The Casefiles of Mr J. G. Reeder

by Edgar Wallace

  The first whirl of water was around them when he came out from the cave and beckoned her.

  ‘Keep close to the wall,’ he whispered, ‘and hold fast to my sleeve.’

  She obeyed and followed him and they slipped round to the left, following a fairly level path. Before they had come into the cave, he had warned her that under no circumstances must she speak, not even whisper, except through hollowed hands placed against his ear. The properties of the cave were such that the slightest sound was magnified.

  They went a long way to the left, and she thought that they were following a passage; it was not until later that she discovered the huge dimensions of this water-hollowed cavern. After a while he reached back and touched her right hand, as a signal that he was turning to the right.

  Whilst they were waiting on the beach he had drawn a rough plan in the sand, and assured her that the ledge on which they now walked offered no obstacle. He pressed her hand to warn her he was stopping, and, bending down, he groped at the rocky wall where he had left his shoes. Up and up they went; she began to see dimly now, though the cave remained in darkness and she was unable with any accuracy to pick out distant objects. His arm came back and she found herself guided into a deep niche, and he patted her shoulder to tell her she could sit down.

  They had to wait another hour before a thin sheet of water showed at the mouth of the cave, and then, as if by magic, the interior was illuminated by a ghostly green light. The greatest height of the cave it was impossible to tell from where she sat, because just above them was a low and jagged roof. The farther side of the cave was distant fifty yards, and here the rocky wall seemed to run straight down from the roof to the sandy bottom. It was under this that she saw the motor boat, a long grey craft, entirely devoid of any superstructure. It lay heeled over on its side, and she saw a figure walk along the canted deck and disappear down a hatchway. The farther the water came into the cave, the brighter grew the light. He circled his two hands about her ear and whispered: ‘Shall we stay here or try to find a way out?’

  And she replied in like fashion: ‘Let’s try and find a way out.’

  He nodded and silently led the way. It was no longer necessary for her to hold on to him. The path they were following had undoubt­edly been shaped by human hands. Every dozen yards was a rough-hewn block of stone put across the path step fashion. They were ascending, and now had the advantage of being screened by the cave from people on the boat, for on their right rose a jagged screen of rock.

  They had not progressed a hundred yards before screen and wall joined, and beyond this point progress seemed impossible. The passage was in darkness. Apparently Brill had explored the way, for, taking the girl by the arm, he moved to the right, feeling along the uneven wall. The path beneath was more difficult, and the rocky floor made walking a pain. She was near to exhaustion when she saw, ahead of her, an irregular patch of grey light. Apparently this curious gallery led back to the far end of the cave, but before they reached the opening Brill signalled her to halt.

  ‘You’d better sit down,’ he whispered. ‘We can put on our shoes.’

  The stockings that she had knotted about her waist were still wet, and her shoes two soggy masses, but she was glad to have some protection for her feet. Whilst she was putting them on, Brill crept forward to the opening and took observation.

  The water which had now flooded the cave was some fifty feet below them, and a few paces would bring them to a broad ledge of rock which formed a natural landing for a flight of steps leading down from the misty darkness of the roof to water-level. The steps were cut in the side of the bare rock; they were about two feet in breadth and were unprotected even by a makeshift handrail. It would be, he saw, a nerve-racking business for the girl to attempt the climb, and he was not even sure that it would be worth the attempt. That they led to one of the many exits from the cave, he knew, because he had seen people climbing up and down those steps and disappearing in the darkness at the top. Possibly the stairs broadened nearer the roof, but even so it was a very severe test for a half-starved girl, who he guessed was on the verge of hysteria; he was not quite certain that he himself would not be attacked by vertigo if he made the attempt.

  There was a space behind the steps that brought him to the edge of the rock, part of the floor of the cave, and it was this way that he intended to guide Margaret. There was no sound; far away to his right the men on the launch were apparently absorbed in their work, and, returning, he told the girl his plan, and she accompanied him to the foot of the steps. At the sight of that terrifying stairway she shuddered.

