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CHAPTER I. “OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY.”
CHAPTER I. “OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY.”
“No; I am not tired of life. Who could be on such a day? I am weary simply of this way of living. I want to get away—away from this stagnant hole. It is the same dull story over and over again, day after day, world without end, amen!” “Would you be a bit more contented in any other spot?” “I think so. I cannot believe that mankind in general is so selfish, so hypocritical, and, worst crime of all, so hopelessly stupid as it is here. The world is 25,000 miles in circumference. Why spend all one’s
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CHAPTER II. THE PRISONER OF WINDSOR—THE TRAGEDY OF A NIGHT.
CHAPTER II. THE PRISONER OF WINDSOR—THE TRAGEDY OF A NIGHT.
“Stanley, I have good news for you.” “All news is alike to me, sir.” Warden Chase of the Vermont state prison regards the young man before him with a kindly eye. “Your sentence of three years has been shortened by a year, as the governor has granted you an unconditional pardon,” he announces. “His excellency is kind,” replied the young man in a voice that expresses no gratitude and may contain a faint shade of irony. He is a striking-looking young fellow, even in his prison garb, his dark hair c
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CHAPTER III. JACK ASHLEY, JOURNALIST.
CHAPTER III. JACK ASHLEY, JOURNALIST.
A loud pounding on the door of his room in the tavern at South Ashfield awakens Mr. Jack Ashley from a dream of piscatorial conquest. “Four o’clock!” announces the disturber of his slumbers, with a parting thump. Ashley rolls out of bed and plunges his face into a brimming bowl of spring water. It is early dawn. A cool breeze, laden with the scent of apple blossoms, drifts through the window. “God made the country and man made the town,” quotes the young man, as he descends to the hotel office.
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CHAPTER IV. THE STORY OF A CRIME.
CHAPTER IV. THE STORY OF A CRIME.
The following dispatch appeared in the columns of the New York Hemisphere, under the usual sensational headlines: “Raymond, Vt., May 31.—This quiet town among the Green Mountains had cause indeed to mourn upon this year’s occurrence of the nation’s Memorial Day. Last evening, at the close of the most general observance of the solemn holiday yet undertaken in Raymond, the community was horror-stricken by the discovery of the foulest crime ever committed within the limits of the state. “Roger Hath
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CHAPTER V. A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE.
CHAPTER V. A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE.
“Raymond, Vt., June 1.—A startling sequel to the murder of Cashier Hathaway and the robbery of the Raymond National and Wild River Savings Banks was developed to-day in the mysterious disappearance of Miss Helen Hathaway, the younger daughter of the dead banker, and Derrick Ames, a well-known young man of Raymond. “Ames is about 27 years old, and occupied a responsible and lucrative position in the local office of the Vermont Life Insurance Company. While not possessing a positive reputation for
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CHAPTER VI. THE CORONER’S INQUEST.
CHAPTER VI. THE CORONER’S INQUEST.
For a town the size of Raymond, 3,000-odd inhabitants, the Mansfield County court house is an unusually large and commodious structure. But the spacious room is not nearly adequate to the demands of the pushing crowd that seeks admittance to the inquest that has been summoned by Coroner Lord to sit upon the body of the dead cashier, Roger Hathaway. George Demeritt, the town’s sole day police force, is literally swept off his feet by the surging assemblage, and in less than five minutes after the
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CHAPTER VII. FATHER AND SON.
CHAPTER VII. FATHER AND SON.
An almost imperceptible raising of the eyebrows by the elder man, and Ralph Felton turns quickly to the coroner. “Really, Mr. Lord, I cannot furnish a detailed statement of my every movement during the last week,” he says, nonchalantly. “I witnessed the procession, or at least the local post, on its way to the depot to meet the Ruggbury contingent, and later went to the Exchange for dinner. In the afternoon I was in the billiard room of the hotel, and I believe I visited the postoffice in the ev
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CHAPTER VIII. A PROPOSITION OF PARTNERSHIP.
CHAPTER VIII. A PROPOSITION OF PARTNERSHIP.
The usual congress of village gossips is in session to-night at the Exchange hotel. It is the fourth day since the Raymond Bank affair, and the details of the tragedy are discussed with an animation and a wealth of clew that brings a smile to the face of John Barker, the New York detective, who retreats to a quiet corner of the hotel veranda to finish his cigar and muse upon the affair with the calm contemplation characteristic of men in his calling. The detective’s face expresses a shade of ann
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CHAPTER IX. LOUISE HATHAWAY.
