The Black Box 14
Thus I crept up, foot by foot--nay, inch by inch were nearer to the
mark, my going was so slow--until at last I was near enough to make out
wellnigh every word as it was spoken. Then, stretched full length upon
the cool, soft turf, I lay there with a thumping heart and listened,
drinking in all I heard as greedily as ever thirst-parched man drank
water.
"’Tis so, then," Ferguson was saying; "you come here to drive a hard and
grievous bargain, eh?"
"Aye, truly," answered Ammon; "no words could put it better: a
bargain--a hard and grievous bargain if you will."
"And not to serve the godly cause?" whined Ferguson.
"Pish to your godly cause!" sneered Ammon. "I trow its value is the
same to both of us--and that is money."
"What’s that?" returned the chaplain fiercely.
"Cold truth, and nothing else," replied the other. "Look you, Doctor
Robert Ferguson, methinks we know each other well--at least ’tis time we
did. You, for a groat, would kill a man; by the same token, so would I.
Let that suffice us both. We came not here to warble sweet religion
through our noses, but to bargain. Let us therefore to the business of
the night, without more vain pretence, or, by the Lord, I will away and
leave you wanting what you hoped to gain."
"Enough!" groaned Ferguson. "A godless man is not to be persuaded of
his evil-doing."
"Nor yet beguiled," snapped Ammon.
"Tut, tut, no more of that. You named a price. Let’s see, now" (here I
heard him scratch his tousled wig), "was it not fifty guineas?"
"The godlessness is on your side, methinks, friend Ferguson," sneered
Ammon. "For verily you have a lie upon your lips. Full well you know
the price was double that."
"What?" cracked Ferguson. "A hundr-r-ed guineas! Why, ’tis shee-r-r
madness, man! Pr-r-e-poster-rous!" (His "r’s" rolled like a drum.)
"Nathless, ’tis my price," returned the other coldly.
"But, man, good man! I have not such a wicked price upon me!"
"Another lie! for verily I see your pockets bulging with it. Have a
care, friend Ferguson, or it may well go higher still."
"Nay, nay, that were impossible. Come, friend, let us bargain fairly.
Say eighty guineas, and ’tis yours this instant."
"A hundred guineas!" answered Ammon sharply, "and that also instantly,
or verily I take the thing away with me for ever. Look you, friend
Ferguson, for over half an hour we have sat parleying here, and still
you clutch your filthy gold and strive to trick me of my due. Have I
not risked my very life to get this paltry thing, and was not the price
agreed upon between us? Aye, verily; and unless ’tis paid down now,
before these lips of mine have counted ten, that which you crave is gone
from you for ever. Methinks I might make more of it elsewhere.
One--two----"
"Stay! the box is with you, is it?" asked the chaplain, as a man who
clutches at a straw.
"Fool!" snapped Tubal Ammon. "Have I not told thee so at least a dozen
times already. Three--four--five----"
"Then prove it! Let me see it. Thou hast not done that yet."
"True, by my life, for once. Then here it is. Six----"
"Ah, my wee, black, bonny bairn! How dear thou wast to me! Wilt let me
hold it, friend?"
"Yes, when the gold is counted out. Not till. Seven--eight. Nine!"
"Hast the key to it?"
"Nay, how should I? But ’tis easily forced open."
"Then I must prove the contents ere I pay so vast a sum. That is but
fair; for, look you, friend, the box might very well be empty."
"’Tis not so," answered Ammon. "Listen!" He shook it, and I heard the
fatal papers rustle.
"But other papers might have been put in," persisted Ferguson.
"Therefore, I say, it must be proven. Burst it open, friend; but have a
care in doing so, for verily I love it as a child."
The love of Tubal Ammon for it did not seem to count for much, for, with
what sounded like a savage crack, he forced the lock and dragged the
papers forth.
"Ah, let me see them! Give them to me," said the chaplain eagerly.
"Nay, not so quick, friend Ferguson," quoth Ammon. "Not till the price
is paid, that is. Mayst see them if you will, but nothing more. Look
you, here they are!"
I heard him smooth the parchments out; then caught the flicker of a
lantern as he held it up for Ferguson to see them.
