In Strange Company: A Story of Chili and the Southern Seas

"Pretty near," Veneda answered, with a laugh; "and now, if you've got anything else to do, let's get to it at once. I've business down town."

At a signal from Albino, Vargas placed dice upon the table, and the gamble commenced. Luck was with Veneda, for finally Vargas and the Albino were elected to carry out the robbery. When that point had been decided, the hour for meeting on the following night, and a few other minor matters arranged, Veneda wished them a sneering "good luck" of their work, and started homewards as fast as his legs would carry him. As he went he laughed softly to himself, as one who enjoys a joke of extraordinary humour. He was decidedly in better spirits than when we accompanied him to the house. He even forgot himself so far as to whistle.

Considering the state of Valparaiso at the time, and the fact that there was no protective power at hand to quell disturbances, the city was wonderfully quiet. A great anxiety was upon everybody, a disquiet that was not at all attuned to noise.

Veneda strode briskly along, occupied with his own thoughts. But strange though it may seem, he was not thinking of the scene he had just left, nor of the impending battle of the morrow; he was recalling a certain box and letter he had despatched to a London merchant a week previous, and reflecting that by the time the Society could discover his treachery, he would in all probability be on the high seas, far beyond the reach of vengeance or defeat. There was only one thing; at any risk he must prevent the woman Juanita from suspecting his intentions.

So absorbed was he in his thoughts, that he had arrived at his house, let himself in, and ascended the stairs to his own peculiar sanctum before he was really conscious that he had done so. The staircase and the room were in total darkness. He crossed to a bracket where matches were usually kept, and striking one, turned to light a candle close at hand. As the flame caught, a low, musical laugh, distinctly feminine, greeted his ears. His nerves must have been overstrung, for he started violently, and came within an ace of dropping both candle-stick and match. Holding the light aloft, he glanced in the direction whence the sound proceeded. The room was big enough to contain many shadows, and the candle did not give a very good light.

"Juanita?"

"Yes, Juanita certainly; are you so surprised to see me?"

He paused to light two other candles before replying. His visitor did not fail to notice the trembling of his hand. Then the room being illuminated to his satisfaction, and the door carefully closed, he remembered his duty as host, and bade her welcome in proper form. When she heard him say that he was glad to see her, she laughed very softly, and said—

"Marcos, I wonder when you will learn to tell a falsehood with an air of truth?"

Evidently he did not deem this question worthy of a reply, for he threw himself into a chair, and began to roll a cigarette, without vouchsafing one.

Now, when I say that Juanita Encarnaçion Valdores, whose name we have heard mentioned so many times before, was altogether an uncommon woman, I desire to imply that she was uncommon not only in a physical, but in several other senses besides. Her beauty alone was such as to arrest immediate attention. Of rather more than middle height, she carried herself with an erectness calculated to give one the idea that she was several inches taller than her real stature. Even for one owning Spanish blood, her complexion was dark almost to swarthiness, while her upper lip was not without a suspicion of what is irreverently termed a moustache. Yet it was strange that these two things, counted in other women serious defects, in Juanita not only failed to detract from the general effect, but in a great measure added to it. Her hands and feet were in keeping with the rest of her frame, neither too large nor too small; her manner could be anything she chose, from caressing to fiendish; and her voice and laugh, when she so desired, sounded on the ear like sweetest music. Like Marcos Veneda, she was all mysteriousness. Many curious stories were told of her past, and as a faithful chronicler, I must admit that they did not all redound to her credit. She had been in Chili nearly four years; but where she had hailed from before that I am not prepared to say. It only concerns us that, at the time of which I write, she was without a protector, and indeed it appeared as if she would be likely to remain so, for no man was careless enough of his reputation with the public to take such a position upon himself. It is possible that this may have been the reason why she drifted towards Veneda, whose predicament, as we have seen, was not altogether dissimilar to her own.

"Come, come, Marcos," she said, "I cannot say that you're the best of company to-night. Tell me, don't you think I'm a plucky woman to venture out on such a night, and to call on you of all people?"

"I am proportionately honoured," he replied gravely; "but I suppose you have some very good reason, or you wouldn't have run the risk."

She shrugged her shoulders, and made a little gesture with her hands, as one who would say, "who knows." Then her manner changed completely, and leaning forward, she placed one hand on his arm. He had been earnestly regarding her all this time, endeavouring to read in her face what was passing in her mind. Now he prepared himself for the struggle he felt was imminent.

"My Marcos," she said softly, and the name came very prettily from her lips, "I suppose you have heard that people call me a witch, because they say I turn men's heads. They also say—no, do not speak till I have done—that sometimes I can read men's thoughts, and not unfrequently foretell future events."

"Then, Juanita," he answered, as soon as he could get a word in, "you certainly could not have come at a better time. You shall read my fate, and advise me as to what course I should pursue regarding it."

Without another word she lifted his hand, which lay upon the arm of her chair, and examined it carefully. The flickering candle-light fell upon her bent head, and danced amid the luxuriant tangle of her hair.

"Shall I tell you everything I see?" she asked. He saw that her face had grown suddenly very serious.

"Why not?" he replied.

"Because I am frightened, Marcos," she answered, shuddering, "because there is something terrible written on your hand."

"In what way?"

"Treachery, Marcos, and for a large sum of money!"

He snatched his hand angrily away, and to cover his embarrassment affected entire disbelief.

"You are indeed a fortune-teller! You will accuse me of having assassinated the President directly. And pray what else did you see?"

"I had better not tell you, you will only be angry with me."

"Angry with you! Never!"

"Marcos, I saw on your hand more than you dream. Hush, listen to me; you are contemplating flight."

"That is not a difficult thing to see. If things do not improve here, many of us will be driven into clearing out. You must be smarter than that, Juanita."

"Oh, but that is not all. I see that you have sent great treasure away to a far country, and that you intend to follow it."

"This is beautiful! What—what else?"

"That your professed love for me is only lip service, for you intend to desert me."

"That is about as true as the rest. Have you anything further?"

"That your treasure amounts to over £200,000 of English money, and that it is directed to a—let me see,"—here she pretended to study his hand again,—"Sir Benjamin Plowden (bah! your English names!) who lives in the East India Avenue of your great smoky London. Is that true? Ah! I see it is."