CHAPTER IX. LOUISE HATHAWAY.
“Good afternoon. Will you walk in?” “Thank you. I will detain you but a short time.” Jack Ashley follows Miss Hathaway into the half-lighted drawing room, accepts the offered chair and seats himself beside the big bay window. She sinks quietly into a chair opposite him and glances at the bit of pasteboard in her hand. Ashley has seen Louise Hathaway at the inquest and has remarked that she is an unusually attractive woman. And now, as his glance for an instant sweeps over her, he votes her super
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CHAPTER X. MR. BARKER’S DISCOVERIES.
CHAPTER X. MR. BARKER’S DISCOVERIES.
After supper Ashley retreats to the most secluded corner of the veranda and amuses himself blowing smoke rings over the railing. Barker has been gone ever since morning. He must have struck a warm trail. Twilight gathers ere Ashley beholds the familiar figure swinging down the street toward the hotel. The detective draws a chair beside that of Ashley, and, after making certain that no listeners are about, remarks complacently: “My boy, I believe we are on the trail of Roger Hathaway’s murderer.”
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CHAPTER XI. A SIFTING OF EVIDENCE.
CHAPTER XI. A SIFTING OF EVIDENCE.
Both men smoke on in a brief silence that Ashley breaks with an inquiring “Well?” “Much,” is Barker’s smiling response. “Now, my boy,” he adds briskly, as he extracts a bunch of writing paper from his grip and sharpens his pencil, “tell me everything you know concerning the dramatis personae in this drama. We will get our facts together, and then I’ll give you my theories—for I have more than one. Go ahead.” When Ashley has exhausted his stock of information and has hazarded one or two ingenious
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CHAPTER XII. FURTHER CONSIDERATION OF CLEWS.
CHAPTER XII. FURTHER CONSIDERATION OF CLEWS.
Having allowed Ashley to digest the food for thought furnished by the detective, the latter resumes his story: “Upon my return from Ashfield I called upon Cyrus Felton, found him at his residence and interviewed him in his library for fully an hour. When I introduced myself as a detective he started visibly. In place of the extreme agitation which characterized his testimony at the inquest, he betrayed a nervousness rather peculiar, to say the least, in one whose knowledge of the crime embraced
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CHAPTER XIII. THE KEY TO THE MYSTERY.
CHAPTER XIII. THE KEY TO THE MYSTERY.
“Following along the lines of your theory,” continues Ashley, “if Ralph Felton rose from the corpse of Roger Hathaway and confronted his father upon the threshold of the cashier’s office, that dramatic meeting would explain many things. It would explain the startled glance that Cyrus Felton shot at his son—I was studying the faces of both—when the latter refused to state at the inquest where he had spent the time between 7:45 and 8:30 on the evening of Memorial Day. It would account for the carr
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CHAPTER XIV. A CHANGE OF BASE.
CHAPTER XIV. A CHANGE OF BASE.
“I believe this is the exact spot; yes, I am sure it is. Drop your anchor, Ashley, so that the bow will point up-stream,” says Barker, as he grasps a long pole with a hook at one end, and prepares to explore the bed of Wild River. Ashley lets go the rock that does duty as an anchor and remarks ruefully, when all but a yard of the rope is run out: “This is deep-sea fishing. There is over twelve feet of water here.” “Thunder! And mud enough to bury a man-of-war,” grunts the detective. After fiftee
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CHAPTER XV. SHADOWS OF COMING EVENTS.
CHAPTER XV. SHADOWS OF COMING EVENTS.
It is early in the evening. Jack Ashley is seated at his desk in the Hemisphere office enjoying his pipe preliminary to setting forth on an assignment. The month is March. Nearly a year has elapsed since Ashley’s first visit to the Vermont town which, for a brief space, came into the world’s eye as the scene of the mysterious death of Cashier Roger Hathaway in the Raymond National Bank. During this time no further light has been shed on the mystery, which has gradually dropped from the thoughts
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CHAPTER XVI. THE BEGINNING OF THE TRAIL.
CHAPTER XVI. THE BEGINNING OF THE TRAIL.
