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When the work was done, and the four Englishmen lay upon the beach, stiff with the ropes which bound them, the Spaniards who had achieved such a quick capture began to display their exultation with deep guttural cries. Some stood above the captives and uttered the shrill exclamations for many minutes; others ran along the beach calling loudly to their fellows on the cliffs above that the work was done; others, again, brought torches, which they thrust almost into the faces of the prisoners under the pretence of examining them. Nor was the band lacking the picturesque—numbering, as Messenger computed, at least thirty men, all armed with the cuchillo and with muskets, and clothed in garments which represented at once the tawdry splendour of the southern taste and the warmer fashion of the mountain country. Here were rateros in the gaudy cloaks of the Iberian; hulking seamen in long mantles of rich and faded silk; bearded men whose sashes shone with hues of intense red and aggressive yellow; swarthy Galicians in the black zamarra; simple peasants who capered in the torch-light; even boys who yodledat the victory. And for a long space they kept up the tow-row and the din, and threatened the bound men with their knives or their cudgels.

That there was any merit in the capture is not to be conceded. Messenger's own record, from which this present account is chiefly written, establishes the simplicity of it. "I lay it," says he, "entirely to my own folly in getting upon the roof of the rock-house that we were taken. The Spaniards must have watched for us upon the shore all day, and Burke's madness in coming out of the haven gave them the clue they waited for. When they did spring upon us, it was with the dash of a cavalry charge. I had three men upon my back and three at my throat before I could put a hand upon my pistol; and scarce had I touched the floor when a fellow whipped a slip-knot round my arms, and pinned them so that the rope cut my flesh."

The record of the others is to the same effect; and in one matter, at any rate, their thoughts were very similar. That this was the supremity of their disaster was as plain to them as the faces of the swarthy horde who gibbered upon the sand; but whether the Spaniards had actually come upon the gold—or, indeed, knew any thing of its history—they could not tell. It was sufficient for them that they were irreparably in the power of a babbling crew who seemed to restrain themselves from immediate murder with personal pain; and they could only conclude, with overwhelming bitterness, that chance had written for them this blunt termination of their emprise, and that they among them would be lucky who lived to see another sun.

As the moments passed this latter thought became their only one in the presence of the immediate danger from the exulting Spaniards. Some of these, in the play of their humour, now began to thrash the bodies of the bound with their heavy wooden clubs; others thrust their torches very near to the faces of the prone men, or threatened them with their cuchillos. It is scarce possible, in fact, to believe that the end of the four would not have come quickly had there not been the intervention of one in authority, a giant of a man, in a capa edged with fur and a fine sombrero, at the sound of whose voice the mob fell back and stood silent. But he, coming up to Messenger and making him a profound bow, seemed to be finding apology; and when he had doffed his hat many times, he turned about and spoke to a man at his elbow, and at that the cords which held the necks and the ankles of the captives were cut, and the four of them were lifted into two boats which had been rowed to the sand during the mêlée.

The first of these, a pretty craft finished like a yacht's boat, took Messenger and Fisher; the second, a plainer ship, but one holding at least twenty men, had Burke and the nigger. And the boats being thus laden, the Spaniards rowed quickly up the bay, and Messenger's hope sank low when he observed that their course was for the lagoon he had fled from in the morning, and that the men who had debouched upon them were also those who had cried to one another in the door of the tunnel.

During this short voyage the boat which carried Burke fell rapidly behind the lighter craft wherein Messenger was, he sitting at the stern with the big man beside him, and Fisher lying, in the greatest state of fear he had ever known, at the bows. Both of them now had the shackles of the rope only upon their hands, yet thought of any attempt to turn the situation by leaping from the boat was out of their minds, and would, at the best, have been idle thought. As for the elder man, his quick-scheming mind already ran upon a dozen ways and means, yet he could shape nothing until time should tell him more explicitly how the position lay; and, in the expectation of light, he turned to the Spaniard and asked him in French—

"Where are you taking us?"