There was a ring of triumph in her voice. She had played a doubtful card, and scored a victory. For the moment Veneda was totally unnerved; his face, pale before, was now snow-white; large beads of perspiration covered his forehead.

"How did you learn all that nonsense?" he stammered.

"Why, from your hand, of course," came the mocking reply. "And is it such nonsense? Marcos, Marcos, I have always said you were a clever man, but you must be cleverer still to deceive me. Woman's wit—you know the proverb. Will you have more? Shall I tell you, for instance, what Macklin and the Society would say of it, and what key guards your treasure-chamber?"

"By all means, if there is such a thing," he cried, his nervousness lifting his voice almost to a falsetto. Meanwhile his eyes seemed to be attempting to read her very soul. Perhaps his scrutiny relieved him, for the expression on his face changed.

"I knew you couldn't do it," he said quietly. "I return your compliment; you're very clever, but you must be cleverer still to deceive me."

"How do you know that I don't understand it?" she inquired, with just a suspicion of nervousness now in her voice. "Since I can tell so much, how do you know that I can't tell all?"

"Because, my dear"—he had quite recovered himself by this time, and was bitterly regretting having betrayed his feelings so openly—"even if I had any such business on hand, I am certain you don't know what you pretend, otherwise you would have it in your eyes. Ah!"

His attention was attracted to a small writing-table standing in a corner of the room. The blotting-book lay upon it turned upside down. Seizing it, he fell to turning the leaves. One was missing.

"Ha! ha! my little sorceress!" he cried mockingly, "you are discovered. It is an old trick and a good one. I remember blotting the first two sides of the letter on a fresh page. To obtain your information, you have simply torn that out, and held it against the light. But the rest, the most important part, was not blotted at all. So you can do me no harm after all."

"Why should you think I wish to harm you?"

"I don't think you do; I only think you might. And you see, of £200,000, two hundred thousand pounds' worth of care must be taken. By the way, since you know so much, I doubt if it would be prudent to let you out of this house again."

Ignoring the threat entirely, she continued the conversation as if it had not been uttered.

"At least you might have trusted me, Marcos."

"Have I said that I do not?"

"You have not said so in so many words, but I know you don't. Besides, you are leaving Chili to-morrow night."

"How do you know that?"

"I forget, but it's true, isn't it, Marcos?—and you will take me with you, won't you? Even if you no longer love me, you will have pity on me? You will not leave me to their mercy? I am so tired of this life of spying and conspiracy, and I would be so faithful to you."

Her voice trembled. He stopped his restless pacing up and down the room, and looked at her. As far as he could see there was only a great love for himself shining in her eyes. She looked wondrously beautiful. It was a temptation and a danger; yet perhaps, all things considered, it was the safest course. A second later he had made up his mind, and as he did so a corresponding light came into his eyes. It would have been hard to tell which was more in earnest. Resuming his seat beside her, he said—

"Juanita, I do love you, and I believe I can trust you; come what may, we will go together."

"My own dear love!"

He took her hand and gravely kissed it. The crisis was past.

Both felt they had scored a victory, but both felt it would require very little to overthrow it. Five minutes later she was speeding home unaccompanied, for she would not hear of his being seen in the streets with her. In the security of her own room she regarded herself in her glass, and as she did so she said half aloud—

"He did his very best to put me off the scent, but I beat him in the end. One thing is certain, he carries the piece of paper that is to authorize the payment of the money about with him, in a large locket fastened round his neck with a double chain. I felt it when my head rested on his breast. Two hundred thousand pounds—it's the greatest stake I ever played for. With that I should be a free woman again. Come what may, my Marcos, I'll never desert you till I have shared it with you or relieved you of it."

When she had left him, Veneda threw up his window, and leant out into the night. The rain had ceased. He could see watch-fires gleaming all along the heights, and myriads of lights twinkling among the shipping in the harbour; but though he looked at them, I don't think he was conscious that he saw them. He was reviewing in his mind all he had passed through that evening, and wondering whether or not the balance stood in his favour.

From the consideration of his present position, his thoughts passed out across the open ocean to a mail-boat homeward bound. And so piercing was the gaze of his mind's eye, that it penetrated even through iron and timber to the vessel's bullion-room, where reposed a certain chest, with which his fortunes were not altogether unconnected. Then dropping the good ship behind it, as if she were standing still, on his fancy sped across the seas to the land he had not known for fifteen years. There in a smiling valley, nestling among beech woods, he found for himself a home, a life of honest independence, of love, of respect, and, above all things, of forgetfulness of Chili and the past! His imagination painted it for him with realistic touches, but would it ever come true? With Goethe he might very well have said, "When, how, and where? That is the question!"

After a while he drew in his head, and shut the window. Then from round his neck he took a locket. Opening it, a curious slip of ragged paper fell to the floor. Picking it up, he gazed at it for a few seconds, and then replaced it, saying to himself—

"Boulger's squared—the Island Queen is ready, and with to-morrow night's tide I bid good-bye to Chili for ever and a day. They'll never think of looking for me in the South Pacific, and I'll work my way home by Australia and the East. Confound Juanita! I ought to have anticipated this trick of hers. It's the deuce and all, but there's no other way out of it, I must take her with me. It would be madness to leave her behind to act with the Albino and the Society against me; but before I get to the other side, if I don't hit out some plan to rid myself of her, my name's not Marmaduke Plowden!"

CHAPTER III.

Following the example of his neighbours, Veneda threw up his window and leant out to listen. Somehow or other, since his conversation with the English merchant in the Calle de Victoria the previous night, his confidence in a victory for the Government had been a little shaken; and now for the first time he began to experience twinges of real alarm for his own immediate safety. Supposing he should be arrested by the Congressionalist leaders for his treachery to them, where would his escape be then? In that case Boulger would not wait, and Juanita for her own safety would be certain to betray him. But he reflected that it was full early yet to be frightened, and moreover he had been in so many close things before, that one more or less could hardly matter.

The behaviour of the people in the streets was peculiar. In their excitement men no longer showed evidences of partisanship; all the thoughts and anxieties of Gobiernistas and Oppositores alike were centred on the battle then proceeding. It was as though they were spectators of a stage-play and nothing more. The time for individual animosity, they told themselves, would come later.

