第 35 页

which was a very handsome one, and rang at the door on the second

floor; for in Spain, as indeed almost all over the Continent, each

floor is a separate dwelling.

Sam opened it.

"Nothing new, Sam?"

"No, sar, nothing new."

Tom passed through the sitting-room, and entered Peter's bedroom. It

was in darkness.

"Asleep, old man?" he asked.

There was no answer. He came back into the sitting room, where two

lamps were burning, and looked at his watch. "Half-past eleven. He is

off to bed early. Sam, bring me some supper if you have got anything,

I am hungry."

Sam came in, in a minute, with a small tray.

"How long has my brother been gone to bed?"

"Me did not know he gone to bed at all," Sam said, in surprise. "Me

thought Massa Peter been reading book."

Tom took up a light, and went into the bedroom, it was empty. "Sam,

there's something wrong here!" Tom said sharply, for a sudden

sensation of alarm seized him. "Peter is not here."

Sam came into the bedroom, and looked round in astonishment. "What

become of him?" he said. "Where de debil he got to?"

"That's what I want to know, Sam. Now, then, just give all your

attention. What time did he come in?"

"He came in at about nine o'clock, sar, with three other officers,

Captain Farquharson, Major Heriot, and Captain Brown. Dey have bottle

wine, and sit here and smoke. Well, Massa Tom, Sam sit in his room,

and smoke him pipe, and he doze off a little; after a bit, may be

ten o'clock, Sam hear dem move, and go to door; they were saying

good-night, when Massa Peter said, 'I will just go down to see that

the horses are all right.' Den dey all go down togeder."

"Did they shut the door?" Tom asked.

"No, Massa Tom, dey did not shut de door, because, a little while

after, Sam, he wake up wid little start; he hear de door bang, and

'spose Massa Peter come back. Sam go off to sleep again till you ring

bell."

Tom looked very grave. "What can Peter have gone off with Farquharson

at this time of night for?"

Then he looked round the room, and said, almost with a cry, "Sam,

look there, there are his cap and sword. He has not gone out with the

others at all. What can have happened?"

Tom first glanced into his own room, and then ran downstairs in haste,

followed by Sam, who was now also thoroughly alarmed. The orderly had

just made the horse comfortable for the night, and was leaving the

stable.

"Johnstone, when did you see my brother?"

"Well, it may be an hour, or an hour and a half back, sir. He came

down with some other officers; I did not see them, but I heard them

talking for a minute or two before he came in to look at the horses,

and he asked if they were all right, and said they must be saddled by

half-past five, and then he went up again--at least, I suppose he went

up, for he had not got his cap on. Is anything wrong, sir?"

"I don't know, I am afraid to think," Tom said, in a dazed way. "He is

not upstairs; he has not gone out; what can have become of him?"

He stood quiet for a minute or two, and then, with a great effort,

brought his thoughts within control again. "The first thing is to

assure ourselves whether he returned upstairs. Sam, fetch a lamp, the

stairs are not lighted, and I want to examine them."

Sam soon returned with the lamp, and Tom, beginning at the street

door, examined every step carefully all the way up, Sam and the

soldier following him.

"There has been no scuffle on the stairs," he said; then he went

through the little hall into the sitting-room again. Nothing appeared

to have been disturbed. Then he looked at the floor, which was of

polished oak, and knelt down to examine it more closely. "There have

been men with dirty shoes standing here," he cried. "Do you see the

marks on each side of the door, and there, do you see that scratch and

that? There has been a scuffle. Good heavens! what has taken place

here?"

Sam's face was pale with apprehension that something had happened to

Peter; but, he said, "How dat be, Massa Tom, with Sam in the next room

all the time?"

Tom made no reply; but was closely examining the floor--back across

the hall. "There is a mark; there is another," he said, "not made by

boots, but by their native sandals." Then he went out from the door,

and up the next flight of stairs.

