CHAPTER XXXV.
DANGER IMPENDING
Alderly was now at bay!
For a couple of days he raved, stormed, and alternately endeavoured to extract from Reginald and from his sister a hint as to which of the islands the treasure had been removed to. But it was all of no avail. Barbara, whose gentle nature had conceived almost a hatred against her unnatural brother for the utter indifference he had shown to their father's fate, avoided him as much as she could, and, when not able to do so, refused to acknowledge that she knew anything more than that Mr. Crater possessed the secret of the hidden store.
While, as for Reginald, he simply said, whenever Alderly sought him out-which the latter did frequently, since the other would go no more to his hut, – "One half is what I want if we dig it up together."
But to Alderly, who among all his other bad qualities possessed that of inordinate greed, this proposal appeared so enormous that he could not bring himself to consent to it.
"And if we don't dig it up together," said Reginald, who had not the slightest compunction in playing on the fears and covetousness of the man, "why, I shall have to dig it up by myself-which you cannot prevent my doing if it is not on your property, you know. Then I shall take it all, except what I hand over to some lawyer, or English representative, in one of the islands for your sister's use."
"But it is mine, mine alone!" the infuriated wretch would exclaim. "Mine, even if it is outside Coffin Island. Simon was my relative, and he found it."
"And Nicholas Crafer was mine," replied the other, "and he found it, too. It belonged to him as much as to Simon, and, what's more, the secret belongs to me and not to you. And as you are a card player and a 'sportsman,' Mr. Alderly, you'll understand what a strong card that is in my favour."
It was so strong a card that Alderly acknowledged to himself in his own phraseology that "he was beat." That is, he was "beat" by fair means, and, being a brute and a savage in whose nature there seemed to run all the worst strains of his ancestor, Simon, he soon took to turning over in his mind how he could win by means that were foul.
And on how these means could be brought about he pondered deeply, roaming round the island as he did so, Barbara's gun under his arm with which to shoot, now and again, a gull or some other equally harmless or useless bird; or sitting on the crags, or the beach when the tide was out, thinking ever. And what he thought about more than anything else was, "How could he obtain possession of that paper which he had seen in Grafer's hand?" For in that paper lay the secret, he felt sure, of the spot to which the treasure, his treasure, had been removed.
It may be told here that, although he had been outside the jalousie on the night of the storm which drove him home, and his father to his doom, for longer than either Barbara or Reginald knew, he had gleaned but a very imperfect knowledge of what the latter had read out. Some words he had caught, such as "when you have taken your first measurement from the spot where you land, you stick in the ground your sword, and then make, or persevere until you make, all your other strides correspond with what I have wrote down." Yet this told nothing. He had not heard nor caught the mention of the Keys, therefore the measurement might apply to any of the scores of little islands in the Virgin Archipelago. Also he had heard Reginald read out from his papers, "now here is a little map, rough as befits a drawing made by me, yet just and true." But of what use was this map-unless he could set eyes on it! Ah! that was it. If he could set eyes on it!
He had heard other sentences, too; a portion of the conclusion of Nicholas Crafer's narrative, but they would not piece together into one explicit whole. He was, indeed, at bay. He knew the treasure had been moved somewhere, and he knew that, in the possession of this fellow who was now in that gimcrack yacht in the river, was a description of where the treasure was, as well as a map showing the spot; but he knew no more.
And as he thought it all over, sitting upon a crag, he ground his large white teeth and beat the rock beneath him with the butt of Barbara's gun in his rage. But, at last, it seemed that he had made up his mind, had resolved upon his plan; for with a smothered oath-the use of which expletives he was very frequent in-he sprang to his feet, while he muttered to himself-
"One half! One half! Ho! Ho! No! Not one half, not one shilling, not one red cent."
As he rose, there came across the little grassy plateau behind the crag his sister, Barbara. For a moment she paused and glanced at him, and, perhaps because she knew him so well and had studied all his evil moods from infancy, she observed something in his face more evil, more threatening than usual. Then she said-
"I want my gun."
"What for?"
"There are some large parrots come across from Anegada. You said you wanted some for your supper when next a flock came. See, there are two in the gros-gros down there. Give me the gun," and taking it from his hand, she cocked it and aimed at the two birds in the palm-tree half-way down the cliff.
"What is the use?" he said roughly. "They will fall into the sea below and we can never get them, it is too deep."
