immediately Tortue flung out in an extravagant passion. He threatened me, he threatened Cullen, he opened his knife and gesticulated, he cursed, until I began to wonder: was he acting? Was this anger a pretence to divert attention finally from my unlucky guess? I could not be sure. I could conceive no reason for such a pretence. But certainly, whether he intended it or not, he brought about that result; for his companions began to fear he would make an end of me before they had got the information where the cross was hid, and so busied themselves with appeasing him. He permitted himself at the last to be appeased, and George Glen took up the argument.
"Look you here, Mr. Berkeley," said he, "we're reasonable men, and it's no more than fair you should be reasonable too, seeing as how you are uncomfortably placed. That was took up by Adam Mayle, and he never meant his son to finger it. 'A damned ungrateful, supercilious whelp,' says he to me in the lad's own bedroom; yes, in his own bedroom"--for, as may be imagined, I had started. Here was the explanation of how Cullen discovered George Glen's business. I hoisted myself up against the partition as well as I could. How I prayed that Glen would go on! He was sufficiently garrulous, if only he was not interrupted, and he was arguing for all of them. "'A damned ungrateful, supercilious whelp,' he said; 'and George,' said he, as I read out the chart, 'I'd sooner let the cross rot to pieces in the Sierra Leone mud than fetch it home for him to have a share of. I've enough for myself and the girl. I'll not stir a finger,' says he, 'and if it was here now I'd have it buried with me.' Those were his very words, which he spoke to me not half an hour after he had driven Cullen from the house, and in the lad's own bedroom, where we couldn't be overheard."
"But you were overheard," said I, "Cullen Mayle overheard you." Glen jumped on to his feet, his mouth dropped, he stood staring at me in a daze, and then he thumped one fist down into the palm of the other.
"By God it's true," he said, "he was in the curtains."
"He was in bed," said I.
"By God it's true," repeated Glen, and he sat down again on the floor. "So that's how Cullen Mayle found out. I was mightily astonished to find him at Sierra Leone on the same business as ourselves. But it's true. I remember there was a noise, and I cried out, 'What's that?' with a sort of jump, and Adam he says, pleasant like, 'It's the hangman, George;' but it wasn't, it was Cullen Mayle."
I think that every one laughed as Glen ended, except myself. I could even at that moment, but be sensible what a strange picture it made; those two old ruffians sitting over against each other in the bedroom, and Cullen waked up from his sleep in bed to lie quiet and overhear them.
"So you see, it isn't reasonable Cullen should have half since his father never meant him to have any," he continued.
"But without Cullen you would get nothing at all," said I.
"Why not since we have you?"--and then I made a slip--I answered: "But Cullen Mayle told me where the cross is."
"But Cullen Mayle doesn't know," said Roper, "else would he have gone hunting to Sierra Leone for it?"
"Told him where to look for the plan, he means." Tortue interrupted again. This time I could not mistake. He glanced at me with too much significance. For some reason, he was standing my friend.
"Of course," said I, "where to look for the plan."
So it was a plan they needed, a plan of the spot where Adam Mayle had buried the cross. Where could that plan be, in what unlikely place would Adam have hid it?
I ran over my mind the rooms, and the furniture of the house. There was no bureau, no secretaire. But I had to make up my mind. This last slip had awakened my captor's suspicions. The faces about me menaced me.
"Well, where is the plan?"
I thought over all that Glen had said to-night--was a clue to be got there?
"I haven't it," said I, to gain time.
"But where are we to look for it?" again asked Roper, and he put his hand in his coat-pocket.
"Speak up," said Tortue, and I read his meaning in the glance of his eyes. He meant--"Name some spot, any spot!" But I knew! It had come upon me like an inspiration, I had no shadow of doubt where that plan was. I said:
"Where are you to look for the plan? Glen has told you. Adam Mayle would rather have had the cross buried with him than that Cullen should have it. He couldn't have the treasure buried with him, but he could and did the plan. Look in Adam Mayle's grave. You will find a stick with a brass handle to it--a sword stick, but the sword's broken off short. In the hollow of that stick you'll find the plan." Tortue nodded at me with approval. The rest jumped up from the ground.
"We have time to-night," said Roper, and stretching out a hand he pulled my watch from my fob. "It is eleven o'clock," and he put the watch in his own pocket. "Where's Adam Mayle buried?" asked another.
"In the Abbey Grounds," said I.
