Robert Leonard said, “Don’t be a fool!”
Nan opened her door and slipped into the passage. Try and strain as she would, she could hear no more than that ghostly whispering. She had no picture of Rosamund sitting up in bed with her lips at the mouthpiece of her bedside telephone and her voice hard with alarm.
“The storm waked me.”
“Go to sleep again.”
“I can’t. I’m thinking of the tide—spring tide, with this wind behind it.”
Robert Leonard said, “Don’t be a fool!”
“Take him up into the cellar, Robert.”
“Anything else?”
“You must! I shall dress and come down unless you promise.”
Nan made nothing of this—“Don’t be a fool!”.… “Go to sleep again.”.… “Anything else?” She turned her head, and became aware that light was still coming from the kitchen. At once she passed down the passage and stood at the door looking in. The light was not in the kitchen. It came from an open door in the corner by the dresser, and it struck upwards with a faint, uncertain glow.
Nan came nearer, and saw the brick steps that went down into the cellar. She knew now why she had come to this house. She stopped being tired, and she stopped being afraid. She went down the steps, and saw a brick cellar, and in the middle of it a barrel standing on end with a candle on it in a greasy candlestick; and in the corner, propped back against the wall, the lid of a trap-door, with the trap very black below it. Robert Leonard had come up from here with the lamp in his hand.
She took her torch out of her pocket and sent its beam to search that black opening. It showed more steps, and she went down them, and so into a long low passage which was cold and very silent. She walked in the shining path which was made for her by the beam of her torch. Only once in a way when her hand shook did she see anything but that straight, shining path. Her hand did not shake because she was afraid, but because she had herself been so buffeted and shaken by the wind that from time to time an involuntary tremor passed over her. When this happened, she saw the roof, or a bit of the wall, most terrifingly black and near. The path had a very slight downward slope. It ran straight for about a dozen yards, and then there were more steps, and after that a steeper and more irregular slope. Somewhere at the back of Nan’s mind was the knowledge that she was going down towards the sea; but her thoughts were not concerned with this knowledge, they were concerned only with Jervis.
The path became rougher. At first it had been paved with brick; now it was stony, and the walls, when she caught a glimpse of them, were not built any more. The passage was ceasing to be a passage and becoming a fissure. It bent sharply once or twice.
All at once the circle of light from her torch dazzled on a huge jutting rock which blocked the way. Nan stood still and swung the light first to the right, and then to the left. On the right a narrow fissure ran up to the roof and split it. On the left the path went on, curving round the great boulder.
Nan came round the bend, and saw, about five yards away, Jervis lying as she had seen him lie in her dream. The light fell on his upturned face and on the wet stone that made his bed. He was wrapped in a blanket, but one arm lay outside and the hand was clenched on the bar of an iron gate which rose from floor to roof between them.
Nan stood quite still. Her eyes were shut. In her dream they had been open. She moved the light from his face, and saw how the bars ran up and were fastened into the stone. She moved it again, and saw the light flicker over a wide darkness of water. At once she ran forward. What she had at first thought to be a continuation of the passage was a mere ledge like a doorstep, thrust out from the gate over who could say what threatening depths.
She came to the gate and shook it, and as she did so, the water lifted with a huge gurgling swell, stood level with the ledge, and then dropped back again with a sucking sound.
At the same moment Jervis opened his eyes and, pulling on the bar, sat up.
XL
Jervis had been in the cave for forty-eight hours. Rosamund Carew had visited him twice. He had had enough food to keep him going, and she had left him the blankets, but he had never been within reach of a candle, matches, or the much coveted bread-knife. Robert Leonard had been once again. But all that was many hours ago. There had been moments when he was ready to sign away, not a part, but the whole of his birthright. These were not, however, the moments when Rosamund or Leonard were making their demands. To give way under threat, to knuckle down to Leonard’s increasing insolence, to fall in with Rosamund’s calm assumption that because she wanted money it was for him to provide it, was beyond him. When the dark closed down, and each successive tide reached higher, he might contemplate surrender; but at the first glimmer of returning light, the first sound of Rosamund’s calm or Leonard’s brutal voice his resistance stiffened.
He woke with the light on his face, gripped the bar, sat up, and saw, not Rosamund—it wasn’t tall enough for Rosamund—not Rosamund, but one of those dreams which come out of the darkness and the silence. His wrist was bound to the bar with a handkerchief. He fumbled at the knot, and Nan went down on her knees and put her hands on his and held them fast. The torch rolled over on its side and sent a shaft of light between them. Her hands came into it—little brown hands that he knew; not Rosamund’s hands. The knot parted, the handkerchief dropped down. He waited for the dream to go away. But it stayed. The little brown hands were warm on his, and one of them wore his ring. He said, “Nan!” and she said, “Jervis!” and all at once it wasn’t a dream any longer.
He rose on his knees and caught her by the shoulders with his hands thrust through the bars.
“Nan!” he said. “Nan!” And Nan put up her face, and he kissed her with a desperate straining towards life, and love, and happiness, and all those other everyday things which were in jeopardy.