But ere he could say more she fired, missing her mark, if, indeed, she had aimed at it. Then she uttered an exclamation and dropped the gun, letting it fall a hundred and fifty feet below into the deep sea.
"You fool!" he said, "you infernal fool!" And he looked as though he were going to strike her for her carelessness. "You fool! it was the only firearm we had in the island, and now you have let it go where we can never get it back. Barbara, a beating would do you good. I have a mind to give you one or fling you over the cliff after it."
"It kicked," she said, "and hurt me. And, after all, it doesn't matter much. It was old and scarcely ever shot straight. I could do nothing with it."
"I could, though," he replied, still scowling at her. "It would shoot what I wanted. That was good enough for me."
And Barbara, as she looked him straight in the eyes, said inwardly to herself-
"I know it would shoot what you wanted. That is why it will never shoot again."
He changed the subject after grumbling at and abusing her for some time longer, and said-
"Where's that fellow now, that admirer of yours? I haven't seen him to-day."
"I saw his yacht go out two or three hours ago," she said, treating the remark about Reginald's admiration with infinite contempt-as of late she had treated most of his speeches. "I suppose he has gone for a sail. Or, perhaps, over to Tortola or Anegada to buy himself some food. Since you will not show him much civility, I suppose he does not want to be beholden to you for even so much as a mango or a shaddock."
"I've a mind to put a chain across the river's mouth and stop him ever coming into the river again." But while he spoke he started at a thought that came into his mind, and said-
"My God! Suppose he is gone to the island where he knows the treasure was removed to! Suppose that! And to dig it up and be off with it. Barbara!" he almost shrieked, "which is that island-where is it?"
"Offer him the fair half he requires," she said, "and find out. That's the best thing you can do."
People who live in civilised places do not often see a man with the temper of a wild beast exhibit that temper. There are many men with such tempers, it is true, in the most enlightened and refined spots; but their surroundings force them into some sort of decency, however much they may be raging inwardly. Here, in Coffin Island, civilisation was, if not nonexistent, at least at a discount, and Joseph Alderly, who had the disposition of a tiger without the tiger's redeeming quality-love for its own kind-gave way at Barbara's last remark to such a tempest of fury as would have disgraced that animal. He rushed at his sister, howling, cursing and blaspheming, with the evident intention of hurling her over the cliff, which she-agile as a deer-avoided, so that had he not thrown himself down violently, he must have gone over instead; and then he gave his vile infirmity full swing. Curses on her, on Crafer, even on himself, poured from his mouth; he dug his heels into the earth and kicked stones and, pebbles away from him as though they were living creatures which could feel his fury; and all the time he interlarded his blasphemy with such remarks as, "It is mine, mine, mine. I will have it, even though I cut his throat. Mine! mine! mine! One half-my God! One half!"
Thus the savage exhibited his temper without restraint; it was his only manner of doing so. Had he been an English gentleman, he would probably have had just the same temper, only it would have taken a different shape. He would have browbeaten his wife or female kin, have bullied his servants, and probably kicked his dog. And then, as Alderly soon did, he would have calmed down, feeling much relieved!
Barbara waited until at last he seemed quieter-regarding him with scorn, though not surprise, since she knew his disposition-when she said:
"I don't think you understand Mr. Crafer. Like all his countrymen he can be very firm, I imagine, and like all English sailors" – and there was a perceptible accentuation of the word "English" – "he seems very brave. You won't frighten him."
He still muttered and mumbled to himself-though it seemed to her he was meditating something all through the end of his paroxysm-and at last he said:
"When is he coming back? I suppose you know."
"How should I know, and why should he come back? Your welcome has not been very warm, and, as you say, he may have gone to the other island where the treasure has been removed to."
Again at this, to him, awful suggestion, it seemed as if his brutal fury was going to break out once more, but this time, by an effort that was no doubt terrific, he calmed himself and was contented to exclaim:
"I don't believe that! If he came to fetch it away, why didn't he do so before now? There was no one to interfere with him. You may depend it's all a lie-the treasure's here in my island, and he hasn't dug it up because he couldn't. He was afraid of you before I came back."
"My admirer-and afraid of me! Well!" exclaimed Barbara, with a different note of scorn in her voice now.
"Or he was playing at being your admirer to throw dust in your eyes and get away with it all somehow."
Here Barbara shrugged her shoulders; but even that significant gesture was allowed to pass also without an explosion. He was calming himself, taming himself, she saw plainly, and she guessed at once that he had a reason for what he did. What was that reason? She resolved to know.
