The walls of the old Palace were so thick that they could hear very little of what was going on above. Occasionally they heard a voice shouting, and once a scream, high-pitched and thin, like the cry of a sea bird, cut off abruptly,
‘How’s it going,’ said Tammy. ‘Can I do a bit?’
‘What you could be doing,’ said Hugo, ‘is searching through that pile of logs to see if you can find a piece with some sort of joint to it. Even a large splinter would be better than nothing. This file of yours is splendid for scratching and picking, but if I tried to use it as a lever I’d snap it for sure.’
‘Some of these logs are pretty jagged. I might be able to tear off a few bits.’
‘What with?’
‘My teeth,’ said Tammy. ‘I’ve got good teeth.’
It took him half an hour to shift the first brick. By the time it came away, the tips of his fingers were torn and his wrist was aching, but he felt a sense of achievement. It was cooled by a sight of what lay behind.
The bar he was attacking was the one at the extreme left hand side of the opening, and therefore the shortest. Its bottom end was embedded behind the second row of bricks and, as Hugo saw when he examined it closely with the help of his cigarette lighter, by a malevolent freak of the builder it had been placed behind the join in two bricks. Moreover, unlike the outer row, these had been laid end-on and offered a much reduced point of attack.
‘What’s wrong?’ said Tammy.
Hugo tried to explain, but found that he had some difficulty in forming the words.
‘A header,’ he said. ‘That’s what bricklayers call it. Because it’s head on.’
His tongue seemed suddenly to be thick, almost filling his mouth.
‘Yes, I can see that,’ said Tammy.
‘More difficult to shift.’
‘We got the first one out. We’ll shift the next two, never fear. You can take time out. I’m going to spell you.’
Hugo surrendered the nail file, and sat down on the floor with his back to the log pile. His neck had started to ache and there was a dull pain in the back of his head. To ease it, he cupped his chin in one hand. His head felt so heavy that it was an effort to hold it up.
A shaking on his shoulder brought him round. He had slipped over sideways and was lying on the floor. He got on to his knees and then back on to his feet and said, ‘For God’s sake. How long have I been out. What time is it?’
‘You’ve been asleep for an hour,’ said Tammy. ‘I thought it was time to wake you up. I’ve got another brick out.’
She held it out for inspection, but it wasn’t the brick he was staring at. He said, ‘What have you done to your hands?’
They’re all right,’ said Tammy. ‘Look at my nice brick.’
They’re not all right. You’ve torn them to ribbons. Why the hell didn’t you wake me up? Give me that file at once.’
When he tried to take it he found it was stuck to the palm of her hand with blood. He said, ‘You let me snore on the floor for an hour whilst you did that.’
‘It seems to have done you some good. When you sat down you sounded like your battery was going flat or something.’
‘I’m all right,’ said Hugo. In fact, he felt a lot better. And the next brick was a lot easier. As it was completely free on one side he was able to concentrate on the firm edge. He developed a technique for whittling a small hole in the mortar and driving in a splinter of wood, using the heel of his shoe as a hammer. After twenty minutes, he felt the brick shift.
‘It’s coming,’ he said.
Tammy was standing behind him as he eased it out. When he clicked on his lighter they stood for a moment staring. Tammy said, ‘Oh,’ and then. ‘That’s not so good.’ It was a reflex gasp of disappointment.
What they could now see was that the bottom end of the bar had been beaten out into a flat, spade-like section. A hole had been bored through the centre, and a bolt inserted. They could see the head of the bolt. The shank ran into the brickwork.
‘For God’s sake,’ said Tammy, ‘what are we going to do about that?’ There were tears not very far away.
‘What we’re not going to do,’ said Hugo, ‘is lose heart. I don’t believe that bolt can be very firm. It’s only driven into the mortar. It was obviously put there to stop sideways movement of the bottom of the bars. I think it wouldn’t be too difficult to pull it out.’
As he said this he was taking off his belt. It was a good leather belt, with a steel buckle. He fastened one end round the bar, using the buckle, took the other end in both hands, braced his feet against the wall, exerted his fine dorsal muscles, and pulled.
