The Snare Part 18

"You tell me that Garfield was cared for by the parish priest at Penalva. There you are. Half the priesthood of the country are on Souza's side, since the Patriarch of Lisbon himself is little more than a tool of Souza's. What happens? This priest discovers that the British officer whom he has so charitably put to bed in his house is the bearer of dispatches. A loyal man would instantly have communicated with Marshal Beresford at Thomar. This fellow, instead, advises the intriguers in Lisbon. The captain's dispatches are examined and the only doc.u.ment of real value is abstracted. Of course it would be difficult to establish a case against the priest, and it is always vexatious and troublesome to have dealings with that cla.s.s, as it generally means trouble with the peasantry. But the case is as clear as crystal."

"But the intriguers here? Can you not deal with them?"

"I have them under observation," replied the colonel. "I already knew the leaders, Souza's lieutenants in Lisbon, and I can put my hand upon them at any moment. If I have not already done so it is because I find it more profitable to leave them at large; it is possible, indeed, that I may never proceed to extremes against them. Conceive that they have enabled me to seize La Fleche, the most dangerous, insidious and skilful of all Napoleon's agents. I found him at Redondo's ball last week in the uniform of a Portuguese major, and through him I was able to track down Souza's chief instrument--I discovered them closeted with him in one of the card-rooms."

"And you didn't arrest them?"

"Arrest them! I apologised for my intrusion, and withdrew. La Fleche took his leave of them. He was to have left Lisbon at dawn equipped with a pa.s.sport countersigned by yourself, my dear adjutant."

"What's that?"

"A pa.s.sport for Major Vieira of the Portuguese Cacadores. Do you remember it?"

"Major Vieira!" Sir Terence frowned thoughtfully. Suddenly he recollected. "But that was countersigned by me at the request of Count Samoval, who represented himself a personal friend of the major's."

"So indeed he is. But the major in question was La Fleche nevertheless."

"And Samoval knew this?"

Sir Terence was incredulous.

Colonel Grant did not immediately answer the question. He preferred to continue his narrative. "That night I had the false major arrested very quietly. I have caused him to disappear for the present. His Lisbon friends believe him to be on his way to Ma.s.sena with the information they no doubt supplied him. Ma.s.sena awaits his return at Salamanca, and will continue to wait. Thus when he fails to be seen or heard of there will be a good deal of mystification on all sides, which is the proper state of mind in which to place your opponents. Lord Liverpool's figures, let me add, were not among the interesting notes found upon him--possibly because at that date they had not yet been obtained."

"And you say that Samoval was aware of the man's real ident.i.ty?"

insisted Sir Terence, still incredulous. "Aware of it?" Colonel Grant laughed shortly. "Samoval is Souza's princ.i.p.al agent--the most dangerous man in Lisbon and the most subtle. His sympathies are French through and through."

Sir Terence stared at him in frank amazement, in utter unbelief. "Oh, impossible!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed at last.

"I saw Samoval for the first time," said Colonel Grant by way of answer, "in Oporto at the time of Soult's occupation. He did not call himself Samoval just then, any more than I called myself Colquhoun Grant. He was very active there in the French interest; I should indeed be more precise and say in Bonaparte's interest, for he was the man instrumental in disclosing to Soult the Bourbon conspiracy which was undermining the marshal's army. You do not know, perhaps, that French sympathy runs in Samoval's family. You may not be aware that the Portuguese Marquis of Alorna, who holds a command in the Emperor's army, and is at present with Ma.s.sena at Salamanca, is Samoval's cousin."

"But," faltered Sir Terence, "Count Samoval has been a regular visitor here for the past three months."

"So I understand," said Grant coolly. "If I had known of it before I should have warned you. But, as you are aware, I have been in Spain on other business. You realise the danger of having such a man about the place. Sc.r.a.ps of information--"

"Oh, as to that," Sir Terence interrupted, "I can a.s.sure you that none have fallen from my official table."

"Never be too sure, Sir Terence. Matters here must ever be under discussion. There are your secretaries and the ladies--and Samoval has a great way with the women. What they know you may wager that he knows."

"They know nothing."

