Part 16 (2/2)

”My goal is the trapping of Landon into an English gaol, for espionage and robbery. Or--” He shrugged his shoulders meaningly.

”Or?”

”Or his death,” he said, in very distinct, level tones.

”Ah!” The exclamation came from her almost unconsciously. Her face shone with a sudden alertness, her expression warmed, her eyes grew bright.

”You would not hesitate--at that?” she demanded.

Mr. Van Arlen made a little inarticulate murmur of protest; his hand was stretched towards her with appeal.

She disregarded it. Her eyes were fixed piercingly on Aylmer's face.

He met her glance with matter-of-factness.

”I should not hesitate, if need arose,” he said.

She drew a long breath. Her features relaxed.

”Thank you,” she said gravely. ”Now I know where we stand. And then--that is all?”

This time it was his eyes which held hers with insistence, almost with menacing, she told herself.

”No,” he said quietly. ”That is--not all. But that, for the present, is enough.”

For a moment her heart seemed to halt in its beat, the blood rushed to her face, the pulse of anger which leaped through her gave her a queer sense of choking. For she understood. Incredible, monstrous, as his purpose appeared in the light of her loathing of those who bore his name, she had not misread it. His words? They were possibly nebulous.

But his eyes? No. No woman could misunderstand that look. Steadfast, patient, determined--the unswerving gaze of the pioneer who sees the unseen goal with the eye of faith, and sees it won.

She wheeled her mule with a fierce drag of the rein; her spur found its flank and forced it forward. She felt morally stunned by this--this insolence; mere words could not meet it. For the moment she felt herself deprived of weapons by the unexpectedness of the attack.

Her movement set the whole party in motion. Her father reined up to her side. She stole a half glance at his face. There was a queer, partly grim, partly puzzled expression on it, but she read, too, a glint of humor? Her exasperation rose. Her father, even? Had he gone over to the enemy; could she no longer reckon that his support would not crumble from resentment into laughter? Oh, this imperturbable Englishman should pay for this! If there was one shaft of gall left in her woman's armory, he should pay! The insolence of the man--the unparalleled insolence!

Behind her she heard his voice, addressed to Absalaam in trivial inquiry. She felt an overwhelming desire to forestall the answer with indignant words of bitter loathing. His impa.s.sibility excited her--the serenity with which he pa.s.sed back, as it were, to little things after launching such a bomb. She gave a s.h.i.+ver of pa.s.sion, or, perhaps, fear had its place in her emotion. There was something relentless in his att.i.tude, something uncompromising.

Absalaam's answer was forestalled, but not by her. Little John Aylmer's voice rang out, shrill with the joy of discovery.

”The brown man!” he cried rapturously. ”The brown man!”

The other John Aylmer looked up. A couple of men had come into sudden view round a corner of the track. A clump of Spanish broom had hidden their approach; they gave an exclamation of alarm as they met the glances of the riders not thirty yards away.

One Aylmer recognized at once. He was the man of the pier, the would-be kidnapper whose purpose he himself had frustrated at the moment of success.

The other man made a movement to cover his face with the hood of his _djelab_, but by some apparent unadroitness let it fall further back.

And so revealed his ident.i.ty.

It was Landon--brought to a sudden halt by surprise.

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