Later that evening there was a large gathering of the important members of the conspiracy, but the result of their deliberations only served to mystify us more than before as to the murderer of Madam Izabel and the possessor of the ring. Many were the expressions of sorrow at the terrible fate of Dom Miguel—a man beloved by all who had known him. The sad incident of his death caused several to waver in their loyalty to the projected Republic, and I was impressed by the fact that at this juncture the Cause seemed to be in rather desperate straits.
“If the ring is gone and the records discovered,” said one, “we would best leave the country for a time, until the excitement subsides, for the Emperor will spare no one in his desire for vengeance.”
“Let us first wait for more definite 136information,” counseled the old general, always optimistic. “Should an uprising be precipitated at this time we have all the advantage on our side, for the Republic is to-day stronger than the Empire. And we have yet to hear from Paola.”
So, after much comment, it was determined to watch every action of the court party with redoubled vigilance, and in case danger threatened the republicans, to give the signal that would set the revolution going in full swing. Meantime we would endeavor to get in touch with Paola.
But the Minister of Police had mysteriously disappeared, and although telegrams were sent in every direction, we could hear nothing of Paola’s whereabouts. Inquiries at the court failed to elicit any information whatever, and they were doubtless as ignorant on the subject as ourselves.
Officially, I was supposed to be occupying a dungeon in the fortress, and Mazanovitch had actually locked up a man under my name, registering the prisoner in the prescribed fashion. Therefore, being cleverly disguised by the detective, I ran 137little risk of interference should I venture abroad in the city.
Curiously enough, Mazanovitch chose to disguise me as a member of the police, saying that this plan was less likely than any other to lead to discovery. Wherever I might wander I was supposed to be off duty or on special service, and the captain enrolled me under the name of Andrea Subig.
I was anxious at times to return to Cuyaba, for Lesba’s white face, as I had last seen it on the morning of Dom Miguel’s incarceration, haunted me perpetually. But the quest of the ring was of vital importance, and I felt that I dared not return until I could remove my dear friend’s body from the vault and see it properly interred.
Under Mazanovitch’s directions I strove earnestly to obtain a clue that might lead to a knowledge of where the missing ring was secreted; but our efforts met with no encouragement, and we were not even sure that the murderer of Izabel de Mar had ever reached the capital.
On the third morning after my arrival 138I was strolling down the street toward the railway station, in company with Mazanovitch, when suddenly I paused and grasped my comrade’s arm convulsively.
“Look there!” I exclaimed.
Mazanovitch shook off my hand, impatiently.
“I see,” he returned; “it is the Senhorita Lesba Paola, riding in the Emperor’s carriage.”
“But that scoundrel Valcour is with her!” I cried.
“Scoundrel? We do not call Senhor Valcour that. He is faithful to the Emperor, who employs him. Shall we, who are unfaithful, blame him for his fidelity?”
While I sought an answer to this disconcerting query the carriage whirled past us and disappeared around a corner; but I had caught a glimpse of Lesba’s bright eyes glancing coyly into the earnest face Valcour bent over her, and the sight filled me with pain and suspicion.
“Listen, Captain,” said I, gloomily, “that girl knows all the important secrets of the conspiracy.”
139“True,” answered the unmoved Mazanovitch.
“And she is riding in the Emperor’s carriage, in confidential intercourse with the Emperor’s spy.”
“True,” he said again.
“Paola has disappeared, and his sister is at court. What do you make of it, senhor?”
“Pardon me, the Minister of Police returned to his duties this morning,” said the man, calmly. “Doubtless his sister accompanied him. Who knows?”
“Why did you not tell me this?” I demanded, angrily.
“I am waiting for Paola to communicate with us, which he will do in good time. Meanwhile, let me counsel patience, Senhor Americano.”
But I left him and strode down the street, very impatient indeed, and filled with strange misgivings. These Brazilians were hard to understand, and were it not for Lesba I could wish myself quit of their country forever.
Lesba? What strange chance had 140brought her to Rio and thrown her into the companionship of the man most inimical to her brother, to myself, and to the Cause?
Was she playing a double game? Could this frank, clear-eyed girl be a traitor to the Republic, as had been Izabel de Mar?
It might be. A woman’s mind is hard to comprehend. But she had been so earnest a patriot, so sincerely interested in our every success, so despondent over our disappointments, that even now I could not really doubt her faith.
Moreover, I loved the girl. Had I never before realized the fact, I knew it in this hour when she seemed lost to me forever. For never had speech of mine brought the glad look to her face that I had noted as she flashed by with Valcour pouring soft speeches into her ears. The Emperor’s spy was a handsome fellow; he was high in favor at court; he was one of her own people—
Was he, by the by? Was Valcour really a Brazilian? He had a Brazilian’s dark eyes and complexion, it is true; yet now that I thought upon it, there was an 141odd, foreign cast to his features that indicated he belonged to another race. Yes, there was a similarity between them and the features of the Pole Mazanovitch. Perhaps Valcour might also be a Pole. Just now Mazanovitch had spoken kindly of him, and——
I stopped short in my calculations, for I had made a second startling discovery. My wanderings had led me to the railway station, where, as I approached, I saw the Emperor of Brazil, Dom Pedro de Alcantara, surrounded by a company of his Uruguayan guard, and in the act of boarding a private car attached to the Matto Grosso train.
I had never before seen the Emperor, but from descriptions of him, as well as from the deference of those about him, I had no doubt of his identity.
His hurried departure upon a journey, coupled with Paola’s presence at the capital, could only bear one interpretation. The Minister of Police had been in conference with the Emperor, and his Majesty was about to visit in person the scene of the late 142tragedy, and do what he might to unearth the records of that far-reaching revolution which threatened his throne.
Here was news, indeed! Half-dazed, I started to retrace my steps, when a soft voice beside me said:
“Have you money, senhor?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“Then,” continued Mazanovitch, “you must take this train for Cuyaba. Let the Emperor guide you. If danger threatens us, telegraph me the one word, ‘Lesba’! Do you understand, Senhor Harcliffe?”
“I think so,” said I, “but let me use some other word. Why drag a woman’s name into this affair?”
He coughed slightly.
“It is a word you will remember,” said he. “Good by to you, senhor.”
He had an odd way of disappearing, this strange Pole, whose eyes I had never seen. With his last word he actually melted into the crowd of loiterers who were watching the Emperor’s departure, and I could not have found him again had I so desired.
143My first thought was to rebel at leaving Rio, where Lesba Paola had taken refuge from the coming storm. But the girl seemed amply amused without me, and my duties to the interests of my dead chieftain forbade my deserting the Cause at this crisis. Therefore I would follow the Emperor.
As the train moved slowly out of the station, I swung myself upon the steps of the rear car, and the next instant was tumbled upon the platform by a person who sprang up behind me.
Angrily protesting, I scrambled to my feet; but the fellow, with scarcely a glance in my direction, passed into the car and made his way forward.
The exclamations died suddenly upon my lips.
The belated passenger was Senhor Valcour, the spy.
The name of an Emperor is a fine thing to conjure with. When we arrived at the station at Cuyaba at early evening a score of saddle-horses and several carriages were awaiting the royal party.
I stood in the shadows of the station and watched the guardsmen mount and surround the equipage in which their imperial master seated himself. His civic companions—men of high rank, evidently—occupied the other carriages; and then the entire cavalcade swept away into the gloom and left me alone.
The station agent was known to me as a patriot, but he was still bobbing his head after the royal party when I accosted him.
“Get me a horse, Pedro.”
“A horse! Ah, your excellency is joking. Every horse that could be found has been impressed by the Emperor.”
145“Anything will do. A nag of any sort, with saddle or cart, will answer my purpose. The Cause demands it, Pedro.”
“I am powerless, your excellency. Absolutely powerless!”
It was true enough. The only way for me to get to de Pintra’s mansion was on foot, and after inducing the man to give me a peasant’s dress in exchange for my police uniform, I set out at once.
It was a long and gloomy walk. There was a moon, but large banks of clouds were drifting across the sky, and the way was obscured more than half the time, causing me to go slowly in order to avoid stumbling into the ditches.
I met no one on the road, for the highways were usually deserted at this hour, and the silence all about me added its depressing influence to the anxiety of my thoughts.
The Emperor’s advent into this stronghold of the Revolution indicated that at last he had determined to act and suppress the conspiracy that had grown to such huge proportions. With the real leader—“the 146brains of the revolt,” as de Pintra was called—out of the way, Dom Pedro doubtless had concluded he could easily crush the remainder of the conspirators.
But his success, I argued, would depend upon his securing the key to the secret vault, for without that the records would never come into his possession.
Did he have the key? Was this the explanation of his sudden activity? The thought made me hasten my steps, but although I put forth my best efforts it was close upon midnight before I sighted the great hedge that surrounded de Pintra’s mansion. I half-expected to find the gateway guarded, but to my relief the avenue was as deserted as the highway had been.
Cautiously I passed along the drive leading to the mansion. I am not usually nervous at such times, but something in the absolute stillness of the scene, something menacing in the deep shadows cast by the great trees, unnerved me and made me suspicious of my surrounding.
Once, indeed, I fancied that I heard a stealthy footstep advancing to meet me, 147and with a bound I sprang from the driveway and crouched among the thick shrubbery, listening intently. But after a few moments I became reassured and resumed my journey, avoiding this time the graveled drive and picking my way noiselessly across the grass, skirting the endless array of flower-beds and shrubbery.
Fortunately the moon came out, or I might have lost my way; and before long the black line of shadow cast by the mansion itself fell at my feet. Peering ahead, I saw that I had approached the right wing of the house. It was here that my own room was located, and with a low exclamation of relief I was about to step forward into the path when my eyes fell upon a sight that caused me to suddenly halt and recoil in horror.
It was a man’s arm showing white in the moonlight, and extending from beneath a clump of low bushes.
