E. W. Hornung: Dead Men Tell No Tales

CHAPTER 19: MY GREAT HOUR (continued)

"What has happened? Who has escaped?" "Your friend Rattray; but he won't get far."

"What of the Portuguese and the nigger?"

I forgot that I had crippled Jose, but remembered with my words, and wondered the more where he was.

"I'll show you," said Royds. "It was the nigger let us in. We heard him groaning round at the back - who smashed his leg? One of our men was at that cellar grating; there was some of them down there; we wanted to find our way down and corner them, but the fat got in the fire too soon. Can you stand something strong? Then come this way."

He led me out into the garden, and to a tangled heap lying in the moonlight, on the edge of the long grass. The slave had fallen on top of his master; one leg lay swathed and twisted; one black hand had but partially relaxed upon the haft of a knife (the knife) that stood up hilt-deep in a blacker heart. And in the hand of Santos was still the revolver (my Deane and Adams) which had sent its last ball through the nigger's body.

"They slipped out behind us, all but the one inside," said Royds, ruefully; "I'm hanged if I know yet how it happened - but we were on them next second. Before that the nigger had made us hide him in the grass, but the old devil ran straight into him, and the one fired as the other struck. It's the worst bit of luck in the whole business, and I'm rather disappointed on the whole. I've been nursing the job all this week; had my last look round this very evening, with one of these officers, and only rode back for more to make sure of taking our gentlemen alive. And we've lost three out of four of 'em, and have still to lay hands on the gold! I suppose you didn't know there was any aboard ?" he asked abruptly.

"Not before to-night."