Shifting the reins to his left hand, Roddy let the other fall upon his revolver.Shifting the reins to his left hand, Roddy let the other fall upon his revolver.
Roddy again turned to the girl and found herclosely observing him. He sank back in his saddle and took off his hat. Still scanning the hedges, he pushed his pony beside hers and spoke quickly.
“Pardon me,” he said, “but I think you had better ride on. Some men are coming here. They—they may be here now.”
That his anxiety was entirely on her account was obvious. The girl colored slightly, and smiled. As she smiled, Roddy for the first time was looking directly at her, and as he looked his interest in assassins and his anxiety as to what they might do passed entirely from him. For months he had not seen a girl of his own people, and that this girl was one of his own people he did not question. Had he first seen her on her way to mass, with a lace shawl across her shoulders, with a high comb and mantilla, he would have declared her to be Spanish, and of the highest type of Spanish beauty. Now, in her linen riding-skirt and mannish coat and stock, with her hair drawn back under a broad-brimmed hat of black straw, she reminded him only of certain girls with whom he had cantered along the Ocean Drive at Newport or under the pines of Aiken. How a young woman so habited had come to lose herself in a lonely road in Curaçao was incomprehensible. Still, it was not for him to object. That the gods had found fit to send herthere was, to Roddy, sufficient in itself, and he was extremely grateful. But that fact was too apparent. Though he was unconscious of it, the pleasure in his eyes was evident. He still was too startled to conceal his admiration.
The girl frowned, her slight, boyish figure grew more erect.
“My name is Rojas,” she said. “My father is General Rojas. I was told you wished to help him, and last night I sent you a note asking you to meet me here.”
She spoke in even, matter-of-fact tones. As she spoke she regarded Roddy steadily. When, the night before, Inez had sent the note, she had been able only to guess as to what manner of man it might be with whom she was making a rendezvous at daybreak, in a lonely road. And she had been more than anxious. Now that she saw him she recognized the type and was reassured. But that he was worthy of the secret she wished to confide in him she had yet to determine. As she waited for him to disclose himself she was to all outward appearances tranquilly studying him. But inwardly her heart was trembling, and it was with real relief that, when she told him her name, she saw his look of admiration disappear, and in his eyes come pity and genuine feeling.
“Oh!” gasped Roddy unhappily, his voice filled with concern. “Oh, I am sorry!”
The girl slightly inclined her head.
“I came to ask you,” she began, speaking with abrupt directness, “what you propose to do?”
It was a most disconcerting question. Not knowing what he proposed to do, Roddy, to gain time, slipped to the ground and, hat in hand, moved close to the pommel of her saddle. As he did not answer, the girl spoke again, this time in a tone more kindly. “And to ask why you wish to help us?”
As though carefully considering his reply, Roddy scowled, but made no answer. In a flash it had at last come to him that what to Peter and to himself had seemed a most fascinating game was to others a struggle, grim and momentous. He recognized that until now General Rojas had never been to him a flesh-and-blood person, that he had not appreciated that his rescue meant actual life and happiness. He had considered him rather as one of the pieces in a game of chess, which Peter and himself were secretly playing against the Commandant of the San Carlos prison. And now, here, confronting him, was a human being, living, breathing, suffering, the daughter of this chessman, bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh, demanding ofthe stranger by what right he made himself her father’s champion, by what right he pushed himself into the tragedy of the Rojas family. In his embarrassment Roddy decided desperately to begin at the very beginning, to tell the exact truth, to omit nothing, and then to throw himself upon the mercy of the court.
The gray mist of the morning had lifted. Under the first warm rays of the sun, like objects developing on a photographer’s plate, the cactus points stood out sharp and clear, the branches of the orange trees separated, assuming form and outline, the clusters of fruit took on a faint touch of yellow. From the palace yard in distant Willemstad there drifted toward them the boom of the morning gun.
With his reins over his arm, his sombrero crumpled in his hands, his face lifted to the face of the girl, Roddy stood in the road at attention, like a trooper reporting to his superior officer.
“We were in the tea-house of the Hundred and One Steps,” said Roddy. “We called ourselves the White Mice.”
Speaking quickly he brought his story down to the present moment. When he had finished, Inez, who had been bending toward him, straightened herself in the saddle and sat rigidly erect. Her lips and brows were drawn into two level lines,her voice came to him from an immeasurable distance.
“Then it was a joke?” she said.
“A joke!” cried Roddy hotly. “That’s most unfair. If you will only give us permission we’ll prove to you that it is no joke. Perhaps, as I told it, it sounded heartless. I told it badly. What could I say—that I am sorry? Could I, a stranger, offer sympathy to you? But wearesorry. Ever since Peter proposed it, ever since I saw your father——”
The girl threw herself forward, trembling. Her eyes opened wide.
“You saw my father!” she exclaimed. “Tell me,” she begged, “did he look well? Did he speak to you? When did you—” she stopped suddenly, and turning her face from him, held her arm across her eyes.
“It was four months ago,” said Roddy. “I was not allowed to speak to him. We bowed to each other. That was all.”
“I must tell them,” cried the girl, “they must know that I have seen some one who has seen him. But if they know I have seen you——”
She paused; as though asking advice she looked questioningly at Roddy. He shook his head.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“My mother and sister don’t know that I am here,” Inez told him. “If they did they would be very angry. No one,” she added warningly, “must know. They are afraid of you. They cannot understand why you offer to help us. And they mistrust you. That is why I had to see you here in this way.” With a shrug of distaste the girl glanced about her. “Fortunately,” she added, “you understand.”
“Why, yes,” Roddy assented doubtfully. “I understand your doing whatyoudid, but I don’t understand the others. Who is it,” he asked, “who mistrusts me? Who,” he added smiling, “besides yourself?”
“My mother,” answered Inez directly, “your consul, Captain Codman, Colonel Vega, and——”
In surprise, Roddy laughed and raised his eyebrows.
“Vega!” he exclaimed. “Why should Vega mistrust me?” Knowing what was in his mind, the girl made him a formal little bow.
“It is not,” she answered, “because you saved his life.” In obvious embarrassment she added: “It is because you are not in the confidence of your father. You can see that that must make it difficult for Colonel Vega.”
Bewildered, Roddy stared at her and again laughed.
“And what possible interest,” he demanded, “canmyfather have in Colonel Vega?”
For a moment, with distrust written clearly in her eyes, the girl regarded him reproachfully. Then she asked coldly:
“Do you seriously wish me to think that you donotknow that?”