By breakfast-time the excitement had risen to fever heat. From the clearness with which the sounds could be distinguished, it was plain that the Government forces were being driven back, and this could have but one meaning,—the Opposition were advancing on Valparaiso. The noise grew louder every minute, and with its approach the turbulent element of the town began to make its presence felt in the streets. The peculiar ping of rifle-bullets sounded continually in the lower quarters; many business premises away from the main thoroughfares were looted; while in not one but several directions the smoke of incendiary fires rose on the clear morning air.

So certain had every one, by this time, become of the result of the fighting, that many Government supporters packed up their traps and quitted the town with as little ostentation as possible; either scurrying into the neighbouring mountains, or seeking refuge on board the foreign men-of-war at anchor in the harbour.

Towards ten o'clock the firing slackened off, and by half-past had ceased altogether. A victory had been won—but by whom? This question was in everybody's mouth.

News, however, was not long forthcoming. In all directions terrified camp-followers—men, women, and children, on foot and on horseback—might have been seen making for the town as fast as their own legs or those of their beasts could carry them. As they hurried along they announced in loud voices the absolute defeat of the Government forces, exaggerating the details with every repetition of the story. After a short interval they were followed by the vanquished and flying troops themselves, who corroborated what the others had so authoritatively proclaimed. There could be no doubt that the Opposition had won a signal victory. The reign of terror was over! The hated Dictator, Balmaceda, hitherto regardless of what lives he sacrificed to gain his ends, was now not only powerless, but an outcast and a suppliant for his own.

Hard upon the heels of the fugitive troops, amid an outburst of wildest excitement, came the advance guard of the victorious army, with bands playing and colours waving. Bells clashed and jangled from every steeple, continual vivas rent the air, and crackers by hundreds were exploded in the streets. Every one wore the red ribbon of the Opposition, and every face (for active Gobiernistas were wise enough not to parade theirs) testified to the relief and joy with which the result was hailed. There could not have been a more popular termination to the struggle.

As soon as the result of the battle had become known, the Intendente had delivered up the town to the admirals of the foreign war-ships, who now in their turn handed it over to the Congressionalist leaders. The place had thus practically changed hands from the Republic to the Republic; from one class to the other and more popular section of the community.

It may be imagined that Veneda took care to be well posted on all that occurred. With the entrance of the troops he saw the total destruction of his political hopes, and now his active mind was busily engaged working out the best possible means of securing his own safety, until the time should come for him to leave the country.

Reflecting that to all intents and purposes his life would depend an his personal appearance, he first turned his attention in that direction. In five minutes his close-cropped beard had disappeared; his heavy black moustache was twirled and twisted into quite a new and extraordinary shape; while his well-cut English clothes were discarded for a more Chilian garb, including a poncho and a broad-leafed sombrero. When thus equipped he paraded before his glass, he could not but admit that the effect was excellent. The odds were a thousand to one against any one recognizing in this typical Chilano the Marcos Veneda of half-an-hour before.

By the time he was dressed he had determined as to his next course of action. He saw that it would be impossible for him to remain where he was; therefore, until the hour for boarding the schooner should arrive, he must seek an asylum elsewhere. But before leaving the house many things had to be thought of. Glancing round the room with its host of familiar knick-knacks, he set himself to destroy what he did not desire should fall into other hands, concealing about his person such small articles of value or association as he wished to carry away. When this was accomplished he dropped a carefully-loaded revolver into the pocket of his poncho, and was ready to forsake the house.

That he might not be observed leaving by the front door, he lifted the window and swung himself from it down into the patio. For a moment he stopped to listen, then hearing nothing suspicious, passed without further ado into the street. No one was to be seen.

Where to go, or what to do with himself (it was not yet two o'clock), he had not made up his mind. Strange to say, considering the danger it would involve him in, he felt an intense desire to see all that was to be seen, and to participate, himself, in the general excitement. Of the latter there was no lack; the town was full of disbanded soldiery, and serious rioting had already occurred. The foreign war-ships had landed forces to protect foreign life, but in the lower quarters the mob ruled paramount.

So complete was his disguise that Veneda found himself, on more than one occasion, standing side by side with former acquaintances, unmolested and unrecognized. The knowledge of this security gave him fresh courage, and he followed the course of the day's events with additional interest and vigour. Yet a danger he had never anticipated was in store for him.

Leaving the Calle de Victoria, he passed down a side street in the direction of the harbour, but before he had proceeded fifty yards a sound he knew only too well greeted his ears; it was the noise of a crowd in hot pursuit of something or somebody.

Not wishing to run the risk of being mistaken for their quarry, he cast about him for a loophole of escape. But none presented itself. While he was looking, footsteps sounded close behind him. To his astonishment the runner was none other than John Macklin the Albino, chairman of the Society, his face livid with terror, and his breath coming from him in great spasmodic jerks. His clothes were in rags, and covered with a filth which reached even to his hair; his hat was gone, and long purple weals streaked his dainty cheeks. The agony expressed in his eyes lent an extraordinary effect to his face.

"Save me, save me!" he gasped, falling at Veneda's feet. "In the merciful name of God, I beseech you to save me!"

For the reason that Macklin did not recognize him, nothing would have been easier than for the other to have cast him off, and for the space of three breaths he was half inclined to do it. Then, for some reason which he was never afterwards able to explain (it must be understood that the dwarfs death would in a great measure have rescued him from his very awkward predicament), he determined to do his best to help him. It was a foolish resolution, but it was only on a par with the man's extraordinarily complex character.

The noise of the mob, like that of hounds in full cry, was drawing closer; any second might bring them into view. Turning to the terrified creature beside him, he cried—

"I'll do my best for you. Pick up your heels and run."

Running appeared the last thing the Albino, in his present exhausted condition, would be capable of, but he nevertheless followed in the other's wake, panting horribly, and throwing his long arms about with windmill-like gesticulations. As they started the mob burst into view, and a second later a shot whisked in unpleasant proximity to Veneda's head. There is something chilling in the whine of a rifle-bullet, and as he heard it he began to repent having taken any share in the Albino's private concerns. Without turning his head, he cried—

"Faster, faster, round the next corner, and then follow me."

This was, however, easier said than done; the little man's strength, already taxed beyond straining pitch, was quite unequal to a fresh demand. He began to lag behind, and Veneda saw that if he reached the shelter of the street corner, about fifty yards distant, it would be as much as he could possibly accomplish.

