“Again let us suppose,” continued Ashton-Kirk, calmly, “that in so leaving the councils of the criminals he took with him something vitally necessary to their success. They demanded it of him; he refused; and, to still further suppose, we’ll say that one morning a yacht called the Conquistador was blown into——”
Here the young master of Schwartzberg came to his feet; his eyes gleamed like those of an insane person, and his voice was husky and broken.
“What do you know?” he asked.
“I think,” replied Ashton-Kirk, quietly, “I have a fair idea as to what has happened in Mexico, and what is happening here. And if you care to have me proceed in the matter, and will lend me what assistance I need, there is a good chance that by this time to-morrow you will have left all your fears and worries behind you.”
For a moment the young man sat staring; then he reached forward one shaking hand and laid it upon the speaker’s arm.
“Sir,” said he, “if you can do that, you will have saved me from death or from the madhouse.”
Ashton-Kirk placed his hand upon that of Campe.
“Consider it done then,” said he quietly. “Scanlon has told you, perhaps, that I have some small talent in matters of this sort. And I think,” nodding and smiling, “I see a fairly open field before me.”
Bat looked impressively at the master of the castle.
“He’s had this thing cooking only since the day I first brought him here,” said he. “But he’s got a fire under it as hot as a lower berth in Hades. And so if he says he’ll serve it to-day, all done, believe him. For he’s just the kind of a fellow to do it.”