CHAPTER XXI
EDWARD SEES COMPLICATIONS
Galva had written—
".... so, as I hardly expect you will be able to get a reply through to me, I had better make my own arrangements. At ten o'clock each night I will be in readiness and Teresa will be on hand to open the door to you on your giving the signal, Anna and I, in dear old Cornwall, used, when we became separated in any way, to call to each other by imitating the cry of the kestrel. I will wait for that signal here. You must remember that I have promised old Teresa that her husband will come to no harm ... I am well and in no danger, and having allayed your anxiety and eased my mind, I can wait quite happily till you come...."
The captive had set forth at length the manner of her capture and the position of Casa Luzo. She had briefly touched upon the friendship for her shown by Teresa and how the old woman had discovered her secret. She impressed upon Edward to lay his plans well and not to spoil matters by undue haste.
"Casa Luzo," murmured the Duc de Choleaux Lasuer, "it lies nine or ten miles out on the Alcad..."
"You know the Alcador road, duke?"
The boyish face flushed a little and his grace bent over Galva's letter.
"A little," he said. "An idle man of the world like myself knows most of the pleasure spots on this old earth of ours—I had my car over here last year and I did a lot of work on these inland roads."
They were sitting on the balcony outside the drawing-room windows of Venta Villa. The duke had, immediately upon his arrival in the early hours of the morning, hurried Edward away from the lighted dock-side up to the house, keeping ever on the darker side of the way. Edward had noticed with no little alarm, how, under some pretext or other, he had contrived to keep his features hidden when any one approached. He would stop and light his cigarette, or stoop and occupy himself with his bootlace. Edward, whom recent affairs had made observant, did not feel at all comfortable.
It was plain to him that his grace was anxious that he should not be observed, and he felt uneasy to think that there could be any mystery about the young man on whom he was depending for so much help. He decided that, for the present, the least said was soonest mended, and he would not share the secret of Galva's birth with him until he could more clearly see his way.
But now, as he looked at the figure of the young man beside him on the balcony and noted the frank open countenance, the steady eye, he felt a pang of compunction at doubting him. And yet—why was it that the duke had taken up his position behind the thick fronds of the largest palm that adorned the little balcony? A coincidence perhaps, but——
The mistral-like storm of the night before had passed over, leaving Corbo radiant and clean in the bright sunlight. The sea was calming and there was no wind. The sun had been strong, and now in the early afternoon there was not a spot of moisture left on the promenade.
"There will be a moon to-night, Mr. Sydney."
"Good—and you really think it better not to risk the road?"
The duke drew a large scale map of Corbo and its surroundings towards him.
"It's unnecessary. The Sebastin Park, so Señora Paluda says, merges into the forest, and once there the way seems clear. The distance appears to be less that way, and I do not think we can go wrong. We will leave ourselves plenty of time."
A meal was taken at three o'clock and immediately afterwards the men set out, each armed with a revolver. They did not consider it needful to take other help with them—secrecy was half the battle. Edward felt his misgivings returning to him in full force as he noticed that, in spite of the warm sun, the duke twisted a thick muffler round his neck, burying his chin and mouth in the folds.
The Sebastin Park, given to the people of San Pietro by their late ill-fated king, was a magnificent stretch of vivid lawns and trim gravel paths. The semi-tropical vegetation was trained and cultivated to show to the best advantage and everywhere little statues and fountains gleamed white in the sun. There were, also, on the outer edges of the park, walks more secluded and screened by shrubberies of rhododendrons.
Edward frowned as he noticed that his companion chose these outer pathways in preference to the broad walks, where nursemaids and their little charges swarmed and idle promenaders walked slowly up and down. With chin buried in his muffler, the Duc de Choleaux Lasuer walked quickly, his eyes nervously looking from side to side.
And then they were in the forest. The cultivation was left behind and there was only a little zigzag path winding between the trunks of the great pines. Through them to the left a glimpse of the grey walls of the Palace grounds showed sombre against the sky. Edward pointed this out to the duke and spoke of the dying king. He detected a shadow pass over the boyish face, and the duke's next remark was on an entirely different subject. A suspicion of the truth was born in Edward's mind at that moment.
But the brisk action and the clean scents of the woodland drove all thoughts save those of Galva from his mind and filled him with the spirit of romance and the joy of living. Uncle Jasper's letter was forgotten and Edward became again, in his own eyes, the knight-errant and hero.
They reached the precincts of the Casa Luzo from the back and long before they had expected. Edward's watch told them that it was eight o'clock, and the men had to wait with what patience they could the passing of the next two hours. They took their places upon a fallen tree trunk in a clearing, and lit cigarettes and looked at the moon rising over the Yeldo hills and at the black and green mystery of the forest around them. The silence was intense and neither of the waiting men seemed anxious to break the magic of it.
And then as it grew chilly they reconnoitred, taking stock of their position. They made a wide detour of the house, penetrating deeply into the wood. They saw not a soul, but once the eerie glow of a charcoal-burner splashed redly between the trees.