Not a second was to be lost; their pursuers were barely more than a hundred and fifty yards behind. Stopping, he turned, and as his companion approached him, stooped and took him in his arms, throwing him up on to his shoulder as if his weight were the merest trifle. Then he resumed his flight.

Reaching the corner he flew round it, thankful to find no one in sight, and made for a row of deserted houses across the way. Into the patio of the third of these he dashed, and not until then did he place his burden on the ground.

"I can't carry you any further; we must hide!" he cried, vigorously attacking a door which opened on to the courtyard; "our lives depend upon getting into this house. Help me, help me!"

The Albino required no second bidding, and between them they burst in the door. They were only just in time, for as the lock gave way they heard the vanguard of the mob come howling round the corner. Veneda knew that when they could not see their game before them, it would be only a question of seconds before they would commence their search of the neighbourhood. Experience had taught him that a mob does not allow itself to be robbed of its prey without a struggle.

Once inside the house he led the way up-stairs. Unlike most Chilian residences, it was of three storeys, and built of stone—a bad speculation on the part of an English builder. Not until they had ascended to the garrets did they pause to listen. An angry murmur came up to them from the street, and when he heard it Veneda turned to his companion, who was lying on the floor endeavouring to regain his breath, and said—

"That means that they've tracked us down. How we're going to give them the slip now is more than I can see."

As he spoke, a crash came from the lower regions.

"That's the front door," he continued calmly. "We must be moving on again. Are you ready?"

The Albino's only answer was to spring to his feet.

Being already as high up as they could get without crawling on to the roof, where next to go became the question. A noise of voices told them that their pursuers were within the house itself. They were caught like rats in a trap! Apart from any other consideration, it would, in all probability, be a most unpleasant death they would die; and Veneda reflected that after so many narrow escapes it would be humiliating to perish at the hands of a lawless mob in somebody else's quarrel.

While these thoughts were flashing through his brain he was looking about him for some means of exit, but save for the door they had entered by, and the window which looked out at the back over some lower roofs, nothing worthy of his consideration presented itself. The door was clearly impracticable, unless they desired to meet their pursuers on the stairs, and as to the window, there was a drop of fully fifteen feet from it on to the nearest roof, and at least twenty more on to the stones of the courtyard. By this time the foremost of the mob were in the room beneath them.

A heavy perspiration broke out on Veneda's forehead; the Albino shrank into a corner, and covered his face with his hands. But they could not meet their death without a struggle, so, come what might, they must try the window. Crossing to it Veneda threw it open, at the same time beckoning the dwarf to his side.

"Now," he said, "there is nothing for it but to get out on the roof, and crawl along the housetops till we can find a place to get down. Don't stand whimpering there, but pay attention to what I say. I'll swing myself up first, and when I'm ready I'll do my best to pull you after me. Stand by, or I swear I'll leave you to your fate!"

It was a useless warning; the Albino was ready to risk anything, even a tumble into the courtyard, rather than to allow himself to fall into the hands of those who were now on the staircase leading to their room.

With all the speed he could command Veneda crawled backwards out of the narrow window, and clutched the thin guttering of the roof above. What he was about to attempt was not only a difficult, but a horribly dangerous feat, for there was literally nothing to catch hold of that would permit of a grip. It was an athletic test that would have tried the nerve and endurance of the most accomplished gymnast. Bit by bit, with infinite pain, he drew himself up, till his shoulders were above the guttering. The muscles of his arms appeared as if they must snap under the strain they were called upon to endure. The suspense was awful; but if it seemed long to Veneda before he was lying stretched on the roof, what an eternity must it have been to the miserable Albino crouched in the room below!

Then the other's voice reached him, saying—

"Crawl backwards out of the window, and give me your hands. Be quick! I can't stay like this long!"

The shouts of the mob and the trampling on the staircase stimulated him. Crawling out of the window as he was ordered, he stretched his long arms upwards. His hands were clutched from above; then he felt himself lifted clear of the sill, and next moment he was swaying out into mid air. If the strain on Veneda's muscles had been great when he pulled himself up on to the roof, how much greater was it now that he had not only to retain his own position, but to lift this other man as well! The Albino looked up into his face and saw the veins standing out upon it as large as maccaroni stems, and strange though it may appear, it was only then that he recognized his deliverer. A minute later he was stretched on the roof-top, just as the leaders of the mob entered the room they had so lately quitted.

It was a long time before either spoke. Then the Albino, leaning towards his preserver, whispered—

"Marcos, I owe you my life. I reckon I won't forget what you've done for me to-day."

"You had a close shave of it. What devil's game were you up to that they should chase you?"

"I met them in the Calle de Victoria, and some one cried 'Gobiernista'; next moment they started after me like bloodhounds. If I hadn't met you, I'd have been a dead man!"

Perhaps Veneda did not hear him. At any rate he made no reply. He was listening to the sounds in the street, and wondering, now that the mob found themselves outwitted, what their next move would be.

He was not to be kept long in suspense. That operations of some kind were being conducted he guessed from the sudden silence. Then a cry of "Fire!" went up, and next moment smoke burst from either end of the row. He understood exactly: not being able to find them, the mob intended to burn them out!

From the two farthest houses the flames spread with awful rapidity, and as they saw it their tormentors howled and shrieked with delight. Fortunately the house, on the rearmost roof of which Veneda and the Albino lay, was the centre one, and for this reason they would have some time to wait before they could experience any actual danger.

It may be imagined with what interest they watched the approaching flames, speculating how soon they would be obliged to move again. The heat was over-powering; but the conflagration was not speedy enough for the miscreants below, who thereupon set fire to the lower regions of the middle house.

This, Veneda told himself, was becoming too much of a good thing. The tiles were every moment growing hotter and hotter, and in a few minutes it would be impossible to remain upon them. The dense, choking smoke enveloped them in clouds.

With an eye ever on the look-out, he saw that the only cool spot was a tiny position on a parapet to their left, as yet a good distance from the flames. He moved towards it, thinking he had done quite enough for his companion. There was not room for more than one upon the place, and he secured it first.

Presently, overcome with heat and despair, the wretched Albino crawled along the roof, and endeavoured to find a foothold on it also. Veneda called upon him to go back, but he refused. It was impossible for both to remain—one must go, and a battle began for the position.