For a few moments I gazed at it as if fascinated, but quickly recovering myself I advanced to the bushes and gently withdrew the body until it lay exposed to the 148full rays of the moon. I fully expected to recognize one of our conspirators, but when I turned the man over a face was disclosed that was wholly unknown to me—that of a dark, swarthy person of evident intelligence and refinement.
He had been shot squarely between the eyes, and doubtless had met death instantly. I was about to consider the man a government spy who had been killed by Paola or some other of the conspirators, when I discovered, with a start of dismay, that the man’s left hand had been completely severed at the wrist. Also the hand was missing, and although I searched the ground carefully in the neighborhood, I could find no trace of it.
This discovery gave me ample food for thought. The only plausible reason for the hasty amputation of the hand had doubtless been to secure a ring which the dead man had worn—the secret key to Dom Miguel’s vault probably, since the murder had been committed at this place.
In whose possession, then, was the ring now? Madam Izabel, the Emperor’s spy, 149had first stolen it. Then another had murdered her for its possession—not a conspirator, for all had denied any knowledge of the ring. Could it have been the man who now lay dead before me? And, if so, who was he? And had the government again managed to secure the precious jewel and to revenge Madam Izabel’s assassination by mutilating this victim in the same way that she had been served?
But if the dead man was not one of the few leaders of the conspiracy who knew the secret of the ring, how should he have learned its value, and risked his life to obtain it from Madam Izabel?
That, however, was of no vital importance. The main thing was that the ring had been taken from him, and had once more changed ownership.
Perhaps Paola, lurking near his uncle’s mansion, had encountered this person and killed him to get the ring. If so, had he carried it to the Emperor? And was this the explanation of Dom Pedro’s sudden visit to de Pintra’s residence?
150Yet what object could Paola have in betraying the conspiracy at this juncture?
Filled with these thoughts I was about to proceed to the house, when a sudden thought induced me to stoop and feel of the murdered man’s arm. The flesh was still warm!
The murder had been done that very evening—perhaps within the hour.
I own that the horror of the thing and the reckless disregard of life evinced in this double murder for the possession of the ring, warned me against proceeding further in the matter; and for the moment I had serious thoughts of returning quietly to Rio and taking the first steamer for New Orleans. But there were reasons for remaining. One was to get possession in some way of Dom Miguel’s body and see it decently buried; for he was my uncle’s friend, as well as my own, and I could not honorably return home and admit that I had left him lying within the dungeon where his doom had overtaken him. The second reason I could not have definitely explained. Perhaps it was curiosity to see the adventure 151to the end, or a secret hope that the revolution was too powerful to be balked. And then there was Lesba! At any rate, I resolved not to desert the Cause just yet, although acknowledging it to be the wisest and safest course to pursue.
So, summoning all my resolution and courage to my aid, I crept to the window of my room and, by a method that I had many times before made use of, admitted myself to the apartment.
I had seen no lights whatever shining from the windows, and the house—as I stood still and listened—seemed absolutely deserted. I felt my way to a shelf, found a candle, and lighted it.
Then I turned around and faced the barrel of a revolver that was held on a level with my eyes.
“You are our prisoner, senhor!” said a voice, stern but suppressed. “I beg you to offer no resistance.”
I held the candle steadily and stared at my captor. He was dressed in the uniform of an officer of the royal guards—the body commanded by Fonseca. At his back were two others, silent but alert.
“You are here in the service of General da Fonseca?” I asked, with assumed composure.
“In the Emperor’s service, senhor,” answered the officer, quietly.
“But the general—”
“The general is unaware of our mission. I have my orders from his Majesty in person.”
He smiled somewhat unpleasantly as he made this statement, and for the first time I realized that my arrest might prove a great misfortune.
“Pardon me if I appear discourteous,” he continued, and made a sign to his men.
153One took the candle from my hand and the other snapped a pair of hand-cuffs over my wrists.
I had no spirit to resist. The surprise had been so complete that it well-nigh benumbed my faculties. I heard the officer’s voice imploring me in polite tones to follow, and then my captors extinguished the candle and marched me away through a succession of black passages until we had reached an upper room at the back of the house.
Here a door quickly opened and I was thrust into a blaze of light so brilliant that it nearly blinded me.
Blinking my eyes to accustom them to the glare, I presently began to note my surroundings, and found myself standing before a table at which was seated the Emperor of Brazil.
Involuntarily I bowed before his Majesty. He was a large man, of commanding appearance, with dark eyes that seemed to read one through and through. Behind him stood a group of four men in civilian attire, while the other end of the room was 154occupied by a squad of a dozen soldiers of the Uruguayan guard.
“A prisoner, your Majesty,” said the officer, saluting. “One evidently familiar with the house, for he obtained entrance to a room adjoining Dom Miguel’s library.”
The Emperor turned from the papers that littered the table and eyed me gravely.
“Your name!” said he, in a stern voice.
I hesitated; but remembering that officially I was occupying a dungeon in Rio I decided to continue the deception of my present disguise.
“Andrea Subig, your Majesty.”
Some one laughed softly beside me. I turned and saw Valcour at my elbow.
“It is the American secretary, your Majesty, one Robert Harcliffe by name.”
The spy spoke in his womanish, dainty manner, and with such evident satisfaction that I could have strangled him with much pleasure had I been free.
“Why are you here?” inquired the Emperor, after eyeing me curiously for a moment.
“I have some personal belongings in this 155house which I wished to secure before returning to the United States. Your men arrested me in the room I have been occupying.”
“Why are you anxious to return to the United States?” questioned the Emperor.
“Because my mission to Brazil is ended.”
“It is true,” returned Dom Pedro, positively. “The conspiracy is at an end.”
“Of that I am not informed,” I replied evasively. “But I have been employed by Dom Miguel de Pintra, not by the conspiracy, as your Majesty terms it. And Dom Miguel has no further need of me.”
“Dom Miguel is dead,” retorted the Emperor, with an accent of triumph in his voice.
“Murdered by his daughter, your spy,” I added, seeing that he was aware of the truth.
He merely shrugged his broad shoulders and turned to whisper to a gray-bearded man behind him.
“This conspiracy must be summarily dealt with,” resumed the Emperor, turning to me again, “and as there is ample evidence 156that you are guilty of treason, Senhor Harcliffe, I shall order you put to death unless you at once agree to give us such information as may be in your possession.”
“I am an American citizen and entitled to a fair trial,” I answered, boldly enough. “You dare not assassinate me. For if I am injured in any way the United States will call you to full account.”
“It is a matter of treason, sir!” returned the Emperor, harshly. “Your citizenship will not protect you in this case. I have myself visited your country and been received there with great courtesy. And no one knows better than I that your countrymen would repudiate one who came to Brazil for the treasonable purpose of dethroning its legitimate Emperor.”
That was true enough, and I remained silent.
“Will you give us the required information?” he demanded.
I was curious to know how much the royalists had learned, and in what position the republicans had been placed by this imperial visit to their headquarters. Dom 157Pedro had said that the conspiracy was at an end; but I did not believe that.
“I am sure you err in believing me to be in the secret counsels of the republicans,” I said, after a moment’s thought. “I was merely employed in the capacity of private secretary to Dom Miguel.”
“But you know of the underground vault? You have visited it?”
“Often,” I replied, seeing no harm in the acknowledgment.
“Can you open it for us?” he demanded. I laughed, for the question exposed to me his real weakness.
“Your Majesty must be well aware that there is but one key,” I replied, “and without that secret key I am as powerless as you are to open the vault.”
“Where is the key?” he asked.
“I do not know. Senhora de Mar stole it from Dom Miguel.”
“And it was taken from her by one of your conspirators.”
“Have you traced it no farther?” I inquired, carelessly.
He shifted uneasily in his chair.
158“My men are now investigating the matter,” said he. “Doubtless the ring will soon be in our possession.”
“And how about the murdered man in the shrubbery?” I asked.
The royalists exchanged glances, and one or two uttered exclamations of surprise.
“Is there a murdered man in the shrubbery, Captain de Souza?” questioned the Emperor, sternly.
“Not that I know of, your Majesty,” returned the officer.
“I found him as I approached the house,” said I. “He has been shot within the hour, and his left hand severed at the wrist.”
It was evident that my news startled them. When I had described the location of the body some of the soldiers were sent to fetch it, and during their absence the Emperor resumed his questioning. I told him frankly that none of the records of the republicans was in my possession, and that whatever knowledge I had gained of the conspiracy or the conspirators could not be drawn from me by his threats of death. For 159now I began to understand that this visit to Dom Miguel’s house was a secret one, and that the royalists were as much in the dark as ever regarding the conspiracy itself or the whereabouts of its leaders. One thing only they knew—that the records were lying with Dom Miguel’s dead body in the secret vault, and that the ring which opened it was missing.
Before long the soldiers bore the body of the latest victim of the fatal ring into the presence of the Emperor, and Valcour bent over it eagerly for a moment, and then shook his head.
“The man is a stranger,” he said.
Others present endeavored to identify the murdered man, but were equally unsuccessful.
I could see by their uneasy looks that they were all suspicious of one another; for Captain de Souza protested that no shot could have been fired without some of his men hearing it, and the fact that the ring they sought had been so recently within their very reach led them to believe it might not now be very far away.
160For all the Emperor’s assumed calmness, I knew he was greatly disturbed by this last murder, as well as by the impotency of his spies to discover the whereabouts of the ring. When Valcour suggested, in his soft voice, that I had myself killed the fellow in the shrubbery, and had either secreted the ring or had it now in my possession, they pounced upon me eagerly, and I was subjected to a thorough search and afterward to severe questioning and many fierce threats.
For a few moments the Emperor listened to the counsels of the group of advisors that stood at his back, and then ordered me safely confined until he had further use for me.
The officer therefore marched me away to the front of the house, where, still securely hand-cuffed, I was thrust into a small chamber and left alone. The key was turned in the lock and I heard the soft foot-falls of a guard pacing up and down outside the door.