  ‘I couldn’t possibly climb those,’ she whispered as he pointed upwards into the gloom.

  ‘I have an idea there is a sort of balcony running the width of the cave, and it was from there I was thrown,’ he said. ‘I have reason to know that there is a fairly deep pool at the foot of it. When the tide is up, the water reaches the back wall – that is where I found myself when I came to my senses.’

  ‘Is there any other way from the cave?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘I’m blest if I know. I’ve only had a very hasty look round, but there seems to be a sort of tunnel at the far end. It’s worth while exploring – nobody is about, and we are too far from the boat for them to see us.’

  They waited for a while, listening, and then, Brill walking ahead, they passed the foot of the stairs and followed a stony path which, to the girl’s relief, broadened as they progressed.

  Margaret Belman never forgot that nightmare walk, with the tower­ing rock face on her left, the straight drop to the floor of the cave on her right hand.

  They had now reached the limit of the rocky chamber, and found themselves confronted by the choice of four openings. There was one immediately facing them, another – and this was also accessible – about forty feet to the right, and two others which apparently could not be reached. Leaving Margaret, Brill groped his way into the nearest. He was gone half an hour before he returned with a story of failure.

  ‘The whole cliff is absolutely bored with rock passages,’ he said. ‘I gave it up because it is impossible to go far without a light.’

  The second opening promised better. The floor was even, and it had this advantage, that it ran straight in line with the mouth of the cave, and there was light for a considerable distance. She followed him along this passage.

  ‘It is worth trying,’ he said, and she nodded her agreement.

  They had not gone far before he discovered something which he had overlooked on his first trip. At regular intervals there were niches in the wall. He had noticed these, but had failed to observe their extraordinary regularity. The majority were blocked with loose stone, but he found one that had not been so guarded, and felt his way round the wall. It was a square, cell-like chamber, so exactly proportioned that it must have been created by the hand of man. He came back to announce his intention of exploring the next of the closed cells.

  ‘These walls haven’t been built up for nothing,’ he told her, and there was a note of suppressed excitement in his voice.

  The farther they progressed, the poorer and more inadequate was the light. They had to feel their way along the wall until the next recess was reached. Flat slabs of rock, laid one on the other, had been piled up in the entrance, and the work of removing the top layers was a painful one. Margaret could not help him. She sat with her back to the wall and fell into the uneasy sleep of exhaustion. She had almost ceased to be hungry, though her throat was parched with a maddening thirst. She woke heavily and found Brill shaking her shoulder.

  ‘I’ve been inside’ – his voice was quavering with excitement. ‘Hold out your hands, both together!’

  She obeyed mechanically, and felt something cold drip into her palms, and, drooping her head, drank. The sting of the wine took her breath away.

  ‘Champagne,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t
drink too much or you’ll get tight!’

  She sipped again. Never had wine tasted so delicious. ‘It’s a store­house; boxes of food, I think, and hundreds of bottles of wine. Hold your hands.’

  He poured more wine into her palms; most of it escaped through her fingers, but she drank eagerly the few drops that remained. ‘Wait here.’

  She was very much awake now; peered into the darkness towards the place where he had disappeared. Ten minutes, a quarter of an hour passed, and then, to her joy, there appeared from behind the stony barrier, revealing in silhouette the hole through which Brill had crawled, a white and steady light. She heard the crack and crash of a box being opened, saw the bulk of the detective as he appeared in the hole, and in a second he was by her side.

  ‘Biscuits,’ he said. ‘Luckily the box was labelled.’

  ‘What was the light?’ she asked as she seized the crackers eagerly.

  ‘A small battery lantern; I knocked it over as I was groping. The place is simply stocked with grub! Here’s a drink for you.’

  He handed her a flat, round tin, guided her finger to the hole he had punched. ‘Preserved milk – German and good stuff,’ he said.

  She drank thirstily, not taking her lips from the tin until it was empty.

