Black Bartlemy's Treasure Part 17

"'Why then must I break it asunder. Hand me yon piece o' of rock,'

says Ben, pointing to a heavy stone that chanced to be near.

"'Stay, Ben lad, 'twere pity to crush the silver woman, but if you will, you will Ben--take a hold!' So saying, Tressady picked up the stone, but, as his comrade reached to take it, let it fall, whereupon Ben stooped for it and in that moment Tressady was on him. And then--ha, Martin, I heard the man Ben scream, and as he writhed, saw Tressady's hook at work ... the man screamed but once ... and then, wiping the hook on his dead comrade's coat he took up the dagger and began to unscrew the head. But now, Martin, methought 'twas time for me to act if I meant to save my life, for I had nought but Nick Frant's knife, while within Tressady's reach lay the dead man's pistols and divers musquetoons and fusees on the beach behind him, which put me to no small panic lest he shoot me ere I could come at him with my knife.

Thus, as I lay watching, I took counsel with myself how I might lure him away from these firearms wherewith he might hunt me down and destroy me at his ease; and the end of it was I started up all at once and, leaning down towards him, shook the parchment in his face. 'Ha, Tressady!' says I, 'Is this the thing you've murdered your comrade for?' Now at this Tressady sprang back, to stare from me to the thing in my hand, Martin, and then--ha, then with a wild-beast roar he sprang straight at me with his hook--even as I had judged he would. As for me, I turned and ran, making for a rocky ledge I knew, with Tressady panting behind me, his hook ringing on the rocks as he scrambled in pursuit. So at last we reached the place I sought--a shelf of rock, the cliff on one side, Martin, and on the other a void with the sea thundering far below--a narrow ledge where his great bulk hampered him and his strength availed little. And there we fought, his dagger and hook against my dead comrade's knife, and thus as he sprang I, falling on my knee, smote up beneath raised arm, heard him roar and saw him go whirling over and down and splash into the sea--"

"And he had the dagger with him, Adam!" says I in eager question.

"Aye, Martin, which was the end of an ill rogue and an evil thing."

"The end," says I, "the end, Adam? Why then--what o' this?"

So saying I whipped the strange dagger from my wallet and held it towards him balanced upon my palm. Now, beholding this, Penfeather's eyes opened suddenly wide, then narrowed to slits as, viewing this deadly thing, he drew back and back, and so sat huddled in his chair utterly still, only I heard his breath hiss softly 'twixt clenched teeth.

"Martin," says he in the same hushed voice, "when a man's dead he's dead, and the dead can never come back, can they, s.h.i.+pmate?"

But now, as we sat thus, eyeing the evil thing on the table betwixt us, my answer died on my lips, for there came a sharp, quick rapping of fingers on the lattice.

CHAPTER XII

TELLETH OF A FIGHT IN THE DARK

Penfeather was at the cas.e.m.e.nt, had whipped open the lattice and, pinning the intruder by the throat, thrust a pistol into his face all in a moment; and then I recognised G.o.dby the peddler.

"Let be, Adam!" I cried, springing forward. "Let be, here's a friend!"

Saying nothing, Penfeather thrust away the weapon, and gripping the little man in both hands, with prodigious strength jerked him bodily in through the window; which done, he clapped to the lattice and drawing the curtain stood fronting G.o.dby grim-lipped.

"And now what?" says he softly.

"Lord!" gasped G.o.dby, "Lord love me, but here's a welcome to a pal, here's the second pistol I've had under my nose this night--throttle me in a hayband else!"

"What d'ye seek?"

"My pal Martin, 'cording to his word."

"D'ye know this fellow, Martin?"

"Aye!" I nodded and told briefly how and where we had met.

"G.o.d-be-here Jenkins am I, master," said G.o.dby, "and well beknown to Joel Bym as keepeth this house, strangle me else--ask Joel! And if you're Master Penfeather I've first, this here for ye, and second, a warning." And speaking, G.o.dby drew a letter from the breast of his leathern jerkin.

"A warning?" says Penfeather, glancing at the superscription, "Against whom?"

"A black dog as goes erect on two legs and calls himself Gregory Bragg."

"You mean Lady Brandon's under-bailiff?"

"I do so. Well, he be no friend o' yourn, and what's more, he's hand and fist wi' others as be no friends o' yourn either, cut-throat sailor-men and black rogues every one."

"How d'ye know 'em for sailor-men?"

"By their speech, master--I was a mariner once--and moreover by a ranting, h.e.l.l-fire chorus."

"Ha!" says Penfeather, shooting a glance at me. "A chorus, was it?"

"Aye, master, concerning murder and what not."

"And the words running like this--

'Two on a knife did part wi' life And three a bullet took O!

But three times three died plaguily A-wriggling on a hook O!'

Was that the way of it?"

"Smother me if it weren't!" quoth G.o.dby, staring.

"Sit down, G.o.dby, and tell me how you chanced on this," says Adam, seating himself at the table.

