milk." And with a self-conscious nod the juveniletradesman pulled himself together and passed on.
"There! What did I tell you?" asked Casteno. "Didn't I suggest MissNapier had been inveigled into this business to help Lord Fotheringayout of his difficulties? You mark my words. This walk of theirs--thismeeting--this encounter outside these gates--are all a plant--a trapdesigned to get the hunchback into the Government's clutches. Our dutynow is clear. We must find our way inside and checkmate any of theirmoves at once."
"Steadily," I replied, "steadily," pulling the excited Spaniard down along, narrow, leaf-covered passage that ran by the side of a wall whichskirted the limit of the grounds attached to the house. "It is all verywell to pull up these theories in this fashion; but there is one greathelper of ours always ready to checkmate both Fotheringay andCuthbertson, and him you have quite forgotten. Now, remembering theexistence of Mr Cooper-Nassington, why should we go and put our necksin jeopardy, eh?" And out of the corner of an eye I shot a quick glanceat Casteno. It had been long on my mind to find out what thatHonourable Member was up to, and I realised that this was a mostfavourable chance. After all, we had to wait for a decent interval.There was just a possibility that the trio might re-appear and return tothe Green Dragon.
Casteno, however, seemed to be on this occasion perfectly frank."Cooper-Nassington," he explained, "is by no means idle. He is as hardat work as you or I. As a matter of fact, he has run up to Whitby, inYorkshire, where he has an interest in a shipbuilding yard and an ironmine, and he is fitting out an expedition for Mexico, which will leaveimmediately we get wind of the exact spot where the Lake of SacredTreasure may be found."
"And he does all this for England, and so do you?"
"Yes--in a way--yes," the Spaniard replied hesitatingly. "There is alot of things to explain which I can't explain yet. But that's thesubstantial fact."
"Then why do you fight the hunchback, you a Spaniard," I queried, "whenall the benefit will go to England if you succeed, not to Spain?"
Casteno never flinched. "That's another thing which I can't make clearto you just now; but perhaps it may be enough for you if I say the wholething turns on my quarrel with my father and my love for CamilleVelasquon. But stop," he went on in a different voice; "we can't go onexchanging confidences like this or we shall never get down to businessat all. What do you say to slipping over this wall and stealing acrossthe grounds? Often most valuable clues can be picked up by spies whoget beneath windows and peer in at the corners at critical times."
"All right. Time presses. Let's see what we can manage," I said.After all, I had now no love for Lord Fotheringay. I was just as gladof an opportunity of upsetting his little schemes as was Casteno.Besides, did not every move I made then take me just a little nearer tothe solution of that mysterious appearance of Doris?
Selecting a point where the wall stood but seven or eight feet from theground we quietly scrambled to the top by the aid of some projectingstones and then dropped on the other side to the turf at that extremityof the garden. Between ourselves and the house lay a belt of thick,high shrubs, then a long stretch of greensward, and afterwards two orthree terraces flanked by urns, in which geraniums and othergaudily-coloured flowers had been planted. In the deepening shadows weflitted like two spectres--swiftly and silently--until at length wefound beneath our feet the beds of plants which blossomed outside thequaint old mullioned windows in the front of the house.
Stealthily we crept from point to point, intent on hearing the voices ofthe trio we sought, or at least of catching some token of theirpresence. Time after time we raised our heads above the level of thewindow-sills and peered into the interiors, so cool, so fresh, sotastefully furnished. Nothing but disappointment seemed to dog ourfootsteps. We could not catch a glimpse of a single living person inthe entire ground floor of that house.
At last Casteno stopped. "Look here!" he said in that quick, decisiveway of his. "We can't go on like this. The more I examine this placethe more convinced I am that there is something radically wrong about itand in that arrangement between Fotheringay and the hunchback. Now thepoint is this: will you make a bold stand if I do? You are in disguise;so am I. If we are caught, let us pretend that we are sweethearts oftwo of the servants who, we regret to find, have left--but, at allevents, let us slip through these rooms and see what we can discover."
