Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  Paola stood beside me with the old aggravating simper upon his face, twirling one end of his moustache.

  Suddenly Valcour stood up and faced him.

  “Traitor!” he cried, with a passionate gesture, “it is you who have done this! It is you who have led us here only to humiliate us and laugh at us!”

  “Your Majesty,” said Paola, without moving his head, “will you kindly protect me from the insults of your servants?”

  “Have peace, Valcour!” growled the Emperor. “Senhor Francisco has proved his loyalty, and doubtless shares our chagrin. Come, gentlemen, let us leave this dismal place.”

  I followed slowly in the train of the party as it wound its way through the narrow passage and up the iron stairs into the library. My hand-cuffs had been removed when I was brought to open the vault, and an idea came to me to lag behind and try to effect my escape from the house.

  But Valcour was waiting for me at the trap door, and called Captain de Souza to guard me. I was taken to the large room on the ground floor, from whence they had brought me, thrust through the doorway, and the key turned upon me.

  Piexoto had been taken elsewhere, and I found myself alone.

  My thoughts were naturally confused by the amazing discovery we had just made, and I was so engaged in wondering what had become of Dom Miguel and the records that I scarcely looked up when the door opened to admit Francisco Paola.

  He had in his hand a small parcel that looked like a box, which he placed upon a table near the open window.

  Next he drew a note-book from his pocket, scribbled some lines upon three several leaves, and then, tearing them out, he reached within the box, taking care to lift but a portion of the cover, and busied himself some moments in a way that made me wonder what he could be doing. I had no suspicion of the truth until he carried the box to the window and quickly removed the cover. Then, although his back was toward me, I heard a rapid flutter of wings, followed by a strange silence, and I knew that Paola was following with his eyes the flight of the birds he had liberated.

  “So, my dear Minister, I have at last discovered your secret!” said a sharp voice, and as Paola whirled about I noted that Valcour had entered the room and was standing with folded arms and eyes that sparkled triumphantly.

  “Orders to my men,” remarked the Minister, quietly, and brushed a small feather from his arm.

  “True enough!” retorted Valcour, with a bitter smile. “Orders to General Fonseca, whom you strangely overlooked in making your decoy arrests. Orders to Sanchez Bastro, who is to distribute arms to the rebels! And where did the third pigeon go, my loyal and conscientious Minister of Police? To Mazanovitch, or to that Miguel de Pintra whom you falsely led us to believe had perished in yonder vault?”

  He came close to the Minister.

  “Traitor! In setting free these birds you have fired the torch of rebellion; that terrible flame which is liable to sweep the land, and consume royalist and republican alike!”

  Paola, the sneering smile for once gone from his face, gazed at his accuser with evident admiration.

  “You are wonderfully clever, my dear Valcour,” said he, slowly. “You have wit; you have a clear judgment; your equal is not in all Brazil. What a pity, my friend, that you are not one of us!”

  Somehow, the words seemed to ring true. Valcour flushed to the roots of his hair. “I hate you,” he cried, stamping his foot with passion. “You have thwarted me always. You have laughed at me — sneered at me — defied me! But at last I have you in the toils. Francisco Paola, I arrest you in the name of the Emperor.”

  “On what charge?”

  “The charge of treason!”

  Paola laughed softly, and in a tone denoting genuine amusement.

  “Come, my brave detective,” said he; “we will go to the Emperor together, and accuse each other to our hearts’ content!”

  He attempted to take Valcour’s arm, in his inimitable jaunty fashion; but the spy shook him off and followed Paola from the room, trembling with suppressed rage.

  For my part, I knew not what to make of the scene, except that these men were bitter enemies, and each endeavoring to destroy the other. But could Valcour’s accusation be true? Had the torch of revolution really been fired?

  God forbid that I should ever meet with such another man as Francisco Paola again! Deep or shallow, coxcomb or clever conspirator, true man or traitor — it was as impossible to read him or to judge his real character as to solve the mighty, unfathomable Secrets of Nature.

