CHAPTER XVII
THE TOPMOST ROOM
It was in the evening twilight that Armstrong and Warrender put off inthe pram for their second expedition to the tunnel. On reaching theruins, Warrender posted himself in one of the lower rooms, whileArmstrong mounted to the upper floor, intent on discovering the sourceof the ghostly moans. Climbing out of the window opening, and pullingaside the ivy, he found that steps had been made in the brickwork of thecrumbling wall, by means of which any one with a steady head might withease ascend to the roof. And there, behind one of the gables, partlyprotected from the weather, he came upon a long metal organ pipe laidflat, and near it a large funnel-shaped object. A strong breeze wasblowing from the south-west, but the organ pipe gave forth no sound.
Still puzzled as to the manner in which the sound was produced, andreflecting that Pratt would probably have jumped to it at once,Armstrong heard a low whistle from below. He scrambled hastily down,and had only just slipped into the eastern room when he heard lumberingfootsteps upon the stairs. From the doorway he watched the man whom hehad seen in the morning. A minute or two after the new-comer had enteredthe western room, the moaning broke out. Armstrong waited until the manhad descended and all was quiet again, then once more climbed upon theroof. The mystery was solved. The funnel had been so adjusted as tocatch the wind, and direct it with some force into the mouth of theorgan pipe. It turned like a weather-cock, so that the sound wasindependent of the veering of the wind.
Rejoining Warrender, Armstrong informed him of the discovery, andsuggested that he should examine the contrivance for himself.
"I'll take your word for it," said Warrender, smiling. "I don't careabout steeple-jack feats in half darkness. We'll wait a little beforewe follow that fellow through the tunnel. Let's go up and watch for thesignal."
It was perhaps half an hour later when the light appeared above thetree-tops.
"Most certainly it's S.O.S.," said Armstrong, after counting therecurring glows.
"I shouldn't wonder if Pratt is right after all, and it's Molly Rodsignalling. He was right about the organ pipe."
"Doesn't it occur to you that the light may come from the tower?"
"But if the forgers are at work there, why should any one signal?"
"Can't we discover whether it's from the tower or the house?"
"We can't take any bearings in the dark. Stay, though. If we move backfrom the window, and go to the side of the room, perhaps we'll find aspot where the light just becomes invisible. I'll mark that on thefloor, and in daylight there'd be no difficulty."
Acting on this suggestion, they were not long in discovering therequired spot. Warrender scratched a pencil mark on the floor; thenthey descended to the cellar, cautiously lifted the flagstone, andgroped their way through the tunnel until they came to the chamber atthe end. Nothing was altered there, except that the opened bale ofpaper had been removed. They had intended to enter the archway on thefarther side, and lift the flagstone which, they suspected, closed theentrance to another cellar; but from above there came dully a successionof regular thuds which proved that somebody was about, and active.
"I dare say that's the press at work," said Warrender in a whisper,after they had listened for a few minutes.
"Doing overtime," said Armstrong. "I suppose, not knowing exactly whenMr. Pratt will return, they want to make the most of their opportunity.Who knows how many thousands of pounds of spurious money are gettinginto circulation? No doubt Gradoff had his trunk full of notes thatmorning we saw him driving off in the car."
They seated themselves on the unopened bales, hoping that work wouldpresently cease, and the man would leave the tower. But the thudscontinued with monotonous regularity.
"Every thud means a forged note," said Armstrong. "They may be going onall night. How long can you stick it?"
"We'll wait till eleven; then if they're still at it, we'll go back andreconnoitre the outside."
"Perhaps they have a sentry."
"Perhaps; but I fancy they'll feel pretty safe now that they've cheviedus from the island."
At eleven o'clock the work was still going on. The boys retraced theircourse to the ruins, regained the pram, and allowed it to drift on thecurrent down channel to the south of the island. There they lay to fora few minutes, listening, peering through the darkness. There was nomoon; the starlight scarcely revealed the outlines of the trees.Presently, with careful, soundless movements of the sculls, they rowedacross to the left bank, and, pulling the craft out of sight, landed alittle below the island, and laboriously pushed their way through thethicket, guiding themselves by the compass. Some fifty yards from thebank the vegetation thinned, and they found themselves in a wood oftaller trees. Here the going was easier, though once or twice theystumbled over trunks that had been felled and stripped ready forcarting. Emerging from the wood into park-like ground, where there werelarge trees only at intervals, they progressed still more rapidly, andat last caught sight, on their left, of the dim, square shape of thetower. Behind a broad elm they stood for a minute or two, watching.There was no light in the tower. Its base was surrounded by a mass oflow-growing shrubs. The doorway, no doubt, was on the farther side fromthem. The walls were covered with ivy, except at the window openings,where the recent boarding was visible as faint grey patches.