"But we want spades," objected Tortue, "we want a pick."
"They are here," said Glen, with an evil smile, "we had them ready," and he grinned at me. "Mr. Berkeley comes with us, I think," said he smoothly, "untie his legs."
"Yes," said Roper with an oath. He was in a heat of excitement. "And if he has told us wrong, good God, we'll bury him with Adam Mayle."
But I had no doubt that I was right. I remembered what Clutterbuck had told me of Adam's vindictiveness. He would hide that plan if he could, and he could have chosen no surer place. No doubt he would have destroyed that plan when he knew that he was dying, but he was struck down with paralysis, and could not stir a finger. He could only order the stick to be buried with him.
They unfastened my legs. Roper blew out the lantern, and we went out of the shed, on to the hillside. Glen despatched Blads upon some errand, and the man hurried up the hill towards New Grimsby. Glen leisurely walked along the slope of the hill. I followed him, and the rest behind me. The moon had gone down, and the night, though clear enough, was dark. We walked on for about five minutes, until some one treading close upon my heels suddenly tripped me up. My hands were still tied behind my back, so that I could not save myself from a fall. But Tortue picked me up, and as he did so whispered in my ear:
"Is the plan there?"
I answered, "Yes."
I would have staked my life upon it; in fact, I was staking my life upon it.
We kept along the ridge of hill towards the east of the island, and met no one, nor, indeed, were we likely to do. I could look down on either side to the sea. I saw the cottages on the shore of New Grimsby harbour on the one side, and on the other the house at Merchant's Point, and the half-dozen houses scattered on the grass at Old Grimsby, that went by the name of Dolphin Town, and nowhere was there a twinkle of light.
Tresco was in bed.
We descended a little to our left, and rounded the shoulder of the hill at the eastern end of the island, through a desolate moorland of gorse; but once we had rounded the shoulder, we were in an instant amongst trees of luxuriant foliage, and in a hollow sheltered from the winds. The Abbey ruins stood up from a small plateau in the bosom of the trees, its broken arches and columns showing very dismal against the sky, and everywhere fragments of crumbling wall cropped up unexpected through the grass.
The burial ground was close to an eel pond, which glimmered below, nearer to the sea, and a path overgrown with weeds wound downwards to the graves.
I could not tell in which corner Adam Mayle was buried, so Roper was sent forward with the lantern to look amongst the headstones. For half an hour he searched; the flame of the candle danced from grave to grave as though it were the restless soul of some sinner buried there. The men who remained with me grew impatient, for opposite to us, across the road, lay St. Mary's and the harbour of Hugh Town; and on this clear night the speck of light in the Abbey grounds would be visible at a great distance. I was beginning to wonder whether Adam had a headstone at all to mark his resting-place, when a cry came upwards to our ears and the lantern was swung aloft in the air.
One loud, unanimous shout answered that cry.
"Come," shouted Glen, and seizing hold of the end of the rope where it went round my chest, he began to run down the path. The others jostled and tumbled after him in an extreme excitement. All discretion was tossed to the winds. They laughed, shouted, and leaped while they ran as though they already had the cross in their keeping. What with Glen tugging at the end in front and the others pushing and thrusting at me from behind, it was more than I could do to keep my feet. Twice I fell forward on my knees and brought them to a stop. Glen turned upon me in a fury.
"Loose his hands then, George," said Tortue.
"No," returned George, with an oath, and he plucked on the rope until somehow I stumbled on to my feet, and we all set to running again.
Things were taking on an ugly look for me. Those men were growing ten times more savage since the grave had been discovered; they were in a heat of excitement. In their movements, in their faces, in their words, a violent ferocity was evident. They had made their bargain with me, but would they keep it once they had the plan in their hands? I had no doubt their arrangements were made for an instant departure from the islands. One could not be a day upon Tresco without hearing some hint of the luggers which did a great smuggling trade between Scilly and the port of Roscoff in Brittany. No doubt Glen and Tortue had made their account with one of these to carry them into France. I was the more sure of this when Blads returned. I could not but think he had been sent so that a boat might be ready, and it seemed unlikely they would leave me alive behind them when the mere scruple of a bargain only held their hands.
We were now come to the grave. It had a headstone but no slab to cover it; only a boulder from the seashore by which Adam had lived was with a pretty fancy imposed upon the mound.
