by Guy Boothby
CHAPTER I.
SHOWING WHERE THE MONEY REALLY CAME FROM.
So far we have seen, that shifty Marmaduke Plowden, in Chili known asMarcos Veneda, despatched to the care of his uncle, Sir BenjaminPlowden, of the East India Avenue, London, L200,000 in English gold,with the request that that gentleman would keep it for him until hecould come home to look after it himself.
Now, to properly understand our story, we must hark back to the verybeginning of things, and endeavour to discover where such an enormousfortune came from in the first instance; for the statement of its ownerthat he derived it from his silver mines and Hacienda properties is notworthy of a moment's credence. There is only one person who canelucidate the mystery for us, and his extraordinary adventures we mustnow proceed to consider.
You must understand that Michael Bradshaw, of 3 Parkington Terrace,South Kensington, was that sort of superlatively clever person who,after a life of grand _coups_, always comes to grief in somesuperlatively silly fashion. From the day on which he first entered theservice of the Anglo-Kamtchatka Bank, to the evening of the dinner inhis honour at the Whitehall Rooms as general manager, his career was oneof exceptional brilliance. He it was who hit out the scheme which savedthe Bank in the matter of the Bakell-Askern Syndicate; he it was whomanipulated the Patagonian Bonds and the Golden Sunset Silver MiningCompany to the Bank's ultimate advantage; he it was who--but there, hisdevices are matters of history, and beyond being corroborative evidencesof his cleverness, are of little or no moment to this story. Thefollowing notice of the dinner above referred to appeared in the columnsof the daily press the next morning, and is worth considering--
"At the Whitehall Rooms, last evening, Mr. Michael Bradshaw, the well-known and universally respected General Manager of the Anglo-Kamtchatka Banking Company, was entertained at dinner by the Directors of that institution, prior to his departure for a brief holiday in the South of France. Covers were laid for a hundred guests, the chair being taken by the Right Honourable Lord Burgoo, Chairman of the Company. In proposing the toast of 'Their Guest,' the noble Chairman eulogized Mr. Bradshaw's services to the Bank, and hoped that the holiday he was about to enjoy would enable him to devote many more years to the advancement of the institution he had served so well. Mr. Bradshaw replied in feeling terms."
After the dinner the manager drove back to his house in Kensington.Though it was well-nigh two o'clock, he did not think of going to bed,but went into his study and lit a cigar. As every one had noticed thatevening, he certainly looked as if he needed a holiday; his face waswoefully haggard, and his eyes had a peculiar brilliance that spoke, asplainly as any words, of sleepless nights and never-ceasing worry andanxiety.
For a long time he promenaded the room, his hands in his pockets and hisface sternly set. Once he smiled sardonically as the recollection of theevening's speeches crossed his mind. Then, throwing himself into a chairbefore his writing-table, he began to unlock the drawers, and to destroythe papers they contained.
When this task was completed, the sun had been up some time, and a largepile of paper-ash lay inside the grate. He pulled back the curtains,unbarred the shutters, and opened the window, letting in a flood ofsunshine. Then, dropping into a comfortable chair beside the fire, hefell asleep.
By eight o'clock he was at Charing Cross, his ticket was taken, and hewas bidding good-bye to a large crowd of friends.
Next day, instead of busying himself with the enjoyments of Monte Carlo,as his friends supposed him, he was in reality at Dieppe, anxiouslyawaiting the arrival of a small brig, the _Florence Annie_ ofTeignmouth. As soon as she arrived he boarded her, and half-an-hourlater, a course being set, she was bowling down Channel, bound forBuenos Ayres. It was peculiar that the captain invariably addressed hispassenger as "Mr. Vincent." It was strange also that, for a voyage ofsuch duration, he should have brought with him so small an amount ofluggage. In the hold, however, were half-a-dozen barrels inscribed withhis name, and labelled "Cement." Now cement, as everyone knows, is astaple article of export from Great Britain to the South AmericanRepublics.
A month later, all England was astounded by the news that MichaelBradshaw, the admired and universally respected, was _wanted_ by thepolice on a charge of defrauding the Anglo-Kamtchatka Banking Company ofL250,000. But so carefully had his plans been arranged, that not a traceof either the money or his whereabouts could be discovered. Being acultivated person, he might have replied with Plautus, "_Doli non dolisunt, nisi astu colas._"
On the arrival of the _Florence Annie_ at her destination, Bradshaw,_alias_ Vincent, went ashore with his barrels of cement, determining tosettle himself down to the study of Argentine life and character, havingpleasing knowledge of the fact, that at that time "on no condition wasextradition allowed in Buenos Ayres." But careful though he was not toexcite attention, before he had been a week in his new abode he began tohave suspicions that his secret was discovered. He fought against theidea with all his strength. But the more he struggled, the stronger itgrew, till at last, unable to support his anxiety any longer, hedetermined to cross the Andes into Chili, confident that in theBalmaceda turmoil his identity would never be discovered. A long andagonizing railway journey brought him to Mendoza. There, with prodigiouscare, he chose his muleteers, packed his barrels of cement, and plungedinto the mountains.
