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Page 89
"To steal a chest full of money is one thing; to shoot a man is
another. Besides, the admiral will go if he has to go alone; and I
can't desert him."
"Very well. You will have to take me to Baden for nervous prostration."
"Humph! Baden; that'll mean about two-thousand in fresh gowns from
Vienna or Paris. All right; I'm game. But, no nerves, no Baden."
"Go, if you will; but _do_ take care of yourself; and let the admiral
go _first_, when there's any sign of danger."
Coldfield chuckled. "I'll get behind him every time I think of it."
"Kiss me. They are waiting for you. And be careful."
It was only a little brave comedy. She knew this husband and partner
of hers, hard-headed at times, but full of loyalty and courage; and she
was confident that if danger arose the chances were he would be getting
in front instead of behind the admiral. A pang touched her heart as
she saw him spring into the carriage.
The admiral had argued himself hoarse about Laura's going; but he had
to give in when she threatened to hire a carriage on her own account
and follow. Thus, Coldfield went because he was loyal to his friends;
Laura, because she would not leave her father; Hildegarde, because to
remain without knowing what was happening would have driven her mad; M.
Ferraud, because it was a trick in the game; and Cathewe and
Fitzgerald, because they loved hazard, because they were going with the
women they loved. The admiral alone went for the motive apparent to
all: to lay hands on the scoundrel who had betrayed his confidence.
So the journey into the mountains began. In none of the admiral's
documents was it explained why the old Frenchman had hidden the
treasure so far inland, when at any moment a call might have been made
on it. Ferraud put forward the supposition that they had been watched.
As for hiding it in Corsica at all, every one understood that it was a
matter of sentiment.
Fitzgerald keenly inspected the drivers, but found them of the ordinary
breed, in velveteens, red-sashes, and soft felt hats. As they made the
noon stop, one thing struck him as peculiar. The driver of the
provision carriage had little or nothing to do with his companions.
"That is because _he_ is mine," explained M. Ferraud in a whisper.
They were all capable horsemen, and on this journey spared their horses
only when absolutely necessary. The great American _signori_ were in a
hurry. They arrived at Carghese at five in the afternoon. The admiral
was for pushing on, driving all night. He stormed, but the drivers
were obdurate. At Carghese they would remain till sunrise; that was
final. Besides, it was not safe at night, without moonshine, for many
a mile of the road lipping tremendous precipices was without curb or
parapet. Not a foot till dawn.
In the little _auberge_, dignified but not improved by the name of
H�tel de France, there was room only for the two women and the older
men. Fitzgerald and Cathewe had to bunk the best they could in a
tenement at the upper end of the town; two cots in a single room,
carpetless and ovenlike for the heat.
Cathewe opened his rug-bag and spread out a rug in front of his cot,
for he wasn't fond at any time of dirty, bare boards under his feet.
He began to undress, silently, puffing his pipe as one unconscious of
the deed. Cathewe looked old. Fitzgerald hadn't noticed the change
before; but it certainly was a fact that his face was thinner than when
they put out to sea. Cathewe, his pipe still between his teeth,
absently drew his shirt over his head. The pipe fell to the rug and he
stamped out the coals, grumbling.
"You'll set yourself afire one of these fine days," laughed Fitzgerald
from his side of the room.
"I'm safe enough, Jack, you can't set fire to ashes, and that's about
all I amount to." Cathewe got into his pajamas and sat upon the bed.
"Jack, I thought I knew something about this fellow Breitmann; but it
seems I've something to learn."
The younger man said nothing.
"Was that yarn of Ferraud's fact or tommy-rot?"
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