Roper hung the lantern on to a knob of the headstone; and already Glen had snatched the pick and thrust it under the boulder. It needed but one heave upon the pick, and the boulder tottered and rolled from the grave with a crash. It stopped quite close to my feet. I looked at it, then I looked at the grave, and from the grave to the sailors. But they had noticed nothing; they were already digging furiously at the grave. In their excitement they had noticed nothing; even Tortue was kneeling in the lantern-light watching the gleam of the spades, sensible of nothing but that each shovelful cast up on the side brought them by a shovelful nearer to their prize. And they dug with such furious speed, taking each his turn, each anticipating his turn! For before one man had stepped, dripping with sweat from the trench, another had leaped in, and the spade fell from one man's grasp into the palm of another. Once a spade jarred upon a piece of rock, and the man who drove it into the earth cursed. I had a sudden flutter of hope that the spade was broken, and that by so much the issue would be delayed, but the digger resumed his work. I looked over to St. Mary's, but the town was quiet; one light gleamed, it was only the light at the head of the jetty. And even in Tresco such infinitesimal chance of interruption as there had ever been had disappeared. For the men had ceased even from their oaths. There was not even a whisper to be shared amongst them; there was no sound but the laboured sound of their breathing. They worked in silence.
I had no longer any hope. I saw now and again Roper, as he slapped down a spadeful of earth beside me, look with a grim significant smile at me, and perhaps his fellow would catch the look and imitate it. I noticed that George Glen, as he took down the lantern from time to time and held it over the trench, would flash it towards me; and he, too, would smile and perhaps wink at Roper in the trench. The winks and smiles were easy as print to read. They were agreeing between themselves: the unspoken word was going round; they did not mean to keep their part of the bargain, and when they left the Abbey grounds the mound upon Adam's grave would be a foot higher than when they entered them.
But this unspoken understanding had no longer any power to frighten me. I tried to catch Peter Tortue's attention; I shuffled a foot upon the ground; but he paid no heed. He was on all fours by the grave-side peering into the trench, and I dared not call to him. I wanted to contradict what I had said outside the shed upon the hillside. I wanted to whisper to him:
"The plan you search for is not there."
If they were meaning to break their part of the bargain it mattered very little, for I was unable to keep mine.
I had suspected that from the moment the boulder was uprooted; I knew it a moment after the lantern was hung upon the headstone. The stone had rested on that grave for two years, yet at the fresh pressure of the pick it had given and swayed and rolled from its green pedestal. It had tumbled at my feet, and there was not even a clot of earth or a pebble clinging to it. Moreover, on the grave itself there was grass where it had rested. For all its weight, it had not settled into the ground or so much as worn the herbage. Yet it had rested there two years!
The lantern was hung upon the headstone, and its light showed to me that close to the ground the headstone had been chipped. It was as though some one had swung a pick and by mistake had struck the edge of the headstone. Moreover, whoever had swung the pick had swung it recently. For whereas the face of the granite was dull and weatherbeaten, this chipped edge sparkled like quartz.
The aspect of the grave itself confirmed me. Some pains had been taken to replace the sods of grass upon the top, but all about the mound, wherever the lantern-light fell, I could see lumps of fresh clay.
The grave had been opened, and recently--I did not stop then to consider by whom--and secretly. It could have been opened but for the one reason. There would be no plan there for Glen to find.
Roper uttered an exclamation and stopped digging. His spade had struck something hard. Glen lowered the lantern into the trench, and the light struck up on to his face and the face of the diggers.
I hazarded a whisper to Tortue, and certainly no one else heard it, but neither did Tortue. Roper struck his spade in with renewed vigour, and a stifled cry which burst at the same moment from the five mouths told me the coffin-lid was disclosed. I whispered again the louder:
"Tortue! Tortue!" and with no better result.
The pick was handed down at Roper's call. Ispokenow, and at last he heard. He turned his head across his shoulder towards me, but he only motioned me to silence. The pick rang upon wood, and now I called:
"Tortue! Tortue!"
Still no one but Tortue heard. This time, however, he rose from his knees and came to me. Glen looked up for an instant.
"See that he is fast!" he said, and so looked back into the grave.
"What is it?" asked Tortue.
"The plan has gone. Loose my hands!"
I could no longer see Roper; he had stooped down below the lip of the trench.
"Gone!" said Tortue. "How?"
"Some one has been here before you, but within this last week, I'll swear. Loose my hands."
