“Father Herman had more,” said I.
“True, Benedict,” said Palin: “but the great probability is that when he was here he’d only his share of the clue. Besides, the swab was alone, and if there’s work to be done, I guess it’s a two-men job.” He frowned upon his champagne. “No, no. We must not be surprised. It might affect my palate—and you’ve still got twenty-two dozen of this incomparable wine. Oh, and the brandy.” He raised his eyes to heaven. “Sarem showed me the cellars this afternoon,”
I saw Hubert glance at his watch.
“Too late now,” said Palin. “If any patrol’s to go out, it must go out at dusk. But I think we can sleep sound to-night. After all, they’ve got to get going, and yesterday all but the Count had a tiring day. And I doubt if Punter has reported. In fact, if they feel they must have him, I think it more than likely they’ll have to round him up. He’s probably lying abed at some village inn.”
For all that, when dinner was done, while Olivia and Palin continued their fight with the cryptogram, Hubert and I paced to and fro on the ramparts, searching the night for the glow of a distant head light or the sudden gleam of a torch.
At eleven my lady joined us, but Palin went to the piano and played and sang: and I shall always remember strolling there in the darkness, with my wife’s slim arm upon mine and Palin’s melody leaping against the lisp of the fall. All our surroundings were gone: Sorcerer Night had melted them into an infinite space, and we moved on a hanging terrace under a breathless heaven, sown with a million stars.
Two hours later a stammer like that of a machine-gun tore some dream I was dreaming with a violence that knew no law.
I started up in bed dazedly.
The next instant I knew the truth.
The fire-alarm was ringing like fury.
Chapter 11. My Lady’s Chamber
In a flash I had switched on the light and had leaped for the door.
“John.”
I turned to see Olivia, barefoot, holding her dressing-gown about her, her beautiful hair all tumbled about her face.
“You can’t fight without shoes on, my dear. You’ll only have to come back.”
She was right, of course. If trouble was coming, I must be more or less clothed.
“Under the window,” I cried. “A rubber-soled pair.”
I turned to a drawer, whipped out a pair of trousers and dragged them on to my legs. Before I could button them up she had set some shoes by my feet.
“Your pistol and torch—where are they?”
I told her, and, when I was ready, she gave them into my hand.
“Go back to bed, I beg you,” was all I had time to say . . .
Though the landing was dim, lights were blazing on the staircase and down in the hall below. My cousin’s door was open; as I reached the head of the staircase I glanced behind to see Palin fling out of his room. All the time the alarm was pealing, drowning all other sounds in its distracting din.
Hubert was shouting in English.
“Stop that gong, for God’s sake: and send the sentry to me.”
Behind me, with the roar of a bull, Palin translated his words.
As I entered the gallery the deafening clamour ceased, to be succeeded by the unmistakable sound of a heavy blow upon wood.
“The postern!” cried Hubert. “You two go that way and I’ll go this.”
As we ran the way we had come I heard Palin talking to himself.
“No rehearsal: no orders: no nothing. It serves us damned well right.”
I shall never forget the scene in the long stone passage which gave to the postern door. The way along which we had stolen three nights before was now alive with servants variously armed. Pistol in hand, Stiven and the sentry stood on either side of the door of the room by which we had entered, from which was coming the sound of splintering wood. Beyond Stiven was crouching Sarem, with one hand grasping a shot-gun and the other outstretched as though to enjoin the indignant posse behind him to bide its time.
As we came up, Hubert thrust his way through the press.
“Ask the sentry what happened, Andrew.”
The man had been on the ramparts and, looking over the battlements before he withdrew had seen the flash of a torch on the postern steps. At once he had run and sounded the fire-alarm.
“This may be a feint,” said my cousin. “John, you and Andrew get back to the other side. Take five of these fellow’s with you and post them as you think best. Andrew, tell this sentry to make his way up to my room. He’s to turn out the light and watch the ramparts from there. If he sees anyone, he’s to fire.”
After a moment’s discussion our plans were laid.
I took two men and the sentry and ran the way I had come, while Palin took three and ran the way we had taken three nights before. I was to make for the gate-house, posting my men as I went, while he was for the servants’ quarters upon the opposite side. So we could command the courtyard if any attempt should be made to enter from there.
But neither of us was destined to gain the advantage he sought.
As I parted the heavy curtains which Father Herman had parted two nights before, I had the shock of my life.
The hall and the staircase were in darkness, and the front door stood wide open, admitting the cool night air.
For a moment I stared blankly. Then I saw the unsavoury truth.
We had indeed been caught napping. The attack on the postern was a feint, and the enemy was in.
I can never describe the anguish of being unable at this juncture to make myself understood.
Olivia was alone and unprotected; for all I knew, the enemy was up in her room. Yet, because I could speak no German I could not send word to Hubert, but must myself return to tell him the truth.
I turned and ran like a madman the way I had come . . .
My cousin should have been a soldier. Before I had finished speaking, his plans were made.
