by Guy Boothby
CHAPTER IV.
THE ALBINO IS DISAPPOINTED.
When the Albino regained his senses, on the other side of the smallouthouse, within five feet of where Veneda lay, his first idea was tofind out if he had received any injury from his fall from the roof, andnext to discover what had become of the man who had occasioned it.
He found that beyond a severe shaking and a few burns, he had sustainedbut trifling hurt, perhaps for the reason that by clutching at theparapet he had in some measure broken his fall. But though he searcheddiligently all round the patio, and even among the ruins of the houseshard by, not a trace of his late antagonist could he discover.
What a narrow escape had been his he realized when he looked about him,for on every side were heaped smouldering _debris_ of the dwellings,while the conflagration was still proceeding, with unabated violence,only a few steps further along the street. Why he had not been killed byfalling timber, found and despatched by the mob, or burnt up by theflames as he lay unconscious, he could not for the life of himunderstand.
The street being quiet, he settled it in his own mind that the mob hadgone elsewhere, believing their prey to have perished. So giving himselfa final shake to make quite certain that all was sound, he waited hisopportunity, and, when no one was passing, struck out in the directionof the Calle de San Pedro. In spite of his recent adventures he had notforgotten his appointment with Vargas at the house of the fugitiveEnglish banker; and, as he hurried along, he reflected with a chucklethat if, as in all human probability was the case, Veneda had perishedwith the falling house, then would there be one less with whom to dividethe spoil. He wished, however, that he had seen the body. That, he toldhimself, would have been altogether more satisfactory, for he knewVargas and Nunez well enough to be aware that they would not accept hisstatement for truth, unless he could bring substantial proof of itsauthenticity.
As he turned into the Calle de San Pedro, a man crossed over the roadand joined him. It was Pablos Vargas. Without a word they proceeded tothe house, a ramshackle, old adobe structure of one storey, with a broadverandah running round three sides, and a commodious patio on thefourth, this latter protected by a heavy gate.
As the conspirators approached it they were joined by two other men fromthe premises on either side.
"Well, Miguel," said the Albino, addressing himself to the taller of thetwain, "what have you to report? He has not escaped you?"
"No, senor. We have not seen a sign of him this week past, and we'vewatched day and night."
"Well, if he's gone you may pack your kits, and clear out of thiscountry for ever. I promise you, you won't be able to live in it withme. You can go."
"We want our money," remarked the man who had not yet spoken.
"What? Want your money, do you, you longshore beach-comber--want yourmoney before we've seen how you've done your work! Clear out of this.You'll be paid at the proper place, at ten."
"These are no times for promises. We want our money now," reiterated theman; "and what's more, we're going to have it!"
The Albino was not at all impressed by the man's determined attitude.Taking a step towards him, he whispered a sentence in his ear, with theresult that next moment the fellow was scuttling down the street likeone possessed, his companion after him.
Macklin turned to Vargas with a grin.
"There seems to be something in the old word after all. Now come; we'vegot our work cut out."
As he spoke he produced a key, and opened the door of the dwellingbefore which they stood, and which was to the right of that theydesigned to visit. Entering, they proceeded along the passage to thesmall yard at the back. Once there only a low wall separated them fromthe other house. With an agility surprising in one so deformed, theAlbino mounted it, and dropped on to the other side; Vargas followedhim, and together they approached a window. Opening this, they creptthrough it into the dwelling; then, soft as cats, passed across the roomtowards the central passage. At a signal from Macklin, Vargas producedand lit a candle.
Having before they started made themselves familiar with that part ofthe house which contained the treasure of which they were in search,they were able to approach it without hesitation or delay. On reachingthe room they paused to listen, at the same time taking the precautionof examining their arms. Then, stealthily opening the door, theyentered, the Albino first and Vargas in the rear, shading the candlewith his hand.
A half-starved, decrepit old man was pacing up and down at the furtherend. On seeing them he stopped his walk, and advanced towards them witha courtly bow.
"You are very welcome," he began in English. "I've been expecting youthis week past. You must excuse the unprepared state of my surroundings;but I've only moved in here while my Kensington house is beingredecorated. You will stay and take dinner with me, of course?"
"What does he say?" asked Vargas, who had no knowledge of English.
"He's mad!--stark, staring mad!" replied the Albino.
"Won't you sit down?" continued their host. "I will ring and have thewine put in ice. By the way, I don't think you told me your business; mymemory is not what it was. I have had troubles--serious troubles."
"That's enough of that, my friend," Macklin interposed "Confound yourmemory! We want that money--the Two Hundred and Fifty Thousand youswindled the Kamtchatka Bank out of. If you want to save your skin,you'd better own up where it is, and save any bother."
The ex-banker continued to smile sweetly.
"Ah! there's a very good story connected with that. It's going the roundof the clubs now. Lord Burgoo, our chairman, asked me about it thisafternoon in Piccadilly. You must know that I took it out to Chili toinvest on the Bank's behalf. One evening, I was sitting in my room inthe Calle de San Pedro, when a singularly handsome man called to see me.'Mr. Bradshaw,' said he, 'I'm sorry to trouble you, but I've come toplay you a game of cards for that money.' I had no objection, of course,so down we sat. Eventually he won, and I paid him all that was left ofthe L250,000. It was a good stake, wasn't it?"
"You lie!" shrieked the Albino, dashing at him and clutching him by thethroat. "That be hanged for a tale. It's only one of your damned dodgesto put us off the scent. Where is it? Tell me, or I'll throttle you!"
"I assure you it's the truth," gasped the unfortunate banker, halfstrangled. "I will even tell you his name."
The Albino withdrew his hand.
"Now, what was it? Quick!"
"Let me think. I fancy it began with V--Veneda, or some such name. Ofcourse I did not ask, but he allowed it to slip from him in hisexcitement. He was a most gentlemanly person, and interested meexceedingly."
"Nonsense! I won't believe it; he dared not do it. But, Marcos Veneda,you thieving traitorous hound, by God, if this be true it will prove theworst day's work you've ever done in your life."
Then in Spanish he explained what had happened to Vargas, whose rage wasabsurdly theatrical. He danced and swore, tore his hair and ground histeeth in an ecstasy of passion.
"Stop that nonsense," said the Albino. "We must search the house asquickly as possible, and if it's not here, find Veneda without amoment's delay. Now we see why he wanted us to spare him. It strikes mewe've been sold, and badly too."
Without further ado they set to work. But they might have sparedthemselves the trouble. The money was undoubtedly gone--the _cache_ hadbeen rifled, and the treasure stolen. The Albino's rage surpasseddescription; he vowed such vengeance against the traitor that evenVargas was overwhelmed with terror. Suddenly they looked round for thebanker. He was not to be seen. Taking advantage of their absence inanother room, he had passed into the yard and quietly quitted the house.
"Never mind him," said Macklin, "he's no use to us now. We must collectevery man we can lay our hands on, and search the town until we findVeneda. If he escapes, I'll be the death of somebody."