While they had been speaking, even when Inez had made it most evident to Roddy that to herself and to her friends he was a discredited person, he had smiled patiently. His good humor had appeared unassailable. But now his eyes snapped indignantly. He pressed his lips together and made Inez an abrupt bow.
“I assure you, I know nothing,” he said quickly.
He threw the reins over the neck of the pony, and with a slap on its flank drove it across the road within reach of the waiting Pedro. Then lifting his hat, and with another bow, he started in the direction of Willemstad. Inez, too surprised to speak, sat staring after him. But before he had taken a dozen steps, as though she had called him back and asked him to explain, he halted and returned. He had entirely recovered his good humor, but his manner when he spoke was not conciliatory.
“The trouble is this,” he said, “your friends are so deep in plots that they have lost sight of the thing that counts. While they are ‘mistrusting,’ and suspecting, and spying on each other, a man is dying. I know that much, anyway. That is all I care to know.” As though it were an extenuating fact, he added: “It is a question of character. It is a Venezuelan way of doing things. But it is not our way. It was very kind of you to give me this chance to explain our interfering. But I see now—everybody,” he added dryly, “has taken pains to make it very plain—that we are a nuisance.” He paused, and to assure her it was not she he was upbraiding, smiled cheerfully. In his most confidential manner he continued lightly: “For myself, I have always thought there was something to say for the fools who rush in where angels fear to tread. I remember once seeing a fool rush into a burning building and rescue a child, while I and some other angels shouted for ladders.” He nodded, and again lifted his hat. “Good-by,” he said, “and thank you.” Leaving her seated silent in the saddle, he walked away.
This time he had turned the bend in the road and had proceeded along it some hundred yards, when from behind him he heard approaching at a reckless pace the hoof-beats of a pony. Lookingback, he saw a whirlwind of fluttering skirts and scattered sparks and pebbles. Inez, followed by Pedro, drew up even with him; and as she dragged her pony to a halt, threw herself free of the pommel and dropped at his feet to the road. Had he not caught her by the shoulders she would have stumbled into his arms. A strand of hair had fallen across her face, her eyes were eager, flashing. She raised her gloved hands impulsively, and clasped them before him.
“Please!” she begged. “You must not go. It is true—what you say about us, but you must help us. I did not know. I had forgotten. It is three years since I talked to any one—any one from your country. I had forgotten. It is true; we are suspicious, we arenotstraightforward like you, like the people in the States. But you must not punish us for that. Notme!”
At all times the face raised to his was beautiful. Now, the delicate lips, like those of a child before it breaks into sobs, were trembling, the eyes, lifted appealingly, were eloquent with tears.
“You must advise me,” said the girl. “You must help me.”
She raised her clasped hands higher. She regarded him wistfully, “Won’t you?” she begged.
Her attack had been swift, masterly; everyfeminine weapon had been brought into effective action; and the surrender of Roddy was sudden, and complete. In abject submission he proceeded incoherently:
“My dear young lady!” he cried. “But, my dear younglady!”
He was rewarded with a brilliant, blinding smile.
“Then youwillhelp me?” Inez asked.
Roddy recovered himself quickly.
“My Spanish is very bad,” he answered, “but what it sounds like in English is, ‘I am at your feet.’”
The sun now was shining brightly, and in the open road they were as conspicuous as though they had stood in a shop window on Broadway. Across the road, in the hedge opposite, a gate barred a path that led into one of the plantations. Roddy opened the gate, and together, followed by Pedro with the ponies, they found a spot where they were hidden by the hedge from any one passing on the highway. Inez halted in the shade of one of the orange trees. Speaking rapidly, she sketched for Roddy a brief history of the various efforts that had been made to rescue her father. She explained why these efforts had failed. She told him of the revolution led by Pino Vega, and the good it was expected to accomplish.
At first the girl spoke in some embarrassment. She knew that to be where she was, at that hour, alone with a stranger, was, in the eyes of her friends and family, an unpardonable offense. And though she resented their point of view, the fact that it existed disquieted her. But the man at her side did not seem to consider talking to a girl in the open sunshine either as a novel experience or one especially disgraceful. Politely, with lowered eyes, he gave to what she said the closest attention. The circumstance that they were alone, even the fact that she was young and attractive, did not once appear to occur to him. Seeing this, Inez with each succeeding moment gained confidence in Roddy and in herself and spoke freely.
“That is what we have tried to do,” she said. “Now I am going to tell you why I asked you to meet me here this morning, and how I believe you can help me. Three days ago I received a message from my father.”
Roddy exclaimed with interest, but motioned eagerly for her to continue.
“It is in cipher,” she continued, “but it is his handwriting. It is unmistakable. It was given to me when I was at church. I was kneeling in the chapel of St. Agnes, which is in the darkest cornerof the building. At first I was alone, and then a woman came and knelt close beside me. She was a negress, poorly dressed, and her face was hidden by her shawl. For a moment I thought she was murmuring her prayers, and then I found she was repeating certain words and that she was talking at me. ‘I have a letter, a letter from your father,’ she whispered. I crowded closer, and she dropped a piece of paper in front of me and then got to her feet and hurried away. I followed, but there were many people at mass, and when I had reached the street she had disappeared. The message she brought me is this: ‘Page 54, paragraph 4.’ That is all. It is the second message we have had from my father in two years. The first one was by word of mouth, and came a month ago. The meaning of that was only too plain. But what this one means I cannot imagine, nor,” proceeded Inez with distress, “can I see why, if he had the chance to write to us, he did not write more openly.”
She looked appealingly at Roddy, and paused for him to speak.
“He was afraid the message would be intercepted,” said Roddy. “What he probably means to do is to send it to you in two parts. The second message will be the key that explains this one.He knew if he wrote plainly, and it fell into the wrong hands—” Roddy interrupted himself, and for a moment remained silent. “‘Page 54, paragraph 4,’” he repeated. “Has he sent you a book?” he asked. “Has any book come to you anonymously?”
The girl shook her head. “No, I thought of that,” she said, “but no books have come to us that we haven’t ordered ourselves.”
“What do the others think?” asked Roddy.
The girl colored slightly and shook her head.
“I have not told them. I knew my mother would ask Pino to help her, and,” she explained, “though I like Pino, for certain reasons I do not wish to be indebted to him for the life of my father. Before appealing to him I have been trying for two days to find out the meaning of the cipher, but I could not do it, and I was just about to show it to my mother when Captain Codman told us of your offer. That made me hesitate. And then, as between you and Pino, I decided you were better able to help us. You live in Porto Cabello, within sight of the prison. Pino will be in the field. His revolution may last a month, it may last for years. During that time he would do nothing to help my father. When you risked being shot yesterday, it seemed to me you showed you hadspirit, and also,youare from the States, and Pino is a Venezuelan, so——”
“You needn’t take up the time of the court,” said Roddy, “in persuading me that I am the man to help you. To save time I will concede that. What was the other message you received from your father?”