The long walk from the station and the excitement of the last hour had greatly 161wearied me; so I groped around in the dark until I found the bed with which the room was provided, and soon had forgotten all about the dreary conspiracy in a refreshing sleep.
Toward morning a tramping of feet aroused me; the door was thrust open long enough for another prisoner to be admitted, and then I heard the bolts shoot into their fastening and the soldiers march away.
It was not quite dark in the room, for the shutters were open and admitted a ray of moonlight through the window. So I lay still and strained my eyes to discover who my companion might be.
He stood motionless for a time in the place the soldiers had left him. I made out that he was tall and stooping, and exceedingly thin; but his face was in shadow. Presently, as he moved, I heard a chain clank, and knew he was hand-cuffed in the same manner as myself.
Slowly he turned his body, peering into every corner of the room, so that soon he discovered me lying where the moonlight 163was strongest. He gave a start, then, but spoke no word; and again an interval of absolute silence ensued.
His strange behavior began to render me uneasy. It is well to know something of a person confined with you in a small room at the dead of night, and I was about to address the fellow when he began stealthily approaching the bed. He might have been three yards distant when I arose to a sitting posture. This caused him to pause, his form well within the streak of light. Resting upon the edge of the bed and facing him, my own features were clearly disclosed, and we examined each other curiously.
I had never seen him before, and I had little pleasure in meeting him then. He appeared to be a man at least fifty years of age, with pallid, sunken cheeks, eyes bright, but shifting in their gaze, and scanty gray locks that now hung disordered over a low forehead. His form was thin and angular, his clothing of mean quality, and his hands, which dangled before him at the ends of the short chain, were large and hardened by toil.
164Not a Brazilian, I decided at once; but I could not then determine his probable nationality.
“Likewise a prisoner, se?or?” he inquired, in an indistinct, mumbling tone, and with a strong accent.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Ah, conspirator. I see; I see!” He nodded his head several times, and then growled sentences that I could not understand.
While I stared at him he turned away again, and with a soft and stealthy tread made the entire circuit of the room, feeling of each piece of furniture it contained, and often pausing for many moments in one spot as if occupied in deep thought.
At last he approached the bed again, dragging after him a chair in which he slowly seated himself opposite me.
“Retain your couch, se?or,” he muttered. “I shall not disturb you, and it will soon be morning. You may sleep.”
But I was now fully awake, and had no intention of sleeping while this strange individual occupied his seat beside me.
165“Who are you?” I demanded. “A patriot?”
“Not as you use the term,” he answered, at once. “I am Mexican.”
“Mexican!” I echoed, surprised. “Do you speak English?”
“Truly, se?or,” he answered, but his English was as bad as his Portuguese.
“Why are you here and a prisoner?” I asked.
“I had business with Se?or de Pintra. I came from afar to see him, but found the soldiers inhabiting his house. I am timid, se?or, and suspecting trouble I hid in an out-building, where the soldiers discovered me. Why I should be arrested I do not know. I am not conspirator; I am not even Brazilian. I do not care for your politics whatever. They tell me Miguel de Pintra is dead. Is it true?”
His tone did not seem sincere. But I replied it was true that Dom Miguel was dead.
“Then I should be allowed to depart. But not so. They tell me the great Emperor is here, their Dom Pedro, and he will speak to me in the morning. Is it true?”
166This time I detected an anxiety in his voice that told me he had not suspected the Emperor’s presence until his arrest.
But I answered that Dom Pedro was then occupying de Pintra’s mansion, together with many of his important ministers.
For a time he remained silent, probably considering the matter with care. But he was ill at ease, and shifted continually in his chair.
“You are Americano?” he asked at last.
“Yes,” said I.
“I knew, when you ask me for my English. But why does the Emperor arrest an American?”
I smiled; but there was no object in trying to deceive him.
“I was private secretary to Dom Miguel,” said I, “and they suspect my late master to have plotted against the Emperor.”
He laughed, unpleasantly.
“It is well your master is dead when they make that suspicion,” said he; then paused a moment and asked, abruptly, “Did he tell you of the vault?”
I stared at him. A Mexican, not a conspirator, 167yet aware of the secret vault! It occurred to me that it would be well to keep my own counsel, for a time, at least.
“A vault?” I asked, carelessly, and shook my head.
Again the fellow laughed disagreeably. But my answer seemed to have pleased him.
“He was sly! Ah, he was sly, the dear Se?or Miguel!” he chuckled, rocking his thin form back and forth upon the chair. “But never mind. It is nothing. I never pry into secrets, se?or. It is not my nature.”
I said nothing and another silent fit seized him. Perhaps five minutes had passed before he arose and made a second stealthy circuit of the room, this time examining the barred window with great care. Then he sighed heavily and came back to his seat.
“What will be your fate, se?or?” he asked.
“I shall appeal to our consul at Rio. They must release me,” I answered.
“Good. Very good! They must release you. You are no conspirator—a mere secretary, and an American.”
I nodded, wishing I might share his confidence. 168Presently he asked for my name and residence, and I answered him truly.
“I myself am Manuel Pesta, of the City of Mexico. You must not forget the name, se?or. Manuel Pesta, the clockmaker.”
“I shall not forget,” said I, wondering what he could mean. And a moment later he startled me by bending forward and asking in an eager tone:
“Have they searched you?”
“Yes.”
“It is my turn soon. This morning.”
He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and fell silent again.
For my part I lay back upon the pillow, yet taking care to face him, and so we remained until daylight came and gradually drove the shadows from the little room.
Even then my strange companion did not move. He was indeed a queer mixture of eager activity and absolute self-repression. Another hour passed, and then we heard footsteps approaching down the passageway.
With a start Pesta aroused himself and fixed a searching glance upon my face. Trembling with nervousness he suddenly raised his manacled hands and removed 169from his mouth a small object that glittered in the morning light.
My heart gave a sudden bound. It was the ring that opened the secret vault!
His own agitation prevented his noting my amazement. Thrusting the ring toward me he whispered, hurriedly:
“Conceal it, quickly, for the love of God! Keep it until I come for it—I, Manuel Pesta—until I demand it of Robert Harcliffe of New Orleans. It may be to-day—it may be many days. But I will come, se?or, I—”
The bolts of the door shot back and a squad of soldiers entered. Their sudden appearance barely gave me time to drop the ring into an outside pocket of my coat. As two of the soldiers seized him I noticed that the Mexican was trembling violently; but he arose meekly and submitted to be led from the room. Two others motioned me to follow, and in a few moments we were ushered into the room where I had had my interview with the Emperor.
Valcour was standing by the fireplace when we entered, and eyeing the Mexican with indifference he said to the captain:
170“This is the man you found secreted in the out-building?”
“It is, senhor,” answered the captain.
“Have you searched him?”
“Only partially. We took from him this revolver, a knife, and this purse. There were no papers.”
Valcour took the weapons in his hands and examined them. The revolver, I could see as he threw back the barrel, was loaded in all six chambers. The knife he glanced at and turned to place upon the mantel when a second thought seemingly induced him to open the blades. It was a large, two-bladed affair, and the bright steel showed that it was sharpened as finely as a razor. As I watched the Emperor’s spy I chanced to look toward the Mexican and surprised an expression that nearly resembled terror upon his haggard face. Perhaps Valcour saw it, too, for he drew a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wiped out the seats in the handles where the blades lay when the knife was closed. A small stain appeared upon the linen, and the spy carried the handkerchief to the window and inspected the 171stain with interest. While he was thus engaged the Emperor entered the room, followed by his ministers, and seating himself at the table calmly proceeded to light a cigar. Evidently he had just breakfasted, for he had an appearance of content that indicated a comfortable condition.
Valcour, returning from the window, first saluted the Emperor with great deference, and then addressed the Mexican.
“Why did you kill that man last evening and sever his hand with your knife?”
The Mexican gazed at him in horror.
“I—se?or, as God hears me, I—”
“Tell me why!” said Valcour calmly.
The fellow glared at him as if fascinated. Then he threw his hands, all manacled as they were, high above his head, and with a scream that caused even the Emperor to start, fell upon the floor in a swoon.
Valcour turned him over with his foot.
“Search him!” he commanded.
The men were thorough. Not a shred of clothing escaped their eyes. And after they had finished the detective himself made an examination.
172Dom Pedro was evidently much interested. Without any explanation further than Valcour’s accusation, all present understood that the Mexican was charged with the murder of the man found in the shrubbery and therefore he must either have the ring upon his person or had deposited it in some secret place.
He lay unconscious after the search had ended, and Valcour, after a moment’s reflection, ordered the men to carry him back to the room where he had passed the night, to guard him well, and to send for a physician.
The Emperor relighted his cigar, which had gone out, and in the interval I heard the sound of a troupe of horse galloping up the drive. There was no mistaking the clank of sabers, and Dom Pedro leaned forward with an expectant look upon his face, in which the others joined.
Then the door burst open and a man entered and knelt before the Emperor. I could scarcely restrain a cry of surprise as I saw him.
It was Francisco Paola.
Not since I parted with him in the road on the morning of Dom Miguel’s murder had I seen Paola or heard from him directly.
At that time, after giving me two men who had proved faithful both to me and the Cause, he had ridden on to the house of death—“to breakfast with his sister.” From that moment his actions had been a mystery not only to me but to all his fellow-conspirators.
But now it seemed easy to understand that the Minister of Police had been attending to the Emperor’s business, and that he had also been playing a double game from the beginning, and promoting the revolution that he might the more easily crush it.
As he rose to his feet after saluting the Emperor, Paola glanced around the room and noted my presence. I could not well disguise the scorn I felt for this treacherous 174fellow, and as he met my eyes he smiled and twirled his small moustache with a satisfied air.
“Well?” demanded the Emperor.
“All is indeed well, your Majesty,” returned the minister, lightly. “The leaders of the conspiracy, with one exception, are now under arrest.”
“And that one?”
