Cursed be the treasure
I feel towards the world that when I plunged into the darkness of the
night which had caught me unawares I tossed a silver coin to a whining
beggar-woman who was crouching at the tavern door. My generosity seemed
to overwhelm her, for she clutched my hand and kissed it fervently,
and then opening my palm wide to the light of the flaring lamp in the
porch she rattled off into a long list of blessings that awaited me on
my journey through life. But I was in a hurry, for I had overstayed
my time. I wrenched my hand free, for she was gripping it tightly
and studying it intently. As I broke from her I thought she glanced
keenly at me as though there were some fate in store for me which she
didn't care to foretell. But I thought nothing of it and sped on my
way, repeating over and over the address Picardino had given me, and
fingering Jenny's coin beneath my jacket.
I threaded my way through the twisting streets, hardly knowing where
I was wandering. Something of that strange elation I had felt when
waiting for my father seemed to possess my spirit. A wonderful sense of
uplifting lightness buoyed me on and wafted me forward. I was going to
meet my Jenny!
I came out upon the shore, and for a moment gazed to right and left to
take my bearings. But just as I identified the brig _Revenge_ lying
out white and ghostly on the dark waters, I felt a numbing blow at my
head. I didn't altogether lose my senses. I realized I was being bound,
that a great cloth lay tight over my face. But I couldn't summon any
strength to resist my captor. I was hauled away by the shoulders, my
legs trailing in the sand, and soon I found myself being lifted on
board a little rowing-boat where a second figure helped to secure me in
the stern. There I sat trussed up and helpless while the boat was rowed
out into the bay.
CHAPTER XXVI
A STORY UNDER THE STARS
At first I thought I was merely the victim of some common cutthroats
who were after my money. It wasn't a pleasing thought. I felt indignant
rather than afraid; for after the adventures I had passed through it
seemed too stupid to die at the hands of vulgar robbers. And something
of my old outcry against fate rose to my heart.
However, I was soon undeceived. When we had rowed out some way my
captors dropped anchor, and the boat lay idly rising and falling on
the gentle heave of the waters. For some minutes there was a whispered
consultation between the two men, while I had leisure mazedly to admire
the dancing brilliance of the stars high up in the black pool of the
sky; and then with reviving clearness of mind as the effects of the
blow passed off, leaving only a throbbing pain at my head, I turned
my eyes to the men and took stock of the couple. One was a little
fellow; the other though not large was bigger than his companion. They
both wore masks, and in the darkness of the night it was impossible
to distinguish anything of their features. I thought too they could
distinguish little of mine, for the gag over my mouth reached below my
chin and almost up to my eyes, just allowing me to see.
Presently the larger of the two reached forward to me, and seizing my
right hand forced it open; then holding it to the light of a little
lantern that stood in the bottom of the boat he beckoned to the other
fellow and pointed to my palm.
It was then that I realized that this was no mere robbery. For it was
the two ragged scars of the jetty nails that they were so carefully
examining. The little fellow nodded. They trussed me up again with my
hands behind me, and slipped back to their places, sitting side by side
on a thwart facing me. For a while there was silence.
I felt quite easy in mind now, for I knew I had been captured by
mistake. Somehow I had been arrested for my father's murderer. I
thought that the worst that could come of it would be a waste of time;
for sooner or later they were bound to find out who I really was.
I made one desperate struggle to force a cry through my gag, and I
strained violently at my bonds; but it was unavailing. I knew I should
have to wait till the gag was removed, and then I could rectify the
error. Meanwhile I sat quietly, trying to possess my soul in patience.
The bigger man leant forward, and seemed by his attitude to be steadily
gazing at me through his mask. Something in the way in which he turned
his face to me, though I could only see the lower half of it, sent my
mind back to the old beggar-woman who had tried to tell my fortune at
the tavern porch. Then the man began to speak. And though now he spoke
in a clear and precise English, whereas the old woman had gabbled in
a sort of nasal Italian, yet there was something in the pitch and
intonation of the voice which confirmed my surmise. This was none other
than the old beggar-woman herself. Now, of course, it was clear how the
mistake had arisen, especially as the porch had only been dimly lit by
the swinging lamp, and my face was tanned out of recognition by the
southern sun. But it still seemed a strange coincidence that I should
have stumbled right into the trap that had evidently been laid for
another.
"I am going to tell you a story," he said.
I didn't think he would be able to tell me anything I didn't already
know; but there was nothing for it but to sit still and listen, though
I wished mightily he would ungag me and let me reveal my identity; for
it was clear that all this while the real murderer was gaining precious
time.
But the next words sent my mind spinning in a vortex of alarming doubt.
"There were three brothers," the clear voice continued. "The eldest we
will call"--he repeated with emphasis--"we will _call_--Captain Field."
There was a pause; I supposed for the significance of the words to sink
into my mind.