"Very well," I answered. "But if we are to have any success, we musthave no pride. First of all, we must take off our boots and carrythem."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
WHICH CONTAINS A FRESH DEVELOPMENT.
The Spaniard made a slight grimace, but, quickly recovering himself, hedid as he was bidden, and we scrambled headlong into one of thereception-rooms without another moment's hesitation.
This apartment was furnished in a light and modern style, but it bore notrace of recent occupation. Consequently, we did not waste anyunnecessary time in its examination but made at once for the hall on towhich it abutted. One of those noble staircases we seldom if ever findin a town mansion led to the rooms above; and at a nod from me Castenostepped boldly upward to a door that stood slightly ajar.
Placing a warning finger on his lips he dropped to his hands and kneesalmost as soon as I reached the topmost stair and peered through theaperture. I also stretched over him and peeped at the interior, andeven as we did so we both started back. For there, in a room fitted uplike a boudoir, was the poor but over-venturesome aeronaut, Sparhawk,firmly fixed on a high-backed oaken chair with his hands tied securelybehind him, his mouth tied with a handkerchief, while a piece of ropeheld his neck tightly pressed against the wood.
Another moment, and I am sure that, whatever might have been theconsequences, we should have darted in and released him had not anotherobject in the room caught and held our attention. That was no otherthan Doris herself, who had evidently been put on guard over the tooventuresome captain, and was now promenading up and down the room, witha loaded revolver, trying to look fierce and commanding and wellaccustomed to firearms, but failing, I am bound to own, most miserablyin the attempt.
Obeying a touch from the Spaniard I drew back down a few of the stairsand held a hurried consultation with him. "It seems to me," he said,with a sly chuckle, "as though the worthy captain showed a little fightwhen he found that he had been trapped and that some of our friendsthought it would be better if they kept him quiet for a little while sothat they could fix things up with my father in comparative peace. Fora time, at all events, I propose we leave him with Miss Doris."
"So do I," I said. "We have really no business with him except to go onthat journey in his flying machine, and if he doesn't come up to time wecan always tell the committee of the fete where to find him. Now, let'spush on. As I turned away for the door of the room in which he isconfined I think I saw the entrance to an oratory or chapel, and once Iam almost certain I caught the sounds of voices. Let us go and explorethat next."
And I turned my face about and made for the end of the passage where Ihad noticed a big pair of folding doors, on the panels of which had beencarved the sacred monogram and a cross about two feet in height. As Ihad suspected, this was the place to which the hunchback had been taken.True, the doors had been shut, but there was no key in the lock, andthe first glance through the hole revealed to us the interior of afamily chapel that had been turned into a kind of assembly hall, for along oaken table ran down the centre, flanked by rows of stalls oneither side that, no doubt, had occupied honoured positions in thechancel. At the top end of this table sat no less a personage than HisMajesty's Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, with a quill in hishand, busily writing on some large blue official-looking paper. To theright of Lord Cyril sat Lord Fotheringay, who was also bending over somedocuments, while opposite to him was the lawyer we had seen outside thegate--the man who had first of all spoken to Doris and her companions--and he was reading aloud from a large book in front of him a queer,legal jargon that suggested some Act of Parliament tha
t had been forcenturies on the statute-book.
For a moment the object of all this attention eluded us, but only for amoment. Suddenly, the lawyer stopped, and Lord Cyril Cuthbertson lookedup, an expression of annoyance on his firm but forbidding features.Then we saw the hunchback spring to the bottom of the table, on which helaid a fist trembling with passion.
"This is monstrous," he cried, "monstrous! I repeat, I am no more anEnglishman than is the Holy Father at Rome or the Emperor Nicholas, ormy own beloved King Alphonso. I, therefore, deny your right to detainme here--to threaten me with penalties--to torture me with the knowledgethat you have determined to stop at nothing to gain possession of thosethree manuscripts relating to the Lake of Sacred Treasure."
