Part 66 (1/2)
A sudden rush, and a tremendous kick, and the door went down with an appalling crash, as, staggering with the shock and the impetus, Claverton half fell half rushed upon the sleeper, gripping him by the throat before he had time to move; while Sam, seizing both his hands, twisted them behind him, and rolled him over on to his stomach.
”That's it, Sam; tie him up,” cried Claverton, in a steely voice, restraining with difficulty his longing to throttle the life out of the prostrate villain, who, for his part, did not yield without a struggle-- and a violent one. Indeed, it required all their efforts to hold him, for the mulatto was of powerful and athletic build.
”So!” said Claverton, approvingly, as Sam dexterously made fast the prisoner's feet with a _reim_ he had brought for the purpose, having previously pinioned his hands. ”Now, Mr Vargas Smith, alias Sharkey, alias the Cuban gentleman--now, may I ask, what the devil are you doing here?”
The man regarded him with a scowl of hatred. ”I was on the way to join the levy, Baas, and came in here for shelter from the rain,” he replied, sullenly.
”On the way to join the levy, were you? My good friend, this is not the way to King Williamstown. That, I believe, is where you were consigned to--but never mind that. Now, I want to know, who was the _gentleman_ who has just left?”
The ruffian's yellow hide grew a dirty, livid colour. ”I don't know his name, Baas,” he said, falteringly.
”It's surprising how we live and learn,” said the other, coolly.
”Before I count twenty you'll not only have learnt his name, but you'll have told it to me. Sam, put up that door. And Sam, go to the corner and keep watch; and let me know if you hear anybody coming. It isn't in the least likely, but there's nothing like caution. Now, friend Sharkey, what is his name? Out with it.”
”Don't know, Baas,” repeated the other.
”That's unfortunate for you. Now, you see this?” taking a glowing f.a.ggot from the fire and blowing upon it. ”With this I am about to tickle the soles of your feet until you do know. Come! Out with it,”
and he approached his victim.
”Mercy, mercy! I'll tell you, Baas,” pleaded the mulatto.
”Well?”
”It's Wallace--Cap'n Wallace, Baas.”
”Oh. No lies, mind,” said Claverton, with a determined look. ”You know me. I stand no nonsense. Well, now, where did you first fall in with this Captain Wallace?”
”At Port Elizabeth.”
”Who is he?”
”That I don't know, really, Baas,” pleaded the fellow, piteously. ”He's going to raise a levy and fight the Kafirs, and he wanted me to join it.”
”H'm. I believe the first statement, the last is a lie. No more lies, friend Sharkey, if you please, or we shall quarrel. And now, tell me, how do you purpose earning your hundred pounds?”
The mulatto's face grew livid as death, and great beads of perspiration stood out upon his forehead. He knew that from this man, whose murder he had just been plotting, he need expect no mercy; and he read his doom in every line of the other's features, as he stared at his captor with the haggard and hunted expression of a trapped wild creature. Again his shaking lips reiterated a prayer for mercy.
”You were going to be very merciful to the man whom you were about to put out of this Captain Wallace's way in three months, were you not?
Who was the man, by the way?”
”Yourself. He hates you, Baas, I don't know why, I swear I don't. I think it's about some money you have that he ought to have--at least, so he says.”
”Quite so. And he set you to watch me?”
”Yes.”
”I see.”
Then there was dead silence. It was a strange sight that the ghostly firelight flickered and danced upon in that lonely hut. The bound and prostrate-ruffian, and the quiet, refined-looking man sitting opposite him--sitting in judgment on his would-be murderer. Outside, the rain pattered with a monotonous, dismal sound, and the distant cry of a jackal floated upon the heavy night air.