At five minutes to the hour they stood just within the belt of trees facing the house. Edward's first attempt at the kestrel's note was not a success. The weird sound echoed dismally through the night, awaking the bird life to protesting cries. He cleared his throat and tried again,—then, as the surrounding birds quieted down into a peevish chatter, a window on the first floor showed a faint light.
As they watched, grotesque shadows flitted over the ceiling and walls within the room as the occupant carried the candle to the window. For a moment Galva's slender form showed silhouetted against the glow,—then darkness. The men crept quietly up to the building.
As they mounted the steps they saw the massive door before them slowly open a few inches. Edward put out his hand and gently pushed it, and they were inside the hall.
It was in darkness, save for the dull glow that came from a horn lantern that stood on the stone floor. By its fitful light they could make out the shadowy form of an old woman who stood regarding them from the foot of the staircase. The rays, coming from below her, touched her figure here and there into yellow lights, and threw gigantic and misshapen shadows on the walls behind her.
Teresa was trembling. She held one finger to her lips as though enjoining silence, and a hand, outstretched, indicated the door of the dining-room. From the stairs above came the sound of hard breathing. As the men looked at the old woman, she disappeared, melting into the gloom of the staircase.
The duke made a sign to Edward to stay silent where he was, and with his revolver held in readiness, advanced to the door of the room.
It was open a little way only, and but a part of the room was visible. The long table was littered with the remains of a meal, and the cloth at one end had been crumpled and pushed back to clear a space for two men who sat there at cards.
One of them, whose figure showed out darkly against the light of the candelabra, was a personage of massive build, and the duke, taking stock of the bullet-shaped head and thick neck, told himself that here was a customer that would need some handling. The other, his opponent at the game, he saw at a glance was of little account. Old Pieto had been winning, and a crafty smile of gratified greed flickered over his face as he shuffled the dirty cards.
The watcher by the door noted with some satisfaction that both men applied themselves assiduously to the flagons of wine beside them, in fact, they were neither of them quite sober. As the man whose back was towards him put down his cards he shivered and half turned in his chair with a muttered imprecation upon old women who left doors open.
The duke slipped back into the shadows and raised his weapon and waited. But nothing happened; the man was perhaps too lazy to rise, and was waiting for the return of Teresa.
Edward listened to his companion's whispered instructions carefully. The little old man was to be held at the point of the revolver whilst the duke grappled with the other and stronger man, whose back being turned offered himself as an easy prey.
With a muttered "now," they flung open the door, and with a bound the duke was upon the man at the table, his arm locked around his neck in a vice-like grip. Gradually he bore him backwards, tilting the chair up on its back legs. The ruffian's face was purple, and he made a gurgling noise in his throat. Then the oak of the chair legs cracked, cracked again, and splintered, and the men were on the floor together.
A nimble twist, remarkable in so big a man, and learnt, perhaps, in the bull-ring, put the man on his feet again, and he snatched at a knife on the table. When he turned, the duke was also up, and leaning panting against the wall. The revolver had been knocked from his hand in the struggle, and had fallen neither man knew where.
Keeping his eyes fixed upon his opponent and crouching low, the man with the knife reached out his left hand and took hold of the tablecloth; then, with a swift movement, he dragged it to him, waving it until it was wound round his left forearm. The crockery and glass fell crashing to the floor, and the duke noticed a wine bottle rolling away to the wainscoting, leaving a red trail like blood over the scattered playing cards. But his eyes were quickly back again upon the man, who with his tablecloth-shielded arm was creeping cat-like up to him.
The duke counted himself lost, as, unarmed as he was, he awaited the inevitable spring. He gave one glance at Edward, who was standing over the old manservant, the revolver held waveringly within an inch of the evil face. Povey had not dared take his eyes from his captive; he heard the shuffling of stealthy feet as the men circled round each other, heard one of them kick a dish that was hampering him, sending it crashing against the wall. Then there was the sharp crack of a firearm, and he could stand the suspense no longer.
He turned and saw thin wreaths of smoke floating across the room, and, on the floor, the man whom the duke had attacked half lay, half sat, clutching spasmodically at his knee and swearing horribly. At the door stood Galva. She was very white, and the hand that held the still smoking little pistol was trembling. Edward heard a small pitiful voice. Galva was saying, "In the leg—only—in the leg——"
Then she threw the weapon from her and went over to Edward, and put her arms round his neck.
"Oh, guardy—I've shot a man! Say he's not dead—it was only in the leg—say——" And the girl fell to weeping on his shoulder.
The duke was now standing over Pieto, and was tying the old man's hands with a cord. Teresa bent over the ruffian on the floor, cutting away the breeches from the wound in his leg.
Edward, looking over Galva's shoulder, took in the details of the scene. There was a small pool of blood on the oak boards, and an orange from the table had rolled into it and was dabbled in red.
He saw the duke approach the wounded man, and at his step Teresa looked up. Into her face came a dawning bewilderment, and she gave a little cry.
"Prince Ar——," she whispered. Then the duke had his hand over her mouth. But Edward had heard, and the duke's actions since his arrival in San Pietro were made clear to him.
"This complicates matters considerably," he said below his breath, and went on paternally patting Galva's shoulder.