The Strange Case of Cavendish

  CHAPTER XXVI: THE REAPPEARANCE OF CAVENDISH

  As her eyes became more accustomed to the light she saw that thestranger was a man of approximately thirty, of good robust health. Hishair was sandy of colour and thin, and his beard, which was of the samehue, had evidently gone untrimmed for days, perhaps weeks; yet for allof his unkempt appearance, for all the strangeness of his presencethere, he was a gentleman, that was plain. And as she scrutinised himMiss Donovan thought she beheld a mild similarity in the contour of theman's head, the shape of his face, the lines of his body, to the manwhom, several weeks before, she had seen lying dead upon the floor ofhis rooms in the Waldron apartments.

  Could this be Frederick Cavendish? By all that had gone before, heshould be; but the longer she looked at him the less certain she was ofthe correctness of this surmise. Of course the face of the man in theWaldron apartments had been singed by fire so that it was virtuallyunrecognisable, thus making comparisons in the present instancedifficult. At any rate, she dismissed the speculation temporarily fromher mind, and resolved to divulge nothing for the time, but merely todraw the man out. Her thoughts, rapid as they had been, wereinterrupted by the fellow's sudden exclamation.

  "My God!" he cried in a high voice, "I--I thought I was seeing things.You are really a woman--and alive?"

  Miss Donovan hesitated a moment before she answered, wondering whetherto tell him of her narrow escape. This she decided to do.

  "Alive, but only by luck," she said in a friendly voice, and thenrecounted the insults of Cateras, her struggle with him, and capture ofhis cartridge belt and revolver, and how finally she had left him boundand gagged in the adjoining cell. The man listened attentively, thoughhis mind seemed slow to grasp details.

  "But," he insisted, unable to clear his brain, "why are you here?Surely you are not one of this gang of outlaws?"

  "I am inclined to think," she answered soberly, "that much the samecause must account for the presence of both of us. I am a prisoner.That is true of you also, is it not?"

  "Yes," his voice lowered almost to a whisper. "But do not speak soloud, please; there is an opening above the door, so voices can beheard by any guard in the corridor. I--I am a prisoner, although I donot in the least know why. When did you come?"

  "Not more than two hours ago. Two men brought me across the desertfrom Haskell."

  "I do not know how I came. I was unconscious until I woke up in thatcell. I was on the platform of an observation car the last Iremember," his utterance slow, as though his mind struggled with avague memory, "talking with a gentleman whom I had met on the train.There--there must have been an accident, I think, for I never knewanything more until I woke up here."

  "Do you know how long ago that was?"

  He shook his head.

  "It was a long while. There has been no light, so I could not countthe days, but, if they have fed me twice every twenty-hours, it iscertainly a month since I came."

  "A month! Do you recall the name of the man you were conversing withon the observation car?"

  He pressed his hand against his forehead, a wrinkle appearing straightbetween his eyes.

  "I've tried to remember that," he admitted regretfully, "but it doesn'tquite come to me."

  "Was it Beaton?"

  "Yes. Why, how strange! Of course, he was Edward Beaton, of New York.He told me he was a broker. Why, how did you know?"

  She hesitated for an instant, uncertain just how far it was best toconfide in him. Unquestionably, the man's mind was not entirely clear,and he might say and do things to the injury of them both if he oncebecame aware of the whole truth. Besides, the meeting him there alivewas in itself a shock. She had firmly believed him dead--murdered inNew York. No, she would keep that part of the story to herself for thepresent; let it be told to him later by others.

  "It is not so strange," she said at last, "for your disappearance isindirectly the occasion of my being here also. I believe I can evencall you by name. You are Mr. Cavendish?"

  "Yes," he admitted, his hands gripping the back of the bench nervously,his eyes filled with amazement "But--but I do not know you."

  "For the best of reasons," she answered smilingly, advancing andextending her hand--"because we have never met before. Howevermysterious all this must seem to you, Mr. Cavendish, it is extremelysimple when explained. I am Stella Donovan, a newspaperwoman. Yourstrange disappearance about a month ago aroused considerable interest,and I chanced to be detailed on the case. My investigations led me tovisit Haskell, where unfortunately my mission became known to those whowere responsible for your imprisonment here. So, to keep me quiet, Iwas also abducted and brought to this place."

