I was evidently in for another day as unpleasantly exciting as the one I had spent before the revolution, and I reflected sadly that if a man once goes in for things of that kind, it’s none so easy to pull up. Luckily, however, I had several things to occupy me, and was not left to fret the day away in idleness. First I turned my steps to the harbor. As I went I examined my pockets and found a sum total of $950. This was my all, for of late I had deemed it wise to carry my fortune on my person. Well, this was enough for the present; the future must take care of itself. So I thought to myself as I went along with a light heart, my triumph in love easily outweighing all the troubles and dangers that beset me. Only land me safe out of Aureataland with the signorina by my side, and I asked nothing more of fortune! Let the dead bury their dead, and the bank look after its dollars!

Thus musing, I came to the boat-house where my launch lay. She was a tidy little boat, and had the advantage of being workable by one man without any difficulty. All I had to arrange was how to embark in her unperceived. I summoned the boatman in charge, and questioned him closely about the probable state of the weather. He confidently assured me it would be fine but dark.

“Very well,” said I, “I shall go fishing; start overnight, and have a shy at them at sunrise.”

The man was rather astonished at my unwonted energy, but of course made no objection.

“What time shall you start, sir?” he asked.

“I want her ready by two,” said I. — “Do you want me to go with you, sir?”

I pretended to consider, and then told him, to his obvious relief, that I could dispense with his services.

“Leave her at the end of your jetty,” I said, “ready for me. She’ll be all safe there, won’t she?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Nobody’ll be about, except the sentries, and they won’t touch her.”

I privately hoped that not even the sentries would be about, but I didn’t say so.

“Of course, sir, I shall lock the gate. You’ve got your key?”

“Yes, all right, and here you are—and much obliged for your trouble.”

Highly astonished and grateful at receiving a large tip for no obvious reason (rather a mistake on my part), the man was profuse in promising to make every arrangement for my comfort. Even when I asked for a few cushions, he dissembled his scorn and agreed to put them in.

“And mind you don’t sit up,” I said as I left him.

“I’m not likely to sit up if I’m not obliged,” he answered. “Hope you’ll have good sport, sir.”

From the harbor I made my way straight to the Golden House. The colonel was rather surprised to see me again so soon, but when I told him I came on business, he put his occupations on one side and listened to me.

I began with some anxiety, for if he suspected my good faith all would be lost. However, I was always a good hand at a lie, and the colonel was not the President.

“I’ve come about that money question,” I said.

“Well, have you come to your senses?” he asked, with his habitual rudeness.

“I can’t give you the money—” I went on.

“The devil you can’t!” he broke in. “You sit there and tell me that? Do you know that if the soldiers don’t have money in a few hours, they’ll upset me? They’re ready to do it any minute. By Jove! I don’t know now, when I give an order, whether I shall be obeyed or get a bullet through my head.”

“Pray be calm!” said I. “You didn’t let me finish.”

“Let you finish!” he cried. “You seem to think jabber does everything. The end of it all is, that either you give me the money or I take it—and if you interfere, look out!”

“That was just what I was going to propose, if you hadn’t interrupted me,” I said quietly, but with inward exultation, for I saw he was just in the state of mind to walk eagerly into the trap I was preparing for him.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

I explained to him that it was impossible for me to give up the money. My reputation was at stake; it was my duty to die in defense of that money—a duty which, I hastened to add, I entertained no intention of performing.

“But,” I went on, “although I am bound not to surrender the money, I am not bound to anticipate a forcible seizure of it. In times of disturbance parties of ruffians often turn to plunder. Not even the most rigorous precautions can guard against it. Now, it would be very possible that even to-night a band of such maurauders might make an attack on the bank, and carry off all the money in the safe.”

“Oh!” said the colonel, “that’s the game, is it?”

“That,” I replied, “is the game; and a very neat game too, if you’ll play it properly.”

“And what will they say in Europe, when they hear the Provisional Government is looting private property?”

“My dear colonel, you force me to much explanation. You will, of course, not appear in the matter.”

“I should like to be there,” he remarked. “If I weren’t, the men mightn’t catch the exact drift of the thing.”

“You will be there, of course, but incognito. Look here, colonel, it’s as plain as two peas. Give out that you’re going to reconnoiter the coast and keep an eye on The Songstress. Draw off your companies from the Piazza on that pretense. Then take fifteen or twenty men you can trust—not more, for it’s no use taking more than you can help, and resistance is out of the question. About two, when everything is quiet, surround the bank. Jones will open when you knock. Don’t hurt him, but take him outside and keep him quiet. Go in and take the money. Here’s the key of the safe. Then, if you like, set fire to the place.”

“Bravo, my boy!” said the colonel. “There’s stuff in you after all. Upon my word, I was afraid you were going to turn virtuous.”

I laughed as wickedly as I could.

“And what are you going to get out of it?” he said. “I suppose that’s coming next?”

As the reader knows, I wasn’t going to get anything out of it, except myself and the signorina. But it wouldn’t do to tell the colonel that; he would not believe in disinterested conduct. So I bargained with him for a douceur of thirty thousand dollars, which he promised so readily that I strongly doubted whether he ever meant to pay it.

“Do you think there’s any danger of Whittingham making an attack while we’re engaged in the job?”

The colonel was, in common parlance, getting rather warmer than I liked.

It was necessary to mislead him.

“I don’t think so,” I replied. “He can’t possibly have organized much of a party here yet. There’s some discontent, no doubt, but not enough for him to rely on.”

“There’s plenty of discontent,” said the colonel.

“There won’t be in a couple of hours.”

“Why not?”

“Why, because you’re going down to the barracks to announce a fresh installment of pay to the troops to-morrow morning—a handsome installment.”

“Yes,” said he thoughtfully, “that ought to keep them quiet for one night. Fact is, they don’t care twopence either for me or Whittingham; and if they think they’ll get more out of me they’ll stick to me.”

Of course I assented. Indeed, it was true enough as long as the President was not on the spot; but I thought privately that the colonel did not allow enough for his rival’s personal influence and prestige, if he once got face to face with the troops.

“Yes,” the colonel went on, “I’ll do that; and what’s more, I’ll put the people in good humor by sending down orders for free drink in the Piazza to-night.”

“Delightfully old-fashioned and baronial,” I remarked, “I think it’s a good idea. Have a bonfire, and make it complete. I don’t suppose Whittingham dreams of any attempt, but it will make the riot even more plausible.”

“At any rate, they’ll all be too drunk to make trouble,” said he.

“Well, that’s about all, isn’t it?” said I. “I shall be off. I’ve got to write to my directors and ask instructions for the investment of the money.”

“You’ll live to be hanged, Martin,” said the colonel, with evident admiration.

“Not by you, eh, colonel? Whatever might have happened if I’d been obstinate! Hope I shall survive to dance at your wedding, anyhow. Less than a week now!”

“Yes,” said he, “it’s Sunday (though, by Jove! I’d forgotten it), and next Saturday’s the day!”

He really looked quite the happy bridegroom as he said this, and I left him to contemplate his bliss.

“I would bet ten to one that day never comes,” I thought, as I walked away. “Even if I don’t win, I’ll back the President to be back before that.”

The colonel’s greed had triumphed over his wits, and he had fallen into my snare with greater readiness than I could have hoped. The question remained, What would the president do when he got the signorina’s letter? It may conduce to a better understanding of the position if I tell what that letter was. She gave it me to read over, after we had compiled it together, and I still have my copy. It ran as follows:

“I can hardly hope you will trust me again, but if I betrayed you, you drove me to it. I have given them your money; it is in the bank now. M. refuses to give it up, and the C. means to take it to-night. He will have only a few men, the rest not near. He will be at the bank at two, with about twenty men. Take your own measures. All here favor you. He threatens me violence unless I marry him at once. He watches The Songstress, but if you can leave her at anchor and land in a boat there will be no suspicion. I swear this is true; do not punish me more by disbelieving me. I make no protest. But if you come back to me I will give you, in return for pardon, anything you ask!