"That is a great deal to say. Little odds and ends now; a hint at one time; a word dropped at another; these things picked up naturally by feminine curiosity and retailed thoughtlessly under Samoval's charming suasion and display of Britannic sympathies. And Samoval has the devil's own talent for bringing together the pieces of a puzzle. Take the lines now: you may have parted with no details. But mention of them will surely have been made in this household. However," he broke off abruptly, "that is all past and done with. I am as sure as you are that any real indiscretions in this household are unimaginable, and so we may be confident that no harm has yet been done. But you will gather from what I have now told you that Samoval's visits here are not a mere social waste of time. That he comes, acquires familiarity and makes himself the friend of the family with a very definite aim in view."

"He does not come again," said Sir Terence, rising.

"That is more than I should have ventured to suggest. But it is a very wise resolve. It will need tact to carry it out, for Samoval is a man to be handled carefully."

"I'll handle him carefully, devil a fear," said Sir Terence. "You can depend upon my tact."

Colonel Grant rose. "In this matter of Penalva, I will consider further.

But I do not think there is anything to be done now. The main thing is to stop up the outlets through which information reaches the French, and that is my chief concern. How is the stripping of the country proceeding now?"

"It was more active immediately after Souza left the Government. But the last reports announce a slackening again."

"They are at work in that, too, you see. Souza will not slumber while there's vengeance and self-interest to keep him awake." And he held out his hand to take his leave.

"You'll stay to luncheon?" said Sir Terence. "It is about to be served."

"You are very kind, Sir Terence."

They descended, to find luncheon served already in the open under the trellis vine, and the party consisted of Lady O'Moy, Miss Armytage, Captain Tremayne, Major Carruthers, and Count Samoval, of whose presence this was the adjutant's first intimation.

As a matter of fact the Count had been at Monsanto for the past hour, the first half of which he had spent most agreeably on the terrace with the ladies. He had spoken so eulogistically of the genius of Lord Wellington and the valour of the British soldier, and, particularly-of the Irish soldier, that even Sylvia's instinctive distrust and dislike of him had been lulled a little for the moment.

"And they must prevail," he had exclaimed in a glow of enthusiasm, his dark eyes flas.h.i.+ng. "It is inconceivable that they should ever yield to the French, although the odds of numbers may lie so heavily against them."

"Are the odds of numbers so heavy?" said Lady O'Moy in surprise, opening wide those almost childish eyes of hers.

"Alas! anything from three to five to one. Ah, but why should we despond on that account?" And his voice vibrated with renewed confidence. "The country is a difficult one, easy to defend, and Lord Wellington's genius will have made the best of it. There are, for example, the fortifications at Torres Vedras."

"Ah yes! I have heard of them. Tell me about them, Count."

"Tell you about them, dear lady? Shall I carry perfumes to the rose?

What can I tell you that you do not know so much better than myself?"

"Indeed, I know nothing. Sir Terence is ridiculously secretive," she a.s.sured him, with a little frown of petulance. She realised that her husband did not treat her as an intelligent being to be consulted upon these matters. She was his wife, and he had no right to keep secrets from her. In fact she said so.

"Indeed no," Samoval agreed. "And I find it hard to credit that it should be so."

"Then you forget," said Sylvia, "that these secrets are not Sir Terence's own. They are the secrets of his office."

"Perhaps so," said the unabashed Samoval. "But if I were Sir Terence I should desire above all to allay my wife's natural anxiety. For I am sure you must be anxious, dear Lady O'Moy."'

"Naturally," she agreed, whose anxieties never transcended the fit of her gowns or the suitability of a coiffure. "But Terence is like that."

"Incredible!" the Count protested, and raised his dark eyes to heaven as if invoking its punishment upon so unnatural a husband. "Do you tell me that you have never so much as seen the plans of these fortifications?"

"The plans, Count!" She almost laughed.

"Ah!" he said. "I dare swear then that you do not even know of their existence." He was jocular now.

"I am sure that she does not," said Sylvia, who instinctively felt that the conversation was following an undesirable course.

"Then you are wrong," she was a.s.sured. "I saw them once, a week ago, in Sir Terence's room."

"Why, how would you know them if you saw them?" quoth Sylvia, seeking to cover what might be an indiscretion.

"Because they bore the name: 'Lines of Torres Vedras.' I remember."