When I left the Opera House, the moon was sailing in a cloudless sky, and, in consequence, the streets were almost as light as day. It was a little after midnight, and I had not ordered the boat to meet me at the wharf until one o'clock. I had therefore plenty of time at my disposal. As I passed out of the Great Square and entered the Calle de San Pedro, the cathedral clock chimed the quarter past the hour. I strolled leisurely along, so that it was half-past by the time I reached the wharf. Then I lighted another cigar, and, seating myself on a stone block, prepared to await the arrival of the boat. I had perhaps been seated there ten minutes, when, suddenly, and before I could do anything to protect myself, a bag or cloth, I could not tell which, was thrown over my head, and my arms were pinioned from behind. Then a voice said in Spanish, "Lift him up, and bring him along. There's not a moment to lose." Thereupon a man took hold of my shoulders and another my legs, and I felt myself being carried along, though in what direction I could not of course tell. A few seconds later, however, I was dumped down on the wooden floor of what was evidently a cart. The crack of a whip followed, and we were off at a brisk pace somewhere—but where? The bag by this time was coming near to stifling me. It had been pulled so tight round my head that it was only with the greatest difficulty I could breathe. Eventually, I suppose, I must have lost consciousness, for I have no recollection of anything that happened until I opened my eyes to find myself lying on the floor of a small, bare room, through the grated windows of which the moonlight was streaming in. Thank goodness, the bag was gone, but my head ached consumedly, and I felt about as sick and wretched as a man could well be.
"I felt about as sick and wretched as a man could well be."
After a while I sat up, and endeavoured to puzzle out my position. Where was I? Who was it had made me prisoner? Was it a simple act of brigandage, having plunder for its motive, or had the President discovered the plot against him and ordered my arrest? Not one of the questions could I answer. In the hope of being able to solve the problem of my whereabouts, however, I got on to my feet and endeavoured to look out of the window, only to discover that it was out of my reach, and that I was too weak to draw myself up to it. I therefore seated myself on the floor once more, for the room or cell, whichever I cared to call it, was destitute of furniture, and resigned myself to my miserable thoughts.
To use a stage expression, it was a pretty market I had brought my pigs to! I had felt so confident that my errand was not known, and that I should succeed in getting safely out of the country, that I had neglected the most simple precautions, and in consequence here I was a prisoner, with the pleasing possibility ahead of me of either having my throat cut by a common murderer before the night was past, or, what was more probable, of being propped against a wall and shot by President Fernandez' soldiers at daybreak. The mere knowledge that I was still alive, and that my watch, chain, and money had not been taken from me, pointed to the fact that I was a prisoner of the State, and not of a private individual. All things considered, it would be difficult to say which would prove the worse fate.
Putting aside for the moment the question as to whose captive I was, I examined my watch, and discovered that it was just half-past one. Only an hour had elapsed since the episode on the wharf—to me, however, it seemed an Eternity. After a while, feeling stronger, I got on to my feet again, and began to pace the room. I also tried the door, only to find it locked. They had got me fast enough. So much was certain. The next time, I told myself, I crossed the threshold, it would in all probability be to be haled to a place of execution. For upwards of an hour I paced the room, calling myself a fool and idiot, and every other name I could think of, for having allowed myself to be drawn into such an affair. I recalled that quiet evening at Falstead, when the idea of the adventure had appeared so attractive to me, and, as I did so, it seemed to me I could hear Molly's gentle voice saying: "Act as you think best, dear! I know that it will be all right then." I had certainly acted on my own judgment, and here I was in consequence!
I was still thinking of Falstead when a sharp cry reached me from the yard outside, followed by a prolonged scuffling noise. Then there was a heavy fall, another, and yet another. After that all was silence once more.
"What on earth is the matter?" I asked myself. "It sounded like a struggle of some sort. Can they by any chance have captured Ferguson, and have brought him here to be my fellow-prisoner?"
A few moments later some one approached my door. A key was placed in the lock and turned, then the door opened, and a man, carrying a lantern, entered quickly, closing the door behind him. The upper half of his face was hidden by a black mask. My astonishment may be imagined when, after he had removed it, I discovered that he was none other than Don José de Hermaños.
"Hush!" he began, holding up his hand as a sign to me not to speak. "I want you to listen to what I have to say, and not to interrupt me until I have finished. In the first place, let me inform you that the President has discovered everything! While you were talking to him to-night at the ball, he knew why you were in Equinata, and, what is more, had already laid his plans to effect your arrest. The reason why he did it so secretly, and why you were not taken to the regular cartel, is because he does not want, for reasons of his own, to attract public attention just at present. I was warned in time, but was unable to communicate with you. Now, by a stratagem, we have overpowered your gaolers, and you are free!"