CHAPTER XXI
IN THE DARK
I thought of a number of things in the ensuing thirty seconds, but theyall narrowed down swiftly to a mere thankfulness that I had been born.Suppose I hadn't; or suppose I had not happened to stop at the St. IvesHotel and sail on the _Re d'Italia_; or that I had remained in Rome withJack Herriott instead of hurrying on to Paris; or had let my quest ofthe girl end in the rue St.-Dominique instead of trailing her to Bleau.If one of these links had been omitted, the chain of circumstance wouldhave been broken, and Miss Falconer would have sat here confrontingthese four men alone.
It was extremely hard for me to believe that the scene was genuine.The dark hall, the one wavering, flickering candle lighting only theimmediate area of our conference, the bound woman in the chair, thewatchful attitude of our captors. Mr. Schwartzmann's ready weapon--allwere the sort of thing that does not happen to people in our prosaic dayand age. It was like an old-time romantic drama; I felt inadequate,cast for the hero. I might have been Francois Villon, or some suchSothern-like incarnation, for all the civilized resources that I couldsummon. There were no bells here to be rung for servants, no telephonesto be utilized, no police station round the corner from which tocommandeer prompt aid.
The most alarming feature of the affair, however, was the manner ofFranz von Blenheim, which was not so much melodramatic as businesslikeand hard. At Miss Falconer's defiance he looked her up and down quitecoolly. Then, turning in his seat, he began giving orders to his men.
"Schwartzmann," ran the first of these, "I want you to watch thisgentleman. He will probably make some movement presently; if he does,you are to fire, and not to miss. And you"--he turned to the men by thedoor--"pile some wood in the chimney-place and light it. There are somesticks over yonder,--but if you don't find enough, break up a chair.Then when you get a good blaze, heat me one of the fire-irons. Heat itred-hot. And be quick! We are wasting time!"
The color was leaving the girl's cheeks, but she sat even straighter,prouder. As for me, for one instant I experienced a blessed relief.I had been right; it was all impossible. One didn't talk seriously ofred-hot irons.
"You must think you are King John," I laughed. "But you're overplaying.Don't worry, Miss Falconer; he won't touch you. There are things thatmen don't do."
He looked at me, not angrily, not in resentment, but in pure contempt;and I remembered. There were people, hundreds of them, in the burningvillages of Belgium, in the ravaged lands of northern France, who hadonce felt the same assurance that certain things couldn't be done andhad learned that they could. I glanced at the men who were piling woodon the hearth, at their sullen blue eyes, their air of rather stupidarrogance. I had walked, it seemed, into a nightmare; but then, so hadthe world.
"This isn't a tea party, Mr. Bayne," said Franz von Blenheim. "It iswar. Those papers belong to my government and they are going back. Ishall stop at nothing, nothing on earth, to get them; so if you have anyinfluence with this young lady, you had better use it now."
"I am not afraid." The girl's voice was unshaken, bless her. "I said youcould kill me--and I meant it. But I will not tell."
"And I will not kill you, Miss Falconer." The German's tones were level,and his eyes, as they dwelt steadily on her, were as hard and cold assteel. "I don't want you dead; I want you living, with a tongue andusing it; and you will use it. You talk bravely, but you have noconception--how should you have?--of physical pain. When that iron isred-hot, if you have not spoken, I shall hold it to your arm and pressit--"
"Damn you!" The cry was wrenched out of me. "Not while I am here!"
"You will be here, Mr. Bayne, just so long as it suits me." A sort ofcold ferocity was growing in Blenheim's tones. "And you have yourselfto thank for your position, let me remind you; you would thrust yourselfin. I don't know what you are doing in the business--a ridiculousmountebank in a leather cap and coat! It's a way you Yankees have,meddling in things that don't concern you. You seem to think that youhave special rights under Providence, that you own everything in theuniverse, even to the high seas. Well, we'll settle with your countryfor its munitions and its notes and its driveling talk about atrocitiesa little later, when we have finished up the Allies. And I'll deal withyou to-night if you dare to lift a hand."
There seemed only one answer possible, and my muscles were stiffeningfor it when suddenly Miss Falconer's handkerchief, a mere wisp of linenwhich she had been clenching between her fingers, dropped to the floor.With a purely automatic movement, I bent to recover it for her; sheleaned down to receive it. Her pale face and lovely dilated eyes wereclose to me for a fleeting second, and though her lips did not move, Iseemed to catch the merest breath, the faintest gossamer whisper thatsaid:
"The stairs!"
Blenheim's gaze, full of suspicion, was upon us as we straightened, buthe could not possibly have heard anything; I had barely heard myself. Iracked my brains. The stairs! But the man Schwartzmann was guarding themwith his revolver. I couldn't imagine what she meant; and then suddenlyI knew.
Throughout the entire scene, whenever I had glanced at her, I hadnoticed the steady way in which her look met mine and then turned aside.It had seemed almost like a signal or a message she was trying to giveme. And which way had her eyes always gone? Why, down the hall!
I looked in that direction and felt my heart leap up exultantly. Perhapstwenty feet from us, just where the radius of the candle-light mergedoff into the darkness, I glimpsed what seemed the merest ghost of acircular stone staircase, carved and sculptured cunningly, like lacyfoam. Up into the dusk it wound, to the gallery, and to a door. Beholdour objective! I wasted no precious time in pondering the whys and thewherefores. At any rate, once inside with the bolts shot we could counton a breathing-space.
I cast a final glance at Blenheim where he lolled across the table, andat the shadowy menacing figure of the armed sentinel on the stairs. Themen at the hearth had piled their wood and were bending forward to lightit.
"Be ready, please!" I said to the girl, aloud.
As I spoke I bent forward, seized the table by its legs, and raisedit, and concentrated all the wrath, resentment and detestation thathad boiled in me for half an hour into the force with which I dashed itforward against Blenheim's face. He grunted profoundly as it struckhim. Toppling over with a crash, he rolled upon the floor. The candle,falling, extinguished itself promptly, and we were left standing in ahall as black as ink.
Simultaneously with the blow I had struck there came a spit of flamefrom the staircase, a sharp crack, and as I ducked hastily a bulletspurted past me, within three inches of my head. Miss Falconer wasbeside me. Together we retreated, while a second shot, which this timewent wide, struck the wall beyond us and proved that Schwartzmann,though handicapped, was not giving up the fight.
So far things had gone better than I had dared to think was possible.Now, however, they took a sudden and most unwelcome turn. One of the menby the chimney-place must have wasted no time in leaping for me; forat this instant, quite without warning, he catapulted on me through thedarkness with the force of a battering-ram.
The table, which I still held clutched with a view to emergencies, brokethe force of his onslaught. He reeled, stumbled, and collapsed on hisknees. However, he was lacking neither in Teutonic efficiency nor inresource. Putting out a prompt hand, he seized my ankle and jerked myfoot from under me; the table dropped from my grasp with a splinteringuproar, and I fell.
Before I could recover myself my enemy had rolled on top of me, and Ifelt his fingers at my throat as he clamored in German for a light. Hewas a heavy man; his bulk was paralyzing; but I stiffened every muscle.With a mighty heave I turned half over, rose on my elbow, and delivereda blow at what, I fondly hoped, might prove the point of his chin.
Dark as it was, I had made no miscalculation. He dropped on me onceagain, but this time as an inert mass. Burrowing out from under him, Isprang to my feet aglow with triumph--and found myself in the clutchof the second gentleman from the chimney-place, who
apparently had comehotfoot to his comrade's aid.
I was fairly caught. His arms went round me like steel girders,pinioning mine to my sides before I knew what he was about. In sheerdesperation I summoned all the strength I possessed and a little more.Ah! I had wrenched my right arm loose; now we should see! I raised itand managed, despite the close quarters at which we were contending, toplant a series of crashing blows on my adversary's face.
The fellow, I must say, bore up pluckily beneath the punishment. He hungon. There would be a light in a moment, he was doubtless thinking, andwhen once that came to pass, it would be all over with me. But at myfifth blow he wavered groggily, and at my sixth, endurance failed him.He groaned softly. Then his grasp relaxed, and he collapsed quietly onthe floor.
Throughout the swift march of these events we had heard nothing of Herrvon Blenheim, a fact from which I deduced with thankfulness that he wastemporarily stunned. Unluckily, he now recovered. As I stood victorious,but breathless, my cap lost in the scuffle and my coat torn, I heard himstirring, and an instant later he pulled himself to his feet and flashedon an electric torch.
By its weird beam I saw that Miss Falconer was close beside me. Goodheavens! Why, I though in anguish, wasn't she already upstairs? But Iknew only too well; she wouldn't desert her champion. It was probablytoo late now. Blenheim, much congested as to countenance, seemed on thepoint of springing; his battered aids were struggling up in menacing,if unsteady, fashion; and Mr. Schwartzmann, at length provided with thelight he wanted, was aiming at me with ominous deliberation from hiscoign of vantage above.
However, we were at the circular staircase. Again I caught up the tableand held it before us as a shield while we climbed upward, side by side.In the distance my friend Schwartzmann was hopefully potting at us. Abullet, with a sharp ping, embedded itself in the thick wood in harmlessfashion; another struck the shaft beside me, splintering its stone.We were at the last turn--but our pursuers were climbing also. I bentforward and let them have the table, hurling it with all possible force.
As it catapulted down upon them it knocked Blenheim off his balance,and he in his unforeseen descent swept the others from their feet. Aswearing, groaning mass, a conglomeration of helplessly waving arms andlegs, they rolled downward. Victory! I was about to join Miss Falconerin the doorway when there came a final flash from the oppositestaircase, and I felt a stinging sensation across my forehead and aspurt of blood into my eyes.
The pain of the slight wound promptly altered my intentions. Insteadof leaving the gallery, I sprang forward to the balustrade. Whipping myrevolver out at last, I aimed deliberately and fired; whereupon I hadthe pleasure of seeing Mr. Schwartzmann rock, struggle, apparentlyregain his equilibrium, and then suddenly crumple up and pitch headlongdown the stairs.
Below, Blenheim and his friend were extricating themselves from thatblessed table. I passed through the door and thrust it shut and shot thebolts. We were safe for the present. I could not see Miss Falconer, nordid she speak to me; but her hand groped for my arm and rested there,and I covered it with one of mine.
Then, as we stood contentedly drawing breath, we heard steps mountingthe staircase. Some one struck a vicious blow against the heavy door.Blenheim's voice, hoarse and muffled, reached us through the panels.
"Can you hear me there?" it asked.
If tones could kill! I summoned breath enough to answer with cheerfulcoolness.
"Every syllable," I responded. "What did you wish to say?"
"Just this." He was panting, either with exhaustion or fury, and therewere slow, labored pauses between his words. "I will give you half anhour, exactly, to come out--with the papers. After that we will breakthe door down. And then you can say your prayers."
The Firefly of France Page 21