CHAPTER XXXI - MARJORY’S
ADVENTURE
As I felt that time, in which I had the passage
all to myself, was precious, I turned back to the main way down. The path was
very steep and low and the rock underfoot was cut in rude steps; as I held the
lantern before me I had to droop it so that I could smell the hot metal where
the flame touched the back. It was indeed a steep and difficult way, made for
others than men of my own stature. As I went, I felt my first fears passing
away. At first I had dreaded a lack of air, and all sorts of horrors which come
to those who essay unknown passages. There came back to my recollection
passages in Belzoni’s explorations in the Pyramids when individuals had got
lost, and when whole parties were stopped by the first to advance jamming in a
narrow passage as he crawled along on his belly. Here, though the roof came
down in places dangerously low, there was still ample room, and the air came up
sweet and cool. To any one unused to deep burrows, whether the same be natural
or artificial, there is a dread of being underground. One is cut off from light
and air; and burial alive in all its potential horrors is always at hand.
However, the unexpected clearness and easiness of the way reassured me; and I
descended the steep passage with a good heart. All distance underground seems
extravagantly long to those unaccustomed to it; and to me the mere depth I had
descended seemed almost impossible when the way before me became somewhat level
again. At the same time the roof rose so that I could stand upright. I guessed
that I must be now somewhere at the foot of the hillock and not far from the
old chapel; so I went forward carefully, keeping my hand ready to cover up the
front of the lamp. As the ground was fairly level, I could in a way pace it;
and as I knew that there was only about two hundred feet distance from the foot
of the hill to the chapel, I was not surprised when after some eighty paces I
found the passage end in a sort of rude chamber cut in the rock. At right
angles to the place of my entry there was a regular stairway, partly cut in
rock and partly built, leading upward. Before I ascended I looked around
carefully and could see that sections of the walls of the chamber were built of
great blocks of stone. Leaving further investigation for the future I went
upward with a beating heart.
The stair was rudely circular, and I had counted
thirty steps when I saw the way blocked by a great stone. For a few seconds I
was in fear lest I should find this impossible; then I looked carefully for any
means of moving the obstacle. I thought it more than likely that something of
the same process would be adopted for both ends of the passage.
Luck was certainly on my side to-day! Here were
two iron handles, much the same as those with which I had been enabled to move
the monument from within. I grasped them firmly, and began to experiment as to
which way the stone moved. It trembled under my first effort; so exerting a
very little of my strength in the same direction the great stone began to move.
I saw a widening line of open space through which a dim light shone in upon me.
Holding the stone in poise with one hand, I covered the front of the lamp with
my cap, and then resumed the opening process. Slowly, slowly, the stone rolled
back till a clear way lay abreast of me through which, doubled up, I could
pass. From where I stood I could see part of the wall of a building, a wall
with long low windows in massive stone; and I knew that at last I had reached
the old chapel. A joyous feeling rushed over me; after the unknown perils of
the cavern passage at last I had reached safety. I bent low and began to step
out through the narrow opening. There was fully four feet in the circumference
of the stone so that two such steps as were possible to me were necessary to
take me out. I had taken one and my foot was lifted for the second when a clear
firm voice said in a whisper:
“Hands up! If you move you are a dead man!” I
stopped of course, and raising my face, for my head was bent low in the
necessary effort of stooping, I found myself opposite the muzzle of a revolver.
For an instant I looked at it; it was firm as the rock around me, and I felt
that I must obey. Then I looked beyond it, to the hand which held it, and the
eyes which directed. These too were inflexible; but a great joy came over me
when I recognised that the hand and eyes were those of Marjory. I would have
sprung forward to her, but for that ominous ring of steel in front of me. I
waited a few seconds, for it seemed strange that she did not lower the revolver
on seeing who it was. As, however, the pistol still covered me unpleasantly, I
said:
“Marjory!” In an instant her hand dropped to her
side. I could not but notice with an admiration for her self-control and the
strength of her resolution, that she still held the revolver in her grasp. With
a glad cry she leaped towards me with a quick impulsive movement which made my
heart bound, for it was all love and spontaneity. She put her left hand on my
shoulder; and as she looked into my eyes I could feel the glad tremor that
swept through her.
