The Pursuit

by Frank Savile

  CHAPTER XXIII

  PADRE SIGISMONDI

  The presage of the afternoon sky was amply fulfilled by midnight. Thewestern gale howled through the window bars and the sound of the sea'sthunder rolled up from the beach. For the Mediterranean it was a galebeyond the normal, one that had borrowed strength from its Atlantic kin.It lashed the green islands of the archipelago with unaccustomedviolence. The vine poles fell in ranks before its blast; the lava dustwhirled up in spirals; the pebbles clattered along the face of theshingle. And yet there was something strange, noticeable, almostominous, about the tempest. It had none of the northern breath of ice.It was a hot wind; in spring or summer, and had it risen in the south,one would have called it sirocco and kept in the shadow throughout itsblowing. But this wind blew from the north and the month was December.The islanders mused over the phenomenon debatingly.

  Inside the prison the storm muffled sounds which, however, no listenerwas abroad to detect. A common table fork his only implement, Aylmer waslevering the massive corner-stones inch by inch from their seating. Thelower one had already been removed, but the upper one, as expected, hadnot fallen from its place. He panted as he put forth his strength uponit. The ebb and flow of his pulses swelled in the half-healed scar onhis temple. Blood was flowing from a few superficial cuts upon hisfingers. He ground his teeth and tugged at the stone savagely, worryingit as a terrier might worry a defiant rat. And then, with an unexpectedjerk, it fell out upon him bodily. He dropped backwards, the stone'sweight upon his leg.

  He gave a half-muffled cry, not of pain, but of satisfaction. The restwas easy; the road was open.

  Then, as he panted in the relief of accomplished effort, Fate rebukedhis satisfaction with a sudden threat. A step sounded coming up thegravel.

  His temperamental coolness and presence of mind never stood a testbetter. He stood up, raised each stone in quick succession, and placedthem swiftly, carefully, and silently beneath the coverlet of hiscompanion's bed. She flung herself down beside them. He drew his ownpallet into the corner from which the stones had been removed and lay,his face to the wall, the huddle of the bed clothes hiding the opening.A moment later a light shone through the window. The light of a lampilluminated a wrinkled Italian face.

  The watcher blinked at them suspiciously, grunted, and then with ahalf-articulate expression of satisfaction, turned away. The lightbobbed slowly off into the distance, flaring and guttering before theforce of the wind. Inside the prison a sigh went up--a chorussed echo ofrelief.

  "Landon is taking no chances," said Aylmer, in a whisper. "We are to bevisited, at intervals. That is evident."

  He heard something like the sound of a sob in the darkness.

  "It means defeat--this?" asked Claire. "Fate is setting her face againstus. We are not even to have our chance!"

  "No!" he said grimly. "Fate is not against us. I feel it, I havebelieved it all along. And if she is, then it is our duty to defy her.After all, we can use the chief source of danger to defeat suspicion;that is easy."

  He rose cautiously and plucked the remaining stones from the hole. Heplaced them in his own bed; he arranged matters carefully. And then hemade a motion towards the new-made opening.

  "Will you lead?" he said quietly. "Will you be the first toconfront--Fate?"

  She gave a little gasp.

  "I?" she said, and hesitated, fear in her eyes.

  "You, if you will," he answered simply. "Make your way out and hideyourself in the nearest convenient shadow. Then, if he returns before Ican join you, await me. If not--" He shrugged his shoulders. "I shall beat your heels."

  She still paused, and her fingers clenched and unclenched.

  "I did not expect--to be--separated," she breathed. "My strength--I didnot realize it at first--is coming all from you."

  His hand went out into the darkness and touched her.

  "From now on, it will be used in your service," he said quietly. "Foryou and you alone." She felt the hand quiver. "Whether you ask it ornot, whether I am to be all to you in the future, or nothing. It will bethere--for your asking."

  And then, because the need of that strength came upon her with a forcewhich she could not control, she gripped the protecting hand between herfingers and--Fate alone knows why--raised it to her lips. The nextinstant she had slipped past him in the darkness and was drawing herselfthrough the opening. She rose to her knees, to her feet. She stood outupon the wind-swept earth, free. Free of the material prison behind her.Had she not laid upon herself new bonds? It was a thought too new, tooindefinite, too strangely sweet. The tumult of her feelings was inaccord with the tumult of the night.

  _She gripped the protecting hand between her fingers_]

  She stood, expectant, her ears alert for sounds. There was no grating ofpebbles upon the path. But from the hole at her feet the faint rip ofclothing torn against the angle of the stone. The next instant Aylmerhad emerged, but did not rise. His hands, returning to the opening,still worked at something within. And then she gave a little gasp. Alight shone at her feet. It made a tiny, yellow splash in the darknessand fell--on Aylmer's face.

  Terror paralyzed her; she stood as if turned to stone; her handsclenched into her clothing upon her breast. And Aylmer lay asmotionless, the golden gleam falling directly into his eyes, which didnot even blink.

