Read CHAPTER XXX - A DESPERATE PLAN of The American Baron, free online book, by James De Mille, on ReadCentral.com.

Ethel’s plan was hastily revealed.  The position was exceedingly perilous; time was short, and this was the only way of escape.

It was the priest who had concocted it, and he had thought of it as the only plan by which Hawbury’s rescue could be effected.  This ingenious Irishman had also formed another plan for the rescue of Minnie and her sister, which was to be attempted in due course of time.

Now no ordinary mode of escape was possible for Hawbury.  A strict watch was kept.  The priest had noticed on his approach that guards were posted in different directions in such a way that no fugitive from the house could elude them.  He had also seen that the guard inside the house was equally vigilant.  To leap from the window and run for it would be certain death, for that was the very thing which the brigands anticipated.  To make a sudden rush down the stairs was not possible, for at the door below there were guards; and there, most vigilant of all, was Girasole himself.

The decision of the Irish priest was correct, as has been proved in the case of Dacres, who, in spite of all his caution, was observed and captured.  Of this the priest knew nothing, but judged from what he himself had seen on his approach to the house.

The plan of the priest had been hastily communicated to Ethel, who shared his convictions and adopted his conclusions.  She also had noticed the vigilance with which the guard had been kept up, and only the fact that a woman had been sent for and was expected with the priest had preserved her from discovery and its consequences.  As it was, however, no notice was taken of her, and her pretended character was assumed to be her real one.  Even Girasole had scarcely glanced at her.  A village peasant was of no interest in his eyes.  His only thought was of Minnie, and the woman that the priest brought was only used as a desperate effort to show a desire for her comfort.  After he had decided to separate the sisters the woman was of more importance; but he had nothing to say to her, and thus Ethel had effected her entrance to Minnie’s presence in safety, with the result that has been described.

The priest had been turning over many projects in his brain, but at last one suggested itself which had originated in connection with the very nature of his errand.

One part of that errand was that a man should be conveyed out of the house and carried away and left in a certain place.  Now the man who was thus to be carried out was a dead man, and the certain place to which he was to be borne and where he was to be left was the grave; but these stern facts did not at all deter the Irish priest from trying to make use of this task that lay before him for the benefit of Hawbury.

Here was a problem.  A prisoner anxious for escape, and a dead man awaiting burial; how were these two things to be exchanged so that the living man might pass out without going to the grave?

The Irish priest puzzled and pondered and grew black in the face with his efforts to get to the solution of this problem, and at length succeeded ­to his own satisfaction, at any rate.  What is more, when he explained his plan to Ethel, she adopted it.  She started, it is true; she shuddered, she recoiled from it at first, but finally she adopted it.  Furthermore, she took it upon herself to persuade Hawbury to fall in with it.

So much with regard to Hawbury.  For Minnie and her sister the indefatigable priest had already concocted a plan before leaving home.  This was the very commonplace plan of a disguise.  It was to be an old woman’s apparel, and he trusted to the chapter of accidents to make the plan a success.  He noticed with pleasure that some women were at the place, and thought that the prisoners might be confounded with them.

When at length Ethel had explained the plan to Hawbury he made a few further objections, but finally declared himself ready to carry it out.

The priest now began to put his project into execution.  He had brought a screw-driver with him, and with this he took out the screws from the coffin one by one, as quietly as possible.

Then the lid was lifted off, and Hawbury arose and helped the priest to transfer the corpse from the coffin to the straw.  They then put the corpse on its side, with the face to the wall, and bound the hands behind it, and the feet also.  The priest then took Hawbury’s handkerchief and bound it around the head of the corpse.  One or two rugs that lay near were thrown over the figure, so that it at length looked like a sleeping man.

Hawbury now got into the coffin and lay down on his back at full length.  The priest had brought some bits of wood with him, and these he put on the edge of the coffin in such a way that the lid would be kept off at a distance of about a quarter of an inch.  Through this opening Hawbury could have all the air that was requisite for breathing.

Then Ethel assisted the priest to lift the lid on.

Thus far all had been quiet; but now a slight noise was heard below.  Some men were moving.  Ethel was distracted with anxiety, but the priest was as cool as a clock.  He whispered to her to go back to the room where she belonged.

“Will you be able to finish it?” she asked.

“Sure an’ I will ­only don’t you be afther stayin’ here any longer.”

At this Ethel stole back to Minnie’s room, and stood listening with a quick-beating heart.