For several seconds she stood, and then with a
sigh said in a voice of self-reproach:
“And I did not know you!” The way she spoke the
words “I” “you” was luminous! Had I not already known her heart, she would in
that moment have stood self-revealed.
We were manifestly two thoroughly practical
people, for even in the rapture of our meeting—to me it was no less than
rapture to come from so grim an aperture in the secret cavern passage—we had
our wits about us. I think she was really the first to come to a sense of our
surroundings; for just as I was opening my mouth to speak she held up a warning
finger.
“Hush! Some one may come; though I think there is
no one near. Wait dear, whilst I look!” she seemed to flit noiselessly out of
the doorway and I saw her vanish amongst the trees. In a few minutes she
returned carrying carefully a wicker basket. As she opened it she said:
“Some one might suspect something if they saw you
in that state.” She took from the basket a little bowl of water, soap, towel
and a clothes-brush. Whilst I washed my face and hands she was brushing me
down. A very short time completed a rough toilet. Then she poured the water
carefully into a crack in the wall, and putting the things together with my
lamp, back in the basket, she said:
“Come now! Let us get to the Castle before any one
finds us. They will think that I have met you in the wood.” We went as
unobtrusively as we could to the Castle; and entered, I think, unobserved. I
had a thorough clean up before I let any one see me; our secret was too
precious to risk discovery by suspicion. When I had seen Mrs. Jack, Marjory
took me to her boudoir in the top of the castle, and there, whilst she sat by
me holding my hands, I told her every detail of my adventure. I could feel how
my story moved her; when there was any passage of especial interest the
pressure of her clasp grew tense. She, who had seemingly no fear for herself,
was all in fear for me!
Then we talked matters over. We had now a good
clue to the comings and goings of the kidnappers; and we felt that by a little
thoughtful organisation we might find their hours, and be able to trace them
one by one. By lunch time we had decided on our plan of action. We took our
idea from one of the old “Tales of the Genii” where the conquered king was
brought by his faithful vizier into a cavern and asked to cut a rope which was
stretched before him, and which he soon discovered released the great rock
which roofed the pavilion specially built by the vizier to be seen and occupied
by the conqueror. We would fix a fine thread to the top of the monument and
bring it secretly to the castle, where its breaking would apprise Marjory of
the opening of the passage; thus she would discover the hour of the coming of
the kidnappers to the chapel. We arranged another ingenious device, whereby a
second thread, fastened to the stone in the old chapel, would be broken by the
opening of the stone, and would cause a book to fall on Marjory’s bed and wake
her if she were asleep. The better part of the afternoon was taken up by us
carrying out these ideas, for we went slowly and cautiously to work. Then I
went home.
I was early at the monument in the morning, and
getting behind the stone signalled to the Castle roof in case Marjory should
happen to expect me and be there. But there was no answer. So I sat down to
wait till it would be decent time to go to the Castle for an early breakfast.
As I sat waiting I thought I heard a sound, either
close to me and muffled, or else distant; I could hardly tell which. Matters
might be lively if I were discovered; so I got my revolver ready. With my heart
beating so heavily that I mistook it at moments for the foreign sound, I
listened and listened, all ears.
It was as I had suspected; the sound came from the
tunnel beneath me. I hardly knew whether to stay or go. If I waited I could see
who came from the opening; but on the other hand I should at once be known to
have discovered the secret. Still as the stone might roll back at any moment,
it was necessary that I should make up my mind; I should either go or stay. I
decided that I would stay and make discovery at once. In any case should I
succeed in capturing a blackmailer, or even in discovering or partially
discovering his identity, I should be aiding in Marjory’s safety. So I got my
revolver ready; and standing back so that I could not be seen at once by any
one emerging, waited.
No one came; but I could still hear a slight
sound. Filled with a growing unrest, I determined to take the initiative, and
began to move close to the stone. As I looked, it began to quiver, and then to
move slowly. As it rolled softly back I kept behind it so that I might not be
seen; and waited with revolver ready and what patience I could.
There was dead silence; and then a hand holding a
revolver rested a moment on the edge of the opening.
I knew the hand, and I knew the revolver, and I
knew the quickness of both. I did not say a word or make a sound, till Marjory
with an alert movement seemed to sweep up out of the opening and whirled round
with ready pistol, as though suspecting an enemy on every side.
Marjory, all covered with dust, her cheeks as
white as snow, so that the smears of dust lay on them like soot; and eyes with
pupils distended as in coming from the dark. For a few seconds she seemed
hardly to recognise me; but when she did she sprang gladly into my arms.
“Oh! Archie, I am glad to see you. It was so
terrible and lonely in the dark. I began to fear I might never find my way
out!” In the dark! I began to fear, and asked her:
“But, dear one, how did you come; and why? Hadn’t
you got a light with you? Surely you didn’t come unprepared, if you did venture
into the cave!” Then in a rush she told me the whole story. How before dawn she
had been waked by the dropping of the book and had hurried to the castle roof
to watch the stone. With her field glass she had presently seen it move. She
was then satisfied that the watchers had gone home; and had determined on a little
adventure on her own account.
“I put on a grey tweed dress, and taking my
revolver and bicycle lamp, stole out of the castle and reached the old chapel.
Having lit my lamp, I rolled back the stone and set out to explore the tunnel.
I followed from your description, the passage to its bifurcating, and
determined to explore the other arm to the reservoir. I easily found it, a
deep, dark tank cut in the rock and seemingly fed by springs which bubbled up
from patches of fine sand, the accumulation of years of wasting rock. Whilst I
was trying to look into the depth of the reservoir, holding my bicycle lamp so
as to throw its light downwards, I saw something white at the bottom. Just then
the lamp from its inverted position began to smoke, but as I looked in that
last moment through the crystal pure water I recognised that the white object
was a skull. In the sudden shock of the discovery, the lamp dropped from my
hand and disappeared hissing and bubbling in the last flicker of light.” As she
told me this, I took her hand for I feared that the memory of such an appalling
moment must have unnerved her; but to my surprise her nerves were as firm as my
own. She let her hand remain in mine; but she had evidently understood my
thought for she said:
“Oh! it’s all right now, Archie. For a moment or
two I do believe I was frightened. You can have the laugh on me there if you
like! But then common sense came to my aid. I was in a tight place, and it
would need all I knew to get out. I thought the matter over as coolly as I
could; and do you know that coolness seemed to grow with the effort! I was in
the dark, in a cave, deep underground, the entrance to which was secret; I had
no means of getting a light even for an instant, for though I had taken plenty
of wax matches they were all in my lamp. The only thing I could do was to try
to grope my way out. I had noted the passage as I came along, but I found so
soon as I had felt my way out of the reservoir chamber, how little use an
abstract recollection is when every second there is a new detail. I found, too,
the astonishing difference between sight and touch; what I had remembered had
been with my eyes and not with my fingers. I had to guard all round me, my
head, my feet, my sides. I am amazed, now when I think of it, how many
different kinds of mistakes and calculations I made in a few yards. It seemed a
terribly long time till I came to the place where the passage forks. There I
weighed up the matter of whether it would be better to go back by the way I had
come to the old chapel, or to go up the other passage to the monument of which
you told me. Somehow the latter seemed to me the more feasible. I think it must
have been that I trusted you more than myself. You had not shrunk from going
into that passage; and I would not shrink from going out.”
I squeezed her hands hard, I had got both by this
time. She blushed a little and looked at me fondly and went on:
“There was something cheering in the mere fact of
going up instead of down. It was like coming towards the air and light again;
and the time did not seem so long till I came to the end of the passage, for so
far as I could feel there was nothing but solid rock all round me. For a little
bit my heart sank again; but I soon bucked up. I knew that this must be the way
out; and I felt around for the iron handles of which you had told me. And then,
Thank God for His goodness! when the stone began to turn I saw the light, and
breathed fresh air again. They seemed to give me back all my courage and
caution. Up to this I had not troubled about kidnappers; there was quite enough
to think of in getting along the passage. But now I was my own woman again, and
I determined to take no chances. When I saw it was your gun that was aimed at
me I was glad!”