"Sabe Dios, quien sabe," replied the fellow stoically.

Messenger, not having a phrase of Spanish to understand the sarcasm, ventured the thing again, this time in English.

"Do you belong to the palace on the hill?"

The man responded with a "Perdone, señor," and another smile, showing, had there been light by which to see them, a fine row of brown teeth. Then he pointed with abundant gesticulation toward the haven, and seemed to wish to say that the position of the prisoners caused suffering to himself. But Messenger, believing that he was understood, went on with his talk.

"You seem to have a pretty collection of vagabonds at your beck and call," said he. "I'm afraid this will cost you dear. We're expecting a ship from Ferrol to-morrow, and the English consul there will know where to look for us. You play a dangerous game!"

To his intense surprise the Spaniard laughed right out at this remark.

"Possibly," said he, in the English of the Palais Royal—"possibly; but we play him with the pistol in the pocket, señor. Your pardon, I speak what the English call the warning—you be exhorted of me and take him."

"Oh, then, you're the chief," said Messenger, looking at him closely, "and the owner of the place, I presume?"

"It is mine, and yet—as you speak—it is not mine. I serve my mistress there are thirty years; I will serve her thirty more—ojala!"

"Are we going to her now?"

"No, se sabe. I tell you in the come-and-by" (he meant the by-and-by). "I am but the servant; the servant cannot make speak when the mistress does not speak—not at all, by no means!"

Messenger observed at this the cunning of the man, and lapsed into silence. The boat had now swung round into the creek of the sea; and they began to row through a great gorge which rose up, infinitely grand in the moonlight, to a height of at least three hundred feet above the beach. The steep and stony walls of this were half hid by the pines and clinging plants which thrived generously upon it; yet there were stretches where the quartz-like ore gave a sheen as of burnished silver, and the lagoon itself shone like a mirror where the soft light fell. For the third part of a mile, at the least, the boat glided silently below the home of eagles and the wood-capped peaks, meeting no other craft; nor was there any sign of men until, with a sudden turn, the mouth of the tunnel came to their view, and a dozen rough fellows, gathered upon the small wall at the edge, hailed the boat^s crew, and were answered with a hail again.

"Hola! que tal?" The cry was repeated thrice, and each time the echo of the sound boomed in the tunnel, and seemed to roll away to the very heart of the hills. At its second repetition the boat had come up to a great cave-like aperture, and, being rowed straight on, a weighty darkness closed the scene from the men's eyes; and they could distinguish only the glitter of rude lamps, which showed, in their limited aureola, walls green with slime, and water which shone black as the environing darkness. But, and this after the fashion of the creek without, the tunnel trended, when it had continued for some two hundred yards, sharply to the right; and as the boat swung round on the bend she came up to a small wooden platform in the wall, and there was held by a couple of seamen who carried lanterns in their hands, and appeared to be waiting for the party.

The exchange of greeting between the Spaniards was very brief. The man in authority at once stepped upon the platform and bade the Englishmen follow him through a wicket of iron set in the rock; and when they had so done, they were in a narrow passage of brick feebly lighted by oil lamps. The passage inclined upward at a very sharp angle, and was so low that a stooping posture was necessary to those who walked in it; but the Spaniards set a quick pace up the incline, and presently they emerged upon a stone court-yard with exceeding high walls; and thence, passing another gate into a block of buildings, they continued through several corridors until at last they stood within the castle itself, as they surmised; and the guide bade them wait in the charge of three of the others who had accompanied him.

So far as Messenger could observe in the dim light the building in which they now were had walls of immense thickness, and betrayed its age in every arch and pillar. Above them a roof of stone sculptured with rich tracery gave evidence of Moorish influence, and the slender columns which supported it had much of the delicacy which is conspicuous at Granada. Yet the vast hall, or ante-room, or whatever it was, possessed scant ornament of furniture, though towering gates, emblazoned with shining brass, and many images with lamps burning upon them, were a testimony of abiding care. The aspect of it, indeed, was one of sumptuous luxury, and led the imagination on quickly to depict gorgeous scenes behind the gates, whence came the murmur of fountains splashing and the low hum of voices.

