Chapter XXXIV Dead Men Tell No Tales
The Old Well—A Voice—Visions—Infimis
“It is locked, Señor.”
Pepito had dismounted at the gate of the Casa Alvarez on the hillside.
“Shout, Pepito,” replied Jack from the saddle of his mule. “Perhaps the old man will hear us from the house.”
The gipsy put his hands to his mouth, and called shrilly. There was no answer, no sound save the hum of bees and the song of birds.
“We must climb the wall, then,” said Jack, springing to the ground.
“See, Señor, a face in the bush!” cried Pepito, pointing through the iron railings into the garden.
Looking, Jack saw, framed in the foliage of a dense laurel, the face of the old gardener.
“Adelante, hombre!” he said.
Instantly the face vanished. Jack called again; no voice answered, no footstep was heard. The two riders tied their steeds to trees in the plantation on the right, then scaled the wall and hastened towards the house.
Nearly two months had elapsed since Jack’s night adventure. He was struck by the alteration in the place. It had looked untidy, ill-cared-for, then; it was now a wilderness. Flowers and shrubs bloomed in unchecked luxuriance; hollyhocks drooped their heavy heads, sprays of woodbine twined in and out among the laurels, unpruned vines crept over the weedy paths, the sweltering air was sickly with mingled perfumes. The house stood white and brown in the glowing sunlight; lush creepers almost hid the door; the dry wood-work was blistered, the lattices falling away; all was decay, silence, and desolation.
It was high noon of a sultry summer day, yet Jack shivered. He rapped at the door. There was no response save an echo. He walked round the house; every window was shuttered, every door barred. He went on down the garden at the back, following the directions given him by Juanita, and Pepito crept along behind him, his big eyes wide with awe. A vulture flew up in front, and clattered away on creaking wings. He stepped from the path, and pushed his way through tangled shrubs and matted undergrowth towards a broad chestnut in the angle of the wall. Tendrils of convolvulus clung around his feet, the scent of thyme came in gusts with the cloying odour of gardenias. Suddenly the rank vegetation ceased, and before him, in a clear space, he saw the circular covering of the old well.
Frame and winch had been removed. A broken moss-grown bucket lay hard by; near it was a long bar of wood. Around the well was a broad patch of soft black earth. As Jack approached to remove the wooden cover from the well-mouth, Pepito touched him on the arm.
“Marks, Señor!” he said under his breath; “footsteps, and marks of a mule’s hoofs; fresh, Señor; made to-day.”
Jack started. A green lizard, sunning itself at the edge of the well, disappeared in a flash. He saw the hoof-marks in the soil; his heart sank with a sudden misgiving. The well-cover seemed to have been clumsily replaced.
“Help me lift it,” said Jack.
They removed the heavy cover. The well opened black before them. Pepito peered over the edge; he saw nothing; there was neither rope nor ladder.
“How can we get down?” said Jack.
Looking around, he saw what appeared to be the end of a ladder projecting from beneath a bush. He dragged it out; a snake dropped from it and vanished in the grass; it was a ladder some sixteen feet long.
“It will not reach the bottom of the well,” said Jack. His eye caught the bar of wood.
“Bring me that, Pepito.”
He laid it across the well-mouth; on its mossy side there was a dull splash of red. The bar stretched across the opening. Lifting it again, Jack gave it to Pepito, and, taking the ladder, lowered this into the well till only the topmost rungs were above the brickwork.
“Put the wood through,” he said.
Thus the ladder hung dangling on its support, fifteen feet into the well. Pepito looked at his master enquiringly.
“Yes, you are to climb down. Stay!” he added, as the boy prepared to step down on to the swinging ladder.
He took some papers from his pocket, twisted them into a loose mass, and wound about them the end of a long vine tendril. Then he kindled them from his tinder-box, and let the flaming mass down quickly into the well. It burned until it was consumed.
“There is air enough. Go down, Pepito.”
He steadied the ladder as the boy descended step by step. Jack counted twelve rungs, then ordered the boy to stop.
“Do you see anything, Pepito?”
A few moments passed. The gipsy’s eyes were adjusting themselves to the gloom.
“A hole, Señor, a big hole in the wall.”
“Can you get into it?”
“No, Señor, it is on the other side, too far away.”
Bidding the boy ascend, Jack shifted the ladder across the bar. Pepito went down again, and soon Jack heard his muffled voice exclaim that he was in the hole.
“Do you find anything there? Search thoroughly.”
A minute passed. Jack was crouched at the brink, holding the joists of the ladder firmly with both hands.
“There is nothing, Señor; all emptiness.”
“Come up again.”
He stepped out on to the brickwork, and Jack rose to his feet.
“Dead! dead! dead!” said a quavering voice behind him.
He turned with a nervous start. While he had been engaged at the well, a figure had been slowly approaching from a thicket of laurel, furtively, with hesitation, stopping for a moment, then taking another unsteady step and stopping again. Jack recognized the old gardener, but how altered! His limbs shook as with a palsy; his lips mumbled without sound; his eyes were wild.
“What is it, hombre?” said Jack quietly without moving.
The old man stood as if listening. Then, raising his shaking right hand, the long fingers working convulsively, he murmured:
“I saw it!... Dead!”
Then he smiled, a thin wan smile, and tottering forward pointed waveringly to the well. Jack recoiled. The old man’s smile was more awful than a sob of agony.
“They came through the gate;” he pointed across the garden to the farther wall. “There were two; I was hidden in the copse; I watched them. I watched them. They brought a mule; it was a fine mule, with gay trappings,—a fine mule...” The old man passed his hand across his brow. “What was I saying? I have forgotten.”
“They brought a mule,” said Jack.
“Yes, they brought a mule. They led it across the garden, trampling down the poor flowers—my flowers! I saw them! There were two. One was in front—the cursed afrancesado; I knew him; yes, did I not serve him at my master’s table? the afrancesado! He was in front; behind him a man, a long thin man, a one-eyed man, with the mule. They crushed the flowers—my flowers... what was I saying?”
“They came across the garden,” said Jack.
“They came across the garden. They came here, here! where we are standing. The man, the one-eyed man, fastened the mule to yonder tree; then they stooped down and lifted the cover. It was heavy...I watched them. They peered down into the well, into the deep well, but they could see nothing. Then the tall man, the man with the one eye, went away; the other, the afrancesado, the cursed afrancesado, waited, and while he waited he cast pebbles into the well... horrible! horrible!” He covered his eyes with his hand, as if to shut out some dreadful thing. “What was I saying?”
“The tall man came back,” said Jack.
“The tall man came back; he brought a ladder; he fetched a beam, that beam, and they let down the ladder into the well, the deep well... I watched them. ‘Twelve steps,’ said the afrancesado, the cursed afrancesado, and the tall man, the man with the one eye, went down... Twelve steps!... The other, the afrancesado, bent over; there was a noise below; the afrancesado said ‘Bien!’—I heard him. Then the man, the long man, the man with the one eye, came up, slowly; there was a box, a heavy box; the other took it, and the man, the one-eyed man, went down,... twelve steps... He came up again; there was another box, a small box. I knew it; it was the master’s. Then he went down again,... twelve steps,... and the other, the afrancesado, the accursed afrancesado, drew his knife, silently; it flashed in the sun; I watched him...” The old man stared fixedly before him. “What was I saying?” he whispered.
“He drew his knife,” said Jack.
“He drew his knife,” said the old man, still in a whisper. “The other, the long man, the man with one eye, came slowly, slowly, up. He stretched his left hand for the box, he raised the arm with the knife. He was behind him. He leant forward; I saw him—him, and the long man, the man with one eye—he drove it between his shoulders...”
The old man made as if to brush a cobweb from before his eyes.
“Horrible! horrible!... down! down! down!... What was I saying?”