CHAPTER XXXII - THE LOST SCRIPT
After a little consideration of ways and means, we
decided that the best thing we could do was to pass through the passage to the
old chapel. It was still very early, so early that in all probability none of
the household were yet awake; if Marjory could regain her room before being
seen, it would avoid curiosity. She was certainly in a shocking condition of
dust and dishevelment. Her groping in the dark through that long rugged passage
had not been accomplished without many hardships. Her dress was torn in several
places, and her hat was simply knocked to pieces; even her hair was tumbled
about, and had been put up again and again with dusty fingers. She saw me
smiling; I think it pained her a little for she suddenly said:
“Come along quick; it’s simply awful standing here
in the light of day in this filthy state. It won’t feel half so bad in the dark
passage!” Without more ado I lit my lamp, and having, of course, closed the
entrance behind us, we went back into the cavern.
The tramp back through the tunnel did not seem
nearly so long or so difficult as at first. It may have been that comparative
familiarity made it easier; it certainly eased its terrors. Or it is possible
that our companionship, each to the other, made the bearing of fears and
difficulties lighter.
Anyhow, it was something of a surprise to both of
us to find ourselves so quickly in the rude chamber whence the steps led up to
the old chapel. Before we left this, we made a rough examination of it, turning
the lantern over walls and floor and ceiling; for I had an idea that the
passage from the castle, which I was satisfied must exist, made its exit here.
We could not, however, see any external sign of an opening; the walls were
built up of massive unmortared stones, and were seemingly as solid as the rock
itself.
When we got into the chapel we found the utility
of Marjory’s foresight. In a corner was her little basket with soap and towel,
water and clothes brush; and together we restored her to some semblance of
decency. Then she went back to the castle and got in unobserved, as I, watching
from the shelter of the trees, could see. I took my way back through the
passage; and so to the wood where my bicycle was hidden. I washed my hands in
the stream and lay down in the shelter of a thick grove of hazel, where I slept
till breakfast time. When I rode up to the castle, I found Marjory with her
kodak on the sweep outside, taking views of its various points.
The morning was intensely hot; and here, in the
shelter of the little valley and the enclosing wood, the air was sultry, and
the sun beat down pitilessly. We had a table set out under the shelter of the
trees and breakfasted al fresco.
When we were alone in her boudoir I settled with
Marjory that we would on that evening attempt to find the treasure, as the tide
would be out at midnight. So we went down to the library and got out Don de
Escoban’s narrative and began to read it afresh, noting as we went every word
and sign of the secret writing, in the hope that we might in thus doing stumble
on some new secret or hidden meaning.
Whilst we were thus engaged a servant came looking
for Mrs. Jack, for whom a stranger had brought a letter. Marjory told where she
might be found, and for some time we went on with our work.
Suddenly the door opened, and Mrs. Jack entered,
speaking over her shoulder as she came to a high-bred looking, dark man who
followed her. As she saw us she stopped and said to Marjory:
“Oh! my dear, I didn’t know you were here. I
thought you were in the ladies’ room.” This was what they usually called the
big room at the top of the castle. We both rose, seeing a stranger. For my own
part there was something in his face which set me thinking; as to Marjory I
could not help noticing that she drew herself up to her full height, and held
herself at tension in that haughty way which now and again marked her high
spirit and breeding. There seemed so little cause for this attitude that my own
thinking of the new-comer was lost in the contemplation of hers. Mrs. Jack
noticed that there was some awkwardness, and spoke hurriedly:
“This is the gentleman, my dear, that the agent
wrote about; and as he wanted to look over the house I brought him myself.” The
stranger probably taking his cue from her apologetic tone spoke:
“I trust I have not disturbed the Senora; if I
have, pardon! I have but come to renew my memory of a place, dear to me in my
youth, and which through the passing of time and of some who were, is now my
own heritage.” Marjory smiled, and swept him a curtsey as she said, but still
in her distant arm’s-length manner:
“Then you are the owner of the castle, sir. I hope
that we do not disturb you. Should you wish to be anywhere alone we shall
gladly withdraw and wait your pleasure.” He raised a hand of eloquent protest,
a well-kept, gentleman’s hand, as he said in tones sweet and deferent:
“Oh! I pray you, do not stir. May I say that when
my house is graced with the presence of so much loveliness I am all too full of
gratitude to wish for any change. I shall but look around me, for I have a certain
duty to do. Alas! this my heritage comes not only as a joy, but with grave
duties which I must fulfill. Well I know this room. Many a time as a boy I have
sat here with my kinsman, then so old and distant from me in my race; and yet I
am his next successor. Here has he told me of old times, and of my race of
which we who have the name are so proud; and of the solemn duty which might
some day come to me. Could I but tell....” Here he stopped suddenly.