“Sanchez Bastro, a coffee-planter with a ranch near by. He has crossed the border. But it is unimportant.”
“And Mendez?”
“Imprisoned in the citadel.”
“Barros?”
“He is comforting Mendez, in the same cell.”
“Treverot?”
“Unfortunately we were obliged to shoot him. He chose to resist.”
“Hm! And Piexoto?”
“Is below, under arrest.”
“Have him brought here.” The captain left the room, and again the Emperor turned to Paola.
“You have done well, senhor; and your 175reward shall be adequate. It was a far-reaching plot, and dangerous.” And Dom Pedro sighed as if greatly relieved.
Paola brushed a speck of dust from his sleeve and laughed in his silly fashion.
“The serpent is only dangerous, your Majesty, until its fangs are pulled,” he drawled, and strolled away toward Valcour, while the soldiers brought in Senhor Floriano Piexoto.
The famous patriot was not only hand-cuffed, but his elbows were bound together by cords across his back. But despite his bonds he walked proudly and scowled into Dom Pedro’s face as he confronted him. Indeed, I was filled with admiration to find that this man whom Fonseca had called “croaker” could be brave when occasion demanded it.
“So, my clever statesman has seen fit to turn traitor,” began the Emperor, sternly regarding the prisoner.
“A champion of Liberty must needs be a traitor to Dom Pedro,” replied Piexoto, with equal sternness.
“But the conspiracy is at an end, and I 176am inclined to be merciful,” resumed the Emperor. “I am told you were the trusted friend of Miguel de Pintra, and knew his secrets. If you will inform us how to unlock the secret vault, I will promise to regard your offense lightly.”
Piexoto stared at him a moment indignantly. Then he turned with a frown upon Paola.
“Ask of your Minister of Police,” he retorted; “for there stands a double traitor! It was he who stood closest to de Pintra, winning his confidence only to betray it. It was Francisco Paola who planned the secret vault. Who should know better than he how to open it?”
The Emperor turned to Paola with suspicion written visibly upon his stern features.
“Did you plan the vault?” he demanded.
“Truly, your Majesty. Otherwise the records would have been scattered in many places. I planned the vault that all might be concentrated in one place—where we should find them when we were ready to explode the conspiracy. Records—plans—money—all are now at our hand.”
177“But we have not the key. Why did you plan so complicated a lock?”
“Nothing else would have satisfied de Pintra. As for the lock, it is nothing. A drill through one of the steel panels would have admitted us easily. But—”
“But what, sir? Why do we not drill now, instead of seeking this cursed ring?”
The Minister smiled and again twirled his moustaches.
“Because Dom Miguel suddenly developed inventive genius on his own part. I was absent when the work was completed, and too late I discovered that de Pintra had made pockets everywhere between the steel plates, and filled every pocket with nitro-glycerine.”
“Well?”
“That is all. To drill into the vault is to explode a pocket of nitro-glycerine, which in turn will explode all the other pockets through concussion.”
“And then?”
“And then the contents of the vault would be blown to atoms. Of the mansion itself not one stone would remain upon another. 178The records we seek would be lost irrevocably.”
Valcour, pale with fear, uttered a cry and dashed through the door, while the Emperor rose to his feet with a look of terror upon his face.
“They are drilling now!” he gasped.
Silently we stood, none daring to move; and into our drawn faces Piexoto gazed with a grim and derisive smile.
Paolo, more composed than any of the others, except Piexoto, began rolling a cigarette, but remembering the Emperor’s presence he ceased.
And so we stood, motionless and silent, until footsteps were again heard and Valcour re-entered wiping the perspiration from his forehead with an embroidered handkerchief. His face wore a look of relief, but there was a slight tremor in his voice as he said:
“I have ordered the drilling stopped, your Majesty.”
Dom Pedro, thus reassured, strode back and forth in evident perplexity.
“We must have the key!” he said, angrily. “There is no other way. And the 179key cannot be far off. Has your prisoner, the Mexican, recovered?”
“I will go and see,” answered the detective, and again left the room.
I caught a look of surprise upon the face of the Minister of Police. It was fleeting, but I was sure it had been there.
“May I inquire who this prisoner is?” he asked. One of the men who acted as secretary to the Emperor, receiving a nod from Dom Pedro, informed Paola of the finding of the dead body in the shrubbery, and of the consequent arrest of the Mexican.
“And the key was not found in his possession?” he inquired, eagerly.
“No.”
“Then he secreted it, fearing arrest. Have the out-buildings been searched?”
“Not yet.”
“Let it be done at once.”
Valcour, entering in time to hear this, flushed angrily.
“That is my business, Senhor Paola. I will brook no interference from the police.”
“Ah! had it not been for the police, Senhor Valcour would have blown his 180Emperor into eternity,” returned Paola, smiling blandly into the spy’s disturbed countenance.
“Enough of this!” cried the Emperor. “Let the grounds and out-buildings be carefully searched. Is your prisoner recovered, Valcour?”
“He is raving mad,” returned the detective, in a surly tone. “It requires two soldiers to control him.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, for I had feared the Mexican, in his terror, would betray the fact that he had given me the ring.
The Emperor retired while the search of the grounds was being conducted, and Piexoto and I were escorted to another room upon the ground floor and locked in. There were two unbarred windows looking upon the grounds, but a sentry was posted at each of these, and as we were still hand-cuffed, our escape was impossible.
For a time my companion did nothing but curse Paola in the most hearty and diversified manner, and I made no effort to stop him. But finally this amusement grew monotonous even to its author, and he asked me how I had allowed myself to be captured.
I therefore related my adventures, but said nothing about the ring.
“I have always suspected Paola,” he told me, “and often warned Dom Miguel against him. The man’s very nature is frivolous. 182He could not be expected to keep faith. Yet it is surprising he did not choose to betray the Emperor, rather than us; for the Revolution is too powerful and too far advanced to be quelled by the arrest of a few of its leaders.”
“But what of Fonseca?” I asked curiously. “Why was he not arrested also? Why was not his name mentioned to the Emperor?”
“I confess the fact puzzles me,” returned Piexoto, thoughtfully. “Fonseca is even more compromised than I am myself, and unless he had a secret understanding with Paola, and purchased immunity, I cannot account for his escaping arrest.”
“But the general will not forsake the cause, I am sure,” I said, earnestly. “And it seems that Senhor Bastro, also, has succeeded in eluding arrest. Therefore, should the royalists fail to find the key to the vault, all may yet be well, in spite of Paola’s treachery.”
“There is another perplexing matter,” returned Piexoto, pacing the room in deep thought. “Miguel de Pintra never told me 183the vault was sheathed with nitro-glycerine. Did you know it?”
“Yes,” I answered. “But the secret was revealed to me by Lesba Paola, the Minister’s sister.”
“I can scarcely believe it, nevertheless,” he resumed. “Yet what object could the traitor have in preventing their reaching the records, unless he knew the attempt to drill through the walls would destroy us all—himself included?”
“Perhaps he has fear that the records would incriminate him with the Emperor,” I suggested.
“Bah! He has made his terms, evidently. That he worked faithfully in our interests for a time is quite believable; but either the Emperor’s bribes were too tempting or he lost faith in the Cause.”
I was about to reply when the door opened to admit Paola. Piexoto paused in his walk to glare at the Minister, and I was myself no less surprised at the inopportune visit.
But Paola, with the old, smirking smile upon his face that nothing ever seemed to 184banish, nodded pleasantly at us and sat down in an easy-chair. He rolled a cigarette and carefully lighted it before he addressed us.
“Senhors, you are about to denounce me as a traitor to the Cause,” said he; “but you may both spare your words. Before the Cause existed I was Minister to the Emperor. A policeman walks in devious paths. If I am true to the oath I gave the Emperor, how dare you, Floriano Piexoto, who have violated yours, condemn me?”
“I don’t,” answered the other. “It is absurd to condemn a man like you. Treachery is written on every line of your false face. My only regret is that I did not kill you long ago.”
“Yet the chief, Dom Miguel de Pintra, trusted me,” remarked Paola, in a musing tone, at the same time flicking the ash from his cigarette with a deliberate gesture. “He was, it seems, the only one.”
“Not so,” said I, angry at his insolent bearing. “Your sister, sir, had faith in you.”
He looked at me with a quizzical expression, and laughed. I had ventured the remark 185in an endeavor to pierce his shield of conceit and indifference. But it seemed that even Lesba’s misplaced confidence failed to shame him, for at that moment the girl’s loyalty to the Cause seemed to me beyond a doubt.
“My sister was, I believe, an ardent republican. Poor little girl! How could she judge the merits of a political controversy? But there, senhors, let us have done with chidings. I am come for the key.”
Piexoto and I stared at each other aghast. The key! Could the Minister suspect either of us of possessing it?
“Quite prettily acted, gentlemen,” he resumed, “but it is useless to oppose my request. I suppose our friend Harcliffe has passed it on to you, senhor? No? Then he must have it on his person.”
“Are you mad?” I asked, with well-assumed contempt.
“No; but the Mexican is. I have just left his room, and he raves perpetually of a ring he has given to Robert Harcliffe, of New Orleans. A ring that must be restored to him on demand.”
186“He raves,” said I, coolly, although my heart was beating wildly.
“He does, indeed,” acknowledged Paola. “And he tells exactly where the ring was placed—in the outer pocket of your jacket. Will you pardon me, senhor, if I prove the truth of his assertion?”
He rose and advanced to me with a soft, stealthy tread, and I backed away until I stood fairly against the wall, vainly endeavoring to find some way to circumvent him.
“Hold!” cried a clear voice, and as Paola swung around upon his heel I saw beyond him the form of Valcour outlined by the dark doorway.
“You were doubtless about to search the prisoner, senhor,” said the spy, calmly, as he approached us. “I have myself just come from the Mexican’s room and heard his ravings. But the task must be mine, since the Emperor has placed the search for the key in my hands.”
Paola turned with a slight shrug and resumed his seat.