“Don Rafael Manada? Yes, sir! Front, show the gentleman to No. 48.” A few minutes later Ashley is ushered into one of the most sumptuous and expensive suites in the big hotel. He bows gracefully to the tall gentleman who advances to meet his visitor, bearing in his hand the card that has preceded him. Don Rafael is a man at whom even the least observant would be likely to take a second glance. Of perhaps 40 years of age, his hair of raven hue and unusual abundance is still unflecked by gray. The
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CHAPTER XVII. A CUP OF CHOCOLATE AT MAILLARD’S.
CHAPTER XVII. A CUP OF CHOCOLATE AT MAILLARD’S.
“It is Miss Hathaway!” “Why, Mr. Ashley!” “Then I am not quite forgotten,” smiles Jack, as he takes the little black-gloved hand. “Forgotten? Ah, no, indeed. I was only startled to meet one familiar face amid this never-ending procession of strangers. But this, I presume, is your native heath, Mr. Ashley? How do you carry the memory of so many faces?” as Ashley bows for the dozenth time toward the stream of pedestrians. “That is a part of our business, Miss Hathaway. A newspaper man acquires a p
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CHAPTER XVIII. BARKER DECIDES TO STRIKE.
CHAPTER XVIII. BARKER DECIDES TO STRIKE.
“Well, my boy,” begins Barker, “it’s a long lane that has no turn, and I think we have reached the beginning of the end of this Hathaway mystery. There is the weapon that sent Roger Hathaway to eternity Memorial Day of last year,” handing it to Ashley, with a complacent air. “I am not a betting man, or I would wager a reasonable sum that, ere the anniversary of the crime rolls around, the murderer will be safely incarcerated in the Mansfield County jail in Vermont.” Ashley examines curiously the
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CHAPTER XIX. PHILLIP VAN ZANDT.
CHAPTER XIX. PHILLIP VAN ZANDT.
“What are they playing now, Phillip?” Isabel Harding draws the program to her and scans the musical numbers listed thereon. “Is it possible that you do not recognize the immortal unfinished Schubert symphony?” her companion asks, with good-natured sarcasm. “You know I cannot tell one symphony from another,” Mrs. Harding remarks, pettishly. “I wish you would pay less attention to the music and more to me.” Phillip Van Zandt smiles, but makes no reply to this reproach. And while he listens intentl
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CHAPTER XX. A SUPPOSITION BECOMES A FACT.
CHAPTER XX. A SUPPOSITION BECOMES A FACT.
“You remember when Phil Clark was running up on Fifth Avenue,” begins the major, after the wine has been brought and pronounced only half-iced. “Rather,” responds Chauncey, dryly. “I dropped five hundred there one night and it wasn’t much of a game at that.” “Well, I drifted into Phil’s one night three years ago, more or less, and found the place as quiet as a country village. There was no big game going on, and mighty few small ones. In one of the rooms I found Col. Dunnett. You remember Dunnet
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CHAPTER XXI. “DON CAESAR DE BAZAN.”
CHAPTER XXI. “DON CAESAR DE BAZAN.”
The big French ball, that annual revel at the metropolis, brings together a motley assemblage of the devotees of folly. The scene at the entrance to Madison Square Garden to-night is the same scene witnessed at this function the year preceding, and the year before that. A mass of cabs and carriages in apparently inextricable confusion fill the street. They struggle up and deposit their fares and escorts and chaperons fight their way through the mob that blocks the brilliantly lighted entrance, a
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CHAPTER XXII. A FAIRY TALE THAT CAME TRUE.
CHAPTER XXII. A FAIRY TALE THAT CAME TRUE.
Toward 10 o’clock Louise Hathaway decides that she has witnessed enough of the brilliant panorama to warrant her in returning to the hotel, and as Cyrus Felton is plainly bored by a scene not attuned to his temperament, Ashley hunts up their wraps, hails a carriage and they are driven to the St. James. “You will make a night of it, I suppose,” Miss Hathaway remarks, as Ashley prepares to say good-night. “No; I shall remain only long enough to finish my story for the paper. I wrote the introducti
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CHAPTER XXIII. A REPRISAL OF TREACHERY.
CHAPTER XXIII. A REPRISAL OF TREACHERY.
“Don’t be absurd, Don Manada.” “Absurd? Dios! I was never more thoroughly in earnest in my life.” “Nevertheless, you are absurd,” Isabel Harding smiles tantalizingly over her champagne glass at the flushed face and glistening eyes of her companion. This conversation occurs shortly after midnight at an out-of-the-way table in the arcade at the east end of the Garden. For all it began so decorously, this year’s ball is a particularly riotous affair and already the fantastic orgee is well under way
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CHAPTER XXIV. FOR THE CAUSE OF LIBERTY.
CHAPTER XXIV. FOR THE CAUSE OF LIBERTY.
“You proposed to a lady to-night.” “What is that to you, sir?” Don Manada turns fiercely upon the gentleman who has tapped him upon the shoulder and requested the pleasure of a few moments’ conversation with him. “Nothing to me, perhaps,” returns Phillip Van Zandt, quietly; “to you much, possibly. Sit down. Or better, suppose we adjourn to the arcade. We shall be freer from interruption there.” “I must decline to accompany you, sir, until I have reason to believe that the matter on which you des
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CHAPTER XXV. TWO KINDS OF BLOCKADE.
CHAPTER XXV. TWO KINDS OF BLOCKADE.
About 9:30 of the morning following the French ball Phillip Van Zandt drops into his favorite seat in the dining-room of the St. James hotel and picks up the morning paper. Scarcely had he unfolded it when his attention was attracted by two persons seated at the table beyond him. They are Cyrus Felton and Louise Hathaway, and the latter never looked fairer than on this bright March morning. “Ah, my divinity of the ball,” he murmurs. “By Eros! She is superb. Hair, a mass of gold and the sunlight
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CHAPTER XXVI. THE PENALTY OF PROCRASTINATION.
CHAPTER XXVI. THE PENALTY OF PROCRASTINATION.
A pencil of sunlight has struggled through the heavy draperies at the windows and laid a tiny straight line across the carpet in the comfortable apartments of Jack Ashley on West Thirty-fourth Street. The oriole timepiece on the mantel chimes the hour of 9 when that individual awakens with a series of prodigious yawns. Fifteen minutes more and Ashley’s toilet is complete, and with heels elevated to a comfortable angle, he proceeds to scan the pages of his morning paper. His own story of the Fren
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CHAPTER XXVII. THE CRUISER AMERICA.
CHAPTER XXVII. THE CRUISER AMERICA.
“Jack, Mr. Ricker wants to see you,” is the information extended to Ashley when he reaches the office. He reports at the room of the city editor, and that gentleman informs him that he has not arrived any too soon. “I know that I am an hour or so behind, but I have been working up a story that will make interesting reading,” Ashley explains. “What’s up? My trial-trip assignment isn’t until 3, is it?” “The start was set for 3, but it has been pushed forward to 1 o’clock,” says Ricker. “It is abou
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CHAPTER XXVIII. GREAT RACE TO THE OCEAN.
CHAPTER XXVIII. GREAT RACE TO THE OCEAN.
“By Jove! I had no idea the captain had so much sporting blood in his veins,” murmurs Jack Ashley to himself, as he watches alternately the challenging craft and the America. “It is a race fit for a king’s delectation. I wonder whose yacht that is. I don’t remember seeing her described in any of the papers, as she certainly would have been if she were owned in New York. She is a big one, and a beauty, too. And swift as the wind! But she doesn’t seem to be gaining now. No, by Jupiter! We are gain
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CHAPTER XXIX. ASHLEY LAGS SUPERFLUOUS.
CHAPTER XXIX. ASHLEY LAGS SUPERFLUOUS.
“If she is the property of the revolutionists, gentlemen, with her phenomenal speed she can run the strictest blockade the Spaniards can institute, can land arms, ammunition and re-enforcements at will, and practically snap her fingers at the whole Spanish navy.” The speaker is Capt. Meade and the place the officers’ mess table on board the America. Naturally the one topic of conversation is the strange yacht and her remarkable performance. “Yes,” continues the captain, impressively, “I believe
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CHAPTER XXX. ON TO FAIR CUBA.
CHAPTER XXX. ON TO FAIR CUBA.
“There are only two bits of evidence needed to complete my moral conviction that I am the only person connected with the Raymond tragedy who is not in Cuba or on his way thither,” remarks Ashley, loquitur, as he boards a cross-town car. “One is the assurance that Cyrus Felton and Miss Hathaway have left the St. James Hotel with no intention of an immediate return; the other, the knowledge that Phillip Van Zandt has closed his quarters in the Wyoming flats for an indefinite period. I believe I wi
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CHAPTER XXXI. THE FLAG OF CUBA.