‘It’s coming,’ he said. ‘I can feel it shifting. Lend a hand, and we’ll have the bastard out.’
Tammy grabbed him round the waist from behind, and heaved. Hugo heaved. The bar came loose at both ends with a sudden jerk.
‘I hope it didn’t hurt you,’ said Hugo.
‘Not at all,’ said Tammy politely. ‘If you wouldn’t mind getting off my stomach.’
They picked up their trophy. It was about thirty inches long and was, as they saw when they examined the top end, hollow. A tube rather than a bar.
Tammy said, ‘Lovely. And the flattened end will just do for getting under those bricks.’ And when Hugo said nothing, ‘Only we ought to get a move on. We’ve got to shift three more bricks before we can even start on that outer grille. And that looks pretty tough to me.’
Hugo still said nothing. He was staring at the iron tube. He looked at the long bolt running through the flattened end. Then he turned it round and examined the hollow at the top.
He said, ‘I don’t think we’re going to get those other bricks out in time. But I believe I might be able to open the door.’
‘Break it down, you mean?’
‘No. Open it.’ He was prodding at the end of the tube with the nail file. ‘Do you see? It’s hollow all the way down. What would you say the diameter of the hole was?’
‘Do you mean, how wide is it?’
‘That’s what I mean.’
‘About an inch. Maybe a little less.’
‘That would be my guess.’
‘So what do we do?’
‘We fill it with brick dust.’
Tammy stared at him.
‘Come on, come on,’ said Hugo. ‘Brick dust or mortar. There’s plenty of it on the floor. Scoop it up. I’ll be making a funnel. We’ll use this cigarette packet. It should do.’
Tammy said, ‘I suppose you know what you’re doing.’
‘It all depends – that’s right. If I hold the funnel you dribble the stuff in. It won’t take very much. Kind of them to flatten the other end. Saves us having to cork it up.’
‘You were saying,’ said Tammy, ‘that it all depended. What does it depend on? I mean, I trust you implicitly. But I’d just like to know. Girlish curiosity, I guess.’
‘It depends,’ said Hugo, ‘on what sort of money you’ve got in that purse of yours.’
‘Money?’
That’s right. I remember my partner. Colonel Rex, once saying to me, ‘If you’ve got the right sort of money, you can buy your way out of anything.’
‘Hugo,’ said Tammy. ‘If you’re just putting on this act to cheer me up, don’t do it. I’m not in a fit state to be cheered up. If I get really mad, I might use this bar on you. I’d regret it afterwards, I don’t doubt.’
‘Let’s see the colour of your money.’
Tammy sighed. ‘All right.’ she said. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ She tipped the contents of her purse into Hugo’s cupped hands. ‘It’s mostly small change I had over from when I was in England.’
‘English money is the best in the world. The strongest and the most reliable. Let’s see. A penny. A twopenny looks the best bet.’ He fitted the coin, endways on, into the mouth of the hollow bar. ‘A fraction too big, which is just what the doctor ordered. Hold the bar upright whilst I get my shoe oil again.’
Using the heel
of his shoe as a hammer he banged the coin down into the tube until its lower rim was resting firmly on the packed brick dust and only its upper semi-circle was projecting from the tube.
‘I’m beginning,’ said Tammy, ‘to get the big idea. Ow! That was my finger if you don’t mind. Won’t it tip over when you start to use it?’
‘It might, if we let it. But we won’t. Here’s where we want those wood splinters. The very small ones first.’ He drove in half a dozen of them, using the silver pencil as a rammer and tamping them down with his shoe. ‘Now a larger one for the other side. That one will do the trick, I think. There she is. The Greest home-made screwdriver, mark one.’
Tammy, who was sucking the tips of her fingers, said, ‘I hope we don’t need a mark two. Do you think it’ll work?’
‘It’s got to,’ said Hugo soberly. He was wrapping his handkerchief round the cross-bolt which ran through the flattened end of the bar. ‘We can get a lot of leverage with this. Hold the lighter so that I can see the enemy.’