"I suppose I must yield," he said, with a strange look in his eyes. "Barbara, we must give in. You go and see him and tell him I'll go halves. Though it's a cruel shame, a wicked shame."
"Is it? I don't think so. He came all the way from England to get it all for himself, and it was only when he found that there were descendants of Simon on the island that he resolved to give it-to share it!" she corrected herself.
"Well, we must do it. But to think of his taking half away! When will he come back?"
"I tell you I don't know."
Her brother again plunged into meditation. Then he said:
"You go down to the mouth of the river and watch till he comes in. You can talk to him better than I can-you're what they call a lady, I suppose. At any rate, you're edycated. Then tell him what I say-that I'll give in and go shares-that is, if you can't wheedle him into taking less. You're a fine-looking girl, Barbara, as good a looking girl as ever I've seen in Jamaica or Darien, or even up to New York; if you played your cards right we could get the lot out of him."
The girl shrank away from him with such a look of disgust-for the odious leer upon his face told her quite as plainly as his words did, if not more so, what he meant-that he refrained from continuing. Whatever plot he was maturing-and he was maturing a deep-laid one-he saw that this was not the way to work it. Therefore he continued his instructions.
"Go down and meet him when he comes in. It will be to-night when the tide sets here from Tortola. Then come home and tell me. And to-morrow-" he said the word "to-morrow" slowly, and with a sound in his voice that roused her-"to-morrow, if he's willing, we'll get to work. Now go."
She turned on her heel without a word beyond saying "Very well," and in a moment she was gone, her lithe form disappearing instantly amongst the bamboos and Spanish bayonets, the poinsettias and begonias, that grew up close to the plateau And beyond the chattering of the aroused vert-verts and Qu'est-ce qu'il dit's, there was nothing to show that she had set out upon her errand.
He, the savage owner of that beautiful island, sat exactly where he had been sitting so long, still muttering to himself, laughing once or twice, and repeating over and over again the words, "To-morrow, to-morrow." And as he did so, a pleasing vision came before his eyes, and only once it was marred-by what seemed to be a great wave of blood passing before them. Otherwise, it showed him all that could gladden such a heart as his. A southern gambling-hell with the tables piled with gold, all of which he was winning for himself by the aid of the vast capital he possessed. A gambling-hell with the lights turned down low for coolness, and with iced drinks being passed about to all therein; a place through which the sound of soft music was borne, in which fair-haired women caressed him, and made much of him. Then, next, he saw a verdant hill above a summer sea, a villa with marble steps and corridors; outside, the splashing of fountains amidst the palms around them. And still the golden-haired women were ever present, contending with each other for his favours-his, the wealthiest man in those tropic regions!
That was the vision he saw, before rising and going slowly down the path that led to the beach where his patched-up cutter was moored.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
BEWARE!
The girl went on her mission willingly enough-indeed, had her brother not ordered her to go and watch for the return of Reginald, she had quite determined in her own mind some time before to seek him out, and to wait for his coming back.
For she, who had observed Joseph carefully all her lifetime, could read his nature as easily as a book; she knew what those tempests of fury, followed by an enforced self-subduing, meant. Above all, she knew what the sudden determination on his part to share the treasure-or the appearance of sudden determination-meant also. It meant either trickery, or violence, or murder. Most probably the latter!
His greed for money to squander on himself had always been great, even from boyhood. In those days, and before he could earn anything for himself, he would rob his father of small sums, pilfering them from his pocket when he slept, or from places where he kept his earnings; later on, if a goat or a sheep were taken by him to Tortola and sold, there would be always some dispute about the price obtained, always something missing. And when he was a man the scenes between him and his father, the fights and the ill-treatment to which old Alderly was subjected, were sufficient to make him stand forth in very distinct characters.
Therefore, she knew that he intended something now against Reginald Crafer-she felt perfectly sure that never would her brother allow the latter to become possessed of one-half of whatever buried treasure there might be. What his exact intentions were she could not, of course, make sure. It might be that he meant to watch him, until, in some way, the spot where the treasure was should be revealed, when, by some trickery, Joseph would manage to secure it all; it might be that he had resolved to do the worst and slay him. For, if he could do that, then he would become possessed of the papers which told where the treasure was, and, since he was able to read enough, she thought, to decipher even the crabbed, indistinct characters in the writing, as she had seen them to be, to thus possess himself of all. And she knew, too, that whatever Joseph did would be done by stealth and craft-the only way in which he ever worked when not consumed by his passion-and, therefore, he was doubly to be suspected and guarded against.
