Final Count

by Sapper

  It was as I was coming to the conclusion that I was wasting time, and that an inspection from closer range was indicated (after all they couldn’t sack me), that a man came out of the building and walked towards the mine. I saw, on consulting the ordnance map, that the mine itself was just over half-a-mile from where I lay, and the cliff’s edge was distant a further half-mile. And it was just about ten minutes before the man reappeared on my side of the mine buildings. I watched him idly: he was still too far off for me to be able to distinguish his features. After a while he struck the road, but instead of turning along it one way or the other he came straight on, and commenced to climb the hill. In fact it suddenly dawned on me that he was coming directly for me. I slipped backwards out of sight, and hurriedly set up my easel and camp stool, only to see another man approaching from my right rear. And the second man must have seen my hurried preparations. However, I argued to myself that there is no law that prevents a man admiring a view through field-glasses preparatory to sketching it. And though as an argument it was perfectly sound, the presence of Drummond would have been far more comforting.

  “Good-morning.”

  The man who had come from the mine breasted the rise in front of me, and I glanced up. He was a complete stranger, with a dark rather swarthy face, and I returned the compliment politely.

  “Sketching, I see,” he remarked affably.

  “Just beginning,” I answered. And then I took the bull by the horns. “I’ve been admiring the country through my glasses most of the morning.”

  “So I perceived,” said another voice behind my shoulder. It was the second man, who again I failed to recognise. “You seemed to decide to start work very suddenly.”

  “I presume,” I remarked coldly, “that I can decide to start work when I like, where I like, and how I like. The matter is my business, and my business only.”

  A quick look passed between the two men, and then the first arrival spoke.

  “Of course,” he remarked still more affably. “But the fact of the matter is this. By way of experiment a small syndicate of us have taken over Black Mine. We believe, I trust rightly, that we have stumbled on a method which will enable us to make a large fortune out of tin mining. The information has leaked out, and we have had several people attempting to spy on us. Please wait,” – he held up his hand as I began an indignant protest. “Now that I have seen you, I am perfectly sure that you are not one of them. But you will understand that we must take precautions.”

  “I would be obliged,” I remarked sarcastically, “if you would tell me how you think I can discover your secret – even granted I knew anything about tin-mining, which I don’t – from the range of a mile.”

  “A very natural remark,” he replied. “But, to adopt military terms for a moment, there is such a thing as reconnoitring a position, I believe, before attempting to assault it.”

  “Which it seems to me, sir, you have been doing pretty thoroughly this morning,” put in the other.

  I rose to my feet angrily.

  “Look here,” I said, “I’ve had about enough of this. I’m an Englishman, and this is England. If you will inform me of any law which prohibits me from looking through field-glasses at anything I like for as long as I like, I shall be pleased to listen to you. If, however, you can’t, I should be greatly obliged if you’d both of you go to blazes. I may say that the question of tin-mining leaves me even colder than your presence.”

  Once again I saw a quick glance pass between them.

  “There is no good losing your temper, sir,” said the first man. “We are speaking in the most friendly way. And since you have no connection with the tin-mining industry there is no need for us to say any more.”

  “I certainly have no connection with the tin-mining industry,” I agreed. “But for the sake of argument supposing I had. Is that a crime?”

  “In this locality, and from our point of view,” he smiled, “it is. In fact it is worse than a crime: it is a folly. Several people have proved that to their cost. Good-morning.”

  I watched them go, and my first thought was to pack up and walk straight back to the hotel. And then saner counsels prevailed. That second man – where had he come from? I felt certain now that that flash had been a signal. Or an answer. He must have been lying up in that high ground behind me on the right. And glancing round I could see hundreds of places where men could lie hidden and watch my every movement.

  Was it genuine? that was the whole point. Was all this talk about revolutionising tin-mining the truth, or merely an elaborate bluff? There below me was an actual tin mine going full blast, which substantiated their claim. Anyway the main thing was to give them no further cause for suspicion. And in view of the fact that for all I knew unseen eyes might still be watching me, I decided to stop on for a couple of hours, eat my lunch, and then saunter back to Penzance. Moreover, I determined that I wouldn’t use the field-glasses again. I had seen all I could from that distance, so there was no object in rousing further suspicion in the event of my being watched.

  Was it genuine? The question went on reiterating itself in my mind. And it was still unanswered when I returned to the hotel about tea-time. I had seen no trace of any other watcher; the high ground on each side of me had seemed silent and deserted while I ate my lunch and sketched perfunctorily for an hour or so. Was it genuine? Or did the so-called secret process cloak something far more sinister?

  We weighed up the points for and against the second alternative over a round of short ones before dinner.

  Points for – Coincidence of dates and the very special precautions taken to prevent outsiders approaching. Point against – Why come to a derelict tin mine in the back of beyond, and incur all the expense of paying miners, when on the face of it a far more accessible and cheaper location could be found?

  “In fact,” remarked Drummond, “the matter can only be solved in one way. We will consume one more round of this rather peculiar tipple which that sweet girl fondly imagines is a Martini: we will then have dinner: and after that we will go and see for ourselves.”