"Some one!" he exclaimed savagely. "Who? who?" and he shook me by the arms.
"I do not know."
"Swear it."
"I do. Loose my hands."
"Remember it is I who save you."
His knife was already out of his pocket; he had already muffled it in his coat and opened it; he was making a pretence to see whether the end was still fast. I could feel the cold blade between the rope and my wrist, when, with a shout. Roper stood erect, the stick in one hand, a sheet of paper flourishing in the other.
He drew himself out of the trench and spread the paper out on a pile of clay at the graveside. Glen held his lantern close to it. There were four streaming faces bent over that paper. I felt a tug at my wrists and the cord slacken as the knife cut through it.
"Take the rope with you," whispered Tortue.
The next moment there were five faces bent over that paper.
"On St. Helen's Island," cried Glen.
"Let me see!" exclaimed Tortue, leaning over his shoulder. "Three--what's that?--chains. Three chains east by the compass of the east window in the south aisle of the church."
And that was the last I heard. I stepped softly back into the darkness for a few paces, and then I ran at the top of my speed westwards towards New Grimsby, freeing my arms from the rope as I ran. Once I turned to look back. They were still gathered about that plan; their faces, now grown small, were clustered under the light of the lantern, and Tortue, with his flashing knife-blade, was pointing out upon the paper the position of the treasure. Ten minutes later I was well up the top of the hill. I saw a lugger steal round the point from New Grimsby and creep up in the shadow towards the Abbey grounds.
I spent that night in the gorse high up on the Castle Down. I had no mind to be caught in a trap at the Palace Inn.
From the top of the down, about an hour later, I saw the lugger come round the Lizard Point of Tresco and beat across to St. Helen's. As the day broke she pushed out from St. Helen's, and reaching past the Golden Ball into the open sea, put her tiller up and ran by the islands to the south.
There was no longer any need for me to hide among the gorse. I went down to the Palace Inn. No one was as yet astir, and the door, of course, was unlocked. I crept quietly up to my room and went to bed.
As will be readily understood, when I woke up the next morning I was sensible at once of a great relief. My anxieties and misadventures of last night were well paid for after all. I could look at my swollen wrists and say that without any hesitation, the watchers had departed from their watching, and what if they had carried away the King of Portugal's great jewelled cross? Helen Mayle had no need of it, indeed, her great regret now was that she could not get rid of what she had; and as for Cullen, to tell the truth, I did not care a snap of the fingers whether he found a fortune or must set to work to make one. Other men had been compelled to do it--better men too, deuce take him! We were well quit of George Glen and his gang, though the price of the quittance was heavy. I would get up at once, run across to Merchant's Point, and tell Helen Mayle---- My plans came to a sudden stop. Tell Helen Mayle precisely what? That Adam Mayle's grave had been rifled?
I lay staring up at the ceiling as I debated that question, and suddenly it slipped from my mind. That grave had been rifled before, and quite recently. I was as certain of that in the sober light of the morning as I had been during the excitement of last night. Why? It was not for the chart of the treasure, since the chart had been left. And by whom? So after all, here was I, who had waked up in the best of spirits too, with the world grown comfortable, confronted with questions as perplexing as a man could wish for. It was, as Cullen Mayle had said, at the inn near Axminster, most discouraging. And I turned over in bed and tried to go to sleep, that I might drive them from my mind. I should have succeeded too, but just as I was in a doze there came a loud rapping at the door, and Dick Parmiter danced into the room.
"They are gone, Mr. Berkeley," he cried.
"I know," I grumbled; "I saw them go," and stretched out my arms and yawned.
"Why, you have hurt your wrist," Dick exclaimed.
"No," said I, "it was George Glen's shake of the hand."
"They are gone," repeated Dick, gleefully, "all of them except Peter Tortue."
"What's that?" I cried, sitting up in the bed.
"All of them except Peter Tortue."
"To be sure," said I, scratching my head.
Now what in the world had Peter Tortue remained behind for? For no harm, that was evident, since I owed my life to his good offices last night. I was to remember that it was he who saved me. I was, then, to make some return. But what return?
I threw my pillow at Parmiter's head.
"Deuce take you, Dicky! My bed was not such a plaguey restful place before that it needed you to rumple it further. Well, since I mayn't sleep late i' the morning like a gentleman, I'll get up."
