Safe Custody and Laughing Bacchante

by Dornford Yates

  I touched Mansel’s arm, and he nodded.

  As Sloper passed me, I struck, and Mansel caught his body and laid it gently down.

  “Who is the third man? Orris?”

  “That’s right,” I said.

  Mansel approached the garage and lifted his voice.

  “I want you, Orris,” he said. “So come straight out and keep your hands in the air. If you don’t within ten seconds, I’m going to fire into the garage; and if you’re in the way of the bullet, it’ll be just too bad.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation.

  Then—

  “Coming, sir,” said Orris, and out he came.

  Mansel drew his flashlight and threw the beam on the door.

  “Walk to that door, Orris. You’ll have to pick your way or you’ll tread on the dead.”

  “ — ! ” said Orris.

  “Exactly. You see what comes of trying to mix it with me. Is Punter with you tonight?”

  “No — fear,” said Orris. “I wish ’e was.”

  “Why d’you wish that?”

  Orris let go.

  The horrid threats which distinguished his lengthy reply soon showed that our assumption was perfectly right. Punter had led his companions to Wagensburg—not, of course, in person—and had furnished them with a plan, the omissions of which were outstanding, few details of which were correct. This was not wholly his fault, for since he had visited the castle, considerable changes had been made; still, while laying great stress upon the courtyard, as being the castle’s hub, and insisting that that was a place at which no light should be shown, he had failed to disclose that in the courtyard itself were four or five well-grown trees, to say nothing of a well, with a parapet two feet high. His unsuspecting colleagues had discovered these picturesque features in the most painful of ways, and to Orris had belonged the distinction of finding the well. This he had almost entered, for the parapet tripping him up, he had fallen heavily forward, to encounter nothing but space. How he had saved himself, he had no idea, but the venture had deeply shocked him, as well it might. Yet, upon his declaring his repugnance to what he had found, instead of receiving the sympathy which was his due, he had been, as he put it, “cursed silly,” for daring to raise his voice. From that most pregnant moment, Orris had lost all interest in what was coming; for him, the enterprise was poisoned—by pain and fright and, curiously, most of all, because he must keep to himself his agony of body and mind. Indeed, he made no attempt to disguise the relief he felt at being made prisoner.

  How Mansel kept a straight face, I do not know; I confess I was shaking with laughter before the rogue was halfway through his recital of blood and tears.

  “Go over him, William, will you?”

  I found a pistol and flashlight—the flashlight, no doubt, which had stood us in such good stead.

  We took him into the house, turned him into the still room and locked the door.

  “And now,” said Mansel, “before we go any further, please put me wise. I was awaiting the Rolls; instead, your cigarette case alighted beside my chair. It seems that you’ve saved my life, but I’d love to know how.”

  My tale was soon told.

  “By God,” said Mansel, “but what a stroke of luck. If Orris hadn’t been sore, he wouldn’t have lighted his torch; if you hadn’t passed at that moment, you wouldn’t have been forewarned—and Friar would have got you first, and then me, before you were cold. For I should have come to the door, as I always do. William, we must be more careful. Fancy forgetting that Punter knew this place.”

  Be sure I agreed with him.

  Then I went off to call Carson, to send him for Bell, while Mansel inspected my victims and took their pistols away.

  I never got as far as the courtyard, for Carson met me halfway.

  He was out of breath, for he had been running fast.

  “The German, sir,” he panted. “They must have been trailing Friar, an’ now they’ve found his car at the foot of the drive.”

  “Are they on their way up?”

  “By now, sir.”

  “Come along,” I said.

  I turned and ran the way I had come.

  Mansel looked up from the business of searching Friar.

  “What is it, William?”

  “The Boche.”

  Mansel straightened his back.

  “Where?”

  “On his way to the courtyard.”

  For a moment Mansel considered this very unpleasant news. Then he gave his orders as quietly as if we had hours to spare.

