At this moment the door opened; and he who answered to the name of Manuel appeared in the doorway.
Without waiting for an invitation, Jessuron stepped inside the cabin.
“Does your business require a candle, señor?” inquired the Spaniard.
“No—no!” answered the Jew, quickly and impressively, as if to prevent the striking of a light. “It ish only talk; we can do it in the darknesh.”
And darkness, black and profound, was most appropriate to the conversation that followed. Its theme was murder—the murder of Loftus Vaughan!
The plan proposed was for the two Spaniards—fit instruments for such purpose—to waylay the Custos upon the road—in some dark defile of the forest—anywhere—it mattered not, so long as it was on this side of Spanish Town.
“Fifty poundsh apeesh; goot Island currenshy,” was the reward promised—offered and accepted.
Jessuron instructed his brace of entrepreneurs in all the details of the plan. He had learnt from Cynthia that the Custos intended to take the southern road, calling at Savanna-le-Mer. It was a roundabout way to the capital; but Jessuron had his suspicions why that route had been chosen. He knew that Savanna was the assize town of Cornwall; and the Custos might have business there relating to himself, Prince Cingües, and his two dozen Mandingoes!
It was not necessary to instruct the caçadores in these multifarious matters. There was no time to spend on any other than the details of their murderous plan; and these were made known to them with the rapidity of rapine itself.
In less than twenty minutes from the time he had entered the cabin the Jew issued out again, and walked back, with joyous mien and agile step, towards his dark dwelling.