The eyes of the girl grew troubled and her voice lost its eagerness.
“It was charged in a French paper,” she said, “that the prisoners in San Carlos were being killed by neglect. The French minister is a friend of our family, and he asked Alvarez to appoint a committee of doctors to make an investigation. Alvarez was afraid to refuse, and sent the doctors to examine my father and report on his health. One of them told him that Alvarez would permit him to send a message to my mother, and to tell her himself whether he was, or was not, ill. This is the message that they gave us as coming from my father.
“‘I don’t know what you gentlemen may decide as to my health,’ he said, ‘butIknow that I am dying. Tell my wife that I wish to be buried in my native country, and to place upon my tombstone my name and this epitaph: “He wrote history, and made history.”’” The voice of the girlhad dropped to a whisper. She recovered herself and continued sadly: “Until three days ago that is the only word we have received from my father in two years.”
The expression on Roddy’s face was one of polite incredulity. Seeing this, Inez, as though answering his thought, said proudly: “My father made history when he arranged the boundary line between British Guiana and Venezuela.”
Roddy shook his head impatiently.
“I wasn’t thinking of that,” he said. “I was thinking of the message. It doesn’t sound a bit like your father,” he exclaimed. “Not like whatI’veheard of him.”
The eyes of the girl grew anxious with disappointment.
“Do you mean,” she asked, “that you think he didnotsend that message?”
“It doesn’t sound to me,” said Roddy, “like the sort of message he would send, knowing the pain it would cause. He isn’t the sort of man to give up hope, either. Even if it were true, why should he tell your mother he is dying? And that epitaph!” cried Roddy excitedly. “That’snot like him, either! It is not modest.” With sudden eagerness he leaned toward her. “Didyour father write history?” he demanded.
Unable to see the purpose of his question, the girl gazed at him in bewilderment. “Why, of course,” she answered.
“And does any part of it refer to Porto Cabello?”
After a moment of consideration Inez nodded. “The third chapter,” she said, “tells of the invasion by Sir Francis Drake.”
“‘Chapter three, page fifty-four, paragraph four!’” shouted Roddy. “I’ll bet my head on it! Don’t you see what he has done?” he cried. “He sent you the key before he sent you the cipher. The verbal message is the key to the written one. They gave him a chance to send word to your mother, and he took it. He told her he was dying only that he might give her a direction, apparently about an epitaph, a boastful epitaph. He never boasted while he was alive—why should he boast on his tombstone? His real message is this: ‘Look in the history I wrote of Venezuela, on page fifty-four, paragraph four,’ and when we have found it,” cried Roddy, “we’ll have found the way to get him out of prison!”
Inez was not convinced, but his enthusiasm was most inspiriting.
“We have the history at the house,” she cried, “and I know you can find it in the Spanish bookstore in Willemstad. I must go at once.”
She moved forward, greatly excited, her eyes lit with the happiness of this new hope. Roddy ran to bring her pony, and making a bridge of his hands lifted her to the saddle. “If I am right about this,” he said, “I must see you again to-day. Where can I meet you?”
In spite of her eagerness, the girl hesitated. One by one the traditions of a lifetime were smashing about her.
“Imusttell my mother,” she pleaded. “And I know she will not allow me——”
“And she’ll tell Pino,” interrupted Roddy. To detain her, he laid his hand upon the reins and shook them sharply.
“Are you helping Pino to win a revolution,” he demanded, “or are you helping me to get your father out of prison?”
Inez gazed at him in dismay. In her brief twenty-two years no man had spoken to her in such a manner. Among her friends she knew of no Venezuelan who, no matter what the provocation, would have addressed his wife, his sister, his daughter in a tone so discourteous. And yet this stranger was treating her, who, as she had been frequently and reliably informed, was the loveliest and most lovable of her sex, as he might a mutinous younger brother. In spite of the new and seriousthought that now occupied her mind, this one was also sufficiently novel to compel her attention. It both amused and fascinated her. Here was at last one man who was working to help her father, and not only in order to find favor in her bright eyes. He needed her wits and her courage; he wanted her help, but he wanted it as from a comrade, as he would have asked it of another man. Unconsciously he was paying her the compliment that best pleased her. When she nodded in assent she laughed delightedly, partly at him for bullying, partly at herself that she should for a moment have resented it.
“I am helpingyou!” she said.
Not understanding why she laughed, Roddy regarded her doubtfully.
Imitating the directness of his manner, Inez spoke quickly. “You can keep the pony. It is new to our stable and not known to belong to us. To-morrow morning, before sunrise, ride out again, but this time take the road to Otrabanda and along the cliff. Be sure to pass our house before sunrise. Ride about a mile and turn down a bridle-path to your left. That will bring you to the beach. If I cannot go, Pedro will meet you. You will get the history my father wrote at Belancourts, in Willemstad.” For a moment she regarded himwith friendly eyes. “If you should be right,” she exclaimed, “how can I ever thank you?”
Roddy smiled back at her and shook his head.
“I don’t know that we were exactly looking for gratitude,” he said. “Now, go!” he ordered, “for I can’t leave until you are well out of sight.”
With another delightful laugh, that to Roddy was again inexplicable, the girl accepted her dismissal. It was her first rendezvous, but, in spite of her inexperience, she knew that had it been made with a Venezuelan the man would not have been the one first to bring it to an end.
Roddy impatiently waited until a quarter of an hour had passed, then galloped to Willemstad. On the way he put up the pony at a livery-stable in the suburbs, and on foot made his way as quickly as possible to the bookstore. What he wanted, he explained, were guidebooks and histories of Venezuela. Among those the man showed him was one in three volumes, in Spanish, by Señor Don Miguel Rojas. Roddy’s fingers itched to open it, but he restrained himself and, after buying half a dozen other books, returned to his hotel. Peter was still asleep, and he could not wait to waken him. Locking himself in, he threw the books he did not want upon the floor, and, with fingers that were all thumbs, fumbled at the first volume of the historyuntil he had found page fifty-four. His eyes ran down it to the fourth paragraph. His knowledge of Spanish was slight, but it was sufficient. Page fifty-four was the description of an attack from the sea by Drake, upon the Fortress of San Carlos. Translated by Roddy, paragraph four read as follows: “Seeing that it was no longer possible to hold the fortress, the defenders were assembled in the guard-room, and from there conducted to the mainland, through the tunnel that connects San Carlos with the Fortress of El Morro.”