Nan kissed him back. He had been lost, and she had found him. And in her dream he had been dead, but he was holding her with living arms and kissing her with living lips. How could she do anything but hold him with all her strength and kiss him with all her love? Her happiness was almost more than she could bear. They clung together, and scarcely knew that the bars were there.
Then the black swell lifted again and washed right over the sill. Jervis got on to his feet and pulled her up. She stooped for the torch, and found it lying in water. The tide was about their ankles, and even as she straightened herself, it lifted again without any sound. Nan caught at the padlock with both hands.
“It’s no use,” said Jervis—“he’s taken the key.” Then, quickly, “How did you come here?”
“I don’t know,” said Nan. “I came. I saw you in a dream.” She added after a moment, “There’s a storm.”
“It’s driving the tide. What is it—thunder, or wind?”
“Both.”
“Wind off the sea?”
“Yes—yes, it is.”
The water rose again with a gentle swirl but no sound. It had never come higher than a good hand’s-breadth below the ledge. At this rate it would be up to their knees before he could so much as think what to do.
He said, “Does anyone know you’re here?”
“No. F.F.’s away. I left a note for him.”
“We must get out of here,” said Jervis. “You must get out and get help. You’re not shut in?”
“No.”
“You’d better get hold of Basher—there’s no time to do anything about the police.”
“He’s away.”
“Then you must knock up Martin at the lodge. He’d better get hold of the chauffeur. Leonard’s armed. Is he in the house?”
“Yes—telephoning. The bell rang—he came up out of the passage and left it open.”
“Then he’ll be coming back. You must go.”
She leaned towards him, and they kissed again.
He said, “I’ll be all right—I can hold on to the bars.”
He felt her quiver; he felt her cheek cold against his. And then without a wo
rd she ran from him round the bend.
From the moment of her waking until this very moment Nan had been in some strange prolongation of the dream in which she was looking for Jervis and had no room in her thought for fear. She had to find Jervis, and nothing else mattered. All the ordinary movements of thought were benumbed. Now, as she ran from Jervis, the dream went, and the numb thoughts quickened into painful life. She had left Leonard telephoning. If he had finished, he would come back and shut the trap. Perhaps he had already shut it, and she and Jervis were closed down here together in the dark. Perhaps he was coming down again, and she would meet him suddenly.
She turned the last bend, and as she came to the steps which led to the straight paved end of the passage, she switched out her torch and caught her breath in a gasp of relief. There was an uncertain glow ahead of her. The trap was still open, and a faint candle-light showed the worn edges of the brick steps going up into the cellar.
And then all at once there was something wrong. The light was brighter—it was too bright for candle-light. Nan stood stock still and stared at the open trap. It was about a dozen yards away. A broad yellow beam was coming through it, and suddenly there was a man’s foot in a heavy boot on the topmost step. Robert Leonard was coming down.
Nan turned and ran wildly down the steps and along the black passage with her hands stretched out in front of her as if to ward the darkness from her face. It was sheer panic, and it might have ruined them both if she had not run into the rock at one of the turns and so brought her up short. She had cut her hand, but she did not feel it. She could see a yellow glow behind her, and she could hear Leonard’s footsteps as she turned the bend. He couldn’t see her now. She switched on her torch, turned another corner, and clutched at her courage with all her might. If she could find anywhere to hide, if she could let him pass her, then she could run back and get help for Jervis. She remembered the boulder at the last bend—the path went round to the left of it, but on the right there was a fissure that went right up to the roof. She ran on, fighting the thought that it was too narrow to be of any use. She came to the place, and her heart sank. The cleft was not a foot wide. She ran on down the path, and saw Jervis nearly up to his knees in water holding on to the bars of the gate. Her feet splashed in a ripple that ran to meet her.
She came to him panting.
“He’s coming!”
Jervis reached through the bars and turned the torch in her hand. She looked along the beam. The cleft on this side of the boulder was a much wider one. The action of water had so far hollowed it out that it was just conceivable she might escape notice there.
He said, “Quick!” and pushed her, at the same time turning out the torch; and as he did so, the light of Robert Leonard’s lamp threw the boulder into black relief. It was horrible to have to run towards it, but she ran, reached the cleft, and crouched down in it, squeezing herself back and back and back until she felt as if the solid rock had been built up round her and would never let her go.
Robert Leonard came round the bend with the paraffin lamp in his hand, and stopped three yards from the mouth of the cleft because the rest of the passage was under water. He held the lamp above his head and laughed.
“Getting a bit wet?” he said.
“A bit,” said Jervis.
“I’ve come for the blanket Rosamund was fool enough to leave you. It’s a good blanket, and you won’t be wanting it any more.”
“Awkward for you if by any chance it got washed out to sea.”
“Bull’s-eye!” said Robert Leonard. “It’s not very likely, but accidents do happen—so you can hand it over.”
Jervis looked down at the sodden mass. It wouldn’t be long before it floated off on the rising swell; half of it was afloat, and if he shifted his foot—
“Come and take it,” he said.
Nan moved in the grip of the rock. Robert Leonard’s square bulk was between her and Jervis. She must see Jervis—she must look at him. Perhaps she would never look at him again. If she could get out, she could get round the bend. If Leonard would go a little farther away—if he would go forward to take the blanket … He wasn’t going to. He laughed and said.