In this hall the two prisoners—for Burke and the nigger were not brought there—waited for the space of ten minutes, standing moodily before their guides. At the end of that time one of the brass gates was opened, and the Spaniard returned, beckoning them to follow him. Nor did he appear to anticipate any attempt to escape, being alone with them after they had passed from the hall, and stopping a moment to cut the ropes which bound their hands. They were now in a lofty passage lit by lamps of bronze, and so thickly carpeted that the footfall was noiseless; a passage upon whose walls strange allegories, depicted with the brilliant colouring of the Spanish school, were lavished; and from the great corridor they passed to a circular and gilt-domed ante-chamber, where fountains bubbled up from the outstretched arms of nereids; and light fell cunningly upon marble basins and the sun-fish which swarmed in them. Never had either of them seen a chamber so perfect in its harmonious colouring, so seductive in its lounges, so suggestive of ultimate placidity of life; but hardly had they come into it when the great Spaniard threw open curtains which hid one of the panels of its apse, and the pair of them stood in the presence of the Spanish woman.

The room was a lofty one, lighted by many candles set in a chandelier of Venetian glass; its panelled walls were decorated by sombre portraits. At its upper end an archway hung with curtains cut it off from a smaller apartment, which was just seen through open woodwork delicately carved; and there was a gallery running along one of its sides with other doors leading into it. Yet was the most striking feature of the chamber the crone-like hag sitting in a low chair, surrounded by great Danes, who snarled at the new-comers. As the light from a reading-lamp shone upon her face, the Spanish woman, whom Messenger had last seen for any certainty at Monaco, presented a countenance no less repulsive than upon the day of their first meeting. Her thick ropy black hair fell upon her shoulders in the fashion of the school-girl; her arms seemed as muscular as those of a strong man; her face was brown with the burn of the sun; her eyes shone with an unnatural lustre, and flashed light here and there as the eyes of an eagle. And as the two stood before her she searched them with her gaze so that they could scarce face her, and were conscious of a mysterious subtlety and power of which they had not known the like.

When the big Spaniard had withdrawn, the woman spoke in English which had hardly a fault, but with a voice that grated on the ear like an unresolved discord.

"Well, Mr. Arnold Messenger," said she, "it is our privilege to meet again!"

At this Messenger started imperceptibly, but answered quickly—

"Madame, I do not remember that we have met before."

"No?" she said, with emphasis, using a great fan of ostrich feathers cunningly. "Then you have lost your memory with your money—what a double misfortune!"

Now when she said this the man felt a twitch of every nerve in his body. That the woman knew his name was ill chance enough; but that she made no disguise whatever of the other knowledge threw him so thoroughly off his mental balance that he answered her with a lie which was as clumsy as it was useless.

"Madame," said he, with a great simulation of regret, "my memory I may recover; but the money is now in the Atlantic, though by what means you heard of it I cannot conceive."

"By what means!" said she. "Indeed, you do little credit to your reputation. Here is your life and a description of your recent achievements in a dozen papers—Spanish, French, and English. They say that you are the most cunning——"

"It's very good of them," said Messenger lightly, and feeling the ground more surely; "let us accept their opinion gratefully, and go on to speak of other things. I will begin by asking you a question: Why have you brought us here?"

"To have the pleasure of seeing the first rogue in Europe," she replied, with a slight laugh.

"Is your curiosity gratified?"

"Nay," said she, "you are not ill-looking, not by any means; and I think you must be clever. I am glad that you have come to no harm."