CHAPTER XXXI. THE FLAG OF CUBA.
“We shall have a race, Don Manada—a battle royal. The new United States cruiser America has just steamed out of the bay ahead of us and we shall soon be abreast of her.” “A race, Senor Van Zandt? Santissimo! We shall have racing enough before we get to Cuba without challenging unsuspicious warships and courting investigation.” Van Zandt laughs at the Cuban gentleman’s anxious tones. “I told you, my friend, that once on the high seas nothing short of a cannon ball can overhaul the Semiramis. Come
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CHAPTER XXXII. THE FLAG OF CASTILE.
CHAPTER XXXII. THE FLAG OF CASTILE.
“Twelve hours from now, Miss Hathaway, you will have your first glimpse of Cuba. Then, our business transacted, a quick and uninterrupted run to Santiago, and to-morrow you will be on terra firma.” “It has been a remarkably short voyage, Mr. Van Zandt.” “Deplorably so. I never before regretted the speed of the Semiramis, but now—would that she were as snail-like as the old West Indian tub we overhauled yesterday. Can I prevail upon you, Miss Hathaway, to again favor me with my pet Chopin nocturn
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CHAPTER XXXIII. AN AFFRONT AND AN APOLOGY.
CHAPTER XXXIII. AN AFFRONT AND AN APOLOGY.
The Semiramis rests stationary upon the surface of the water, but there are scenes of activity in the engine-room. The columns of smoke from her stacks grow into thick black volumes, and the roar of escaping steam drowns ordinary conversation. On deck, officers, passengers and crew are watching the rapidly growing spot upon the horizon. That the approaching vessel is steaming very fast is apparent. Her upper works are visible as Capt. Beals signals for the Semiramis to steam ahead at full speed.
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CHAPTER XXXIV. A SPANISH BILL OF FARE.
CHAPTER XXXIV. A SPANISH BILL OF FARE.
“I want some soft-boiled eggs, but I don’t suppose you know a soft-boiled egg from a gas stove, eh?” The waiter at the hotel Royal, in Santiago, regards Jack Ashley with an expression as blank as a brick wall. “Don’t get the idea, I see,” remarks Ashley. “Well, let me think. ‘Huevos’ means eggs, I know that much, but what the deuce is soft-boiled? I believe ‘blondo’ is soft, and soft eggs might express the idea. ‘Blondo huevos,’” he tells the waiter, and the latter, though apparently puzzled, di
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CHAPTER XXXV. A CAFE QUARREL.
CHAPTER XXXV. A CAFE QUARREL.
“I suppose this is the Madison Square of Santiago,” remarks Jack Ashley, as he notes approvingly the brilliant spectacle which the plaza affords, now that the tropic night is atoning for the enervating heat of the tropic afternoon. Santiago, like all Cuban cities, wakes up measurably early, bustles about for three hours or so, and then dozes or fans itself until the sun drops into the sea and night comes with scarcely a shadow of twilight. And then Santiago wakes again with a start, and for a fe
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CHAPTER XXXVI. JUANITA.
CHAPTER XXXVI. JUANITA.
The sun is creeping up the range of hills when Ashley and Navarro leave the Hotel Royal and set forth at a smart pace for the meeting with Capt. Raymon Huerta. Ashley is in his usual good spirits, and the enlivening influence of his society is appreciated by Navarro, whose thoughts are plainly of a dejected nature. Half a mile or more down the beach that stretches east of the city three men are in waiting. Two of them are Capt. Huerta and Senor Cardena; the third is evidently a surgeon. The prel
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CHAPTER XXXVII. ONE WAY TO GET TO CUBA.
CHAPTER XXXVII. ONE WAY TO GET TO CUBA.
“Whew!” For the nineteenth time John Barker gives utterance to the expressive exclamation, as he mops his perspiring forehead. The detective is seated in the parlor car of the Florida express, which has just left Jacksonville, and is being whirled along toward Tampa Bay. He soon indulges in a nap, while the train rumbles on, by the scattered negro huts, with their ebon-hued occupants drawn up in solemn array to watch the flying cars, through the dense forests of moss-entwined trees, across the t
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CHAPTER XXXVIII. A SOLDIER OF CASTILE.
