Chapter XII: In the Hands of the Duke

To Rob the world had suddenly fallen very hopeless and forlorn. By no conspiracy of Fate could matters have worked out more to his undoing. The precious paper entrusted to him by Dr. Cameron, full of he knew not what vital news and directions regarding the hidden treasure, had been stolen, but worse still by an unknown hand. It is comforting in a dreary way to know who has played the thief. But Rob had not even that poor satisfaction.

He had been taken asleep, and between that time and the journey to Fort Augustus the paper had mysteriously vanished. A horrible thought presented itself. Was it taken from him before he was bound by the soldiers? Muckle John had disappeared without a word or an effort to save him. He had half-heartedly hoped for a rescue on the road, but no sign of living soul had met his eyes.

And at last, at sunset, they had reached the Fort, and he was conducted to a guard-room and there left to his own thoughts.

Suddenly the door opened softly and the angular form of Captain Strange slid into the room. Rob started to his feet and waited in silence for him to speak.

But that Strange seemed in no hurry to do. Instead, he took to walking slowly up and down the room with his hands coiled behind his back and his chin sunk upon his chest.

Then, "Rob," said he, "what did I tell ye in Inverness?"

To which he received no reply. Rob had the rare gift of silence.

"Did I no tell ye that a gibbet was like enough to watch your capers before very long? Maybe ye've no seen a man hanged by the neck, Rob. It's no a bonny sight, say what you will; and in my way of thinking, no a pleasant prospect for onybody, least of all for a lad of spirit like yersel', Rob, for I'll no deny I admire your pluck," and he breathed heavily and stared out of the window.

"Did you come to talk about hanging?" asked Rob, struggling to speak with composure.

"In passing, Rob--merely in passing. It is a subject that fascinates me, I'll no deny. Come here a minute; ye can see the hanging-tree against the sky-line. It's a rare poseetion, Rob--there'll be nane will pass this way but will ask 'Who's dangling there?' and they'll learn it was Rob Fraser, executed for meddling with what didna concern him. It's a braw fool ye'll look, then, Rob--no great rebel dying for his principles, but just a silly laddie who ran a big risk for other people's dirty profit."

"You can call it what you will," cried Rob, stung to anger, and paused.

"Say your say, Rob; dinna be afraid," encouraged Strange softly.

Rob shut his lips seeing there was a trap being laid for him.

Perceiving that he would not speak, the other frowned a moment, then with an appearance of kindly sympathy he patted him upon the shoulder.

"Forget my foolish havers," he said. "I was only warning you for your ain good, for it's a dangerous game you're playing, Rob, and a game that you are playing in the dark. Will ye hear me out and say if what I'm telling ye is no true," and he drew a stool near to the boy.

"Let me run over your movements for the last week or so," he went on. "After Culloden--and ye mind I did my best to save ye that night in Inverness--you came to Lovat's country, and thence down to Arkaig. There you met Cameron and buried the gold. There also you escaped out of our hands, and I'll grant no so clumsily, though you were not to blame for that. Then, accompanied by the desperate man ye ken as Muckle John, you made to the north and were captured yesterday in Captain Campbell's camp. Now, Rob, is that no the truth?"

"It is," said Rob, "though what you have to say against Muckle John should be kept for his own ear. It is wasted on mine."

"Brawly said, Rob, but what do ye ken o' this Muckle John? However, that can keep. I'd wager ye'd turn white did ye ken who Muckle John really is. But when you left Cameron you had a paper, Rob. Supposing that paper fell into our hands, Rob, or those of the Duke, what would happen, think ye? There would be no gold for your Prince, and from the information in the letter--supposing there should be any, which I am assured there is--there would be such a clearing of Jacobites, including the Pretender, as would end their cause for ever. That is, I repeat, supposing such a paper fell into the hands of the Duke. But there are those, Rob, who are Scotch after all, and no verra partial to such measures. There are mony, Rob, who do nane so badly oot of your Jacobite friends, and it's poor shooting where there's no game," and he smiled very knowingly, baring his teeth like a fox.

Rob was puzzled by the note of suggestion in his speech. Had Strange the map or not? If not, had Muckle John taken it? If Strange had it what was to be gained by such words? Would he not take it to the Duke at once?

He glanced quickly at the man facing him. In his eyes he read avarice, cruelty, and cunning.