"There," he said, "just as I thought." Just round the angle of the

stairs two steps were dirty and stained, as if dirty feet had been

trampling upon them for some time. "I suppose they knew I was out, and

watched here, for hours, perhaps. Then, when Peter went down, they

slipped in through the open door, and then"--without completing the

sentence, Tom went back into the room, and threw himself into a chair

in tearless despair.

Sam sobbed loudly. For some time there was silence. "There is no

blood, sir, that I can see, not a speck," the orderly said. "They

can't have killed Captain Scudamore, and, if they had, why should they

have carried his body away?"

This was the question Tom had been asking himself. Assassinations

were, in Madrid, every-day occurrences, and that Peter and he were

especially liable to be murdered, owing to the hatred of Nunez and his

gang, was clear; but, so far as he could see, not a drop of blood had

been shed here. Presently Sam began to sob more loudly. "Dis break

my heart, Massa Tom, to tink dat Sam be next door all de time, and,

instead of watching, he sleep so sound dat Massa Peter carried

straight away."

"You are not to blame, Sam, there was, probably, no noise whatever.

But, what can it all mean? Johnstone, you had better go to bed, you

can do no good now. Sam, give me my pistols; take that big stick of

yours, and come round with me to head-quarters, we will call in at

Captain Farquharson's on the way."

That officer, on being roused, and made to understand what was the

matter, confirmed the account given by the orderly; he and his

companions had parted at the street door, and Peter had gone down the

yard to the stable.

"It is clear that Peter has been carried off," Tom said, "and I have

not the least doubt that it has been done by some of the band of

Nunez. As you have heard me say, they owe us a grudge, and have, no

doubt, been on the look-out ever since we came here. We have been

on guard, and never gave them a chance, and, I suppose, they got

desperate when they found the army was moving again, and so carried

out this audacious plan."

"If your brother had been found murdered I should understand it,"

Captain Farquharson said; "but, what on earth did they carry him off

for?"

Tom was silent for a minute.

"That fiend, Nunez, would have had us stabbed if he could do nothing

else; but he would, if I judge him rightly, be really contented with

nothing short of putting us to death himself in some horrible manner.

My own idea is, that Peter is hidden away somewhere near, will be kept

in concealment until the road is clear, and will then be taken to

Nunez. I must go off and try and save him at all hazards."

Captain Farquharson was silent, while Tom walked up and down the room

thoughtfully.

"I don't suppose the chief would refuse me leave," Tom said. "If he

does, I must throw up my commission."

"No, no; you are sure to get leave for such a thing as this, but the

difficulty of the affair will be to know how to proceed. The country

will swarm with French, the guerillas are sure to keep a sharp

look-out, and if you find him, how are you going to rescue him?"

"I don't know," Tom said, "but it's got to be done; that's clear. I

can't set out as a Spanish peasant," he went on after a pause. "They

know me as that now. At least, if I do I must get up as an old man

and change my appearance. I might go as a woman, but I am too tall in

the first place, and then women don't go wandering over the country

in such times as this. But there, I have time to think it over before

morning. I suppose the general will be moving about five o'clock;

I will see him the first thing, and tell him the whole story.

Good-night."

And so Tom went back to his quarters, and sat thinking deeply until

morning, while Sam sat gloomily in his little room, sometimes with

tears rolling down his cheeks, sometimes muttering terrible threats

against the guerillas, at other times cursing himself for having been

asleep instead of watching over his young master's safety. Tom had

briefly told him that he intended to get leave in order to search

for Peter. At daybreak, when he heard Tom moving, he went into the

sitting-room.

"Look here, Massa Tom, Sam only one word to say. He going to look for

Massa Peter. Sam know dat him color berry spicuous, dat people look

at him and tink he de debil. Sam don't spect he going wid you. Dat

wouldn't do. Dese fellows watch him, know dat black fellow here. Only

Sam go somehow. He trabel night, hide up at day time. He join you de

last ting when you go to mash up dem guerillas like squash. Anyhow,

Sam must go. If can get leave, berry well, if not he desert. Anyhow he

go, dat sartin. Sam kill himself if he stay behind."