CHAPTER XXXVIII. A SOLDIER OF CASTILE.
“Heavens! They have just sized up my condition and sent an ambulance,” Barker grunts, as his eyes rest for the first time on that marvel of vehicular construction, a Cuban volante, which the good-natured captain of the sloop has secured for his late passenger. But before he clambers into the conveyance the detective, whose professional instincts are now awakening, ascertains from the driver that the American steamer City of Havana has not yet arrived, although due that morning. Barker begins to
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CHAPTER XXXIX. ASHLEY TAKES THE FIELD.
CHAPTER XXXIX. ASHLEY TAKES THE FIELD.
The big, white moon that rolls through “heaven’s ebon vault” and pales the glow of the southern cross looks down upon two young people on the veranda of El Quinta de Quesada. They have retired to the shadows for purely healthful reasons, of course, as a baleful influence is attributed to the direct rays of the tropic moon. “You leave Santiago to-morrow?” asks Juanita, in tones of real regret. “At the first streak of daylight,” Ashley replies, lighting the inevitable Cuban cigar. “And when shall
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CHAPTER XL. THE APPEARANCE OF THE SERPENT.
CHAPTER XL. THE APPEARANCE OF THE SERPENT.
Half a dozen hours from the time that Jack Ashley mounts his newly acquired Rozinante and rides forth from Santiago on his journey into the west, a visitor arrives at Le Quinta de Quesada. The Don and his daughter are seated on the veranda, the former dreaming of the day when Cuba shall be free, the latter of the blue-eyed young man who at the moment is many miles on his journey toward Havana and is expressing his opinion of Cuban roads in comical apostrophes, rivaling the natural extravagance o
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CHAPTER XLI. THE MEETING AT CADOZA.
CHAPTER XLI. THE MEETING AT CADOZA.
It is something like ten miles to Cadoza, another and smaller railway town, and Ashley arrives about noon. There is no American hotel here. Instead, a lazy Cuban keeps a shiftless hostelry to which only necessity would drive a man. A party of soldiers are gathered at the inn and the yard is filled with their horses. Ashley tethers his horse at a spot which he can overlook, as Rozinante is an animal that would tempt a man even more upright than a soldier in time of war. As he gives the bridle an
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CHAPTER XLII. “EL TERREDO.”
CHAPTER XLII. “EL TERREDO.”
Ashley waits until he believes that Capt. Alvarez and his men have got fairly on their way toward Jibana; then he mounts Rozinante and rides back to the hotel. Half a mile to the eastward, the landlord tells him, a trail leads off into the mountains. Ashley remembers passing it in the morning. Fortifying himself with a dinner, he sets forth. After he strikes the mountain path, his progress is slow and painful. It is a dreary road, steep and treacherous. About him nothing but rocks, red clay, cac
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CHAPTER XLIII. THE FIGHT IN THE MOONLIGHT.
CHAPTER XLIII. THE FIGHT IN THE MOONLIGHT.
“Didn’t expect you back so soon,” declares Landlord Carter, answering Ashley’s halloa without the Hotel Americano at Jibana. “I am a little ahead on my own calculations,” is the reply. “Are the Americans still here?” “No, sir; left this afternoon for Santiago.” “Full house, though, I judge,” motioning toward the windows of the reading-room, from which emanate snatches of song and the clink of glasses. “Yes; gang of Spanish troopers. Noisy devils. Stop overnight, I suppose?” “Sure. I want some su
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CHAPTER XLIV. THE METAMORPHOSIS OF DON CARLOS.
CHAPTER XLIV. THE METAMORPHOSIS OF DON CARLOS.
“Stand back!” commands Navarro, as his men start forward to the enraged Alvarez, whose fingers have twined about the insurgent leader’s neck. “Back, I say! I can handle this gentleman without assistance.” Alvarez is as a child in the steely arms of El Terredo. The latter tears the clutching fingers from his throat, sweeps the Spanish captain off his feet and dashes him to the ground. Half-stunned and crazed by passion, Alvarez struggles to his knees and whips out a pistol. It is knocked from his
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CHAPTER XLV. THE DOVE AND THE SERPENT.
CHAPTER XLV. THE DOVE AND THE SERPENT.
