Complete works of a e w.., p.328
Complete Works of a E W Mason, page 328
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 the Royal 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 the Royal Fortune when 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.
CHAPTER XIII
IN THE ABBEY GROUNDS
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.
