by Paul Somers
“I don’t know—there’s some obstruction. Maybe you could poke it out from the inside. What about bringing some wire and a light?”
There was a short silence. I didn’t even have to guess what he was thinking. Then he called, “All right—I’ll come down. But watch your step, Mr. Curtis!”
The stars that had been obscured became visible again. I turned and raced back round the moat. I slipped in quietly through the door and closed it behind me and climbed up again on to the passage roof. I’d scarcely got into position when I saw a glimmer of light at the bottom of the tower steps, and Smith emerged. He came out with infinite caution, pushing the door open an inch at a time. He had the hand lamp in his left hand, the gun in his right. He closed the door behind him and stood for a moment with his back to it, flashing the light around. When he’d made sure I wasn’t concealed near by, he began to advance slowly into the courtyard.
I pressed myself down flat against the roof and watched him. He was suspicious, all right—I’d never seen a man behave more circumspectly. He examined every foot of that courtyard. He looked behind every bit of masonry, he flashed his light down the steps to the well, he went into each of the hollow towers in turn. He was obviously worried about his rear. But at last he satisfied himself that I wasn’t hiding anywhere, and he moved towards the entrance passage at a slow, stealthy pace. It was the first time I’d seen him walk any distance. He still had a limp, but even with the limp he gave an impression of great agility in reserve.
He was coming straight on, now; straight for the middle of the passage. It looked as though he was going to pass right under the biggest of the murder holes. I raised the stone and lowered it into the hole and concentrated on gauging his speed as he moved under the arch. My heart was pounding so fiercely I could scarcely breathe. I’d lost sight of him now. He was in the passage. Through the hole, I could see the advancing light getting brighter. Another second or two, and he’d be under me. I eased the stone away from the edge of the hole, so that it would fall freely …
Then he stopped. He seemed to be shining the light around again. For an awful moment I thought he’d noticed the stone fragments I’d dropped—but the beam had come to rest on one of the side walls. Then I remembered the shallow dungeon that lay on one side of the passage. That was it—he was making sure of his flank. He moved towards the dungeon, away from my line of fire. I drew the stone up and changed my position slightly, so that I had the choice of two holes. But I couldn’t see him anymore.
I heard him go into the dungeon and come quickly out again. He seemed to be much jumpier than usual. The light flashed back towards the courtyard. Then, at last, he reached the door. I heard him call out, “Are you there, Mr. Curtis?” For a few seconds there was silence. Then I heard him trying the door handle. One of the doors creaked on its hinges as he slowly opened it. Now he’d know that I was up to something, because the door wasn’t locked as I’d said it was. But he’d found the jammed key, and he still had his problem. I heard him fiddling with it—I heard the scrape of wire in the lock. Every now and again he stopped and flashed the light around. He must have pretty well closed the door again, I decided, or he wouldn’t have dared to show so much light.
The fiddling went on for at least five minutes. He was obviously reluctant to leave the lock jammed, but he didn’t seem to be having any success with it. Presently I heard the squeak of the door handle again—he was shutting the door. He must have given up. Once more the beam of light turned inwards. He was coming back through the passage. It was harder to judge his whereabouts, now, but the light gave some indication. He’d still have the gun in his right hand, the lamp in his left. The centre of the beam, therefore, would be about eighteen inches to the left of him. I changed my position again, and chose a third hole. The beam grew stronger. I lowered the stone into the hole. There was a gap between the edge of the stone and the side of the hole, but I couldn’t see much through it. I’d have to gamble everything on a guess. He must be almost under me now.… I caught a glimpse of the swinging lamp, and a shadow passed beneath me, and I let the stone go.
There was a cry, a crash—and the light went out.
I listened. I couldn’t hear a thing. He might be dead. He might be unconscious. Or he might be just shamming, waiting for me to show myself. He was quite capable of it. If I rushed down into the passage and he was shamming I’d have the gun in my ribs in no time. I listened again. I thought I caught a faint sound, but I couldn’t identify it. I wasn’t even sure where it came from.… Suddenly I realised that by far the best course was to make for the tower. Once I was up there with Mollie, and we had that thick top door between us and the gun, Smith would be helpless. I slipped off my shoes and lowered myself, inch by cautious inch, back into the courtyard. Dawn was near, but for the moment the night seemed darker than ever and I couldn’t see anything at all. I tried to remember where the various obstructions were that I’d passed so often. I groped my way forward with outstretched hands. Presently I felt grass under my feet and knew I was all right. I quickened my steps, closing in on the tower. My pulse was racing. Even if Smith came rushing up behind me with the gun, I could make a dash for it now—I was near enough. But there was no pursuit. I reached the door and dragged it open and slipped inside. I’d made it!
Overwhelming relief surged through me. The miracle had happened. We were going to live after all! I didn’t care now whether Smith was lying senseless in the passage or stalking me out there in the courtyard. It made no difference. He’d lost his base, his fortress. There was nothing more he could do.
I raced up the stone spiral. The top door was open. I rushed out on to the roof and heaved the door shut behind me. “Mollie …!” I cried exultantly.
A voice from the parapet said, “Stay right where you are, Mr. Curtis! I can see you against the sky.”
Chapter Eighteen
The utter unexpectedness of it made it the worst blow yet. I leaned back against the parapet, very near to despair. I could do nothing right, it seemed; Smith could do nothing wrong. He was always one move ahead of me. He obviously thought much faster than I did. He must have recovered himself the instant the stone had fallen, and sized the situation up and nipped back to the tower noiselessly while I was still wondering if he was dead. It had been quite a feat for a limping man, especially in the dark. But then, of course, he was a cat burglar. I’d forgotten that. Perhaps he had cat’s eyes, too.
If he had, he wasn’t relying on them now. He said, “Keep quite still, Mr. Curtis. I don’t want any movement until daylight.”
I didn’t want any movement, either. I’d half expected him to come over and beat me up again, and it was a relief that he wasn’t going to. I relaxed a little, and looked across at Mollie’s corner. Now that there was no lamp, I couldn’t see her at all. I said, “Are you wired up, Mollie?”
“Yes. He did it before he went down.… What happened?”
I told her.
Smith said, with mock indignation, “He might have killed me!” He sounded very pleased with himself. No one would have thought that twenty pounds of granite had just missed his head by centimetres. He was a diabolical villain, and I hated his guts, but he wasn’t entirely contemptible.
Mollie said, “Better luck next time!”
After that we were quiet for a bit. The sky in the east grew lighter. The blackness above slowly paled to grey. I could just see Smith, now, lying back against the parapet with his gun at the ready. And Mollie, too, blanketed like a squaw, very still, very watchful. She hadn’t given up, I felt sure—not by a long chalk.
When it was light enough to see clearly, Smith got up and motioned me to the door with his gun. “I’ll come and collect my footwear, too,” he said. I hadn’t noticed before that he was shoeless.
I said “Good-bye” to Mollie once more. I seemed always to be saying “Hallo” or “Good-bye.” I had a feeling that this time it might be a long farewell, that when I returned to the castle with the car, Smith would kill me bef
ore I saw her—but I mentally shrugged off the thought.
I went down the stairs a step ahead of Smith, with the gun in my back. I crossed the courtyard, still in front of him. When we reached the entrance passage he climbed part of the way up the broken masonry with me so that he could keep me covered while I put my shoes on. In the passage, he made me stand facing the door while he put his own shoes on. He picked up the battered, useless lamp and tossed it into the dungeon. He didn’t seem to mind not having it any more. No doubt he thought he could kill us in the dark just as easily as in the light.
I said, “What about the door? Anyone could come in, now.”
He fingered the gun, almost lovingly. “It’ll be too bad if anyone does. Still, we don’t want unnecessary trouble, do we? Perhaps you’d better get the stone shot, Mr. Curtis.”
I walked over to the bombard. Smith came with me. He was taking no chances of a breakaway to the tower. He didn’t lower his gun even after I’d lifted the shot, though he could safely have done so. It was a hell of a weight. I staggered to the passage with it and dropped it a foot or two from the door with a sigh of relief.