"Then give them up, my good man," replied Lord Cyril Cuthbertsonsuavely. "I have told you I will compensate you for them richly. Itshall be no question of what they have cost you but of what they maymean to you."
"And I refuse," repeated the man doggedly. "I refuse. I have refused--I shall always refuse!"
"Why?" persisted the Foreign Secretary, fixing two piercing eyes on theSpaniard. "Don't think we English politicians are fools, because, in aword, we are not. I know there is an idea abroad on the Continent thatbecause our Secret Service Fund is so small it is utterly ineffective.But that is not true. We have been quite sharp enough to know that eversince you set foot in London you have acted as one of the spies ofSpain, and in pursuance of instructions from Madrid you have oftenbribed some of our men to do worse things than even Alfred Dreyfus wasaccused of, and have often brought yourself within the meshes of ourcriminal law. Don't presume too far on British complacency and goodhumour. We will go far, very far, to preserve the amenities ofdiplomacy, but over these manuscripts, with your bloodthirsty dreams ofa great new Spanish empire that will sack London, you are pushing us alittle too hard. Nor is that the worst. We have got your favourite sonPaul in our hands at last. We have only to lift a finger and he, too,will be utterly crushed."
As it happened, however, the hunchback seemed to think but lightly ofthis threat against his favourite son, or he was certainly one of thecleverest actors in real life I had ever seen. "We are all in the handsof the British Government, Lord Cuthbertson," he said, with a quickassumption of dignity that matched but ill with the Foreign Secretary'shigh and overbearing tones. "Paul Zouche is no coward; and whateverblows Fate has in store for him he will meet them with a courage thatbefits a son of Spain in exile from his native land."
"No doubt, no doubt," cut in Lord Fotheringay, as though he were anxiousno more should be said on the subject of Paul's guilt just at thatmoment. "We all of us trust that he will, although at present thingswhich you don't seem to have any knowledge of look very black againsthim. Still, that is not the point we invited you into this assemblyhall of mine to discuss."
"Scarcely invited!" echoed the hunchback with an ill-repressed sneer."Say, rather, tricked by the aid of a niece of mine. What did you do topoor Sparhawk when he got hot and angry and struck out in my defence?"
"Well, say `tricked,' then," observed Lord Cuthbertson. "What of that?We are all of us playing for high stakes, and in a game affectingnational interests we can't rely on everyday rules that do very well forordinary men at ordinary times. Will you answer our plain question?--will you give up those manuscripts to the British Government, or willyou not?"
"I will not," retorted the hunchback proudly.
"They are mine. I have bought them. I shall do with them exactly as Iplease."
"I am not so sure about that," remarked the Foreign Secretarymeditatively, bending forward and pressing the button of an electricbell fixed on the table in front of him. "At all events, for a timeyour movements must be hampered, for I see here, amongst the documentsthat have just been sent down from Downing Street to me for signature,is a copy of a warrant for your arrest from the Home Office on a chargeof bribery of certain officials now employed at Woolwich Arsenal. Myidea is that it ought to be put into effect at once."
"Oh, but that is preposterous!" snorted the hunchback, going very white."I shall resist it. I shall appeal to the Spanish Ambassador. I willlet the public know how I've been tricked here in Shrewsbury whilst Iwas engaged on one of the most peaceable of missions--the financing anddevelopment of a new flying machine."
"Quite so; I should," said the Foreign Secretary, writing busily, asthough he were utterly indifferent to what the hunchback said, did, orthought. "Our dear British public loves revelations of all sorts--themore sensational the better. I only hope the press won't praise me forthe part I have taken in the business and call me one of the nation'spatriots for setting the nation's needs above the ordinary rules ofcriminal procedure. You really can have no idea of how keen they havebecome on stringing up traitors of all nationalities since some of ourgrim experiences in the South African War."
"I'm not a traitor," thundered the hunchback. "No?" said LordCuthbertson, all the inquiry in his assent.
"I am a Spaniard."