“I have searched the prisoner already,” he announced, “but failed to find the ring. 187Doubtless he has passed it to Piexoto, or secreted it. Or, it may be, the Mexican’s words are mere ravings.”
The detective hesitated.
“Who is this Mexican, Senhor Paola?” he asked.
“Frankly, I do not know. Not a conspirator, I am sure, and evidently not a royalist.”
“Then how came he to know of the existence of the ring?”
“A mystery, my dear Valcour. Have you yet identified the man this Mexican murdered?”
“Not yet.”
“I myself have not had a good look at the body. If you will take me to him I will endeavor to locate the fellow. It was doubtless he who murdered Madam Izabel.”
As he spoke he rose and walked quietly toward the door, as if he expected Valcour to follow. But the spy, suddenly suspicious, cast a shrewd glance at me and replied:
“One moment, Senhor Paola. I must satisfy myself that neither Harcliffe nor 188Piexoto has the ring, in order that I may report to the Emperor.”
“As you like,” returned the Minister, indifferently, and resumed his chair.
Valcour came straight to my side, thrust his hand within my pocket, and drew out the ring.
“Ah!” he cried, his face lighting with joy, “your search must have been a careless one, my dear Paola! Here is news for the Emperor, at last.”
He hurried from the room, and Paola, still smiling, rose and faced us.
“It is a great pity,” said he, pleasantly, with his eyes on my face, “that God permits any man to be a fool.”
Before I could reply he had followed Valcour from the room, and Piexoto, regarding me with a sullen frown, exclaimed:
“I can say amen to that! Why did you not tell me you had the ring?”
I did not reply. The taunts and the loss of the ring had dazed me and I sank into a chair and covered my eyes with my hands.
Pacing the room with furious energy, 189Piexoto growled a string of laments and reproaches into my unwilling ears.
“My poor comrades! It is their death-warrant. These records will condemn to punishment half the great families of Brazil. And now when the battle is almost won, to have them fall into the Emperor’s hands. Thank God, de Pintra is dead! This blow would be worse to him than death itself.”
“However,” said I, somewhat recovering myself, “we shall now secure his body from that grim vault. That is one satisfaction, at least.”
He did not see fit to reply to this, but paced the floor in as great agitation as before.
Captain de Souza entered with two of his guards.
“The Emperor commands you to unlock the vault,” he said to me. “Be good enough to follow, senhor. And Senhor Piexoto is also requested to be present.”
“Tell the Emperor I refuse to unlock the vault,” I returned, firmly.
“And why?” demanded Piexoto, scornfully. “It is merely a question of time, now 190that they have the key, when they will find the right indentation in the door.”
“True,” I answered. Then, to the captain: “Lead on, I will follow.”
They escorted us to the library and down the winding stair until we stood in the well-known chamber at the end of the passage. The outer door of the vault lay open, displaying the steel surface of the inner door, with its countless indentations.
The Emperor and his secretary, together with Paola and Valcour, were awaiting us. The latter handed me the ring.
“His Majesty commands you to open the door, senhor Americano,” he said.
“I believe the Minister of Police designed this vault. Let him open it himself,” I replied, my resolution halting at the thought of what the open door would reveal.
“Yes, I designed it,” said the Minister, “but I did not execute the work. Doubtless in time I could open the door; but the Emperor is impatient.”
I saw that further resistance was useless. Bending over, I fitted the stone of the ring into the proper indentation, and shot the 191bolts. The great door was swung upward, a whiff of the damp, confined air entered my nostrils and made me shiver.
Reaching my hand within the vault I turned the switch that threw on the electric light, and then withdrew that the others might enter.
But no one moved. The light illuminated the full interior of the great vault, and every eye gazed eagerly within.
Valcour uttered a groan of baffled rage; Piexoto swore horribly in a scarcely audible tone, and the Minister of Police laughed.
“Good God!” cried the Emperor, with staring eyeballs, “the vault is empty!”
With a bound I stood within the grim vault and searched its confines with anxious eyes. True enough, the place was empty. Not a scrap of paper, a book, or a bank-note had been left there. The shelves that lined the walls were as bare as Mother Hubbard’s cupboard.
The records of the Revolution were gone. The body of Miguel de Pintra was gone. Thank God, the great and glorious Cause was as yet safe!
Valcour was on his hands and knees, prying into the corners for some scrap that might have been overlooked.
Paola stood beside me with the old aggravating simper upon his face, twirling one end of his moustache.
Suddenly Valcour stood up and faced him.
“Traitor!” he cried, with a passionate 193gesture, “it is you who have done this! It is you who have led us here only to humiliate us and laugh at us!”
“Your Majesty,” said Paola, without moving his head, “will you kindly protect me from the insults of your servants?”
“Have peace, Valcour!” growled the Emperor. “Senhor Francisco has proved his loyalty, and doubtless shares our chagrin. Come, gentlemen, let us leave this dismal place.”
I followed slowly in the train of the party as it wound its way through the narrow passage and up the iron stairs into the library. My hand-cuffs had been removed when I was brought to open the vault, and an idea came to me to lag behind and try to effect my escape from the house.
But Valcour was waiting for me at the trap door, and called Captain de Souza to guard me. I was taken to the large room on the ground floor, from whence they had brought me, thrust through the doorway, and the key turned upon me.
Piexoto had been taken elsewhere, and I found myself alone.
194My thoughts were naturally confused by the amazing discovery we had just made, and I was so engaged in wondering what had become of Dom Miguel and the records that I scarcely looked up when the door opened to admit Francisco Paola.
He had in his hand a small parcel that looked like a box, which he placed upon a table near the open window.
Next he drew a note-book from his pocket, scribbled some lines upon three several leaves, and then, tearing them out, he reached within the box, taking care to lift but a portion of the cover, and busied himself some moments in a way that made me wonder what he could be doing. I had no suspicion of the truth until he carried the box to the window and quickly removed the cover. Then, although his back was toward me, I heard a rapid flutter of wings, followed by a strange silence, and I knew that Paola was following with his eyes the flight of the birds he had liberated.
“So, my dear Minister, I have at last discovered your secret!” said a sharp voice, and as Paola whirled about I noted that 195Valcour had entered the room and was standing with folded arms and eyes that sparkled triumphantly.
“Orders to my men,” remarked the Minister, quietly, and brushed a small feather from his arm.
“True enough!” retorted Valcour, with a bitter smile. “Orders to General Fonseca, whom you strangely overlooked in making your decoy arrests. Orders to Sanchez Bastro, who is to distribute arms to the rebels! And where did the third pigeon go, my loyal and conscientious Minister of Police? To Mazanovitch, or to that Miguel de Pintra whom you falsely led us to believe had perished in yonder vault?”
He came close to the Minister.
“Traitor! In setting free these birds you have fired the torch of rebellion; that terrible flame which is liable to sweep the land, and consume royalist and republican alike!”
Paola, the sneering smile for once gone from his face, gazed at his accuser with evident admiration.
“You are wonderfully clever, my dear 196Valcour,” said he, slowly. “You have wit; you have a clear judgment; your equal is not in all Brazil. What a pity, my friend, that you are not one of us!”
Somehow, the words seemed to ring true.
Valcour flushed to the roots of his hair.
“I hate you,” he cried, stamping his foot with passion. “You have thwarted me always. You have laughed at me—sneered at me—defied me! But at last I have you in the toils. Francisco Paola, I arrest you in the name of the Emperor.”
“On what charge?”
“The charge of treason!”
Paola laughed softly, and in a tone denoting genuine amusement.
“Come, my brave detective,” said he; “we will go to the Emperor together, and accuse each other to our hearts’ content!”
He attempted to take Valcour’s arm, in his inimitable jaunty fashion; but the spy shook him off and followed Paola from the room, trembling with suppressed rage.
For my part, I knew not what to make of the scene, except that these men were bitter enemies, and each endeavoring to destroy 197the other. But could Valcour’s accusation be true? Had the torch of revolution really been fired?
God forbid that I should ever meet with such another man as Francisco Paola again! Deep or shallow, coxcomb or clever conspirator, true man or traitor—it was as impossible to read him or to judge his real character as to solve the mighty, unfathomable secrets of Nature.
One moment I called him traitor; the next I was sure he was faithful to the Cause. But who could judge the man aright? Not I, indeed!
Thus reflecting, I approached the window and looked out. Eight feet below me one of the Uruguayan guards paced back and forth upon the green lawn, his short carbine underneath his arm, and a poniard swinging at his side.
The fellow looked up and saw me.
“Close that window!” he commanded, with a scowl.
I obeyed, sliding the sash to its place. But still I gazed through the glass at the labyrinth of walks and hedges defining the 198extensive gardens at this side of the house. I knew every inch of these grounds, having wandered there many hours during my sojourn at the mansion. And the thought came to me that it would not be difficult to escape in that maze of hedge and shrubbery, had I once a fair start of my pursuers.
Within my range of vision was a portion of the driveway, and presently I saw the Emperor’s carriage roll away, followed by several others. Piexoto was seated in the last of the carriages, but only a small portion of the Uruguayan guard accompanied the cortège.
I tried to see if the Minister of Police was among those who were returning to Rio, but was unable to note his presence in the brief time the carriages were in view. Nor did Valcour seem to be with them. Captain de Souza evidently remained in charge of the guards left at the mansion.
Well, I longed to leave the place myself, now that the emptiness of the secret vault had been disclosed; but for some reason my captors desired me to remain a prisoner.
The day dragged wearily away. One 199of the Uruguayans brought me food at noontime, and I ate with good appetite. The room grew close, but when I attempted to raise the window the surly guard outside presented his carbine, and I respected his wish to leave the sash lowered.
During this time I had ample opportunity to speculate upon the astonishing events of the morning; but my attempt to solve the problem of what had become of Dom Miguel and the records seemed absolutely futile. That the body of the chief had been removed by some friendly hand—the same that had saved the funds and papers—there was no doubt whatever. But when had this removal taken place?