  One moment I called him traitor; the next I was sure he was faithful to the Cause. But who could judge the man aright? Not I, indeed!

  Thus reflecting, I approached the window and looked out. Eight feet below me one of the Uruguayan guards paced back and forth upon the green lawn, his short carbine underneath his arm, and a poniard swinging at his side.

  The fellow looked up and saw me.

  “Close that window!” he commanded, with a scowl.

  I obeyed, sliding the sash to its place. But still I gazed through the glass at the labyrinth of walks and hedges defining the extensive gardens at this side of the house. I knew every inch of these grounds, having wandered there many hours during my sojourn at the mansion. And the thought came to me that it would not be difficult to escape in that maze of hedge and shrubbery, had I once a fair start of my pursuers.

  Within my range of vision was a portion of the driveway, and presently I saw the Emperor’s carriage roll away, followed by several others. Piexoto was seated in the last of the carriages, but only a small portion of the Uruguayan guard accompanied the cortege.

  I tried to see if the Minister of Police was among those who were returning to Rio, but was unable to note his presence in the brief time the carriages were in view. Nor did Valcour seem to be with them. Captain de Souza evidently remained in charge of the guards left at the mansion.

  Well, I longed to leave the place myself, now that the emptiness of the secret vault had been disclosed; but for some reason my captors desired me to remain a prisoner.

  The day dragged wearily away. One of the Uruguayans brought me food at noontime, and I ate with good appetite. The room grew close, but when I attempted to raise the window the surly guard outside presented his carbine, and I respected his wish to leave the sash lowered.

  During this time I had ample opportunity to speculate upon the astonishing events of the morning; but my attempt to solve the problem of what had become of Dom Miguel and the records seemed absolutely futile. That the body of the chief had been removed by some friendly hand — the same that had saved the funds and papers — there was no doubt whatever. But when had this removal taken place?

  At one time a fleeting hope animated me that the vault had been entered in time to save Dom Miguel from suffocation; but a little reflection soon caused me to abandon that notion. Allowing that the slayer of Madam Izabel had been a patriot, and left the train at the first station beyond Cruz, he could not possibly have returned to de Pintra’s mansion on the swiftest horse within eight hours of the time my friend had been entombed alive, and long before that Dom Miguel would have succumbed to the confined atmosphere of his prison.

  Moreover, none of the conspirators who knew of the ring or was competent to recognize it had been on the train at the time of Izabel de Mar’s death. Therefore the patriot who finally secured the key to the vault and saved the records must have obtained the ring long after any hope of saving the life of the imprisoned chief had been abandoned.

  Somehow, it occurred to me that the man in the shrubbery had not been murdered by the Mexican, but by some one of our band who had promptly cleared the vault and escaped with the contents — even while the Emperor and his party were in possession of the house. The ring might have been dropped during the escape and found by the Mexican — this being the only plausible way to account for its being in his possession.

  Although these speculations were to some extent a diversion, and served to occupy my thoughts during my tedio
us confinement, there were many details to contradict their probability, and I was not at all positive that I had discovered the right explanation of the mystery.

  It must have been near evening when the door was again opened. This time a man was thrust into the room and the door quickly locked upon us.

  I started from my chair with an exclamation of dismay. My fellow-prisoner was the mad Mexican!

  CHAPTER XVIII

  A NARROW ESCAPE

  THE man did not seem to notice my presence at first. For a time he remained motionless in the position the guards had left him, his vacant eyes fixed steadily upon the opposite wall.

  Then, with a long-drawn sigh, his gaze fell and wandered to the table where stood the remains of my luncheon. With a wolf-like avidity he pounced upon the tray, eagerly consuming every scrap that I had left, and draining a small bottle of wine of the last dregs it contained.

  When he had finished he still continued to fumble about the tray, and presently picked up a large, two-tined steel fork and examined it with careful attention. They had brought no knife into the room, and I had scarcely noticed the fork before; yet now, as the Mexican held it firmly in his clinched fist, and passed it to and fro with a serpent-like motion, I realized with a thrill of anxiety that it might prove a terrible weapon in the hands of a desperate man.