  “Carson, our two dispatch cases. Everything else we must leave. Take them through the covert and wait on the other side. William, get Orris out and switch off every light. Between you, pick up Friar and carry him into the covert. I can manage Sloper—he looks pretty light.”

  Two minutes later, Friar and Sloper, still senseless, were lying out of sight in the thicket; and Orris, now thoroughly scared, was standing on the edge of the meadows, listening to Mansel’s words.

  “If you don’t fancy foreign prisons, you’d better do as I say. Pick up those two cases.” Orris obliged. “This is my servant, Carson. From now you are in his charge.” Mansel turned to Carson. “Tie a cord to his wrist and make him walk in front. If he gives any trouble, shoot him and shove his corpse in the ditch.”

  “Shan’t give no trouble, sir.”

  “Bell’s got the Rolls at the junction. Get there as quick as you can. Keep her moving till daybreak, always touching our bridgehead once in the hour. When it’s light, you must lay her up, and one of you come to the bridge. Bind Orris hand and foot and keep him on the floor of the car.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “They’re here,” said I. “I saw the beam of a flashlight.”

  “Good,” said Mansel. “Come on,” and led the way back. We came to the edge of the covert.

  “The garage is empty,” said a voice.

  “Blockhead!” hissed the German. “Can you be quiet?” With the greatest caution, five figures reconnoitered the building. Then, after a consultation we could not hear, one, who was not the German, ventured to open the door.

  His reluctance to enter the house was very clear, and the German was dancing with impatience before the fellow had done as he dared not do himself. Indeed, he would not go in, till the four had preceded him and had declared the coast clear. Then he stamped his way into the quarters, shouting for lights.

  “Excellent,” said Mansel. “Those fellows must hate his guts.”

  “If they had any guts themselves, they’d put him down.”

  After, perhaps, two minutes, the five reappeared.

  “They are clearly out,” said the German, “but they will soon come in. Their soup is simmering, and their table is laid. So put out the lights again and close the door. Viller will go down the drive, to announce their coming by flashlight; Benz will watch for his signal and pass it on. March.”

  On this blunt command, two of the five moved down the road of approach. “Wessel will go to the courtyard and bring back two men. Hasten, fool. Who told you that Mansel would wait for you to return?”

  Wessel plodded off the way he had come.

  “And what of Herr Friar?” said the policeman who had not moved.

  “God in heaven,” said the Boche. “And can you not work that out? We surprised Herr Friar, my friend. And since the last thing that he wants is collision with us, Herr Friar has faded away. Be sure, he is cross—very cross. But that is the jackal’s fate, when the lion appears. He can have what is left, of course.”

  There was a little silence, during which, after cocking an ear, the German took out his case and lighted a cigarette.

  The other man cleared his throat.

  “You will forgive me, Herr Boler, but what, when they return, are you proposing to do?”

  “Arrest them, of course,” said the Boche.

  “Upon what charge?”

  “Of failing to register.”

  “So far as we kno
w, they have stayed at no hotel.”

  The German stamped his foot.

  “They are living here without the owner’s consent.”

  “Perhaps,” said the other. “But that is the owner’s affair.”

  “Then think of some other charge. These men must be detained.”

  “It is all very well,” said the other, “but they are Englishmen.”

  “That is in itself good cause for letting the swine rot in prison for twenty years.”

  “I am thinking of this,” said the other, “that, if, as a result, there is trouble, the blame will fall upon me. You have no official position and cannot be touched; but I am the Chief of Police and I shall have to answer for any action we take.”

  The other tapped the ground with his foot.

  “You white-livered hound,” he said. “The Reich has sent me here to stiffen your rubber spine—to drain the tea from your veins and introduce blood. I have laid bare an attempt to smuggle out of your country—”

  “All surmise,” said the other. “Proof, you have none.”

  “I have the proof,” screamed the Boche. “My agent was in the castle and found them at work.”

