“Keep your hair on. I dare to say anything that comes up my darned back, you bet.
I’m not going to knuckle down to a yellow-stomach—”
Out flew Don Pedro’s long arm, and Hervey slammed against the wall.
He slipped his hand around to his hip pocket with an ugly smile, but before he could use the revolver he produced, Hope dashed up his arm, and the ball went through the ceiling.
“Lucy!” cried the young man, knowing that the drawing-room was overhead, and in a moment was out of the door, racing up the stairs at top speed.
Some sense of shame seemed to overpower Hervey as he thought that he might have shot the girl, and he replaced the revolver in his pocket with a shrug.
“I climb down and apologize,” he said to Don Pedro, who bowed gravely.
“Hang you, sir; you might have shot my daughter,” cried Braddock. “The drawing-room, where she is sitting, is right overhead, and-”
As he spoke the door opened, and Lucy came in on Archie’s arm.
She was pale with fright, but had sustained no damage.
It seemed that the revolver bullet had passed through the floor some distance away from where she was sitting.
“I offer my humble apologies, miss,” said the cowed Hervey.
“I’ll break your neck, you ruffian!” growled Hope, who looked, and was, dangerous. “How dare you shoot here and—”
“It’s all right,” interposed Lucy, not wishing for further trouble. “I am all safe.
But I shall remain here for the rest of your interview, Captain Hervey, as I am sure you will not shoot again in the presence of a lady.”
“No, miss,” muttered the captain, and when again invited by the angry Professor to speak, resumed his discourse in low tones.
“Wal, as I was saying,” he remarked, sitting down with a dogged look, “Bolton intended to clear with the emeralds, but I guess Sir Frank got ahead of him and packed him in that blamed case, while he annexed the emeralds.
He then took the manuscript, which he looted from Bolton’s corpse, and hid it among his books, as you say, while he left the blamed mummy in the garden of the old lady you talked about.
I guess that’s what I say.”
“It’s all theory,” said Don Pedro in vexed tones.
“And there isn’t a word of truth in it,” said Lucy indignantly, standing up for Frank Random.
“It ain’t for me to contradict you, miss,” said Hervey, who was still humble, “but I ask you, if what I say ain’t true, how did that copy of the manuscript come to be in that aristocrat’s room?”
There was no reply made to this, and although every one present, save Hervey, believed in Random’s innocence, no one could explain.
The reply came after some further conversation, by the appearance of the soldier himself in mess kit. He walked unexpectedly into the room with Donna Inez on his arm, and at once apologized to De Gayangos.
“I called to see you at the inn, sir,” he said, “and as you were not there, I brought your daughter along with me to explain about the manuscript.”
“Ah, yes. We talk of that now.
How did it come into your room, sir?”
Random pointed to Hervey.
“That rascal placed it there,” he said firmly.
CHAPTER XX. THE LETTER
At this second insult Archie quite expected to see the skipper again draw his revolver and shoot.
He therefore jumped up rapidly to once more avert disaster. But perhaps the fiery American was awed by the presence of a second lady—since men of the adventurous type are often shy when the fair sex is at hand—for he meekly sat where he was and did not even contradict.
Don Pedro shook hands with Sir Frank, and then Hervey smiled blandly.
“I see you don’t believe in my theory,” said he scoffingly.
“What theory is that?” asked Random hastily.
“Hervey declares that you murdered Bolton, stole the manuscript from him, and concealed it in your room,” said Archie succinctly.
“I can’t suggest any other reason for its presence in the room,” observed the American with a grim smile. “If I’m wrong, perhaps this almighty aristocrat will correct me.”
Random was about to do so, and with some pardonable heat, when he was anticipated by Donna Inez.
It has been mentioned before that this young lady was of the silent order.
Usually she simply ornamented any company in which she found herself without troubling to entertain with her tongue.
But the accusation against the baronet, whom she apparently loved, changed her into a voluble virago.
Brushing aside the little Professor, who stood in her way, she launched herself forward and spoke at length.
Hervey, cowering in the chair, thus met with an antagonist against whom he had no armor.
He could not use force; she dominated him with her eye and when he ventured to open his mouth his few feeble words were speedily drowned by the torrent of speech which flowed from the lips of the Peruvian lady.
Every one was as astonished by this outburst as though a dog had spoken.
That the hitherto silent Donna Inez de Gayangos should speak thus freely and with such power was quite as great a miracle.
“You—are a dog and a liar,” said Donna Inez with great distinctness, and speaking English excellently. “What you say against Sir Frank is madness and foolish talk.
In Genoa my father did not speak of the manuscript, nor did I, who tell you this.
How, then, could Sir Frank kill this poor man, when he had no reason to slay him—”
“For the emeralds,” faltered Hervey weakly.