"Now for it," whispered Warrender.
They stole forward over the long grass. As they drew nearer to thetower they heard the dull regular thudding; there was no other sound.Armstrong posted himself at one corner, while Warrender gently pushed away through the shrubs to the wall. He examined the boarded window,apparently an old embrasure much widened. The boards were on the inside;the outside was protected by cross bars of iron. He went round thebuilding. There was only one other window opening on the ground floor.At the north-eastern angle he halted, looking out for a possible sentry,then crept along until he reached the entrance, a low iron-studded doorflush with the wall. Putting his ear against the wood, he heard moreclearly the metallic thuds, and men's voices. A footstep approached.He slipped back to the corner, and crouched in the shelter of a shrub.The door opened outwards, creaking on its hinges, and letting out astream of light. A short, stout figure emerged from the tower, carryinga number of cans which rattled as he walked.
"_Fermez la porte!_"
The words, in a savage, half-suppressed shout, sounded from some littledistance away in the direction of the house. The man addressed hastilyclosed the door behind him, and went on. Warrender saw another man meethim. They stopped and exchanged a few words. Rod continued his way tothe house, his progress faintly marked by the rattling cans. The otherman came towards the tower. He opened the door quickly, slipped inside,and shut it. In the one second during which the light shone out,Warrender recognised the pale face of Paul Gradoff.
He hurried round to the spot where Armstrong had remained on guard.
"All right!" he whispered. "No sentry. Rod has just gone to the house;Gradoff has gone in."
"Well," returned Armstrong, "what can we do?"
"We'll try the door first of all. Come on!"
They moved with slow, careful steps round the tower, came to the door,and gently tried the handle. There was no yielding; the door wasfastened. They went on to the western face of the tower. Here alsothere was a window opening on the ground floor, as securely boarded upas the other. At equal intervals above it were two other embrasures,similarly blocked.
"No way of getting in," murmured Armstrong.
The sound of the door creaking sent them scurrying to cover in theundergrowth. When all was silent again, Warrender whispered--
"Come among the trees. We can talk more freely there."
They crept over the ground, and took post under a tall, thick-leavedbeech nearly a hundred yards away.
"I don't see any chance of getting in," said Warrender, "and that's apity. I wanted to see them actually turning o
ut their forged notes."
"I suppose it was Gradoff going out again we heard just now," saidArmstrong. "If he and Rod are both away, there can't be more than fourothers in the tower, probably not so many. They'll take turns atnight-work."
"That doesn't matter. Any forcible entry is quite out of the question,if that's what you're thinking of. I say, isn't that a light up thetower?"
More than half-way up the wall a faint streak of light was visible.
"Evidently there's some one in the top room," said Warrender. "Some onesleeps there, I suppose. The machine is on the ground floor. Wherelight gets out, we should be able to see in. You've done some climbingalready to-night; are you game to clamber up the ivy? There's no otherway."
"I weigh eleven stone," said Armstrong, dubiously.
"But ivy's pretty tough. It may support you. You may find foothold inthe wall."
"Hanged if I don't try. You'll stand underneath and break my fall if Itumble. I reckon it's about thirty feet up; plenty high enough to breakone's neck or leg."
They hastened to the foot of the tower. With Warrender's help,Armstrong got a footing in the lower embrasure. Then, taking firm holdof the stout main stem of the ivy, he began to swarm up, seeking supportfor his feet in the thick, spreading tendrils and in notches of thestone-work. Warrender watched him hopefully. Slowly, inch by inch, heascended. He gained the second embrasure, rested there a few moments,then climbed again, and was almost half-way to his goal, when he feltthe ivy above him yield slightly. Digging his feet into the wall, hehung on, but at the first attempt to ascend he felt that the attenuatedstem would no longer support his weight, and began slowly to lowerhimself.
At this moment Warrender heard the door creak, and threw up a warningwhisper. Armstrong stopped, effacing himself as well as he could amongstthe ivy, to which he clung with the disagreeable sensation that he wasdragging it from its supports above. Voices were heard; heavyfootsteps. After a few moments they ceased. Were the men turning tocome back? Had they heard anything? Then came the scratching of amatch. Warrender drew relieved breath; some one had halted, only, itappeared, to light his pipe or cigarette. The footsteps sounded again,gradually receding, and finally died away.
"All safe!" whispered Warrender.
Armstrong let himself down, and stood beside his friend.
"A quivery job," he murmured. "My arms ache frightfully. It's not tobe done, Phil. Another foot up and I should have dragged down the wholelot, possibly a stone or two as well. We're fairly beaten."
"The sound inside has stopped. They've apparently knocked off work;it's past midnight. I wonder if any one's left inside?"
