Brandon of the Engineers Part 42

"Come on and bring the lamp!" he shouted, running down the steps.

d.i.c.k followed, but left the lamp alone. He did not know who had fired the shot and it might be imprudent to make himself conspicuous. Jake, who was a few yards in front, boldly took a narrow path through the brush, which rose to their shoulders. The darkness was thickened by the mist, but after a moment or two they heard somebody coming to meet them. It could hardly be an enemy, because the man wore boots and his tread was quick and firm. d.i.c.k noted this with some relief, but thought it wise to take precautions.

"Hold on, Jake," he said and raised his voice: "Who's that?"

"Payne," answered the other, and they waited until he came up.

"Now," said Jake rather sharply, "what was the shooting about?"

"There was a breed hanging round in the bushes and when he tried to creep up to the veranda I plugged him."

"Then where is he?"

"That's what I don't know," Payne answered apologetically. "I hit him sure, but it looks as if he'd got away."

"It looks as if you'd missed. Where did you shoot from?"

Payne beckoned them to follow and presently stopped beside the heap of ironwork a little to one side of the shack. The lighted veranda was in full view of the spot, but there was tall brushwood close by and behind this the gra.s.s.

"I was here," Payne explained. "Heard something move once or twice, and at last the fellow showed between me and the light. When I saw he was making for the veranda I put up my gun. Knew I had the bead on him when I pulled her off."

"Then show us where he was."

Payne led them forward until they reached a spot where the brush was broken and bent, and Jake, stooping down, struck a match.

"I guess he's right. Look at this," he said with shrinking in his voice.

The others saw a red stain on the back of his hand and crimson splashes on the gra.s.s. Then d.i.c.k took the match and put it out.

"The fellow must be found. I'll get two or three of the boys I think we can trust and we'll begin the search at once."

He left them and returned presently with the men and two lanterns, but before they set off he asked Payne: "Could you hear what we said on the veranda?"

"No. I could tell you were talking, but that was all. Once you kind of raised your voice and I guess the fellow in front heard something, for it was then he got up and tried to crawl close in."

"Just so," d.i.c.k agreed and looked at Jake as one of the men lighted a lantern. "He was nearer us than Payne. I thought Adexe would draw him."

They searched the belt of gra.s.s and the edge of the jungle, since, as there were venomous snakes about, it did not seem likely that the fugitive would venture far into the thick, steamy gloom. Then they made a circuit of the camp, stopping wherever a mound of rubbish offered a hiding-place, but the search proved useless until they reached the head of the track. Then an explanation of the man's escape was supplied, for the hand-car, which had stood there an hour ago, had gone. A few strokes of the crank would start it, after which it would run down the incline.

"I guess that's how he went," said Payne.

d.i.c.k nodded. The car would travel smoothly if its speed was controlled, but it would make some noise and he could not remember having heard anything. The peons, however, frequently used the car when they visited their comrades at the mixing sheds, and he supposed the rattle of wheels had grown so familiar that he had not noticed it.

"Send the boys away; there's nothing more to be done," he said.

They turned back towards the shack, and after a few minutes Jake remarked: "It will be a relief when this business is over. My nerves are getting ragged."

CHAPTER XXVII

THE SILVER CLASP

It was about eleven o'clock on a hot morning and Kenwardine, who had adopted native customs, was leisurely getting his breakfast in the patio.

Two or three letters lay among the fruit and wine, but he did not mean to open them yet. He was something of a sybarite and the letters might blunt his enjoyment of the well-served meal. Clare, who had not eaten much, sat opposite, watching him. His pose as he leaned back with a winegla.s.s in his hand was negligently graceful, and his white clothes, drawn in at the waist by a black silk sash, showed his well-knit figure. There were touches of gray in his hair and wrinkles round his eyes, but in spite of this he had a look of careless youth. Clare, however, thought she noticed a hint of preoccupation that she knew and disliked.

Presently Kenwardine picked out an envelope with a British stamp from among the rest and turned it over before inserting a knife behind the flap, which yielded easily, as if the gum had lost its strength. Then he took out the letter and smiled with ironical amus.e.m.e.nt. If it had been read by any unauthorized person before it reached him, the reader would have been much misled, but it told him what he wanted to know. There was one word an Englishman or American would not have used, though a Teuton might have done so, but Kenwardine thought a Spaniard would not notice this, even if he knew English well. The other letters were not important, and he glanced at his daughter.

Clare was not wearing well. She had lost her color and got thin. The climate was enervating, and Englishwomen who stayed in the country long felt it more than men, but this did not quite account for her jaded look.

"I am afraid you are feeling the hot weather, and perhaps you have been indoors too much," he said. "I must try to take you about more when I come back."

"Then you are going away! Where to?"

Kenwardine would have preferred to hide his destination, but since this would be difficult it seemed safer not to try and there was no reason why his household should not know.

"To Jamaica. I have some business in Kingston, but it won't keep me long."

"Can you take me?"

"I think not," said Kenwardine, who knew his visit would be attended by some risk. "For one thing, I'll be occupied all the time, and as I must get back as soon as possible, may have to travel by uncomfortable boats.

You will be safe with Lucille."

"Oh, yes," Clare agreed with languid resignation. "Still, I would have liked a change."

Kenwardine showed no sign of yielding and she said nothing more. She had chosen to live with him, and although she had not known all that the choice implied, must obey his wishes. For all that, she longed to get away. It had cost her more than she thought to refuse d.i.c.k, and she felt that something mysterious and disturbing was going on. Kenwardine's carelessness had not deceived her; she had watched him when he was off his guard and knew that he was anxious.

"You don't like Santa Brigida?" he suggested. "Well, if things go as I hope, I may soon be able to sell out my business interests and leave the country. Would that please you?"

Clare's eyes sparkled with satisfaction. Now there was a prospect of its ending, she could allow herself to admit how repugnant the life she led had grown. She had hated the gambling, and although this had stopped, the mystery and hidden intrigue that followed it were worse. If her father gave it all up, they need no longer be outcasts, and she could live as an English girl ought to do. Besides, it would be easier to forget d.i.c.k Brandon when she went away.

"Would we go back to England?" she asked eagerly.

"I hardly think that would be possible," Kenwardine replied. "We might, however, fix upon one of the quieter cities near the Atlantic coast of America. I know two or three that are not too big and are rather old-fashioned, with something of the charm of the Colonial days, where I think you might find friends that would suit your fastidious taste."

Clare tried to look content. Of late, she had longed for the peaceful, well-ordered life of the English country towns, but it seemed there was some reason they could not go home.

"Any place would be better than Santa Brigida," she said. "But I must leave you to your letters. I am going out to buy some things."

The sun was hot when she left the patio, but there was a strip of shade on one side of the street and she kept close to the wall, until turning a corner, she entered a blaze of light. The glare from the pavement and white houses was dazzling and she stopped awkwardly, just in time to avoid collision with a man. He stood still and she looked down as she saw that it was d.i.c.k and noted the satisfaction in his eyes.

"I'm afraid I wasn't keeping a very good lookout," he said.

"You seemed to be in a hurry," Clare rejoined, half hoping he would go on; but as he did not, she resumed: "However, you generally give one the impression of having something important to do."

d.i.c.k laughed. "That's wrong just now, because I'm killing time. I've an hour to wait before the launch is ready to go to sea."