"Well, master, I happened to lie snug hid 'neath a heap o' straw--and for why, says you? Says I to you, by reason o' two lousy catchpolls as won't let poor G.o.dby be. Now this straw chanced to be in my Lady Brandon's stables--and why there, says you? Says I to you, because these lousy catchpolls being set on poor G.o.dby by this black dog Gregory, and him my lady's man, my lady's stables is the last place catchpolls would come a-seeking G.o.dby. Well now, as I lie there I fall asleep. Now I'm a light sleeper and presently I'm roused by the sound o' your name, master."

"Mine?" says Penfeather, softly.

"Aye. 'Here's a black pa.s.sage to Captain Penfeather--curse him!" says a voice. 'Aye,' says another, 'by knife or bullet or--' and here he falls to singing of a knife and a bullet and a hook. 'Avast!' says a third voice. 'Belay that, Abny, you'll be having all the lubbers about the place aboard of us!' 'Why,' says the man Abny, 'since you're wi'

us well and good, but don't forget we was hard in his wake, aye, and ready to lay him aboard long before you hove in sight and d.a.m.n all, says I.' 'Some day, Abny, some day,' says the other, "I shall cut out that tongue o' yourn and watch ye eat it, lad, eat it--hist, here cometh Gregory at last--easy all.' Now the moon was very bright, master, and looking out o' my hay-pile as the door opened I spied this rogue Gregory--"

"Did ye see aught o' the others?" questioned Adam.

"No master, not plain, for they kept to the dark, but I could see they was four and one a very big man. 'Ha' ye got it, friend, ha' ye got it?' says the big rogue. 'No, plague on't!' says Gregory. 'Look how I will, I can find nought.' 'Here's luck!' says the big fellow, 'Bad luck, as I'm a soul. Where's he lie?' 'Can't say,' says Gregory. 'His messages go to the Conisby Arms, but he aren't there, I know.' 'The Faithful Friend, was it,' says the big fellow, 'a-lying off Deptford Creek?' 'Aye, the Faithful Friend,' says Gregory, and then chancing to look outside, claps finger to lip and comes creeping into the shadow.

'Lie low!' says he in a whisper--here's my lady!' And then, master, close outside comes my lady's voice calling 'Gregory! Gregory!'

'Answer, fool!' whispers the big man. 'Quick, or she'll be athwart our cable!' 'Here, my lady!' says Gregory and steps out o' the stable as she's about to step in. 'Gregory,' says she in hesitating fas.h.i.+on, 'have ye seen a stranger hereabouts to-night?' 'Not a soul, my lady!'

says Gregory. 'A tall, wild man,' says she, 'very ragged and with yellow hair?' 'No, my lady,' says Gregory. Here she gives a sigh.

'Why then,' says she, 'bear you this letter to Master Penfeather--at once.' 'To the Conisby Arms, my lady?' says Gregory. 'No,' says she, 'to the Peck-o'-Malt by Bedgebury Cross. And, Gregory, should you see aught of the poor man that suffered lately in the pillory, say I would speak with him. And now saddle and begone with my letter.' 'To Bedgebury,' says Gregory, 'the Peck-o'-Malt--to-night, my lady?' 'This moment!' says she, mighty sharp. 'And, Gregory, I hear tales of your hard dealing with some of the tenantry: let me hear no more or you quit my service!' And away she goes, leaving Gregory staring after her, letter in hand. ''Twas she!' says the big man in a whisper. 'I'd know her voice anywhere--aye, 'twas she whipped it from my girdle, my luck, s.h.i.+pmates--our luck, but we'll find it if we have to pull the cursed house down brick and brick.'"

"G.o.dby," says Adam suddenly, leaning forward, "did ye get no glimpse o'

this man's face?"

"Nary a one, master, and for why?--the place was dark and he wore a great flapped hat."

"Why then," says Adam, pinching his chin, "did ye chance to see his hands?"

"No whit, master, and for why?--he wore a loose cloak about him."

"And what more did ye hear?"

"No more, master, and for why?--because, as luck would have it a straw tickled my nose and I sneezed loud as a demi-culverin, and there's poor G.o.dby up and running for his life and these murderous rogues after poor G.o.dby. Howbeit they durst not shoot lest they should alarm the house, and I'm very light on my feet and being small and used to dodging catchpolls and the like vermin, I got safe away. Having done which and bethinking me of my pal Martin, I made for the Peck-o'-Malt. Now as luck would have it, Gregory overtakes me (as I had purposed he should, I being minded to get even wi' him for good and all). Down he gets from the saddle and me by the collar, and claps a great snaphaunce under my nose. 'So it was you, ye rogue, was it?' says he. 'That same,' says I, 'but who's that peeping over the hedge there?' The fool turns to see, I twist the pistol out of his grip, and have him very neatly trussed and gagged with his belt and my girdle, and so, heaving him i' the ditch, into the saddle and here I am."

"G.o.dby," says Penfeather, viewing him keen-eyed, "I need men--will ye sail with us for the Main?"