She said this with as much unconcern as though she were weighing the life of a fowl; but the man replied, with a shrug of his shoulders—

"I think it was well that you did; there are others in Ferrol who have not yet the pleasure of your hospitality; they may return any moment, and will know exactly where to seek us."

"And the money?" she exclaimed, with the same harsh laugh.

"The money is out in the sea," said Messenger doggedly.

"As the young man here will tell me, too, no doubt!" she continued, turning to Fisher, who had listened to the conversation with surprise at every word of it; and when she had looked at him with her sharp eyes, she added—"A pretty boy; but not clever, I fear. These things should not be heard by one so young."

Upon this she touched a bell at her side, and a Spanish servant, dressed in ceremonious black, instantly appeared.

"Conduct this gentleman to his room!" said she; and the man beckoned to Fisher, who followed him from the apartment without finding a word, since he was yet hoping that he would find in the place one who alone interested him of all those he had seen in Spain. But when he was gone, the woman bade Messenger sit, and took up her words at once.

"Well," said she, "I am sorry not to find you clever. It was not worthy of you to lie so clumsily, seeing how little it serves you. A falsehood should be the last resort of genius like yours. Had you not better tell me at once where the money is?"

"On what terms?" asked Messenger, with a slight betrayal of eagerness.

She leaned back upon her seat and looked straight at him.

"Your life,'* said she, "and, as you will wish it, that of the boy."

Messenger could sit no longer.

"Madame," said he, standing before her, and holding back his passion with effort, "we are wasting our time. You must have the poorest opinion of me to propose that. I refuse, of course."

It was a critical moment, as he felt. Though ostensibly alone, he could see the savage eyes of men peering through the woodwork at the far end of the chamber; and even from holes in the face of a portrait quite near to him a man was glancing. Whether or no the next moment would bring death to him he did not know; but suddenly he played his only card—though for one instant he had the idea of killing the woman as she sat, and trusting to the after-minutes for his opportunity. But she only looked at him with an infinite power of penetration; and her hand hovered upon the bell at her side.

"You are a bold man," said she presently. "I must really make up my mind about you."

"When you do that," said Messenger, "I counsel you to look all round. You cannot think that you and the nature of your profession are unknown to me, or that I have taken no precautions. My friend Jake Williams"—he remembered Kenner's story, luckily—"has already had some acquaintance with you in America. I expect him on the coast with fifty men every hour, and he will first seek me here."

She shrugged her shoulders, but her right hand still was dangerously near to the bell.

"Jake Williams, did you say?" she asked.

"No other," he answered.

"Ah!" said she, "then he is the man spoken of by the journals as Jake Kenner; and is he coming back?"

"Certainly," said he; "and as he knows a little of your past it might be troublesome if he missed us."

He said this slowly and impressively, as he hoped; but the woman, having heard his words, did not, to his surprise, give him any immediate answer.

In the silence which followed upon his speech, the deep breathing of the Spaniards was heard more clearly. He was perfectly aware of her thoughts as she sat, all drawn up in her chair, a black cape drawn over her shoulders, and her ravenous eyes seeing nothing but pictures which the mind gave her. He knew that she was weighing the measure of the risk which would follow upon his death; and was debating at the same time the possibility of finding the money without his aid. Had he been in her place he would have taken the bolder course unhesitatingly, and no man from the Semiramis would have lived an hour; but he could not forget that she was a woman, and women have caution rather than boldness in any work to which they may set their hands. When at last she spoke, her words ran well with his surmises.

"Well," said she, taking up the point as though there had been no pause, "it was wise of you to send the American to Ferrol. He and I have scores to settle; but, mon ami, is it not probable that he is already on his way to England in the custody of the police?"

"Perfectly possible," replied Messenger, who grasped the point instantly, "but that will make no difference to us; he will have delivered our letters to others."

"And the others will cry abroad that you are on this coast, with a million of money, or as much of it as you saved from the wreck, to protect you from me. What a clever idea!"