Hugo fitted the edge of the coin into the slot of one of the big screws which held the lock mechanism of the door in place. He was annoyed to find that he was trembling so much that he needed both hands to keep it steady. Then he gripped the cross-bolt and exerted pressure. For an agonising moment, nothing happened. Then he said, ‘It’s shifting. We’ve got the bugger.’
‘Glory be,’ said Tammy.
The two screws on the right of the lock came out without too much difficulty. The third, which was the bottom one on the left, stuck fast. Either it had been driven into a knot of the wood, or it had rusted in with particular firmness.
Hugo refixed the handkerchief, gripped the cross-bolt even more firmly, and twisted. The sweat was pouring down his neck and arms. He felt a slight movement, and hope flickered. Then he realised that it was the coin, not the screw, that was shifting.
‘So near,’ he said, ‘and yet so bloody far.’ He was panting so that he could hardly get the words out. The big muscles in his arms had started to go back on him and his hands were shaking badly.
‘Hold off a minute,’ said Tammy. She was watching him anxiously. ‘I got an idea. It’s that third bastard screw that’s stopping us. Right?’
‘Right,’ said Hugo. He was getting his breath back. The sweat on his neck and arms was cooling.
‘Then what do you say you leave it alone and try the fourth one?’
‘I could. But why?’
‘If it comes out, there’ll just be one last screw holding the whole thing. Right? The lock will be pivoting on that screw. So you give it a smack with the bar and it’ll start to twist. That’ll soon bring it loose, you see.’
‘Tammy,’ said Hugo, ‘you’re a genius. And I’m an idiot.’
The fourth screw came away without difficulty. Hugo clouted the lock twice and it started to move. A few more cracks and the final obstinate screw gave up the unequal struggle. The whole of the lock mechanism came away in Hugo’s hands and the door swung open.
They peered out into the passage. It was empty and dark. Until this moment it had not occurred to either of them to consider what they were going to do next.
Chapter Twenty-One
A Night and a Day
‘Where now ?’ said Tammy, speaking very softly.
‘No good going back up the stairs,’ said Hugo. That comes out in the main gateway. It’s bound to be guarded. We’ll try the other way and see what happens.’
‘I guess it’ll just lead to more cellars.’
‘We can find somewhere to hide up.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Tammy.
‘Come on, then.’
‘Hold it a moment.’
They stood in silence. Then Hugo heard what Tammy’s sharper ears had picked up already. It came from the next cellar. It was something between a gasp and a groan, a muted sound, disturbing by implication; a cry muttered, a scream suppressed.
‘Poor devil,’ said Hugo. ‘I wonder who it is?’
‘Ought we to find out?’
‘Maybe we ought. If you’ll tell me how we’re going to break down the door.’
‘I suppose that’s right,’ said Tammy. She went over to the grating in the door to listen. Then she turned the handle gently, and pushed. The door swung open.
The moon lit up the inside of the cellar, and they saw Prince Hussein. He was fastened, by a shackle round his left wrist, to a chain which ran up to a staple in the wall. The chain was so short that it held his arm above his head.
‘We’ll soon have the boy out of that,’ said Hugo. It was only when he came closer that he saw there was something wrong with the arm.
Hussein said, ‘It’s broken.’
They stared in blank disbelief.
‘You mean to say,’ said Tammy, ‘they’ve hitched him up by his broken arm. For God’s sake.’
Hugo looked at the boy. His face was drained of colour. He guessed that he must be very near to passing out. The thought of what would happen, if he did faint, and put all his weight on the broken bone, turned Hugo’s stomach.
He said, ‘We can get him out, but it’ll have to be done very carefully. We’ve got to avoid any pressure on that arm. What I’m going to do is lift the boy up in my arms until the chain is quite slack. You then push the thin end of the bar through the staple in the wall, put all your weight on that flat end – wrap this handkerchief round the cross bolt, it’ll give you a firm grip – and put your weight on the bar.’
It was a good idea. What was wrong with it was Tammy’s weight.