"Quite so." And again there was silence, during which the hunchbackshuffled uneasily, for, although he was brave enough in conflict,silence tried him, like it does all highly-strung men.
Another footstep made itself heard, and through the keyhole Casteno andI caught sight of the burly proportions of Detective-Inspector Naylorstanding in front of the Foreign Secretary, his hand raised at thesalute.
"What orders, my lord," he asked.
"Oh!" replied the Foreign Secretary carelessly, still going on with hiscorrespondence, "I think you will find a man there at the end of thetable standing quite close to you. His name is Peter Zanch or Zouch, orsomething foreign and uncanny like that. The Home Office has issued awarrant for his arrest on some serious charges. Put a pair of handcuffson him and take him up to Bow Street, will you? Be very careful, too,how you search him. He has got three old, valuable manuscriptssomewhere--either in his pockets, amongst his luggage at the GreenDragon Hotel, or hidden in the rooms in which he is in temporaryoccupation. Arrange for a careful search for those before you leaveShropshire."
"I will, my lord," returned Naylor, stretching out a muscular hand andtaking a firm hold of the hunchback. "As a matter of fact, I know thisman very well. I have been to his shop in Westminster scores of times!"And he took a step forward, as though he would move Zouche promptly outof the room.
Now, as I have hinted before, the hunchback had plenty of pride, and ashe felt this coarse-grained Briton attempt to drag him unceremoniouslyaway from the table at which Lord Cuthbertson, Lord Fotheringay, and thelawyer still sat immovable and unconcerned, as though no such person ashimself existed within a radius of one hundred miles of them, his ragemastered him.
"I will never go, never!" he shrieked, and he whipped out a revolver andactually levelled it at the officer and fired it, but Naylor was tooquick for him, and in a flash knocked the muzzle of the revolver upward.
"Humph! a dangerous customer, I see," exclaimed the detective coolly."Well, you can't be left to go as a gentleman, that's all. I must treatyou as a criminal." And whipping out his handcuffs he had them snappedon Zouche's wrists in a couple of seconds.
Oddly enough, what threats, persuasions, offers of bribes, actualviolence had failed to win the touch of that cold steel accomplished.Personally, I have seen the same thing happen scores of times, but, tothe general public, the moral power of the silent handcuff must everrank as one of the greatest of the modern noiseless miracles. Certainlyit was so in the case of the hunchback. No sooner did he find himselfreally captured than all his braggadocio left him--dropped from him likea moth-eaten mantle.
"I give in, Lord Cuthbertson, I give in!" he cried. "Order this man totake off these absurd bracelets. I'll do as you wish--throw in my lotwith the British Government. Send him away, and let us discuss theterms."
The Foreign Secretary lifted his eyes lazily from his papers andpretended to yawn. "I beg your pardon," he said politely. "I was busyputting the finishing touches to
a despatch. What was that you said?"
"I will sell the manuscripts to the British Government. I will give youthe benefit of my services as translator," repeated the hunchback.
Lord Cuthbertson yawned again. "Make a note of that offer, Fotheringay,will you?" he said, turning to the earl, "and speak to me about it whenI've got a little more time. At present I'm too busy to think of thesethings as carefully as I ought." And, rising, he nodded to Naylor, butthe hunchback stood his ground.
"My lord," said he warningly, "it's now or never. Don't play with me.Don't push me too far. I will be with you now, but if not now I'll beagainst you and your Government for ever, so be careful how you treatme."
To my mind there was no question that Lord Cuthbertson never meant tolet the hunchback leave that chapel; thus, as an outsider watching everyfeint and move in that closely-contested duel of wit and nerve, Irecognised that all he did was pose--bluff--strategy of the lowestbullying type. All the same, I am not sure whether, if I had been inPeter Zouche's shoes, I should have seen through the sharp practice ofthis pinchbeck Napoleon so easily. Indeed, I might as easily have beentaken in as he was, for was there not at work that strange, compellingmoral suasion of the handcuff?
"Very well, then," said Lord Cuthbertson after a
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