“Whoa, Rozinante! If thou art as weary of this road as I, good beast, a rest will not go against thy grain, or grass. What say you to a halt of half an hour within the shade of this royal palm?” It is the afternoon of the third day since Ashley’s return to Santiago, and, having parted with Don Carlos and the escorting party on the edge of Santos, this is the first opportunity Jack has had to ride out to La Quinta de Quesada and pay his respects to Don Manuel’s beautiful daughter; for the last th
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CHAPTER XLVI. PLAYING FOR HIGH STAKES.
CHAPTER XLVI. PLAYING FOR HIGH STAKES.
Scarcely has a third of the distance to Santiago been covered when horse and rider realize that the pace set is no longer compatible with the Cuban climate. As Rozinante settles into a walk, Ashley pulls vigorously on a fresh cigar and revolves the situation in his mind. “Credulous fool!” he grumbles, thinking of the betrayed Don Manuel de Quesada. “Played right into the enemy’s hands. But wiser and greater men have been cozened by the smiles of a beautiful woman. Besides, he is Juanita’s father
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CHAPTER XLVII. THE PEN WINS.
CHAPTER XLVII. THE PEN WINS.
Upon his return to the ball-room Ashley is taken to task by General Murillo. “I have been searching for you for over half an hour,” the general assures him. “Come over here while I introduce you to the prettiest girl in Cuba.” “Confound his kindness,” grumbles Jack, mentally, who has no time to squander in talking nonsense with dark-eyed senoritas. There is work to be done. But he follows Murillo over the floor and is amused to find himself being introduced to Juanita de Quesada, who is the cent
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CHAPTER XLVIII. THE SWORD TRIUMPHANT.
CHAPTER XLVIII. THE SWORD TRIUMPHANT.
“You are in unusually good spirits this evening, Senor Ashley.” “I am always happy when I am near you, senorita,” is Jack’s fervent response. At which speech, the warmest she has ever heard from his lips, Juanita grows as rosy as the morn and does not appear displeased. “Is that dreadfully important work which has occupied so much of your time this evening yet finished?” “Very nearly.” “And you can devote a little time to your friends?” “I am ready to devote the remainder of my existence to one
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CHAPTER XLIX. EL CALABOZO DE INFIERNO.
CHAPTER XLIX. EL CALABOZO DE INFIERNO.
An ordinary man, suddenly placed in the position in which Jack Ashley finds himself, would perhaps exhaust his strength in useless imprecations upon his oppressors, and finish by sinking into utter hopelessness as to his fate. But, as was intimated when the reader first made his acquaintance, Jack Ashley is not an ordinary man. The practice of self-restraint has enabled him to retain to a remarkable degree his self-possession at more than one exciting moment, and his sublime confidence in himsel
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CHAPTER L. AT BAY IN THE CHURCH OF SAN PEDRO.
CHAPTER L. AT BAY IN THE CHURCH OF SAN PEDRO.
As the echo of Father Hilario’s footsteps dies away adown the gloomy corridor Ashley glances at his watch. It lacks a quarter of two o’clock. “The trick must be done within two hours, or all is lost,” he mutters. Then he extinguishes the light and throws himself down upon the pallet of straw. Ten, fifteen minutes pass. The tread of the carcelero on his rounds sounds from the corridor and a light is flashed into the cell. A counterfeit snore from Ashley greets him and he passes on with a muttered
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CHAPTER LI. UNDER THE RED, WHITE AND BLUE.
CHAPTER LI. UNDER THE RED, WHITE AND BLUE.
“You lie!” shouts Captain Raymon Huerta, white with rage. Ashley retorts calmly. “I repeat, Captain Huerta, what I have asserted. As my wife, this woman is an American citizen. An order from you to your men to fire upon or seize us, will be the last words you will utter in this world!” “The marriage? Impossible! The proof? The proof?” cries Huerta, foaming with passion. Ashley points to Father Hilario. “The proof is the word of yonder man of God, by whom we were wedded not an hour ago!” Captain
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CHAPTER LII. THE ENCOUNTER AT THE CAFE DE ALMENDRAS.
CHAPTER LII. THE ENCOUNTER AT THE CAFE DE ALMENDRAS.
“You have settled your business interests in this country satisfactorily?” “Perfectly so. Much more profitably, indeed, than I expected.” “Then there is nothing further to keep you here except sight-seeing?” “Nothing—except sight-seeing.” Cyrus Felton, Phillip Van Zandt and Louise Hathaway are seated on the veranda of the little Cafe de Almendras, on the outskirts of Santiago. They have returned this morning from a short jaunt to the interior and are not impressed favorably with rural Cuba. So t
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CHAPTER LIII. A WOMAN’S VENGEANCE.