“Too wet for me! I can always get it when the tide goes down.”
Nan could see Jervis now. He was drenched and haggard, but he still had that look of having bought the earth; it was even a little intensified, and Nan’s heart leapt to it.
“You’re spoiling my night’s rest, you know,” said Leonard. “Rosamund’s quite anxious about you. She’s just dragged me to the telephone to ask me whether I’ve noticed that there’s a storm, and that being the case, there’s likely to be a particularly high tide. She’s quite fussed about it.”
“Damned good for her!” said Jervis.
“Isn’t it? And do you know, it strikes me that she’s right about the tide. She says last time you’d a gale off the sea and a spring tide together the waves broke right over the cliff road. She seems to think you won’t be very comfortable where you are, and she wants me to unlock the gate.” He held out his wrist and turned it to get the light on the dial of his watch. “It’s getting on for a quarter to four. It’s not high tide till five, and as far as I could judge when I stepped outside a little while ago, the gale is still rising. Rosamund’s wishes are, of course, my law, so I’ve come to give you your last chance. The price, by the way, is up to fifty thousand.”
Nan moved again. She had got to do something. If she could get away, she could save Jervis. If she couldn’t get away, he wouldn’t be any worse off.
“Ask a little more!” said Jervis.
Robert Leonard swore with a sudden savage violence.
“And so I will for that!” He pulled out a key on a steel chain and swung it to and fro. “Here’s the key. D’you see it? You can buy it for sixty thousand pounds—and before you’re dead you’ll think it’s cheap! Sixty thousand!”
Nan stood up in the mouth of the cleft. She was cold, and her heart shook her with its beating.
“Suppose I say yes?” Jervis had seen her and was making time.
She passed like a shadow along the boulder, touching it with her hand, keeping her face towards Leonard. The dreadful moment would come when she must turn her back on him and run for it. She had reached the boulder’s edge, when he looked over his shoulder and saw her. For an instant the lamp-light dazzled in her eyes. She saw Jervis, the barred gate, the glistening walls, and a sudden surge of water. She saw Leonard against the light, and his shadow, black and formless, reaching towards her. Then, with the water about his ankles, he swung round, slipped, and came down with a splash. The paraffin lamp jerked out of his hand and smashed against the rock. There was a moment’s wild flare of blazing oil.
Nan ran from it desperately, her fear choking her.
XLI
Nan ran for her life. No, not for her life—Jervis’ life. If she could reach the cellar and slam down the trap, if she could get out again into the wild wind and the rain, she would be able to save Jervis. She had started to run with that thought in her mind; but as she ran, she knew nothing but terror—the acute nightmare terror of feet that follow in the dark. For a moment there was a flare of fire behind her, the glow of it filtered round the bend. It came with the sound of Leonard’s furious cursing, and it died as he stumbled round the boulder and gave chase. She had about a dozen yards’ start, but the sound of him and the sense of his pursuing rage had overtaken her already; yet she reached the first of the brick steps and saw the straight end of the passage, and the light from the cellar coming through the trap. For the first time, a real hope touched her. And then she too slipped and came down, falling hard, her hands stretched out on the brick paving, and her face all but touching it. For a moment a wild spasm of terror stopped her heart.
Robert Leonard passed her, running heavily; his wet foot brushed her arm. If he had trodden on her, she would hardly have felt it. He stood on the brick steps cursing her, but his words were just noise in her ears. She was so
nearly fainting that she felt nothing when he slammed down the trap. The sharp sound of its fall came to her from far away, and after that a rumbling. He was rolling the barrel back into its place upon the trap door. Then there were no more sounds. It was very quiet, and very dark.
Nan lay where she was and let her forehead fall upon her hands. She had failed Jervis. There wasn’t anything else that she could do. She wanted the tide to come up and drown her quickly.
Presently she remembered that it wouldn’t reach her here. She got up very slowly and stiffly. She must go back to Jervis. But first she would see if she could raise the trap. She hadn’t any hope, but she wouldn’t go back to Jervis without trying. She felt her way to the steps, went up them as high as she could, and pushed with all her remaining strength. She might as well have pushed against one of the walls. She came down again, remembered that she had put her torch in the pocket of her rain-coat before she came out of the cleft, and felt for it.
She came at last to the boulder, and stood still in a new terror. The water ran to meet her in a low, dark wave with a tiny edge of foam where the rough rock path fretted it. She called, “Jervis!” and ran into the water. On the other side of the boulder it was up to her knees.
Jervis stood as he had stood before, with an arm round one of the bars. Even as she caught sight of him, the water lifted to his waist, fell a little, and lifted again.
He said, “Nan!” and all at once her terror was gone. It didn’t really matter if they were together.
She came to him through the water, and found a place to set her torch, all very quietly. Then he was holding her, and nothing mattered.
Jervis said, “He caught you?”
“Yes—I fell.”
“He hasn’t hurt you?”
“No. He’s shut me in.”
He held her close and kissed her. Nothing mattered. The water rose, and would have lifted them if they had not held to the bars. Strange and cold, to have bars between them.
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