"If I hand you the paper," said Rob, "what do you propose to do? Would you give it to the Duke?"

Strange checked a smile.

"That depends," said he, "for between ourselves, where the eagle feeds there's poor pickings for the other birds. The truth is, Rob, there are some things you could tell me, and in return I'd do a deal more for you, for I am no an ungenerous man, and it's a dreary prospect, the gibbet."

"It is all that," rejoined Rob, "but I cannot promise until I hear what you want to know."

"That's mair reasonable, Rob--I knew ye were not the foolish ninny that they took ye for. Now listen, Rob; if you will disclose the hiding-place of Lovat and Archibald Cameron, and help us to lay Muckle John by the heels--in return I will see that you are free this very night, and mair, I will no forget ye when the treasure is come to light o' day."

Rob turned sick at the words, but to learn more he simulated interest and nodded his head doubtfully.

"But the Prince," said he.

"In return for Lovat I will spare the Prince."

"You?"

"Who else, for if you consent none but I will ever see the document and its particulars."

"And you will keep the gold?"

Strange winked at that.

"We two, Rob," said he with a smile.

Then Rob, knowing all and realizing that Muckle John must have the dispatch, rose to his feet.

"Whether I have been a scapegoat or not," he said, "I have only myself to blame; and let me tell you at once, Captain Strange or Macaulay, or whatever your dirty name may be, that nothing can save me from the hangman's noose; neither you with all your promises nor anything else, for I have not the paper you want," and he waited for the storm to burst.

But the smile never died from the other's lips.

"Weel I know that, Rob," said he, "for I have it safe here," and he drew the package, still sealed, from his coat pocket.

With a cry of rage Rob rushed at him, but the chains about his legs tripped him up, and Strange, stepping aside with a snarl, took him by the shoulder and flung him violently to the other end of the room.

"Down!" he cried, "or I will pistol you." In a grim silence he thrust the package back into his pocket.

"Ye see, I hold the cards," he said in a malignant voice. "And now is it to be a dislocated neck and your dead body the prey of corbies--or the salvation of your Prince, a share in the gold, and the taking of Lovat, which is inevitable in any case, and that of Cameron, which is only a question of time? Neither will suffer the extreme penalty, for Lovat is an old man who has sat at home, and Cameron is a doctor and was no at Culloden at all. As for Muckle John, I will tell ye why he made such a lot o' ye."

"No, no!" cried Rob.

"Whisht! Dinna take on so. Once a blind fool and never again, surely. But did ye think Muckle John risked his life just for love o' ye, Rob? Heaven preserve us--he was after..."

"I know," said Rob, "but say no more. I'll tell the Duke you have the paper and throw myself on his mercy."

Strange uttered a shrill cackle of laughter.

"Tell the Duke, Rob! Oh, that's fine hearing. Mercy! It's little mercy ye'll get frae him. No, no! I'll hand it him myself, thank ye. Perhaps ye thought I was like your Muckle John, and playing for my ain hand. You're uncommon green, Rob, but Jerry Strange is no taken so doucely. Jerry is honest as the day, Rob--so come along and see me hand it into the Duke's royal fingers. It'll mak' gran' hearing, Rob, and there'll be sair confusion amongst the rebels now," and flinging open the door he drew his prisoner with him into the passage.

Into a lofty room they went--the chains clanking about Rob's legs very dismally.

A short, red-faced, stout young man of about twenty-five was sitting at a table reading dispatches. He was dressed in a red coat, with stars upon his breast and much gold cord. He wore a white peruke, and had a choleric, somewhat peevish countenance and a hard blue eye. There was nothing romantic or attractive in his commonplace features or sturdy, clumsy figure. His countenance displayed neither humour nor kindliness, and certainly not beauty--but only determination, courage, and common sense in abundance. It would have been difficult, indeed, to have laid hands on a young man so different in every way from his rival Charles Edward. It almost seemed that Justice had given him victory to compensate him for the odium of his personality.

"Vell, Strange," said he, speaking with a thick German accent, "what is it?"

"Your Highness," replied Strange, "I have here a notorious rebel, though young as ye see. But he was carrying a package which Archibald Cameron handed to him on the shores of Arkaig to deliver to the Pretender. I have reasons for believing, your Highness, that it contains not only a plan of where the treasure be hid, but also the place of concealment of the Prince and the movements of the Jacobites still at liberty. We have followed him according to our instructions."