CHAPTER LIII. A WOMAN’S VENGEANCE.
The cigarette falls from the Spanish captain’s nerveless fingers and his face turns gray. “Who are you?” he gasps. “My name is Phillip Van Zandt. I don’t wonder, Ralph Felton, that you fail to recognize me by that name, though it is my true one. But you will understand why I have sought you and why I exult in now standing face to face with you, when I breathe the name of Ernest Stanley!” “You are Ernest Stanley?” “I was Ernest Stanley. Now, I am his avenger. Listen to me,” commands Van Zandt, as
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CHAPTER LIV. AT BAY IN THE CONSUL’S HOUSE.
CHAPTER LIV. AT BAY IN THE CONSUL’S HOUSE.
“There is something very odd in Mr. Van Zandt’s actions,” remarks Miss Hathaway, as she and Mr. Felton follow the winding trail down the hillside to the sea. The latter offers no explanation. He has aged fearfully in the last half-hour, and it is now a bowed, feeble, old man whom his companion more than once has to assist over the obstacles in their rough path. “To the consul’s. To the consul’s,” is all he says, and the journey is finished in silence. The residence of William Atwood, United Stat
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CHAPTER LV. A SIGNAL FROM MACEDONIA.
CHAPTER LV. A SIGNAL FROM MACEDONIA.
Van Zandt and Louise stand, hand in hand, gazing sorrowfully upon all that is mortal of Cyrus Felton. A crash is heard below, as the front door is burst from its hinges. Van Zandt leaps to the head of the staircase just as the feet of a brace of ruffians are on the lower step. Twice cracks his revolver and his aim is true. One of the Spaniards falls and the second drops back with a cry of pain. Then, as Van Zandt throws himself to one side, there is a flash of fire below, and the bullets whistle
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CHAPTER LVI. THE FATE OF THE SEMIRAMIS.
CHAPTER LVI. THE FATE OF THE SEMIRAMIS.
“And now, what?” The boats have reached the Semiramis. Louise Hathaway has been tenderly assisted to the deck by Van Zandt, followed by Navarro and Barker, and the dead form of Cyrus Felton has been reverently conveyed aboard. A sort of council of war is being held on the quarter-deck of the yacht, participated in by Van Zandt, Navarro and Capt. Beals. The master of the Semiramis looks inquiringly at the insurgent leader as he utters the words quoted above. “For me personally there is but one co
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CHAPTER LVII. AN INTERNATIONAL EPISODE.
CHAPTER LVII. AN INTERNATIONAL EPISODE.
“Ashley, we will give you something to write about,” remarks Capt. Meade, as the America steams out of the harbor of Santiago. “What’s that, captain? A thrilling description of a voyage from Santiago de Cuba to Key West?” The commander of the cruiser smiles good-naturedly. “More excitement than that, and something that will cause the little senorita to cling frantically to your arm.” “Ah, then, you may open the ball at once.” “Not yet; not for an hour. In short, we are going to burn some powder
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CHAPTER LVIII. THE END OF THE TRAIL.
CHAPTER LVIII. THE END OF THE TRAIL.
When the first boat is alongside the America, Barker is the first man to clamber to the deck, and the first individual he gets his eye on is Jack Ashley. “Hello! Well met,” remarks that young man, extending his hand. “I was expecting you any minute.” Barker gives Jack’s hand a perfunctory clasp and passes on with a gruff “Hello!” “I am not yet forgiven. I see,” thinks Ashley, as he turns to the rest of the party coming aboard. He greets Miss Hathaway warmly and Van Zandt genially, and grips Nava
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CHAPTER LIX. “WRITTEN BY THE HAND OF FATE.”
CHAPTER LIX. “WRITTEN BY THE HAND OF FATE.”
“You are a detective,” murmurs Derrick Ames, as he drops back into his chair. “I am,” answers Barker. “For nearly a year I have been on the track of the murderer of Roger Hathaway, being ably seconded in my quest by my friend Jack Ashley. The trail has been a tangled one, and has wound under the flags of three countries, but for the past fortnight the end has been clearly in view. By a remarkable combination of circumstances affairs have been so precipitated that to-day nearly all the living cha
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