As Linton unlocked the bag and emptied its contents before him, his face suddenly grew dark and angry, for none of the letters, as he turned them over, were for himself; they were all addressed Roland Cashel, Esq., and marked “private.” At last he saw one with his own name, and, motioning to Keane to leave him undisturbed, he sat down to read it. It came from his correspondent, Mr. Phillis, and was of the briefest:
Sir,—All has gone wrong. R. C. sailed last night on a
yachting excursion with Lord and Lady K., some say for
Wales, others for the Isle of Wight. The truth I cannot
ascertain. The persons invited to Tubbennore are all
preparing to set out, but eagerly asking where C. is to be
found. There has been something like a breach at K.'s, and I
fancy it is about Lady Kilgoffs going in the yacht, which,
although seeming accident, must have been planned
previously. If you had been here the matter might have taken
another turn, as C. appears very tired of K.'s agency, and
the difficulty of obtaining money from him.
I have received a few lines from C., dated from “the
harbor,” to order a “fourgon” to be got ready; but I shall
pretend not to have received the note, and leave this, if
you desire it, for Tubbermore on hearing from you.
Yours, in duty,
R. Phillis.
Linton crashed the note passionately in his fingers, and with a cheek almost purple, and swollen knotted veins about the forehead and temples, he hastily walked to and fro in the apartment. “So, madam,” said he, “is this, then, the reason of your compliance? Was this the source of that yielding to my wishes that induced you to come here? And to dare this towards me!” A fiendish laugh burst from him as he said, “Silly fool; so long as you played fair, the advantage was all on your own side. Try to cheat, and you 'll see who's the victor! And that cub, too,” added he, with a hoarse passion, “who ventures a rivalry with me! Hate has an inspiration that never deceives; from the first moment I saw him I felt that for him.”
“You say you wanted the masons, sir,” said Keane, opening the door, where he had been endeavoring, but ineffectually, to catch the clew of Linton's words.
“Yes, let them come here,” said he, with his ordinary composure. “You are to break a door there,” said he, as the men entered, “and I wish to have it done with all speed. You 'll work all night, and be doubly paid.” As he spoke, he sauntered out to muse over the late tidings he had received, and plan within himself the coming campaign.
Thus loitering and reflecting, time slipped by and evening drew near.
“We must have a light here,” said one of the masons. “This room is never very bright, and now it is almost dark as night. But what have we here?” And at the moment his hammer sent forth a ringing sound as if it had struck upon metal.
“What can it be?” said the other; “it seems like a plate of iron.”
Linton now drew nigh, as he overheard these words, and stationing himself at a small window, beheld the two men as they labored to detach what seemed a heavy stone in the wall.
“It's not a plate of iron, but a box,” cried one.