"What? there are three of them!" exclaimed the chaplain. "Well, that
boots not. The one I want is there--the one you hold in front. Now,
place them here betwixt us, underneath the box, while I count out thy
most extortionate reward."
He gave a cracking laugh, of which the other took no heed; then came the
clink of slowly-counted gold, the counting of a usurer who weighed each
piece and loathed to part therefrom. "Thou art a hard, tight-fisted
fellow, Tubal Ammon," snarled Ferguson when all was ready. "Here, then,
is thy hard-wrung price, and may the Lord requite thee for the taking of
it from a man so poor as me!"
Here Tubal Ammon laughed (or barked, were a truer name for it) and said:
"’Tis well; now we are quits, methinks, for each hath what he sorely
wanted. As for your poverty, most worthy chaplain, I would right gladly
barter it for mine. Yea, friend, I always thought you rich, yet was not
sure of it; and now that it is clearly proven--now I learn that thou art
poor! Enough; we never know the truth. _Docendo discimus_. Pardon
such faulty Latin. But, what say you, shall we now let go a psalm upon
the night? Truly, our voices are a trifle cracked, but yet methinks
’twould make a fine duetto. Hark you! Like this--join in!"
He raised a rasping, high-pitched voice, and sang a note or two.
"Stop, fool!" hissed Ferguson. "Wouldst bring danger on us? We know
not who may be in earshot of such owlish screeching! Art clean daft?"
"Nay, only wondrous happy," answered Ammon.
"Yes, and why?" growled Ferguson. "Because, like Shylock, thou hast
claimed thy pound of flesh?"
"Yea, verily, and got it; which is much more to the point."
"Yes, got it," quoth the chaplain bitterly. "Wrung it from me like the
clutching Jew you are. Let that suffice, and add not gibe to injury."
"Ah, no! was ever miser yet who could bear parting with his gold, no
matter how it had been earned?" sighed Ammon mockingly.
"The devil take thee!"
"Nay, I am his already--thanks to thee, most godly chaplain."
"Provoke me not too far," hissed Ferguson. "I am not to be trifled
with. You know me well, friend Ammon."
"Yes, verily, I know you far too well."
"Then keep your rasping tongue still. There was more inside the box
than I had bargained for; and I would scan these papers carefully in
peace."
"And by the same token, sir," mocked Ammon, "I would fain count my
money, lest, haply, thou hast overpaid me. Thus are we quits again."
Here, then, I had the real Tubal Ammon, so different from the sly,
tale-telling wretch whom I had met beside the road; and here also was
the real Ferguson. But of him I had already known so much that his
present character seemed quite in keeping with my knowledge of him.
And now the crackling of parchment and chink of gold was all that
reached my ears.
I lay there listening for a while, and then an overmastering desire came
over me to look upon these workers of iniquity. Next moment I was
moving like a serpent up the bank, holding my breath and fearful lest
the very thumping of my heart might give the scoundrels warning and undo
me.
At last I gained the ridge, and, having paused a moment, took a cautious
peep beneath a little bush. And there I saw a sight indeed. ’Twas worth
the risk. The rays of a lantern, set within a cleft, fell on the
wicked, red-blotched face of Ferguson, as he sat there, with knees drawn
up wellnigh to his chin, poring over his ill-gotten gain; it fell, too,
on the evil, cunning face of Tubal Ammon, as, crouching low, he counted
up his money with a greedy care. And, midway between them lay the
rifled box. Never have I seen a sight more diabolical, and ’tis,
perhaps, small wonder that the thought came rushing to my mind: Two
Satans, with the light of Hades on them!
From my hiding-place behind the bracken I stared at them like one
bewitched, till Ammon, having dropped the last gold-piece into a
leathern pouch, glanced up at his companion. Then, fearing lest he
might arise, I ducked my head and drew back down the bank a foot or two.
"Right to a single piece," quoth Tubal, jingling the pouch.
"I knew that well enough," growled Ferguson. "Have you a piece of cord
wherewith to fasten up the box?"
"Yes, by my life, here is the very thing," replied the other. "Truly my
usefulness exceeds all reckoning."
The chaplain murmured something which I did not catch, then, as it
seemed to me, he folded up the papers, placed them in the box, and
having tied the cord around it, said:
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