Tom had already thought over this. He was sure that the faithful negro

would not remain behind, but he had seen that his companionship would

be fatal. He had, therefore, formed some plan in his head similar to

that which Sam proposed, and he knew that when the moment for action

came his courage, strength, and devotion would be invaluable.

"You shall go, Sam," he said, holding out his hand to his attached

follower. "As you say, you can't go with me, but you shall go

somehow."

"Thank you, Massa Tom," the negro said gratefully, "You berry sure if

Massa Peter die Sam die too."

Tom now went to head-quarters, and found that Lord Wellington was

just up. Sending in to say that he wished to speak with him for a few

minutes on a matter of urgent personal importance, he was admitted,

and related as concisely as he could Peter's disappearance, and told

the story of the affair with the guerillas, which accounted for the

intense desire for vengeance on the part of Nunez. He ended by asking

for leave of absence.

The general heard him to the end, asking a brief question here and

there.

"You can have the leave certainly, Captain Scudamore, I know that it

is needless for me to point out the risks that you will run, both from

the French and guerillas. I think that it might be an advantage if I

give you a note which you can, in case of absolute necessity, show to

any French officer."

So saying, the general sat down and wrote as follows:--

"To the French officer commanding.--The Earl of Wellington,

commander-in-chief of His Britannic Majesty's forces in Spain, gives

his assurance that the bearer of this, Captain Scudamore, although not

in English uniform, is not engaged upon any mission connected with the

army, or to obtain information respecting the strength and position of

the French forces. His business is entirely private, and he is engaged

in an attempt to discover and rescue a brother who has been carried

off by the guerilla chief Nunez in order to gratify private vengeance.

The Earl of Wellington, confiding in the natural courtesy of the

French nation, trusts that officers of that service will, if applied

to, assist Captain Scudamore in any way in their power, and he will

feel personally obliged to them by their so doing."

Tom expressed his deep gratitude for this, which might, he foresaw, be

of inestimable advantage to him.

"I am taking my servant with me, sir--the negro; he will not travel

with me by day, but will join me wherever I tell him; he is very

strong and brave, and is deeply attached to us."

"Yes, I remember," the general said; "that is the man whose life you

saved. Do you leave at once?"

"No, sir; I am thinking of riding with you to-morrow at any rate. The

route lies on the way I have to go, and I am sure to be watched here."

"Very well," the general said; "I wish you good fortune; but you have

a difficult, almost a desperate, service before you."

Upon leaving head-quarters, Tom again called on Captain Farquharson.

"Farquharson, I hear that it will be eleven before the chief leaves. I

wish you would go to that little shop opposite the opera-house; they

have got wigs and all that sort of thing there. Please get me two

old men's wigs and beards, and one set of those mutton-chop shaped

whiskers, and a woman's wig. I haven't made up my mind yet what I am

going to wear, but I want these things to choose from. I am sure to be

watched, and if I were to go there they would find out, five minutes

afterwards, what I had bought. In the meantime I am going to the head

of the police to give notice of Peter's disappearance, and to ask him

to have the carts leaving the town for the next few days searched.

I have no doubt the fellows will outwit the police, but it's no use

throwing away a chance."

It was six days after this that an old man, with long white hair

and gray beard, and with a box containing cheap trinkets, beads,

necklaces, earrings, knives, scissors, and other like articles, was

sitting at the junction of two roads near the lower slopes of the

Pyrenees, some twenty miles north of Vittoria. He had one of his

sandals off, and appeared to have just risen from a bed of leaves in

the forest behind him. The dawn had broken, but it was still twilight.

Presently he heard a footstep coming along the road, and at once

applied himself to wrapping the bandages, which serve for stockings