"Let's not talk of ourselves then," I said, releasing her hands, "but of what we must face here. We trust each other; that is enough for the present surely. You will not leave, and let me ferret out the mystery alone, so we must work together in its solution. I have told you that Coombs claims to be working under the orders of your husband. Is that possible?"

"I cannot conceive clearly how it could be, and yet he might have received notice of his father's death in time to assume control of the estate by telegraph, or even by letter."

"I hardly think Coombs has been here so short a time."

"He might have been the old overseer, however, and retained."

"True; yet how could Philip Henley know that he had inherited the property?"

She thought a moment seriously, a little crease in the center of her forehead.

"Of course, I can only guess," she hazarded at length, "but it would seem likely he was notified of his father's death by one of the administrators, and doubtless told at the same time of his inheritance. He was the only son, and there were no other near relatives. It would be only natural for him to retain the old servants until he could come here and select others."

"There is only one fact which opposes your theory," I acknowledged, "otherwise I would accept it as my own also. Coombs plainly threatened to confront you with Henley to test your claim to being his wife."

She pressed her hand to her temple in perplexity.

"Even that would not be impossible," she admitted reluctantly, "for he must have known of the Judge's death even before—before I left. Only I do not believe it probable, as he was in no condition to travel, and had very little money. Besides," her voice strengthening with conviction, "those men who sent you here—Neale and Vail—would never have ventured such a scheme, had they been uncertain as to Philip Henley's helplessness. I believe he is either in their control, or else dead."

"Then Coombs lied."

"Perhaps; although still another supposition is possible. Someone else may claim to be the heir."

This was a new theory, and one not so unreasonable as it appeared at first thought. Still it was sufficiently improbable, so that I dismissed it without much consideration. She apparently read this in my face.

"It is all groping in the dark until we learn more," she went on slowly. "Have you decided what you mean to do?"

"Only indefinitely. I want to make a careful exploration of the house and grounds by daylight. This may reveal something of value. Then we will go into Carrollton before dark. I cannot consent to your remaining here another night after what has occurred. Besides, we should consult a lawyer—the best we can find—and then proceed under his advice. Do you agree?"

"Certainly; and how can I be of assistance?"

"If you could go back to the house, and keep Sallie busy in the kitchen for an hour; hold her there at something so as to give me free range of the house."

"With Sallie!" she lifted her hands in aversion. "It does n't seem as though I could stand that. But," she added, rising resolutely to her feet, "I will if you wish it. Of course I ought to do what little I can. Why, what is this? a seal ring?"

She stooped, and picked the article up from the floor, out of a litter of dead leaves, and held it to the light between her fingers. As she gazed her cheeks whitened, and when her eyes again met mine they evidenced fear.

"What is it?" I asked, when she failed to speak. "Do you recognize it?"

She held it out toward me, her hand trembling.

"That—that was Philip Henley's ring," she said gravely. "Family heirloom; he always wore it."



CHAPTER XVIII

BEGINNING EXPLORATION

This apparently convincing evidence that Henley was not only alive, but had preceded us to Carrollton, left us staring into each others' faces, more deeply mystified than ever.

"He must be here," she articulated faintly.

"At least it would seem that he has been. The seal is a peculiar one, not likely to be duplicated. But I doubt if he is here now, for he could have no reason for avoiding us, unless—"

"I know what you mean," she replied, as I hesitated, "unless he intended to repudiate me, to refuse me recognition."

"Is he that kind of a man?"

"No; not when sober. Under the influence of liquor he becomes a brute, capable of any meanness."

"Perhaps that may be the secret then. The others here may be keeping him intoxicated, and hidden away for purposes of their own. However, this need not change our plans. Will you go in to Sallie?"

"Yes; it will be a relief to be busy, to feel that I am accomplishing something."

I stood upon the bench, from where I could look out above the weeds and tangled bushes, and followed her course to the house. At top of the steps she paused an instant to glance back, and then disappeared within. I waited patiently, knowing that if she failed to discover the housekeeper, she would give some signal. Meanwhile I watched the weed-grown area about me carefully in search of any skulker observing our movements. I could see little through the tangle, yet succeeded in convincing myself that I was alone, and free to begin my explorations. Yet I faced this work with less enthusiasm than I felt when first proposing it. The knowledge that Philip Henley was alive; that any discoveries I might make would benefit him even more than his wife, had robbed me of my earlier interest in the outcome. Nothing I had heard of the man was favorable to his character. I felt profoundly convinced that whatever affection his wife might have once entertained for him had long ago vanished through neglect and abuse. My sympathies were altogether with her, and I had already begun to dream of her as free. She had come into contact with my life in such a way as to impress me greatly; we had been thrown together in strange familiarity. Little by little I had grown to appreciate her beauty, not only of face, but also of womanly character. Already she swayed and controlled me as no other of her sex ever had. I thrilled to the touch of her hand, to the sweep of her dress, and the glance of her eye. Not until now did I realize fully all she had unconsciously become to me, or how I dreaded the reappearance of Henley. Would she return to him? Would she forgive the past? These were haunting questions from which I found no escape. I could not be ignorant of the fact that she liked me, trusted me as a friend. But beyond this rather colorless certainty I possessed no assurance. I thought I had read a deeper meaning in her eyes, enough to yield a flash of hope, but nothing more substantial. And now—now even this must be rubbed out. She was not the kind to ever compromise with duty, nor to pretend. No love for me, even if it had already begun to blossom in her secret heart, would make her disloyal to sacred vows. I knew that, and deep down in my own consciousness, honored her the more, even while I struggled against the inevitable. Yesterday I might have spoken the words of passion on my lips, but now they were sealed, and I dare not even whisper them to myself, yet it was out of this very depth of impossibility that I came to know love in its entirety, and realize what Viola Henley already was to me.

But I was never so much a dreamer, as a man of action, and the necessity of active service forced me to cast aside such thoughts almost instantly. There was work, and danger, ahead, and I welcomed both eagerly. This was the way to forget. Aye! and the way to serve. I felt the revolver in my pocket, took it out and made sure it was in readiness; then advanced cautiously toward the house. The hall was empty, and so was the front room. The latter appeared desolate and grim in its disorder and dirt. My thought centered on that picture of Judge Henley hanging against the further wall. Perhaps it had not moved; the supposition that it did might have been an illusion, produced by some flaw in the mirror opposite, or by a freak of imagination. Yet I could never be satisfied until I learned absolutely what was concealed behind that heavy gilded frame. There was mystery to this house, and perhaps here I had already stumbled upon the secret. I opened the door leading to the rear, silently, and listened. There were voices talking at a distance, two women, one a pleasant contralto, the other cracked and high pitched. The lady was doing her part; I must do mine. I closed the door gently, and stole over toward the picture, half afraid of my task, yet nerving myself for the ordeal.

A black haircloth sofa, with broad mahogany arm, offered two easy steps, enabling me to tip the heavy frame sufficiently so as to peer behind. The one glance was sufficient. Underneath was an opening in the wall, much less in width than the picture, yet ample for the passage of a crouched body. The arm of the sofa made egress comparatively easy, while the frame of the picture, though appearing heavy and substantial, was in reality of light wood, and presented no obstacle to an active man. The passage was black, and I thrust my head and shoulders in, striving to discern something of its nature. For possibly three feet I could trace the floor, but beyond that point it seemed to disappear into impenetrable darkness. This line of change was so distinct that I surmised at once it marked a descent to a lower level, either by ladder or stairs. Well, this would benefit me, rather than otherwise, for if anyone was concealed therein it would be down below, where the light streaming into the upper passage, as I pressed back the frame to gain room for my body, would be unnoticed. There was no hesitancy as to what I must do. Now I had discovered this secret passage it must be thoroughly explored. The safest way was to burrow through the dark, trusting to hands and feet for safety, and prepared for any encounter. Whoever might be hidden away there would certainly possess some light, sufficient for any warning I needed. Every advantage would remain with me concealed by darkness.

If I felt any premonition of fear it was not serious enough to delay progress, nor did I pause to consider the possible danger. Wherever Coombs had gone, he was not likely to remain absent for long, nor could I expect Mrs. Henley to remain with Sallie a moment longer than she deemed necessary. This was my opportunity and must be utilized promptly. Standing on the sofa arm I found little difficulty in pressing my body forward into the aperture, until, extending at full length, the picture settled noiselessly back into place against the wall, excluding all light. After listening intently, fearful lest the slight scraping might have been overheard, I arose to a crouching position, able to feel both the sides and top of the tunnel with my fingers. Inch by inch, silently, my soft breathing the only noticeable sound, I worked forward, anxiously exploring for the break in the floor, which I knew to be only a few feet distance. Even then I reached it unaware of its proximity, experiencing a sudden, unpleasant shock as my extended hand groped about touching nothing tangible.