But the priest worked coolly and dextrously.  He felt for the holes to which the screws belonged, and succeeded in putting in two of them.

Then there was a noise in the hall below.

The priest began to put in the third screw.

There were footsteps on the stairs.

He screwed on.

Nearer and nearer came the steps.

The priest still kept to his task.

At last a man entered the room.  Ethel, who had heard all, was faint with anxiety.  She was afraid that the priest had not finished his task.

Her fears were groundless.

Just as the foremost of the men entered the room the priest finished screwing, and stood by the coffin, having slipped the screw-driver into his pocket, as calm as though nothing had happened.  Three of the screws were in, and that was as many as were needed.

The men brought no light with them, and this circumstance was in the priest’s favor.

“You’ve been keeping me waiting long,” said the priest, in Italian.

“You may be glad it wasn’t longer,” said one of them, in a sullen tone.  “Where is it?”

“Here,” said the priest.

The men gathered around the coffin, and stooped down over it, one at each corner.  Then they raised it up.  Then they carried it out; and soon the heavy steps of the men were heard as they went down the stairs with their burden.

Ethel still stood watching and listening.

As she listened she heard some one ascending the stairs.  New terror arose.  Something was wrong, and all would be discovered.  But the man who came up had no light, and that was one comfort.  She could not see who it was.

The man stopped for a moment in front of Minnie’s door, and stood so close to her that she heard his breathing.  It was quick and heavy, like the breathing of a very tired or a very excited man.  Then he turned away and went to the door of the front-room opposite.  Here he also stood for a few moments.

All was still.

Then he came back, and entered Hawbury’s room.

Now the crisis had come ­the moment when all might be discovered.  And if so, they all were lost.  Ethel bent far forward and tried to peer through the gloom.  She saw the dark figure of the new-comer pass by one of the windows, and by the outline she knew that it was Girasole.  He passed on into the shadow, and toward the place where the straw was.  She could not see him any more.

Girasole stepped noiselessly and cautiously, as though fearful of waking the sleeper.  At every step he paused and listened.  The silence reassured him.

He drew nearer and nearer, his left hand groping forward, and his right hand holding a pistol.  His movements were perfectly noiseless.

His own excitement was now intense, his heart throbbed fiercely and almost painfully as he approached his victim.

At last he reached the spot, and knelt on one knee.  He listened for a moment.  There was no noise and no movement on the part of the figure before him.

In the gloom he could see the outline of that figure plainly.  It lay on its side, curled up in the most comfortable attitude which could be assumed, where arms and legs were bound.

“How soundly he sleeps!” thought Girasole.

He paused for a moment, and seemed to hesitate; but it was only for a moment.  Then, summing up his resolution, he held his pistol close to the head of the figure, and fired.

The loud report echoed through the house.  A shriek came from Minnie’s room, and a cry came from Mrs. Willoughby, who sprang toward the hall.  But Girasole came out and intercepted her.

“Eet ees notin,” said he, in a tremulous voice.  “Eet ees all ovair.  Eet ees only a false alarm.”

Mrs. Willoughby retreated to her room, and Minnie said nothing.  As for Ethel, the suspense with her had passed away as the report of the pistol came to her ears.

Meanwhile the coffin was carried out of the house, and the men, together with the priest, walked on toward a place further up the shore and on the outskirts of the woods.  They reached a place where a grave was dug.

At this moment a pistol-shot sounded.  The priest stopped, and the men stopped also.  They did not understand it.  The priest did not know the cause of the shot, but seeing the alarm of the men he endeavored to excite their fears.  One of the men went back, and was cursed by Girasole for his pains.  So he returned to the grave, cursing every body.

The coffin was now lowered into the grave, and the priest urged the men to go away and let him finish the work; but they refused.  The fellows seemed to have some affection for their dead comrade, and wished to show it by putting him underground, and doing the last honors.  So the efforts of the Irish priest, though very well meant, and very urgent, and very persevering, did not meet with that success which he anticipated.

Suddenly he stopped in the midst of the burial service, which he was prolonging to the utmost.

“Hark!” he cried, in Italian.

“What?” they asked.

“It’s a gun!  It’s an alarm!”

“There’s no gun, and no alarm,” said they.

All listened, but there was no repetition of the sound, and the priest went on.

He had to finish it.

He stood trembling and at his wit’s end.  Already the men began to throw in the earth.

But now there came a real alarm.