Smith grinned. “I carried it farther than that!” he said, and waited. “Well, push it against the door.”
I looked at him in surprise. “Aren’t I going to leave?” I said.
He shook his head. “I’ve changed my plans. You can leave this afternoon.”
“What’s the idea?”
“I’m getting a little tired of your tricks, Mr. Curtis. You’re altogether too inventive. I prefer to keep you under my eye as long as possible.”
“Just as you like,” I said. I rolled the shot against the door.
“Right,” he said. “Now we’ll get back to the tower.”
We crossed the courtyard again in single file—myself, the gun, and Smith. On the spiral staircase he was still only one step behind me. Mollie looked surprised to see me back. She asked what the change of plan was for, and Smith told her. He threw me a blanket and told me to sit down with my back to the parapet. There was a draught coming up through the slats, he said, and he wouldn’t like me to catch a chill! I sat down. Presently Mollie asked if she could go and stretch her legs and he said she could but she wasn’t to go outside the castle in case some villager happened to be around early and recognised her. He limped across and released her from the wire. He seemed to be quite confident he could trust her, as long as he held me as a hostage.
The sun was up, now, and the warmth was comforting. I sat and watched Smith gently massaging his ankle. It still seemed to be giving him a bit of trouble. I asked him if we should all be going down into the courtyard later, and he grinned and said he didn’t think so, not now the castle doors were unlocked. We’d just have to be very careful not to show our heads, he said—for all our sakes! It was depressing news, because there might have been some opportunity for manœuvre in the courtyard, some chance of a diversion. Up here, there was none.
It felt strange being a prisoner on the roof, with Mollie free down below. This must be about the first time, I thought, that she’d really been off the leash. I wondered what she was thinking, what sort of ideas she was turning over in her mind. I wondered how long she’d be.… Then I suddenly had a new idea of my own. Perhaps I could shake Smith’s faith in Mollie! If I could rattle him enough, he might do something stupid. I picked up one of the papers I’d brought the night before and pretended to glance through it, because I didn’t want him to think I was planning anything. I let a full minute pass. Then I looked down through the slats—and gave a startled exclamation.
I said, “Miss Bourne doesn’t seem to be as obedient as I am.”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought you told her not to leave the castle. She’s just gone down to the river.”
Smith looked pretty startled, too. He came over and peered through the slats himself. He said, “I don’t see her.”
“She’s down the slope. It was her, all right.”
He gazed at me suspiciously. “Now what are you up to?”
“I’m not up to anything,” I said, “but I’m just wondering if she is. I’m not sure you haven’t been a bit too trusting, Smith.”
“Nonsense! She knows very well what’ll happen to you if she tries anything. She wouldn’t want her boy friend shot.”
“I’m not her boy friend, unfortunately. I only met her three days ago. She doesn’t give a damn about me.”
“I didn’t get that impression.”
I gave a derisive laugh. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d have trusted your impressions, after what happened the other night. She’s a tough baby, that girl. She’d sell her own flesh and blood for a story. Anyway, she probably doesn’t believe you’d shoot me when it came to it. I’d say you’ve had it, Smith. I think she’s gone for the police.”
“Well, I don’t,” he said—but he was looking a bit worried, all the same. “I don’t believe she’s left the castle. What about the stone shot?”
“Anyone could roll that away, from the inside. I tell you I saw her.”
“I don’t think you did.”
I shrugged. “You’ll see. I’ll take an even bet the police will be here inside half an hour.”
“Then that’s just how long you’ve got to live, Mr. Curtis!”
“I don’t see why you should take it out of me,” I said. “I’ve been let down more than you have. You deserve it, I don’t. Besides, I thought you were interested in escape, not revenge. You could be out of here in a jiffy. My car’s at the gate—there’s enough petrol to take you out of the neighbourhood. I know it’s not what you planned, but it’s something.”
“Very thoughtful of you,” he said. “But I should still kill you before I went. I’m a man of my word!”