After a long minute she said, ‘It moved a little. I’ll swear it did. I doubt if I’ll ever get it out, though.’
‘All right. We change places. You’ll have to hold Hussein. Not in your arms. I don’t think you’re strong enough. I’m going to put him piggyback on your shoulders.’
‘I’m all right,’ said Hussein faintly. ‘A little jerk on my arm won’t kill me.’
‘It won’t be necessary. Kneel down, Tammy. That’s right. I’m going to put his legs over your shoulders. Get hold of his ankles. Then I’m going to lift him whilst you straighten up. Right?’
‘Right,’ said Tammy. It came out like a gasp.
When they were in position, Hugo picked up the bar and pushed it right through the staple until the flat end was resting on the wall. Then he got one foot against the wall, gripped the other end of the bar in both hands, and heaved with all the considerable strength of his shoulder muscles. The staple came out like a cork out of a bottle.
Hugo picked himself up off the floor. He said, ‘The next thing is to make some sort of sling. We’ll have to use a piece of Hussein’s robe. Have you got that nail file?’ He worked the point into the cloth, tore out a long strip, knotted it round Hussein’s neck, and eased his left arm into the fold. ‘We can’t do much about the chain. Tuck it inside your shirt. Let’s get moving.’
As they were walking across to the door Hussein said, ‘Thank you, Mr. Greest.’
‘You can thank me when we’re out of here,’ said Hugo. ‘We’ve a long way to go.’
‘We will get out now. It will not be too difficult. I will show you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I will show you the way.’
At the cellar door he turned left, away from the stairs they had come down. As soon as they left the area of the door they were in blackest darkness.
‘It will be better if we keep hold of each other,’ said Hussein. Hugo held the back of his shirt. Tammy grabbed Hugo’s arm. They went forward very slowly. They turned a corner. A long time afterwards they turned a second corner. They seemed to be going downhill.
Hugo felt his feet slipping and saved himself by grabbing Tammy’s arm with his free hand.
Hussein said, ‘It is damp. You must walk carefully.’ And a little later, ‘The smell will not be good. I am sorry.’
‘No need to apologise,’ said Hugo.
There was an inch of slime underfoot now. The smell was far from good.
<
br /> Hussein had stopped. He seemed to be feeling the wall with the fingers of his right hand. He said, ‘When I was a young boy, I knew all these cellars and passages. My father did not like me getting out of the Palace. There were five or six ways I could get out. He had them all blocked up. But this one he never found.’
‘I don’t really blame him,’ said Hugo. Would it be safe to use a light?’
‘You have a torch?’
‘I’ve got a cigarette lighter.’
‘That, no. A flame might ignite the gas. No matter, I have found what I want. We go ten paces forward from here. We may sink down a little. It will be better not to breathe too much.’
Ahead of them was a faint greyness. It was hardly a light, more a shading of the dead blackness in which they moved. As they went forward Hugo felt himself sinking, first to his calves, then to his knees in the indescribable filth which had accumulated at the bottom of this sump.
Hussein stopped. He was staring upwards at what was clearly an air vent. The opening was level with their heads, and it sloped upwards and outwards at a sharp angle. The top, they could see now, was blocked by a grid.
Hussein said, ‘I drove in small pieces of iron. You can feel them with your hands. It is quite easy to climb. When you reach the top you will find the grating unfastened.’
Quite easy to climb, thought Hugo. For someone with two good arms that might be true. But what about Hussein? He put that problem on one side for the moment.
Once he had started, it was not difficult. He simply felt for the next hand-hold and foot-hold and hoisted his way up. When he reached the grating he got his shoulders under it, and heaved. It was held down only by the weeds and small bushes which were choking the outlet, and pivoted open.
Hugo extracted himself cautiously. He had surfaced behind the Palace, and some fifty yards from it. The moon was three parts of the way through its nightly orbit, fading in glory now, but still strong enough to pale the stars.
Hugo took three deep, slow breaths, and then turned to the problem in hand.
The 92nd Tiger Page 18