CHAPTER LXI.

MORE ABOUT CHIVEY AND HIS MASTER--THE FATAL PIT--IS IT THE END?--ARTFUL CHIVEY AND THE ARTFULLER NOTARY--DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND--HOW THE TIGER PREPARED TO SPRING--HERBERT MURRAY IN DANGER.

Before we proceed to describe the orphan's presentation to that arch polygamist, the Turkish pasha, and the remarkable result of that interview, we must look around and see if we are not neglecting any of the characters whose eventful careers we have undertaken to chronicle.

We are losing sight of one at least, who has a very decided claim upon our attention.

This person is none other than Herbert Murray.

The reader will not have forgotten under what circumstances we parted company with this unscrupulous son of an unscrupulous father.

Goaded to desperation by his villainous servant, Herbert Murray turned upon the traitor and hurled him down the gravel pit.

Then the assassin walked away from the scene.

But ere he had got far, his steps were arrested by the sound of a groan.

A groan that came from the gravel pit.

"Was it my fancy?"

No.

Surely not.

There it was again.

A low moan--a wail of anguish.

Back he went, muttering to himself--

"Not dead?"

He went round nearly to the bottom of the pit, and peered over.

There was Chivey leaning upon his elbow groaning with the severity of his bruises, and the dreadful shock he had received.

"You've done for me, now," he moaned, as he caught sight of his master.

"No; but I shall," retorted the assassin.

And he took a deliberate aim with the pistol.

"I expected this," said Chivey, faintly; "but remember murder is a hanging matter."

"I shall escape," retorted Murray, coldly.

"But you can't," said Chivey, with a grin of triumph, even as he groaned.

There was something in his manner which made Murray uneasy.

"Twenty-four hours after I'm missing," gasped Chivey, "your forgery will be in the hands of the police; they can get you back for forgery, and while you're in the dock of the Old Bailey, if not before, to stand your trial for forgery, they will have a clue to my murder."

His words caused Murray a singular thrill.

"What do you mean by that, traitor?" he demanded.

"Mean? Why, I know you too well to trust you. I tell you I have taken every possible precaution," retorted Chivey, "so that you are safe only while I live. I know my man too well not to take every precaution. Now," he added, sinking back exhausted, "now, my young sweet and pleasant, fire away."

Murray paused, and concealed his pistol.

Was it true about these precautions?

Chivey was vindictive as he was cunning.

He had shown this in every action.

"Supposing I spare you?" said Murray.

"You can't," retorted the tiger; "I'm done for."

"So much the better."

"So you say now," returned Chivey, his voice growing fainter and fainter. "Wait and remember my words--I'll be revenged."

He gasped for breath.

Then all was still.

Was he dead?

Murray trembled with fear at the thought.

The words of the revengeful tiger rang in his ear.

And he strode away.

Silent and moody as befits one bearing the brand of Cain.

* * * *

Chivey was far from being as badly hurt as he at first appeared.

He had no bones broken, his worst injuries being a few bruises and a very unpleasant shaking.

But Chivey was artful.

He thought it best to keep quiet until Herbert Murray should be gone.

Chivey struggled up on to his knees.

Then he began to crawl along the sand pit.

Progress was difficult at first.

But he persevered and got along in time.

"If these bruises would only let me think how further to act," he muttered to himself, as groaning, he crawled back to the town.

"Señor Velasquez," he said to himself, as a happy thought crossed him. "Señor Velasquez is my man for a million."

He paused to think over the ways and means, and a cunning smile deepened on his face, as he gradually made up his mind.

"The worst of this is that I must have a confederate," muttered the young schemer.

"No matter, there is only one way out of it, and I must make the best of it."

Señor Velasquez was an obscure notary.

Chivey had made a chatting acquaintance with the notary in the town, the Spaniard speaking English with tolerable proficiency.

"What is the nature of the secret you hold _in terrorem_ over your master?" demanded the notary, when Chivey at length reached his office.

Chivey smiled.

"I said it was a secret, Mr. Velasquez," he answered.

"But if you seek my advice about that," the notary made reply, "I must know all the particulars of the case."

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes."

"Why?"

"How can I advise if you keep me in the dark?"

Chivey leered at the Spanish notary and grinned.

"Don't you try and come the old soldier over me, please," he said.

"Old soldier?" said Señor Velasquez, in surprise.

"Yes."

"What is 'old soldier?' What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, sir, the artful."

"Is this English?" exclaimed the notary.

"Rather."

"Well, I confess I do not understand it."

"Then," said Chivey, getting quite cheerful as he warmed into the matter, "I think your English education has been very seriously neglected, that's what I think."

"Possibly," said the Spaniard. "I only learnt your tongue as a student, and am not well grounded in slang."

"More's the pity."

There was a spice of contempt in Chivey's tone which appeared rather to aggravate Señor Velasquez.

"You are too clever, Mr. Chivey," said he, "far too clever. Now you want to keep your secret, and I shall guess that your secret concerns----"

He paused.

"Who?" asked Chivey.

"The young man whose letters you employed me to intercept."

The tiger looked alarmed.

"I mean the young Señor Jack Harkaway."

Chivey looked about him rather anxiously.

"Don't be so imprudent, Señor Velasquez," he said. "You are a precious dangerous party to have any thing to do with."

"Not I," returned Señor Velasquez; "I am easily dealt with. But those who would deal with me must not be too cunning."

"You don't find nothing of that sort about me," said Chivey.

"What is it you require of me?" demanded the notary, getting vexed.

"He's a proud old cove," thought the tiger.

So he drew in his horns and met the notary half way.

"You are just right, Mr. Velasquez," he remarked. "It does concern Jack Harkaway."

"I knew that."

"Now I want you to give me your promise not to tell what I am going to say to you, nor to make any use of it without my express permission."

"I promise. Now proceed, for I am pressed for time."

"I will," said the tiger, resolutely.

The notary produced paper and writing materials.

"My master, Mr. Murray, has attempted my life," began Chivey, "and this is because I am possessed of certain secrets."

"I see."

"He is at the present moment under the idea that he has killed me. Now what I want is, to make him thoroughly understand that he does not get out of his difficulty by getting me out of the way, not by any manner of means at all."

"I see."

"How will you do it?"

"I will go and see him."

Chivey jumped at the idea immediately.

"Yes, sir, that's the sort; there's no letters then to tell tales against us."

"None."

"Get one from him, though, if you can," said Chivey, eagerly; "something compromising him yet deeper, like."

"I will do it," said Señor Velasquez. "And what will you pay for it? Give it a price."

"Thirty pounds," returned Chivey, in a feverish state of anxiety.

"I'll do it," returned the notary, with great coolness.