The Hunchback of Westminster

by William Le Queux

For my own part, I learnt of their sudden removal from the Lake of Sacred Treasure, just when they had seen for themselves evidence of its possibilities of Utopian wealth, with feelings of mingled dismay and bewilderment. Then, argued I, we may be just as far off now as ever from absolute evidence as to what this extraordinary water really contains and to whom, in serious international law, it actually belongs. Even José shared my disappointment, and rose from his task of writing with an exclamation of chagrin and annoyance.

Only the Prior’s eyes danced with gratification and suppressed excitement; and when at length we both turned on him rather angrily and suggested that, after all, he might have a little sense of decent consideration about the matter and keep his mirth silent till we had got over the valueless character of the manuscripts, he absolutely laughed quite loudly and openly.

“Just read on,” he cried in that great, bluff, hearty fashion of his; “just read on. In my opinion nothing could be finer for the friends of England than this plain, unvarnished story of Father Thomas Bonaventure and his three companions. Why? do you ask. In my opinion for the most obvious of reasons. This document furnishes an absolute proof that when it was written—some centuries ago—the sacred lake belonged to an Englishman. Well, the point will next arise—can anybody else, or any other country, produce an earlier proof of ownership? If not, the issue is certain. The British Crown will seize it as the property of one of its subjects who died intestate; and, however much the good people of Mexico may writhe and wriggle—however much Spain may talk of the rights of pre-emption and other legal subtleties—backed up by our friends the Jesuits we shall stand as firm as a rock. ‘The lake is ours,’ we shall assert. ‘We shall find it and exploit it, and anybody who dares to oppose us will be swept out of our path.’”

Now this certainly was quite a new view of the uses of the documents, and I am bound to say that no sooner was it put before us in these terms than we realised its significance. Neither Casteno nor I was one of those obstinate, stiff-necked, thin-lipped individuals who take about six hours to see any point which they have not chanced to hit on for themselves. As a matter of fact, we were quite willing to admit that we had both of us got so lost in the actual story of the Jesuits’ travels as to forget the bearing of their discoveries on to-day’s events and hopes.

As a consequence, we turned again to the work of translating with quite a new object and aspect, not to discover so much whether good luck attended Father Thomas and his friends, now we knew that the waters did really contain much valuable buried treasure, as to see where England came in and how her claims would stand the light of a dispassionate examination.

As we proceeded we found the writer recorded that the Indians did not leave the four Jesuits very long in those caves, bound hand to foot, so that not one of them could move either to free himself or to help his companions. They were simply confined there until daybreak, and then the Indians returned with a lumbering bullock waggon, and, after giving their prisoners a meal of fish mixed with beans and a little rice, lifted the white men into this crazy vehicle, and, blindfolding them with great care, drove them all that day and the next night over a rough track, which nearly broke every bone they had.

The poor Jesuits themselves were in two minds as to the meanings of this attention. At times they would comfort themselves with the idea that it would be all right in the end and that the noble-looking Englishman they had seen in the boat on the lake would take care that no harm came to them. At other moments despair would reign, for, try as they would, they could not get a word out of their captors, good, bad, or indifferent, and this, they were sometimes certain, presaged evil fortune to them, and indicated that they were being taken away to play unpleasantly prominent parts in some hideous rites of human sacrifice.

Suddenly, however, their bandages were removed, and to their surprise they found that they were entering a town, pleasantly situated on a slope that inclined to the stream of a river, with a hill at either end guarded by a fort. The houses were neat and the streets regular, but, owing probably to there being so few wheeled vehicles, they were overgrown with grass. In due course they passed a church—a handsome building with a fine tower. The houses themselves were mostly coloured white or yellow, but in the very centre stood a magnificent building of white marble, in style something like a mosque. This proved to be the residence of the Englishman, for no sooner did they arrive in front of its portals than he came out and greeted them.

To cut a rather long and tedious story short, it appeared that his name was Joseph Beckworth, a well-known traveller of his time, who was supposed to have been lost in the interior some years earlier. As a matter of fact, he had purposely disappeared, through a disappointment in a love affair, wherein a girl refused to marry him because he was so poor. Vowing hatred against his race he had obtained a written concession of all that country thereabouts, including the ownership of the sacred lake itself, and with the aid of some Indians and negroes he had founded that town, the position of which he would not tell them. Then with wealth secretly obtained from the lake (whose sacred virtues he made all his allies pay golden tribute to) he had made the place what it was.

As it happened, he had none of the ideas of an autocrat. He was anxious that the town should flourish after his death, and so he had founded a proper executive government, consisting of a “Commandante Militare,” who had charge of the forts and of a small regiment of soldiers; the “Commandante dos trabelhadores,” who superintended the Indians engaged in any public service; the “Juiz de direito,” who acted as the civil and criminal judge of the district; and the “Delegardo de policia,” who had the management of the Indian police who guarded the sacred lake, and who had warned him quite early of the approach of the Jesuits; the “Vicario” or priest, and a few subordinate officers. Every night these men were wont to meet in one room in his house, in an airy situation, overlooking the river, and there they would sit for two or three hours over some native drink that was supplied to them and discuss all the day’s events and plans.