Castle Craneycrow

  XXVIII. THE GAME OF THE PRIEST

  When Turk pitched over the crouching form of the priest and into thedark chasm beyond Dorothy for the first time began to appreciate thecharacter of her cowled rescuer. Panting and terrified, she lookedinto his hideously exultant face as he rose and peered over theledge after the luckless pursuer. It was not the face of a holy manof God, but that of a creature who could laugh in the taking of ahuman life.

  "Come on!" he cried, grasping her by the wrist with no gentleregard. "He's out of the way, but we have no time to lose. Theothers may miss you at any moment, and we must be in the wood if wehope to fool them."

  "I have changed my mind--" she began, holding back as he dragged herafter him down the slope.

  "It is too late," he said, harshly. "You will soon be with yourfriends, my child. Do not lose heart, but trust to me."

  "Who are you? You are not a priest. Why have you disguisedyourself--"

  "Not so loud, my child, not so loud! They may have guards even here.If I am not a priest, then may heaven shut its gates on me forever.Because I am a man and have undone one of your enemies, you shouldnot question my calling. It is no time for prayer. When we are safefrom pursuit, you will regret the doubt you have just expressed.Trust to me, my child. But run, for God's sake, run! Don't hang backwhen all depends on our speed in the next half-hour."

  "Where are you taking me? Answer, or I shall refuse to go anotherstep with you!" she exclaimed, now thoroughly aroused anddetermined.

  "My wagon is hitched in the wood over there. In it we will go to atown up the valley, where I have the promise of help. I could havebrought a big force of men with me, but don't you see what a mistakeit would have been? Rather than surrender you to a force they wouldhave killed you and secreted your body in the passages under thecastle. It is commonly known that the cellars are paved withskeletons." Here Dorothy shuddered in recollection. "Strategy wasthe only means of getting you out safely."

  "They would not have killed me," she cried, breathlessly. They weremoving rapidly along the level roadway now, and his grip on herwrist was like a clasp of iron.

  "To save themselves? Of course, they would--as they would a dog!" hesaid.

  "They are my friends, and they are the best, the truest in theworld," she gasped, eager to keep the promise of protection made inthe farewell note.

  "You think they are, madam, but how could they treat you as theyhave if they are friends?" He had turned into the wood, and it wasnecessary to proceed more cautiously on account of the darkness. Sherealized that she had erred in saying they were friends, and turnedcold with apprehension.

  "I mean, they treated me well--for criminals," she managed to say.

  "Criminals!" he snarled. "Bah! Of course they are criminals of theworst kind, but they will never be punished."

  "I'm afraid they are so clever that no one will ever find out whothey really are."

  He stopped with a lurch, and she could feel that he was looking ather in amazement.

  "I know who they are, and you know them, too," he said, slowly."Perhaps nobody else knows, but we know that my Lord and LadySaxondale and the two Americans were your abductors. The man Idumped into the ravine was that little villain Turk."

  Her heart almost stopped beating with the shock of knowing thatnothing could now shield her captors from exposure.

  "But--but it will be very hard to prove," she said, hoarsely, almostdefiantly.

  "You have only to take oath," he said, meaningly.

  "I don't know the name or face of a person in that castle," shesaid, deliberately. He was silent for a full minute.

  "You intend to shield them?" he demanded. There was no answer to thequestion. Now she was positive that the man was no priest, but someone who knew the world and who had made it his business to trace herand her captors to the very gates of the castle. If he knew, thenothers must also be in possession of the secret.

  "Who are you?" she demanded, as he drew her deeper into the wood.There was now the wild desire to escape from her rescuer and to flyback to the kindly jailers on the hill.

  "A poor priest, by the grace of God," he said, and she heard himchuckle.

  "Take me back to the road, sir!" she commanded.

  "I will take you to your mother," he said, "and to no one else."

  "But I am afraid of you," she exclaimed, her courage going. "I don'tknow you--I don't know where you are taking me."

  "We will not go far to-night. I know a place where you can hideuntil I secure help from the city."

  "But you said you had a wagon."

  "The horse must have strayed away, worse luck!" said he, with araucous laugh.