Like a man in a trance, Roddy walked to the adjoining room and shook the sleeping Peter by the shoulder. Peter opened his eyes, and the look in Roddy’s face startled him into instant wakefulness.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded.
“Nothing!” said Roddy. Forgetting that to Peter it was unintelligible, he pointed with a triumphant finger at paragraph four.
“I have found an underground passage into the cell of General Rojas,” he said. “We must go back and dig him out.”
In order to avoid the heat, those planters who lived some distance from Willemstad were in the habit of rising by candlelight, and when the sun rose it found them well advanced upon their journey. So when on the following morning Roddyagain set forth to meet Inez Rojas, the few servants who knew of his early departure accepted it, and the excuse he gave of wild-pigeon shooting, as a matter of course.
Without difficulty Roddy found the bridle-path leading down from the cliff road to the sea, and after riding for a short distance along the beach came upon Inez, guarded by the faithful Pedro. The cliff, hollowed at its base by the sea, hung over them, hiding them from any one on the cliff road, and the waves, breaking into spray on an outer barrier of rock, shut them from the sight of those at sea.
As Inez rose from the rock on which she had been seated and came eagerly to meet him, her face was radiant with happiness. Over night she appeared to have gained in health and strength, to have grown younger, and, were it possible, more beautiful. The satisfaction in the eyes of Roddy assured her that he, also, had solved the riddle.
“You have seen the book,” she called; “you understand?”
“I think so,” replied Roddy. “Anyway, I’ve got a sort of blueprint idea of it. Enough,” he added, “to work on.”
“I didn’t tell my mother,” Inez announced. “Nor,” she continued, as though defying her ownmisgivings, “do I mean to tell her. Until you can get back word to me, until you say thatthistime you believe we may hope, it seems to me it would be kinder to keep her in ignorance. But I told Pedro,” she added. She flashed a grateful smile at the old man, and he bowed and smiled eagerly in return. “And he has been able to help me greatly. He tells me,” she went on, “that his father, who was in the artillery, was often stationed at Morro before it was abandoned. That was fifty years ago. The tunnel was then used daily and every one knew of it. But when the troops were withdrawn from Morro the passage was walled up and each end blocked with stone. In San Carlos it opened into the guard-room. El Morro was hardly a fortress. It was more of a signal-station. Originally, in the days of the pirates, it was used as a lookout. Only a few men were kept on guard there, and only by day. They slept and messed at San Carlos. Each morning they were assembled in the guard-room, and from there marched through the tunnel to El Morro, returning again at sunset.”
“I don’t know El Morro,” said Roddy.
“You have probably seen it,” Inez explained, “without knowing it was a fort. It’s in ruins now. Have you noticed,” she asked, “to the right of thetown, a little hill that overlooks the harbor? It is just above the plain where the cattle are corralled until they are shipped to Cuba. Well, the ruins of El Morro are on top of that hill. It is about a quarter of a mile from San Carlos, so we know that is the length of the tunnel. Pedro tells me, for a part of the way it runs under the water of the harbor. It was cut through the solid rock by the prisoners at San Carlos.”
“There must be a lot of people,” objected Roddy, “who know of it.”
“Fifty years ago they knew of it,” returned Inez eagerly, “but, remember, for half a century it has virtually ceased to exist. And besides, to my people there is nothing unusual in such a tunnel. You will find them connected with every fort the Spaniards built along this coast, and in Cuba, and on the Isthmus of Panama. All along the Spanish Main, wherever there is more than one fort, you will find them linked together by tunnels. They were intended to protect the soldiers from the fire of the enemy while they were passing from one position to another.”
The young people had been standing ankle-deep in the soft, moist sand. Now the girl moved toward her pony, but Roddy still stood looking out to sea. He appeared to have entirely forgotten that Inezwas present, and to be intently regarding the waves that surged against the rocks, and burst into glittering walls of foam. At last, with a serious countenance, he came toward her.
“I shall tell the authorities at Porto Cabello,” he said, “that they ought to build a light-house on El Morro. At any rate, I will ask permission to make a survey. As they don’t intend to pay father for any of his light-houses, they are not likely to object. And as I don’t intend to build one, father can’t object. He will attribute my offer to mistaken zeal on behalf of the company. And he will consider it another evidence of the fact that I don’t understand his business. As soon as I find out anything definite I will let you know. And, by the way,” he asked, “howam I to let you know?”
Inez gave him the address of a fellow-exile from Venezuela, living in Willemstad, who was in secret communication with Pedro. Through this man letters would reach her safely.
She turned to him in farewell, and held out her hand.
“You must be very careful,” she said.
“Trust me!” answered Roddy heartily. “I promise you I’ll be as mysterious a double-dealer as any Venezuelan that ever plotted a plot. I admit,” he went on, “that when I came down hereI was the frank, wide-eyed child, but, I assure you, I’ve reformed. Your people have made me a real Metternich, a genuine Machiavelli. Compared to me now, a Japanese business man is as honest and truth-loving as Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch.”
With a grin, Roddy invited the girl to sympathize with his effort to conceal the seriousness of their undertaking, but she regarded him doubtfully, and frowned. In his heart Roddy felt sorry for her. It hurt him to think that any one so charming could not accept his theory, that the only way to treat a serious matter was with flippancy. But the girl undeceived him.
“You don’t understand me,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to be careful to protect our interests. I meant you to be careful of yourself. If anything were to happen to you through this—” She hesitated and looked away from him toward the sea. “Do you imagine,” she demanded, “that it is easy for me to ask what I am asking of you?Iknow I have no right to do it. I know the only possible excuse for me is that I am not asking it for myself, but for my father—although, of course, thatisasking it for myself.”
“Beauty in distress,” began Roddy briskly, “is the one thing——”
“That’s what I mean,” interrupted the girlgratefully, “the way you take it, the way you make it easier for me. Every other man I know down here would tell me he was doing it only for me, and he would hope I would believe him. But whenyousay you are helping beauty in distress, you are secretly frightened lest I may not have a sense of humor—and believe you. I know you are doing this because you feel deeply for my father. If I didn’t know that, if I didn’t feel that that were true, all this I have asked of you would be impossible. But it is possible, because I know you first tried to save my father of your own accord. Because I know now that it is your nature to wish to help others. Because you are brave, and you are generous.”
But Roddy refused to be ennobled.
“It’s because I’m a White Mice,” he said. “My oath compels me! How would you like,” he demanded, frowning, “if we turned you into an Honorary White Mouse?”