At no time is that journey across the Andes one to be lightlyundertaken. To Michael Bradshaw it was a nightmare, from which thereseemed no awakening. Fear spurred him on behind; vague terrors of theUnknown beckoned him ahead; while treachery menaced him continually oneither hand. When at last, more dead than alive, he arrived inValparaiso, he paid off his team; and leasing an obscure residence inthe Calle de San Pedro, prepared himself to wait, guarding his treasurenight and day, until the war should be over.
But though he was not aware of it, his arrival in the town was alreadyknown, and plans were in active preparation for relieving him of hiswealth. His enemies had failed before, they had altered their tacticsnow. Sooner or later, they must succeed.
One evening Michael Bradshaw sat in the only room he had made habitable,earnestly perusing a Guide to the Spanish language. He had been inValparaiso nearly a week, and as he never ventured outside his own door,he found his time hang heavily on his hands. I am not quite certain thathe had not already begun to regret his felony; not from anyconscientious motives perhaps, but because he found himself in anawkward if not dangerous position. You see as far as his own personalfeelings went he was still the respectable English banker, therefore tohave assassination menacing him continually was a future he hadcertainly neither mapped out for himself nor was it one he would belikely to understand. He had been obliged to leave the Argentine becausehe believed his secret had been discovered, and now in Chili he wasafraid to go very much abroad lest any of his former enemies might meetand recognize him. He had many regrets, but perhaps the most bitter wasthe fact that Valparaiso is an extradition port.
Since his arrival he had unpacked his barrels of cement, and withinfinite trouble concealed the treasure they so cunningly containedunder the floor of his room. This exertion, if it had served no otherpurpose, had at least afforded him some occupation.
After a while he looked at his watch and found it was growing late.Putting down his book, he was in the act of making up his bed, which, bythe way, was not as luxurious as the one to which he had been accustomedin his old house at Kensington, when to his horror he heard stealthyfootsteps in the corridor outside his room. Next moment the door opened,and a tall and singularly handsome man entered. He bowed politely, andsaid in excellent English--
"Mr. Bradshaw, I believe?"
The ex-banker was too terrified to reply.
"I have taken the liberty of calling upon you on a little matter ofbusiness. May I sit down?"
Without waiting for permission, he seated himself on the bed. Bradshawsank back with a groan into his chair.
"You are lately from England, I believe?"<
br />
Bradshaw found his voice at last, and said the first thing that cameinto his head.
"What do you want with me? I cannot see you now; I'm not well."
"I am sorry, but what I have to say admits of no delay. You arrived inBuenos Ayres by the brig _Florence Annie_ of Teignmouth--and oh, by theway, what have you done with that L250,000?"
"For mercy's take, tell me what you want with me?"
"All in good time, my friend. You're pretty comfortable here, but yourfloor needs repairing sadly--it looks as if you've been digging. Youmust be very dull all alone. Let me tell you a story."
"I don't want to hear it."
"I'm desolated, but you must. The business upon which I desire toconsult you depends upon it, so here goes. Once upon a time, as they sayin the fairy tales, there was a young man who was turned out of England,accused of a felony which he never committed. He was treated very badlyand, being a youth of spirit, resented it. He came to Chili, where hehas lived for the past fifteen years. Now, strangely enough, consideringit has done everything for him, he detests Chili and the people withwhom he has to associate, and he wants to return to England, whereeverybody hates him. What he would do if he got there I don't know, buthe seems to think he might turn over a new leaf, marry, and settle downto a quiet country life. Perhaps he would; perhaps he wouldn't--there'sno telling; at any rate, that has been his dream for fifteen years. Youask, and very naturally too, if he's so bitten with the notion, whydoesn't he carry it out? And I reply, with an equal pretence to nature,because he can't; the poor fellow has no money. Some people have morethan they know what to do with--L250,000 for instance--he has none!"
"Who are you, and what makes you tell me all this? Look here, if youdon't leave me, I'll----"
"No, you won't," the stranger said, drawing a revolver from beneath hiscoat. "I see you've got a Smith and Wesson in that pocket. I'm sorry,but I'll just have to trouble you for it."
Thus menaced, Bradshaw surrendered his pistol, which the other coollyexamined, and deposited in his own pocket.
"As I was going to say, and this is where the curious part of my storycommences, that young man, who, after all, is not a bad sort of fellow,wants to give up his wild unchristian life out here, and get home toEngland. Possibly with six thousand a year he might become a credit tohis family. It is his only chance in life, remember, and if he doesn'twant to go under for ever, he has to make the most of it. Meanwhile hehas not been idle. To assist his fortunes, he has joined a certainSociety, whose object is the amassing of money, by fair means or foul,and which is perhaps the most powerful organization of its kind in thewide, wide world. Now pay particular attention to what I am about tosay.