I was some time determining the exact nature of what was before me. There were no stairs, nor did any shafts of a ladder protrude above the floor level. Only as I lay flat, and felt cautiously across from wall to wall, could I determine what led below. All was black as a well, as noiseless as a grave, yet there was a ladder exactly fitting the space, spiked solidly into the flooring. My groping fingers could reach two of the rungs, and they felt sound and strong. With face outward I trusted myself to their support, and began the descent slowly, pausing between each step to listen, and gripping the side-bars tightly. The blackness and silence, combined with what I anticipated discovering somewhere in those depths below, set my nerves tingling, yet I felt cool, and determined to press on. Indeed, deep in my heart I welcomed the adventure, even hoped it might end in some encounter serious enough to arouse me to new thoughts—especially did I yearn to learn something definite about Philip Henley. This to me was now the one matter of importance; to be assured that he was living or dead. Nothing else greatly mattered, for nothing could again efface from my memory the woman he had called wife. Right or wrong, I knew she held me captive; even there, groping blindly in that darkness, every nerve strained to its utmost, my thought was with her, and her face arose before my imagination. Unexpectedly, unexplainably love had come into my life—the very love I had laughed at in others had made me captive. And I was glad of it, reckless still as to what it might portend.

I counted twelve rungs going down, and then felt stone flags beneath my feet, although the walls on either side, as I explored them with my hands, were still of closely matched wood. The passage, now high enough to permit of my standing erect, led toward the rear of the house, presenting no obstacle other than darkness, until I came up suddenly against a heavy wooden door completely barring further progress. As near as I could figure I must be already directly beneath the kitchen, and close in against the south wall. No sound reached me, however, from above, nor could I, with ear against the slight crack, distinguish any movement beyond the barrier. Cautious fingering revealed closely matched hard wood, studded thickly with nail heads, but no keyhole or latch. Secure in the feeling that no one else could be in this outer passage, and completely baffled, I ventured to strike a match. The tiny yellow flame, ere it quickly flickered out in some mysterious draft, revealed an iron band to the left of the door, with slight protuberance, resembling the button of an electric-bell. This was the only semblance to a lock, and I was in doubt whether it would prove an alarm, or some ingenuous [Transcriber's note: ingenious?] spring. There was nothing for it, however, but to try the experiment, and face the result.

Almost convinced that the pressure of my finger would ring an electric bell, I drew my revolver, and crouched low, prepared for any emergency, as I pressed the metal button. To my surprise and relief the only thing to occur was the slow opening of the door inward, a dim gleam of light becoming visible through the widening crack. The movement was deliberate and noiseless, but I dropped upon hands and knees in the deepest remaining shadow and peered anxiously into the dimly revealed interior. It was a basement room, half the width of the kitchen overhead, I should judge; the walls of crude masonry, the floor of brick, the ceiling, festooned by cobwebs, of rough-hewn beams. The light, flickering and dim, came from a half-burned candle in an iron holder screwed against the wall, revealing a small table, two chairs, one without a back, and four narrow sleeping berths made of rough boards. This was all, except a coat dangling from a beam, and a small hand-hatchet lying on the floor. There was, in the instant I had to view these things, no semblance of movement, or suggestion of human presence. Assured of this, although holding myself alert and ready, I slipped through the opening. Even as I stood there, uncertain, and staring about, a sharp draught of air extinguished the candle, and I heard the snap of the lock as the door behind blew back into position. About me was the black silence of a grave.



CHAPTER XIX

A CHAMBER OF HORROR

I backed against the wall, crouching low, revolver in hand, scarcely venturing to breathe, listening intently for the slightest sound to break the intense silence. My heart beat like a trip-hammer, and there were beads of cold perspiration on my face. The change had occurred so swiftly as to leave me quaking like a coward at the unknown terrors of the dark. Yet almost within the instant I gripped my nerves, comprehending all that had occurred, and confident of my own safety. There must be another opening into this underground den—one leading to the outer air—judging from that sudden and powerful suction. The very atmosphere I breathed had a freshness to it, inconceivable in such a place otherwise. With the first return of intelligence my mind gripped certain facts, and began to reason out the situation. That sudden sweep of air could only have originated in the opening of some other barrier—a door no doubt leading directly to the outside. I had seen no occupant of the room; without question it was deserted at my entrance. Yet someone had been there, and not long before, as was evidenced by the burning candle. Nor, by that same token, did this same mysterious party expect to be absent for any length of time. Apparently I had intruded at the very moment of his departure. Wherever that second passage might be, the former occupant of this underground den had evidently entered it previous to my opening the inner door. Still unaware of my presence he had unfastened some other barrier, and the resultant draught had extinguished the candle, and blown shut the door at my back. This seemed so clearly the truth that I laughed grimly behind clinched teeth. The solution was easy; I had but to discover the extinguished candle, relight it, search out the second passage, and waylay the fellow when he returned unsuspicious of danger.

Confident as to the correctness of my theory, and eager for action to relieve the tension on my nerves in that black silence, I began feeling a way along the wall toward the right, in the direction where I remembered the iron light bracket to be situated. The rough stone surface was unbroken, and I encountered no obstacles under foot, my groping search being finally rewarded by touch of the iron brace. I could clearly trace the form of the bracket, and determine how it was fastened into place, yet to my astonishment there was no remnant of candle remaining in the empty socket. Grease, still warm to the touch, proved conclusively that I had attained the right spot in my search, yet the candle itself had disappeared. Beyond doubt the draught of air had been sufficiently strong to dislodge it from the shallow socket, and it had fallen to the floor. I felt about on hands and knees, but without result, and finally, in sheer desperation, struck my last match. The tiny flare was sufficient to reveal the entire floor space as well as the wall, but there was no remnant of candle visible. I held the sliver of wood, until the flame scorched my fingers, staring about in bewilderment. Then the intense darkness shut me in.

I crouched back to the wall, revolver in hand, and it seemed as though the blood in my veins had turned to ice. What legerdemain was this! The candle was there, and not half burned, when I entered. I saw it with my own eyes. How then—in the name of God—could it have vanished so completely? There was no germ of superstition in my nature, and, had there originally been, it could never have out lived the practical experiences of the past few years. There was but one way to account for this occurrence—some human, aware of my presence, had removed the candle, had stolen through the pitch darkness silently, and as swiftly disappeared. I was locked in, trapped, and not alone!

I confess for an instant I was panic-stricken, shrinking back from the horror of the black unknown which enveloped me. I could see and hear nothing, yet I seemed to feel a ghastly presence skulking behind that impenetrable veil. My first inclination was to creep back to the door, and escape into the outer passage. Yet pride restrained me, pride quickly supplemented by a return of courage. It was a man surely, a thing of flesh and blood, I was called upon to meet. He was no better armed than myself, and he possessed no advantage in that darkness, except his knowledge of surroundings. I straightened up, and advanced slowly, testing the wall with my hand, every muscle stiffened for action, listening for the slightest sound. I encountered nothing, heard nothing, until my groping fingers touched the rough plank of a sleeping berth. I explored this cautiously, lifting the edge of a coarse blanket, and reaching up to make sure the one above was also unoccupied. Satisfied that both were empty I worked my way blindly along to the second tier. As I reached into the lower of the two bunks my finger came in contact with some substance that left the impression of a human body beneath the blanket. I jerked away, startled, expecting my light touch would arouse the occupant. There was no movement, however, nor could I distinguish any sound of breathing.

Convinced I had been mistaken, I reached in once more to assure myself of the truth, and my hand touched cold, clammy flesh. The shock of discovery sent me reeling backward so suddenly that I slipped and fell. It was a man—a dead man! In imagination I could see the wide-open, sightless eyes, staring toward me through the dark. Trembling with the unreasonable terror of unstrung nerves, I yet managed to regain my feet. It was not the dead body, so much as the black gloom, which robbed me of manhood. I could not see where to go, how to escape. At whatever cost I must procure light. The very desperation yielded me reckless courage. Shaking as with palsy, yet with teeth clinched, I reached forward, groping my way back to the side of the bunk. I touched the edge of the blanket, and thrust it away, feeling the body. The man was fully dressed, lying upon his back, and I experienced no difficulty in attaining the pockets of his coat. In the third I found what I sought—a box of matches.

