by Sapper
“There’s a light filtering through a crack in the wall, Peter. In the outhouse. Don’t you see it? And, by Jove!” his grip tightened, “we’re not the only prowlers abroad tonight. Somebody passed across the light just then.”
We stood there motionless, scarcely breathing, staring into the darkness. I could see the light distinctly now, shining probably through the hinge of the door. But no further shadow blotted it out: the other nocturnal wanderer, whoever he was, was lying up in the darkness now like us.
“It is the possibility of a dog that I’m afraid of,” whispered Hugh. “It might have been one of the household who is walking about.”
Cautiously, a step at a time, we crept nearer. And after a while I became conscious of a curious noise. It would last for perhaps ten seconds: then cease abruptly. And after a pause it would be repeated. Hugh heard it too: I could just see the outline of his face beside me peering ahead trying to locate it.
For the third time it came: but on this occasion an unmistakable sound of splintering occurred in the middle, and one part of the problem was solved. Someone was sawing wood, and I almost laughed. If after all our elaborate precautions we were to find old man Spragge cutting up tomorrow’s firewood the jest would be rather rich.
As we drew nearer it was obvious that the sound came from the outhouse: saw, pause, saw, pause. And whoever it was who was producing it he certainly wasn’t working overtime. The pauses grew longer, the noise shorter, and when at length we reached the wall of the building the sawing seemed to have ceased altogether. From inside came the occasional sound of a person moving about, and once some tool fell with a metallic clang on the floor.
We were some two yards from the chink of light, and I could see that Hugh was looking keenly all round us. It was obvious what was worrying him, and I, too, searched the darkness intently. If we had seen the other watcher in the light from the door, he, in his turn, would be able to see us if we peered through. And that was the last thing we wanted. If he was a member of the household he would give the alarm: if he was one of the opposing side we should have given ourselves away completely. And so for five minutes we stared into the night, but without success. No trace could we see of him: he seemed to have vanished completely.
At last came Hugh’s whisper in my ear –
“We’ll chance it, crouch low,” and inch by inch he edged his way to the door. I followed close behind him on my hands and knees, with the youngster just on my heels. I could hear his excited breathing, and truth to tell I was getting well worked up myself. Were we going to see anything inside, or would it turn out to be a false alarm?
Very gradually Hugh straightened himself up until he could see through the crack. For a moment or two he stared and I saw a look of amazement appear on his face. Then he went on and I took his place.
The scene was an astounding one. The illumination came from half a dozen candles which stood on a rough carpenter’s bench. A saw and some tools were scattered about, but it was the worker himself who fascinated me. He was sitting on an overturned box, and in the course of my life I have never seen a more bestial face. He was clean shaven save for a short moustache. His mouth was a little open as he worked, and the light shone on a row of yellow teeth, from which two were missing. His nose was flattened, and a great red scar ran down one cheek from the temple almost to the chin. His eyebrows were bushy, and once when he happened to glance up I saw his eyes glaring with a kind of animal ferocity. He paused in his work, too, at that moment and shook both his fists in the air as at some imaginary enemy. And his expression was that of a homicidal maniac.
Never, in fact, unless I had seen it, would I have believed that any living thing, who bore the outward semblance of a man, could have presented such an utterly devilish appearance. He fascinated me, so that I stared and stared until Hugh nudged me in the ribs. And then only did I force myself to look away from him at the work he was doing.
At first I couldn’t make it out. He had beside him two or three slats of wood each about a foot long, two inches broad and an inch thick. There was an augur hole at each end of the slats, and through these holes he was passing two ropes. And then it suddenly dawned on me: the man was making a rope ladder. I looked on the floor at his feet, and saw the ends of the top ropes were attached to a canvas sack about the size and shape of a bolster. And at last I got it, but not before Hugh had pulled me forcibly away, and performed the same office on young Freckles, who had nearly given the whole show away by an audible gasp when he had looked in.
“Damn it,” muttered Hugh irritably, “you blokes might have been getting your money’s worth at a peep-show in a circus.”
We were sitting on the ground some sixty yards away from the house, under cover of a hedge.
“I saw all there was to see in two seconds,” he went on. “And for the love of Pete don’t forget we’re not the only people here tonight.”
“What was that horror doing?” said Scott. “I’ve never seen such an awful looking specimen in my life.”
For a moment or two Hugh hesitated.
“Well, young fellow,” he said at length, “I fear that his present mission in life is fairly obvious. When you see a man making a rope ladder it is safe to assume he wants to climb something. And when you further see a big canvas sack at one end of the rope ladder, it is not difficult to spot what it is he wants to climb. That sack will just lie nicely between the spikes on Granger’s wall, and will anchor the top of the ladder into the bargain. And when he gets to the top he can sit on the sack, throw the ladder down the inside of the wall, and there you are.”
“You mean to say,” stammered Freckles, “that that beast, that damned murderous swine, is going to get into Temple Tower? With Pat there? Not on your life, Drummond. If you won’t go for him now, by God, I will!”