“It’s up to you,” I said. “Personally, I’d have thought it was stupid. You’d feel fine, wouldn’t you, if you met Miss Bourne coming up the path and discovered that she hadn’t been to the police after all—and you’d bumped me off for nothing.”
He was beginning to look a bit confused. I knew he didn’t believe anything I said, but I thought he didn’t quite disbelieve it, either. I picked up the paper again and continued to read. He walked to the other side of the roof and looked over, cautiously. After a moment he walked back again. If I’d achieved nothing else, I’d got him really worried at last. Very soon, I thought, he’d take me down into the courtyard with him to make sure. That was the most I’d hoped for. If he had two of us on his mind, in the open, I might still have a chance to get the gun …
Then the whole thing fizzled out. There was a step on the spiral staircase. Smith called out sharply, “Who’s that?” and Mollie said, “It’s me—who do you think?” and came out on to the roof.
Smith gave me a wide grin. “I thought I was a better judge of character than that, Mr. Curtis …” He didn’t bother to tell her what had happened. “Well, now, perhaps Miss Bourne would get us something to eat.”
He told her what to get, and where to put it down. Once he reminded her to keep her head away from the parapet. He was very much in control of the situation again, moving us around like pawns. When the food was ready, he ate hungrily. Mollie said she only wanted a drink of water. I thought I’d better make a show of eating, but the food almost choked me. I reckoned we had about twelve hours to live, and it wasn’t a thought to give one an appetite. I never had believed that hearty-meal-before-execution stuff, and now I knew it wasn’t true.
After breakfast, Smith smoked a cigarette. I asked him if I could smoke, too, but he said No, he didn’t want any hot ash flying around. He was getting more and more cautious about not giving me any chances. He even went through the bag of supplies and flung everything over into the moat that I could conceivably use as a weapon. His own hammer and chisel followed the knives and forks and tin opener. By the time he’d finished there was nothing on the roof but two soft bags and a little food, the water can, and a couple of plastic tumblers.
Then he w
ired Mollie up again. As he refixed the wires to the slats, I heard the twang that had given me away when I’d scaled the wall. I realised now what had made the noise. Each set of slats was bolted down to two of the stone corbels but the ends were free, so that the last four or five feet were merely supported by the next corbel. As I’d noticed when I’d put my weight on them from underneath, they were very springy, and when they were released after pressure at any point, they twanged. But for that, I thought ruefully, we probably wouldn’t be there now.
As soon as Mollie was well secured, Smith came and sat down beside me—but at a safe distance. It was the spot he always occupied at night, to keep his foot against the door, but I could see that it had other advantages as well. From where he was, he had a clear view through the slats right across to the path that led up from the gate. It was a highly strategic spot in daylight too. By leaning over, I could just share the view. But I still couldn’t reach Smith. His hand, with the gun, was outstretched along the slats almost carelessly, or so it seemed, but it was too far away to be any good to me.
We were obviously in for a long wait, now—and an unproductive one. Until Smith made some fresh move, there was nothing I could do. Mollie tried a new tactic—needling him. She called him a lot of names, in a quiet, contemptuous way, and told him he hadn’t the slightest chance of escaping the police in the long run—but if her idea was to provoke him into starting something, it didn’t work. He just looked at her appreciatively and grinned. Presently she changed her approach and began to ask him about himself, but he didn’t respond to that, either. She asked him what his little bag of jewels was worth and he said, “Enough to keep me in luxury for the rest of my life,” but that was all. She gave up, then, and switched to me, and we discussed what sort of space the story was likely to get in our papers when we were in the clear again, and she said being with Smith for three days had been the worst experience of her life but that in the end it would probably turn out to have been almost worth it. I don’t know whether her chatter deceived Smith or not. He just sat there inscrutably, fingering his gun. We talked about ourselves a bit, rather half-heartedly, because the past isn’t very interesting unless there’s a future too. We made a few cracks, a sort of proud defiance, boosting each other’s morale. Then the talk faded out.