Never before, or since, have I experienced such relief, as when my fingers closed over this precious find. I struck one, and as the phosphorus head burst into flame, stared about the vacant room, and then down into the dead face within the bunk. The man had been killed by the stroke of a hatchet, and was almost unrecognizable. Not until the blazing match had burned to my finger tips was I sure of his identity—then, to my added horror, I recognized Coombs. I struck a second match, assuring myself beyond doubt, and drew the blanket up over the disfigured face. As the brief light flickered and died, I grasped the full significance of the man's death, the probable reason for his being stricken down. Whoever had been hidden behind that picture, crouching in the passage, had overheard his confession to me. This was vengeance wreaked upon a traitor, the executed death sentence of desperate men. And it had just been carried out—within the hour! The murderers might be even now lurking within the shadows watching my every motion.

Again a slender match flared into tiny flame, casting about a dim radius of light, partially reassuring me that I was alone. Before it flickered out into darkness my eyes made two discoveries—the opening of a dark passage to the left of the bunks, and a ghastly hand protruding from the upper berth. I was scarcely sure this last was not a vision of my half-mad brain, but a fourth match revealed it all—above the murdered Coombs, hidden beneath blankets, was the body of the strange man shot in the upper room. My God! the place was a charnel house! a spot accursed! I crept back from that ghastly scene of death as though invisible hands gripped my throat. I fairly choked with the unutterable horror which overcame me. And yet I knew I must act, must go on to the end. Even as I crouched there, trembling and unmanned, seeing visions in the darkness, hearing imaginary sounds, my thought leaped back to the girl upstairs. It was the one remembrance which kept me sane. It was not the dead, but the living, I had to fear, and it was not in my nature to shrink back from any man. I could feel the courage returning, the leap of hot blood through my veins as I straightened up.

I risked one more match to make certain of the opening through the wall, dimly glimpsed beyond the berths. My eyes were not deceived; here was a second wood-supported passage, unblocked so far as I could perceive, but black as pitch. I held the flaming splinter aloft, anxiously scanning the few feet thus revealed, but as it sputtered out, the red ash dropping to the floor, I felt renewed confidence that I was alone, unobserved. Whoever those assassins might be, they had departed, leaving only the helpless dead behind. No doubt they would come again to remove the bodies, to seek refuge in this hidden hole. But for the moment I was there undiscovered, and must utilize each precious instant for discoveries and escape. Wild recklessness, a desire to break away from those grewsome surroundings, overcame all caution. Swiftly as I dared in the dense blackness I crept forward, feeling the smooth wall with eager fingers, my right hand still nervously gripping the revolver butt. Then I came to the door, similar to the other, although no groping about would reveal the catch, or enable me to force it open.

Again I struck a match, guarding the infant flame with both hands against a slight draught which threatened its extinction. There was no sound, no warning of imminent danger. All my coolness had returned, and my every thought centered on quickly discovering the lock of the door. Yet, even in that instant, I caught glimpse of a shadow on the wall, and made one swift, automatic effort to leap aside, dropping the fatal match. The movement was too late! Something descended crashing upon my head, and I pitched forward into unconsciousness.



CHAPTER XX

TAKEN PRISONER

It must be I lay there practically dead for some time. I had no knowledge of being approached, or handled, and yet every pocket was rifled, the revolver jerked from my hand, and my coat ripped from my body. Like so much carrion the fellows had flung me back against the wall, so as to make room for the swinging open of the door. I lay there huddled up in shapeless disfigurement, blood staining the stones, one arm twisted above my head. Consciousness returned so slowly, the benumbed brain began to flicker into activity before a stiffened muscle relaxed. I was awake, able to perceive dimly, and to realize my situation, before my body responded to action. Returning life seemed to sweep downward as the mind grasped the realities, bringing consciousness of pain, throbbing head and aching muscles. Little by little, silently, comprehending now what had occurred, and warned by the sound of voices not far away, I changed posture slightly, straightening out cramped limbs, and so turning my head as to enable me to see along the passage where a ray of light streamed. There was a mist before my eyes, but this lessened, and I began to view intelligently the scene.

I lay twenty feet from the entrance to this habitation underground, thrust into the black shadow behind the door which stood partially ajar. My position precluded any possibility of learning what was beyond that wooden barrier, but I could plainly view the entire north portion of the interior, although the only light radiated from a flickering candle. One edge of the table came within my vision, a man sitting beside it, his back turned toward me. I made out little of this fellow's characteristics, as I saw only a pair of broad shoulders, encased in a rough shooting coat, and a fringe of black whiskers. He was smoking a short-stemmed pipe, and contented himself with a growling, indistinct utterance when addressed. Opposite, however, was a man of a different type, slender and active, his hair very dark and inclined to curl, a rather long face, slightly olive-hued, with a small mustache waxed at the ends. His black, sparkling eyes attracted me first, and then his long, shapely hands. These grasped a sheet of paper, and I noticed others, including several unopened envelopes, lying before him on the table. He laughed a bit unpleasantly, a row of white teeth visible beneath the dark mustache.

"It's just as I thought, Herman," he said genially. "The fellow is a mere adventurer. There will be no one to take his disappearance seriously. Look at this document."

He held out a half-printed, half-written sheet which I instantly recognized as my discharge, but the big man only nodded, his hands in his pockets.

"I not read English—you know dot," he said placidly.

"True, I had forgotten. This is the fellow's army discharge; only issued six or seven weeks ago at Manila. He was serving in the ranks over there. Got back to this country broke, most likely, and fell into the hands of those schemers up North, willing enough to do anything for a bunch of coin. The poor devil probably has n't got a friend on earth."

"But someone know he come here."

"Only the two who sent him, and they 'll never dare tell, and the woman. She is safe enough. Nigger Pete drove them out here, and we can close his mouth easily enough. It's been easy, Herman, and now with these two settled it leaves me a clear field."

"Maybe so—yes. But vat you think it all mean? I would know how eet vas dey come."

The younger man shuffled the papers restlessly, his eyes on the face of the other.

"I confess there are some details missing, Herman," he said slowly, "but in the main it is clear enough. I take it this man Neale is a damned rascal. He went North to find the heir, discovered that he was either dead, or had disappeared, ran into some scamp of the same kidney as himself, and, between them, determined to cop the coin. That's my guess. Then they picked up this penniless soldier, who, by the way, resembles the missing son a bit, and sent him down here to play the part. Wrote him out full instructions," tapping the papers suggestively, "and then sat down there to wait results."

"Vel, maybe so—but vat about the girl, hey?"

"Someone they picked off the streets. He 's told to do it in this letter. They thought it best to prove their man married, and so had to procure a woman. We won't have any trouble with her."

"Vat you do to be sure?"

"Turn her loose in New Orleans with a few dollars," carelessly. "All she knows about the affair can't hurt us if she does squeal. There are plenty of ways to shut her mouth. I 'll know better how to handle her case right when I see her. Broussard is a long time at his job."

"Perhaps she fight heem—hey?"

"The worse for her—that Creole is a wild-cat. But I wish he would hurry, so we can get through the Gut on the flood tide; that boat draws more water than is comfortable in this lagoon."

"You need not worry," said the German, placidly looking at his watch. "I take eet through safe. She dam good sea boat, an' where I come in I can go out. Ach! 'tis the fellow come now."

The newcomer passed so close beside me I could feel his foot touch mine. As he hurried forward I realized the eyes of the two men would be upon him, and that any movement of mine would be unobserved. The door remained ajar, and, if escape was possible, now was the time. With head reeling dizzily, I crept through the opening, yet held the latch, fascinated by the first spoken words within.

"Well, Broussard, what is it?"

"All seen to, sir."

"The bodies are planted then?"

"The men attended to that."

"And the woman?"

"On her way; there was no trouble. Sallie had her doped, sir."

"I expected she would. Then that finishes our job here, Herman, and the quicker we are off the better." The two men arose to their feet, Herman grumbling something in German, but the younger man interrupted.

"We got the fellow after you left, Broussard; hit him a bit too hard it seems, but no one will ever investigate, so it's just as well. Adventurer named Craig, just discharged from the army."

"Where is he?"

"Lying there in the passage behind the door. Have Peters and Sam bury him along with the others, and then join us. We 'll go aboard."

I shut the door, and started down the passage. For a dozen steps it was black as night; then there was a sharp swerve to the right, and a gleam of daylight in the far distance. Already they were at the barrier, and I ran forward recklessly, eager to escape into the open. The way was clear, the floor rising slightly, yet without obstructions. I could hear voices, the pounding of feet behind, and I made desperate effort to outdistance my pursuers. That they were merciless I knew, and my only hope lay in attaining some hiding place in the weeds before they could emerge into the daylight. I thought of nothing else. But as I burst, straining and breathless into the open, hands gripped me from both sides. An instant I struggled to break free, fighting with a mad ferocity, which nearly accomplished the purpose. I had one down, a bearded ruffian, planting my fist full in his face, and sent the other groaning backward with a kick in the stomach, when the three from within burst forth and flung me face down into the earth, and pinned me flat beneath their weight. An instant later Broussard's belt was strapped tightly, binding my hands helplessly to my sides, and I was hurled over so that I stared up blindly into the face of the fellow in command. His black eyes were sneering, while the unpleasant smile revealed a row of white teeth.