I tried to put together some sort of plausible explanation which would serve for Helen Mayle while I was dressing. But I could not hit upon one, and besides Parmiter made such a to-do over brushing my clothes this morning that that alone was enough to drive all reasoning out of one's head.
"Dick," said I as he handed me my coat, "you have had, if my memory serves me, some experience of womenfolk."
Dick nodded his head in a mournful fashion.
"Mother!" said he.
"Precisely," said I. "Now, here's a delicate question. Do you always tell womenfolk the truth?"
"No," said he, stoutly.
"Do you tell them--shall we say quibbles,--then?"
"Quibbles?" said Dick, opening his mouth.
"It is not a fruit, Dicky," said I, "so you need not keep it open. By quibbles I mean lies. Do you tell your womenfolk lies, when the truth is not good for them to know?"
"No," said Dick, as steadily as before, "for they finds you out."
"Precisely," I agreed. "But since you neither tell the truth nor tell lies, what in the world do you do?"
"Well," answered Dick, "I say that it's a secret which mother isn't to know for a couple of days."
"I see. And when the couple of days has gone?
"Then mother has forgotten all about the secret."
I reflected for a moment or two.
"Dick."
"Yes."
"Did you ever try that plan with Miss Helen?"
"No," said he, shaking his head.
"I will," said I, airily, "or something like it."
"Something like it would be best," said Dick.
The story which I told to Helen was not after all very like it. I said:
"The watchers have gone and gone for ever. They were here not for any revenge, but for their profit. There was a treasure in St. Helen's which Cullen Mayle was to show them the way to--if they could catch him and force him. They had some claim to it--I showed them the way."
"You?" she exclaimed. "How?"
"That I cannot tell you," said I. "I would beg you not to ask, but to let my silence content you. I could not tell you the truth and I do not think that I could invent a story to suit the occasion which would not ring false. The consequence is the one thing which concerns us, and there is no doubt of it. The watchers did not watch for an opportunity of revenge and they are gone."
"Very well," she said. "I was right after all, you see. The hand stretched out of the dark has done this service. For it is your doing that they are gone?"
I did not answer and she laughed a little and continued, "But I will not ask you. I will make shift to be content with your silence. Did Dick Parmiter come with you this morning?"
"Yes," I answered with a laugh, "but he was not with me last night."
Helen laughed again.
"Ah," she cried! "So it was your doing, and I have not asked you." Then she grew serious of a sudden. "But since they are gone"--she exclaimed, in a minute, her whole face alight with her thought--"since they are gone, Cullen may come and come in safety."
"Oh! yes, Cullen may come," I answered, perhaps a trifle roughly. "Cullen will be safe and may come. Indeed, I wonder that he was not here before this. He stole my horse upon the road and yet could not reach here first. I trudged a-foot, Cullen bestrode my horse and yet Tresco still pines for him. It is very strange unless he has a keen nose for danger."
My behaviour very likely was not the politest imaginable, but then Helen's was no better. For although she displayed no anger at my rough words--I should not have cared a scrape of her wheezy fiddle if she had, but she did not, she merely laughed in my face with every appearance of enjoyment. I drew myself up very stiff. Here were all the limits of courtesy clearly over-stepped, but I at all events would not follow her example, nor allow her one glimpse of any exasperation which I might properly feel.
"Shall I go out and search for him in the highways and hedges?" I asked with severity.
"It would be magnanimous," said she biting her lip, and then her manner changed. "He rode your horse," she cried, "and yet he has fallen behind. He will be hurt then! Some accident has befallen him!"
"Or he has wagered my horse at some roadside inn and lost! It was a good horse, too."
She caught hold of my arm in some agitation.
"Oh! be serious!" she prayed.
"Serious quotha!" said I, drawing away from her hand with much dignity. "Let me assure you, madam, that the loss of a horse is a very serious affair, that the stealing of a horse is a very serious affair----"
"Well, well, I will buy it from you, saddle and stirrup and all," she interrupted.
"Madam," said I, when I could get my speech. "There is no more to be said."
"Heaven be praised!" said she. "And now it may be, you will condescend to listen to me. What am I to do? Suppose that he is hurt! Suppose that he is in trouble! Suppose that he still waits for my answer to his message! Suppose in a word that he does not come! What can I do? He may go hungering for a meal."
I did not think the contingency probable, but Helen was now speaking with so much sincerity of distress that I could not say as much.