Partly owing to the situation of the outhouses below, partly to the fact that the mob was watching events from the street front, but more to the dense smoke which enveloped them, their struggle was unnoticed. It was of but short duration. How could one of the Albino's size hope to contend with a man so muscular as Veneda! For a few brief seconds they were locked in each other's arms; then Veneda's right hand seized upon the other's throat, and began to press his head further and further back. At last, to save himself from a broken neck, the Albino let go his hold, and fell with a yell from the roof into the smoke below. But though he had not succeeded in his attempt to remain upon the wall, he did not allow his companion to occupy it either, for as he fell he made a last feeble clutch at Veneda's legs. Slight though it was, it was sufficient to disturb the other's balance. He tottered, swayed, endeavoured to save himself, failed in the attempt, and finally fell, as his companion had done before him, into the Unknown. Such was the violence of his fall, that when he reached the bottom he lay stunned for some time.

On recovering his senses he found himself lying in the hollow between the roofs of the two outhouses before mentioned. Save for the spluttering flames of the smouldering débris, it was quite dark. The crowd had dispersed, and though he looked carefully about him, nothing was to be seen of the Albino. Whether he had fallen into the courtyard and been killed or captured by the mob, he could not of course tell, but at any rate he was relieved to find that he had departed elsewhere.

Having made sure of this, he rose and convinced himself that no bones were broken. He had experienced a miraculous escape, and he argued that it was a good omen for what lay before him. Clambering over the side of the roof, he lowered himself to the ground, and then skirting the ruins of the houses, proceeded into the street.

CHAPTER IV.

What a narrow escape had been his he realized when he looked about him, for on every side were heaped smouldering débris of the dwellings, while the conflagration was still proceeding, with unabated violence, only a few steps further along the street. Why he had not been killed by falling timber, found and despatched by the mob, or burnt up by the flames as he lay unconscious, he could not for the life of him understand.

The street being quiet, he settled it in his own mind that the mob had gone elsewhere, believing their prey to have perished. So giving himself a final shake to make quite certain that all was sound, he waited his opportunity, and, when no one was passing, struck out in the direction of the Calle de San Pedro. In spite of his recent adventures he had not forgotten his appointment with Vargas at the house of the fugitive English banker; and, as he hurried along, he reflected with a chuckle that if, as in all human probability was the case, Veneda had perished with the falling house, then would there be one less with whom to divide the spoil. He wished, however, that he had seen the body. That, he told himself, would have been altogether more satisfactory, for he knew Vargas and Nunez well enough to be aware that they would not accept his statement for truth, unless he could bring substantial proof of its authenticity.

As he turned into the Calle de San Pedro, a man crossed over the road and joined him. It was Pablos Vargas. Without a word they proceeded to the house, a ramshackle, old adobe structure of one storey, with a broad verandah running round three sides, and a commodious patio on the fourth, this latter protected by a heavy gate.

As the conspirators approached it they were joined by two other men from the premises on either side.

"Well, Miguel," said the Albino, addressing himself to the taller of the twain, "what have you to report? He has not escaped you?"

"No, senor. We have not seen a sign of him this week past, and we've watched day and night."

"Well, if he's gone you may pack your kits, and clear out of this country for ever. I promise you, you won't be able to live in it with me. You can go."

"We want our money," remarked the man who had not yet spoken.

"What? Want your money, do you, you longshore beach-comber—want your money before we've seen how you've done your work! Clear out of this. You'll be paid at the proper place, at ten."

"These are no times for promises. We want our money now," reiterated the man; "and what's more, we're going to have it!"

The Albino was not at all impressed by the man's determined attitude. Taking a step towards him, he whispered a sentence in his ear, with the result that next moment the fellow was scuttling down the street like one possessed, his companion after him.

Macklin turned to Vargas with a grin.

"There seems to be something in the old word after all. Now come; we've got our work cut out."

As he spoke he produced a key, and opened the door of the dwelling before which they stood, and which was to the right of that they designed to visit. Entering, they proceeded along the passage to the small yard at the back. Once there only a low wall separated them from the other house. With an agility surprising in one so deformed, the Albino mounted it, and dropped on to the other side; Vargas followed him, and together they approached a window. Opening this, they crept through it into the dwelling; then, soft as cats, passed across the room towards the central passage. At a signal from Macklin, Vargas produced and lit a candle.

Having before they started made themselves familiar with that part of the house which contained the treasure of which they were in search, they were able to approach it without hesitation or delay. On reaching the room they paused to listen, at the same time taking the precaution of examining their arms. Then, stealthily opening the door, they entered, the Albino first and Vargas in the rear, shading the candle with his hand.

A half-starved, decrepit old man was pacing up and down at the further end. On seeing them he stopped his walk, and advanced towards them with a courtly bow.

"You are very welcome," he began in English. "I've been expecting you this week past. You must excuse the unprepared state of my surroundings; but I've only moved in here while my Kensington house is being redecorated. You will stay and take dinner with me, of course?"

"What does he say?" asked Vargas, who had no knowledge of English.

"He's mad!—stark, staring mad!" replied the Albino.

"Won't you sit down?" continued their host. "I will ring and have the wine put in ice. By the way, I don't think you told me your business; my memory is not what it was. I have had troubles—serious troubles."

"That's enough of that, my friend," Macklin interposed "Confound your memory! We want that money—the Two Hundred and Fifty Thousand you swindled the Kamtchatka Bank out of. If you want to save your skin, you'd better own up where it is, and save any bother."

The ex-banker continued to smile sweetly.

"Ah! there's a very good story connected with that. It's going the round of the clubs now. Lord Burgoo, our chairman, asked me about it this afternoon in Piccadilly. You must know that I took it out to Chili to invest on the Bank's behalf. One evening, I was sitting in my room in the Calle de San Pedro, when a singularly handsome man called to see me. 'Mr. Bradshaw,' said he, 'I'm sorry to trouble you, but I've come to play you a game of cards for that money.' I had no objection, of course, so down we sat. Eventually he won, and I paid him all that was left of the £250,000. It was a good stake, wasn't it?"

"You lie!" shrieked the Albino, dashing at him and clutching him by the throat. "That be hanged for a tale. It's only one of your damned dodges to put us off the scent. Where is it? Tell me, or I'll throttle you!"