"Great God, man," he exclaimed, "you must have the skull of an elephant. Are you actually alive?"

"Very much so," I gasped, defiant still.

"Maybe I finish heem, Monsieur," questioned Broussard, with knee still planted on my chest. "Then he not talk, hey?"

The leader laughed, with a wave of the hand. "You take the fellow far too seriously. Let him up. I 'll find a way to close his mouth if it ever be necessary. Besides, he knows nothing to do any harm. A bit groggy, my man. Hold him on his feet, you fellows."

I stood helpless, my arms bound, gripped tightly on either side, gazing full into the villain's face; out of the depth of despair and defeat there had come an animating ray of hope—they were going to take me with them. Even as a prisoner I should be near her. Would yet be able to dig out the truth.

"You take heem along, Monsieur?" It was Broussard's voice. "Zat vat you mean?"

"Certainly—why not? There's plenty of work for another hand on board. Trust me to break him in. Come, hustle the lad along, boys. I 'll be with you in a minute."

They drove me forward roughly enough, the German marching phlegmatically ahead, still silently puffing at his pipe, and leading the way along a narrow footpath through the weeds. This wound about in such crazy fashion that I lost all sense of both direction and distance, yet finally we emerged into an open space, from which I saw the chimneys of the old house far away to our left. The path led onward into another weed patch beyond, down a steep ravine, and then before us stretched the lonely waters of the bayou. Hidden under the drooping foliage of the bank was a small boat, a negro peacefully sleeping in the stern, with head pillowed on his arm. Herman awoke him with a German oath, and the way the fellow sprang up, his eyes popping open, was evidence of the treatment he was accustomed to. A hasty application of an oar brought the boat's nose to the bank, and I was thrust in unceremoniously, the three others following, each man shipping an oar into the rowlocks. Herman alone remained on shore, scattering the embers of a small fire, and staring back toward the house. A few moments we waited in silence, then the slender figure of the one who seemed the leading spirit, emerged from out the cane. He glanced at the motionless figures in the boat, spoke a few words to Herman, and then the two joined us, the latter taking the tiller, the former pushing off, and springing alertly into the bow.

Lying between the thwarts, face turned upward, all I could see distinctly was the black oarsman, although occasionally, when he leaned forward, I caught glimpses of the fellow I believed to be the captain of the strange crew. Our boat skirted the shore, keeping close within the concealing shadows, as evidenced by overhanging trees. The only word spoken was a growling command by Herman at the rudder, and the oars were noiseless as though muffled. Yet the men rowed with a will, and scarcely twenty minutes elapsed ere we were scraping along the side of a vessel of some size, and then came to a stop at foot of a boarding-ladder.



CHAPTER XXI

ON BOARD THE SEA GULL

The Captain—for so I must call him—went up first, after hailing the deck in French, and receiving some answer. Then, under Herman's orders, I was hustled roughly to my feet, and bundled aboard. My head still reeled dizzily, and the two men gripping my arms, hurried me over the rail so swiftly my first impressions were extremely vague. I knew the sides of the vessel were painted a dull gray, as nearly an invisible color as could be conceived; I recall the sharp sheer of her bow, the clearness of her lines, and the low sweep of her rail. Less than a 1,000 tons burden, I thought, and then, as my eyes swept aloft, and along the decks, I knew her for either a private yacht, or tropic fruit steamer.

"First stateroom, second cabin," said a new voice, sharply. "Lively now."

"Shall we unloose the ropes, sir?"

"Yes; fasten the door, and leave a guard. Stow away the boat, Broussard. Everything ready, Captain."

I went down a broad stairway, shining brass rails on either side, which led to a spacious after-cabin. A table extended its full length, already set for a meal, and a round-faced negro, in white serving jacket, grinned at me, as the men pressed me between them into a narrow passage leading forward. A moment later I was unceremoniously thrust into a small apartment on the right, the ropes about my wrists loosened, and the door shut and locked behind me. For perhaps five minutes I lay where I had been so unceremoniously dropped, weakened by loss of blood, and dazed by the rapidity of events. I found it hard to adjust my faculties to this new situation. I knew what had occurred, but into whose hands I had fallen, and what was the purpose of this outrage, was beyond my comprehension. One thing, however, was sufficiently clear—these men were playing for big stakes, and would hesitate at nothing to accomplish their purpose. They had already killed without remorse, and that I still survived was itself a mere accident. Yet the very fact that I lived yielded me fresh confidence, a fatalistic belief that my life had thus been spared for a specific purpose. It might yet be my privilege to foil these villains, and rescue Mrs. Henley. It was my belief she was also on board this vessel. I had no reason to assume this, except the wording of Broussard's report which I had overheard. But she was a prisoner, and this vessel would be the most likely place for her to be confined. I sat up, my flesh burning, and stared about. The light shining through the single closed port was dim, convincing me the sun had already set, yet I could perceive the few furnishings of that interior. These consisted merely of a double berth, a blanket spread over the lower mattress, and a four-legged stool. Hooks, empty, decorated the walls, and a small lamp dangled from the overhead beam. As I got to my feet I could feel a faint throb of the engine, and realized we were moving slowly through the water. The glass of the porthole was thick, but clear. I knelt on the berth, and looked out, dimly perceiving the shore-line slipping past, with an ever-broadening stretch of water intervening. Then I sat down helplessly on the stool, and waited for something to occur. Escape was impossible; I could only hope for some movement on the part of my captors.

I had little enough to think over, for the few words spoken in the cellar had furnished no clew. My purpose there was known, and these men had considered it worth while to put me out of the way, and to pick up my companion also, yet I could not directly connect this action with Judge Henley's will. We might have merely crossed their path, interfered with their criminal plans. If so, then it was more than likely our release would not be long delayed. Indeed, the man who appeared to be the chief, had already said he would turn the girl free in New Orleans, where she could do them no harm. New Orleans then was, doubtless, the port for which we sailed. My knowledge of distance was vague, yet that could not be a long voyage, nor one involving any great danger. It was clear they meant no personal harm to her, and they would never have brought me on board alive, if they had deemed it necessary to otherwise dispose of me. These considerations were in the main reassuring, and as I turned them over in my mind I drifted into better humor. Besides, my head had ceased to ache, and a little exercise put my numbed limbs into fair condition.

It was fully an hour after the coming of darkness before I was disturbed. Then the door opened, and the entering gleam of a light swinging in the passage revealed the grinning negro steward bearing a well-filled tray. This he deposited in the berth, while applying a match to the lamp overhead. I saw no shadow of any guard outside, but the fellow made no effort to close the door, and I did not move, confident he was not alone. As he turned to go, however, curiosity compelled me to question him, his good-natured face provocative of courage.

"Say, George, what boat is this?"

"Mah name is Louis, sah."

"All right, Louis, then; what's the name of this vessel?"

"She am de Sea Gull, an' a mighty fin' boat, sah."

"So I judge; what is she, fruiter, or private yacht?"

"I reckon I don't just know," and he grinned.

"Perhaps then you will inform me where we are bound—I suppose you know that?"

"No, sah; de captain he nebber done tol' me, sah, nothing 'bout his personal plans. All he done said wus fer me to hustle sum grub in yere."

"But surely," I Insisted warmly, "you know what voyage you signed on for?"

"Wal, boss, I did n't sign on fer no vige. I 'se de steward, sah, an' I just naturally goes 'long where ebber de ship does. 'T ain't rightly none o' my business what de white folks 'cides to do. Good Lor', dey don't never ask dis nigger nuthin' 'bout dat. All I got ter do is just go 'long with 'em—dat's all."

The shadow of a man blocked the doorway. He was one of those who had been in the small boat, and I noticed a revolver at his waist.

"That's enough, boy. Come, now, out with you," he commanded gruffly. "Never you mind the door; I 'll attend to that."