  ‘This seems to be the ship’s store,’ he said, ‘but the great blessing is the lamp. I’m going in to see if I can find a box of refills; there isn’t a great deal of juice left in the battery.’

  His search occupied a considerable time, and then she saw the light go out and her heart sank, until the light flashed up again, this time more brilliant than ever. He scrambled out and dropped down the rugged wall and pushed something heavy into her hand.

  ‘A spare lamp,’ he said. ‘There are half a dozen there, and enough refills to last us a month.’

  He struck the stone wall with something that clanged.

  ‘A case-opener,’ he explained, ‘and a useful weapon. I wonder which of these storehouses holds the guns?’

  The exploration of the passage could now be made in comparative comfort. There was need of the lamps, for a few yards farther on the tunnel turned abruptly to the right, and the floor became more irreg­ular. Brill turned on his light and showed the way. Now the passage turned to the left, and he pointed out how smooth were the walls.

  ‘Water action,’ he said. ‘There must have been a subterranean river here at some time.’

  Twisting and turning, the gallery led now up, now down, now taking almost a hairpin turn, now sweeping round in an almost perfect curve, but leading apparently nowhere.

  Brill was walking ahead, the beam of his lamp sweeping along the ground, when she saw him stop suddenly, and, stooping, he picked something from the ground.

  ‘How the dickens did this get here?’

  On the palm of his hand lay a bright silver florin, a little battered at the edge, but unmistakably a two-shilling piece.

  ‘Somebody has been, here –’ he began, and then she uttered a cry.

  ‘Oh!’ gasped Margaret. ‘That was Mr Reeder’s!’

  She told him of the incident at the well; how J. G. Reeder had dropped the coin to test the distance. Brill put the light of his lamp on the ceiling; it was solid rock. And then he sent the rays moving along, and presently the lamp focused on a large round opening.

  ‘Here is the well that never was a well,’ he said grimly; and flashing the light upward, looked open-mouthed at the steel rungs fitted every few inches in the side of the well.

  ‘A ladder,’ he said slowly. ‘What do you know about that?’

  He reached up, standing on tiptoe, but the nearest rung was at least a yard beyond his hand, and he looked round for some loose stones which he could pile up, and from the top of which he could reach the lowest bar of the ladder. But none was in sight, except a few splinters of stone which were valueless for his purpose. And then he remembered the case-opener; it had a hook at the end, and, holding this above his head, he leapt. The first time he missed; the second time the hook caught the steel rung and the handle slipped from his grip, leaving the case-opener dangling. He rubbed his hands on the dusty floor and sprang again. This time he caught and held, and with a superhuman effort pulled himself up until his hand gripped the lower ring. Another struggle, and he had drawn himself up hand over hand till his feet rested on the bar.

  ‘Do you think if I pulled you up you have strength to climb?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. Go up alone; I will wait here.’

  ‘Keep clear of the bottom,’ he warned her. ‘I may not fall, but as likely as not I shall dislodge a few chunks of rock in my progress.’

  The warning was well justified, she found. There was a continuous shower of stone and earth as he progressed. From time to time he stopped to rest. Once he shouted down something which she could not distinguish. It was probably a warning, for a few seconds later a mass of rock as large as a man’s head crashed down and smashed on the floor, sending fragments flying in all directions.

  Peeping up from time to time, she could see the glimmer of his lamp growing fainter; and now, left alone, she began to grow nerv­ous, and for company switched on her light. She had hardly done so when she heard a sound which brought her heart to her mouth. It was the sound of footsteps; somebody was walking along the passage towards her.

  She turned the switch of the lamp and listened. The old man’s voice! Only his, and none other. He was talking to himself, a babble of growling sound that was becoming more and more distinct. And then, far away, she saw the glow of a reflected light, for the passage swept round at this point and he would not be visible until he was upon her.