"I assure you it's the truth," gasped the unfortunate banker, half strangled. "I will even tell you his name."

The Albino withdrew his hand.

"Now, what was it? Quick!"

"Let me think. I fancy it began with V—Veneda, or some such name. Of course I did not ask, but he allowed it to slip from him in his excitement. He was a most gentlemanly person, and interested me exceedingly."

"Nonsense! I won't believe it; he dared not do it. But, Marcos Veneda, you thieving traitorous hound, by God, if this be true it will prove the worst day's work you've ever done in your life."

Then in Spanish he explained what had happened to Vargas, whose rage was absurdly theatrical. He danced and swore, tore his hair and ground his teeth in an ecstasy of passion.

"Stop that nonsense," said the Albino. "We must search the house as quickly as possible, and if it's not here, find Veneda without a moment's delay. Now we see why he wanted us to spare him. It strikes me we've been sold, and badly too."

Without further ado they set to work. But they might have spared themselves the trouble. The money was undoubtedly gone—the cache had been rifled, and the treasure stolen. The Albino's rage surpassed description; he vowed such vengeance against the traitor that even Vargas was overwhelmed with terror. Suddenly they looked round for the banker. He was not to be seen. Taking advantage of their absence in another room, he had passed into the yard and quietly quitted the house.

"Never mind him," said Macklin, "he's no use to us now. We must collect every man we can lay our hands on, and search the town until we find Veneda. If he escapes, I'll be the death of somebody."

CHAPTER V.

Though it was not a great distance to her abode, it took him some time to reach it. He had no desire to attract attention by any undue hurry; and for the same reason, when he did arrive at the house he made no attempt to gain admittance until he had absolutely convinced himself that he had not been followed. Then, crossing the patio, he knocked.

Juanita herself opened the door. When she realized who the visitor was she uttered a little cry of welcome, and led the way into an inner room, carefully closing the door behind them.

"Marcos," she began, lifting her clasped hands to him, "you really meant what you said last night? You are here to take me away with you?"

"Did you think I should break my promise?" he answered almost angrily, his disappointment at finding her unprepared getting the better of him. "Why are you not ready? Every second is of the utmost importance to us. As it is, we shall only just catch the tide."

"Wait only a moment and I will be with you; just one little moment."

She fled the room, and for five minutes he was left to his own thoughts. They were not pleasant, a consuming impatience was upon him. He knew that his very life depended upon the next half-hour, and now it looked as if he were about to lose everything because a woman had misunderstood a plain speech. Every moment found him more and more angry. At length, unable to control himself any longer, he was in the act of going to look for her, when a heavy footstep approached the room. The door was thrown open and a man entered, clad after the same fashion as himself. The behaviour of this individual was not conciliatory. Casting a quick look at Veneda standing by the window, he said gruffly—

"Your business here, senor?"

"I am waiting for a friend."

"The Senora Juanita perhaps?"

"Perhaps."

"Then you will wait a long time, for she has gone."

Veneda almost shouted in his surprise. In a second all sorts of treachery had flashed through his brain.

"Gone!" he cried. "What the devil do you mean? Where's she gone?"

"Who knows?" the other replied airily, giving his narrow shoulders a slight shrug. "I allow it's her own business where she goes, not mine, thank God."

In three strides Veneda was beside him, and had clapped a revolver to his head.

"Look here, my uncivil friend," he said, "I don't want to make trouble in this house for my own sake, but if you don't tell me what you know, I swear I'll blow your brains out where you stand. That's cold-drawn biz, I reckon."

The man was silent for a moment, then a nervous little laugh came from under the sombrero.

"Marcos, do you think I am well enough disguised?"

It was Juanita!

Veneda could scarcely credit his senses, the deception was so perfect. But his admiration for her acting did not prevent his drawing her towards the door, whispering as he did so—

"It's wonderful! No one could possibly recognize you in than get-up. Now we must fairly jump for the harbour, or we'll be too late."

Closing the front door on another incident in their lives they set off towards the port. And what a night it was! All day long the city had been the scene of constant rioting, but now that darkness had fallen to cloak their misdeeds, the mob had grown proportionately bolder. From simple exuberance of spirits and foolish mischief, their behaviour had become that of fiends. Houses had been and were still being looted in every street; incendiary fires pierced the sky in all directions; and the crack of rifles, with the whine of bullets, sounded almost without cessation. Scarcely a street, moreover, but was strewed with the bodies of their victims, the greater portion of which were women.

Juanita's presence of mind was little short of marvellous; terrifying though the sights she was constantly compelled to witness must have been to her, only once did she betray a sign of fear. Leaving the street in which her house was situated, they passed by a narrow alley into another, which in its turn led them into an open square. This it was unfortunately necessary that they should cross, in order to reach a thoroughfare leading to the wharves. No sooner had they entered it than Veneda saw what a fatal mistake he had made. One glance told him that it was filled with the lowest scum of the Chilian mob, frenzied with debauchery and incendiarism. On the far side a row of houses blazed into the sky, while on that nearest to them a dense crowd of men and women, denizens of the most infamous quarters, were dancing the Cueca, or national dance, with a wildness absolutely indescribable. Twice while he watched, Veneda saw men draw revolvers, and shoot down without any reason save wanton cruelty the wretched women who leapt and gesticulated opposite them.

These sights were too much for Juanita. She tottered, and would have fallen in a faint, had not Veneda passed his arm beneath her poncho and sustained her. Almost beside himself with despair, he dragged her into a dark alley, and bade her sit down and rest until she felt able to proceed. Then they resumed their walk at increased speed. Time was more precious to them now than money; they could risk no more delays. It seemed an eternity since they had set out together!

But there was not much more before them. Turning a corner the cold sea breeze smote upon their faces, and a moment later the dark waters of the bay confronted them. Had they had time, and been so inclined, they might have stopped to offer up a prayer of thankfulness for their escape; but as it was they contented themselves with looking anxiously for something they expected to find awaiting them. Seeing nothing, Veneda gave a peculiar whistle, which, to his evident relief, was instantly answered from a mass of deep shadow to their left. A second later a ship's long-boat came into the starlight, and pulled towards the landing-place, the man steering standing up and peering towards them as if to make certain of their identity.