He pulled the door to after the retreating form of the negro, and I heard the sharp click of the latch, and then his voice, muffled by intervening wood, ordering the steward aft. There was no appearance of any lock on the door; probably there was none, as otherwise it would not have been necessary to post a guard. However, this was clearly no time to experiment and I was hungry enough to forget all else in the appetizing fragrance of the meal waiting. I fell to eagerly, convinced there was a good cook on board, and enjoying every morsel. This did not look as though I was destined to suffer, and merely being confined in these narrow quarters for a few hours was no great hardship. Probably the girl was receiving very similar treatment, and, as soon as the Sea Gull made whatever port was aimed at, we would both be put ashore, and left to proceed as we thought best. Indeed, sitting there alone, under the inspiration of choice food, well cooked, I became quite cheerful, dismissing altogether from my mind any apprehension that this attack upon us had any connection with the inheritance of Philip Henley. These people were lawless enough, without doubt—the murders already committed were evidence of that—but all they desired so far as we were personally concerned, was to get us safely out of the way, where we could no longer interfere with their plans. What those plans might be I could merely conjecture, with little enough to guide my guessing. They might be filibusters, connected with some revolution along the Central American coast, smugglers, or marauders of even less respectability. Their methods were desperate enough for any deeds of crime. Without doubt they utilized this comparatively forsaken lagoon as a hidden rendezvous, and the deserted Henley plantation—from which even the negroes had been frightened away—was an ideal spot for them to meet in, plan their raids, or secrete their spoils. These fellows were doubtless the ghosts which haunted the place, and had given it so uncanny a reputation throughout the neighborhood. They would naturally resent any interference, any change in ownership, or control. Possibly, if they were thieves, as I more than half suspected, they had loot buried nearby, and were anxious to get us out of the way long enough to remove it unobserved. This appealed to me as by far the most probable explanation.

I had cleaned the dishes, and was sitting on the stool, leaning back against the wall, already becoming sleepy, listening to the rhythmic pulsation of the engines at low speed, when the door opened again, and the guard stood revealed before me in the glare of light.

"The old man wants you," he explained brusquely, waving his hand aft as though specifying the direction. "Come on, now."

"What does he want?"

"How the hell do I know! But let me tell you, his orders go on this boat."

I preceded him along the narrow passage, utterly indifferent to the threat in his manner, but still conscious that one hand gripped the butt of his revolver. Without doubt the fellow had orders to be vigilant, and, perhaps, would even welcome some excuse for violence. I gave him none, however, hopeful that the approaching interview might yield new information. The cabin was unoccupied, the table swung up against the beams of the upper deck, the heavy chairs moved back leaving a wide open space. The furnishings were rich, in excellent taste, the carpet a soft, green Wilton; the hanging lamp quite ornate, while a magnificent upright piano was firmly anchored against the butt of the aftermast. It was a yacht-like interior, even to the sheet music on the rack, and a gray striped cat dozing on one of the softly cushioned chairs. Gazing about, I could scarcely realize this was an abode of criminals, or that I was there a captive. It was the sudden grip of my guard which brought the truth relentlessly home.

"This is no movin' picture show," he muttered. "Hustle along thar, in back o' that music box. See—the way I 'm pointin'."

There was but one door, evidence that a single cabin occupied the entire space astern, and I stopped before it, my companion applying his knuckles to the wood, but without removing his watchful eyes from me. A muffled voice asked who was there, and at the response replied:

"Open the door and show him in, Peters, and remain where you are within call."

I entered, conscious of a strange feeling of hesitancy, pausing involuntarily as I heard the door close, and glancing hastily about. I had expected a scene of luxury, a counterpart of the outer cabin. Instead, I stood upon a plain, uncarpeted deck, the white walls and ceiling undecorated. On one side was a double tier of berths, lockers were between the ports, and heavy curtains draped the two windows aft. Opposite the berths was an arm rack, containing a variety of weapons, and the only floor covering was a small rug beneath a desk near the center of the apartment. This latter was littered with papers, among them a map or two, on which courses had been pricked. Beyond these all the room contained was a small bookcase, crowded with volumes, and a few chairs, only one upholstered. The only person present occupied this, and was seated at the desk, watching me, a cigarette smoking between his fingers. It was the olive-hued man of the cellar, the one I had picked as leader, and his teeth gleamed white in an effort to smile. In spite of his skin and dark eyes, I could not guess at his nationality, but felt an instinctive dislike to him, more deeply rooted than before, now that I comprehended how completely I was in his power.

"Take a seat, Craig," he said, speaking with a faint accent barely perceptible. "The second chair will be found the more comfortable. Now we can talk easily. May I offer you a cigarette?"

I accepted it more to exhibit my own coolness than from any desire to smoke, but without other response. The man had sent for me for some specific purpose, and I desired to learn what that might be before unmasking my own batteries.

"A smoke generally leaves me in more genial humor," he continued, ignoring my reticence. "Mere habit, of course, but we are all more or less in slavery to the weed. I trust you have been fairly comfortable since coming on board the Sea Gull."

"As much so as a prisoner could naturally expect to be," I replied indifferently. "This vessel then is the Sea Gull?"

He bowed, with an expressive gesticulation of the hand.

"At present—yes. In days gone by it has been found convenient to call her the Esmeralda, the Seven Sisters, and the Becky N. The name is immaterial, so long as it sounds well, and conforms to the manifest. However, just now the register reads Sea Gull, Henley, master, 850 tons, schooner-rigged yacht."

"You are under steam?"

"Exactly; auxiliary steam power."

"In what trade?"

"Operated for pleasure exclusively," a slight tone of mockery in the soft voice. "A rather expensive luxury, of course, but available all the year around in this latitude."

"I failed to catch the captain's name—yours, I presume?"

He laughed, pausing to light another cigarette.

"Still it is one you seem fairly familiar with—Henley, Philip Henley."



CHAPTER XXII

I CHANGE FRONT

This statement of his identity, spoken calmly, and smilingly, was such a surprise that I could but stare at the man, half convinced I had misunderstood his words.

"You see, Craig," he continued quietly, apparently comprehending my state of mind, "your little game is up. Not a bad plan originally—something of a criminal genius that fellow Neale—but he failed to count on the fact that I was very much alive, and fully capable of attending to my own affairs. By the way, what part did the girl play in this little conspiracy? Merely a friend of yours, who came along for company?"

"Certainly not," I replied indignantly. "Have you seen her?"

"Not yet; I preferred coming to an understanding with you first."

"A condition you may not find as easy as you anticipate," I retorted, angered at his cool insolence. "If you are Philip Henley, then the lady you are holding prisoner is your wife."

He laughed, leaning back again in his chair.

"Well, hardly. I rather surmised that was the idea from a sentence or two, in these instructions," and he touched a bundle of papers on the desk. "Careless way to carry such evidence around—shows the amateur. Thought it would add to the appeal to justice for Henley to have a wife, I presume. Why not a child also? Permit me to state, my dear sir, that I possess no such encumbrance."

"It happens," I contended coldly, "that I have seen the marriage certificate."

He sat up stiffly, the sarcastic grin leaving his face, and replaced by an expression of vindictiveness.

"Oh, you have! As much a forgery as some of these other precious documents. You win certainly grant that I ought to know whether I am married or not?"

"I made no assertion relative to that."

"What did you assert?"

"That Philip Henley was married, and that his wife—or widow, as the case may be—is the lady who accompanied me to Carrollton."

He leaned forward, both arms on the desk, his black eyes narrowed into mere slits.

"Oh, I see," finally. "Driven out of one position, like a good general, you have another in reserve. You are more of an antagonist than I had supposed, Craig. So now it is the widow who claims the ducats. Am I also to understand that you are prepared to submit proof of the death of Philip Henley? By the saints; I am becoming interested."

"Naturally, if you claim to be the man. I have not said he was dead, for I do not know. I came down here believing him alive. His wife is almost convinced otherwise. All I am actually certain about now is that you are not the man."

"You are extremely free-spoken for a fellow in your condition. You will at least confess that I am master on board this ship; that my word here is law, and you are in my power."

"Yes."

"Then why expose yourself, and that young woman, to unnecessary danger? To be frank, Craig, I sent for you just now in a friendly spirit. You can be decidedly useful to me, and I can afford to pay well for services rendered. Now wait! don't break in until I am through. I know who you are, and how you originally became involved in this affair. You have no personal interest in the final outcome, so you receive the amount promised. You are a mere soldier of fortune, an adventurer. Good! Then it is certainly to your interest to be on the winning side. What did Neale, and that other fellow—Vail—offer?"

I sat looking at him steadily for a moment. That he was a shrewd, scheming villain I had no doubt, but the one question which controlled my answer was the thought of how I could best serve her. If I followed my inclination, told him frankly that I had already deserted my allegiance to those men in the North, and only remained loyal to the woman, the confession would possibly react upon us both. We would be held prisoners indefinitely. If, on the other hand, I appeared to hesitate, a way of service might be opened before me, and, with it, a path to freedom, for us both. The decision had to be made quickly.

"Never mind the sum," I said soberly. "I am not altogether mercenary, although I need money. I 'll say this, however, and you can take it for what it may be worth. I originally came into this game believing I was doing a kindness to a helpless man who was being defrauded of his rights. There is no necessity of my going into details, but Neale told me an apparently straight story, and convinced me my part was a mere form. Later I learned different, and promptly quit. I have n't sent in a line of report to my employers."

"What convinced you of the fraud?"

"A conversation with Mrs. Henley."

"Oh, the woman, hey!" his tone again sarcastic. "Always the woman; more to be valued than great riches, aye! even than fine gold. Good Lord, Craig, don't be a wooden-headed fool. I tell you plainly Philip Henley was never married, and I know. This girl is a mere adventuress unworthy of any consideration."

"You claim still to be Henley?" I asked, stifling my indignation.

"Not only claim, but am. My identity is already firmly established in court. Lawyers have the final papers ready to file."

"You do not in any way resemble the photograph shown me of the man."

"A fake picture; we have known something of Neale's plans from the first."

The man was apparently so confident, that I began to doubt my own conclusions, and yet I could not doubt her. Whatever other falsehoods might compass me about, she was to be implicitly trusted.

"Is the woman on board?" I questioned.

He hesitated just an instant.

"Yes."

"Will you have her brought here?"

He walked across the cabin twice, turning the proposition over in his mind. Apparently concluding that the ordeal might as well be over with first as last, he opened the door, and gave an order to Peters. Then he returned to his seat at the desk.

"This is all silly enough, Craig, but I might as well convince you both now, as later, that I hold the cards. The lady may try a bluff, if she is that kind, but it will be soon over."

We waited silently, and I endeavored swiftly to formulate a satisfactory course of action. In spite of all my faith in her—which could never waver—it was clearly evident this fellow had us helpless in his grasp. If I was to become free to act it could only be by yielding to his expressed desires, and apparently accepting his claims. That this would separate me for the time from Mrs. Henley, alienate her friendship, was a certainty. Yet I must risk all this even to be of real service. The end would justify the means. We were confronted by no common scoundrel, and here was a case where fire could only be fought with flame. I did not for an instant believe he was Philip Henley, yet he was apparently fortified with strong evidence to sustain that claim. The very fact that he so strenuously denied that Philip was married, convinced me he was an impostor, that he had never even heard of this secret wedding. Probably the Judge had not mentioned it while living, nor written any memoranda concerning it. Yet Neale knew, and there could be no question as to the truth of the matter. In view of all I decided openly to cast my fortunes with the man, and appear angry at the deceit with which she had ensnared me. I dreaded the result, the expression my apparent desertion would bring to her face, but this seemed the only was possible for me to unmask the fellow. He had clearly enough catalogued me in his own class, as one who would serve any master for sufficient reward. Very well, let him so continue to think, until I could turn the tables, and pay him back in his own coin. And the quickest way in which to convince him that I was altogether his man, was to denounce the girl in his presence, and frankly avow myself on his side. Difficult as this task would prove—at least until I could make some explanation to her—it was the sensible course to pursue. I hardened myself to it, my eyes on the outlines of the man's face, as he shuffled the papers on his desk.

"Do you mind telling me where this vessel is bound?" I asked, not only curious to learn, but also anxious to break the silence.

"No objections whatever, Craig, if I knew myself," he answered carelessly. "The Sea Gull being my property sails on my orders, and, at present, those orders are merely to put out to sea."

"You spoke of leaving the lady ashore at New Orleans."

"Oh, back at the house? You overheard that? Well, I am not above changing my mind in such matters. From what you have just told me I infer the young woman is more dangerous than I had supposed. Perhaps some foreign port would be the safer landing place. I shall determine that after our coming interview. This will be the lady now."

We both arose to our feet as she entered, glancing about her curiously at the rather strange surroundings, then stopping irresolutely, apparently recognizing neither of us. The light from the hanging lamp, waving somewhat from the movement of the vessel, served to soften the lines of her face, and reveal the delicate beauty. About her were no signs of fatigue or fear. Suddenly the light of recognition leaped into her eyes, and she took a quick step forward.

"Mr. Craig—you here? Why, I can hardly understand. Were you made prisoner also?"

"I suppose that to be my status, although I hardly know," I answered, yet unable to refrain from accepting the extended hand. "I was certainly brought aboard in chains, and much against my will. I presume you know this person?"

She swept my face with a swift, questioning glance, and then looked beyond me at the man standing beside the desk.

"No, I do not," slowly. "I have no remembrance of ever seeing him before."

"Is that not rather strange," I asked, steeling myself to the task, "after asserting that he was your husband? He is the owner of this vessel—Philip Henley."

She reached out gropingly, and grasped the back of a chair, staring at his face, and then glancing into mine, as though bewildered, suspecting some trick. I could see her lips move, as if she endeavored to speak, but could not articulate the words. Henley—-for I must call him that—advanced a step toward us, his thin lips fashioning themselves into an ironic smile.

"You receive this information about as I supposed you would, Madam," he said coldly. "I was doubtless the very last person you expected to encounter. Your accomplice here informs me that I am supposed to be dead. I am inclined to think you were both mistaken—but not more so than in regard to my marriage."

She straightened up, her eyes shining.

"You are not Philip Henley," she said firmly. "He is my husband."

The smile widened, revealing the cruel white teeth.

"I expected heroics. It was hardly to be supposed that you would confess your fraud at once, and—before your lover."

She shrank back, her hands still extended.

"My—my lover—"

"Now stop!" I broke in, every nerve tingling, as I stepped between them. "Another insinuation like that, and you will learn what I can do. You may be captain of this boat, but you are alone with us now, and I can kill you before you could utter a cry. So help me God, I will, if you dare insult her again."

He reeled back against the desk, although I do not think I touched him, and his hand sought an open drawer. I knew him instantly for a coward, and gripped his wrist, hurling him from me half across the room.

"I 'll stand here, and you over there. I prefer dealing with your kind with bare hands. Now if you have any reply to make to this lady's assertions put it in decent language."

He gasped a bit, rubbing his bruised wrist, his eyes shifting to the closed door as though contemplating an alarm. But I stood where I could block any effort, and I doubt if he liked the expression on my face.



"There is no use going off at half cock, Craig," he snarled. "I did n't mean any insult. And I 'll get you for that some time. You 'll learn yet what the Sea Gull is."

"No doubt," I coincided, tired of his threats, and awakened to the fact that this quarrel was not likely to help our chances. "But for a few minutes it will be worth your while to listen to me. I am not defending this woman from anything but unnecessary insults. If she has deceived me I want to find it out. If you are Philip Henley, as you claim to be, you must have evidence to prove it. Convince me that her assertions are false, and you will not find me unreasonable."

"Gordon Craig, do you mean—"

I turned to her, steeling myself to look into her appealing eyes.

"I have been honest with you from the beginning," I Interrupted abruptly. "Now, if I discover that your statements are false, the inducements are all the other way. I am a soldier of fortune."



CHAPTER XXIII

THE SECRET OF THE VOYAGE

Henley laughed, the sound grating harshly on my nerves, yet I made no movement of protest as he stepped silently back to his desk. I was no longer afraid of the fellow, even although he might have a weapon concealed in one of the drawers, for I knew I had drawn his fangs. This open avowal on my part was sufficient to convince one of his stripe that I was concerned only with my own interests. Whatever suspicion he may have previously entertained regarding my relations with the lady were now thoroughly evaporated. Assured in his own mind that Philip had never been married, he was now easily convinced that I had merely associated myself with a girl from the streets, whom I was only too glad to desert upon any plausible excuse. His words confirmed my judgment.

"Well said, my man. Now we begin to understand each other. Of course I have the proofs. I would be a fool to sit in such a game without a winning hand. Sit down, both of you, while we talk this over. There is no reason why the three of us should not be friends, providing you are sensible."

She had never removed her gaze from me, standing white-faced and rigid, as though unable to fully comprehend. I doubt if she heard, to distinguish, a syllable he spoke, her every thought centered on my renunciation.

"But—but I am his wife," she panted indignantly. "Philip Henley's wife. I—I showed you our certificate."

"A fake, a forgery," asserted the other roughly, before I could find voice. "You had it framed up all right, if you had never run across me. Show me the paper."

"I cannot, for it is not here. I placed it in my valise back at that house." She stepped forward with hands held out toward me. "But you know—Gordon Craig, you know. I could not have forged that; I had not time; no information which would have led to such an act. You tell him so."

"I hardly think he will, Madam," returned the Captain shortly, evidently feeling it better not to let me speak. "And there is no use going on with this any farther. Answer me a question or two, that is all. Did n't Craig tell you why he was coming down here?"

"Yes," the single word scarcely audible.

"He explained to you in detail what was expected of him?"

"Yes."

"Some hours before you left, was n't it?"

"Yes."

"Then you had sufficient time, and knowledge to complete your plans. When did you first tell Craig you were Philip Henley's wife?"

I clinched my hands at the bewildered embarrassment in her eyes, at the sneer in the voice of the questioner, yet held myself silent.

"It was after we came here; when I was frightened, and felt that I must confess the truth. I—I had begun to trust him."

"Oh, indeed, and you failed to tell him at first because you did not trust him."

"Partially that—yes. Although I do not think the name Henley was even mentioned during our first interview. I am sure I did not realize it was my husband's father who was dead until later."

"Exactly; you picked up a strange man on the street; agreed to go off on a criminal mission with him, and now expect us to believe you perfectly innocent of any wrong intent."

"That will be enough," I interrupted, unable to remain quiet any longer. "The motives of the woman, and how we chanced to meet, are no concern of yours. If you are Philip Henley, prove it, and let it go at that. I have told you plainly enough where I stand."

He gazed with black eyes narrowed into slits at the two of us, too pleased with himself to doubt his success. The sarcastic smile curling his lips caused me to swear under my breath, but I had gone too far now to retreat.

"Just as you say, Craig," affecting an easy good nature. "That is perfectly agreeable to me. However, as it makes no difference what the late Mrs. Henley thinks, we will dismiss her from the case, and settle the affair quietly between ourselves. I 've got a proposition which will interest you." He touched a button, and I heard the sharp tingle of a bell outside. Almost instantly the door in the cabin opened. "That you, Peters? Conduct the woman back to her stateroom, lock the door, and bring me the key."

He bent forward, searching for something in a pigeonhole to his right, and I caught her eyes, touching my lips with my fingers to signal silence, while an inclination of the head told her to go without resistance. The swift change of expression on her face proved her instant comprehension, as, without uttering a word of protest, she turned, and disappeared. Henley never glanced up from his work of selecting papers from a bundle under his hands, nor did I move, until after Peters returned with the key. Henley dropped it into his pocket.

"That will be all," he said; "you can go."

"You mean I am off duty, sir?"

"Certainly; you understand English, don't you? There will be no more guard work tonight."

As the door closed again behind Peters the fellow rose to his feet, and held out his hand. "You are the kind I like, Craig," he said cordially. "At first I had my doubts about you, and no doubt have been harsh. To be perfectly honest I thought you would be all right under ordinary circumstances, but was afraid the girl had a sentimental hold on you which would make you difficult to handle. Lord, she thought so too. Did you see her face when you first sided in with me? She wilted completely. Well, that will make the rest easy. Sit down again, and I will explain what I want you for."

I accepted the chair indicated, but was not yet altogether ready to hear his proposition.

"Just a moment," I said firmly. "I may be the man you want, and all that, but I have got to be convinced first that I am not making another mistake. I came down here originally believing myself an agent of justice, only to discover I had been duped. This time I insist on the truth. I may be a soldier of fortune, but I prefer choosing the side on which I fight."

"You mean you wish to assure yourself I have the right of it," he asked smilingly, "before you enlist? There is nothing unreasonable to that. Unfortunately, however," and he picked up the papers from the desk, "I can only furnish you corroborative proofs now. Still, I think these will be convincing. The legal papers, which absolutely establish my identity as Philip Henley, are in the hands of lawyers, who represent me at Carrollton. The case will not come up for adjudication for several weeks yet," speaking slowly, and with careful choice of words, "but my contention as heir to the property is thoroughly established. It had to be, for as you know the Judge's son had been away from this neighborhood for years, practically ever since boyhood. He was almost unknown to the local inhabitants, even to the servants. He was even reported as being dead. This state of affairs made identification the most important thing to be considered. Consequently all documents bearing directly on that point are, at present, out of my reach. You understand?"

"Yes; only you must have retained something to substantiate your word."

"Precisely. I was coming to that. I have letters from my father which should be sufficient. You have seen Judge Henley's writing?" and he handed me a half dozen missives. They were without envelopes, each beginning simply, "My Dear Son," relating principally to local conditions on the plantation, and occasionally expressing a desire for the wanderer to return, and assume the burden of management. Instead of names, initials were employed to designate individuals referred to, and it was evident the recipient had been addressed at various places. That they were in the crabbed and peculiar handwriting of the old Judge was beyond all question, and the dates covered several years. I read them through carefully, puzzled by their contents.

"There are no envelopes?"

"No; I never keep them—why?"

"Only that no name is mentioned; they begin all alike, 'My Dear Son.'"

"I never thought of that," he, admitted, simulating surprise, "but can supplement by showing you this picture, taken three years ago at Mobile. Of course you will recognize myself, but may never have seen a photograph of Judge Henley."

"I never have."

"Well, that is his likeness, and there are those on board who will identify it. Does this satisfy you that I am what I claim to be?"

In truth it did not, for I would have believed nothing in opposition to the positive statement of the woman that he was not Philip Henley. Her simple assertion weighed more with me than any proofs he might submit. Yet his coolness of demeanor, and the tone of the letters, evidently written in confidence from father to son, were unanswerable. Under other conditions—divorced from what I knew—they would be conclusive. Now I could only wonder at them, groping blindly for some solution. Were they really addressed to him, or had he stolen them? If the latter, then how had he succeeded in getting his picture on the same plate with Judge Henley's? And what were those other more important documents on which he rested his claim? These considerations flashed through my mind, yet I was sufficiently aroused to answer quickly, aware that even the slightest hesitancy might awaken suspicion.

"It would seem to be unanswerable," I replied, replacing letters and photograph on the desk. "What hurts my pride is to have been made such a fool of."

"That's nothing, Craig; we have all had that experience. You merely fell into the clutches of some shrewd men, and a designing woman. Fortunately you have discovered the truth before any great harm has been done, and I stand ready to give you a chance now on the winning side. I would rather have you with me than opposed, and there will be more money in it for us both. What do you say?"

"I should prefer to know more about your proposition."

"It has nothing whatever to do with the Henley matter," he exclaimed, leaning back in his chair, and surveying me shrewdly through his dark eyes. "That is practically settled already, so you will not be further involved with the girl."

"You would oblige me by leaving her name out of the discussion then," I interposed coldly. "Even her presence on board is distasteful under the circumstances."

He chuckled, well satisfied with his diplomacy.

"I understand that; however, we cannot obliterate her entirely. Pretty enough to be useful too, I imagine, if she can ever be brought to view this affair from the right angle. Could n't you be induced to attempt a little, missionary work? Love-making at sea is said to be especially pleasant."

I shook my head, gazing directly into his eyes, barely able to keep from throttling him.

"Drop it," I said sternly. "The girl is to be left alone if I have any part in your scheme. Now I want to know what is expected of me; may I ask questions?"

He lit another cigarette, calmly indifferent to all outward appearance.

"Certainly—fire away."

"Where are we bound?"

"Spanish Honduras," lazily, but spreading out a map, and tapping it with his finger. "Perto Cortez, if we can make that port safely; if not then somewhere along the coast between there and Trupillo. There will be signals."

I leaned forward, startled out of my self-restraint. "Honduras! Good Lord! what are you—a filibuster?"

"Hardly," with a short laugh. "That is too dangerous a job, and not money enough in it. I prefer to do my revoluting through others, and cop the swag. That is the safe end of the game. It happens to be Honduras just now; I have been equally interested in other downtrodden countries. In truth, friend, I am a patriot for revenue only."

"You mean you furnish arms?"

"For a suitable consideration—yes. In strict confidence I will state that securely packed away in the hold of the Sea Gull—largely in boxes labeled machinery—are twenty thousand rifles, six rapid-fire guns, and a sufficiency of ammunition for a small army. Once safely landed the profits of the voyage will total one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, gold. A rather tidy sum, hey?"

I grasped the idea swiftly enough, and it cleared up some of the shadow of mystery. But the situation was rendered no more pleasant for us.

"Then you are not sailing for New Orleans?"

"Not until my hold is empty. We cleared from there, light, three weeks ago."

"You mean to retain the lady on board?"

"Unless she prefers to jump overboard."

"And what have I to do with all this? You said you had use for me—what use?"



CHAPTER XXIV

I JOIN THE SEA GULL

I can see the fellow still, as he sat there smiling, his teeth revealed under his mustache, his eyes filled with cunning.

"You! why you chance to be the very sort of man I need. The devil could not have sent me a better," he said, with some enthusiasm. "You are an American soldier, the best-drilled men in the world for irregular service. You can understand that the longer I can keep those fellows down there fighting, the more I will sell. Good! that is part of my business. And the better they are drilled, the longer they will keep it up. That is what I want you for—to help make that mob of rags into an army. By God! you can do it, and I am willing to pay the price."