He had scrambled to his feet, and I could hear his quick agitated breathing.
“Sit down and shut up,” said Hugh curtly. “I am not going for him now, and he’d eat you with one hand. Sit down, youngster,” he went on kindly. “I guess it is a bit of a shock to you, but we’ve got to do a bit of thinking. No good has ever come yet of barging in like a bull in a china shop, and whatever may be that beauty’s intentions in the future, he’s perfectly safe where he is at present.”
CHAPTER 4
In which the necessity for sparking plugs is proved
And so for the next quarter of an hour we sat there discussing the thing in whispers. The feeling of incongruity, almost of the ridiculous, in three grown men prowling about Romney Marsh at night, which I at any rate had experienced, even if only slightly, had disappeared: we were face to face with reality, and pretty grim reality at that.
That this horrible, bestial individual was preparing to get into Temple Tower was obvious. And that his reason for doing so was not to pay a polite call was equally obvious. That it had been Granger who was in his mind when he had paused in his task and shaken his great fists in the air I was sure. But beyond that there was still much that was obscure. We had learned something of vital importance it was true, but the one ray of light we possessed only seemed to make the surrounding darkness more impenetrable.
Was this brute sitting in the outhouse the man we had heard snoring? Was he the man who had flashed the red and blue warning to the house on the hill? Whose was that other shadowy form that we had seen cross the light through the door? And most curious of all, what was the connection if any between this animal man and the Vandalis? Were they working in conjunction, or was the maker of rope ladders playing a lone hand?
That his object was to get at Granger was, as I have said, clear. And as Hugh said, if Granger knew that this specimen was after him his precautions were comprehensible. But was it only his life they were after, or was there something concealed in Temple Tower that they wanted as well?
“I give it up,” said Hugh at length. “We don’t know enough yet
to say. But our evening has not been wasted: we’ve got another player taped all right. And as I don’t think we can do more, I suggest home and hitting the hay. The only thing I wish is that we could spot that other bloke, but it is hopeless on a night like this.”
But we were destined to have one more glimpse of him. Even as we rose the door of the barn opened, and the ladder maker stood there framed in the light. We had only seen him sitting before; standing up he seemed more horrible than ever. He was a short man, but his arms were abnormally long, and he looked for all the world like a huge misshapen ape. Then he turned back, blew out the lights, and as he did so we crept nearer the house. It was just possible we might learn something, and the night was yet young.
He opened the door and went in, and shortly afterwards a light shone through the curtains of one of the rooms facing the road. As luck would have it the window was open, and as we crept along the side of the house we heard voices.
“It is cursed foolishness, I tell you,” came in Spragge’s snarling voice. “You’ve done it twice now, and it is bound to attract attention.”
“I agree with Spragge.” It was Mrs Spragge speaking. “Those two men this afternoon – what were they doing except trying to find things out?”
And then I, at any rate, got the shock of my life. For the voice that answered them was soft and musical. It was as if one had suddenly discovered some priceless gem of beauty in a filthy pigsty. At first, in fact, I could hardly believe that it was the bestial monstrosity speaking.
“Mes amis,” he said gently, “it is for the last time. My ladder is nearly finished; soon, very soon the moment will come. It matters not to me what these two Englishmen suspect: maybe it is just idle curiosity on their part. It is no offence against your laws to flash a red light and then a blue across the Marsh. There is nothing here which all the world may not see. But those lights – they are seen by him. And he knows what they mean. And his soul is sick with terror because he knows that death is near. Moreover he knows” – and now the voice grew, if anything, more gentle and sweet – “that that death will not be quick. Not for him the swift bullet that shatters the brain. But a death of lingering agony – a death which makes him welcome death as a lover welcomes his mistress. My arms will be about him, and when I have torn him limb from limb my hands will squeeze the last fleeting breath from his body. Ah! yes – he knows. Once more shall he see the lights, to remind him that I am still here. And then we will go to bed.”
“You talk too much,” grumbled Spragge. “And don’t you forget, Mister, what you promised us after it was all over.”
“I shall not forget,” said the other contemptuously. “Now turn out the light.”
Came a sudden darkness, and we crouched there enthralled. Had it been said blusteringly, had the voice been what one would have expected from such a being, half the effect would have been lost. But those soft melodious, gentle words carried with them an icy thrill, impossible to set down on paper. And whatever might have been Granger’s crime in the past, I felt sorry for him if this man ever got hold of him.
Suddenly there came a sharp hissing noise, and a bright red light shone out. And then things happened quickly. I had a brief glimpse of a man silhouetted in the light not twenty yards away: of the beast-faced ladder maker staring out above our heads, and then the light went out. He too had seen the man, and with a grunting cry he hurled himself through the open window and crashed past us so close that we could almost have touched him. For a while we heard him blundering round in the darkness, searching for the other watcher. The instant he had jumped past us Hugh, fearing that Spragge might join in the search, had risen and led the way round the house in the direction away from the front door. Which was just what did happen, and for some ten minutes, hidden behind a small tool shed we listened to the two men as they searched. But it was useless – the mysterious unknown had disappeared completely – and at length they gave it up and returned to the house.