"News reaches this Society from London (their method of obtaininginformation, I may tell you, is little short of marvellous) that acertain well-known banker has absconded with L250,000. His destination,though he thinks no one aware of it, is Buenos Ayres. On arrival in thatport, he is watched continually, and on two occasions attempts are madeto procure his money. By a mischance they fail. Suspecting something ofthe sort, he crosses the mountains into Valparaiso, and takes a house inthe Calle de San Pedro. The Society's spies have followed his movementswith undeviating attention; they shadow him day and night; they eventake the houses on either hand of his in order that they may make quitesure of his safety. One night they will descend upon that unfortunateman and--well, I leave you to picture what the result will be!"
Bradshaw said not a word, but he looked as if he were about to have afit.
"Now, look here, I'm not the sort of man to rob any one without givinghim a run for his money. You've had your turn, and you've bungled it.Now I have mine, and I'm going to carry it through. I see my chance to astraight life in the best land under the sun if I can raise the money.You've robbed the fatherless and the widow to get here; why shouldn't Irob you to get there? You can't get out of this house alive, and if youremain in it they'll certainly kill you. There's a man watching you onthe right, and just at present I'm supposed to be looking after you onthe left. If you doubt me, go out into the street, and take a walk roundthe block; before you've gone fifty yards you'll find you're beingshadowed by a man in a grey poncho. It strikes me you're between thedevil and the deep sea. What do you think?"
Bradshaw only groaned feebly. His pluck, if he ever had any, had quitedeserted him. His visitor took a pack of cards from his pocket, andthrew them on the table.
"Do you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to sell my friends; inother words, I'm going to do business with you on my own account. It'sbeen done before in the history of the world. We'll have a littlegamble. But you must pull yourself together, or you won't be able tolook after your own interests. The stakes shall be as follows. If I win,I take the lot, the whole L250,000, or what there is left of it, andfind my own way to get it out of the house. If you win, I pledge myselfsolemnly to assist you to escape with it. You'll have to trust me,because you can't do anything else. Do you understand? Don't make anoise, or I assure you I'll shoot you where you sit. There shall be fairplay between us, come what may. Now cut! The highest wins, remember!"
"I can't! I refuse! What right have you to make such a demand?"
"What right had you to betray your trust? Go on. I'll give you half aminute, and if you don't cut then, I solemnly swear I'll blow yourbrains out!"
"Have you no mercy?"
"Drop that and cut. Ah! you're going to,--that's right. Show!"
Trembling like a leaf, Bradshaw turned up a card.
"_Queen of Hearts!_"
"A splendid cut! My luck will have to be good to beat it. Great Jove,prosper me, you alone know for what a stake I'm playing!"
"_King of Spades!_"
"I'm afraid, Mr. Bradshaw, I've won by a point. I'm sorry it turned upKing Death though--doesn't look as if I'm destined to get much good outof it, does it? If I'd lost, I should certainly have shot myself beforedaybreak; as it is, the money's mine. I suppose you've buried it underthe floor here. Bring me a shovel!"
When the shovel was forthcoming, Veneda, for so we will, with yourpermission, henceforth call Marmaduke Plowden, set to work, and in tenminutes had Bradshaw's treasure unearthed. Having made sure of it, heturned to the unfortunate banker, and said--
"Now, my friend, I should advise you to make yourself particularlyscarce. For if they find you here, and the money gone, they'll probablymake things unpleasant for you. As for me, I've got to find a way to getthis out of the house, and then out of the country. Confound the man,he's fainted."
* * * * *
That Veneda did manage to smuggle the money out of the house withoutattracting the attention of the watchers on the other side is evidentfrom a letter written the next night (a copy of which we have alreadyseen), and which, we know, left Chili by an English man-of-war. That acase of specie followed it a week later, and duly arrived in London, Ihave also ascertained by perusal of a certain Steamship Company's books.
It only remained now for Veneda to follow it himself, and this he wasmaking arrangements to do. He was, however, compelled to exercise thegreatest caution, for he was quite aware that the Society (whose namehad so much frightened Bradshaw), of which he was one of the executive,did not regard him with any extraordinary trust; and to leave thecountry suddenly by one of the usual routes would, in all probability,result in his being met and knifed on arrival at his destination. Thisrisk he had not the least desire to run.
As for Bradshaw, that unfortunate man, he was indeed in parlous case, somuch so, that he dared not venture out lest he might be assassinated,while he dared not remain where he was for fear he might be murdered; hewas in fact destitute of everything, even of the consolation of thattime-worn maxim, "Virtue is its own reward."