  A sound broke the stillness--a sound which came from the far side oftheir prison--and the light disappeared. She heard footsteps whichretreated; she recognized again the grunt which told of anotherinspection made to the inspector's content. But what had savedthem--what?

  Aylmer rose and stood beside her. His hand gently gripped her elbow anddrew her out into the roar and beat of the tempest. He headed inland;the path which the sentinel had taken was the one which led towards theshore.

  A minute later she breathed her question. And he laughed lightly in thedarkness. The sound, incongruous as it seemed to her sense ofever-menacing fear, thrilled her strangely. If he could laugh, was notFate laughing with him? Was there not a smile on the face of Hope?

  "I was only just through the hole when he came, when he flashed hislantern at what he supposed was my body, recumbent on the bed. I washolding up the bed clothes _from outside_; I had not had time to shovethe stones back into place."

  She shuddered at the nearness of the hazard. Supposing the man had comeat the very moment of escape--supposing?

  "But the light?" she protested. "The light shone upon your face!"

  He laughed again.

  "The bed clothes had a hole in them!" he said. "I held them up into theform of human shoulders, and through a rent his lantern beat directly onmy face! He could not, of course, see me, but I got a good view of him.It was Luigi himself, this time. Has Fate been whispering to him, do youthink? Has she made him suspicious?"

  She stumbled and caught at him to steady herself. He looked down insudden, quick compunction.

  "It has been too much for you!" he said anxiously. "You are feelingfaint?"

  "No!" she said quietly. "I am trying to think of it as a nightmare fromwhich I shall wake directly, but it is real! Whenever that comes home tome it--it is a pain. Well, it will not be a long ordeal now, will it? Wemeet Fate at the landing stage, and she will give her decision. Can weunmoor the _Santa Margarita_ from inside the breakwater, or can we not?She will know."

  He nodded.

  "In five minutes we, too, shall know. We are circling for the Marinanow. A couple of hundred yards and we shall be there!"

  They strode on into the darkness, with eyes and ears alert. They heardthe battling of the waves against the stones of the tiny pier, but whatthey did not hear was the sound of singing cordage in the felucca'srigging.

  Aylmer halted with a sudden, muffled exclamation.

  "They have unshipped the mast!" he cried sharply, and this time sherecognized, even in his voice, the note of defeat.

  She echoed his exclamation; she followed at his heels as he ran out uponthe little breakwater. No, there had been no room for mistak
e. The greatmast with its cross spar lay along the stone flags. The hull was snuglyberthed alongside it, within the tiny harbor. The dingy? There was none;they had cast it loose when they fled from the torpedo boat through theisland channel.

  For a moment he did not speak. He stood, looking silently at thedismantled boat, the raging sea, the swinging lights of a passingsteamer. Then he turned and shook his head.

  "To step that mast into place again is beyond one man's strength," hesaid. "To fling ourselves out into that whirl on a mastless hull is tocourt death inevitably. What is the alternative? We could stand in frontof the shed here, screened from view inland, and signal some passingvessel with flares, if we had the means of making a light. That wouldnot be a good chance, but it has possibilities."

  "And I have matches!" she said eagerly. "I have my chatelaine still. Ihave even my purse yet. So far they have not robbed me."

  He turned as she spoke and without comment ran back across the shingle.He began to pluck handfuls of the dry, bent grass which found a sparselivelihood in the belt of sand between the shore and the vineyards. Hereturned, rummaged among the litter around the shed, broke up somestray pieces of driftwood into chips, and thrust a lighted match amongthe bents. A flame shot up, passed from the tinder to the wood, andwithin a minute was a well-lit fire. He twisted the remaining handfulsof grass into spirals, wetted them slightly in the sea, and held them tothe flame.

  They burnt slowly with a red glow, as he swung them to and fro in thewind; in dashes, in dots, in circles, he spelled messages into thenight, but no answering lantern or rocket came from the sea. And shewatched apathetically. For her hope was dead again, the hand of Fate hadclosed. This was action; this helped them to avoid thinking, to avertanticipation, but success was a matter outside her calculations. Thesense of nightmare closed down upon her again. The storm, the redflashes against the purple darkness, the wild unaccustomedness ofeverything heightened the illusion. But when would she wake? Ah, whenwould she wake?

  And then--she rubbed her eyes. A light--surely this was no freak of herfevered eyesight?--danced into view within a couple of hundred yards ofthe shore. For a moment it swung to the lift and surge of the wavesalone, but a moment later it rose half a dozen feet into the air, andflashed and circled as the charred torch in Aylmer's hand wascircling--an answer to their message of despair. She gasped witheagerness; she cried aloud.

  Was it fancy or did another cry reach them through the thunder of thewaves?

  The light stayed motionless for an instant, and then swung towards them.Whatever vessel was bearing it had turned its prow towards the shore.Aylmer caught up another glowing handful of bents and ran out to thebreakwater's end. Claire's heart beat in suffocating throbs as shefollowed.

  Again a cry reached them, and Aylmer waved his beacon vigorously. Asudden shaft of moonlight sank through a rift in the flying clouds.