  Evidently my fellow-prisoner had the same thought, for after a time he concealed the fork in his bosom, and then turned to examine the room more carefully. His first act was to approach the window, and when he started and shrank away I knew our ever-vigilant guard had warned him not to consider that avenue of escape.

  Next he swung around and faced the place where I sat, slightly in the shadow. The day was drawing to its close, and he had not noticed me before. A swift motion toward his breast was followed by a smile, and he advanced close to me and said, in his stumbling English:

  “Aha! My American frien’ to which I gave the ring! It is safe, senor? It is safe?”

  I nodded, thinking to humor him. Indeed, I could not determine at that moment whether the man was still insane or not.

  He drew a chair to my side and sat down.

  “Listen, then, my frien’. Together we will find riches — riches very great! Why? Because we Mexicans — Careno and myself — we build the door of the big vault under this house. So? They bring us here blindfold. We work many days on the big plate with strange device cut in the steel. Careno was expert. Only one place, cut with great cunning, shot the bolts in their sockets. For myself, I am clock-maker and gem-cutter. They tell me to cut emerald so it fit the plate, and mount it in ring. Yes, it was I, Senor Americano, who do that fine work — I, Manuel Pesta!

  “Then they carry us away, blindfold again, to the border of Uruguay. We do not know this house — we cannot find it again ever. So they think. But to make sure they hire men to assassinate us — to stab us to the heart in those Uruguay Mountain. Fine pay for our work — eh, senor? But, peste! Careno and I — we stab our assassins — we escape — we swear vengeance! For two year we wander in Brazil — seeking, ever seeking for the house with the vault.

  “How clever they are! But we, are we not also clever? On a railway train one day we see a lady with the ring! We cannot mistake — I made it, and I know my work. It is key to the big vault! Careno cannot wait. He sit beside lady and put his knife in her heart. The train rattle along and the lady make no noise. But the ring sticks, so Careno cuts off finger and puts in pocket. Are we not clever, senor? Now we have ring, but yet know not of the house with the vault. We keep quiet and ride on to Rio. There the dead lady is carried out and all is excitement. She is Senora Izabel de Mar, daughter of Dom Miguel de Pintra. She come from her father’s house at Cuyaba. This we hear and remember. Then a man they call Valcour he rush up and cry, ‘Her finger is gone! The ring — where is the ring?’ Aha! we know now we are right.

  “So we go away and find out about Miguel de Pintra — the head of great rebellion with millions of gold and notes to pay the soldiers when they fight. Good! We know now of the vault. We know we have key. We know we are now rich! Careno and I we go to Cuyaba — we find this house — we hide in the bushes till night. Then Careno get mad for the money — he want it all, not half — and he try to murder me. Ah, well! my pistol is quicker than his knife, that is all. He is wearing ring, and it stick like it stick on lady’s hand. Bah! I cut off Careno’s hand and carve away the ring. It is simple, is it not?

  “But now the soldiers gallop up. The house is fill with people. So I must wait. I hide in secret place, but soon they drag me out and make me prisoner. What! must I lose all now — millions — millions of gold — and no Careno to share it? No! I am still clever. I keep ring in mouth until I meet you, and I give it to you to keep. When they search me, there is no ring.”

  He sprang up, chuckling and rubbing his hands together in great delight. He danced a step or two and then drew the steel fork from his breast and struck it fiercely into the table-top, standing silently to watch it while the prongs quivered and came to rest.

  “Am I not clever?” he again asked, drawing out the fork from the wood and returning it to his breast. “But I am generous, too. You shall divide with me. But not half! I won all from Careno, but you shall have some — enough to be rich, senor Americano. And now, give me the ring!”

  By this time his eyes were glittering with insanity, and at his abrupt demand I shifted uneasily in my seat, not knowing how to reply.

  “Give me the ring!” he repeated, a tone of menace creeping into his high-pitched voice.

  I arose and walked toward the window, getting the table between us. Then I turned and faced him.