His eyes had been wandering all over the room, up
and down the bookshelves, and at the few pictures which the walls contained.
When they rested on the table, a strange look came into them. Here lay the
type-script which we had been reading, and the secret writing of the dotted
printing. It was on the latter that his eyes were fixed absorbingly.
“Where did you get that?” he said suddenly,
pointing to it. The question in its bald simplicity was in word rude, but his
manner of asking it was so sweet and deferential that to me it robbed it of all
offence. I was just about to answer when my eye caught that of Marjory, and I
paused. There was such meaning in her eyes that my own began roving to find the
cause of it. As I looked she put her hands on the table before her, and her
fingers seemed to drum nervously. To me, however, it was no nervous trifling;
she was speaking to me in our own cipher.
“Be careful!” she spelled out “there is some
mystery! Let me speak.” Then turning to the stranger she said:
“It is curious is it not?”
“Ah, Senora, though curious it be in itself, it is
nothing to the strangeness of its being here. If you only knew how it had been
searched for; how the whole castle had been ransacked from roof to dungeon to
find it, and always without avail. Did you but understand the import of that
paper to me and mine—if indeed the surmises of many generations of anxious men
availed aught—you would pardon my curiosity. In my own youth I assisted in a
search of the whole place; no corner was left untouched, and even the secret
places were opened afresh.” As he went on, Marjory’s eyes were resting on his
face unflinchingly, but her fingers were spelling out comments to me.
“There are secret places, then; and he knows them.
Wait” the stranger went on:
“See, I shall convince you that I speak from no
idle curiosity, but from a deep conviction of a duty that was mine and my
ancestors’ for ages.” There was a sternness mingled with his grave sweetness
now; it was evident that he was somewhat chagrined or put out by our silence.
Leaving the table he went over to one of the bookshelves, and after running his
eye over it for a moment, put his hand up and from a shelf above his head took
down a thick leather-covered volume. This he laid on the table before us. It
was a beautiful, old black letter law book, with marginal notes in black letter
and headings in roman type. The pagination was, I could see as he turned it
over, by folios. He turned to the title-page, which was an important piece of
printing in many types, explanatory of the matter of the book. He began to read
the paragraphs, placed in the triangular in form in vogue at that day;
following the text with his forefinger he read:
“A collection in English of the Statutes now in
force, continued from the beginning of Magna Charta made in the 9. yeere of the
reigne of King H. 3. until the ende of the Session of Parliament holden in the
28 yeere of the reigne of our gracious Queene Elizabeth under Titles placed by
order of Alphabet. Wherein is performed (touching the Statutes wherewith
Justices of the Peace have to deale) so much as was promised in the Booke of
their office lately published. For which purpose”—&c. &c.,—Then turning
over the page he pointed to a piece of faded writing on the back of it which
had been left blank of printing. We bent down and read in the ink, faded to
pale brown by time:
“My sonnes herein you will find the law which
binds the stranger in this land, wherein a stranger is a Vagabond. F. de E.
XXIII. X. MDLXLIX.”
Then he turned rapidly over the leaves, till
towards the end there was a gap. On the right hand page, where the folio number
was all along placed was the number 528.
“See,” he said, turning back and pointing to the
bottom of the title page “Anno 1588. Three hundred years, since first my people
used it.”
Turning back he looked at the folio before the
gap; it was 510. “See” he said, placing his hand on the pinmarked pages. “Folio
511 and the heading of ‘Vagabonds, Beggars, et cetera.’” He folded his arms in
a dignified way and stood silent.
All along I had been following my own train of
thought, even whilst I had been taking in the stranger’s argument, and at the
same time noting Marjory’s warning. If this man who owned the Castle knew of
the existence of the secret writing; whose ancestors had owned the book in
which was the clue signed F. de E., surely then this could be none other than
the descendant of the Don Bernardino who had hidden the treasure. This was his
castle; no wonder that he knew its secret ways.