At one time a fleeting hope animated me that the vault had been entered in time to save Dom Miguel from suffocation; but a little reflection soon caused me to abandon that notion. Allowing that the slayer of Madam Izabel had been a patriot, and left the train at the first station beyond Cruz, he could not possibly have returned to de Pintra’s mansion on the swiftest horse within eight hours of the time my friend had been 200entombed alive, and long before that Dom Miguel would have succumbed to the confined atmosphere of his prison.
Moreover, none of the conspirators who knew of the ring or was competent to recognize it had been on the train at the time of Izabel de Mar’s death. Therefore the patriot who finally secured the key to the vault and saved the records must have obtained the ring long after any hope of saving the life of the imprisoned chief had been abandoned.
Somehow, it occurred to me that the man in the shrubbery had not been murdered by the Mexican, but by some one of our band who had promptly cleared the vault and escaped with the contents—even while the Emperor and his party were in possession of the house. The ring might have been dropped during the escape and found by the Mexican—this being the only plausible way to account for its being in his possession.
Although these speculations were to some extent a diversion, and served to occupy my thoughts during my tedious confinement, there were many details to contradict their 201probability, and I was not at all positive that I had discovered the right explanation of the mystery.
It must have been near evening when the door was again opened. This time a man was thrust into the room and the door quickly locked upon us.
I started from my chair with an exclamation of dismay. My fellow-prisoner was the mad Mexican!
The man did not seem to notice my presence at first. For a time he remained motionless in the position the guards had left him, his vacant eyes fixed steadily upon the opposite wall.
Then, with a long-drawn sigh, his gaze fell and wandered to the table where stood the remains of my luncheon. With a wolflike avidity he pounced upon the tray, eagerly consuming every scrap that I had left, and draining a small bottle of wine of the last dregs it contained.
When he had finished he still continued to fumble about the tray, and presently picked up a large, two-tined steel fork and examined it with careful attention. They had brought no knife into the room, and I had scarcely noticed the fork before; yet now, as the Mexican held it firmly in his clinched fist, and passed it to and fro with a 203serpent-like motion, I realized with a thrill of anxiety that it might prove a terrible weapon in the hands of a desperate man.
Evidently my fellow-prisoner had the same thought, for after a time he concealed the fork in his bosom, and then turned to examine the room more carefully. His first act was to approach the window, and when he started and shrank away I knew our ever-vigilant guard had warned him not to consider that avenue of escape.
Next he swung around and faced the place where I sat, slightly in the shadow. The day was drawing to its close, and he had not noticed me before. A swift motion toward his breast was followed by a smile, and he advanced close to me and said, in his stumbling English:
“Aha! My American frien’ to which I gave the ring! It is safe, se?or? It is safe?”
I nodded, thinking to humor him. Indeed, I could not determine at that moment whether the man was still insane or not.
He drew a chair to my side and sat down.
204“Listen, then, my frien’. Together we will find riches—riches very great! Why? Because we Mexicans—Careno and myself—we build the door of the big vault under this house. So? They bring us here blindfold. We work many days on the big plate with strange device cut in the steel. Careno was expert. Only one place, cut with great cunning, shot the bolts in their sockets. For myself, I am clockmaker and gem-cutter. They tell me to cut emerald so it fit the plate, and mount it in ring. Yes, it was I, Se?or Americano, who do that fine work—I, Manuel Pesta!
“Then they carry us away, blindfold again, to the border of Uruguay. We do not know this house—we cannot find it again ever. So they think. But to make sure they hire men to assassinate us—to stab us to the heart in those Uruguay Mountain. Fine pay for our work—eh, se?or? But, peste! Careno and I—we stab our assassins—we escape—we swear vengeance! For two year we wander in Brazil—seeking, ever seeking for the house with the vault.
205“How clever they are! But we, are we not also clever? On a railway train one day we see a lady with the ring! We cannot mistake—I made it, and I know my work. It is key to the big vault! Careno cannot wait. He sit beside lady and put his knife in her heart. The train rattle along and the lady make no noise. But the ring sticks, so Careno cuts off finger and puts in pocket. Are we not clever, se?or? Now we have ring, but yet know not of the house with the vault. We keep quiet and ride on to Rio. There the dead lady is carried out and all is excitement. She is Se?ora Izabel de Mar, daughter of Dom Miguel de Pintra. She come from her father’s house at Cuyaba. This we hear and remember. Then a man they call Valcour he rush up and cry, ‘Her finger is gone! The ring—where is the ring?’ Aha! we know now we are right.
“So we go away and find out about Miguel de Pintra—the head of great rebellion with millions of gold and notes to pay the soldiers when they fight. Good! We know now of the vault. We know we 206have key. We know we are now rich! Careno and I we go to Cuyaba—we find this house—we hide in the bushes till night. Then Careno get mad for the money—he want it all, not half—and he try to murder me. Ah, well! my pistol is quicker than his knife, that is all. He is wearing ring, and it stick like it stick on lady’s hand. Bah! I cut off Careno’s hand and carve away the ring. It is simple, is it not?
“But now the soldiers gallop up. The house is fill with people. So I must wait. I hide in secret place, but soon they drag me out and make me prisoner. What! must I lose all now—millions—millions of gold—and no Careno to share it? No! I am still clever. I keep ring in mouth until I meet you, and I give it to you to keep. When they search me, there is no ring.”
He sprang up, chuckling and rubbing his hands together in great delight. He danced a step or two and then drew the steel fork from his breast and struck it fiercely into the table-top, standing silently 207to watch it while the prongs quivered and came to rest.
“Am I not clever?” he again asked, drawing out the fork from the wood and returning it to his breast. “But I am generous, too. You shall divide with me. But not half! I won all from Careno, but you shall have some—enough to be rich, Se?or Americano. And now, give me the ring!”
By this time his eyes were glittering with insanity, and at his abrupt demand I shifted uneasily in my seat, not knowing how to reply.
“Give me the ring!” he repeated, a tone of menace creeping into his high-pitched voice.
I arose and walked toward the window, getting the table between us. Then I turned and faced him.
“They have taken the ring from me,” I said.
He stood as if turned to stone, his fierce eyes fixed upon my own.
“They have opened the vault with it,” I continued, “and found it bare and empty.”
208He gave a shrill scream at this, and began trembling in every limb.
“You lie!” he shouted, wildly. “You try to cheat me—to get all! And the vault has millions—millions in gold and notes. Give me the ring!”
I made no reply. To reiterate my assertion would do no good, and the man was incompetent to consider the matter calmly. Indeed, he once more drew that ugly fork from his breast and, grasping it as one would a dagger, began creeping toward me with a stealthy, cat-like tread.
I approached the edge of the round center-table, alert to keep its breadth between me and my companion. The Mexican paused opposite me, and whispered between his clinched teeth:
“Give it me! Give me the ring!”
“The guard will be here presently,” said I, fervently hoping I spoke the truth, “and he will tell you of the ring. I am quite sure Senhor Valcour has it.”
“Ah, I am betrayed! You wish to take all—you and this Valcour! But see, my Americano—I will kill you. I will kill 209you now, and then you have nothing for your treachery!”
Slowly he edged his way around the table, menacing me with his strange weapon, and with my eyes fixed upon his I moved in the opposite direction, retaining the table as my shield.
First in one direction and then in the other he moved, swiftly at times, then with deliberate caution, striving ever to take me unawares and reach me with his improvised dagger.
This situation could not stand the tension for long; I realized that sooner or later the game must have an abrupt ending.
So, as I dodged my persistent enemy, I set my wits working to devise a means of escape. The window seemed my only hope, and I had lost all fear of the sentry in the more terrible danger that confronted me.
Suddenly I exerted my strength and thrust the table against the Mexican so forcibly that he staggered backward. Then I caught up a chair and after a swing around my head hurled it toward him like a catapult. It crushed him to the floor, and e’er 210he could rise again I had thrown up the sash of the window and leaped out.
Fortune often favors the desperate. I alighted full upon the form of the unsuspecting sentry, bearing him to the ground by my weight, where we both rolled in the grass.
Quickly I regained my feet and darted away into the flower-garden, seeking to reach the hedges before my guard could recover himself.
Over my shoulder I saw him kneeling and deliberately pointing at me his carbine. Before he could fire the flying form of the Mexican descended upon him from the window. There was a flash and a report, but the ball went wide its mark, and instantly the two men were struggling in a death-grapple upon the lawn.
Away I ran through the maze of hedge and shrubbery, threading the well-known paths unerringly. I heard excited shouts as the guardsmen, aroused by their comrade’s shot, poured from the mansion and plunged into the gardens to follow me. But it was dusk by this time, and I had little fear of being overtaken.
211The estate was bounded upon this side by an impenetrable thick-set hedge, but it was broken in one place by a gardeners’ tool-house, which had a door at each side, and thus admitted one into a lane that wound through a grove and joined the main highway a mile beyond.
Reaching this tool-house I dashed within, closed and barred the door behind me, and then emerged upon the lane.
To my surprise I saw a covered carriage standing in the gloom, and made out that the door stood open and a man upon the box was holding the reins and leaning toward me eagerly as if striving to solve my identity.
Without hesitation I sprang into the carriage and closed the door, crying to the man:
“Quick! for your life—drive on!”
Without a word he lashed his horses and we started with a jerk that threw me into the back seat.
I heard an exclamation in a woman’s startled voice and felt a muffled form shrinking into the corner of the carriage. Then two shots rang out; I heard a scream 212and the sound of a fall as the driver pitched upon the ground, and now like the wind the maddened horses rushed on without guidance, swaying the carriage from side to side with a dangerous motion.
These Brazilian carriages have a trap in the top to permit the occupants to speak to the driver. I found this trap, threw it upward, and drew myself up until I was able to scramble into the vacant seat. The reins had fallen between the horses, evidently, but we were now dashing through the grove, and the shadows were so deep that I could distinguish nothing distinctly.