All through the warm tropical afternoon she sat on by the bank of the river; it was the very spot, as she knew, or thought she knew, where two centuries ago Simon Alderly had slain the diver-thinking always, and taking no heed of all the multitudinous animal life around her. The humming-birds hovered in front of her, bright specks of gorgeous colour; the butterflies, representing in their brilliant bodies every known hue, flitted backwards and forwards; sometimes a monkey peered at her with wide-open eyes from moriche and bamboo, and insects of numerous varieties crept about the bush-ropes and the fan-palms, while all around her was the warmth and perfume of the tropics.
Yet she heeded none of these things. They were the accompaniments of the whole of her young existence, and-even had they not been-she would not now have noticed them. Her thoughts were intent on the saving of a human life-a life she had come to love, the life of the handsome Englishman who had journeyed from far-off England to her lonely, desolate home.
Presently she knew that night was at hand, that it was coming swiftly. The atmosphere was all suffused by a rich saffron hue, into which the crimson tints of the sun and the blue of the heavens were being absorbed; the sun itself was sinking over the mount behind her; even the air was cooling and becoming fresher.
"If he would only come," she whispered to herself; "if he would only come before night falls."
And then she resolved to go to the mouth of the river and look for him. To do so meant that she must force her way through a hundred yards of undergrowth of cacti and all kinds of clinging creepers; yet she was so anxious to see him and to warn him of the danger in which, she felt sure, he would stand on his return, that she did not hesitate a moment. Therefore she plunged bodily in amongst the luxuriant vegetation, and, after a considerable amount of struggling and a numerous quantity of scratches received, stood at last upon the beach, gazing almost south towards Tortola.
And soon she saw that he was coming back-as she had never doubted he would come: he had not parted from her in a manner that meant a last farewell! – he was very near the island now, not a quarter of a mile away.
Presently he, too, saw her standing there regarding him, and, as he did so, took his handkerchief from his pocket and waved it to her. And five minutes later the Pompeia passed in between the river banks, so that they could speak to each other.
"Why! how did you get through the undergrowth, Barbara?" he asked, astonished to see her on the beach, which, from the landing path, was almost inaccessible.
"I wanted to see if you were coming back," she answered, "and so forced my way."
"Wait till I have anchored opposite the path," he said, "and I will come back with the dinghy and bring you off." And so he passed on to the usual place where he moored the yacht-simply because the path from the hut to the river came down opposite-and then, anchoring, he got into the dinghy and went to fetch her.
"Shall I put you ashore," he asked, "or will you come on board?"
"On board," she said; "we can talk better there. Ashore there may be ears hidden behind any palm or under any bush. Take me on board."
He looked at her with one swift glance, wondering what could have happened now, but he said nothing; and after a few strokes they stood on the deck of his little craft. Then he brought her a tiny deck-chair and bade her be seated, while he leaned against the gunwale by her side.
"What is it, Barbara?" he asked, looking down at her. "What is it now?"
"I do not know," she said, speaking very low and casting glances over to the bank of the river, as though doubting whether that other one might not be hidden somewhere beneath the thick foliage of the shore. "Yet, Mr. Crafer, I fear."
"For what?"
"For you. He is meditating something. I am sure of it. He has bidden me come to you and say that, to-morrow, he will agree to share the treasure with you if you will show him where it is. No," she went on, seeing a smile appear upon Reginald's face, "no, it is not so simple an ending as you think. I am certain-I feel positively sure from what I know of him-that he means to do nothing of the kind."
"Then why the suggestion?" he asked. "What is the use of it?"
"To gain time, to have the night in which to think over and work out some scheme. Perhaps," she said, leaning a little forward to him in her earnestness, so that, even in the now swift-coming darkness, he could see her large starry eyes quite clearly, "to have the night in which to attempt some injury to you. Oh! Mr. Crafer, for God's sake be on your guard. You do not know him as I do."
"Have no fear," he said, touching her hand gently, as though in thanks for her warning, "have no fear. Yet I will be careful. But what can he do to-night, even if he wished to do harm? I am as safe here in this little yacht as in a castle."
"You do not know. With him one can never tell what he is thinking of doing-what his designs are. His life has been terribly rough, and he has lived among lawless people and in lawless places. And his desire for wealth is such that, knowing your life is the only thing that stands between him and a great sum of money, as he believes, he would hesitate at nothing. No! Not even at taking that life."