“Up the back stairs, John, to Olivia’s room. Stiven, to Mr. Palin and tell him all you know. Bring him to me by way of the gallery. I shall be in the hall at the foot of the stairs.”
That was as much as I heard, and twenty seconds later I was once more on the landing which served the four bedrooms we used. This was dimly lighted as when I had seen it last, and, though the others were open, Olivia’s door was shut.
I went to it straight, and knocked.
“Olivia,” I said, “it’s me.”
When she did not answer, I tried to open the door, but this was fast, so I entered her room by mine.
Again I called her—in vain. And when I had found a switch I saw that she was not there.
Trembling with anxiety, I ran to the head of the stairs.
“Olivia!” I cried. “Olivia! "
As her name passed my lips a streak of flame leaped out of the black of the hall and the deafening roar of a pistol drowned Hubert’s warning cry.
The bullet must have gone wide for I never so much as heard it, but I had the sense to fling myself on my face. As I did so, a second roar suggested that Hubert was returning the enemy’s fire.
Half-mad with apprehension, I tried to think what to do.
The enemy was at large in the castle and Olivia was not in her room. At the best that meant that she was in instant peril: at the worst that she was already in the enemy’s hands. What had happened was hideously clear. She had not gone to her bed, as I had desired; instead, she had left her chamber and had followed us down the grand staircase to see and hear what she could, and if, before she had got there, the lights had gone out she might very well have walked clean into the enemy’s arms.
My hair rose upon my head and I found myself murmuring something under my breath.
My darling from the power of the dog.
It occurred to me suddenly that the enemy was now in the older part of the castle. That, of course, had been his objective, for there, without any doubt, the treasure was hid. As though to confirm this conclusion, his fire had come from the pass
age which led that way.
Blessing the hours I had spent in learning my way about there, I began to crawl past the staircase towards the curtained archway which gave to the older building from the head of the stairs.
The next moment I was past the curtains and was treading the three stone steps . . .
Now two things must be remembered. First, in this part of the castle all the floors were of stone, and a man that was shod as I was could move as a cat; but, secondly, as though to balance this advantage, the sound of the fall without the castle was here just loud enough to embarrass the ear.
I did not believe that the thieves were upon the first floor, but though I could have gone down by more than one stair, it seemed best to go the length of the building and then descend, for so there was just a chance that I might take them in rear.
I, therefore, moved boldly forward, not daring to use my torch, but touching the wall with my hand and counting the doorways as I went. So, thanks to my labour that day, I knew very well where I was, and, one minute later, I was standing at the head of a stairway by the side of the main west wall.
The rush of the fall, now but some eight feet away, was here inconveniently loud, but this could not be helped and, using the greatest caution, I began to go down the stair. This was stone and spiral, and was made of eleven steps, and, before I was halfway down, I could see the glow of a torch.
On the last step but one I rested, straining my ears, and wondering whether to put out my head would be madness, for with sight and hearing denied me I could do nothing at all.
Then suddenly Punter spoke.
“It’s no good you gnashin’ your teeth: if you have to have a thick ear you’re not goin’ into that room.”
“Vengeance is mine,” mouthed Father Herman.
“And there you’re wrong,” said Punter. “I don’t care what she’s done; as long as we’ve got her tight we hold a hell of a hand, and if you can’t see that—”
“She is my niece,” said Father Herman.
“And our little bit,” said Punter. “Harris won her, you know. Not you.”
With his words I heard steps approaching: and then came Harris’ voice.
“The girl all right?”
“You bet,” said Punter. “But Holy’s a naughty boy. Give him his way, I believe he’d do her in.”
“She is a traitress,” hissed the priest.
“She’s my affair,” said Harris. “And now let’s see what you know. Where’s this wall you spoke of that’s got to come down?”
“I await my servants,” said the priest.
“The drawbridge is down,” said Harris. “If they don’t want to walk in that’s not my fault. I guess they’re scared of the firing. And now come on.”
“I regret,” said Father Herman. “When my servants arrive I will lead you the way you seek."
So pregnant was the silence which succeeded his words that even I could perceive the state of the game.
The entrance had been effected by Harris’ gang. They had, no doubt, entered the courtyard by way of the coach-house roof; then, while we were deceived by the feint at the postern-gate, one had entered the servants’ quarters, passed through the gallery, opened the front door and admitted his fellows to the hall. With these had entered the priest, who was to reveal the spot where the ‘vestments’ lay.
But Haydn did not trust Harris, and Haydn was not a fool . . .
In the drive without the castle stood Haydn’s men. And not until these had been admitted, to back him up, would Father Herman reveal the secret he knew. And these had not been admitted. Of that I was sure. Harris was lying when he said that the drawbridge was down. He had never meant to admit them. He did not mean to admit them, because they would spoil his game—which was to seize the treasure in Haydn’s teeth and then withdraw with his party by the way they had come. And Father Herman knew this . . . The thieves had fallen out.