Cautiously I let myself down until my feet touched the pole, and then, resting my hands upon the loins of the madly galloping animals, I succeeded in grasping the reins and returned safely to the box seat.
Then I braced myself to conquer the runaways, and when we emerged from the grove and came upon the highway there was sufficient light for me to keep the horses in the straight road until they had tired themselves sufficiently to be brought under control.
213During this time I had turned to speak a reassuring word, now and then, to the unknown woman in the carriage.
Doubtless she had been both amazed and indignant at my abrupt seizure of her equipage; but there was not yet time to explain to her my necessity.
We were headed straight for the station at Cuyaba, and I decided at once to send a telegram warning Mazanovitch of danger. For Paola had turned traitor, the vault had been opened, and the Emperor was even now on his way to Rio to arrest all who had previously escaped the net of the Minister of Police.
So we presently dashed up to the station, which was nearly deserted at this hour, and after calling a porter to hold the horses I went into the station to write my telegram.
Mazanovitch had asked me to use but one word, and although I had much of interest to communicate, a moment’s thought assured me that a warning of danger was sufficient.
So, after a brief hesitation, I wrote the 214word “Lesba,” and handed the message to the operator.
“That is my name, senhor,” said a soft voice behind me, and I turned to confront Lesba Paola.
Astonishment rendered me speechless, and at first I could do no more than bow with an embarrassed air to the cloaked figure before me. Lesba’s fair face, peering from beneath her mantilla, was grave but set, and her brilliant eyes bore a questioning and half-contemptuous look that was hard to meet.
“That is my name, senhor,” she repeated, “and you will oblige me by explaining why you are sending it to Captain Mazanovitch.”
“Was it your carriage in which I escaped?” I inquired.
“Yes; and my man now lies wounded by the roadside. Why did you take me by surprise, Senhor Harcliffe? And why—why are you telegraphing my name to Mazanovitch?”
Although my thoughts were somewhat 216confused I remembered that Lesba had accompanied her brother to Rio; that her brother had turned traitor, and she herself had ridden in the Emperor’s carriage, with the spy Valcour. And I wondered how it was that her carriage should have been standing this very evening at a retired spot, evidently awaiting some one, when I chanced upon it in my extremity.
It is well to take time to consider, when events are of a confusing nature. In that way thoughts are sometimes untangled. Now, in a flash, the truth came to me. Valcour was still at the mansion—Valcour, her accomplice; perhaps her lover.
To realize this evident fact of her intrigue with my brilliant foe sent a shiver through me—a shiver of despair and utter weariness. Still keeping my gaze upon the floor, and noting, half-consciously, the click-click of the telegraph instrument, I said:
“Pardon me, donzella, for using your carriage to effect my escape. You see, I have not made an alliance with the royalists, as yet, and my condition is somewhat dangerous. As for the use of your name 217in my telegram, I have no objection to telling you—now that the message has been sent—that it was a cypher word warning my republican friends of treachery.”
“Do you suspect me of treachery, Senhor Harcliffe?” she asked in cold, scornful tones.
I looked up, but dropped my eyes again as I confronted the blaze of indignation that flashed from her own.
“I make no accusations, donzella. What is it to me if you Brazilians fight among yourselves for freedom or the Emperor, as it may suit your fancy? I came here to oblige a friend of my father’s—the one true man I have found in all your intrigue-ridden country. But he, alas! is dead, and I am powerless to assist farther the cause he loved. So my mission here is ended, and I will go back to America.”
Again I looked up; but this time her eyes were lowered and her expression was set and impenetrable.
“Do not let us part in anger,” I resumed, a tremor creeping into my voice in spite of me—for this girl had been very dear to my heart. “Let us say we have both 218acted according to the dictates of conscience, and cherish only memories of the happy days we have passed together, to comfort us in future years.”
She started, with upraised hand and eager face half turned toward the door. Far away in the distance I heard the tramp of many hoofs.
“They are coming, senhor!” called the man who stood beside the horses—one of our patriots. “It’s the troop of Uruguayans, I am sure.”
Pedro, the station-master, ran from his little office and extinguished the one dim lamp that swung from the ceiling of the room in which we stood.
In the darkness that enveloped us Lesba grasped my arm and whispered “Come!” dragging me toward the door. A moment later we were beside the carriage.
“Mount!” she cried, in a commanding voice. “I will ride inside. Take the road to San Tarem. Quick, senhor, as you value both our lives!”
I gathered up the reins as Pedro slammed tight the carriage door. A crack of the 219whip, a shout of encouragement from the two patriots, and we had dashed away upon the dim road leading to the wild, unsettled plains of the North Plateau.
They were good horses. It surprised me to note their mettle and speed, and I guessed they had been carefully chosen for the night’s work—an adventure of which this dénouement was scarcely expected. I could see the road but dimly, but I gave the horses slack rein and they sped along at no uncertain pace.
I could no longer hear the hoof-beats of the guards, and judged that either we had outdistanced them or the shrewd Pedro had sent them on a false scent.
Presently the sky brightened, and as the moon shone clear above us I found that we were passing through a rough country that was but sparsely settled. I remembered to have ridden once in this direction with Lesba, but not so far; and the surroundings were therefore strange to me.
For an hour I drove steadily on, and then the girl spoke to me through the open trap in the roof of the carriage.
220“A mile or so further will bring us to a fork in the road. Keep to the right,” said she.
I returned no answer, although I was burning to question her of many things. But time enough for that, I thought, when we were safely at our journey’s end. Indeed, Lesba’s mysterious actions—her quick return from Rio in the wake of the Emperor and Valcour, her secret rendezvous in the lane, which I had so suddenly surprised and interrupted, and her evident desire to save me from arrest—all this was not only contradictory to the frank nature of the girl, but to the suspicions I had formed of her betrayal of the conspiracy in co-operation with her treacherous brother.
The key to the mystery was not mine, and I could only wait until Lesba chose to speak and explain her actions.
I came to the fork in the road and turned to the right. The trail—for it had become little more than that—now skirted a heavy growth of underbrush that merged into groves of scattered, stunted trees; and these in time gradually became more compact and stalwart until a great Brazilian 221forest threw its black shadow over us. Noiselessly the carriage rolled over the beds of moss, which were so thick now that I could scarcely hear a sound of the horses’ hoofs, and then I discerned a short distance ahead the outlines of an old, weatherbeaten house.
Lesba had her head through the trap and spoke close to my ear.
“Stop at this place,” said she; “for here our journey ends.”
I pulled up the horses opposite the dwelling and regarded it somewhat doubtfully. It had been built a hundred yards or so from the edge of the dense forest and seemed utterly deserted. It was a large house, with walls of baked clay and a thatched roof, and its neglected appearance and dreary surroundings gave it a fearsome look as it stood lifeless and weather-stained under the rays of the moon.
“Is the place inhabited?” I asked.
“It must be,” she replied. “Go to the door, and knock upon it loudly.”
“But the horses—who will mind them, donzella?”
222Instantly she scrambled through the trap to the seat beside me and took the reins in her small hands.
“I will look after the horses,” said she.
So I climbed down and approached the door. It was sheltered by a rude porch, and flanked upon either side by well-worn benches such as are frequent at wayside inns.
I pounded upon the door and then paused to listen. The sounds drew a hollow reverberation from within, but aroused no other reply.
“Knock again!” called Lesba.
I obeyed, but with no better success. The place seemed uncanny, and I returned abruptly to the carriage, standing beside the wheel and gazing up through the moonlight into the beautiful face the girl bent over me.
“Lesba,” said I, pleadingly, “what does all this mean? Why have you brought me to this strange place?”
“To save your life,” she answered in a grave voice.
“But how came you to be waiting in the 223lane? And who were you waiting for?” I persisted.
“By what right do you question me, Senhor Harcliffe?” she asked, drawing back so that I could no longer look into her eyes.
“By no right at all, Lesba. Neither do I care especially whether you are attached to the Empire or the Republic, or how much you indulge in political intrigue, since that appears to be the chief amusement of your countrymen. But I love you. You know it well, although you have never permitted me tell you so. And loving you as I do, with all my heart, I am anxious to untangle this bewildering maze and understand something of your actions since that terrible morning when I parted with you at Dom Miguel’s mansion.”
She laughed, and the laugh was one of those quaint flashes of merriment peculiar to the girl, leaving one in doubt whether to attribute it to amusement or nervous agitation. Indeed, where another woman might weep Lesba would laugh; so that it frequently puzzled me to comprehend her. 224Now, however, she surprised me by leaning over me and saying gently:
“I will answer your question, Robert. My brother is at the mansion, and in danger of his life. I was waiting with the carriage to assist him to escape.”
“But how do you know he is in danger?”
“He sent me word by a carrier-pigeon.”
“To be sure. Yet there is one more thing that troubles me: why were you in Rio, riding in the Emperor’s carriage with the spy Valcour?”
“It is simple, senhor. I went to Rio to assist in persuading Dom Pedro to visit the vault.”
“Knowing it was empty?”
“Knowing it was empty, and believing that the Emperor’s absence would enable Fonseca to strike a blow for freedom.”
“Then Fonseca is still faithful to the Cause?”
“I know of no traitor in our ranks, Robert, although it seems you have suspected nearly all of us, at times. But it grows late and my brother is still in peril. Will you again rap upon the door?”
225“It is useless, Lesba.”
“Try the back door; they may hear you from there,” she suggested.
So I made my way, stumbling over tangled vines and protruding roots, to the rear of the house, where the shadows lay even thicker than in front. I found the door, and hammered upon it with all my strength. The noise might have raised the dead, but as I listened intently there came not the least footfall to reward me. For a time I hesitated what to do. From the grim forest behind me I heard a half-audible snarl and the bark of a wolf; in the house an impressive silence reigned supreme.
I drew back, convinced that the place was uninhabited, and returned around the corner of the house.