The Duke of Cumberland stared at Rob, then leapt to his feet.

"Goot, Strange," said he, smacking his lips audibly, "you are a vonder. You vill not be forgotten, my man," and he ripped open the seal and unwrapped the paper.

Rob could see that there was more paper than he had thought. But what made his heart bound with sudden hope was the bewildered expression upon the Duke's face.

"Is zis a joke, Strange?" he shouted, at last, flinging a sheaf of papers upon the floor. "Those," said he in a white heat of fury, "are accounts of charges for drugs. And zis," he added in a roar of anger, holding a scrap with the tips of his fingers, "has ze impertinence to say 'this is no ze goose that laid ze golden egg.'"

In the utter silence Rob laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks. And all the time Cumberland glared at Strange, and the latter stood with an utterly vacant expression, as though he had opened his mouth to say something and then clean forgotten what it was.

Suddenly the Duke turned with a scream of fury upon Rob.

"To-morrow," he cried, his face livid with passion, "ve vill see 'ow you laugh on the gibbet," and he stormed on Strange to go, turning his back upon them both.

But Rob did not move.

"On what charge am I condemned?" he asked.

The Duke switched round.

"Charge!" he cried, and then paused. "Strange, what is the charge?" he asked, stamping his foot.

"It was for carrying treasonable matter," replied Strange in a husky voice; "but I suppose..."

"There was nothing against the throne in the package," broke in Rob.

"Strange," shouted the Duke, "am I to wrangle with a school boy? Is 'e not a rebel?"

"He is, your Highness. He was in arms at Culloden."

"Zen surely that is enough to 'ang any man."

"You have no witnesses," retorted Rob.

"Zen find vitnesses. Himmel!--make vitnesses!" broke out the Duke, seating himself again at the table. "But go, Strange, before I burst--and 'old--come back in half an hour. I would talk with you over this and other matters."

In his cell Rob could have wept for joy had he been given to that sort of thing. For he realized that though he had been the goose who had drawn off the pursuit from Cameron, the Prince was safe, and that the gold would yet be his.

In this elation of feeling he crossed slowly to the window. The last rays of the sun were falling upon the blank bars of the gibbet, at which he felt his heart sink, for it was a cold and melancholy ending to his ambitions and his life.

* * * * *

A quarter of an hour later a trooper clattered out of the courtyard of Fort Augustus, bound for Inverness and Miss Macpherson; and in due course Captain Strange knocked upon the door of the Duke's room and entered. In the intervening hour the latter had dined, and appeared somewhat mollified in temper.

Indeed, there were those who said the Duke of Cumberland was genial enough at heart, and though a hard man, one with a sense of justice and honour. He has had few kindly words and many harsh ones, and there is a saying that there is good in every man. As a German prince he had no sympathy with the Jacobites. To him they were savage rebels speaking a barbarous language and wearing a barbarous dress, about whom he knew nothing except the misrepresentations that were current in England.

"Oh, Strange, Strange," he laughed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, "who is ze goose now, and where are ze golden eggs?"

"Your Highness," said Strange flushing, "it is humiliating, I'll allow, but I must tell you that I was mair than unfortunate, being bound hand and foot by Cameron and no knowing just what had taken place. Cameron made good his escape, for my men were of his ain clan and not anxious to bring dishonour on their name if another would do as well. That he foresaw, I'll be bound, and so he sent this boy at a run with a package, and the presence o' Muckle John lent him additional importance."

"Oh, vell," said the Duke, "but ve must bring the boy to his senses, Strange. Produce your vitnesses, and he'll show us things, I'll be bound. Vot does he know, Strange? Can he tell us any ting?"

"He knows where Lovat is hid, your Highness, and ye ken what his capture will mean. It will show the rebels we have long arms."

"True--but vill he tell, Strange?"

"A week or two by himsel' will work wonders, your Highness, once he knows we can hang him."

"And Muckle John?"

Strange bit his lip.

"Would I could have taken him," he said bitterly.

"Your chance vill come, Strange. Ze net is closing. Soon ve vill 'ave ze Pretender, and zen all ze smaller fry vill be caught too--" he yawned and pushed back his chair--"I am sick to death of zis country," he said; "it is always rain, rain, rain, and nosings to eat or drink."

And so Strange left him looking gloomily out of the window upon the black Highland hills.