"Why should there be?"
"Well, there was some one up above. Is the light showing still?"
They walked some distance away from the tower, and looked up. The thinstreak of light, so faint that it might have escaped casual observation,still showed at the level of the topmost room. They went to the door andagain gently tried it. It was shut fast.
"We had better get back," said Warrender. "There's nothing to be done."
"Unless we try the tunnel again, now that all is quiet inside."
"If you like."
They crossed the grounds with the guidance of the compass, and presentlycame among the medley of prostrate trunks.
"I've an idea," said Armstrong. "It'll take a long time to get backthrough the tunnel. Why not shift one of these poles, and put it upagainst the tower? I could climb then, and take a look in at that upperwindow."
"Good man! We must take care to get one long enough."
They found a straight fir stem that appeared to be of the requiredlength, carried it to the tower, and raised it silently until the toprested in the ivy, just above the left-hand corner of the window.
"Steady it while I climb," said Armstrong. "Don't let it wobble over."
He began to swarm up. For the first eighteen or twenty feet it was easywork; then with every inch upward his difficulties grew, for not onlywas there less and less room between the pole and the wall, but the poleitself showed more and more tendency to roll sideways, in spite ofWarrender's steadying hands below. Slowly, very slowly Armstrongmounted, maintaining equilibrium partly by clutching the ivy. At last,gaining the level of the window, he gripped one of the iron bars thatstretched across it, rested one knee on the wide embrasure, and peepedthrough a narrow crack between two of the boards.
He was transfixed with amazement. The first object that caught his eyewas the figure of an elderly man, bald, with thick grey moustache andbeard, seated at a table, resting his head on his hands as he read bythe light of a small paraffin lamp the book open before him. On one endof the table stood a couple of plates, one holding a half-loaf of bread,a knife, and a jug. Upon the walls beyond him hung animals' horns,tusks, savage weapons, necklaces of metal and beads. The remainder ofthe room was out of the line of sight.
As Armstrong gazed, the inmate got up and paced to and fro. He was talland lank; his clothes--an ordinary lounge suit--hung loosely upon hisspare frame. There was a worn, harassed look in the eyes beneath adeeply furrowed brow. He strode up and down, his large bony handsclasped behind him; sighed, sat down again, and began to take off hisclothes.
"HE STRODE UP AND DOWN, HIS LARGE BONY HANDS CLASPEDBEHIND HIM."]
Puzzled as to the identity of this solitary, wondering whether he, andnot Gradoff, was the head of the gang, Armstrong backed down to make hisdescent. The pole swayed as his full weight came upon it, and he savedhimself from crashing to the ground only by desperately clinging to theivy, and forcing the top of the pole into a tangled mass of the foliage.Then he slid rapidly down, barking his hands on the rough stem.
"Quick!" whispered Warrender. "You made too much row."
He ran backwards, letting down the pole; Armstrong caught up the lowerend, and they hurried away with it, laying it in the wood among theothers. Meanwhile they had heard sounds of movement from the tower.Some one had come out. There were low voices, footsteps coming towardsthem. Without an instant's delay they pushed on in the direction of theriver, thankful for the darkness of the night and the overshadowingtrees. Only when they had gained the shelter of the thicket did theydare to pause for a moment to consult the compass. On again, but moreslowly, lest the rustling leaves should betray them.
At length they came to the channel. The island was opposite to them.Turning southward, they groped along the bank until they stumbled uponthe pram. They launched it, and floated down stream. When they werewell past the southern end of the island they pulled round into thebroader channel, and, closely hugging the right bank, rowed quietly upthe river to their landing-place.
Only then did Warrender venture a whispered question--
"What did you see?"
"An oldish man, reading."
"Not one of those we have seen?"
"No. Can't make it out."
They returned to camp. It was past two o'clock. Pratt sprang up fromhis chair before the tent, and held a small paraffin lamp towards them.
"Well?" he asked, guessing from their aspect that they brought news.
"They were working in the tower," said Warrender. "We heard themachine, and couldn't risk going up from the tunnel. But we came backand reconnoitred the outside, and Armstrong climbed up and peepedthrough a crack in the boarding of the top room. What did you see,Jack?"
"An old man reading by the light of a paraffin lamp."
"Another one of the gang!" exclaimed Pratt.
"I don't know. Perhaps. He looked haggard and anxious."
"No wonder. What was he like?"
"Tall and thin, with grey moustache and beard."
"A foreigner?"
"Couldn't tell. He might well have been English. A queer oldjohnny--hook-nosed, high bald head: might have been a 'varsityprofessor."
"What!" shouted Pratt. "Bald! Beard! Hook nose! Like a professor!Great heavens--my uncle!"
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