The Strange Story of Rab Raby Part 31

But at that sound, the speaker suddenly was silent, as if a shot had struck him, his mouth remained open, but his head sank back, and his eyes rolled till only the whites showed themselves; for an instant a spasm convulsed him, then he fell back--dead!

The laugh had killed him, as surely as if a bullet had been lodged in his heart.

They seized him and dragged him out into the fresh air, believing it was only a swoon, but in vain did they endeavour to restore life: it was all over with him.

When they were convinced that the notary was indeed dead, their despair knew no bounds.

But most of all was Mr. Zabvary quite desperate; wringing his hands, he wailed: "Kracsko, Kracsko, do not die till you have told me where my treasure is hidden. Wake up, I say, and tell me where you have put my little money-chest."

"But our big one," moaned the magistrate, "where's that? Haven't I always said that if only one man knew, and the devil carried him off, what should we do? Fetch a doctor, a surgeon, some of you. He must live till he tells us where the great treasure-chest is."

But no earthly aid could avail them for the man they called on lay there dead, and he had hidden the treasure so effectually that no one would ever find it.

The despairing survivors ran fuming with wrath back into the court-room.

"Murder, murder," cried Zabvary as he rushed on Raby. "I am a beggar, I have been robbed! Hang the murderer who has killed the notary."

"Not quite so fast," exclaimed Captain Lievenkopp, placing himself before Raby. "There are others here as well you might hang."

"That's the man," shouted Zabvary, shaking his clenched fist at Raby.

"String him up at once!"

Whereupon the district commissioner rose and insisted on a hearing.

"It is quite true," he said, "that the notary died in consequence of Mr.

Raby having laughed at him during his speech, but our law does not reckon laughter as an instrument of manslaughter. I advise you not to lift a hand against this gentleman, for whoever does so, will be taught by the military to respect lawful authority. Now be off home with you!"

This appeal to armed force effectually quelled the malcontents, who sulkily beat a retreat.

The district commissioner turned to Raby when they were alone. "We must prorogue the inquiry till all this has blown over. But if you, Mr. Raby, will take my advice, you will leave this town as soon as possible, and will place yourself under Captain Lievenkopp's protection till you get away."

CHAPTER XXVI.

After the foregoing experiments, it was time for Raby to seek for exterior means to attain his purpose, and he determined to extort an avowal from the Rascian "pope," who alone now knew the hiding-place of the great coffer, and if this was revealed, the whole intrigue could be unmasqued. The heaped-up treasure and large number of bonds, which represented a large amount of money, const.i.tuted irrefragable proof against the guilty.

It was to this end that Raby sent for the "pope" to come and meet him at Pesth.

This time our hero did not alight at a frequented hostelry, but put up at an inn where the country people were wont to go, and chartering a room there, only went out at night.

But none the less had his enemies ferreted him out, without his having the slightest suspicion that two or three spies were on his track wherever he went.

One morning, Raby was able to write to the Emperor and tell him that the "pope" was ready to present himself in Vienna, and divulge all, as soon as he received direct instructions from his Majesty. He read the missive to the "pope" before sealing it up, so that the good man might approve of it throughout, and carried it himself to post, so that it should pa.s.s through no strange hands. Then he invited the ecclesiastic to dine with him, taking care to provide that worthy's favourite national dishes, a savoury Paprika stew and the Servian "Csaja."

As they sat there doing justice to them, who should come in but Judge Petray.

It was surely some unlucky chance which led Petray to Raby's table.

They exchanged greetings with a certain amount of embarra.s.sment, and Petray's contemptuous tone in opening up the conversation (which Raby had willingly avoided), was not lost on the other.

"Well met, friend! I beg pardon for disturbing you, but you are the very man I wanted to see," said Petray, as he sat down beside them. "Yes," he went on, "about that letter which you have written to the Emperor."

"What do you mean?" cried Raby, beside himself with astonishment.

"Why, you know well enough that the munic.i.p.al council has forbidden complaints to be formulated to the Emperor regarding any matter affecting its internal regulations."

"But who can possibly know what my correspondence contains, I should like to know?"

"Well we happen to know, because we intercepted the letter at the post-office, you see."

"What, you have dared to intercept my correspondence!" cried Raby enraged.

"Yes, and what's more, we have opened the letter and read it, and have submitted it to a committee of inquiry."

"But this is an unheard-of insult!" exclaimed Raby, rising from his seat in uncontrollable anger.

"Oh, you are getting angry, are you? I guessed you would be, when you heard it; that's why I begged your pardon when I came in. But it doesn't alter the fact that I am sent to arrest you in the name of the munic.i.p.ality, on a charge of treason against the authorities, and am ordered to commit you to prison forthwith."

Petray said all this in such a jesting tone, that the "pope" who had kept his seat at table, imagined he was simply joking. He poured out a gla.s.s of wine and offered it to the judge, saying as he did so:

"Here have done with your jests, and drink this, your wors.h.i.+p; no one believes what you are saying! Come, let us toast one another!"

The "pope" was a vigorous, dignified looking man in the prime of life, with a round rosy face. He beamed again with benevolence as he pledged the judge.

Yet Petray did not take the proffered gla.s.s, but stiffened himself and stood in a judicial att.i.tude, with his hand on the hilt of his sword, while he said in a stern tone:

"Here there is no matter for jesting, I am sent by the Pesth County a.s.sembly to arrest Mr. Mathias Raby as a criminal, wherever I may find him."

And with that he stepped to the door and pushed it open. Without, stood half a dozen heydukes armed with swords and carbines and the town provost.

At the sight of them, the "pope" turned suddenly pale; his rubicund face became a ghastly grey, his hairs seem to bristle in terror. There was a rattling sound in his throat, and then he fell back senseless on the floor in an apoplectic fit. In vain they strove to revive him. He was dead! Fright, or rather the apoplexy had killed him. And as he was the only living soul who had known the secret of the buried treasure, his death forbade the entrance ever being discovered.

Yet Raby had not seen what had happened, for as soon as ever Petray had opened the door, the provost had immediately arrested him with the threat that if he did not yield, he would be put into irons.

Raby simply answered that he would not oppose armed force, and that he put his trust in a Providence that would bring truth and justice to light. And with that they marched him off, and led him down out into the street.

Before the gate stood three coaches. They made him take the front seat in the first, and placed two guards opposite him with their swords pointed against his breast. The others followed in the remaining vehicles. So they drove through the streets of Pesth till they reached the a.s.sembly House, where Petray ordered Raby's conductors to "obey orders."

So they proceeded to "obey orders." First they loosened his silver-hilted sword from his side, took his purse and gold watch from his pocket, drew the signet ring from off his finger, and searched him from head to foot. In the breast-pocket they found the pa.s.sport of the Emperor, commanding that Mr. Mathias Raby should pa.s.s unmolested wherever he went. The provost read it through with a mocking laugh. Then he brought out fetters, rivetted them on his prisoner's hands and feet, opened a narrow iron-barred door, and without further ceremony, pushed him into "cell number three."

From that moment they called Mathias Raby with justice, "Rab Raby,"[1]

for does not "Rab" mean in Hungarian, a prisoner?

[Footnote 1: I cannot but help feeling that the sudden death of the "pope" in this last chapter will strike the reader as a somewhat bold license, even for the novelist, seeing how closely it follows on that of the notary. I am aware that as romance it could not be justified, but seeing that this is a true story which I am telling, I cannot do otherwise than follow the facts however extraordinary they may appear, seeing they are set forth in the hero's own autobiography.--(AUTHOR'S NOTE.]