The Great Detectives by Theodore Mathieson

Author:Theodore Mathieson [Mathieson, Theodore]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-02-10T05:00:00+00:00

Miguel was placed in a gloomy cell at the city jail at twelve o’clock noon. The Duke’s agents worked fast, and by four o’clock they returned to their master ‘with the evidence Miguel predicted they would find. At five o’clock the Duke himself appeared at the jail, and Villarroel, kept purposely ignorant of the Duke’s discoveries, went at once to Miguel’s cell.

“I do not understand what unholy power you have to make the Duke do your bidding,” he said churlishly, “but His Grace is here and insists that you be allowed to proceed according to your own plan. But I warn you, sirrah, if you fail to prove your innocence, I will have my word, and it will not be pleasant!”

“I do hope the black bird is gone at last from my shoulder,” Cervantes said fervently.

Whereupon a jailer opened the cell door and Miguel was escorted down a steep flight of stone steps to a damp underground chamber where a group of people was gathered silently about a slab upon which rested a still, sheeted figure.

“My poor Miguel!” Catalina threw her arms around him. His whole family was there—Catalina, Isabel, Magdalena. There was Juan Podesta, too, who stepped forward and said earnestly, “I told de Robles about you, and he has set his lawyer to work.”

“Thank you, Juan,” Miguel said. “But His Grace, the Duke of Bejar, has come here to help me.” He bowed in the nobleman’s direction, and the grandee returned the bow with a somber smile.

At the foot of the corpse stood Mariana Ramirez, looking down, white-faced, at the silent figure. At one side, Miguel de Vargas stood quietly, his hands folded respectfully in front of him.

“Well, suppose you make your accusation,” Villarroel said harshly.

“In my own time, Alcalde,” Miguel replied. “Señorita Ramirez, last night you said you did not know the man beneath this sheet. It is Don Gaspar de Ezpeleta. Do you know him now?”

“Yes, I know him,” Mariana said in a low voice.

“Did he not ask you to marry him many times?”

“Yes.”

“But you refused him in favor of Miguel de Vargas, who stands there. Is that not true?”

“Yes.”

“And was not Don Gaspar, may his soul rest in peace, a violent and revengeful man?”

“Yes, he was.”

“So revengeful, in feet, that he would do anything to stop your marriage to Miguel?”

“Yes?”

“Tell us who murdered Don Gaspar!” Villarroel said savagely.

Miguel leaned forward, and grasping the corner of the sheet he threw it back to reveal the ashen face of the dead knight.

“Don Gaspar himself is the murderer! He committed suicide with the sole intention of fastening the crime upon Miguel de Vargas!”

“But his sword was clean!” Villarroel cried. “And there was no other weapon found.”

At a nod from Miguel the Duke raised his hand and one of his attendants stepped forward, holding out a sharp, bloodstained, short sword.

“Here it is,” Miguel said, holding it out to the alcalde. “Don Gaspar pretended to fight with an opponent, stabbed himself, then thrust the sword into the hedge that surrounds the tavern.

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