IT WAS some while before anyone came to Halfhyde; by the time the stone block was lifted clear from above, he had given up hope. He was to be left to die, his body sealed for all time in a hole in the ground that might well arouse no one’s interest until he had been reduced to a heap of bones. He had drifted off into a state of semi-consciousness, and when the stone was lifted away, and yellow light came down from a candle-lantern held high in a man’s hand, he fancied for a moment that he was seeing beyond the grave and glimpsing the other world. But the voice that came down to him was no heavenly one: it was that of his earlier interrogator, the man who had refused to give any name beyond Smith.
“Up,” the voice said, sounding hollow. “Or are you too weakened?”
Halfhyde sat up, feeling a brief period of light-headedness. He said, “Far from it. I’m consumed with eagerness to be out of this place if that’s your intention.”
“It is. Come up.” A hand reached down and steadied Halfhyde as he thrust head and shoulders through the opened square. He was assisted through; he found he was in the open air at one side of the courtyard and that a light wind was blowing to stir up the dust; also that it was now after nightfall. A revolver had now appeared in the man’s hand. Above it, in the lantern’s light, the eyes were watchful. The man said, “Careful now. I’ll shoot if I have to.”
“And disturb the peace?”
There was a laugh. “In Iquique, the peace is always being disturbed. No one takes any notice of gunshots.” There was a pause. “Your friend Bullock told us about you, Mr Halfhyde…a half-pay lieutenant of the British Navy, so he said. Is that right?”
“I have that honour, and you would be well advised—”
The man interrupted. “Bullock wanted you to be killed. We told him that would be done and that nothing would come out. He paid well for our silence—for Espinoza’s silence. We wondered where such money came from, so much gold. Then we were told, I shall not say who by, that Bullock’s passenger was the man you’d mentioned earlier.”
“Cantlow?”
“Yes. He’s known to be worth a lot of money—the little mystery was solved.”
Halfhyde said between his teeth, “And now my ship will have sailed—with Sergeant Cantlow on board presumably, and my Captain standing into much danger because of him!” Frustration mounted; if he could make a getaway, it might not be too late. If the authorities or the British consul could be informed, the Aysgarth Falls might be overhauled by a steamer and Cantlow taken off. At this stage McRafferty could very probably keep himself in the clear but if the affair was allowed to continue he would commit himself irrevocably by attempting, as he would have to attempt, a clandestine landing on the Australian coast. Halfhyde made a sudden movement towards the man with the gun, but was forestalled. His arms were seized from behind by a man he had not been aware of until now, and a voice in his ear told him, in Raby’s now sober tones, to take it easy.
The man with the gun said, “That’s two warnings. You’ll not get another. You won’t be killed, but you’ll be disabled.”
Halfhyde pondered this remark, then asked, “Should I take it that you have a use for me—one, perhaps, not known to Bullock?”
“You’re quick in the uptake, Lieutenant Halfhyde! The answer’s yes. As I told you, friend Bullock believes you dead by now. You would have been, had he not told us your name. When he did, why, then matters took a different and more profitable turn.”
“My name?”
“Yes, Lieutenant Halfhyde. It’s known in Chile—known to us as well…it’s not so long ago—”
Halfhyde broke in. “You spoke of a different turn. May I ask in which direction the turn leads?”
There was a laugh. “North, to the port of Arica. You have been in Chile before, Lieutenant Halfhyde…and you’ve made powerful enemies.”
Chapter 7
ENEMIES IN Chile: there was no doubt whatsoever that Halfhyde had been much in disfavour in certain quarters of the country, and in quarters more highly placed than the proprietors of the clearing house. He had upset the Chilean Government itself, and his first thought was that General Codecino, General Oyanadel, or even President Errazuriz himself, might be after his blood. All of them had suffered very red faces as the result of Halfhyde’s successful intrigues in cutting out Captain Watkiss’ squadron from under their noses, down south in Puerto Montt; and extracting a British traitor, by name Savory, from the clutches of their allies the Germans. But all this was in the past; Halfhyde had thought at the time that Codecino and Oyanadel might well have faced firing squads after his departure in punishment for their ineptitude, not to say their chicanery against their own country’s interests. It was true, however, that no word of such had ever reached him and it was possible that the good generals had proved resilient enough to placate their President.
But it turned out that it was not the Chileans who were in the minds of his captors. His current enemy was one of longer standing, although one much concerned in the Chilean débâcle and with Savory, one whom Halfhyde had outwitted too often in the past to be forgiven. The man who called himself Smith said, “There is a squadron of the Imperial German Navy in the port of Arica. Three first-class cruisers, under the command of a vice-admiral. I doubt if I need to tell you his name, Lieutenant Halfhyde.”
Halfhyde swore. “Paulus von Merkatz,” he said softly.
THE JOURNEY was an uncomfortable one, made in a