  She broke from his grasp suddenly, and like a frightened deer wasoff through the darkness knowing not whither she went or what momentshe might crash against a tree. The flight was a short one. Sheheard him curse savagely as he leaped upon her from behind after achase of a few rods, and then she swooned dead away.

  When she regained consciousness a faint glow of light met her eyesas the lids feebly lifted themselves from their torpor. Graduallythere came to her nostrils a dank, musty odor and then the smell oftobacco smoke. She was lying on her back, and her eyes at last beganto take in broad rafters and cobwebby timbers not far above herhead. The light was so dim that shadows and not real objects seemedto constitute the surroundings. Then there grew the certainty thatshe was not alone in this dismal place. Turning her head slightly,she was able, with some effort, to distinguish the figure of a manseated on the opposite side of the low, square room, his backagainst the wall, his legs outstretched. At his elbow, on a box,burned a candle, flickering and feeble in its worthlessness. He wassmoking a pipe, and there was about him an air of contentment andsecurity.

  Slowly past events crowded themselves into the path of memory, andher brain took them up as if they were parts of a dream. For manyminutes she was perfectly quiet, dumbly contemplating the strangerwho sat guard over her in that wretched place. In her mind there wasquickly developed, as one brings the picture from the film of anegative the truth of the situation. She had escaped from one set ofcaptors only to give herself into the clutches of others a thousandtimes more detestable, infinitely more evil-hearted.

  "You've come back to life, have you?"

  She started violently and shivered as with a mighty chill at thesound of these words. They came from the slouching smoker.

  "Where am I?" she cried, sitting up, a dizzy whirling in her head.Her bed was no more than a heavy piece of old carpet.

  "In the house of your friends," laconically responded the voice, nowquite familiar. Her eyes swept the room in search of the priest. Hisrobes lay in a heap across her feet. "Where is Father Paul?" shedemanded. "He is no more," said the man, in sombre tones. "I was heuntil an hour ago."

  "And you are no priest? Ah, God help me, what have I done? What haveI come to in my miserable folly?" she cried, covering her face withher hands.

  "Look here, Miss Garrison," said the man, quietly. "I am no priest,but you have nothing to fear because of that fact. The truth is, Iam a detective. For a month I was in the employ of Prince Ravorelli,and it was no honest business, I can tell you. What I have doneto-night is straight and honest. I mean you no harm, and you havebut to follow my instructions in order to find yourself safe inBrussels once more. I have been interested in a number of queertransactions but let me say this in my own defence: I was neveremployed in any game so detestable, so low, as the one your nobleprince was playing when you were snatched away from him. The onlyregret I have in taking you back to your mother comes from the fearthat you may go ahead and marry that knave."

  Dorothy was listening, with wide eyes and bated breath, to the wordsof the lounging smoker.

  "I will never, never marry him," she cried, vehemently.

  "Stick to that resolve, my child," said Courant, with mockbenevolence. "He is a scoundrel, and I cut loose from him to do thislittle job down here on my own responsibility."

  "Tell me, if you know, did he plan
to kill Mr. Quentin? I must havethe truth," she cried, eagerly.

  "He did worse than that. He made the attempt, or rather his agentsdid. You see, Quentin was a dangerous rival because he knew toomuch."

  "I don't understand."

  "Well, he knew all about the prince when he was with the operacompany in Brazil. I can't tell you much about it, but there was amurder committed over there and your prince was believed to beguilty. A woman was killed, I believe. Quentin knew all about it, itseems."

  "And never told me?" she cried.

  "He was not positive, I suppose. There was the danger of beingmistaken, and this American friend of yours seems honest. He onlytold you what he knew to be a fact, I conclude."

  "Yesterday I heard that a woman had been murdered in Brussels, awoman who came to warn me against the prince. Do you know who killedher?"

  "Good God! Has she been killed? Ah, I knew it would come; he wasobliged to get rid of her. I did not know of her death, but I leaveyou to guess who was responsible for it. God, he is a devil! You owea great deal, Mademoiselle, to the clever men who stole you fromhim."

  "Alas, I am beginning to know it, now that it is too late. And hewas ill when I stole away to-night. I implore you, take me back tothe castle!" she pleaded, her heart wrung by the anguish in hersoul.