  “Supposing it is genuine?” I said doubtfully.

  “Then, as in the case of Aunt Amelia, we will apologise and withdraw. And if they refuse to accept our apologies and show signs of wishing to rough-house, Heaven forbid that we should disappoint them.”

  We started at nine in the car. There was no moon and we decided to approach from the west, that is, the Land’s End direction.

  “We’ll leave the car a mile or so away – hide it if possible,” said Drummond. “And then, Stockton, call up your war lore, for we’re going to have a peerless night creep.”

  “Do we scatter, Hugh, or go in a bunch?” asked Jerningham.

  “Ordinary patrol, Ted. I’ll lead: you fellows follow in pairs.”

  His eyes were gleaming with excitement; and if my own feelings were any criterion we were all of us in the same condition. My doubts of the morning had been replaced by a quite unjustifiable optimism: I felt that we were on the track again at last. Undoubtedly the wish was father to the thought, but as we got into the car after dinner I was convinced that these were no genuine experimenters in tin.

  “Carry a revolver, but don’t use it except as a last resort.”

  Such were Drummond’s orders, followed by a reminder of the stringent necessity for silence.

  “On their part as well as our own,” he said quietly. “If you stumble on anyone, don’t let him give the alarm.”

  In our pockets we each of us had a gag, a large handkerchief, a length of fine rope, and a villainous-looking weapon which Drummond alluded to as Mary. It was a short, heavily loaded stick, and as he calmly produced these nefarious objects from his suit-case, followed by five decent-sized bottles of chloroform, I couldn’t help roaring with laughter.

  “Always travel hoping for the best,” he grinned. “Don’t forget, boys – no shooting. To put it mildly, it would be distinctly awkward if we killed a genuine tin merchant.”

/>   It was ten o’clock when we reached a spot at which Drummond considered it sound to park the car. For the last two miles we had been travelling without lights, and with the aid of a torch we confirmed our position on the map.

  “I make out that there is another ridge beyond the one in front of us before we get to Black Mine,” said Drummond. “If that’s so and they’ve got the place picketed, the sentry will be on the further one. Man-handle her in, boys: she’ll make a noise on reverse.”

  We backed the car off the road into a small deserted quarry and then, with a final inspection to see that all our kit was complete, we started off. Toby and I came five yards behind Drummond, with the other two behind us again, and I soon began to realise that the yarns I had heard from time to time – told casually by his pals about our leader – were not exaggerated. I have mentioned before his marvellous gift of silent movement in the dark; and I had myself seen an exhibition of it in the house in Ashworth Gardens. But that was indoors: that night I was to see it in the open. You could hear nothing: you could see nothing, until suddenly he would loom up under your nose with whispered instructions.

  Toby had had previous experience of him, but the first time it happened I very nearly made a fool of myself. It was so utterly unexpected that, never dreaming it was he, I lunged at him viciously with my loaded stick. The blow fell on empty air, and I heard him chuckle faintly.

  “Steady, old man,” he whispered from somewhere behind me. “Don’t lay me out at this stage of the proceedings. We’re just short of the top of the first ridge: spread out sideways until we’re over. Then same formation. Pass it back.”

  We waited till the other two bumped into us, I feeling the most infernal ass. And then, even as we were passing on the orders, there came a faint snarling noise away to our left. We stared in the direction it came from, but it was not repeated. All was silent save for the lazy beat of the breakers far below.

  “By Gad! you fellows, we’ve bumped the first sentry.” Drummond materialised out of the night. “Fell right on top of him. Had to dot him one. What’s that?”

  A stone moved a few yards away from us, and a low voice called out – “Martin! Martin – are you there? What was that noise? God! this gives me the jumps. Martin – where are you? Ah–”

  The beginnings of a scream were stifled in the speaker’s throat, and we moved cautiously forward to find Drummond holding someone by the throat.

  “Put him to sleep, Ted,” he whispered, and the sickly smell of chloroform tainted the air.

  “Lash him up and gag him,” said Drummond, and then, with infinite precaution, be switched his torch for a second on to the man’s face. He was one of the two who had spoken to me that morning.

  “Good,” said Drummond cheerfully. “We won’t bother about the other: he will sleep for several hours. And now, having mopped up the first ridge, let us proceed to do even likewise with the second. Hullo! what the devil is that light doing? Out to sea there.”

  Three flashes and a long pause – then two flashes. That was all: after that, though we waited several times, we saw nothing more.

  “Obviously a signal of some sort,” remarked Drummond. “And presumably it is to our friends in front. By Jove! you fellows, is it possible that we’ve run into a bunch of present-day smugglers? What a perfectly gorgeous thought. Let’s get on with it. There’s not likely to be anyone in the hollow in front, but go canny in case of accidents. Same formation as before, and spread out when we come to the next ridge.”

  Once more we started off. Periodically I glanced out to sea, but there was no repetition of the signal. Whatever boat had made it was lying off there now without lights – waiting. And for what? Smugglers? Possible, of course. But what a coast to choose! And yet was it a bad one? Well out of the beaten track: full of caves: sparsely populated. One thing anyway seemed certain. If the signal had been intended for the present owners of Black Mine, it rather disposed of the genuineness of their claim. The connection between tin-mining secrets and mysterious signals out at sea seemed rather too obscure to be credible.