"Unless he comes to Tresco I am powerless. It is true I have bequeathed everything to him, but then I am young," she said, with a most melancholy look in her big dark eyes. "Neither am I sickly."
"I will go back along the road and search for him," and this I spoke with sincerity. She looked at me curiously.
"Will you do that?" she asked in a doubtful voice, as though she did not know whether to be pleased or sorry.
"Yes," said I, and a servant knocked at the door, and told me Parmiter wished to speak with me. I found the lad on the steps of the porch, and we walked down to the beach.
"What is it?" I asked.
"The Frenchman," said he, with a frightened air.
"Peter Tortue?"
"Yes."
I led him further along the beach lest any of the windows of the house should be open towards us, and any one by the open window.
"Where is he?"
Dick pointed up the hill.
"At the shed?" I asked.
"Yes. He was lying in wait on the hillside, and ran down when he saw that I was alone. He stays in the shed for you, and you are to go to him alone."
"Amongst the dead sailor-men?" said I, with a laugh. But the words were little short of blasphemy to Dick Parmiter. "Well, I was there last night, and no harm came to me."
"You were there last night?" cried Dick. "Then you will not go?"
"But I will," said I. "I am curious to hear what Tortue has to say to me. You may take my word for it, Dick, there's no harm in Peter Tortue. I shall be back within the hour. Hush! not a word of this!" for I saw Helen Mayle coming from the house towards us. I told her that I was called away, and would return.
"Do you take Dick with you?" she asked, with too much indifference. She held a big hat of straw by the ribbons and swung it to and fro. She did that also with too much indifference.
"No," said I, "I leave him behind. Make of him what you can. He cannot tell what he does not know."
The sum of Dick's knowledge, I thought, amounted to no more than this--that I had last night visited the shed, in spite of the dead sailor-men. I forgot for the moment that he was in my bedroom when I rose that morning.
The door of the shed was fastened on the inside; I rapped with my knuckles, and Tortue's voice asked who was there. When I told him, he unbarred the door.
"There is no one behind you?" said he, peering over my shoulder.
"Nay! Do you fear that I have brought the constables to take you? You may live in Tresco till you die if you will. What! Should I betray you, whose life you saved only last night?"
Peter opened the door wide.
"A night!" said he, with a shrug of the shoulders. "One can forget more than that in a night, if one is so minded."
I followed him into the shed. Here and there, through the chinks in the boards, a gleam of light slipped through. Outside it was noonday, within it was a sombre evening. I passed through the door of the partition into the inner room. The rafters above were lost in darkness, and before my eyes were accustomed to the gloom I stumbled over a slab of stone which had been lifted from its place in the floor. I turned to Tortue, who was just behind me, and he nodded in answer to my unspoken question. The spade and the pick had stood in that corner to the left, and this slab of stone had been removed in readiness. The darkness of the shed struck cold upon me all at once, as I thought of why that slab had been removed. I looked about me much as a man may look about his bedroom the day after he has been saved from his grave by the surgeon's knife. Everything stands as it did yesterday--this chair in this corner, that table just upon that pattern of the carpet, but it is all very strange and unfamiliar. It was against that board in the partition that I leaned my back; there sat George Glen with his evil smile, here Tortue polished his knife.
"Let us go out into the sunlight, for God's sake!" said I, and my foot struck against a piece of iron, which went tinkling across the stone floor. I picked it up. "They are gone," said I, with a shiver, "and there's an end of them. But this shed is a nightmarish sort of place for me. For God's sake, let us get into the sun!"
"Yes, they are gone," said Tortue, "but they would have stayed if they dared, if I hadn't set you free, for they went without the cross."
I was still holding that piece of iron in my hand. By the feel of it, it was a key, and I slipped it into my pocket quite unconsciously, for Tortue's words took me aback with surprise.
"Without the jewelled cross? But you had the plan," said I, as I stepped into the open. "I heard you describe the spot--three chains in a line east of the east window in the south aisle of the church."
"There was no trace of the cross."
"It was true then!" I exclaimed. "I was sure of it, even after Roper had found the stick and the plan. It was true--that grave had been rifled before."
"Why should the plan have been put back, then?"
"God knows! I don't."
"Besides, if the grave had been rifled, the spot of ground on St. Helen's Island had not. There had been no spade at work there."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Yes."
"And you followed out the directions?"
"To the letter. Three chains east by the compass of the eastern window in the south aisle of St. Helen's Church, and four feet deep! We dug five and six feet deep. There was nothing, nor had the ground been disturbed."
