28 chapters
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28 chapters
Preface.
Preface.
A Word Before Reading. For many years I have busied myself making a collection of rare and valuable historical documents, and strange indeed are some of the stories and scandals which these ancient, crinkled parchments whisper to me in my hours of leisure. In France, in Italy, in Russia, in Germany, in Belgium, in all corners of England, this craze of mine has led me, through many adventures, free but captive; and, looking back now, I realise that it has been really through this little-known hob
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Chapter One.
Chapter One.
For an instant his eyes met mine in one long, keen, lingering gaze of scrutiny—in that fatal instant, indeed, which follows the coming together of all men destined to do much in common, and which I have always found, in my experience, invariably decides whether we trust or we hate. Strange as his arrival had been, I will say, frankly, I took a liking to him even in that ghostly glare of the firelight; and, motioning him to a chair opposite to my desk, I turned up the gas. Then as he removed a wi
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Chapter Two.
Chapter Two.
Directly I arrived in King’s Street I found the huge wooden apartment, with its familiar roof of green opaque glass and its big staring advertisements in colour on the walls, known to curio lovers all over the world as the “Brom,” crowded from end to end and door to door with foreigners. Now this was extremely unusual. In an ordinary way the same dealers and amateurs turn up at these functions time after time—these people fall into methods of their own of quick and agreeable acquaintance—and the
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Chapter Three.
Chapter Three.
“Let me out,” I shouted. “Let me out at once.” A reply came more quickly than I expected. Almost immediately there followed the sounds of returning footsteps, and to my utter astonishment I heard a familiar voice cry: “Hugh! Hugh!” And the door was flung open, and no other than Doris Napier herself rushed to my arms. Laughing and crying alternately, she could give me no coherent word of explanation then, but half led, half dragged me out of this strange hiding-place to a large apartment on the f
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Chapter Four.
Chapter Four.
“This is the home of the Order of St. Bruno,” said my guide, who was old and decrepit, apparently about sixty years of age. His tones were those of courteous conversation as used by a man of culture, and he swung to and fro an old lantern he was carrying to light my path as we both waited patiently for somebody inside the building to unbar this formidable-looking entrance. “We St. Bruno-ites,” he added, “have houses in many quarters—in Delhi for instance, in Sydney, in America—but this is our pr
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Chapter Five.
Chapter Five.
Urgent . Private . “To the Most Hon. Lord Cyril Cuthbertson, His Majesty’s Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs.” “Only to be delivered by Mr Hugh Glynn in case Mr Cooper-Nassington should decline.” For a second, I confess, I felt too astonished to say, or to do, or even to think of anything at all. I sat, with these big legal-looking letters in front of me, gazing into space, trying vainly to interpret the meaning of all these extraordinary manoeuvres on the part of a youthful Spaniard who mi
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Chapter Six.
Chapter Six.
Peter Zouche faltered; to my astonishment I saw that he had been conquered. “You know well enough what they contain,” he snarled, “or you would not be here at this hour, and in this mood!” “And so do you, you wicked old cripple,” roared my friend, “or you would never have spent all that money on packing that auction mart with your gang of foreign mercenaries to effect a knock-out of the manuscripts; you are not the kind of philanthropist who throws away two or three thousand pounds on the relati
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Chapter Seven.
Chapter Seven.
Thus I didn’t attempt to look behind me, but went on my way whistling merrily, making the pavements re-echo with my noisy steps, for by that time the streets were practically empty. All the same, I couldn’t rid myself of my suspicion that I was being shadowed, and, finally, feeling that the chase was getting intolerable, I decided on a rather curious ruse. I had reached Westminster Bridge, and, walk to near the centre, suddenly stopped and turned my face towards the swirling waters that were edd
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Chapter Eight.
Chapter Eight.
“And I, as an Englishman, jealous of my country’s success, refuse,” thundered the old soldier. “Let it be enough that I have spoken. Mr Glynn can make his own choice.” And throwing back his shoulders he stalked impressively out of the room. Almost unobserved, too, the Secretary for Foreign Affairs and Earl Fotheringay had also manoeuvred their steps towards the doorway; and now, when Casteno tried to speak with them, they took advantage of a pause created by the sudden rattle of the colonel’s ca
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Chapter Nine.
Chapter Nine.