"You see," continued the man, "I intend to convince you that I know
the meaning of those marks upon your hand, and that if you still
have any love for your own skin you will put yourself at my service.
And remember, though walls have ears, the waves have none. We are as
private here as in the grave. However, the story will speak for itself.
We will begin with Captain Field."
I was all attention, straining to sift his words and catch the
underlying significance of it all.
He went on: "There is a certain haunted house on the northern moors
that you and I know well. It was there that the Captain," he stressed
the title with a slight sneer, "first discovered the manuscript which
told of the winning and burying of the accursed treasure. That part of
the story I needn't relate. For proof that I know it, if that is of any
consequence, here is the document itself."
He held out his hand to the little fellow beside him who brought the
document out from under his cloak and gave it to him. He laid it out
before me, slowly turning the pages so that I might satisfy myself that
it was the genuine thing. As I stretched at my bonds to gaze at it I
knew that the horrible doubt that had seized me at the mention of the
Captain's name was the very truth: it was my father's murderer who had
stolen the manuscript that lay before me, and it must be my father's
murderer who now sat facing me telling me this story. So I hadn't been
captured by mistake. Rather the sign that was to have betrayed my enemy
had betrayed me instead. I wondered what the condition would be which
was to save me from these men. I listened with all my attention, hoping
I might discover some missing link in the narrative which would give
me the advantage of them; for I surmised there must be something they
wanted to know which only I could tell. If I were clever enough to find
the weak point in their information I might foil them yet.
The man continued: "You are satisfied, I presume, that this is the
real article. How it has come into my hands you needn't seek to
enquire." I thought I knew that well enough without pondering the
matter. "I say the Captain found this at the haunted house. Where he
found it you probably know. In a certain dark passage of which you
are well aware there is a skeleton chained to a niche in the wall.
How it came there is interesting enough in its way, but here the tale
would be irrelevant. But when the Captain bought the house many years
ago, _bought_ it, you understand, though it seems he prefers to play
the rôle of tenant rather than owner"--that was information to me,
and I busily meditated it while still alertly listening--"when the
Captain bought the house and accidentally discovered the passage I
have mentioned, he found the document here hung about the neck of the
unfortunate man whose bones only remained to tell of the agonies he
had suffered. The Captain was interested in the document. But, when he
first read it and learnt of the treasure which seemed to have borne
such evil fruit as it were before his very eyes, his first thought was
to destroy the thing. Why his intention altered we needn't enquire.
Suffice it to say he took counsel with his two younger brothers, and
they decided to search for the buried gold."
He took breath, and resumed: "A ship was purchased, a crew enrolled,
and the search began. It was successful. Then what happened we needn't
follow in detail. It may be that the treasure was really accursed. Of
the band of twenty who looked upon it and handled it, actually winning
for themselves a fortune to satisfy the avarice of the most grasping,
only three survived. One was the Captain, one his servant, a boy of
seventeen at the time; a foreign boy who loved the Captain as his own
father, and would have shed his last drop of blood, as the saying
is, to serve him." Here the man's voice became unusually impressive
as though wishing to drive his point home. As for me, I knew he was
speaking of Abou. "And the third was the Captain's youngest brother."
He paused and added, "His favourite brother," and continued, "Whether
there had been a quarrel or not we won't seek to enquire. It is enough
to say that the brother escaped with a fatal wound in the neck, but
carrying with him this manuscript." He tapped it with his finger. "He
had been stabbed; and as I say the wound was fatal. But before he died
he succeeded in swimming to land and hiding in a cave, where he was
found by a young lad who tried to staunch his wound, and would have
taken him to shelter. But he died where he lay, having first given the
document to the boy, telling him to preserve it as he valued riches and
happiness.
"What happened to the dead man doesn't concern us. The boy took the
document and learnt its secret. He became a man, and in his turn made
search for the gold. His name, we will say, was Playden--Walter Noel
Playden, to be exact."
Here there was a pause while the eyes of both men seemed fixed on me
in keen scrutiny. For my part I had already summed up the situation
and could have finished the story for them. I had been watching the
smaller of the two, though listening to the other; for there seemed to
me something familiar in the curl of his lips. I tried to connect them
in my mind with the memories I had of the face of my father's murderer,
but wasn't altogether successful. Yet I thought the resemblance was
strong enough, seeing I had never had a clear view of the fellow. I had
only seen him by the leaping firelight, again in the dim glimmer of
the moon, and lastly with my senses failing when he had struck me by
the jetty. And now there were only the stars, the lights from the town
across the water, and the lantern in the boat, to discover him to me;
and even so only the lower part of his face was visible.
The thought in my mind was that this was Bite-in-the-Dark, and the
larger man who seemed to have the matter in hand was Shadow-of-Fear
himself.
He resumed in a lower and more impressive voice: