Inheritance and succession -- Fiction; Islands -- Fiction; Love stories; Nobility -- Fiction
The next day three of the native servants became violently ill, seized
by the most appalling convulsions. At first, a thrill of horror ran
through the château. The plague! The plague in reality! Faces blanched
white with dread, hearts turned cold and sank like lead; a hundred eyes
looked out to sea with the last gleam of hope in their depths.
But these fears were quickly dissipated. Baillo and the other natives
unhesitatingly announced that the men were not afflicted with the "fatal
sickness." As if to bear out these positive assertions, the sufferers
soon began to mend. By nightfall they were fairly well recovered. The
mysterious seizure, however, was unexplained. Chase alone divined the
cause. He brooded darkly over the prospect that suddenly had presented
itself to his comprehension. Poison! He was sure of it! But who the
poisoner?
All previous perils and all that the future seemed to promise were
forgotten in the startling discovery that came with the fall of night.
The first disclosures were succeeded by a frantic but ineffectual search
throughout the grounds; the château was ransacked from top to bottom.
Lady Deppingham and Robert Browne were missing! They had disappeared as
if swallowed by the earth itself!
Neenah, the wife of Selim, was the last of those in the château to see
the heirs. When the sun was low in the west, she observed them strolling
leisurely along the outer edge of the moat. They crossed the swift
torrent by the narrow bridge at the base of the cliff and stopped below
the mouth of the cavern which blew its cool breath out upon the hanging
garden. Later on, she saw them climb the staunch ladder and stand in the
black opening, apparently enjoying the cooling wind that came from the
damp bowels of the mountain. Her attention was called elsewhere, and
that was the last glimpse she had of the two people about whom centred
the struggle for untold riches.
It was not an unusual thing for the inhabitants of the château to climb
to the mouth of the cavern. The men had penetrated its depths for
several hundred yards, lighting their way by means of electric torches,
but no one among them had undertaken the needless task of exploring it
to the end. This much they knew: the cavern stretched to endless
distances, wide in spots, narrow in others, treacherous yet attractive
in its ugly, grave-like solitudes.
"God, Chase, they are lost in there!" groaned Deppingham, numb with
apprehension. He was trembling like a leaf.
"There's just one thing to do," said Chase, "we've got to explore that
cavern to the end. They may have lost their bearings and strayed off
into one of the lateral passages."
"I--I can't bear the thought of her wandering about in that horrible
place," Deppingham cried as he started resolutely toward the ladders.
"She'll come out of it all right," said Chase, a sudden compassion in
his eyes.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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