For an instant, with perplexed eyes and levelled brows, the girl regarded him fixedly. Then she smiled upon him. It was the same flashing, blinding smile which the morning before had betrayed him into her hands, bound and captive. It was a smile that passed swiftly, like a flash of sunshine over a garden of gay flowers. It brought out unsuspected,ambushed dimples. It did fascinating and wholly indefensible things to her lips. It filled her eyes with gracious, beautiful meanings. Inez raised her head challengingly.
“You think,” she declared, “that I cannot be foolish, too. But I can. Let’s sit down here on this rock and be quite foolish.”
“
Ican be quite as foolish as you,” Inez repeated as Roddy continued to regard her. “Some day, when this is over, when you have made it all come right, we will sit out here and pretend that we have escaped from Venezuela, that we are up North in my mother’s country—in your country. We will play these are the rocks at York Harbor, and we’ll be quite young and quite happy. Have you ever sat on the rocks at York Harbor,” she demanded eagerly, “when the spray splashed you, and the waves tried to catch your feet?”
Roddy was regarding her in open suspicion. He retreated warily.
“York Harbor!” he murmured. “I discovered it! It is named after me. But you! I never imagined you’d been there, and I never imagined you could be anything but serious, either. It makes you quite dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” murmured the girl.
“One is dangerous,” said Roddy, “when one is completely charming.”
The girl frowned, and her shoulders movedslightly. “You speak,” she said, “like a Venezuelan.”
But Roddy was in no mood to accept reproof.
“I told you,” he said, “I admire the fools who rush in where angels fear to tread. There is another man I admire equally, ‘the man who runs away.’ It takes great courage to run away. I must do it now.”
He retreated from her. His eyes were filled with a sudden, deep delight in her, and a growing wonder. The girl regarded him steadily.
“Come here,” she commanded, “and say ‘Good-by’ to me.”
Roddy took the slim, gauntleted hand stretched out to him, and for an instant the girl held his hand firmly, and then nodded. The smile this time was very near to tears.
“What you are going to do,” she said, “is the dangerous thing. You don’t know how dangerous. If I should not see you again——”
Roddy looked down into her eyes, and laughed from utter happiness.
“You will seemeagain,” he said.
His tone gave to the words a meaning which the girl entirely disregarded.
“You will remember,” she went on, as though he had not spoken, “that we—that I am grateful.”
Roddy turned and smiled out at the sunlit sea.
“You have given me,” he answered, “other things to remember.”
He pulled off his sombrero and took the gauntleted hand in both of his. He bowed over it and brushed it with his lips. The girl still regarded him steadily, questioningly.
“Good-by,” faltered Roddy.
His eyes sought hers wistfully, appealingly, with all that he felt showing in them. But her own told him nothing. Roddy released her hand with an effort, as though it were bound to his with manacles.
“Now I know,” he said gently, “why I came to Venezuela.”
The girl made no answer, and silently Roddy mounted and rode away. When he had reached the place where the rocks would hide her from sight he glanced back. He saw Inez standing beside her pony, leaning with her arms across the saddle, looking after him. Then, as he waved his hand, she raised hers with a gesture that seemed to Roddy partly a farewell, partly a benediction.
The stable at which Roddy had told Pedro he would leave the pony was far in the suburbs, and by the time he had walked to Willemstad the morning was well advanced.
“Now I know why I came to Venezuela!”“Now I know why I came to Venezuela!”
As he approached the quay he recognized that in his absence some event of unusual interest had claimed the attention of the people. Everywhere men were gathered in little groups, gesticulating, laughing, frowning importantly, and at the hotel Roddy was surprised to see, on the balcony leading from his room, Peter and the American Consul. The sight of him apparently afforded them great satisfaction, and they waved and beckoned to him frantically. Ignoring their last meeting, the Consul greeted Roddy as though he were an old friend.
“Have you heard the news?” he demanded. “It is of great local interest, and it should interest you. Last night,” he explained, “President Alvarez declared an amnesty for his political opponents living in foreign countries. All exiles may now return to their homes.”
He pointed at the small passenger steamer lying at the quay directly below the window. TheBlue Peterwas at the fore, and her deck was crowded with excited, jubilant Venezuelans.
“You see,” explained Captain Codman, “they have lost no time.”
In a tone that precluded the possibility of discussion, Peter briskly added: “Andweare going with them. I have packed your bag and paid the bill. We sail in an hour.”
The news of the amnesty bewildered Roddy. The wonderful possibilities it so suddenly presented thrilled him. They were so important that with difficulty he made his voice appear only politely interested.
“And Señora Rojas?” he asked.
“I regret to say,” answered Captain Codman, “she decides to take advantage of the amnesty. As soon as she can arrange her affairs here she will return to Miramar, her home in Porto Cabello.”
To Miramar! Roddy turned suddenly to the window, and with unseeing eyes stared at the busy harbor. By sight he knew the former home of the Rojas family. In his walks he had often passed before its yellow-pillared front and windows barred with intricate screens of wrought iron. Through the great gates that had hung before Miramar since it had been the palace of the Spanish Governor-General, and through which four horses could pass abreast, he had peered at the beautiful gardens. He had wondered at the moss-covered statues, at the orchids on the flamboyant trees, with their flowers of scarlet, at the rare plants, now neglected and trailing riotously across the paths, choked with unkempt weeds. Not an hour before, when he had parted from Inez, he had determinedto make sentimental journeys to that same house. For she had walked in those gardens, it was through those gates she had swept in her carriage to take the air in the Plaza; at night, when she slept, some high-ceilinged, iron-barred room of that house had sheltered her. He had pictured himself prowling outside the empty mansion and uncared-for garden, thinking of the exile, keeping vigil in the shadow of her home, freshly resolving to win back her father to health and freedom.
And now, by a scratch of the pen, the best that could happen had come to him. The house would waken to life. Instead of only the fragrance clinging to the vase, the rose itself would bloom again. Again Inez would walk under the arch of royal palms, would drive in the Alameda, would kneel at Mass in the cool, dark church, while, hidden in the shadows, he could stand and watch her. And though, if he hoped to save her father, stealth and subterfuge would still be necessary, he could see her, perhaps, speak to her; at least by the faithful Pedro he could send her written words, flowers, foolish gifts, that were worth only the meaning they carried with them.
Feeling very much of a hypocrite, Roddy exclaimed fervently: “How wonderful for Señora Rojas! To be nearhim again! Is she happy? Does it make it easier for her?”
With a disturbed countenance the Consul nodded gravely.