  "You--you mean it was not an accident--that I was brought herepurposely?"

  "Exactly; you were trailed from New York by a gang of thieves havingconfederates in this country. I am unable to give you all the details;but this man Beaton, whom you met on the train, is a notorious gunmanand gambler. His being on the same train with you was a part of awell-laid plan, and I have no doubt but what he deliberately sluggedyou while you two were alone on the observation platform. As Iunderstand, that is exactly his line of work."

  "But--but," he stammered, "what was his object? Why did those peoplescheme to get me?"

  "Why! Money, no doubt; you are wealthy, are you not?"

  "Yes, to an extent. I inherited property, but I had no considerablesum with me that day; not more than a few hundred dollars."

  "As I told you, Mr. Cavendish, I do not know all the details, but Ithink these men--one of whom is a lawyer--planned to gain possession ofyour fortune, possibly by means of a forged will; and, in order toaccomplish this, it was necessary to get you out of the way. It looksas though they were afraid to resort to actual murder, but ready enoughto take any other desperate chance. Do you see what I mean?"

  "They will rob me! While holding me here a prisoner they proposerobbing me through the courts?"

  "That is undoubtedly their object, but, I happen to know, it has notyet been fully accomplished. If either of us can make escape from thisplace we shall be in time to foil them completely."

  "But how," he questioned, still confused and with only the one thoughtdominating his mind, "could they hope to obtain possession of myfortune unless I was dead?"

  "They are prepared to prove you dead. I believed so myself. The onlyway to convince the courts otherwise will be your appearance in person.After they once get full possession of the money they do not care whatbecomes of you. Living or dead, you can never get it back again."

  He sank down on the bench and buried his face in his hands, thoroughlyunnerved. The girl looked at him a moment in silence, then touched hisshoulder.

  "Look here, Mr. Cavendish," she said firmly, "there is no use losingyour nerve. Surely there must be some way of getting out of here. Forone, I am going to try."

  He looked up at her, but with no gleam of hope in his eyes.

  "I have tried," he replied despondently, "but it is no use. We areburied alive."

  "Yet there must be ways out," she insisted. "The air in that passagewas perfectly pure; do you know anything about it?"

  "Yes; it leads to the top of the cliff, up a steep flight of steps.But it is impossible to reach the passage, and since these Mexicanscame I have reason to believe they keep a guard."

  "They were not here, then, at first?"

  "Only for a few days; before that two rough-looking fellows, butAmericans, were all I saw. Now they have gone, and Mexicans have takentheir places--they are worse than the others. Do you know what itmeans?"

  "Only partially. I have overheard some talk. It seems this is arendezvous for a band of outlaws headed by one known as Pasqual Mendez.I have not seen their leader; but his lieutenant had charge of me."

  "Miss Donovan," he said with gravity, "we are in the hands of desperatemen. We will have to take desperate measures to outwit them, and wewill have to make desperate breaks to obtain our freedom."


  The girl nodded.

  "Mr. Cavendish," she said with womanly courage, "you will not find mewanting. I am ready for anything, even shooting. I do hope you're agood shot."

  Cavendish smiled.

  "I have had some experience," he said.

  "Then," the girl added, "you had better take the revolver. I neverfired one except on the Fourth of July, and I would not want to trustto my marksmanship in a pinch. Not that we will meet any suchsituation, Mr. Cavendish--I hope we do not--but in case we do I want todepend upon you."

  "I am glad you said that, Miss Donovan; it gives me courage."

  The girl handed the revolver over to him without a word and then heldout the cartridge belt. He snapped open the weapon to assure himselfit was loaded and then ran his fingers over the belt pockets.

  "Thirty-six rounds," adjusting the belt to his waist; "that ought topromise a good fight. Do you feel confidence in me again?"

  "Yes," she answered, her eyes lifting to meet his. "I trust you."

  "Good. I am not a very desperate character, but will do the best Ican. Shall we try the passage?"

  "Yes. It is the only hope."

  "All right then; I'll go first, and you follow as close as possible.There mustn't be the slightest sound made."