  "So he is in the castle, eh? Just as I thought. I'd like to take youto him, especially as he is ill, but I must take care of number one.When I dropped out of one villain's employment I went into businessfor myself. You see, there is about 100,000 francs reward for you,and there is the same for the bodies of the abductors. If I turn youover to your mother or her agents--not the prince, by the way--Iearn the reward. If I can procure the arrest of your abductors I getdouble the amount. You see how unbusiness-like it would be if I wereto let my sympathies get the better of me."

  "But I will give you 100,000 francs if you will take me back to thecastle," she cried, standing before him.

  "Have you the money with you?"

  "Of course I have not, but it shall be yours as soon as I can--"

  "Pardon. You are worth nothing to me in that castle, and you willbring a fortune in Brussels."

  In vain she pleaded with the stubborn detective, finally threateninghim with dire punishment if he refused to accede to her demands.Then he arose in sudden wrath, cursing her roundly and vowing sheshould not leave the room alive if she persisted in such threats. Hetold her that she was in a cave beneath the ruins of an old church,long the haunt of robbers, now the home of snakes and bats. Indeed,as he spoke a flittermouse scurried through the air within a foot ofher ear.

  "We rest here until to-morrow night, and then we start out to walk.You cannot be seen in that dress, either. I have clothing here inthis box for you to wear. My dear young lady, you must make believethat you are my younger brother for a day or two, at least."

  A look of horror came into her face, succeeded by the deep red ofinsulted modesty, and then the white of indignation.

  "I will die first, you wretch!" she exclaimed. In that moment shebelieved she could have killed the smiling rogue with her own hands.

  "We shall see," he said, roughly. "Look at them; they arerespectable in cut and they are clean." He drew the garments fromthe box, piece by piece, and held them before her flaming face. "I'mgoing out to take a look about the valley. You are quite safe here.No one knows where you are, and the robbers have been dead fortwenty years. One of them still has his skeleton in the room justoff this one, but he is a harmless old fellow. In an hour I willreturn, and we will eat. It is now three o'clock, and the sun willsoon be rising. To-night we venture forth as brothers, remember."

  He pulled his cap down over his eyes, buttoned his coat about histhroat, changed a revolver from one pocket to another, anddeliberately stalked across the room to the narrow door. An instantlater she heard the key rasp in the lock and she was alone.

  "Oh, heaven, if Philip Quentin could see me now! If he could buthear my sobs and see my tears! How he would rejoice, how he wouldlaugh, how he would pity me. This is your triumph, Philip Quentin,but you are not here to claim the wretched victory. Fool! Fool!Fool!"

  She had thrown herself face downward on the patch of carpet and waswrithing in the agony of fear and regret. Suddenly there came to herears the distant report of a firearm, the rush of feet and thensomething heavy crashed against the little door. She was on her feetin an instant, cowering in the far corner of the room, her faceamong the cobwebs. Panic seized her, and she screamed aloud in herterror. Outside the door there were sounds of a savage struggle, butthey rapidly became indistinct, and finally passed beyond hearingaltogether. She ran to the door and pounded on it with hands thatknew not the bruises they were acquiring, and she moaned in the fearthat the rescuers, for such they surely must be, were leaving herbehind.

  "Phil! Phil!" she cried again and again. But there suddenly came toher a terrifying thought, and she fell back, cold and voiceless.Ugo! What if he had at last run the treacherous Courant to earth?What if the rescuer were he?

  She slunk away from the door, the dampness of dread sending a chillto her heart. And when again the rush of footsteps brought a heavybody against the door, she had not the voice to cry out, so sure wasshe that Ugo Ravorelli was coming to her in that dismal hole.

  Then the door gave way, and Philip Quentin came plunging into theroom, hatless, coatless, his shirt in shreds. The mighty draft ofair from the open door killed the sickly candle-flame, but notbefore they had seen each other. For the second time that night shelost consciousness.

  At the bottom of a deep ravine lay the body of Courant. He had fledfrom before the two adversaries after a vain attempt to reenter theroom below the church and had blindly dashed over the cliff. Turk,with more charity than Courant had shown not many hours before,climbed down the dangerous steep, and, in horror, touched hisquivering hand. Then came the last gasp.