“Yes,” he answered, “she welcomed the change. She believes it means for her husband better conditions. She hopes even for his pardon; but—” The Consul shook his head impatiently, and with pitying eyes looked down upon the excited men on the steamer below them.
“But what?” demanded Roddy.
“I suspect every act of Alvarez,” the Consul explained. “Thislookslike the act of a generous opponent. But I cannot believe it is that. I believe he knows all that is being plotted against him. I believe this act of amnesty is only a device to put the plotters where he can get his hand on them. He is the spider inviting the flies into his parlor.”
As the little steamer passed the harbor mouth and pushed her nose toward Porto Cabello, Roddy, with Peter at his side, leaned upon the starboard rail. Roddy had assured Inez that Peter must be given their full confidence, and he now only waited a fitting moment to tell him of what had occurred that morning, in so far, at least, as it referred to the tunnel.
The eyes of both were turned toward Casa Blanca, now rapidly retreating from them. And, as they watched it, the mind of each occupied with thoughts of its inmates, they saw a white figure leave the house, and, moving slowly, halt at the edge of the cliff.
Roddy, his eyes straining toward the coast-line, took off his hat and stood with it clasped in his hands. Peter saw the movement, and to hide a smile of sympathy, looked down at the white foam rushing below them.
“Roddy,” he asked, “what sort of a girl is Inez Rojas?”
His eyes still seeking the figure on the rocks, and without turning his head, Roddy answered with startling directness:
“What sort of a girl?” he growled. “The sort of a girlIam going to marry!”
More moved than he knew, and thinking himself secure in the excited babel about him and in the fact that the others spoke in Spanish, Roddy had raised his voice. He was not conscious he had done so until, as he spoke, he saw a man leaning on the rail with his back toward him, give an involuntary start. Furious with himself, Roddy bit his lip, and with impatience waited for the man to disclose himself. For a moment the strangerremained motionless, and then, obviously to find out who had spoken, slowly turned his head. Roddy found himself looking into the glowing, angry eyes of Pino Vega. Of the two men, Roddy was the first to recover. With eagerness he greeted the Venezuelan; with enthusiasm he expressed his pleasure at finding him among his fellow-passengers, he rejoiced that Colonel Vega no longer was an exile. The Venezuelan, who had approached trembling with resentment, sulkily murmured his thanks. With a hope that sounded more like a threat that they would soon meet again, he begged to be allowed to rejoin his friends.
“Now you’ve done it!” whispered Peter cheerily. “And he won’t let it rest there, either.”
“Don’t you suppose I know that better than you do,” returned Roddy miserably. He beat the rail with his fist. “It should not have happened in a thousand years,” he wailed. “He must not know I have ever even seen her.”
“Hedoesknow,” objected Peter, coming briskly to the point. “What are you going to do?”
“Lie to him,” said Roddy. “He is an old friend of the family. She told me so herself. She thought even of appealing to him before she appealed to us. If he finds out I have met her alone at daybreak, I have either got to tell him whywe met and what we are trying to do, or he’ll believe, in his nasty, suspicious, Spanish-American way, that I am in love with her, and that she came there to let me tell her so.”
Roddy turned on Peter savagely.
“Whydidn’t you stop me?” he cried.
“Stopyou—talking too much?” gasped Peter. “Is that my position? If it is, I resign.”
The moon that night threw black shadows of shrouds, and ratlines across a deck that was washed by its radiance as white as a bread-board. In the social hall, the happy exiles were rejoicing noisily, but Roddy stood apart, far forward, looking over the ship’s side and considering bitterly the mistake of the morning. His melancholy self-upbraidings were interrupted by a light, alert step, and Pino Vega, now at ease, gracious and on guard, stood bowing before him.
“I do not intrude?” he asked.
Roddy, at once equally on guard, bade him welcome.
“I have sought you out,” said the Venezuelan pleasantly, “because I would desire a little talk with you. I believe we have friends in common.”
“It is possible,” said Roddy. “I have been in Porto Cabello about four months now.”
“It was not of Porto Cabello that I spoke,” continuedVega, “but of Curaçao.” He looked into Roddy’s eyes suddenly and warily, as a swordsman holds the eyes of his opponent. “I did not understand,” he said, “that you knew the Rojas family?”
“I do not know them,” answered Roddy.
Vega turned his back to the moon, so that his face was in shadow. With an impatient gesture he flicked his cigarette into the sea. As though he found Roddy’s answer unsatisfactory, he paused. He appeared to wish that Roddy should have a chance to reconsider it. As the American remained silent, Vega continued, but his tone now was openly hostile.
“I have been Chief of Staff to General Rojas for years,” he said. “I have the honor to know his family well. Señora Rojas treats me as she did her son, who was my dearest friend. I tell you this to explain why I speak of a matter which you may think does not concern me. This morning, entirely against my will, I overheard you speaking to your friend. He asked you of a certain lady. You answered boldly you intended to marry her.” Vega’s voice shook slightly, and he paused to control it. “Now, you inform me that you are not acquainted with the Rojas family. What am I to believe?”
“I am glad you spoke of that,” said Roddyheartily. “I saw that you overheard us, and I was afraid you’d misunderstand me——”
The Venezuelan interrupted sharply.
“I am well acquainted with your language!”
“You speak it perfectly,” Roddy returned, “but you did not understand it as I spoke it. The young lady is well known in Willemstad. Our Consul, as you are aware, is her friend. He admires her greatly. He told me that she is half American. She has been educated like an American girl, she rides, she plays tennis. What my friend said to me was, ‘What sort of a girl is Señorita Rojas?’ and I answered, ‘She is the sort of girl I am going to marry,’ meaning she is like the girls in my own country, one of our own people, like one of the women I some day hope to marry.”
Roddy smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
“Now do you understand?” he asked.
The Venezuelan gave no answering smile. His eyes shone with suspicion. Roddy recognized that between his desire to believe and some fact that kept him from believing, the man was acutely suffering.
“Tell me, in a word,” demanded Vega sharply, “give me your word you do not know her.”
“I don’t see,” said Roddy, “that this is any of your damned business!”
The face of Vega checked him. At his refusal to answer, Roddy saw the look of jealousy that came into the man’s eyes and the torment it brought with it. He felt a sudden pity for him, a certain respect as for a fellow-sufferer. He himself had met Inez Rojas but twice, but, as he had told her, he knew now why he had come to Venezuela. This older man had known Inez for years, and to Roddy, arguing from his own state of mind regarding her, the fact was evidence enough that Vega must love her also. He began again, but now quietly, as he would argue with a child.
“I see no reason for making any mystery of it,” he said. “I did meet Miss Rojas. But I can’t say I know her. I met her when she was out riding with her groom. I thought she was an American. She needed some help, which I was able to give her. That is all.”
Vega approached Roddy, leaning forward as though he were about to spring on him. His eyes were close to Roddy’s face.
“And what was the nature of this help?” he demanded.
“You are impertinent,” said Roddy.
“Answer me!” cried the Venezuelan. “I have the right. No one has a better right.”
He flung up his right arm dramatically, and heldit tense and trembling, as though it were poised to hurl a weapon.
“You were watched!” he cried hysterically. “Iknowthat you met. And you tried to deceive me. Both of you. She will try, also——”
The moonlight disappeared before the eyes of Colonel Vega, and when again he opened them he was looking dizzily up at the swaying masts and yards. Roddy, with his hand at Vega’s throat, was forcing his shoulders back against the rail. His free hand, rigid and heavy as a hammer, swung above the Venezuelan’s face.
“Yesterday,” panted Roddy, “I saved your life. If you insult that girl with your dirty, Latin mind, so help me—I willtakeit!”
He flung the man from him, but Vega, choking with pain and mortification, staggered forward.
“It isyouwho insult her,” he shrieked. “It is I who protect her. Do you knowwhy? Do you know what she is to me? She is my promised wife!”
For a moment the two men stood, swaying with the gentle roll of the ship, staring into each other’s eyes. Above the sound of the wind in the cordage and the whisper of the water against the ship’s side, Roddy could hear himself breathing in slow, heavy respirations. Not for an instant did hedoubt that the man told the truth. Vega had spoken with a conviction that was only too genuine, and his statement, while it could not justify, seemed to explain his recent, sudden hostility. With a sharp effort, Roddy recovered himself. He saw that no matter how deeply the announcement might affect him, Vega must believe that to the American it was a matter of no possible consequence.
“You should have told me this at first,” he said quietly. “I thought your questions were merely impertinent.”
Roddy hesitated. The interview had become poignantly distasteful to him. He wished to get away; to be alone. He was conscious that a possibility had passed out of his life, the thought of which had been very dear to him. He wanted to think, to plan against this new condition. In discussing Inez with this man, in this way, he felt he was degrading her and his regard for her. But he felt also that for her immediate protection he must find out what Vega knew and what he suspected. With the purpose of goading him into making some disclosure, Roddy continued insolently:
“And I still think they are impertinent.”
Roddy’s indignation rose and got the upper hand. He cast caution aside.
“With us,” he continued, “when a woman promises to marry a man—he does not spy on her.”
“We spied onyou,” protested Vega. “We did not think it would lead us to——”
Roddy cut him off with a sharp cry of warning.
“Be careful!” he challenged.
“You met in the road——”
“So I told you,” returned Roddy.
“You dismounted and talked with her.”
Roddy laughed, and with a gesture of impatience motioned Vega to be silent.
“Is that all?” he demanded.
The Venezuelan saw the figure he presented. Back of him were hundreds of years of Spanish traditions, in his veins was the blood of generations of ancestors by nature suspicious, doubting, jealous. From their viewpoint he was within his rights; they applauded, they gave him countenance; but by the frank contempt of the young man before him his self-respect was being rudely handled. Not even to himself could he justify his attitude.
“In my country,” he protested, “according to our customs, it was enough.”
The answer satisfied and relieved Roddy. It told him all he wished to know. It was now evident that Vega’s agent had seen only the firstmeeting, that he was not aware that Inez followed after Roddy, or that the next morning by the seashore they had again met. The American brought the interview to an abrupt finish.
“I refuse,” said Roddy loftily, “to discuss this matter with you further. If the mother of Señorita Rojas wishes it, I shall be happy to answer any questions she may ask. I have done nothing that requires explanation or apology. I am responsible to no one. Good-night.”
“Wait!” commanded Vega. “You will find that here you cannot so easily avoid responsibilities. You have struck me. Well, we have other customs, which gentlemen——”
“I am entirely at your service,” said Roddy. He made as magnificent a bow as though he himself had descended from a line of Spanish grandees. Vega’s eyes lit with pleasure. He was now playing a part in which he felt assured he appeared to advantage. He almost was grateful to Roddy for permitting him to reëstablish himself in his own esteem.
“My friends shall wait upon you,” he said.
“Whenever you like,” Roddy answered. He started up the deck and returned again to Vega. “Understand me,” he whispered, “as long as I’m enjoying the hospitality of your country I acceptthe customs of your country. If you’d made such a proposition to me in New York I’d have laughed at you.” Roddy came close to Vega and emphasized his words with a pointed finger. “And understandthis! We have quarrelled over politics. You made an offensive remark about Alvarez; I defended him and struck you. You now demand satisfaction. That is what happened. And if you drag the name of any woman into this I won’t give you satisfaction. I will give you a thrashing until you can’t stand or see.”
Roddy found Peter in the smoking-room, and beckoning him on deck, told him what he had done.
“You’re a nice White Mouse!” cried Peter indignantly. “You’re not supposed to go about killing people; you’re supposed to save lives.”
“No one is ever killed in a duel,” said Roddy; “I’ll fire in the air, and he will probably miss me. I certainly hope so. But there will be one good result. It will show Alvarez that I’m not a friend of Vega’s, nor helping him in his revolution.”
“You don’t have to shoot a man to show you’re not a friend of his,” protested Peter.
They were interrupted by the hasty approach of Vega’s chief advisers and nearest friends, General Pulido and Colonel Ramon.
“Pino seems in a hurry,” said Roddy. “I had no idea he was so bloodthirsty.”
“Colonel Vega,” began Pulido abruptly, “has just informed us of the unfortunate incident. We have come to tell you that no duel can take place. It is monstrous. The life of Colonel Vega does not belong to him, it belongs to the Cause. We will not permit him to risk it needlessly. You, of all people, should see that. You must apologize.”
The demand, and the peremptory tone in which it was delivered, caused the fighting blood of Roddy’s Irish grandfathers to bubble in his veins.
“‘Must’ and ‘apologize!’” protested Roddy, in icy tones; “Those are difficult words, gentlemen.”
“Consider,” cried Pulido, “what great events hang upon the life of Colonel Vega.”
“My own life is extremely interesting to me,” said Roddy. “But I have done nothing which needs apology.”
Colonel Ramon now interrupted anxiously.
“You risked your life for Pino. Why now do you wish to take it? Think of his importance to Venezuela, of the happiness he will bring his country, and think what his loss would mean to your own father.”