"I cannot understand it. Why should Adam Mayle have been at such pains to hide the plan? Was it a grim joke to be played on Cullen?"
There was no means of answering the problem, and I set it aside.
"After all, they are gone," said I. "That is the main thing."
"All except me," said Tortue.
"Yes. Why have you stayed?"
Tortue threw himself on the ground and chewed at a stalk of grass.
"I saved your life last night," said he.
"I know. Why did you do it? Why did you cover my mistakes in that shed? Why did you cut the rope?"
"Because you could serve my turn. The cross!" he exclaimed, with a flourish. "I do not want the cross." He looked at me steadily for an instant with his shrewd eyes. "I want a man to nail on the cross, and you can help me to him. Where is Cullen Mayle?"
The words startled me all the more because there was no violence in the voice which spoke them--only a cold, deliberate resolution. I was nevermore thankful for the gift of ignorance than upon this occasion. I could assure him quite honestly,
"I do not know."
"But last night you knew."
"I spoke of many things last night of which I had no knowledge--the cross, the plan----"
"You knew where the plan was. Flesh! but you knew that!"
"I guessed."
"Guess, then, where Cullen Mayle is, and I'll be content."
"I have no hint to prompt a guess." Tortue gave no sign of anger at my answer. He sat upon the grass, and looked with a certain sadness at the shed.
"It does not, after all, take much more than a night to forget," said he.
"I am telling you the truth, Tortue," said I, earnestly. "I do not know. I never met Cullen Mayle but once, and that was at a roadside inn. He stole my horse upon that occasion, so that I have no reason to bear him any goodwill."
"But because of him you came down to Tresco?" said Tortue quickly.
"No."
Tortue looked at me doubtfully. Then he looked at the house, and
"Ah! It was because of the girl."
"No! No!" I answered vehemently. I could not explain to him why I had come, and fortunately he did not ask for an explanation. He just nodded his head, and stood up without another word.
"I do not forget," said I pointing to the shed. "And if you should be in any need----" But I got no further in my offer of help; for he turned upon me suddenly, and anger at last had got the upper hand with him.
"Money, is it not?" he cried, staring down at me with his eyes ablaze. "Ay, that's the way with gentlefolk! You would give me as much as a guinea no doubt--a whole round gold guinea. Yes, I am in need," and with a violent movement he clasped his hands together. "Virgin Mary, but I am in need of Cullen Mayle, and you offer me a guinea!" and then hunching his shoulders he strode off over the hill.
So Helen Mayle's instinct was right. Out of the five men there was one who waited for Cullen's coming with another object than to secure the diamond cross. Would he continue to wait? I could not doubt that he would, when I thought upon his last vehement burst of passion. Tortue would wait upon Tresco, until, if Cullen did not come himself, some word of Cullen's whereabouts dropped upon his ear. It was still urgent, therefore, that Cullen Mayle should be warned, and if I was to go away in search of him, Helen must be warned too.
I walked back again towards Merchant's Point with this ill news heavy upon my mind, and as I came over the lip of the hollow, I saw Helen waiting by the gate in the palisade. She saw me at the same moment, and came up towards me at a run.
"Is there more ill-news?" I asked myself. "Or has Cullen Mayle returned?" and I ran quickly down to her.
"Has he come?" I asked, for she came to a stop in front of me with her face white and scared.
"Who?" said she absently, as she looked me over.
"Cullen Mayle," I answered.
"Oh, Cullen," she said, and it struck me as curious that this was the first time I had heard her speak his name with indifference.
"Because he must not show himself here. There is a reason! There is a danger still!"
"A danger," she said, in a loud cry, and then "Oh! I shall never forgive myself!"
"For what?"
She caught hold of my arm.
"See?" she said. "Your coat-sleeve is frayed. It was a rope did that last night. No use to deny it. Dick told me. He saw that a rope too had seared your wrists. Tell me! What happened last night? I must know!"
"You promised not to ask," said I, moving away from her.
