The Toll-Gate

by Georgette Heyer

  I wouldn’t myself, thought John, as he entered the narrow passage in Stornaway’s wake. So why didn’t he darken his lantern, and come down the slope to the main chamber while we were still in it, and he had the light of Stornaway’s lantern to guide him?

  Then he recalled the rubble and the stones which lay scattered at the foot of the natural stair: Coate must have been afraid of betraying his presence by stumbling over a boulder in the darkness, or kicking some loose stone down the slope, and Coate did not know that his victim carried no pistols.

  Very wise! thought the Captain approvingly. If he risked a shot at that range, and missed me, I might, if I were armed, put a bullet into him before he could fire his second pistol. In his shoes, I wouldn’t fire the second pistol, except point-blank. In fact, I should do precisely what I fancy he has planned to do: enter the big chamber when I am safely out of earshot and eyeshot, take up a strategic position near the entrance to this passage, and wait for Stornaway to lead me back to the chamber. Not immediately in front of it, for Stornaway’s lantern must then reveal him to me, but to the side, out of sight of anyone approaching down the passage. Once clear of the passage, Stornaway will turn, as though to speak to me, I shall step into the main chamber, with the light shining full in my face, and Coate will have the easiest shot of his life, and will put a bullet through my temple.

  By the time the Captain had reached this cheerful conclusion he and Stornaway had emerged into the river passage. He halted, exclaiming in well-simulated surprise that he had not known a stream ran through the cavern. But while he marvelled at it, and even bent down to test the temperature of the water, his thoughts raced on.

  No rubble in the passage: the rock is slippery, but firm; very little in the main chamber. If I don’t make haste, I shall have Stogumber here before I want him.

  ‘For God’s sake, never mind the stream!’ exclaimed Stornaway, in fretting impatience. ‘Look there!’

  ‘Well?’ said the Captain, following the beam of the torch to the heap of débris at the end of the passage.

  ‘That is where Brean lies buried! You’ll find him soon enough!’

  ‘Not I!’ said the Captain, with a strong shudder. ‘If that’s where he is, you’ve dragged those stones off him once, and you may do it again! Give me the lantern! I’ll hold it for you.’

  ‘I tell you he’s there! I won’t uncover his body a second time – it’s horrible! If see him you must, do it for yourself!’

  ‘No, I thank you!’ said John emphatically. ‘What makes you so nice all at once?’

  Stornaway thrust the lantern into his hand. ‘Damn you, take it, then! Do you think I’m lying? Oh, you fool, how can I see what I’m about, if you swing the light all round? Hold it steady!’

  The Captain, affecting an awed interest in his surroundings, swept the beam along the wall. ‘Hold hard! I’ve never been in such a place as this!’ he said, swiftly calculating the distance from a projecting ledge of rock to the opening into the passage. ‘Why are you in such a quirk? A dead man can’t hurt you.’ He moved towards the ledge he had noticed, and sat down upon it, directing the lantern light on to the mound of stones and rubble.

  ‘Be quiet, be quiet!’ Stornaway said hysterically. He looked over his shoulder, as he bent to lift a rock from the heap. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Taking a stone out of my shoe,’ replied the Captain, who was, in fact, removing his shoes. ‘What the devil should I be doing? Brr! How cold it is here! Make haste, and let’s get out of this tomb!’

  ‘You’re holding the lantern so high I can’t see!’

  ‘Is that better?’ John asked, setting it softly down on the rock from which he had risen.

  ‘Bring it nearer!’ snapped Stornaway.

  ‘Very well. Let me put my shoe on again first, however!’ John said, both brogues gripped in his right hand, and his eyes watchful on Stornaway’s bent back.

  ‘I wish you will hurry!’

  But the Captain returned no answer to this, for he had found the opening into the narrower passage, and was stealing along it, his left hand feeling the wall for guidance, and his stockinged feet making no sound on the rock floor. He went as swiftly as he dared, for Stornaway had only to look round again to discover his absence, and at all costs he must be clear of the passage before the inevitable alarm was shouted to Coate. The noise of the water, which was here very loud, made it unnecessary for him to worry much over the chances of a stumble, and he knew that there were no alcoves in the walls to mislead him. Ahead of him loomed dense darkness: Coate must have shuttered his lantern.

  Well, thought John, if he is standing immediately before the opening, and I collide with him, so much the worse for him! I must be nearly at the end of the passage now.

  Even as this thought came into his mind, the rough wall seemed to vanish from under his groping hand. He stood still for just long enough to feel the angle of it, as it turned sharply away, knew that he stood on the threshold of the main chamber, and slid straight ahead with long, swift strides. He encountered no obstacle, and the scrunch of a little patch of rubble when he trod on it barely reached his own straining ears above the noise of the water.

  He had taken no more than five strides when a high-pitched shout sounded behind him. As though from a long way off, he heard Stornaway’s voice calling in panic: ‘Where are you? Where are you?’

  The Captain’s immediate object was to reach the cover of the Treasury chests before Coate could unshutter his lantern, and sweep its light round the chamber. Throwing caution to the winds, he raced forward, knowing that Coate’s lantern would not pierce the darkness for a distance of more than a few yards. Again Stornaway’s voice shrilled above the rush of the river through the rock. ‘Nat! Nat!’ Stornaway screamed. ‘He’s gone!’

  The Captain stopped, and faced about, edging his way to his left. A yellow light appeared suddenly at the far end of the chamber, illuminating the entrance to the passage for an instant before it swept in a wide arc towards him. He saw that he was indeed beyond its radius, realized that he must be standing quite near to the opposite wall, and swiftly moved to where he judged the side wall must be. Once he had reached this he would very quickly find the chests, for they had been placed, he knew, close to it.

  All at once he was startled by the disappearance of the light, and could not for a moment think what had happened. Then he remembered that only Stornaway knew that he was unarmed, and realized that Coate, ignorant of his exact whereabouts, must be afraid to betray his own position. At that moment, he collided with the wall, stubbing one foot, and grazing one out-thrust hand. He turned again, feeling his way along it, his other hand, still gripping his shoes, stretched out to encounter the chest which had been set up on its end.

  A light appeared again, wobbling and wavering. He knew it must be cast from Stornaway’s lantern, and was not surprised when he heard Coate say furiously: ‘Cover your lantern, fool! Do you want to make a target of yourself?’

  ‘He has no pistols with him!’ Stornaway’s voice, raised in extreme agitation, seemed to echo all round the roof.

  Now for it! thought John, and in that instant found the chests, and dropped to the ground behind them. Beside the first of these, which his hand had brushed, and which he knew to be up-ended, stood two more, one on top of the other; beyond them the other three had been set down side by side, and were not deep enough to afford him any cover. Crouching behind the first chests, he at last abandoned his shoes, and waited for Coate to come within his reach. He heard the hasty tread of shod feet, saw the light approaching, and gathered himself together in readiness. The light swept the wall at the end of the chamber, found the entrance to the slope, and stayed there for a moment: the possibility that he was escaping from the cavern had obviously occurred to Coate. One swift glance over his shoulder showed the Captain that Stornaway was still standing at the far end of the chamber, aimlessly turning his lant
ern this way and that. While Coate’s attention was still fixed on the way of escape, the Captain rose silently to his feet, stepped sideways, clear of the first chest, and, as the beam of light swung towards him, launched himself straight at it. He reached Coate, before the light was focused fully upon him, colliding with him, chest to chest, and flinging one arm round him, pinioning his left arm, holding the lantern, to his side, and grabbing his right just below the elbow.

  The lantern fell to the ground with the tinkle of breaking glass; a little flicker of flame ran over the rock, and died; in darkness the two men swayed and struggled desperately, John trying to hold Coate powerless while he shifted his grip on his right arm to the wrist, all the time keeping this pistol hand pointing harmlessly upwards, and Coate striving with all his might to wrench free from an encircling arm that was holding him in a bear’s hug.

  He was a shorter man than John, but thickset, and very powerful, as John soon discovered. Hampered as he was by the necessity of maintaining his cramping hold on that dangerous right arm, he had to put forth every ounce of his great strength to continue holding Coate so closely pressed against himself that he could neither get his left hand to the second pistol John could feel digging into his ribs, nor find the knife which John guessed he carried somewhere about his person. Fractionally, as they struggled together, shifting this way and that over the damp, uneven rock floor, John was moving his grip nearer and nearer to Coate’s wrist. His stockinged feet, holding the slippery ground more securely than Coate’s boots, gave him a slight advantage. His toes suffered, but they were by this time so numbed by the cold that he was scarcely aware of being trodden on.

  For a minute they battled in complete darkness, but Stornaway came hurrying and stumbling up the length of the cavern, wildly waving his lantern about in an attempt to discover their whereabouts. Its light, vacillating in a way that betrayed how Stornaway’s hand must be trembling, fell on Coate’s face, and showed it livid, sweat starting on it, the lips drawn back in a grimace like a dog’s snarl from clenched teeth. It showed his right arm, uplifted and held by John’s grip round it, and his left still trying to work free from the hug which clamped it to his body. In an agony of indecision, Stornaway teetered about the swaying couple, his own pistol in his hand. Once he raised it, and as he did so, the position of the struggling pair altered, and it was Coate’s back which was turned towards him instead of John’s. His eyes fixed on them, he ventured closer; the Captain saw him, and with a superhuman effort which made his muscles crack swung Coate round, interposing his body between himself and Stornaway. Stornaway, who seemed scarcely to know what to do, retreated a step, and ran round the group. So riveted was his attention that he failed to perceive that another light than the one he carried now illuminated the scene. His change of position had brought him between the combatants and the entrance to the chamber, his back turned to this, and he never saw Jeremy Chirk’s arrival. The highwayman, hearing the stamp and scrape of shod feet ahead when he was halfway down the perilous stair, and the unconscious cries Stornaway kept on uttering, abandoned caution, and came down the rest of the steep descent with a reckless speed which left his more ponderous companion far in the rear, and raced down the slope to the opening into the main chamber. There he paused, coolly surveying the three men before him, keeping the beam of his lantern steadily upon them.

  The Captain’s hand had reached Coate’s wrist; Stornaway, standing behind him, lifted his pistol, and tried to aim it. His hand was shaking like a leaf, so that the muzzle wobbled lamentably. A deafening report as Coate’s gun exploded was succeeded so immediately by a second that this sounded like a sharp echo, reverberating round the vaulted roof of the chamber. A couple of stalactites dropped on to the floor, and Coate’s empty pistol fell with a crash, just as Stornaway, who had uttered a queer groan, crumpled where he stood, and collapsed in an inert heap.

  The Captain, suddenly releasing Coate, sprang back, his great chest heaving, and his fists up. He met a rushing attack with a left and a murderous right that brought Coate down. He was up again in an instant, a hand fumbling at his waist. The Captain saw the flash of steel in the lantern light, and hurled himself with such force at him that both men went down together. But the Captain was uppermost, and his hands were at Coate’s throat. Mr Chirk, perceiving this, and aware that the panting Runner had reached the entrance, and was standing at his elbow, shifted his lantern, and directed its beam on to Stornaway’s still figure.

  Mr Stogumber, out of breath, first amazed by the extent of the cavern, and then shaken by a fall on the stair, was feeling a little dazed, and was unable for a few moments to marshal his wits into order. He had heard what sounded like two shots, he had seen Coate’s attempt to stab the Captain, and he had seen the two men go down in a wildly struggling tangle of arms and legs. Then they were lost in darkness, and he found himself staring at a dead man on the ground before him. ‘Here!’ he ejaculated. ‘What – How – ?’

  Chirk slid a long-nosed pistol unobtrusively into the wide pocket of his coat. ‘The poor fellow was shot, trying to help the Soldier,’ he said sadly. ‘Dropped him like a pigeon, Coate did! Ah, well, it ain’t no use crying over spilt milk!’

  ‘Get out o’ my way!’ Stogumber said fiercely, thrusting him aside, and swinging his lantern to pick up the forms of Coate and the Captain.

  Chirk, whose quick, listening ears, had already caught the sound for which he had been waiting, made no effort to stop him, but directed his own lantern towards the spot where he had seen the two men struggling on the ground. The struggle was over. Coate lay spreadeagled, and beside him, on his knee, labouring to recover his breath, his head sunk forward, was the Captain.

  ‘By God, the cull did stick that chive into him!’ Stogumber exclaimed, hurrying forward. ‘Capting Staple, sir! Here, big ’un, let me see how bad you’re hurt! Bring that light closer, you! Catch hold of this lantern o’ mine, too, so as I’ll have my hands free! Shake your shambles, now!’

  The Captain lifted his head, and passed one shaking hand across his dripping brow. ‘I’m not hurt,’ he said thickly. ‘Only winded. Leather waistcoat saved me. Thought it might.’

  ‘Lordy, I thought you was a goner!’ said Stogumber, mopping his own brow. He looked down at Coate, and bent, staring. He raised his shoulders from the ground, and let them fall again. ‘Capting Staple,’ he said, in an odd voice, fixing his eyes on the Captain’s face. ‘His neck’s broke!’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed the Captain. ‘I’m afraid it is.’

  Eighteen

  There was a long silence. The Captain glanced down into the hard little eyes that still stared unblinkingly at him, an expression in them impossible to divine, returned their gaze dispassionately for a moment, and then turned his head to address Chirk. ‘Be a good fellow, Jerry, and fetch my shoes for me! They’re behind the chests, and my feet are frozen stiff. Leave me one of those lanterns!’

  Chirk handed him Stogumber’s lantern, and walked away to where the chests stood. John looked at the Runner again. ‘Well?’

  ‘Big ’un,’ said Stogumber slowly, ‘that cull’s neck weren’t broke by accident. You done it, and I got a notion I know why! Likewise, I know now why you was so very anxious I shouldn’t be in this here cavern when Coate came into it. I never believed that Canterbury tale you pitched me about young Stornaway, and no more I don’t now! You broke Coate’s neck because you knew he’d whiddle the scrap on Stornaway if I was allowed to snabble him!’

  The Captain, listening to this with an air of mild interest, said thoughtfully: ‘Well, you may tell that story to your commanding officer, if you choose, of course. But, if I were you, I don’t think I should!’

  There was another silence, pregnant with emotion. Mr Stogumber’s gaze shifted from the Captain’s face to his waistcoat. He made a discovery. ‘He did stick his chive into you!’

  ‘I felt it prick me,’ acknowledged John, ‘but I think it scarcely penetrated the
leather.’ He unbuttoned his waistcoat as he spoke, and disclosed a tear in his shirt, and a red stain. He laid bare the wound, and wiped away a trickle of blood. ‘Just a scratch,’ he said. ‘Not half an inch deep!’

  ‘Ah!’ said Stogumber. ‘But if you hadn’t been wearing that leather waistcoat we’d be putting you to bed with a shovel, big ’un! Plumb over the heart that is! I’m bound to say I disremember when I’ve met a cove as is as full of mettle as what you be! And impudence, if you think I’m going to tell ’em in Bow Street that Stornaway never had nothing to do with the robbery!’

  ‘How d’ye make that out, Redbreast?’ enquired Chirk, returning with the Captain’s shoes. ‘When here’s me as saw the poor fellow shot down – which you didn’t, being a long way behind me at the time, and quite took up with tumbling down them stairs.’

  ‘I didn’t see it, but two shots is what I heard, and well you know it!’ said Stogumber. ‘I’m not saying as I blame you, for I’ll be bound he was trying to put a bullet into the big ’un here, but it wasn’t Coate’s pop as killed him: it was yours!’

  Chirk shook his head. ‘That was the echo you heard,’ he said. ‘Wunnerful, it is! Was you thinking of clapping clinkers on to me?’

  Stogumber breathed audibly through his nose. ‘No, bridle-cull, I ain’t going to charge you with bloody murder, because for one thing I’m beholden to you, and for another I’d sooner see that sheep-biter laying there than the big ’un! But you don’t gammon me, neither of you, that Mr Henry Stornaway wasn’t as queer a cull as ever I see, because I knows what I knows, and that’s pitching it a trifle too strong!’