  They saw it then--a dark mass which plunged and heaved among the whitecrests, and drifted nearer and nearer. There was no sail set, but theycould see the rise and fall of a couple of great oars which steadied theboat as it advanced by drifting only. It was less than a cable lengthdistant now, passing through the ring of rocks which guarded the harborentrance.

  They held their breath. Ten seconds would do it, but ten seconds held aninfinitude of possibilities. If the boat broached to, if its prow,indeed, deflected a couple of yards from the course, would not that giveFate a chance to fling her scorn upon their rising hopes? Their eyeswere strained. Claire's hand was clenched till her nails seemed to sinkinto the flesh of her palm. And then she gave a sigh of relief. The boathad passed the outer rock, was heading straight for the inner harbor andthe calm.

  Fate laughed harshly.

  A gust stormed in from the sea, caught the boat's prow, swung it, causedthe port side rower to meet its strength too swiftly with his own. Theyheard a crack--heard it distinctly above the uproars of the gale. Theoar had broken between the thole-pins; the rower was down.

  There was another crashing sound, louder this time, and menacing. Agreat sea raced beneath the laboring keel, lifted it, shook it, andflung it aside, full upon the rock. The white gleam of the new-madesplinters reached them through the smother of the foam fifty yards away.

  Aylmer cried out and raced back along the stones. His hands plucked atthe cordage which was folded about the felucca's mast, and drew out arope. He came back at speed, unwinding the coils as he came. He thrustthe loose end into her hands.

  "Get a purchase against a stone and then hold on--hold on!" he ordered.He flung off his coat.

  She cried out in protest; she clung to him.

  "No!" she cried. "No!"

  Very gently, very firmly, her hand was drawn aside. He bent over her;something touched faintly--very faintly--her lips. The next instant shewas alone. He had leaped--far out into the grip of the tide.

  She caught her breath and clutched the rope; she flung herself down andwedged her limbs behind a boulder. Fate was relentless, she toldherself, was cruel beyond even her darkest anticipations. For now herone support was to be denied her; she was to be left alone. She set herlips grimly. No, she would never see Aylmer again, but she would defyFate! She was to be crushed, but she would go down fighting; she wouldbe worthy of herself--and of him.

  The vagrant shaft of moonlight was gone again; the darkness waswell-nigh impenetrable. The rope swung between her fingers unstraining.The minutes passed one by one; the tension of expectancy plucked at hernerves; she shivered, but not with cold. Even if it was the worst thatwas to come upon her she wanted to know--to know.

  The rope grew taut.

  It was as if an electric shock thrilled her. She braced herself againstthe stone, and her muscles tightened; slowly, using her strength to itsutmost but with steady effort, she began to haul it in foot by foot. Itcame heavily but unceasingly, the coils unwinding fathom after fathomat her side.

  And then the strain ceased as suddenly as it had begun. A voice hailedher out of the darkness, almost at her feet. A dark bulk rose at thebreakwater's edge.

  Aylmer staggered towards her and laid something on the stones--somethingwhich stirred uneasily but unavailingly, clogged, as it seemed, by theweight of its sodden clothing.

  She knelt beside it. She brushed the lank hair from a dripping face.

  Aylmer waved her back.

  "There is another!" he shouted. "Hold on if you can! Hold on!" and soplunged back into the surf. For the second time she braced herself toendure the strain--to wait--to agonize with expectation. And again Fateplayed with her, racked her between hope and fear, drew out the strainand then, as suddenly, relaxed it. Aylmer crept out upon the stones,gasping, doggedly clinging to a new burden.

  This time it was the bearer who staggered and fell, the burden who roseunsteadily, and peered into his rescuer's face.

  She dropped upon her knees beside him. Pale, clean-cut ascetic featureswere lifted to hers. Two dark brown eyes inspected her with startledincredulity.

  And then the man rose and--the act was instinctive, it wasobvious--doffed his hat.

  "Signora," he said in Italian. "Signora! This is Salicudi, is it not? Iam at a loss--I do not understand."

  For a moment she hesitated, looking at him. The long black garment whichclung about him reached to his feet. Suddenly she recognized it, and,with recognition, a little cry escaped her. It was a _soutane_. Andthis was no sailor. She was confronted by a priest.

  As she opened her lips to find a reply, something clattered behind her;something rushed, calling upon the names of innumerable saints, out ofthe darkness, and seized her shoulder. A harsh voice rang into theechoes of the night.

  "To me--to me, all of you! They are escaping! Blood of My Lady, theprisoners are loose!"

  The man in the soutane whirled fiercely upon the newcomer. And as heturned the moon broke through the scurry of the drift and fell upon thegroup in cold brilliance.

  "Prisoners!" The voice was incredulous, wrathful, and above all full ofcommand. "Prisoners! You spea
k of--whom?"

  The hand upon Claire's shoulder dropped. Her captor fell away as ifstruck by a physical blow.

  "Padre Sigi!" he stammered, and his voice was convincing of hisamazement. "Padre Sigi!"

  The other nodded imperiously.

  "Padre Sigismondi," he agreed. "At your service, my good Luigi. At yourservice!"