"Be careful!" she spelled out "there is some mystery! Let me speak."Then turning to the stranger she said:
"It is curious is it not?"
"Ah, Senora, though curious it be in itself, it is nothing to thestrangeness of its being here. If you only knew how it had been searchedfor; how the whole castle had been ransacked from roof to dungeon tofind it, and always without avail. Did you but understand the import ofthat paper to me and mine--if indeed the surmises of many generationsof anxious men availed aught--you would pardon my curiosity. In my ownyouth I assisted in a search of the whole place; no corner was leftuntouched, and even the secret places were opened afresh." As he wenton, Marjory's eyes were resting on his face unflinchingly, but herfingers were spelling out comments to me.
"There are secret places, then; and he knows them. Wait" the strangerwent on:
"See, I shall convince you that I speak from no idle curiosity, but froma deep conviction of a duty that was mine and my ancestors' for ages."There was a sternness mingled with his grave sweetness now; it wasevident that he was somewhat chagrined or put out by our silence.Leaving the table he went over to one of the bookshelves, and afterrunning his eye over it for a moment, put his hand up and from a shelfabove his head took down a thick leather-covered volume. This he laidon the table before us. It was a beautiful, old black letter law book,with marginal notes in black letter and headings in roman type. Thepagination was, I could see as he turned it over, by folios. He turnedto the title-page, which was an important piece of printing in manytypes, explanatory of the matter of the book. He began to read theparagraphs, placed in the triangular in form in vogue at that day;following the text with his forefinger he read:
"A collection in English of the Statutes now in force, continued fromthe beginning of Magna Charta made in the 9. yeere of the reigne of KingH. 3. until the ende of the Session of Parliament holden in the 28 yeereof the reigne of our gracious Queene Elizabeth under Titles placed byorder of Alphabet. Wherein
is performed (touching the Statutes wherewithJustices of the Peace have to deale) so much as was promised in theBooke of their office lately published. For which purpose"--&c.&c.,--Then turning over the page he pointed to a piece of faded writingon the back of it which had been left blank of printing. We bent downand read in the ink, faded to pale brown by time:
"My sonnes herein you will find the law which binds the stranger in thisland, wherein a stranger is a Vagabond. F. de E.
XXIII. X. MDLXLIX."
Then he turned rapidly over the leaves, till towards the end there was agap. On the right hand page, where the folio number was all along placedwas the number 528.
"See," he said, turning back and pointing to the bottom of the titlepage "Anno 1588. Three hundred years, since first my people used it."
Turning back he looked at the folio before the gap; it was 510. "See"he said, placing his hand on the pinmarked pages. "Folio 511 and theheading of 'Vagabonds, Beggars, et cetera.'" He folded his arms in adignified way and stood silent.
All along I had been following my own train of thought, even whilstI had been taking in the stranger's argument, and at the same timenoting Marjory's warning. If this man who owned the Castle knew of theexistence of the secret writing; whose ancestors had owned the book inwhich was the clue signed F. de E., surely then this could be none otherthan the descendant of the Don Bernardino who had hidden the treasure.This was his castle; no wonder that he knew its secret ways.
Matters were getting complicated. If this man were now the hereditaryguardian of the hidden treasure--and from his likeness to the ghostlySpaniard whom I had seen in the procession at Whinnyfold I saw no reasonto doubt it--he might be an enemy with whom we should have to cope. Iwas all in a whirl, and for a few seconds I think quite lost my head.Then rushed over me the conviction that the mere lapse of time passedin these few minutes of agonised silence was betraying our secret. Thisbrought me up with a round turn, and I looked about me. The strange manwas standing still as marble; his face was set, and there was no sign oflife in him except his eyes which blazed as they wandered around, takingeverything in. Mrs. Jack saw that there was something going on which shedid not understand, and tried to efface herself. Marjory was standing bythe table, still, erect and white. Her fingers began to drum softly asshe caught my eye, and spelled out:
"Give him the paper, from Mrs. Jack. Lately found in old oak chest. Saynothing of interpretation." This seemed such a doubtful move that withmy eyes I queried it. She nodded in reply. So I gathered myself togetherand said:
"I'm afraid, sir, that there is some mystery here which I cannotundertake to understand. I think I may say, however, for my friend Mrs.Jack, that there will be no trouble in your having full possession ofyour book. I am told that these pages were lately found in an old oakchest. It is remarkable that they should have been missing so long. Wewere attracted by the funny marks. We thought that there might be somesort of cryptogram; and I suppose I may take it, from the fact of yourlooking for them so long, that this is so?"
He grew suspicious in a moment, and stiffened all over. Marjory saw, andappreciated the reason. She smiled at me with her eyes as she drummed onthe table:
"The herring is across his path!" As the awkward pause was this timewith the stranger, we waited with comparative ease. I saw with a feelingof wonder that there was, through all her haughtiness, a spice of malicein Marjory's enjoyment of his discomfiture. I looked at Mrs. Jack andsaid: "May I give these papers to Mr. ----" She answered promptly:
"Why cert'nly! If Mr. Barnard wants them." Marjory turned round suddenlyand in a surprised voice said:
"Mr. Barnard?"
"That is the name given in the letter which he brought, my dear!" Thestranger at once spoke out:
"I am Mr. Barnard here; but in my own country I am of an older name.I thank you, sir, and Madam" turning to Mrs. Jack "for your courteousoffer. But it will be time enough for me to consider the lost pages whenthrough the unhappiness of your departure from my house, I am enabled tocome hither to live. In the meantime, all I shall ask is that the pagesbe replaced in this book and that it be put in its place on the shelfwhere none shall disturb it." As he spoke in his sweet, deferential waythere was something in his look or manner which did not accord with hiswords; a quick eager shifting of his eyes, and a breathing hard whichwere at variance with his words of patience. I did not pretend, however,to notice it; I had my own game to play. So without a word I placed thepages carefully in the book and put the latter back on the shelf fromwhich he had taken it. There was an odd look in Marjory's face which Idid not quite understand; and as she gave me no clue to her thoughts byour sign language, I waited. Looking at the stranger haughtily, and witha distinctly militant expression she said:
"The agent told us that the Barnard family owned this castle!" He bowedgravely, but a hot, angry flush spread over his face as he replied:
"He spoke what truth he knew." Marjory's reply came quickly:
"But you say you are one of the family, and the very memorandum youpointed out was signed F. de E." Again the hot flush swept his face; butpassed in an instant, leaving him as pale as the dead. After a pause ofa few moments he spoke in a tone of icy courtesy:
"I have already said, Senora, that in this country our name--my name, isBarnard. A name taken centuries ago when the freedom of the great landof England was not as now; when tolerance for the stranger was not. Inmy own land, the land of my birth, the cradle of my race, I am calledDon Bernardino Yglesias Palealogue y Santordo y Castelnuova de Escoban,Count of Minurca and Marquis of Salvaterra!" As he rehearsed his titleshe drew himself up to his full height; and pride of race seemed actuallyto shine or emanate from him. Marjory, too, on her side of the tabledrew herself up proudly as she said in a voice in which scorn struggledfor mastery with dignity:
"Then you are a Spaniard!"
CHAPTER XXXIII
DON BERNARDINO
The stranger held himself with, if possible, greater hauteur as heanswered: