She Fell Among Thieves

by Yates, Dornford

  Mansel made no answer, but after what seemed an age I heard and saw a movement beneath me and heard the clack of a ladder against the wall of the tower.

  In vain I sought it, feebly waving my feet.

  ‘My God, where is it?’ I cried. ‘If I can’t find it, I’ll simply have to let go.’

  ‘Don’t do that,’ said Mansel. ‘Keep your hold somehow. I’ll take your weight.’

  Then he set my feet on his shoulders and held me up.

  Nearly five minutes went by before I was enough rested to take off my belt and make it fast to a bar. Thereafter all was plain sailing, for the length of the belt brought my feet to the second rung. Supported by Mansel’s hand, I let the belt go, and a moment later my hands had hold of the ladder, and I was out of the wood.

  As I went down to the roof, I counted the rungs, which were roughly twelve inches apart. I found that there were sixteen. Had Mansel not come when he did, and I fallen down, the probability is that I should have stayed on the roof. What is perfectly certain is that I should have broken my back.

  Though I wanted to tell him my news, Mansel would not listen, but led me as fast as he could the way he had come.

  With the help of the ladder, we gained a slater’s hatchway high up in the steep-pitched roof. From the attic to which this led us, we passed to a landing which served the third floor of Jezreel. And there Mansel pulled open a door, which one of six lacquered panels kept to itself.

  Once in the system, we made as fast as we could for a winding stair, and two minutes later we were in Mansel’s quarters and I was taking my ease upon Mansel’s bed.

  ‘And now,’ said Mansel…

  I told what I had to tell from beginning to end.

  When I had done –

  ‘William,’ said Mansel, ‘you have a remarkable gift. It’s almost a conjuring trick. You can make an irreparable blunder – and then repair it. For what you’ve done tonight, you deserve to be canonised: but for coming back here as you did, you deserve to be shot.

  ‘I meant you to come back all right – but not as a guest. You were to come back in secret, unknown to Vanity Fair. When I saw you drive into that yard, I damned near died. It was no good my taking you up, for the damage was done: but I knew that you would be for it, if I couldn’t get in first. And I couldn’t get in first – for I couldn’t get through the guard-room: there was always somebody there.

  ‘Well, she sent me off this morning to meet a train – and pick up some parcel or other which never arrived. And when I got back, to hear that Mr Chandos had left, I knew at once that the dirty work had begun. From the very first I didn’t believe you’d gone: and when I couldn’t find Marc, I knew that he’d laid you out and taken your place. That was the chink in her armour – the disappearance of Marc. But it wasn’t at all apparent: and, to tell you the truth, I think she did very well.

  ‘Well, I could do nothing till night: but, somehow or other, I meant to do something then. It seemed unpleasantly likely that I should have to throw off my mask… And then she played into my hands – by sending me off to Poly at six o’clock.

  ‘It was perfectly clear that she wanted me out of the way, for Poly’s two hundred miles off. I was to stay the night there, leave a note in the morning, and then come back. She doesn’t suspect me, you know: but she knows that John Wright wouldn’t stand for some of the things she does.

  ‘Well, I left for Poly at six, had a word with Carson, left the car in a thicket and came straight back. I was sure you were up in that tower. But from what I saw this evening, I’m perfectly certain I couldn’t have got you out.

  ‘And there we are. As you say, the game’s in our hands, and our job is as good as done: and that’s all thanks to the only blunder you’ve made.’ He laughed lightly. ‘Fate’s a contrary lady – you can’t get away from that… And now to business. Thank God, we’ve plenty of time.’

  ‘We’ve none to spare,’ said I. ‘It’s thirteen miles to the pleasance, and–’

  ‘Carson’s standing by with the Rolls. I’ve only to show a light, and he’ll be below the village before I can get there myself. All the same, I’d rather like to get you clear of Jezreel.’

  ‘To be honest,’ said I, ‘I wouldn’t mind it myself.’

  Mansel laughed.

  ‘I’m damned if I blame you, William. She – she’s not a nice woman, is she? I can see the look in her eyes, when she knew that she’d got you down… And now, as I said, to business. Two maidens have to be rescued. One is the real Virginia, the other the false. To save the first shouldn’t be hard: we know where she is – or will be before very long. And I think you’d better do that.’

  ‘I think that’s your job,’ said I, with a hammering heart.

  ‘I don’t agree,’ said Mansel. ‘And in any event, you can’t very well go wandering round Jezreel. Virginia the Second is somewhere within these walls: but where I don’t know. I haven’t seen her all day, and I’ll lay a monkey she isn’t within her room. In a word, she’s under restraint. Now that she knows of that system, Vanity Fair will keep her under her hand.’

  ‘Good God,’ said I. ‘And then, well, she can’t shut her up. I mean–’

  ‘She’s not going to,’ said Mansel. ‘Unless I’m much mistaken, she’s going to marry her off.’

  ‘To Gaston?’

  ‘Of course. From Below’s agitation, I’m certain that he has been warned. He knows the truth, of course, and he shrinks from dipping his spoon in such witches’ broth. Poor old Below. He was a gentleman once – before he met Vanity Fair.’

  ‘But why is she doing this?’

  Mansel fingered his chin.

  ‘D’you remember our first day at Anise – how we sat by the stream in the evening, and I told you of Vanity Fair?’

  ‘Yes,’ said I.

  ‘Well, I told you then that when she fixed the date of her daughter’s marriage, it would mean she had fixed the date of her daughter’s death.’

  ‘You don’t mean–’

  ‘I mean this,’ said Mansel. ‘Vanity Fair is going to take no more risks. She told you Lafone was going to get a room ready. She spoke – euphemistically. Lafone has gone to the pleasance to dig a grave.’

  I was so much shocked by his words, that, without thinking what I did, I got to my feet and made my way to the door.

  ‘Summon Carson,’ I heard myself say. ‘I want to be gone.’

  Mansel smiled. Then he set a hand on my shoulder and took out a flask.

  ‘When I say there’s plenty of time, I mean what I say. Marc is not yet at Anise. Yes, I thought of the telephone, but the exchange at Anise closes at eight o’clock. And so – we’ve plenty of time. And now have a drink and sit down.’

  I did as he said, while Mansel paced the chamber and now and again stood looking into the night.

  At length –

  ‘Tell me one thing,’ said I. ‘You say she’s going to…kill her. Why didn’t she do it before?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said Mansel. ‘And I doubt if anyone has, except Vanity Fair. But one thing is clear – that she dared not part with Virginia, while Jenny was yet alive. And the reason for that is clear. She doesn’t trust Virginia – she knows that she’s got a good heart. Vanity Fair was afraid that once Virginia was married and clear of Jezreel she would do what she did last night and give her away. But with Jenny dead and gone, Virginia can go to the devil and say what she likes. But prove what she says, she cannot. And nor can anyone else.’

  ‘Yes, I see that,’ said I slowly. ‘I suppose she raked up Gaston simply to stop her from marrying anyone else.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Mansel. ‘Virginia’s celibacy was dangerous. She might have run off and got married to someone whose record was clean.’ He threw back his head and expired. ‘I’ll be glad to be done with this show. I never handled such filth. But it all fits in.’

  There was a little silence.

  Then –

  ‘Look here,’ said I. ‘I’d rather you went to Carlos an
d left me here. I’ll find Virginia somehow. But Jenny’s show mustn’t be bungled.’

  ‘Neither must be bungled,’ said Mansel.

  ‘I know,’ said I. ‘But – well, you’re safer than I am, and Jenny must have the best.’

  ‘Why?’ said Mansel. ‘I think we owe Virginia as much as we can repay.’

  ‘That’s very true,’ said I, staring, ‘but – damn it, if you had to choose, you know you’d put Jenny first.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mansel, ‘I frankly admit that I should.’

  ‘Then you go,’ said I. ‘I – I want to see Virginia. I want to show her I’m not the swine she believes.’

  ‘Don’t you want to see Jenny?’ said Mansel.

  ‘Look here,’ said I, somehow. ‘I’d rather you took Jenny on. It’s a – a responsibility that – that I’d really rather not take. I’ve taken it once, you know. And – I don’t know if Carson told you, but I devilish near slipped up.’

  Mansel raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Are you sure you mean what you say? I mean, five minutes ago you made for that door.’

  I put a hand to my head.

  ‘I know I did,’ I said slowly. ‘I’ve not got your self-control. When you said what you did, my impulse was to start in. I felt we couldn’t get there too soon…to prevent – to make sure of preventing so dreadful a thing.’ I raised my head and looked him full in the eyes. ‘But you know it’s your job, Mansel.’

  ‘To be perfectly honest,’ said Mansel, ‘I don’t agree. But I said that five minutes ago. You have broken prison: as yet, I’m not even suspected, and so I can pass in Jezreel.’

  This was so patently true that I threw in my hand.

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ll do it. I take it you’ll give me Carson? Now how shall I go to work?’

  ‘Half-a-minute,’ said Mansel. ‘I’ve got a question to ask. Don’t answer, if you don’t want to. It’s nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Go on,’ said I. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Are you in love with Jenny?’

  ‘Good God, no,’ I blurted. But the blood came into my face.

  Mansel frowned.

  ‘I’m sorry for that,’ he said quietly. ‘I hoped you were.’

  Twenty minutes later he saw me clear of Jezreel.

  ‘Give her my love,’ he said gently. ‘And that’s no figure of speech. She is the most perfect darling I ever saw. And I shall always love her… But I’m not in love with her, William, nor she with me. If I were twenty years younger… But her mind is too young for my mind, her soul too young for my soul. “Men do not put new wine into old bottles, else the bottles break and the wine runneth out.” I’m mad to see her, of course. And I hope and believe that she’ll throw her arms round my neck. But then I’ve a weakness for children…that show a weakness for me.’

  Still feeling rather dazed, I touched his arm.

  ‘I don’t like leaving you,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be greedy,’ said Mansel. ‘You’ve played a glorious innings: don’t grudge me the winning hit.’

  ‘A glorious innings.’

  I turned and looked back at the castle – at the dim silhouette of its roof and the sable thrust of its tower.

  ‘You came to find me,’ I said. ‘And saved my life – and the game.’

  Mansel clapped me upon the shoulder.

  ‘See you tomorrow, William. And don’t forget what I said. Give Marc a hell of a pasting, but don’t do him in.’

  Ten minutes later I took my seat beside Carson and told him to drive to the thicket where Mansel had hidden his car.

  10

  Meadow-Sweet

  Mansel would have made a fine general in olden days, if for no other reason because, if he knew the facts, he could predict the action which his opponent would take. Of this talent he always made light. ‘It’s simple enough,’ he would say. ‘All you’ve got to do is to try and put yourself in the other man’s place.’ Which, of course, sounds easy enough. But, viewed from opposite standpoints, facts do not look the same: and the one, which, seen from the north, seems insignificant, may hit you between the eyes, when seen from the south.

  Be that as it may, Vanity Fair had shown me the cards she held. It was Mansel who told me the way she was going to play them – and how he knew she was going to play them that way.

  And since I have reason to think he was perfectly right, before I relate what happened that summer morning, I will set down Mansel’s prediction, because, of course, it dictated the moves I made.

  ‘Why was John Wright sent to Poly? That he might be out of the way. Why did Vanity Fair want him out of the way? Because no one but Wright ever drives her when she goes out: if, therefore, she did go out with another man, Wright, the detective, would know that she was visiting something which she did not wish Wright to see. What was it, then, that she did not wish Wright to see? Not the bridle-path to the pleasance, because he’s driven her there – it’s the other side of Carlos and it brings you into the circus quite close to the fall. She did not wish Wright to see Mr Chandos’ car.

  ‘Very well. Vanity Fair’s going out and she’s going to meet Marc. Where is she going to meet him?

  ‘Jenny is going to die, and Vanity Fair herself is going to put her to death. But no one knows that but Lafone – and no one must ever know. Of course not Marc. So Jenny must be in good health when Marc puts her out of the car. Now transporting a corpse is no joke. It’s very, very hard labour – you know the phrase “dead weight”. Then again the day will be breaking and waking a curious world. So Jenny will travel alive to the nearest point to the pleasance to which the car can be got. And there her mother will meet her – at the mouth of the bridle-path.

