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

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

THE ESCAPE FROM CHILI

It was nearly seven o'clock when Veneda bade farewell to the ruins of the house, in connection with which he had undergone such a variety of experiences; and, as I have already said, at half-past he had arranged to effect his escape from Chili. Now, though he was aware that there was no possible chance of his being able to get out of it, he was nevertheless much concerned about the wisdom of taking Juanita with him. He could not help seeing that by including a woman in his plans he was hampering his own freedom of action, and thus imperilling his one chance of safety; but on the other hand he could hit out no way of disposing of her, and since she possessed a large portion of his secret, it would be the most criminal folly possible to leave her behind to join the ranks of those who, he felt convinced, would ultimately pursue him from Chili. There were, besides, other and more cogent reasons against this latter course.

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."