"Who are you?" he took care to ask before he brought the boat up to the steps, "and what do you want?"

"My name's Veneda," was the reply, "and I want a boat from the Island Queen."

Evidently this answer was deemed satisfactory, for the same voice replied—

"One moment, sir, and I'll bring her alongside. I've been waiting for you this hour past; the tide is serving, and the old man will murder me for being so long."

When the man in the bows had hooked on, Veneda escorted Juanita down the steps, and signed her to enter the boat. But this the person in command was disinclined to permit.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, civilly but firmly, "my instructions were to bring you off alone, and I cannot include any one else."

"Oh, that's all right, my good fellow, this gentleman is a personal friend, and I have arranged to take him on board with me."

"I'm very sorry, sir, but I cannot exceed my instructions; will you be good enough to step in yourself? There's no time to waste if we want to catch this tide."

"But I tell you my friend must accompany me," Veneda answered, at the same time stepping into the boat himself; "I will be responsible to the captain."

"No, sir, not another word, I cannot do it. My instructions were most explicit—one gentleman, and only one! Jackson, shove off!"

"Ah! I see how it is. One gentleman—exactly—but nothing was said about my wife."

The mate, for such it turned out later he was appeared completely mystified.

"Your wife! Where is she?"

"This lady is my wife," said Veneda, pointing to Juanita standing on the steps. "It was impossible for me to bring her through the town on a night like this in her own dress, so to ensure her safety I was compelled to make her wear a suit of mine. Juanita, my dear, convince this gentleman that you are only masquerading."

Her voice sounded very sweet and womanly as she said in English—

"Surely, sir, you will believe what my husband says?"

The mate scratched his head. He was in a dilemma, and he couldn't see his way out of it. At last he made up his mind.

"Well, sir, I'll risk it any way. Will you be good enough to step in, ma'am? I'm sorry to have made you wait, but the fault's with the captain for saying nothing about your coming."

Entering the boat, she took her seat opposite Veneda, and they pushed off. Before they had way on her, the sounds of a man running were heard upon the wharf, and next moment a strange figure came into view and bounded down the steps. It was none other than the Albino, under the influence of extraordinary rage; his long white hair floated in the wind, his arms worked with frantic gesticulations, and his voice shook with the violence of his passion. Fortunately for the fugitives he spoke in Spanish, a language with which neither the mate nor any of the boat's crew were familiar. He had caught sight of Veneda, and it was at him that his torrent of abuse was directed.

"Marcos Veneda," he cried, shaking his fist at the retreating boat, "thief! traitor! coward!—come back—come back, and give me what you've stolen from me!"

But his wrath was vain; the boat by this time was fifty yards from the steps, and under the strong arms of her crew was every moment increasing the distance.

He was not, however, to be baulked; securing another, he was soon in hot pursuit, rowing as though his very life, or rather £200,000, depended on it.

The Island Queen lay a good distance out, and when the boat containing Veneda and Juanita came alongside, Captain Boulger was on deck. Hastening to the gangway to receive his passenger, he was not a little surprised to see two.

"I'm right glad to see you at last, Mr. Veneda," he said. "But I can't say I counted on any one else accompanying you."

Veneda was prepared for this, and he beckoned the captain on one side. A minute later he rejoined Juanita with the information that the difficulty was satisfactorily settled. The mate went forward to attend to the raising of the anchor, and by the time the Albino's boat was within hailing distance, the schooner had got way on her, and was drawing quickly out of the harbour.

To say that that gentleman, when he realized his enemy was escaping him, was angry, would be to convey a very false impression of his state. He stood up in his boat, foaming at the mouth, unable to speak, and shaking his fist wildly at the vessel till she had passed out of sight. But, though he was so overcome with rage, he had not failed to notice the name painted in white letters across the stern—"Island Queen, Tahiti."

It was some time before he felt able to pull ashore. But when he did so, he said solemnly to himself—

"Marcos Veneda, I don't mind owning you're a very clever fellow; you seem, however, to have forgotten one thing. You've broken faith with one of the strongest organizations in the world. If it costs that Society every cent it's worth, if it has to chase you round the world, it will get the money back, and be even with you for this bit of treachery!"

CHAPTER VI.

Regarded in cold blood, the hairbreadth escapes of that evening read almost like a nightmare. Twice the schooner came unpleasantly near colliding with anchored vessels, and once they felt certain they had attracted the notice of a Congressionalist cruiser; for a voice hailed them out of the darkness as they swept past, and receiving no answer gave utterance to a succession of orders, which were followed by the shrill chirruping of a bosun's pipe. But though every moment they expected to see the flash of a gun, nothing occurred, and in half-an-hour they were clear of the land, steering a direct course across the Pacific for Tahiti, viâ Pitcairn Island.

Throughout the exit Veneda and Juanita remained side by side on deck, anxiously watching events. The experiences they had lately passed through supplied them with plenty to think about, while the repeated close things they were then undergoing served to remind them that they must not be in too great a hurry to believe themselves safe. Though they might count themselves almost out of the frying-pan, there was still the fire yawning to receive them, and both agreed it would be worse than death to be captured and taken back just when safety seemed within their reach.

With the recollection of the dangers they had passed through came the remembrance of the Albino on the wharf, and his exhibition of futile rage. A smile crossed Veneda's face as he recalled the scene, but it was instantly obliterated and succeeded by a scowl as he reflected that, in order to have been there at all, the dwarf must in some measure have become cognizant of their plans; and in that case it would not be beyond the bounds of possibility to suppose him aware of their destination. The outcome of these thoughts was a serious reflection. Could Juanita be in league with his enemy? He asked himself this question with a good deal of anxiety. That they had had dealings together in the past he was perfectly aware; what therefore more probable than that in such a gigantic enterprise as the present, where such a fortune was concerned, she should deem it the safest policy to stand in with both parties, and if possible to hoodwink and outwit both? With these thoughts in his mind he glanced at her as she stood clinging to the taffrail by his side, her fine figure swaying to every motion of the ship. No; he would not believe it. He told himself that, as far as beauty went, she was a queen among women, and that whatever happened he must not let her suspect he was anything but devotedly attached to her. Meanwhile he would set his brains to work to devise some scheme by which he might rid himself of her.