“Some brute has stabbed it,” said one of the boys, who had been kneeling beside it endeavouring to stop the flow of blood with his dirty handkerchief. “I did my best for him, but he was too far gone. He’s almost dead.” But suddenly the dog seemed to rouse himself—to lift his head—then, catching sight of Casteno, he gave a low growl and made a movement as if he would snap at his legs. The Spaniard jumped back nimbly, and one of the women exclaimed: “Why, mister, he seems to know you.” “He doesn’t
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Chapter Ten.
Chapter Ten.
“Who on earth can she have come to meet?” I asked myself, with the curiosity that besets most observant folk in crowds when an awkward pause has come and there is nothing to do but to wait with what patience one can find, eager to pick up any casual amusement. “Not a husband, certainly, nor a lover, for in that case she would never parade those sable garments with so much unction. It must be a friend of some sort, but then who would, or could, be a friend to so diabolical a creature as that is,
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Chapter Eleven.
Chapter Eleven.
Camille Velasquon now plucked me nervously by the arm. “This woman’s story is a tissue of lies,” she whispered. “I am no criminal and no lunatic. Why, I never set foot in England till I got off the ship on to Southampton Dock with you a few minutes ago!” “Of course you didn’t,” I replied in a low tone, which, luckily, the rattle of the wheels prevented that grim-looking figure in the corner making the true sense. “Don’t you see that this is the plot Don José Casteno warned you against? Indeed, t
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Chapter Twelve.
Chapter Twelve.
For a time I sat well back in the soft, well-upholstered cab and let my thoughts run riot on the extraordinary series of adventures that had befallen since I had made that fierce fight in the auction room. Have you ever noticed that there is something mysterious in the mere fact that one has purchased a copy of the last edition of a paper that makes one a prey to retrospect? Nine times out of the ten on which I purchase an evening journal I never glance at the columns. But once let me omit to pr
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Chapter Thirteen.
Chapter Thirteen.
“No, I don’t. In fact, I am very sorry about what the man whom I sent did. I was, however, under the impression that I had told you not to worry after she had reached town. The real danger existed on the way up. I had most specific warning that it was on the actual journey from Southampton Lord Fotheringay would make the semi-criminal effort he did to get her out of my hands.” “Why should he?” I demanded, stopping suddenly and gazing fixedly at the speaker. “Why should two men ever strive after
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Chapter Fourteen.
Chapter Fourteen.
“This is monstrous,” he cried, “monstrous! I repeat, I am no more an Englishman than is the Holy Father at Rome or the Emperor Nicholas, or my own beloved King Alphonso. I, therefore, deny your right to detain me here—to threaten me with penalties—to torture me with the knowledge that you have determined to stop at nothing to gain possession of those three manuscripts relating to the Lake of Sacred Treasure.” “Then give them up, my good man,” replied Lord Cyril Cuthbertson suavely. “I have told
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Chapter Fifteen.
Chapter Fifteen.
“Well, I had better leave it,” I said at last, with a sigh, throwing the paper on to the floor and joining my companion at the casement. “After all, you are really the leader of this expedition, and you have a right to require of me that I shall pay some attention to your conclusions.” “Yes; leave it,” repeated Casteno. “Remember, you are only one man with one brain and one pair of hands. You can’t do everything in a maze that has such extraordinary ramifications as this. I tried alone, remember
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Chapter Sixteen.
Chapter Sixteen.
Alas! we had not long to wait for an answer. All at once we saw Captain Sparhawk stagger and throw up his arms. The wind had blown his coat, which he had carelessly left unfastened, against the motor, and the petroleum ignition had set the dry woollen material on fire. In vain he tried to extinguish the flames. They spread with hideous rapidity, and at last, frantic with pain, he scrambled on to the framework, and dashed headlong to the earth, a seething mass of fire. For a moment, I believe, al
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Chapter Seventeen.
Chapter Seventeen.
The branches tore our clothes and made sad havoc of our disguises, but this last accident proved a blessing in disguise, for it made us stop at a pond and restore to our faces their natural resemblance. “But we must not be caught,” I returned, deftly rolling up the wigs and secreting them in the branch of a tree, where they looked like a new kind of bird’s nest. “Look through that opening there between those willows. Don’t you see the molten gleam of water under the summer sun?” “Yes,” replied C
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Chapter Eighteen.
Chapter Eighteen.
“You are, of course, quite a free agent,” the Prior proceeded, “and any moment you choose to leave or to set about other business you are at liberty to do so. Personally, however, I hope you will stay with us whilst we decipher these documents. You are, I understand, quite a palaeographic expert yourself, and it may well happen that your experience or your knowledge may prove of infinite value to us.” “I am quite at your service,” I returned coldly. “Indeed, the understanding between us is,” bro
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Chapter Nineteen.
