The Fate of a Crown

“I have some personal belongings in this house which I wished to secure before returning to the United States. Your men arrested me in the room I have been occupying.”

“Why are you anxious to return to the United States?” questioned the Emperor.

“Because my mission to Brazil is ended.”

“It is true,” returned Dom Pedro, positively. “The conspiracy is at an end.”

“Of that I am not informed,” I replied evasively. “But I have been employed by Dom Miguel de Pintra, not by the conspiracy, as your Majesty terms it. And Dom Miguel has no further need of me.”

“Dom Miguel is dead,” retorted the Emperor, with an accent of triumph in his voice.

“Murdered by his daughter, your spy,” I added, seeing that he was aware of the truth.

He merely shrugged his broad shoulders and turned to whisper to a gray-bearded man behind him.

“This conspiracy must be summarily dealt with,” resumed the Emperor, turning to me again, “and as there is ample evidence that you are guilty of treason, Senhor Harcliffe, I shall order you put to death unless you at once agree to give us such information as may be in your possession.”

“I am an American citizen and entitled to a fair trial,” I answered, boldly enough. “You dare not assassinate me. For if I am injured in any way the United States will call you to full account.”

“It is a matter of treason, sir!” returned the Emperor, harshly. “Your citizenship will not protect you in this case. I have myself visited your country and been received there with great courtesy. And no one knows better than I that your countrymen would repudiate one who came to Brazil for the treasonable purpose of dethroning its legitimate Emperor.”

That was true enough, and I remained silent.

“Will you give us the required information?” he demanded.

I was curious to know how much the royalists had learned, and in what position the republicans had been placed by this imperial visit to their headquarters. Dom Pedro had said that the conspiracy was at an end; but I did not believe that.

“I am sure you err in believing me to be in the secret counsels of the republicans,” I said, after a moment’s thought. “I was merely employed in the capacity of private secretary to Dom Miguel.”

“But you know of the underground vault? You have visited it?”

“Often,” I replied, seeing no harm in the acknowledgment.

“Can you open it for us?” he demanded. I laughed, for the question exposed to me his real weakness.

“Your Majesty must be well aware that there is but one key,” I replied, “and without that secret key I am as powerless as you are to open the vault.”

“Where is the key?” he asked.

“I do not know. Senhora de Mar stole it from Dom Miguel.”

“And it was taken from her by one of your conspirators.”

“Have you traced it no farther?” I inquired, carelessly.

He shifted uneasily in his chair.

“My men are now investigating the matter,” said he. “Doubtless the ring will soon be in our possession.”

“And how about the murdered man in the shrubbery?” I asked.

The royalists exchanged glances, and one or two uttered exclamations of surprise.

“Is there a murdered man in the shrubbery, Captain de Souza?” questioned the Emperor, sternly.

“Not that I know of, your Majesty,” returned the officer.

“I found him as I approached the house,” said I. “He has been shot within the hour, and his left hand severed at the wrist.”

It was evident that my news startled them. When I had described the location of the body some of the soldiers were sent to fetch it, and during their absence the Emperor resumed his questioning. I told him frankly that none of the records of the republicans was in my possession, and that whatever knowledge I had gained of the conspiracy or the conspirators could not be drawn from me by his threats of death. For now I began to understand that this visit to Dom Miguel’s house was a secret one, and that the royalists were as much in the dark as ever regarding the conspiracy itself or the whereabouts of its leaders. One thing only they knew – that the records were lying with Dom Miguel’s dead body in the secret vault, and that the ring which opened it was missing.

Before long the soldiers bore the body of the latest victim of the fatal ring into the presence of the Emperor, and Valcour bent over it eagerly for a moment, and then shook his head.

“The man is a stranger,” he said.

Others present endeavored to identify the murdered man, but were equally unsuccessful.

I could see by their uneasy looks that they were all suspicious of one another; for Captain de Souza protested that no shot could have been fired without some of his men hearing it, and the fact that the ring they sought had been so recently within their very reach led them to believe it might not now be very far away.

For all the Emperor’s assumed calmness, I knew he was greatly disturbed by this last murder, as well as by the impotency of his spies to discover the whereabouts of the ring. When Valcour suggested, in his soft voice, that I had myself killed the fellow in the shrubbery, and had either secreted the ring or had it now in my possession, they pounced upon me eagerly, and I was subjected to a thorough search and afterward to severe questioning and many fierce threats.

For a few moments the Emperor listened to the counsels of the group of advisors that stood at his back, and then ordered me safely confined until he had further use for me.

The officer therefore marched me away to the front of the house, where, still securely hand-cuffed, I was thrust into a small chamber and left alone. The key was turned in the lock and I heard the soft foot-falls of a guard pacing up and down outside the door.

The long walk from the station and the excitement of the last hour had greatly wearied me; so I groped around in the dark until I found the bed with which the room was provided, and soon had forgotten all about the dreary conspiracy in a refreshing sleep.

CHAPTER XIV

THE MAN WITH THE RING

Toward morning a tramping of feet aroused me; the door was thrust open long enough for another prisoner to be admitted, and then I heard the bolts shoot into their fastening and the soldiers march away.

It was not quite dark in the room, for the shutters were open and admitted a ray of moonlight through the window. So I lay still and strained my eyes to discover who my companion might be.

He stood motionless for a time in the place the soldiers had left him. I made out that he was tall and stooping, and exceedingly thin; but his face was in shadow. Presently, as he moved, I heard a chain clank, and knew he was hand-cuffed in the same manner as myself.

Slowly he turned his body, peering into every corner of the room, so that soon he discovered me lying where the moonlight was strongest. He gave a start, then, but spoke no word; and again an interval of absolute silence ensued.

His strange behavior began to render me uneasy. It is well to know something of a person confined with you in a small room at the dead of night, and I was about to address the fellow when he began stealthily approaching the bed. He might have been three yards distant when I arose to a sitting posture. This caused him to pause, his form well within the streak of light. Resting upon the edge of the bed and facing him, my own features were clearly disclosed, and we examined each other curiously.

I had never seen him before, and I had little pleasure in meeting him then. He appeared to be a man at least fifty years of age, with pallid, sunken cheeks, eyes bright, but shifting in their gaze, and scanty gray locks that now hung disordered over a low forehead. His form was thin and angular, his clothing of mean quality, and his hands, which dangled before him at the ends of the short chain, were large and hardened by toil.

Not a Brazilian, I decided at once; but I could not then determine his probable nationality.

“Likewise a prisoner, señor?” he inquired, in an indistinct, mumbling tone, and with a strong accent.

“Yes,” I answered.