I got up, and walked across the cabin, apparently struggling with temptation, arguing the matter over with myself. In very truth, however, there was little choice. Either I must coincide with his desire, or be thrust helplessly back into my old quarters, under guard. There was no mercy, no weakness, behind the smile with which he watched me. The man was a tiger who would kill me with as little remorse as he would brush a mosquito from his cheek. If I yielded, if I exhibited a willingness to fit into his plans, well and good. But if I decided otherwise the jaws of the trap would close. I did not care so much for myself—it would be a pleasure to defy him—but the memory of the girl was vivid. What would happen to her, alone on this lawless ship, surrounded by the gang of wolves with which it was manned? The thought sickened me. Even already I had imagined a gleam of lust in the eyes of the fellow when he glanced covertly at her, and distrusted him as I would a snake. And he was owner and captain, his word on board the supreme law, even unto death. There was nothing left me but to agree to his proposition, and thus purchase freedom. Yet I must not appear too eager.

"I perceive your point," I said at last, facing him. "But what is there in it for me?"

"A good round sum," he replied. "More than you ever made before, I warrant, not excepting the promises made you in this Henley will case. We 'll talk the details over later."

"Who is responsible for my pay?"

"See here, Craig, the case stands like this. The revolutionists down there asked me to find them a competent drill-master, and they will pay royally. They 've got the money, too, scads of it. There will be no trouble on that score. Besides, I need a reliable man ashore to look after shipments. We have to land our goods in a hurry, you understand, at night, without checking up. I can afford to hand you something pretty nice on the side to assure myself a square deal. I had a fellow picked out for the berth—a retired German officer—-but he failed to show up when we sailed. Now I have run across you I am damned glad he did. You are more the style of man I want. Come, now, I don't believe you can afford to turn this offer down."

"It looks good," I confessed, but still hesitating. "Only I shall have to have it in writing, and more in detail."

"We'll talk that over in the morning; it's late now. Take the third stateroom starboard: it's all ready for you."

"Then I am no longer to consider myself a prisoner onboard?"

"Certainly not. Practically you are one of us."

"And I have the freedom of the deck?"

He smiled grimly, gazing intently at me.

"That is safe enough, I reckon, even if I questioned your interest in this adventure. There must be ten miles of water already between us and the coast. There are no limits on your liberty, but I would n't advise your going forward at present—not until the men understand the situation—they 're a hard lot."

"Revolutionists?"

"Hell, no; plain New Orleans wharf rats, the scouring of the Seven Seas."

"Who is first mate—the German?"

"Yes, Herman, a fine sailor; was with the Hamburg people until he had a wreck. The Creole Broussard is second, and the two of them together could tame a cargo of wild-cats. Is that all, Craig?"

"All at present."

"Good night then; think this over, and we 'll have another talk tomorrow. The third starboard stateroom is yours."

I took his hand, feeling the sinewy grip of his lean, brown fingers, and turned to the door, cursing myself under my breath for a weakling, and yet utterly unable to perceive how I could choose otherwise. The single lamp in the main cabin was turned low, only faintly illuminating the interior. In the quiet I could feel the movement of the vessel, and realized there was some sea on, although the engines were being operated only at half speed. This seemed odd, if speed was desirable, as I supposed it must be on a voyage of this nature. However that was none of my affair, and, heaven knows, I had enough to consider in my own situation. I was not in the least sleepy, and sank down in the first chair to think, my eyes on the Captain's door. But I was not disturbed. If this was my case exclusively I doubt if it would have greatly worried me. Indeed, I might have rejoiced over the outlook, welcoming the excitement, and rough experience promised in a new land. I possessed the adventurous spirit, and the position offered had its appeal. But the girl stood directly in the way. What Henley meant to do with her was problematical—I had not thought to ask—but he either intended putting her ashore in Honduras, or else holding her prisoner on board until the Sea Gull returned North. Either contingency was bad enough, and the suspicion flashed suddenly across me that the final decision would depend on how kindly she might receive the attentions of the Captain. Nor did I question the result. I had not known the lady long, but, in that brief time, our relations had been sufficiently intimate to yield me a good insight into her womanly character. There would be no yielding, no compromise. Neither threats nor promises would change her attitude in the least. Not only did she know the fellow to be a lying knave, but he was not of the sort to ever influence her in the slightest degree. I could imagine how she would look at him, with those searching eyes burning in indignation, and her instant squelching of his first protestations. There would be no need of my help to repel the insults of such a beast. But afterwards there would, for I realized also what he would become after such a repulse—a cold, sneering Nemesis, revengeful, ready to crush even a woman remorselessly. And he possessed the power, the means to make that revenge complete. I felt my teeth lock, my hands clinch in sudden anger. Perhaps I could accomplish little in her defense, but I intended to be free to do that little. Whatever fate might be in store for us, that sneering, olive-hued devil should receive his deserts if ever he attempted wrong to her. That had become the one purpose of my heart, for I realized here skulked the real danger, the deeper peril of our situation.

I may have remained there for a quarter of an hour, motionless, thinking over every incident, and reviewing carefully, and in detail, the various happenings which had led to our present condition. The only result was to enlist me yet more strongly to her service. Believing her statement I could see nothing in her conduct to criticize, and she appealed to me in all womanhood. I would be a dastard to doubt, or desert, her cause now, and the warm blood throbbed in my veins responsive to the memory of what had already been between us. No one disturbed me, the Captain was still in his stateroom, where, once or twice, I imagined I heard him pacing the floor. The steward had apparently retired for the night, although it was not late, as a glance at my watch proved. My eyes traced the doors on either side, ten altogether, each plainly numbered, and I opened the one assigned to me, and glanced within. Except that it was more commodious, and contained a washstand at one corner, it did not differ greatly from the other forward where I had been held prisoner.

I wondered which of these others might be hers, and passed silently from door to door, vaguely hoping for some sign of guidance. They were all tightly closed, and I dare not try the locks, as I was certain one, at least, of the under officers would be sleeping below. My round had brought me to the second door on the port side when, in the dim light, I perceived something lying at my feet, and stooped down to better determine its character. It was the end of a very narrow light blue ribbon, apparently caught beneath the door. Assured that she was the only one of her sex aboard, I drew the strip forth, fondled it, imagined I had seen it before, struggling with a desire to make myself known. The door before which I hesitated was numbered "5." Whether by accident, or design, she had left the one clew I most needed. Indeed, at the moment, I believed the ribbon had been purposely dropped. That last meeting of our eyes had reassured her of my loyalty; with the quick intuition of a woman she had comprehended the truth, and this ribbon, apparently carelessly dropped, was for my guidance. I thrust it into my pocket, but the soft touch of the silk seemed to bring back to me a sense of caution. I knew the door was locked, and assured myself there was no space beneath. If I was to communicate with her, other means must be employed. What? This was the second stateroom on the port side. Judging from my own, the width of each room would be about six feet. There ought to be no difficulty in locating her porthole from the deck above, nor in attracting her attention.

The one thing I desired now was to reestablish myself fully in her confidence, assure her I was at liberty on board, able and willing to be of service. This necessity overshadowed all else. If I could discover means of communication we could plan hopefully, assured of cooperation. And this seemed possible, the way to its accomplishment open. Shadowed from observation by the thick butt of the after-mast, I wrote a few lines hastily on the back of an envelope, thrust it into my pocket, and ventured up the companion stairs. Reaching the top, and stealing to one side out of the dim range light, I took hasty survey of the deck. It was a dark night, although a few stars were visible, and the Sea Gull was steaming slowly through a fairly rough sea, pounding against her port quarter. Little twinkles of light were visible off the port side, so numerous as to make me suspicion land, while a narrow strip of moon, barely exposed beneath an edge of cloud, convinced me our course was almost directly east. This was strange if the boat's destination was Spanish Honduras, and the Captain was, as he contended, desirous of making a swift passage. I recall this flash of thought, yet my attention almost instantly reverted elsewhere. The closer we hugged the shore the greater the opportunity for escape, the more vital the necessity of immediately establishing communication with the fair prisoner below.

A glance sufficed to convince that I was alone, and unobserved. The deck was unobstructed aft, except for a small boat swung to davits astern, and the cabin transoms. These last were elevated some three feet, but considerable space separated from the rail. I slipped into this opening on the port side, crouching in the dense shadow, until again assured I was alone. My position afforded as good a view forward as the darkness would permit, and likewise enabled me to see into the dimly lit cabin below. The fact that Henley—for whatever his name might be, this was the one to which he laid claim—had not left his stateroom, or made any effort to observe my movements, was a decided encouragement. Beyond all question he believed me safely in his grasp, and his promise of liberty on board was being substantiated. I was not to be watched, or spied upon. For the first time I began to feel a true sense of freedom.