“CHRISTINA.

“P.S.—-M. and the C. are on bad terms, and M. will not be active against you.”

Upon the whole I thought this would bring him. I doubted whether he would believe very much in it, but it looked probable (indeed, it was word for word true, as far as it went), and held out a bait that he would find it hard to resist. Again, he was so fond of a bold stroke, and so devoid of fear, that it was very likely he could come and see if it were true. If, as we suspected, he already had a considerable body of adherents on shore, he could land and reconnoiter without very great danger of falling into the colonel’s hands. Finally, even if he didn’t come, we hoped the letter would be enough to divert his attention from any thought of fugitive boats and runaway lovers. I could have made the terms of it even more alluring, but the signorina, with that extraordinarily distorted morality distinctive of her sex, refused to swear to anything literally untrue in a letter which was itself from beginning to end a monumental falsehood; though not a student of ethics, she was keenly alive to the distinction between the expressio falsi and the suppressio veri. The only passage she doubted about was the last, “If you come back to me.” “But then he won’t come back to me if I’m not there!” she exclaimed triumphantly. What happened to him after he landed—whether he cooked the colonel’s goose or the colonel cooked his—I really could not afford to consider. As a matter of personal preference, I should have liked the former, but I did not allow any such considerations to influence my conduct. My only hope was that the killing would take long enough to leave time for our unobtrusive exit. At the same time, as a matter of betting, I would have laid long odds against McGregor.

To my mind it is nearly as difficult to be consistently selfish as to be absolutely unselfish. I had, at this crisis, every inducement to concentrate all my efforts on myself, but I could not get Jones out of my head. It was certainly improbable that Jones would try to resist the marauding party; but neither the colonel nor his chosen band were likely to be scrupulous, and it was impossible not to see that Jones might get a bullet through his head; indeed, I fancied such a step would rather commend itself to the colonel, as giving a bona fide look to the affair. Jones had often been a cause of great inconvenience to me, but I didn’t wish to have his death on my conscience, so I was very glad when I happened to meet him on my way back from the Golden House, and seized the opportunity of giving him a friendly hint.

I took him and set him down beside me on a bench in the Piazza.

I was in no way disturbed by the curious glances of three soldiers who were evidently charged to keep an eye on the bank and my dealings with it.

I began by pledging Jones to absolute secrecy, and then I intimated to him, in a roundabout way, that the colonel and I were both very apprehensive of an attack on the bank.

“The town,” I said, “is in a most unsettled condition, and many dangerous characters are about. Under these circumstances I have felt compelled to leave the defense of our property in the hands of the Government. I have formally intimated to the authorities that we shall hold them responsible for any loss occasioned to us by public disorder. The colonel, in the name of the Government, has accepted that responsibility. I therefore desire to tell you, Mr. Jones, that, in the lamentable event of any attack on the bank, it will not be expected of you to expose your life by resistance. Such a sacrifice would be both uncalled for and useless; and I must instruct you that the Government insists that their measures shall not be put in danger of frustration by any rash conduct on our part. I am unable to be at the bank this evening; but in the event of any trouble you will oblige me by not attempting to meet force by force. You will yield, and we shall rely on our remedy against the Government in case of loss.”

These instructions so fully agreed with the natural bent of Jones’ mind that he readily acquiesced in them and expressed high appreciation of my foresight.

“Take care of yourself and Mrs. Jones, my dear fellow,” I concluded; “that is all you have to do, and I shall be satisfied.”

I parted from him affectionately, wondering if my path in life would ever cross the honest, stupid old fellow’s again, and heartily hoping that his fortune would soon take him out of the rogue’s nest in which he had been dwelling.