"It is not clever," said Messenger, shrugging his shoulders; "but it is our last card. If we sink, I am perfectly determined that you shall not have a shilling, unless——"

"Unless what?"

"Unless you help us. And I will make you this offer: I will pay you one-third of the whole sum got out of the wreck if you will put your men at our disposal for a week, and allow us in the meantime the shelter of this house. Pray think it out calmly. If we are out of the way, you may find the bullion; but the greater probability is that you will never find it. And if you should be so lucky, our friends, who will presently discover our absence, will immediately make the whole story public, with your share in it the loudest talked about. A moment's consideration should convince you that your whole interest lies with us."

At this she looked up at him, a smile withering upon her hard drawn face.

"That's very well said," she cried, "but there are holes in your argument. Let me remind you that we may find what is missing before the sun rises. Do you think that we shall sit here idly and wait your pleasure? Indeed, you don't, for you are not such a fool."

"I shall risk any thing you may do," said Messenger; "it's the one risk I must take. Otherwise I have rather the best case, and can afford to laugh at your efforts."

He had grown bolder as he felt her wavering and saw that she made no movement as though she would touch the gong at her side. But the Spaniards were still pressing upon the grating, and at this last speech of his he could hear the murmuring of their whispering. As for the woman, his words turned her from her quieter mood to one of ostensible anger.

"I would not begin to laugh yet!" she snapped; "there is time for that. I have done with you now, to-morrow I shall know my mind. But don't forget that I have offered you your life and that of the boy——"

"Or that I claim the lives of the others," said Messenger, in a burst of lofty generosity which fell in exactly with the part he was acting.

"You claim!' she answered, her anger growing, "you claim! ha! I shall be compelled to teach you a lesson! As I live, you are the first man that has dared to argue with me in my own house——"

"Let us hope I shall not be the last," exclaimed Messenger, who saw that he had won the deal; "argument, madame, is the doorstep to reason."

"You are impertinent," she said, rising. "Next time we meet I shall take means to bring you to better behaviour!"

When she had said this, she tapped twice upon the table with her fan; then withdrew herself behind a panel which flew open at the touch of her hand, and was gone from sight. She had flaunted away in a burst of anger, and her exit had been in some part melodramatic; but the man for whose benefit the performance was designed stood quite unmoved. He thought only that he had taken her measure, and found it rather shallow. For her threats he did not care a snap of the fingers; and, to his infinite satisfaction, he foresaw the moment when the end of the bargaining should restore to him all that yesterday seemed lost. With the woman's aid he would reach South America in the faces of all the British warships that floated; with her assistance he would put his heel on the schemes for his capture and grind them to shreds. A dream of success floated up from the thought and held him motionless. The first ambition which had prompted the great flight from London was potent again with all its aims and possibility. He could have hugged himself at the luck which sent him to such a shore and such a haven.

He was aroused from the contemplation of these visions by the sudden discovery that a servant stood at his side—a waiting-man, dressed sombrely in black, but with knee-breeches, and silver buckles upon his shoes. Whence the fellow had come he did not know; but he looked at the gratings, where he had seen the eyes of many men a few minutes before, and did not now behold a single face. The crowd of janissaries had vanished as a picture from a lantern-cloth; the room beyond was in utter darkness; only the one servant waited for him, and appeared to be impatient that he should go. Another man might have contemplated, under such circumstances, a quick dash for liberty; but he was too wise. Though he could not see them, he felt that many eyes watched him; that he had but to raise a hand, and he would be struck down as he stood.

Convinced of this, he followed the lackey from the room, and, passing to a narrow stair case, he mounted many flights of stairs, going upward, upward, until at last the man opened a heavy wooden door, which swung upon valves, and intimated to him that this was his apartment. As he stepped into the room the door was locked behind him; but a cheery greeting reassured him, and he made the welcome discovery that he was caged with the others of his party, and that they had looked upon him as dead.