  Cavendish thrust his head cautiously through the door, the revolvergripped in his hand; Miss Donovan, struggling to keep her nervessteady, touched the coat of her companion, fearful of being alone. Thepassage-way was dark, except for the little bars of light streaming outthrough the slits in the stone above the cell doors. These, however,were sufficient to convince Cavendish that no guards were in theimmediate neighbourhood. He felt the grip of the girl's fingers on hiscoat, and reached back to clasp her hand.

  "All clear," he whispered. "Hurry, and let's get this door closed."

  They slipped through, crouching in the shadow as the door shut behindthem, eagerly seeking to pierce the mystery of the gloom into which thenarrow corridor vanished. Beyond the two cells and their dim rays allwas black silence, yet both felt a strange relief at escaping from theconfines of their prison. The open passage was cool, and the fugitivesfelt fresh air upon their cheeks; nowhere did any sound break thesilence. Stella had a feeling as though they were buried alive.

  "That--that is the way, is it not?" she asked. "I was brought frombelow."

  "Yes; it is not far; see, the passage leads upward. Come, we might aswell learn what is ahead."

  They advanced slowly, keeping closely against the wall, and testing thefloor cautiously before venturing a step. A few yards plunged theminto total darkness, and, although Cavendish had been conducted alongthere a prisoner, he retained small recollection of the nature of thepassage.

  Their progress was slow but silent, neither venturing to exchangespeech, but with ears anxiously strained to catch the least sound.Stella was conscious of the loud beating of her heart, the slightrasping of Cavendish's feet on the rock floor. The slightest noiseseemed magnified. The grade rose sharply, until it became almost aclimb, yet the floor had evidently been levelled, and there were noobstructions to add to the difficulty of advance. Then the passageswerved rather sharply to the right, and Cavendish, leading, halted topeer about the corner. An instant they both remained motionless, andthen, seeing and hearing nothing, she could restrain her impatience nolonger.

  "What is it?" she questioned. "Is there something wrong?"

  He reached back and drew her closer, without answering, until her eyesalso were able to look around the sharp edge of rock. Far away, itseemed a long distance up that narrow tunnel, a lantern glowed dully,the light so dim and flickering as to scarcely reveal even itsimmediate surroundings; yet from that distance, her eyes accustomed tothe dense gloom, she could distinguish enough to quicken her breathingand cause her to clutch the sleeve of her companion.

  The lantern occupied a niche in the side wall at the bottom of a flightof rude steps. Not more than a half-dozen of these were revealed, butat their foot, where the passage had been widened somewhat, extended astone bench, on which lounged two men. One was lying back, his headpillowed on a rolled coat, yet was evidently awake; for the other,seated below him, with knees drawn up for comfort, kept up conversationin a low voice, the words being inaudible at that distance. Even inthat dim light the two were clearly Mexican.

  "What shall we do?" she asked, her lips at Cavendish's ear. "We cannotpass them--they are on guard."

  "I was wondering how close I could creep in before they saw me," heanswered, using the same caution. "If I was only sure they were alone,and could once get the drop, we might make it."

  "You fear there may be others posted at the top?"

  "There is quite likely to be; the fellows are evidently taking nochances of surprise. What do you think best?"

  "Even if you succeeded in overawing these two, we would have no way ofsecuring them. An alarm would be given before we could get beyondreach. Our only hope of escape lies in getting out of here unseen."

  "Yes, and before Cateras is discovered."

  "He gave no orders to the guard to return?"

  "No; but he will be missed after a while and sought for. We cannotcount on any long delay, and when it is found that he has been knockedout, and we have disappeared, every inch of this cave will be searched.There is no place to hide, and only the two ways by which to get out."

  "Then, let's go back and try the other," she urged. "That opensdirectly into the valley and is probably not guarded. What ishappening now?"

  A grey gleam of light struck the steps from above, recognised instantlyas a reflection of day, as though some cover had been upliftedconnecting this underground labyrinth with the clear sky. A dim shadowtouched the illumined rocks for a brief moment, a moving shadowuncertain in its outlines, grotesque, shapeless: and then the daylightvanished as suddenly as it dawned. There was a faint click, as thougha door closed, while darkness resumed sway, the silence unbroken, butfor the scraping of a step on those rude stairs. The two guards belowcame to their feet, rigid in the glow of the lantern, their facesturned upward. Then a man came slowly down the last few steps andjoined them.