Then she told him of the incident of the gun, and how she had let it fall into the sea so as to put it-the only firearm in the place-out of harm's way. He thanked her again for this precaution for his safety, and then she said that she must go. It was dark now, and doubtless her brother would be waiting for Reginald's answer, since she thought it very probable that he was quite as well aware that the Pompeia was once again anchored in the river as she was herself.
"Heaven bless you, Barbara, for your kindly, generous nature, and, above all, for your thought for me," Reginald exclaimed. "That I shall remember it always you cannot doubt. And be sure I will be very careful, even here, aboard. Though I do not see what he can do. Our old friend, Simon, would have attacked Nicholas openly if the circumstances had been similar, and they would have fought it out to the grim death. Your brother can't do that, and-short of an open fight in the river-he can do nothing. Therefore, Barbara, have no fear for me. And I am armed, too. See!" and with a smile he showed her a neat little revolver-one of Webley's New Express-a powerful weapon, though light and handy.
"God grant it may not come to that!" she answered, with a shudder. "Bad as he is, it would break my heart if he should die at your hands."
"It shall not come to that," Reginald replied. "I only showed it to you to ease your mind. And you may be sure that since he has no firearms I would not use one on him."
Then, as he put her ashore in the dinghy he said that, of course, she would tell her brother that he was willing to come to terms. "That is," he explained, "to go halves. Which halves mean that I am looking after your interests, you know, and-"
"Pray, pray," she interposed, "do not let us even think of such things now. If I have misjudged him, as I hope most earnestly I have, then there will be time to talk about shares and so forth. If I have read him aright-" but here she broke off with a little shiver, and, holding out her hand to him as they stood on the river's brink, wished him "Good-night."
"Good-night!" he exclaimed. "Good-night! Why, surely, I may accompany you part of the way at least? I always do so when we are any distance from your home."
"No," she answered, "no. Go back at once to your yacht. At once, I say, and get on board her. Oh! if you did but know the terror I am in for your safety."
"Barbara!" he exclaimed. "Barbara! Why! it is a dream, a fantasy-"
"No," she said, "no. It is no dream, no fantasy. For my sake, for my sake, I beseech you-go back and make yourself secure. Believe me, I know him!" and she turned as though to run up the slight ascent.
"For your sake, then, I will," he said. "For your sake. We will meet to-morrow. Good-night, Barbara." Then he suddenly asked, anxiously-"But you-there is no danger to you?"
"No! no! Good-night," she said, "God keep you. Oh! this dread is terrible," and then, giving him a sign to go without further loss of time, she sped up the path.
He did not share at all in Barbara's dread of her brother, perhaps because he was a man, and, perhaps, also, because he had not been used to witnessing years of violence on that brother's part; indeed, he believed her terrors to be purely feminine-the terrors that many women feel in all parts of the world for that worst of despots, the domestic tyrant. But being neither vain nor conceited, he did not for one moment associate those terrors with any regard she had allowed herself to conceive for him, nor, thereby, make allowances for them in that way. Indeed, he had very little idea that she regarded him as anything more than a stranger, who, by the peculiar knowledge he possessed of the buried wealth, was far more interesting than the few tourists were who sometimes visited Coffin Island. Yet he forgot she allowed him to call her Barbara, while always herself addressing him with formality.
He was not, however, so foolhardy as to neglect a caution given him by one who was not only interested in him but, also, thoroughly well acquainted with the scheming and violently dangerous nature of Joseph Alderly. He therefore, on regaining the deck of the Pompeia, took such precautions as were possible. He drew up the little dinghy from the water and placed it on the deck parallel with the port side, and, when he entered his cabin, he was careful to leave the door open so that any outside sounds from either the river or the banks would be plainly heard.
Then-since there was no more to be done-he went into the cabin and, mixing himself some whisky and water, prepared to watch as long as he could keep his eyes open, making one sacrifice to the supposed necessity for a caution in so far that he decided not to lie down during the night.
"There is nothing else to do," he reflected; "hardly any danger to ward off. He can't make such an attack on me as I suggested his ancestor, Simon, would very likely have done, and there is no other way possible, for he cannot get on board without my knowing it, and, if he could, I am as good a man as he!"
Yet still he determined to watch carefully until at least the dawn had come; for then would be sufficient time to begin considering how he should meet Alderly and arrange for digging up the buried treasure.