“Couldn’t find an elephant on a night like this, let alone a man,” came Spragge’s growling voice. “It’s your damned fault anyway, playing with those fool lights.”
“My friend,” said the other, “the man was there anyway. The light merely discovered him.”
“Probably that swine who was here this afternoon,” said Spragge, and then their voices died away as they got round the corner of the house.
The front door shut with a bang, and still we stayed on. Was anything further going to occur? Would the ladder maker still insist on flashing his signal across the Marsh, or would he follow Spragge’s advice and give it up? Apparently it was to be the latter, for shortly after a light appeared in one of the upper windows. Then that, too, went out, and the house was in darkness.
The charming trio had retired for the night.
“Come on,” said Hugh. “I think we’ve seen all we are likely to tonight.”
We skirted along by the footpath until we reached the dyke, and though it seemed to me that the need for precaution had gone, I noticed that Hugh still moved with the utmost caution. And it wasn’t until we had put a good half mile between us and the farm that he relaxed his vigilance.
“There is an air of efficiency about this bunch,” he remarked, “that behoves us to be careful. Spragge and his spouse are negligible: even the handsome bloke making ladders seems to have his intentions cut and dried. But it is the others.”
“Do you think there were more than one there tonight?” I said.
“Ask me another,” he answered. “There may have been half a dozen for all I know. On the other hand, the man who showed up in the light, and the man who crossed the outhouse door may be one and the same person. But one thing is cleared up anyway: he and that horrible brute are not working in collusion.”
“It is possible,’’ said Freckles, “that he is a detective who is after the other swine.”
“As you say, young fellow, it is possible,” agreed Hugh. “The trouble is that there are the hell of a lot of things that seem to me to be possible. But one thing is quite definitely certain. We’ve got to get that girl of yours out of Temple Tower in the near future. She’s not in any danger tonight – so there is no need to worry at the moment. But in view of the prospective caller, I think she will have to have a telegram recalling her to London.”
“I’ve never thought of such a specimen,” said Freckles. “He made one positively sick to look at.”
“You noticed his slight accent, Peter,” said Hugh. “And the way he started, Mes amis. The whole darned bunch are foreigners.”
“What I principally noticed was his voice,” I said. “A voice like that from such a man is the most astounding thing I’ve ever known.”
We walked on briskly. Now that the thing was over for the night the thought of bed was becoming increasingly attractive, especially as our long spell without movement at the farm had made us all a bit chilly. The motorboat loomed up as a welcome halfway landmark, and shortly after we left the dyke and struck off right-handed.
“Sometime,” said Hugh, “when we’ve got a spare moment, we might follow that dyke down to the sea. Though it seems pretty obvious that it must be clear. Also we might make a few discreet inquiries concerning the boat itself.”
At last the car hove in sight, and with a sigh of relief young Freckles fell into the back seat.
“Thank the Lord no one has pinched that,” he remarked sleepily. “Every garment I possess is full of sand, and – Good Lord! won’t she start?”
Most emphatically she wouldn’t start: moreover the engine, when Hugh pressed the self-starter, was making the most peculiar noise.
“What the devil has happened?” he said grimly. “Has she been tampered with?”
He got down and opened the bonnet: then he gave a low whistle. He had flashed an electric torch on to the engine, and by its light, propped up inside, I saw a piece of paper.
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br /> “‘This is no business of yours, Captain Drummond,’” he read out slowly. “‘There are quite enough people engaged in it already without you butting in. This is only a small warning and punishment for what you have done up to date: next time, if you should be so ill-advised as to let there be a next time, you will be hurt.’
“Is that so?” said Hugh softly, and then he began to laugh. “Stung, you fellows, stung good and proper. We’re either here for the night or we’ve got to walk.”
“What’s happened?” demanded Freckles.
“Our friendly correspondent, my lad,” said Hugh, “in addition to embarking on a literary career has amused himself by removing all the sparking plugs. And cars have grave difficulty in running without sparking plugs.”
“Haven’t you got any spare ones?” I asked.
“One – possibly two. But not six. Damn it – I’m not a walking garage.”
“Where is the nearest garage?” cried Freckles.
“Rye,” said Hugh laconically. “And even if we got there the chances of waking them up are remote.”
We looked at one another blankly – the significance of this new development was overshadowed for the moment by the physical annoyance of the thing. We were all tired, and here we were, four or five miles from anywhere, planted with an immovable motorcar.
“Well, there’s only one thing to be done,” said Hugh at length. “One of us must go to Rye and throw bricks at the first garage until someone does appear on the scene. Let’s toss: odd man out goes.”
“It would be me,” said Freckles resignedly, as we looked at the coins. “Well, chaps, when my bootless body is found dead in a ditch, tell Mother that it wasn’t the effect of alcohol.”
We watched him go off down the road, and Hugh grinned.