"That fellow Gortre, that abominable young priest, has been getting in my way to-night," he said with a savage curse. "I found him with Gertrude Hunt, the woman I've spent thousands on! The priests have got her; she's going to 'lead a new life.' She has 'found Christ'!"
Schuabe smiled horribly, a cunning smile of unutterable malice.
"He has crossed my path also," he said; "in some way, by a series of coincidences, he has become slightly involved in our lives. Leave the matter to me. So small a thing as the fanaticism of one obscure youth is nothing to trouble us. I will see to his future. But he shall live to know what is coming to the world. Then — it is easy enough. He thwarted me one night also."
They were silent for a minute or two. Sir Robert lifted a long glass to his lips. His hand shook with passion, and the ice in the liquid clinked and tinkled.
"Everything is now ready," he said at last, glancing at Schuabe. "Every detail. Ionides knows what he has to do when he receives the signal. He is a mere tool, and knows and cares nothing of what will happen. He is to direct the excavators in certain directions, that is all. It will be three months, so I calculate, after we have set the machinery in motion, before the blow will fall. It rests with you now to begin."
"The sign shall go at once," said Schuabe. His eyes glittered, his mouth worked with emotion.
"It is a letter with a single sign on it."
"What is the sign?"
"A drawing of a broken cross."
"Before the day dawns we will send the broken cross to Jerusalem."
END OF BOOK I