Chapter Nineteen.
Now music at such a moment is a very curious and powerful agent. Indeed, I don’t know what some secret societies would do without it. Although I had quite made up my mind not to be impressed by this initiation but to keep every nerve and sense on the alert to see if treachery were afoot regarding that Lake of Sacred Treasure, I caught myself again and again giving way to a shiver. Indeed, now and then the sounds would break from a plain chant into a long, low mournful wail of anguish inexpressib
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Chapter Twenty.
Chapter Twenty.
To my surprise, the last comers of all proved to be no less a personage than the very Prior of the Order of St. Bruno, clad in the Benedictine garb he affected, accompanied by José Casteno and two or three of the brethren. Apparently they had to pay some dues, for a table, crossed like a draught-board, and a pair of balances were brought in and fixed up before the cardinal, and from stout leather bags carried by the brethren were poured diamonds and rubies and emeralds that must have been worth
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Chapter Twenty One.
Chapter Twenty One.
“Anything,” I snapped, “anything but the one you have.” And with him I began to walk down the corridor. “I am not so sure about that,” answered Casteno. “There will, I suppose, be always adventurers attracted to a cause by loaves and fishes, and it is highly necessary for the ideal we cherish that such should be weeded out. Anything that stops these sharks is useful, very useful. Why, we have had both Lord Cyril Cuthbertson and Lord Fotheringay up before us for examination, and we played so well
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Chapter Twenty Two.
Chapter Twenty Two.
To our surprise the communication turned out to be a letter from the Father Provincial of the Monastery of St. Stanislaus in the city of Mexico, and was addressed to a firm of merchants in the interior, at Xingu, a settlement we found marked on a map. As it is a very good specimen of Jesuit composition and politeness I will give here the English translation of it. Thus: “ AMDG . “ Friends and Gentlemen, Loyal Sons of the Church . “ From many years’ experience of your methods, and from much pleas
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Chapter Twenty Three.
Chapter Twenty Three.
Suddenly, however, their bandages were removed, and to their surprise they found that they were entering a town, pleasantly situated on a slope that inclined to the stream of a river, with a hill at either end guarded by a fort. The houses were neat and the streets regular, but, owing probably to there being so few wheeled vehicles, they were overgrown with grass. In due course they passed a church—a handsome building with a fine tower. The houses themselves were mostly coloured white or yellow,
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Chapter Twenty Four.
Chapter Twenty Four.
The door swung open quite easily, and as the Prior deposited the forgeries in a rather accessible position I caught a glimpse of the interior, with its row upon row of huge brass-bound ledgers, its bundle upon bundle of deeds and share certificates and documents in parchment, with many heavily-sealed bags of leather, which, I was told, contained gold or precious stones. Of the increasing value of the latter, I was told, Bruno Delganni had a quite childish faith, hence his investments in them. Ca
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Chapter Twenty Five.
Chapter Twenty Five.
“Oh,” I rejoined. “Well, I am not.” And I struck a match and lit a cigarette. “I don’t think I ought to beat about the bush any longer,” he proceeded after an irritated glance at my magnificent assumption of carelessness. “The fact is just this, I hold warrants for the arrest of yourself and that young Spanish adventurer, José Casteno, or to give him his proper name, Joseph Zouche.” “Indeed,” said I, trying to look politely interested, “that’s news if you like. On what charge, pray?” “Robbery, w
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Chapter Twenty Six.
Chapter Twenty Six.
We both of us bowed gravely. And he went on: “Of course, we read your letter with great grief that any Stoneyhurst lad should get into a trouble such as this, but, really, we were astounded that any one of our pupils could make so ludicrous a blunder as you seem to have done about us. You, my son,” turning to Casteno, “must have mixed with many and strange folks since you were under the care of our priests in Lancashire to get the odd and crazy notion into your head that we are conspirators and
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Chapter Twenty Seven.
Chapter Twenty Seven.
“Now,” proceeded the Member of Parliament, “tempting as those terms were, I refused them. For one thing, I knew my man, and I knew he was but a pinchbeck, unstable, untruthful kind of genius. For another, I realised that, as Foreign Secretary, he was a terrible danger to England, so I stuck to the line I had marked out for myself, without any thought or hope of my own advancement. ‘You’ve got to resign,’ I returned—‘nothing else will satisfy me or save you from the ridicule I have arranged to po
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