  “They have taken the ring from me.” I said.

  He stood as if turned to stone, his fierce eyes fixed upon my own.

  “They have opened the vault with it,” I continued, “and found it bare and empty.”

  He gave a shrill scream at this, and began trembling in every limb.

  “You lie!” he shouted, wildly. “You try to cheat me — to get all! And the vault has millions — millions in gold and notes. Give me the ring!”

  I made no reply. To reiterate my assertion would do no good, and the man was incompetent to consider the matter calmly. Indeed, he once more drew that ugly fork from his breast and, grasping it as one would a dagger, began creeping toward me with a stealthy, catlike tread.

  I approached the edge of the round center-table, alert to keep its breadth between me and my companion. The Mexican paused opposite me, and whispered between his clinched teeth:

  “Give it me! Give me the ring!”

  “The guard will be here presently,” said I, fervently hoping I spoke the truth, “and he will tell you of the ring. I am quite sure Senhor Valcour has it.”

  “Ah, I am betrayed! You wish to take all — you and this Valcour! But see, my Americano — I will kill you. I will kill you now, and then you have nothing for your treachery!”

  Slowly he edged his way around the table, menacing me with his strange weapon, and with my eyes fixed upon his I moved in the opposite direction, retaining the table as my shield.

  First in one direction and then in the other he moved, swiftly at times, then with deliberate caution, striving ever to take me unawares and reach me with his improvised dagger.

  This situation could not stand the tension for long; I realized that sooner or later the game must have an abrupt ending.

  So, as I dodged my persistent enemy, I set my wits working to devise a means of escape. The window seemed my only hope, and I had lost all fear of the sentry in the more terrible danger that confronted me.

  Suddenly I exerted my strength and thrust the table against the Mexican so forcibly that he staggered backward. Then I caught up a chair and after a swing around my head hurled it toward him like a catapult. It crushed him to the floor, and e’er he could rise again I had thrown up the sash of the window and leaped out.

  Fortune often favors the desperate. I alighted full upon the form of
the unsuspecting sentry, bearing him to the ground by my weight, where we both rolled in the grass.

  Quickly I regained my feet and darted away into the flower-garden, seeking to reach the hedges before my guard could recover himself.

  Over my shoulder I saw him kneeling and deliberately pointing at me his carbine. Before he could fire the flying form of the Mexican descended upon him from the window. There was a flash and a report, but the ball went wide its mark, and instantly the two men were struggling in a death-grapple upon the lawn.

  Away I ran through the maze of hedge and shrubbery, threading the well-known paths unerringly. I heard excited shouts as the guardsmen, aroused by their comrade’s shot, poured from the mansion and plunged into the gardens to follow me. But it was dusk by this time, and I had little fear of being overtaken.

  The estate was bounded upon this side by an impenetrable thick-set hedge, but it was broken in one place by a gardeners’ tool-house, which had a door at each side, and thus admitted one into a lane that wound through a grove and joined the main highway a mile beyond.

  Reaching this tool-house I dashed within, closed and barred the door behind me, and then emerged upon the lane.

  To my surprise I saw a covered carriage standing in the gloom, and made out that the door stood open and a man upon the box was holding the reins and leaning toward me eagerly as if striving to solve my identity.

  Without hesitation I sprang into the carriage and closed the door, crying to the man:

  “Quick! for your life — drive on!”

  Without a word he lashed his horses and we started with a jerk that threw me into the back seat.

  I heard an exclamation in a woman’s startled voice and felt a muffled form shrinking into the corner of the carriage. Then two shots rang out; I heard a scream and the sound of a fall as the driver pitched upon the ground, and now like the wind the maddened horses rushed on without guidance, swaying the carriage from side to side with a dangerous motion.

  These Brazilian carriages have a trap in the top to permit the occupants to speak to the driver. I found this trap, threw it upward, and drew myself up until I was able to scramble into the vacant seat. The reins had fallen between the horses, evidently, but we were now dashing through the grove, and the shadows were so deep that I could distinguish nothing distinctly.