  “Hit him, Stockton.”

  Toby Sinclair’s urgent voice startled me out of my theorising just in time. I had literally walked on a man, and it was a question of the fraction of a second as to whether he got away and gave the alarm.

  “Good biff,” came in Drummond’s whisper as the man crashed. “I’ve got the other beauty. We’re through the last line.”

  The other two had joined us, and for a while we stood there listening. Ahead of us some three hundred yards away was the Black Mine: to the left, on the edge of the cliff, the wooden house stood outlined against the sky. And even as we stared at it a door opened for a second, letting out a shaft of light as someone came out.

  “So our friends are not in bed,” said Drummond softly. “There is activity in the home circle. Let’s go and join the party. We’ll make for the edge of the cliff a bit this side of the house.”

  It was farther than it looked, but we met no more sentries. No further trace of life showed in the wooden house as we worked our way cautiously forward.

  “Careful.” Drummond’s whisper came from just in front of us. “We’re close to the edge.” He was peering in front, and suddenly he turned round and gripped my arm. “Look up there towards the house. See anything? Underneath a little – just below the top of the cliff.”

  I stared at the place he indicated, and sure enough there was a patch which seemed less dark than its surroundings.

  “There’s a heavily screened light inside there,” he muttered. “It’s an opening in the cliff.”

  And then, quite clearly audible over the lazy beat of the sea below, we heard the sound of rowlocks.

  “This is where we go closer,” said Drummond. “It strikes me things are going to happen.”

  We crept towards the house, and I know that I at any rate was quivering with excitement. I could just see Drummond in front well enough to conform to his every movement. He paused every now and then, but not for long, and I pictured him peering into the darkness with that uncanny sight of his. Once, I remember, he stopped for nearly five minutes, and while I lay there trying to stop the pounding of my heart I thought I heard voices below. Then he went on again, until the house seemed almost on top of us.

  At last he stopped for good, and I saw him beckoning to us to come and join him. He was actually on the edge of the cliff, and when I reached his side and passed over, I very nearly gave the show away in my surprise. Not twenty feet below us a man’s head was sticking out of the face of the cliff. We could see it outlined against a dim light that came from inside, and he was paying out something hand over hand. At first I couldn’t see what it was. It looked like a rope, and yet it seemed singularly stiff and inflexible.

  “Form a circle,” breathed Drummond to the other three. “Not too near. For Heaven’s sake don’t let us be surprised from behind.”

  “What on earth is it that he’s paying out?” I whispered in his ear as he once more lay down beside me.

  “Tubing of sorts,” he answered. “Don’t talk – watch.”

  From below came a whistle, and the man immediately stopped. Then a few seconds later came another whistle and the man disappeared. Something must have swung into position behind him, for the light no longer shone out; only a faint lessening of the darkness marked the spot where he had been. And then, though it may have been my imagination, I thought I heard a slight gurgling noise such as a garden hose makes when you first turn the water on.

  For some time nothing further happened; then again from below came the whistle. He must have been waiting for it from behind the screen, for he reappeared instantly. As before the light shone on him, and suddenly I felt Drummond’s hand close on my arm like a vice. For the man was wearing indiarubber gauntlets.

  Coil by coil he pulled the tubing up until it was all in: then again he disappeared and the screen swung down, shutting out the light.

  “Stockton,” whispered Drummond, “we�
�ve found ’em.”

  “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  “Explore,” he said quietly. “If we’d got through without bumping their sentries, I’d have given it a chance till daylight tomorrow. As it is, it’s now or never.”

  “Then I’m coming with you,” I remarked.

  “All right,” he whispered. “But I’m going down to reconnoitre first.”

  He collected the other three and gave his orders. He, Jerningham and I would go down and force an entrance through the front of the cliff: the other two would guard our retreat and hold the rope for us to ascend again. But Toby was adamant. There was a large post rammed into the ground for some purpose or other to which the rope could be attached, and he and Peter insisted on coming too. And even in the darkness I could see Drummond’s quick grin as he agreed.

  “As soon as I signal all right, the next man comes down. And if they find the bally rope and cut it we’ll fight our way out through the back door. One other thing: instructions re revolvers cancelled. It’s shoot quick, and shoot often. Great Heavens! what’s that?”

  From somewhere near by there came a dreadful chattering laugh followed by a babble of words which died away as abruptly as it had started. To the others it was merely a sudden noise, staggering because of the unexpectedness of it, but to me it was a paralysing shock which for the moment completely unnerved me. For the voice which had babbled at us out of the night was the voice of Robin Gaunt.

  Chapter 9

  In which we are entertained strangely in Black Mine

  “You’re certain of that?” muttered Drummond tensely, for even his iron nerves had been shaken for the moment.

  “Absolutely,” I answered. “That cry came from Robin Gaunt.”

  “Then that finally proves that we’re on to ’em. Let’s get busy: there’s no time to lose.”