“My father!” exclaimed Roddy. “What has my father to do with this?”
The two Venezuelans looked at each other in bewilderment, and then back at Roddy sternly and suspiciously.
“Are you jesting?” demanded General Pulido.
“Never been more serious in my life,” said Roddy.
The two officers searched his face eagerly.
“It is as Pino says,” exclaimed Pulido, with sudden enlightenment. “He is telling the truth!”
“Of course I’m telling the truth!” cried Roddy fiercely. “Are you looking for a duel, too?”
“Tell him!” cried Pulido.
“But Mr. Forrester’s orders!” protested Colonel Ramon.
“He is more dangerous,” declared Pulido, “knowing nothing, than he would be if he understood.”
He cast a rapid glance about him. With a scowl, his eyes finally rested upon Peter.
“I’ll be within knockout distance if you want me,” said that young man to Roddy, and moved to the rail opposite.
When he had gone, Pulido bent eagerly forward.
“Do you not know,” he demanded, “what it is your father is doing in our country?”
Roddy burst forth impatiently, “No!” he protested. “And I seem to be the only man in the country who doesn’t.”
The two officers crowded close to him. In sepulchral tones, Pulido exclaimed dramatically. He spoke as though he were initiating Roddy into a secret order.
“Then understand,” he whispered, “that your father supports Pino Vega with five million bolivars; that Vega, whose life you are seeking, is the man your father means to make President of Venezuela. Now do you understand?”
For a long time Roddy remained silent. Then he exclaimed in tones of extreme exasperation:
“I understand,” he said, “that, if my father had given me his telephone number, he would have saved me a lot of trouble. No wonder everybody suspects me.”
“And now,” declared Pulido anxiously, “you are one ofus!”
“I am nothing of the sort,” snapped Roddy. “If my father does not wish to tell me his plans I can’t take advantage of what I learn of them from strangers. I shall go on,” he continued with suspicious meekness, “with the work Father has sent me here to do. Who am I, that I should push myself into the politics of your great country?”
“And the duel?” demanded Pulido.
“I am sure,” hastily interjected Colonel Ramon, “if Colonel Vega withdraws his offensive remarkabout President Alvarez, Mr. Forrester will withdraw his blow.”
Roddy failed to see how a blow that had left a raw spot on the chin of Pino Vega could by mutual agreement be made to vanish. But if to the minds of the Spanish-Americans such a miracle were possible, it seemed ungracious not to consent to it.
“If I understand you,” asked Roddy, “Colonel Vega withdraws his offensive remark?”
The seconds of Pino Vega nodded vigorously.
“Then,” continued Roddy, “as there was no offensive remark, there could have been no blow, and there can be no duel.”
Roddy’s summing up delighted the Venezuelans, and declaring that the honor of all was satisfied, they bowed themselves away.
Next morning at daybreak the fortress of San Carlos rose upon the horizon, and by ten o’clock Roddy was again at work, threatening a gang of Jamaica coolies. But no longer he swore at them with his former wholeheartedness. His mind was occupied with other things. Now, between him and his work, came thoughts of the tunnel that for half a century had lain hidden from the sight of man; and of Inez, elusive, beautiful, distracting, now galloping recklessly toward him down a sunlit road, now a motionless statue standing on a whitecliff, with the waves of the Caribbean bending and bowing before her.
With the return of the exiles to Porto Cabello, that picturesque seaport became a place of gay reunions, of banquets, of welcome and rejoicing. The cafés again sprang to life. The Alameda was crowded with loitering figures and smart carriages, whilst the vigilance and activity of the government secret police increased. Roddy found himself an object of universal interest. As the son of his father, and as one who had prevented the assassination of Pino Vega, the members of the government party suspected him. While the fact that in defense of Alvarez he had quarrelled with Vega puzzled them greatly.
“If I can’t persuade them I am with the government,” said Roddy, “I can at least keep them guessing.”
A week passed before Peter and Roddy were able, without arousing suspicion, and without being followed, to visit El Morro. They approached it apparently by accident, at the end of a long walk through the suburbs, and so timed their progress that, just as the sun set, they reached the base of the hill on which the fortress stood. They found that on one side the hill sloped gently toward the city, and on the other toward the sea. The facetoward the city, except for some venturesome goats grazing on its scant herbage, was bare and deserted. The side that sloped to the sea was closely overgrown with hardy mesquite bushes and wild laurel, which would effectually conceal any one approaching from that direction. What had been the fortress was now only a broken wall, a few feet in height. It was covered with moss, and hidden by naked bushes with bristling thorns. Inside the circumference of the wall was a broken pavement of flat stones. Between these, trailing vines had forced their way, their roots creeping like snakes over the stones and through their interstices, while giant, ill-smelling weeds had turned the once open court-yard into a maze. These weeds were sufficiently high to conceal any one who did not walk upright, and while Peter kept watch outside the walled ring, Roddy, on his hands and knees, forced his way painfully from stone to stone. After a quarter of an hour of this slow progress he came upon what once had been the mouth of the tunnel. It was an opening in the pavement corresponding to a trap in a roof, or to a hatch in the deck of a ship. The combings were of stone, and were still intact, as were also the upper stones of a flight of steps that led down to the tunnel. But below the level of the upper steps, blocking further descent, were twogreat slabs of stone. They were buried deep in a bed of cement, and riveted together and to the walls of the tunnel by bands of iron. Roddy signalled for Peter to join him, and in dismay they gazed at the formidable mass of rusty iron, cement and stone.
“We might as well try to break into the Rock of Gibraltar!” gasped Peter.
“Don’t think of the difficulties,” begged Roddy. “Think that on the other side of that barrier an old man is slowly dying. I admit it’s going to be a tough job. It will take months. But whatever a man has put together, a man can pull to pieces.”
“I also try to see the bright side of life,” returned Peter coldly, “but I can’t resist pointing out that the other end of your tunnel opens into a prison. Breaking into a bank I can understand, but breaking into a prison seems almost like looking for trouble.”
The dinner that followed under the stars in their own court-yard did much to dispel Peter’s misgivings, and by midnight, so assured was he of their final success, that he declared it now was time that General Rojas should share in their confidence.
“To a man placed as he is,” he argued, “hope is everything; hope is health, life. He must know that his message has reached the outside. Hemust feel that some one is working toward him. He is the entombed miner, and, to keep heart in him, we must let him hear the picks of the rescuing party.”
“Fine!” cried Roddy, “I am for that, too. I’ll get my friend Vicenti, the prison doctor, to show you over the fortress to-morrow. And we’ll try to think of some way to give Rojas warning.”