“Explain yourself.”
“I will; listen. I have followed these Moultons everywhere for a long time, for I know what their aim has been. I have watched every footstep since they came here, but in a complete and safe disguise. Look!”
He opened the drawer in the table before which they sat, and, taking out a wig and heavy pair of whiskers, put them on.
“Ah! I should never know you for the same man,” exclaimed Fredrich, in surprise; then asked, “But why is this disguise necessary? Do they know you?”
“Because,” he answered, as he removed the wig and whiskers and replaced them in the drawer, “I have been a sort of ally of the squire’s in my present character, and am therefore in the secret of what he is up to.”
“My friend, if I indeed can call you so, you surprise me more and more; you are a mystery, and I scarcely know whether to call you friend or foe,” said Weimher, with a troubled look.
“I will soon convince you with regard to that,” returned Edgerton, with a peculiar smile. “I have told you that I am one of the smugglers’ band, and I will now explain how it happens. Some few years ago, while I was in the United States, I came across a couple of fellows—I call them fellows, because they appeared to be rough, rude men when I first saw them, though they had known better days. They were sons of an Italian nobleman, and were on the track of this very self-same squire. Ah! I tell you he has been a wicked one in his day,” said the man, with a gleam of hate in his eye.
“I believe you; but go on,” returned Fredrich, earnestly.
“It seems that he, Moulton, had married their only sister secretly, and then, on discovering that her father was insolvent, deserted her, proclaiming their marriage a farce, and leaving her to bear alone the cruel sufferings of poverty and childbirth. She died when the child was born—a beautiful girl, the image of her mother—and the brothers took their oath that they would hunt the villain to his death. They had a small fortune of their own, but spent it all before they had got any trace of him, and as a last resort joined this band of smugglers, which has branches all over the world; but this place seems to be the principal rendezvous, and I assure you it is no ‘den,’ but a veritable palace. People have an idea that it is somewhere in the region of that ledge of rocks yonder, and have sought it for years, but have been wholly unsuccessful as yet.
“As I was saying, these Italians were on some business for the band when I came across them, and, learning their story and object, I told them mine, at the same time expressing a wish to join them. They gladly took me as a companion, and since then I have worked in unison with them.”