Royal Amethyst/Chapter 23

now assured that for myself and Paul Carburton the end was very near. Somewhere in the recesses of the dungeon Jefferson lay dead—that single revolver shot had been charged with meaning. Bit by bit Count Hofberg was working out his plans, and the next step would be the killing of Carburton and myself.

That done, he would be free to go where he pleased. No one would ever search these underground recesses. Only the local people were aware of their existence, and they were too much afraid to come near the place. Everything was in the count's favor, and the gray ruins of the old stronghold would keep his secret forever.

I watched him as he came within the circle of the pillars. He set his lamp down on the floor, and, taking a seat on some masonry close by, drew out a parcel from his pocket and slowly unwrapped it. The light from the lamps flashed and sparkled on the contents, which he counted and transferred to a wash leather belt, taken from his waist.

“Well, Hanmer!” he said. “Here are the jewels, you see. What a pity that you did not enter into the partnership which I proposed! I do not think I should have terminated it as I have just terminated that with Jefferson. Now, my dear Hanmer, I dare say you wonder how I came to work out this matter. Well, before I shoot you, I will tell you.”

At this point the count paused to light a cigarette in leisurely fashion.

“When I made up my mind that you were not the thief,” he resumed, “I cast about me for some likely person, and it occurred to me that our friend here was distinctly a suspicious character. He was posing as an artist, but a very slight inspection of his picture, Hanmer, convinced me that he was a mere amateur, with just sufficient skill to trick a person like yourself. Observation of his movements revealed the fact that he had a female accomplice in the castle. If our friend there had wrung the neck of Nancy Flynn's demure-looking serving woman as soon as he and she had brought off their rather well planned coup, he might have been in safety at this moment, and in possession of the jewels. A female accomplice is always a nuisance after her share of the work is done. She usually insists upon meetings after dark, and such meetings, Hanmer, may be witnessed. The person whom you see there is one Neil Hartopp, a thief, who is wanted by the police for various escapades. He appears to have acted in league with Nancy Flynn's maid, the innocent-looking Patty, in this matter; and if Jefferson had not kept an eye on her the other night, and I had not done the same for him, they would probably have carried their project to final success.”

As I watched him, wondering at the devilish coolness of the man, the crack of a revolver rang out close by me. Count Hofberg, who was sitting in a careless, lounging attitude, with his cigarette dangling from his lips, suddenly straightened himself with a convulsive movement of his body. He half sprang to his feet, and his eyes glared wildly. Then he collapsed like a house of cards, and rolled over on the floor, and became very still.

I fainted.

When I came to, the count still lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, and between him and me stood Nancy Flynn's maid, Patty Moore, holding a revolver. She lifted the lamp and threw its light on Count Hofberg's face. The man was dead.

She put the lamp down again and hurried across to the wretch hanging against the pillar. He was still unconscious, and his head rolled from one side to the other as she began to unfasten the ropes. She worked with fierce energy, staring from him to me, from me to the dead man on the floor, but she said no word until she had unfastened the last of the knots.

The man fell into her arms. She lowered him to the floor and bent over him, shaking him by the shoulders and calling him by name.

Hartopp opened his eyes at last, and begged for water. The girl looked around her with a despairing gaze. It seemed to strike her that there might be something on the dead man, and she began to examine his pockets. She soon discovered the flask, and went back to Hartopp with it. She forced the neck of the flask between his lips and held his head while he drank.

In a few moments he opened his eyes, sighed, and looked about him. The girl shook him gently.

“Neil!” she said. “Here, come to! It's me—Patty! Neil, what have they been doing to you? What's the matter with your hands and feet? Neil, I say, Neil—I've killed the German, anyhow!”

He stared at her vacantly. She gave him another drink of brandy, and gradually he became aware of his surroundings.

“Patty!” he exclaimed. “Is it you, my girl? It was the German and Jefferson, and they knocked me down in the wood, just after I left you, and brought me here. It was days ago, I think. Where are they?”

“The German's dead—there,” she said, pointing to Count Hofberg's body. “I don't know where the other man is. I shot the German. What's that fellow doing there?” she went on, nodding her head in my direction.

“I don't know,” Hartopp answered feebly. “They brought him in. Oh, my feet! They burned me with a red-hot bar, and made me tell them where the stuff was hid. I expect Count Hofberg's got it.”

“He's dead, I tell you!” she cried. “See, he's there! Lucky I knew where you'd hidden it! When I didn't hear from you, I came to see if you'd lifted it and gone off. You wouldn't have been here much longer—he was going to shoot both of you. Now, then, Neil, let's be getting out of this. I believe Harland's on your track.”

“Curse him!” said he. “I wish we'd cleared out at first. See if you can bandage my feet, Patty. I can't walk. I've had neither bite nor sup since they brought me here, and I'm as weak as a child.”

“Sh!” she said. “Don't make any noise, and let's get away as quick as we can. Where's Jefferson?”

“I believe Count Hofberg shot him,” replied Hartopp. “I heard a shot.”

“Then they're both out of the way,” she said. “Now, pull yourself together, Neil. Let's see what I can do for you.”

She gave him another drink of brandy. Then she took a handkerchief from the count's pocket, and, tearing it into strips, proceeded to bandage Hartopp's hands and feet. She drew on his socks and shoes, and at last got him on his feet. The man drew a deep breath and looked about him. When his gaze fell on the prostrate form of his principal tormentor, he lifted his foot and kicked the dead face.

“I wish I'd had him tied up for an hour before you sent him to hell, my girl!” he said. “He was a devil, he was! Let's see if he's got the things on him.”

He rolled the body over and stooped down to examine it. A moment's search brought the belt to light, and Hartopp fastened it carefully about his own waist. He kicked the dead man again as he turned away from him.

All this time I had been wondering what these two would do with me. At last the woman spoke.

“What's to be done with him?” she asked meaningly. “I guess he knows pretty nearly everything, doesn't he, Neil?”

The man nodded his head.

“Then there's only one thing to be done,” she said in a calm, even voice. “You'll have to put him away. Here, take my revolver, and get it over.”

She pushed the revolver into his hand as she spoke. He fingered it nervously.

“There's been enough blood hereabouts. I'm not going to kill any one,” he said.

“You fool!” she exclaimed. “He'll give us away if you don't!”

Hartopp hesitated. She uttered a sharp exclamation and tried to get the revolver.

“Here, give it to me, Neil,” she said impatiently.

“No,” he said, “I'm not going to have it done. Let's leave him where he is. There's never a soul comes near this place—they say it's haunted.”

Then, if I could, I would have cried out. They saw that I was struggling to speak, that I tried to burst my bonds, and they watched me for some moments.

“Come along,” said Hartopp at last. “He's safe enough there.”

Then, leaning on the girl's arm, he began to shuffle painfully away. In another moment they had disappeared in the gloom. Their steps gradually died out, and a heavy silence settled down over that hideous tomb.