  ‘It’s a mile and a half beyond Carlos – there’s only one road. The path’s overgrown, and the villagers never use it, for it only runs to the circus and they’re all of them frightened stiff of the Cirque des Morts.

  ‘A car has gone from the garage: no doubt it has taken Lafone to the bridle-path. From there she will walk to the pleasance, dig a grave close to the cleft and then come back to the road to meet Vanity Fair. She might bring a mule with her.

  ‘I’ve little doubt that Jenny’s to die by poison. Her mother will give her an injection. As like as not, she will use the very syringe we found upon Jean.

  ‘Don’t forget that Bell will be there – almost certainly drugged. You’ll be saving his life as well. Marc would have done his business – left him inside the car, set the engine running, put her in gear and turned her over the edge.’

  That, then, was Mansel’s prediction. But when I had asked him how I should go to work, ‘As you think proper,’ he said. ‘I leave it to you.’

  With the enemy’s plan before me, and plenty of time to spare, I could, indeed, hardly go wrong, and before we had reached the thicket, my plans were laid.

  Driving from Carlos to Gobbo, at a point three miles from Carlos you turn to the left. If you do not turn there, but drive on, you will only have to come back, for the road has never been finished, and after a mile and a half it comes to an end.

  But a road such as that has its uses. This one made me a siding that summer night.

  Almost exactly at midnight I berthed the French car there: then I walked back to the Rolls and Carson drove me up to the bridle-path.

  There was no one there, of course. The car which had brought Lafone had gone back for Vanity Fair. It seemed unlikely that she would arrive before three, for Marc could not possibly get there before four o’clock.

  I sent Carson back to the siding and walked to the Cirque des Morts.

  The going was very easy, and twenty minutes later I passed through the dripping vapour that hid the mouth of the cleft.

  As I left the bushes which masked its opposite end, I saw a light in the meadows, not very far from the pool which Jenny had used. I made sure that the light was not moving. Then I went slowly towards it, using the greatest care…

  Since I am determined to relate without passion
the things which I saw and the part which I played that night, I will only say that if Hell is hung with pictures, the scene which I was to witness should have a place on its walls.

  The light was shed by a lantern, set on a pile of loose earth at the head of a grave. In the grave a man was working, and on the turf by his side was standing Lafone.

  The woman’s skirt was kilted, her sleeves were rolled, and her hands and arms and feet were all caked with dirt. She was leaning upon a pickaxe, grimly surveying the work she had helped to do. Uncleanness became her. I found it hard to believe that she had been born of woman and once was a baby child.

  The man was using a shovel, and the two must have laboured hard, for when he stood up he was elbow deep in the ground. I had never seen him before, but he looked very dull, and I had no doubt that he belonged to the pleasance and so to Lafone’s command.

  As I watched, he stopped, to wring the sweat from his brow. ‘It is deep,’ he said slowly. ‘Too deep for a lazy man. You could put two of him here.’

  ‘There would be a mound,’ said Lafone.

  The man shook his head.

  ‘Never.’ He sighed and spat. ‘I always say a man should dig his own grave.’

  Lafone was bowed with laughter.

  With a hand to her side, she laughed till the tears hopped down her cheeks. So perhaps witches laugh. The sight and the sound of her mirth made my blood run cold.

  The clown stared up at the woman. Never before, I dare swear, had he seen her smile. Then a grin spread over his features – an eloquent grin. He perceived that a saying of his had made his mistress laugh.

  Then –

  ‘Deeper, you fool,’ crowed Lafone, and pointed into the grave.

  With a gesture of resignation, the fellow put up his shovel, took up a second pickaxe and fell to work.

  ‘Deeper there,’ said Lafone and stepped to the head of the grave.

  The man stood up to face her.

  ‘Deeper where?’

  Lafone pointed down.

  ‘There. Make a hole for his head.’

  As he swung his pick, she swung hers…