As yet, the capture of Olivia did not affect the case. Only if the priest would not speak would Harris play against us the trump which he had picked up.
When the fellow spoke again he seemed to be striving to keep his voice under control.
“I’ll be honest with you,” he said. “Your men are in the courtyard: but the squirts are holding the hall so they can’t get into the house. If I was there to lead them I’d — soon have them in, but they’re not used to shooting and they’re staying out of the wet.”
“Let them enter by the window,” said the priest.
“And who’s to show ’em?” flashed Harris. “Who’s going to cross that hall and get a hole in his guts?”
“Mount this stair,” said the other, “and the passage above it will take you the length of the house. So you can go and return without—”
“I’m not your — lackey, and I didn’t come here to-night to play hide-and-seek.”
“My friend,” said the priest—I could see his uplifted hands—“be calm. A house divided against itself falleth. When my servants arrive to assist us—”
“You — sinner,” spat Harris, “don’t prate to me. For forty years you’ve been squatting outside this fort, and now I’ve opened the door and handed you in. And now, by God, it’s your turn. Spill your brains here and now, or I drop my end of the cord. I’ve got the girl, and she’s good enough for me. But don’t think you’re in on that deal. If I quit to-night without the goods, I leave you here.”
Now all the time they had been speaking I had been trying as well to listen as to decide what to do. Had it been day I would have gone down and shot Harris at point-blank range, but now the torch had been extinguished, and I was afraid of failing to kill my man. And if I tried, but failed, he would most surely kill me, and then Olivia was lost, for I alone knew that she was captive and where she was.
Thanks to our work that day, I knew the style of the chamber in which she was now confined. If my great-uncle’s judgment was good, it had been the dining-hall, for as such it was sparsely furnished with two tables running lengthwise and another running breadthwise and set on a little dais. This one was served by four or five massive stalls, but the others were flanked by benches or not at all.
I made up my mind that I must enter this room—if possible, unobserved, for so alone could I stand between my darling and Harris, to say nothing of Father Herman, who, though I could scarce believe it, would actually offer her violence if only he had the chance. More. I must enter at once, without any further delay, for Hubert or Palin might any moment arrive by the way I had come, and when Harris knew himself surrounded he would instantly join his captive to place himself in a position to make his infamous terms.
Now Harris and his companions were standing some three or four paces from the foot of the spiral stair, for that was the distance of the door of the room I sought. I, therefore, drew my pistol and stepped out into the passage with infinite care. At this moment no one was speaking, so that I had nothing to aim at—not even the sound of a voice, but as fast as I could press trigger, I fired three times at a venture into the dark.
I believe that they ran for cover like so many hares, but to this I cannot swear, for the roar of my pistol not only covered all sounds but left me half deaf myself for a quarter of an hour. Indeed, for all I knew, I might have butchered the three, but with that I was not concerned, for my one idea was to enter the dining-hall, and, before the echoes had faded, I flung myself at the door.
For a moment I fumbled for the latch . . . And then I was in and had my back to the oak.
“Olivia,” I cried.
I heard a sigh of relief.
“Are you all right, Olivia?”
“Yes, I’m all right. I—I might have cost you your life.”
“Where are you?” I used my torch. “Take this, my dear, and light me. We haven’t a second to lose. I’m going to get one of these tables against the door.”
As she took the torch—
“You’ll never be able,” cried Olivia. “I tried to move one of the benches, but I couldn’t get
it along.”
She was right. When I sought to move a table it might have been clamped to the floor.
Frantically I stooped to a bench, and, as I picked it up, the light of the torch went out.
Before I had time to exclaim, Olivia had gripped my wrist, and I knew she had perceived some danger of which I was not aware.
I afterwards learned that she heard the clack of the latch, which, because they still were singing, my ears had missed, but, as I stood there, still as death, with her fingers about my wrist and the heavy bench in my hands, the door of the room was shut.
The shock of that sound will stay with me so long as I live. That the door of the room had been opened had never entered my head. I supposed she had heard some sound in the passage without. I was ready for the door to be opened, but not for it to be shut. The peril I had thought was approaching had passed me before I knew.
There was nothing to be done but stand still and make no sound. I could not draw my pistol because of the bench in my hands, and I could not set down the bench because the sound would give our position away. Had I been alone . . .
Suddenly, out in the passage, a volley was fired.
Then I heard Hubert’s voice.
“Come on. The passage is clear.”
Then the indistinct sound of footsteps showed that this part of the castle was being ‘combed.’ Palin, no doubt, was still commanding the hall.
My cousin lifted his voice.
“John!” he cried. “John, where are you?”
It was plain that he was standing directly without the door. He and his men with him. And I, six paces away—I dared not reply.
With all my might I willed him to enter the room . . .
After a long moment—
“Post a man here,” said my cousin, “and tell him to watch these doors. If one of them moves, he’s to fire.”
“Very good, sir,” said Stiven’s voice.
Safe Custody and Laughing Bacchante Page 19