“There is no one here, donzella,” I began, but stopped short in amazement.
The carriage was gone.
I sprang to the road and peered eagerly in every direction. Far away in the distance could be discerned the dim outlines of the carriage, flying along the way from whence we had come.
Lesba had brought me to this place only to desert me, and it was not difficult to realize that she had sent me to the rear of the house to get me out of the way while she wheeled the carriage around and dashed away unheard over the soft moss.
Well, I had ceased to speculate upon the girl’s erratic actions. Only one thing seemed clear to me; that she had returned to rescue her brother from the danger which threatened him. Why she had assisted me to escape the soldiery only to leave me in this wilderness could be accounted for but by the suggestion that her heart softened toward one whom she knew had learned 227to love her during those bright days we had passed in each other’s society. But that she loved me in return I dared not even hope. Her answer to my declaration had been a laugh, and to me this girl’s heart was as a sealed book. Moreover, it occurred to me that Valcour also loved her, and into his eyes I had seen her gaze as she never had gazed into mine during our most friendly intercourse.
The carriage had vanished long since, and the night air was chill. I returned to the porch of the deserted house, and curling myself up on one of the benches soon sank into a profound slumber, for the events of the day had well-nigh exhausted me.
When I awoke a rough-looking, bearded man was bending over me. He wore a peasant’s dress and carried a gun on his left arm.
“Who are you, senhor,” he demanded, as my eyes unclosed, “and how came you here?”
I arose and stretched myself, considering who he might be.
“Why do you ask?” said I.
228“There is war in the land, senhor,” he responded, quietly, “and every man must be a friend or a foe to the Republic.” He doffed his hat with rude devotion at the word, and added, “Declare yourself, my friend.”
I stared at him thoughtfully. War in the land, said he! Then the “torch of rebellion” had really been fired. But by whom? Could it have been Paola, as Valcour had claimed? And why? Since the conspiracy had been unmasked and its leaders, with the exception of Fonseca, either scattered or imprisoned? Did the Minister of Police aim to destroy every one connected with the Cause by precipitating an impotent revolt? Or was there a master-hand directing these seemingly incomprehensible events?
The man was growing suspicious of my silence.
“Come!” said he, abruptly; “you shall go to Senhor Bastro.”
“And where is that?” I asked, with interest, for Paola had reported that Bastro had fled the country.
229My captor did not deign to reply. With the muzzle of his gun unpleasantly close to my back he marched me toward the edge of the forest, which we skirted for a time in silence. Then the path turned suddenly into a dense thicket, winding between close-set trees until, deep within the wood, we came upon a natural clearing of considerable extent.
In the center of this space was a large, low building constructed of logs and roofed with branches of trees, and surrounding the entire structure were grouped native Brazilians, armed with rifles, revolvers, and knives.
These men were not uniformed, and their appearance was anything but military; nevertheless there was a look upon their stern faces that warned me they were in deadly earnest and not to be trifled with.
As my intercourse with the republicans had been confined entirely to a few of their leaders, I found no familiar face among these people; so I remained impassive while my captor pushed me past the guards to a small doorway placed near a protecting angle of the building.
230“Enter!” said he.
I obeyed, and the next moment stood before a group of men who were evidently the officers or leaders of the little band of armed patriots I had seen without.
“Ah!” said one, in a deep bass voice, “it is Senhor Harcliffe, the secretary to Dom Miguel.”
I have before mentioned the fact that whenever the conspirators had visited de Pintra they remained securely masked, so that their features were, with a few exceptions, unknown to me. But the voices were familiar enough, and the man who had brought me here had mentioned Sanchez Bastro’s name; so I had little difficulty in guessing the identity of the personage who now addressed me.
“Why are you here, senhor?” he inquired, with evident anxiety; “and do you bring us news of the uprising?”
“I know nothing of the uprising except that your man here,” and I turned to my guide, “tells me there is war in the land, and that the Revolution is proclaimed.”
“Yes,” returned Bastro, with a grave nod.
231“Then,” I continued, “I advise you to lay down your arms at once and return to your homes before you encounter arrest and imprisonment.”
The leaders cast upon one another uneasy looks, and Bastro drew a small paper from his breast and handed it to me. I recognized it as one of the leaves from his note-book which Paola had attached to the carrier-pigeon, and upon it were scrawled these words, “Arise and strike!”
It was the signal long since agreed upon to start the Revolution.
With a laugh I handed back the paper.
“It is from Francisco Paola, the traitor,” I said.
“Traitor!” they echoed, in an astonished chorus.
“Listen, gentlemen; it is evident you are ignorant of the events of the last two days.” And in as few words as possible I related the occurrences at de Pintra’s mansion, laying stress upon the arrest of Piexoto, the perfidy of the Minister of Police, and the death of Treverot.
They were not so deeply impressed as I 232had expected. The discovery of the empty vault had aroused no interest whatever, and they listened quietly and without comment to my story of Paola’s betrayal of his fellow-conspirators to the Emperor.
But when I mentioned Treverot’s death Bastro chose to smile, and indicating a tall gentleman standing at his left, he said:
“Permit me to introduce to you Senhor Treverot. He will tell you that he still lives.”
“Then Paola lied?” I exclaimed, somewhat chagrined.
Bastro shrugged his shoulders.
“We have confidence in the Minister of Police,” said he, calmly. “There is no doubt but General Fonseca, at Rio, has before now gained control of the capital, and that the Revolution is successfully established. We shall know everything very soon, for my men have gone to the nearest telegraph station for news. Meantime, to guard against any emergency, our patriots are being armed in readiness for combat, and, in Matto Grosso at least, the royalists are powerless to oppose us.”
233“But the funds—the records! What will happen if the Emperor seizes them?” I asked.
“The Emperor will not seize them,” returned Bastro, unmoved. “The contents of the vault are in safe-keeping.”
Before I could question him further a man sprang through the doorway.
“The wires from Rio are cut in every direction,” said he, in an agitated voice. “A band of the Uruguayan guards, under de Souza and Valcour, is galloping over the country to arrest every patriot they can find, and our people are hiding themselves in terror.”
Consternation spread over the features of the little band which a moment before had deemed itself so secure and powerful. Bastro turned to pace the earthen floor with anxious strides, while the others watched him silently.
“What of Francisco Paola?” suddenly asked the leader.
“Why, senhor, he seems to have disappeared,” replied the scout, with hesitation.
“Disappeared! And why?”
234“Perhaps I can answer that question, Senhor Bastro,” said a voice behind us, and turning my head I saw my friend Pedro, the station-master at Cuyaba, standing within the doorway.
“Enter, Pedro,” commanded the leader. “What news do you bring, and why have you abandoned your post?”
“The wires are down,” said the station-master, “and no train is allowed to leave Rio since the Emperor reached there at midnight.”
“Then you know nothing of what has transpired at the capital?” asked Bastro.
“Nothing, senhor. It was yesterday morning when the Emperor’s party met the train at Cuyaba, and I handed him a telegram from de Lima, the Minister of State. It read in this way: ‘General Fonseca and his army have revolted and seized the palace, the citadel, and all public buildings. I have called upon every loyal Brazilian to rally to the support of the Empire. Return at once. Arrest the traitors Francisco Paola and his sister. Situation critical.”
“Ah!” cried Bastro, drawing a deep 235breath, “and what said the Emperor to that message?”
“He spoke with his counselors, and wired this brief reply to de Lima, ‘I am coming.’ Also he sent a soldier back to de Pintra’s mansion with orders to arrest Francisco and Lesba Paola. Then he boarded the train and instructed the conductor to proceed to Rio with all possible haste. And that is all I know, senhor, save that I called up Rio last evening and learned that Fonseca was still in control of the city. At midnight the wires were cut and nothing further can be learned. Therefore I came to join you, and if there is a chance to fight for the Cause I beg that you will accept my services.”
Bastro paused in his walk to press the honest fellow’s hand; then he resumed his thoughtful pacing.
The others whispered among themselves, and one said:
“Why need we despair, Sanchez Bastro? Will not Fonseca, once in control, succeed in holding the city?”
“Surely!” exclaimed the leader. “It 236is not for him that I fear, but for ourselves. If the Uruguayans are on our trail we must disperse our men and scatter over the country, for the spy Valcour knows, I am sure, of this rendezvous.”
“But they are not hunting you, senhor,” protested Pedro, “but rather Paola and his sister, who have managed to escape from de Pintra’s house.”
“Nevertheless, the Uruguayans are liable to be here at any moment,” returned Bastro, “and there is nothing to be gained by facing that devil, de Souza.”
He then called his men together in the clearing, explained to them the situation, and ordered them to scatter and to secrete themselves in the edges of the forests and pick off the Uruguayans with their rifles whenever occasion offered.
“If anything of importance transpires,” he added, “report to me at once at my house.”
Without a word of protest his commands were obeyed. The leaders mounted their horses and rode away through the numerous forest paths that led into the clearing.
237The men also saluted and disappeared among the trees, and presently only Bastro, Pedro, and myself stood in the open space. “Come with me, Senhor Harcliffe,” said the leader; “I shall be glad to have you join me at breakfast. You may follow us, Pedro.”
Then he strode to the edge of the clearing, pressed aside some bushes, and stepped into a secret path that led through the densest portion of the tangled forest. I followed, and Pedro brought up the rear.
For some twenty minutes Bastro guided us along the path, which might well have been impassable to a novice, until finally we emerged from the forest to find the open country before us, and a small, cozy-looking dwelling facing us from the opposite side of a well-defined roadway.
Bastro led us to a side door, which he threw open, and then stepped back with a courteous gesture.
“Enter, gentlemen,” said he; “you are welcome to my humble home.”
I crossed the threshold and came to an abrupt stop. Something seemed to clutch 238my heart with a grip of iron; my limbs trembled involuntarily, and my eyes grew set and staring.
For, standing before me, with composed look and a smile upon his dark face, was the living form of my lamented friend Miguel de Pintra!