– ”
His eyes rolled, and an oath escaped his lips, for he thought of the Castle, of the cell which would receive him, and of the labour to which he would be condemned.
“To-night or never!” he muttered. “And if the youngster stirs or attempts to hold me, why, there’s something here to make him alter his mind. Something to stop him altogether, to shut his mouth, and keep his evidence from reaching the authorities.”
The thought seemed to please him, for he sat back on his heels and gripped his revolver more tenaciously. But a moment later reflection brought some doubt to his mind, and his breathing became deeper and more hurried.
“They’d know,” he said, with an oath. “They’re bound to know, in any case, for I must go. Once I have the money, I must take to the forest, and trust to picking up a boat along the coast. Even then I shall have to wait for months, for there will be a hue and cry. I’ll have to make for King Koffee’s country, and take service with him. He’ll remember who has been so good about the supply of guns and ammunition. Yes, I’ll make for Kumasi, and wait there till the storm has blown over. Ah! he’s snoring again. I must be quick. The morning will be coming in a couple of hours.”
The thought that he had a haven near at hand seemed to spur the miscreant on to his purpose, for he rose to his feet and emerged into the open, where the brilliant moon showed him even more clearly. It was obvious that he had purposely darkened his skin, for behind his ears, on the broad of his back, and on the palms of his hands were dusky-white patches, which he had omitted to cover. In fact, the robber who lurked so close to the house, and whose fingers grasped the revolver, was none other than James Langdon, whose name was uppermost in Dick Stapleton’s mind. This thief, who came stealthily in the night, was the half-caste manager of the store which Dick’s father had kept for many a year in Cape Coast Castle. Short and squat he appeared in the moon’s rays, but the light was insufficient to show what manner of man he actually was. Had it been lighter one would have seen a heavy, ugly face, with thick lips and splayed-out nose, telling unmistakably of his negro origin. Crisp, airly locks, jet black in colour, covered his head, while some straggling hairs grew from his upper lip. The brows were low; the eyes too close together, while the thickness of the lips alone seemed to denote a cruel nature. James Langdon was, in fact, far from prepossessing in appearance, while he bore a character which was none of the best. He had a dusky complexion, sharp, white teeth, and that whiteness of the eye which belongs to a native.
For years he had acted as Mr Stapleton’s manager, and tales were whispered in the place that he robbed his employer, that he had dealings with the natives of the interior which, had they come to the knowledge of Mr Stapleton or to the ears of the authorities, would have gained for him instant dismissal, and in all probability imprisonment. But Mr Stapleton had never suspected, and the apathy of the officials had caused them to disregard rumours. And so it happened that James went on with his peculations and his illicit trading till Dick came out to the Gold Coast, just four months before, and at once plunged into the business with the intention of mastering every detail. Gradually, as the books and the working of the store became familiar to him, Dick had begun to suspect, and then had become almost certain of the fact that the manager was dishonest.
“I’ll make sure first of all,” he had said. “I am new to ledgers and journals, and, in fact, to trade of any sort, and it is possible that I may be mistaken. I’ll go through the entries again, so that there shall be no room for doubt.”
Unconsciously his manner had altered to the manager. He was too honest to be on familiar terms with a man whom he suspected of robbing his father and as a result James guessed that he was found out, that this young Englishman regarded him with suspicion. He would have fled the place then and there had he had the means. But he had long since spent all his ill-gotten wealth. He remained, therefore, and while still contemplating the step, went on with his work as if he had nothing to fear. A few days later a sharp bout of fever, not the first which he had suffered by any means, attacked Mr Stapleton, and to Dick’s inexpressible grief he succumbed.
“Then I must go,” said James Langdon, and with that he promptly decided to rob the son and decamp.
Only a week had passed since Mr Stapleton’s death, when the half-caste proceeded to put his plan into execution; and there he was, disguised in order that Dick should not recognise him, naked and well smeared with oil, so that if his young employer happened to awake and endeavoured to detain him, his grip would instantly slip from his body.
“He’s fast asleep, and now’s the time,” whispered James, running his fingers across his forehead to wipe the perspiration away. “I’ll creep in and search for the box.”
He stood to his full height and peered over the rail of the verandah at the sleeping figure. Then he hoisted himself over the low wall and stole along the wooden flooring. It took more than a minute to reach the door of the room which Dick had recently vacated, for the sleeper was evidently troubled with dreams, and he breathed and snorted heavily, each sound bringing the robber to a stop, and setting him shivering with apprehension, for this half-caste was a coward at heart. But at length he found himself within the room.
“Beneath the bed,” he said to himself. “That’s where his father kept the gold, and no doubt the young fool does the same. He’ll have left the box there, and I shall be able to get it and slip away without discovery.”
He was at the bed by now, and his arms were groping vainly beneath it. An oath escaped him when he discovered that the box was gone, and he sat back on his heels trembling, and furious with disappointment.
“Perhaps he has moved it,” he said at length. “He guessed that some one was about, else why did he go on to the verandah to keep watch, and why the gun? I’ll strike a match and take a look round. First of all, is he quiet?”
He stole to the open door and peered at the recumbent figure, now half illuminated by the moon. He could see the head lolling forward, the hands and arms trailing to the floor, and the stock of the rifle. The legs and feet, and the box for which he sought, were still in the shadow.
“All’s well,” he thought. “A match will not awake him, and there is no one about to see the light.”
There was a faint, rasping sound, and the glimmer of a flame lit the room. The half-caste searched each corner diligently till the match burned to his fingers. Then he flung it aside with an oath and rapidly struck another.
“Then he must have the box with him,” he exclaimed hoarsely, while the frown on his ugly brows increased as he realised that his difficulties were suddenly increased. “He’s asleep. I’ll capture the prize and run to the nearest shadow. If he follows – ”
His fingers felt the lock of the revolver while he lifted the weapon and took aim at the moonlit doorway.
“I could hit him with ease, though I have never fired one of these before,” he said. “Time’s going. It must be done at once.”
Bracing himself with the thought, the miscreant stole to the door, and then along the verandah till he was close to Dick. His hand went out to search for the coveted box, and then drew back suddenly, while the blood in his veins froze with terror. For Dick moved restlessly and spoke in his sleep. Had he discovered the attempt? Was he about to pounce upon the intruder? The doubt set the half-caste shivering till desperation lent him strength, and he levelled the revolver. His eyes shone strangely in the moon’s rays as they fixed themselves on the unconscious youth, while the finger which lay on the trigger stiffened, causing the hammer to rise slowly into cocking position. Another movement would have been Dick’s last. But the dream had passed, the nightmare which had troubled him was gone, and he slept easily.
“I thought it was all up,” growled the robber hoarsely, to himself.
