Back Aa

Princess Galva, The

Close

<h3> CHAPTER XIII </h3> <h4> THE PLOT </h4> The doorway of Gabriel Dasso's house stood open and the gleam of yellow light that cut into the darkness showed old Pieto the groom holding by the bridle a horse that seemed by its steaming hide to have been hard ridden and but newly arrived. Lieutenant Mozaro slackened his steps as he mounted the hill, asking himself what visitor this could be that rode in haste to Dasso at so late an hour. Remembering the business of his own visit he drew back into the shadow of the stable yard of a little posada that stood nearly opposite. It was striking eleven down in the town and the inn had done its business of the day, and, save for a little square of light in an upper storey, was in darkness. Gaspar leant against the gate-post and watched the horse standing with outstretched neck and drooping head, and the form of the groom silhouetted against the glow of the hall. Old Pieto looked now and again, with a show of impatience, within the house, thinking, no doubt, of the interrupted supper awaiting him below stairs. Perhaps a quarter of an hour passed—it seemed longer to the man waiting in the stable yard—when the booted and spurred figure of a young man came out upon the doorstep. He stood there a moment drawing on his riding-gloves, and turned and spoke to the master of the house who stood behind him, just within the hall. The young rider took the reins from old Pieto and swung himself gracefully into the saddle. He bent down for a final word or two, then brought his horse sharply round and with a dig of the heels set him at the hill that led inland. Mozaro was about to leave his retreat when he heard the window of the inn open. From his point of vantage in the shadow, he saw a head emerge—a round bullet-shaped head that took the attitude of listening. It remained motionless until the clatter of the horse's hoofs upon the cobbled street died away, then it turned a face full upon the spot where he stood, and Mozaro gave a start as he remembered that he had not put out his cigar. The face was a strange one to him, and he knew that Detti, the host of the Three Lilies, did not entertain many guests. Moreover, it was not the face of a native of San Pietro. A moment the stranger regarded him fixedly, then with a muttering in a language that was certainly not Spanish, but was undoubtedly a curse, the window was slammed shut and the light extinguished. The lieutenant turned towards the house opposite. Old Pieto had disappeared, but Dasso still stood upon the doorstep looking anxiously along the road towards the town. As Mozaro came out of the shadow he gave a start, then greeted him eagerly. He drew him inside and closed the stout oaken door. "There has been great news to-night," he said, and led the way to the library. The two men seated themselves at the table on which was strewn a few official-looking papers. "Enrico is worse, Gaspar; I have just heard from the Palace that he may go at any time. The doctors wonder at his vitality." "Threatened men live long." "Yes, and there's another proverb, I believe, about it being hard to kill a weed—Enrico may laugh at the doctors yet. But," went on Dasso, "we must be in readiness. Miss Baxendale must be secured or silenced." Lieutenant Mozara looked straight in the elder man's eyes. "You mean the Princess Miranda, Dasso." The other looked up quickly. "Ah, then you have heard?" "I have heard enough to know that. I have played the spy well," and the sallow face lit up with an evil grin. "I have suspected the facts for two days now." He drew his chair closer to Dasso's. "And what is more, they are waiting for the same signal as you are. When the guns at the Palace boom out the death—well—it'll be the devil take the hindmost." Gabriel Dasso rose and paced nervously up and down the room, biting his moustache. It seemed to him that here was a grave danger, and he cursed the luck that had brought Miranda to life at the time when his plans seemed so prosperous—when success seemed assured. Then a thought occurred to him and he pulled up sharp before the man who was sitting drumming his fingers on the table. "It seems to me, Gaspar, that you have taken up my cudgels very thoroughly. Your expression when you spoke of her Royal Highness wasn't a very pretty one. You don't like the lady, eh?" "No, curse her—I don't." "So. That's how the land lies. That accounts for your keeping your suspicions to yourself for two days. It seems to me," and his voice grew hard, "that Lieutenant Gaspar Mozara has had a fish of his own to fry." "You can keep your taunts, Gabriel. I neither understand them nor appreciate them. I am with you in this matter, body and soul—does not that suffice?" "It is everything, my dear boy. We won't quarrel. Hate is a good weapon. I hope you have not put the princess out of temper with you?" "Miranda and I are the best of friends. I thought it better that we should be. We motor together to-morrow morning. Doesn't that suggest anything to you, Gabriel?" "My dear Gaspar, it suggests so many things that I'm bewildered." "Will the news of Enrico's relapse reach the town to-night?" "It's hardly likely—my source of information is a private one." "I'm calling for the lady at nine. The news mustn't reach Venta Villa before then, or she will be kept in readiness." For some little time neither of the men spoke, then Dasso leant over and whispered the plot that had occurred to his fertile and evil brain. "You will call with the car at nine, as arranged. After a spin twice past the villa to allay any suspicion of the girl being long away, you will suggest a run to Alcador. The road is a good one, and you can open out to any speed. About ten miles out you will see—no doubt you know it—a castle, one tower of which shows up from a little forest of pines. "You will here pretend that something is amiss with the engine. You will descend, and while she is watching you at the bonnet, a man will enter the tonneau from behind. A chloroform pad will do the rest. Pieto and his wife will be at the castle, which belongs to a distant relative of mine, to receive the guest." "An excellent plan, se�or, but what will they say to me?" "That's only the first half of the plan. You will turn the car and run back to where four miles from here the road winds ledgewise, round the western spur of the Yeldo hills. There is a low stone wall here, and the curves are dangerous. You will stop here and alight, and set the empty car at full speed at this wall. It will give way easily, and the river, which runs at this spot in a series of falls and rapids, will do all that is needed in the way of evidence." Mozara opened his mouth to speak, but Dasso held up a silencing hand, and went on: "You will then throw over the cloak and hat that the girl was wearing, and walk on to a cottage which you will see a little nearer the town. Here you will be met by a friend of mine who will transfigure you. Immediately afterwards a cart will leave the cottage containing poor Lieutenant Mozara. His arm will be in plaster of Paris, and his clothing will be torn to ribbons and blood-stained. A bandage will be wound around his poor head." Se�or Dasso laughed. "His will have been a narrow escape. "Search will be made and the wrecked car discovered. Sympathy will go out to the friends of the late Miss Baxendale, whose body will be stated to be in one of the deep holes which abound in the River Ardentella. And so for the second time this person's death will be announced." "And what will you do with her ultimately?" "In that we must be guided by circumstances. I see no reason why, if the lady be reasonable, she should not in the long run go free, if not—" he shrugged his shoulders—"I would be generous to her in the way of money, and once on the throne I fear nothing. Spain will see to that." "And what of her friends?" "I'll find a way to crush that worm Sydney, while as for the woman—I don't know who she is, a paid companion, no doubt—I don't think she counts." To Mozara the scheme sounded good. He was not at all anxious to play the part of invalid for long, but, as Dasso pointed out, his injuries could turn out less serious than was at first supposed. Again, he did not like losing the car. But it was revenge that smoothed the way for him. He thought of the proud disdain that had shown in Miranda's face that morning, and it was enough. An hour later old Pieto and a sour-looking woman, who, by the discourtesy he showed her, was presumably his wife, set out in a covered cart and made their way inland. Again, a little later, two men who had spent an hour with Se�or Dasso left and took the same road. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2