  Slipping off her shoes, she sped along in the darkness, tumbling and sliding on the uneven pathway. After a while panic left her and she stopped and looked back. The light was no longer visible; there was neither sound nor sign of him; and, plucking up courage, after a few minutes she retraced her steps. She dared not put on the light, and must guess where the well opening was. In the darkness she passed it, and she was soon a considerable distance beyond the place where Brill had left her.

  Where had Flack gone? There were no side passages. She was standing by one of the recesses, her hand resting on the improvised stone screen, when, to her horror, she felt it moving away from her, and had just time to shrink back when she saw a crack of light appear on the opposite wall and broaden until there was outlined the shape of a doorway.

  ‘ . . . Tonight, my dear, tonight . . . I’m going up to see Daver. Daver is worrying me . . . you are sure nothing has happened that might shake my confidence in him?’

  ‘Nothing, father. What could have happened?’ It was Olga Crewe’s voice. She said something else which Margaret could not hear, and then she heard the chuckling laugh of the old man.

  ‘Reeder? He’s busy in London! But he’ll be back tonight . . .’

  Again a question which Margaret could not catch. ‘The body hasn’t been found. I didn’t want to hurt the girl, but she was useful . . . my best card . . . I could have caught Reeder with her – had it all arranged.’

  Another question.

  ‘I suppose so. The tide is very high. Anyway, I saw her fall . . .’

  Margaret knew they were talking about her, but this interested her less than the possibility of discovery. She walked backward, step by step, hoping and praying that she would find a niche into which she could shrink. Presently she found what she wanted.

  Flack had come out into the passage and was standing talking back into the room.

  ‘All right, I’ll leave the door open . . . imagination. There’s plenty of air. The well supplies that. I’ll be back this evening.’

  She dared not look, but after a while his footsteps became fainter. The door was still open, and she saw a shadow growing larger on the opposite wall, as Olga approa
ched the entrance. Presently she heard a sigh; the shadow became small again, and finally dis­app­eared. Margaret crept forward, hardly daring to breathe, until she came behind the open door.

  It was, she guessed, made of stout oak, and the surface had been so cunningly camouflaged with splinters of rock that it differed in no respect from the walled recess into which Brill had broken.

  Curiosity is dominant in the most rational of individuals, and, despite her terrible danger, Margaret was curious to see the inside of that rocky home of the Flacks. With the utmost caution she peeped round. She was surprised at the size of the room and a little dis­app­ointed in its furnishing. She had pictured rich rugs and gor­geous furniture, the walls perhaps covered with silken hangings. Instead, she saw a plain deal table on which stood a lamp, a strip of threadbare carpet, two basket chairs, and a camp bed. Olga was standing by the table, looking down at a newspaper; her back was towards the girl, and Margaret had time to make a more pro­longed scrutiny. Near the table were three or four suitcases, packed and strapped as though in preparation for a journey. A fur coat lay across the bed, and that was the only evidence of luxury in this grim apartment. There was a second person in the room. Margaret distinguished in the shadow the drooping figure of a woman – Mrs Burton.

  She took a step forward to see better; her feet slipped upon the smooth surface of the rock, and she fell forward against the door, half closing it.

  ‘Who is there? Is that you, father?’

  Margaret’s heart nearly stopped beating, and for a moment she stood paralysed, incapable of movement. Then, as Olga’s footsteps sounded, she turned and fled along the passage, gripping tight her lantern. Olga’s voice challenged her, but on and on she ran. The corridor was growing lighter, and with a gasp of horror she realised that in the confusion of the moment she had taken the wrong direc­tion and she was running towards the great cave, possibly into the old madman’s hands.

  She heard the quick patter of footsteps behind her, and flew on. And now she was in the almost bright light of the huge cavern. There was nobody in sight, and she followed the twisting ledge that ran under the wall of rock until she came to the foot of the long stairs. And then she heard a shout. Somebody on the boat had seen her. As she stood motionless with fear, mad John Flack appeared. He was coming towards her through the passage by which she and Brill had reached the interior of the cave. For a second he stared at her as though she were some ghastly apparition of his mad dreams, and then with a roar he leapt towards her.