By this time only a few twinkling lights remained to them of Valparaiso. The loud churning of the water under her nose, and the boiling froth in her wake, evidenced the fact that the schooner was putting her best foot foremost. The breeze whistled merrily, and from the appearance of the sky there was every prospect of its continuing. Overhead the stars shone as only tropic stars can, and their myriad radiances were reflected in the coal-black water, till it had all the appearance of an ebony floor powdered with gold-dust. But they would not be reflected there long, for the sea was not now what it had been inside the bay. A heavy swell had set in, and the little vessel was beginning to roll unpleasantly; so much so, that once or twice Veneda had to clutch Juanita to save her from falling. Standing side by side, they watched the last signs of Chili vanish beneath the waves. As the land disappeared a sudden gust swept Juanita's broad-brimmed hat from her head away into the swirling darkness.

"Come, Juanita," Veneda said, slipping his arm through hers with the first real sign of protectorship he had shown, "this is no place for you; let me help you below."

But it was easier to talk of going below than actually to get there; for the schooner was heeling over at an angle that made walking almost impossible. Eventually, however, with the assistance of the mate, who had taken charge, to allow the skipper to obtain his supper, it was accomplished, and the shelter of the companion reached.

As they entered the cuddy, Captain Boulger emerged from his cabin, and with a bow made his passengers welcome. He was a tall man, thin as a lath, with a long, hatchet-shaped face, to which an idea of additional length was imparted by a carefully-trimmed goatee beard. His eyes, a peculiar shade of grey, peered at one from beneath enormous bushy eyebrows. His voice was deep and rumbling, his utterance slow and pedantic, and when he could think of nothing to say or was absorbed in anything, it was his habit to whistle quaint almost forgotten hymn-tunes, of which he had managed to acquire a wonderful collection.

Juanita was too much a woman of the world to have failed to note his weak point, and bearing in mind the peculiar nature of her position on board the schooner, and the need she might some day stand in of a friend, she resolved to address herself to his subjugation without unnecessary delay. On his side, in spite of her manly attire, he could not but admit her attractions, and when she complimented him on the sailing qualities of the Island Queen, she had laid the foundation of his capture.

On the skipper's return to the deck, the mate, whose name by the way was Crawshaw (a Hampshire man he called himself, though he confessed to never having been in England in his life), descended in search of supper. He was a nice-looking young fellow, well set up, very muscular, and tanned by constant exposure the colour of mahogany. Seeing Veneda and Juanita at the table he doffed his cap politely, at the same time jerking out an embarrassed "Good-evening," as though he had not seen them five minutes previously.

"It seems to be freshening up," Veneda remarked, for the sake of saying something. "The schooner rides easier than I would have expected considering what she's carrying. By the way, have you such a thing as a cabin-boy aboard?"

Jamming an enormous piece of salt junk into his mouth, Crawshaw rose to his feet, and, without a word, vanished up the companion-ladder, to reappear a few minutes later with a shock-headed, shambling urchin, of about sixteen years of age. Cuffing him towards Veneda, he said sheepishly, as though ashamed of possessing so much knowledge—

"His name's Nicodemus,—'Old Nick' they call him forrard; he knows all about everything, and he's a son of a gun for laziness. Can I make him do anything for you?"

Veneda explained that he desired to see and arrange their respective cabins. Whereupon Crawshaw resumed his cuffing of the boy, remarking—

"Now, you young swab, turn to and get those berths cleaned out, or I'll break every second rib in your body; d'ye hear me now?"

The Island Queen boasted four cabins aft, the dimensions of which were about half those of the smallest pattern prison-cells, and were evidently intended to contain human beings of less than the average size. The captain had his furthest aft on the starboard side, the mate that nearest the companion on the port. Juanita had therefore one on either hand to choose from. She ultimately decided upon that adjoining the skipper's; Veneda taking the berth next to Crawshaw. It was a fortunate thing for both of them, but especially for Juanita, who otherwise would have been compelled to make the whole voyage to Tahiti in man's attire, that Veneda had been able to have a small quantity of luggage conveyed on board. By the time her cabin was prepared, and her comfort as far as possible assured, it was nearly eleven o'clock, and she expressed herself ready for bed. Bidding her "good-night," Veneda lit a cigar in the cuddy and returned to the deck.

It was a perfect night, with hardly a cloud visible in the whole length and breadth of the sky. The wind still blew fresh and strong, and now and again sharp dashes of spray rattled on the deck like hail. As she had everything in her favour, the schooner's motion was comparatively steady. Looking about him, Veneda spied the captain leaning against the taffrail; on crossing, he found him whistling "The Old Hundredth" with exceptional fervour.

"A fine night, Captain Boulger," he said, proffering a cigar; "if this weather continues, we shan't be long picking up Tahiti."

"Not if it does," the skipper replied, taking a squint aloft at the bellying canvas; "but don't you reckon we're always going to be as lucky as this. It's not all plain sailing across these waters, especially at this time of year, I can tell you."

"Well, at any rate I must congratulate you on the way you got us out of the harbour; it was a fine bit of seamanship."

"It's all very well for you to say so, Mr. Veneda," the skipper continued, lugubriously. "But what about the next time I want to go into Valparaiso; d'you think they won't remember me for this? I'll be boycotted for ever."

"Well, and if you are, you've been well paid for the unpleasantness, my friend, so we'll hear no more on that score."

"And this lady, your wife you make her. Of course I don't say anything about that. But nothing was ever mentioned about females in the contrac'. How much is it to be for her?"

"Half as much as for myself; I thought we were agreed upon that."

"Well, well, I suppose it must be so, but in my opinion it's dirt cheap at the money. And, look here, Mr. Veneda, my mate tells me something about a grey-haired chap who wanted to come off too. Now what about him?"

"Never you mind about him, he won't trouble you. We've done with him for ever."

"Don't you be too sure of that; if he wants you so badly that he had to pull off after you, he's not going to let you slip so easily; and what's more, if he knows the name of your boat, he'll nail you by cable in Tahiti as soon as winkin'. There are more ways of killing a cat than choking him with butter, Mr. Veneda."

"I don't doubt it, but as he doesn't know the name of the boat, by your own argument I'm quite safe," Veneda said, throwing the stump of his cigar overboard into the curdling wake.

"Well, all I can say is, if he don't know it, he don't deserve to."

"But how the deuce could he know it?"