Matters were getting complicated. If this man were
now the hereditary guardian of the hidden treasure—and from his likeness to the
ghostly Spaniard whom I had seen in the procession at Whinnyfold I saw no
reason to doubt it—he might be an enemy with whom we should have to cope. I was
all in a whirl, and for a few seconds I think quite lost my head. Then rushed
over me the conviction that the mere lapse of time passed in these few minutes
of agonised silence was betraying our secret. This brought me up with a round
turn, and I looked about me. The strange man was standing still as marble; his
face was set, and there was no sign of life in him except his eyes which blazed
as they wandered around, taking everything in. Mrs. Jack saw that there was
something going on which she did not understand, and tried to efface herself.
Marjory was standing by the table, still, erect and white. Her fingers began to
drum softly as she caught my eye, and spelled out:
“Give him the paper, from Mrs. Jack. Lately found
in old oak chest. Say nothing of interpretation.” This seemed such a doubtful move
that with my eyes I queried it. She nodded in reply. So I gathered myself
together and said:
“I’m afraid, sir, that there is some mystery here
which I cannot undertake to understand. I think I may say, however, for my
friend Mrs. Jack, that there will be no trouble in your having full possession
of your book. I am told that these pages were lately found in an old oak chest.
It is remarkable that they should have been missing so long. We were attracted
by the funny marks. We thought that there might be some sort of cryptogram; and
I suppose I may take it, from the fact of your looking for them so long, that
this is so?”
He grew suspicious in a moment, and stiffened all
over. Marjory saw, and appreciated the reason. She smiled at me with her eyes
as she drummed on the table:
“The herring is across his path!” As the awkward
pause was this time with the stranger, we waited with comparative ease. I saw
with a feeling of wonder that there was, through all her haughtiness, a spice
of malice in Marjory’s enjoyment of his discomfiture. I looked at Mrs. Jack and
said: “May I give these papers to Mr. ——” She answered promptly:
“Why cert’nly! If Mr. Barnard wants them.” Marjory
turned round suddenly and in a surprised voice said:
“Mr. Barnard?”
“That is the name given in the letter which he
brought, my dear!” The stranger at once spoke out:
“I am Mr. Barnard here; but in my own country I am
of an older name. I thank you, sir, and Madam” turning to Mrs. Jack “for your
courteous offer. But it will be time enough for me to consider the lost pages
when through the unhappiness of your departure from my house, I am enabled to
come hither to live. In the meantime, all I shall ask is that the pages be
replaced in this book and that it be put in its place on the shelf where none
shall disturb it.” As he spoke in his sweet, deferential way there was
something in his look or manner which did not accord with his words; a quick
eager shifting of his eyes, and a breathing hard which were at variance with
his words of patience. I did not pretend, however, to notice it; I had my own
game to play. So without a word I placed the pages carefully in the book and
put the latter back on the shelf from which he had taken it. There was an odd
look in Marjory’s face which I did not quite understand; and as she gave me no
clue to her thoughts by our sign language, I waited. Looking at the stranger
haughtily, and with a distinctly militant expression she said:
“The agent told us that the Barnard family owned this
castle!” He bowed gravely, but a hot, angry flush spread over his face as he
replied:
“He spoke what truth he knew.” Marjory’s reply
came quickly:
“But you say you are one of the family, and the
very memorandum you pointed out was signed F. de E.” Again the hot flush swept
his face; but passed in an instant, leaving him as pale as the dead. After a
pause of a few moments he spoke in a tone of icy courtesy:
“I have already said, Senora, that in this country
our name—my name, is Barnard. A name taken centuries ago when the freedom of
the great land of England was not as now; when tolerance for the stranger was
not. In my own land, the land of my birth, the cradle of my race, I am called
Don Bernardino Yglesias Palealogue y Santordo y Castelnuova de Escoban, Count
of Minurca and Marquis of Salvaterra!” As he rehearsed his titles he drew
himself up to his full height; and pride of race seemed actually to shine or
emanate from him. Marjory, too, on her side of the table drew herself up
proudly as she said in a voice in which scorn struggled for mastery with
dignity:
“Then you are a Spaniard!”