"Well, I break my promise," said she. "But I must know," and she turned and kept pace with me, down the hill, through the house into the garden. During that time she pleaded for an answer in an extreme agitation, and I confess that her agitation was a sweet flattery to me. I was inclined to make the most of it, for I could not tell how she would regard the story of my night's adventures. It was I after all who caused old Adam Mayle's bones to be disturbed; and I understood that it was really on that account that I had shrunk from telling her. She had a right to know, no doubt. Besides there was this new predicament of Tortue's stay. I determined to make a clean breast of the matter. She listened very quietly without an exclamation or a shudder; only her face lost even the little colour which it had, and a look of horror widened in her eyes. I told her of my capture on the hillside, of Tortue's intervention, of the Cross and the stick in the coffin. I drew a breath and described that scene in the Abbey grounds, and how I escaped; and still she said no word and gave no sign. I told her of their futile search upon St. Helen's, and how I had witnessed their departure from the top of the Castle Down. Still she walked by my side silent, and wrapped in horror. I faltered through this last incident of Tortue's stay and came to a lame finish, amongst the trees at the end of the garden. We turned and walked the length of the garden to the house.
"I know," I said. "When I guessed the stick held the plan, I should have held my tongue. But I did not think of that. It was not easy to think at all just at that time, and I must needs be quick. They spoke of attacking the house, and I dreaded that.... I should not have been able to give you any warning.... I should not have been able to give you any help ... for, you see, the slab of stone was already removed in the shed."
"Oh, don't!" she cried out, and pressed her hands to her temples. "I shall never forgive myself. Think! A week ago you and I were strangers. It cannot be right that you should go in deadly peril because of me."
"Madam," said I, greatly relieved, "you make too much of a thing of no great consequence. I hope to wear my life lightly."
"Always?" said she quickly, as she stopped and looked at me.
I stopped, too, and looked at her.
"I think so," said I, but without the same confidence. "Always."
She had a disconcerting habit of laughing when there was no occasion whatever for laughter. She fell into that habit now, and I hastened to recall her to Tortue's embarrassing presence on the island.
"Of course," said I, "a word to the Governor at Star Castle and we are rid of him. But he stood between me and my death, and he trusts to my silence."
"We must keep that silence," she answered.
"Yet he waits for Cullen Mayle, and--it will not be well if those two men meet."
"Why does he wait? Do you know that, too?"
I did not know, as I told her, though I had my opinion, of which I did not tell her.
"The great comfort is this. Tortue did not make one upon that expedition to the Sierra Leone River, but his son did. Tortue only fell in with George Glen and his gang at an ale-house in Wapping, andafter--that is the point--after Glen had lost track of Cullen Mayle. Tortue, therefore, has never seen Cullen, does not know him. We have an advantage there. So should he come to Tresco, while I go back along the road to search for him, you must make your profit of that advantage."
She stopped again.
"You will go, then?"
"Why, yes."
She shook her head, reflectively.
"It is not right," she said.
"I am going chiefly," said I, "because I wish to recover my horse."
She always laughed when I mentioned that horse, and her laughter always made me angry.
"Do you doubt I have a horse?" I asked. "Or ratherhada horse? Because Cullen Mayle stole it, stole it deliberately from under my nose--a very valuable horse which I prized even beyond its value--and he stole it."
The girl was in no way impressed by my wrath, and she said, pleasantly:
"I am glad you said that. I am glad to know that with it all, you are mean like other men."
"Madam," I returned, "when Cullen Mayle stole my horse, and rode away upon it, he put out his tongue at me. I made no answer. Nor do I make any answer to the remark which you have this moment addressed to me."
"Oh, sir!" said she, "here are fine words, and here's a curtsey to match them;" and spreading out her frock with each hand, she sank elaborately to the very ground.
We walked for some while longer in the garden, without speech, and the girl's impertinence gradually slipped out of my mind. The sea murmured lazily upon the other side of the hedge, and I had full in view St. Helen's Island and the ruined church upon its summit. The south aisle of the church pointed towards the house, and through the tracery of a rude window I could see the sky.
"I wonder who in the world can have visited the Abbey burial-ground and rifled that grave?"
The question perplexed me more and more, and I wondered whether Helen could throw light upon it. So I asked her, but she bent her brows in a frown, and in a little she answered:
"No, I can think of no one."
I held out my hand to her. "This is good-bye," said I.
"You go to-day?" she asked, but did not take my hand.
"Yes, if I can find a ship to take me. I go to St. Helen's first. Can I borrow your boat; Dick will bring it back. I want to see that east window in the aisle."
A few more words were said, and I promised to return, whether I found Cullen Mayle or not. And I did return, but sooner than I expected, for I returned that afternoon.