  “I know nothing of that. I confess their behavior is strange. They can be asked to explain it. But we have no right to arrest them for what we cannot prove they have done.”

  “They shall be detained,” said the German. “On that I insist.”

  “Of what is the use? Detention will not give you the treasure you say they have seized.”

  “My friend,” said the German, “you have a great deal to learn. Detain them for forty-eight hours, and I will guarantee that, ere that time has expired, the treasure will be in our hands. I know how to make people talk.”

  The other stood very still.

  Then—

  “Herr Boler,” he said, “the line you are seeking to take is extremely grave. And I am responsible.”

  The German leaned forward.

  “Play me false,” he hissed, “and you lose your job. Within twenty-four hours of your failure, a note will leave my country, desiring the instant dismissal of the Chief of the Robin Police. Do you think that desire will be questioned?” The other drew in his breath. “Exactly. No post, no pension, no money. You and your wife and daughter, begging your bread. But render me all assistance to lay these swine by the heels, and you shall be promoted to Salzburg within the week.”

  “Salzburg is not vacant.”

  “If I wish it to be vacant, it will be. Depend upon that. And Robin will be vacant, if I choose to say the word.” On a sudden he threw up his head. “Is that a car? Where the devil’s that booby, Wessel? Go and get him. I’ll call the others in.”

  With that, he ran to the drive, while the other stood watching for a moment and then strode off to the left.

  This shows how poor a soldier the Boche would have made. There was no car to be heard; he did not wait for the signal which Benz was to give. Instead he kept flashing his flash-light, to call in the men he had posted to warn him of our approach.

  Until I saw Mansel behind him, I never knew he had moved.

  Then he touched the German’s shoulder . . .

  The latter let out a whoop, and started about, when Mansel hit him square on the point of the chin.

  “Three’s lucky,” he said, shortly, as I came to his side. “Into the covert with him, and let Viller and Benz go by. Then we carry him off and make for the bridge.”

  And so we did.

  First Benz and then Viller came by at a steady trot, but we were too far from the house to observe the return of the rest. At once we entered the meadows, bearing the German between us and making what haste we could.

  There was a byre in the combe, and we carried his body in and threw it down.

  “And now for the Rolls,” said Mansel. “God send they haven’t just left.”

  We had to wait twenty minutes before the Rolls came by.

  “Free Orris,” said Mansel, as Bell brought the car to rest, “and turn him out.”

  A moment later the fellow was down in the road.

  “Listen to me, Orris. The police are up at the castle and have your car.”

  “Gawd ’elp.”

  “I think I’m the better bet. Walk back down this road till you come to a village called Lerai. That is the one you went through to get to the castle drive. You turn to the right at Lerai and cross the bridge. Get back to the foot of the drive and use your eyes. When the police go away, come up to the house and report. You can, of course, try to double-cross me, but, if you do, Orris, as sure as I’m standing here, I’ll blow your brains through the back of your rotten head.”

  “That’s all right, sir. Punter’s tole me your shape.”

  And then we were in the Rolls and were flying over the bridge.

  Three minutes later, perhaps, we were back at Wagensburg.

  This time we had run with lights, and as we slid out of the covert, these revealed two figures standing against the wall.

  “Hullo, who’s there?” cried Mansel, and set a foot on the brake.

  There was a hurried consultation.

  Then one of the two came forward and took off his hat.

  “We are the police, sir,” he said. “Our chief will be here in a moment. And he will explain our presence better than I.”

  “That’s all right,” said Mansel, and left his seat. “Put her away, Carson, and Bell shall give us some food. Tell your chief we’ve gone in, will you? If he’s as thirsty as I am, I’ll lay he can do with a drink.”

  We had washed and were sitting at table, before the Chief of the Police made bold to enter the room.

  The man looked ill at ease and worried to death.

  “Sit down, pray,” said Mansel. “No, I insist. You must forgive us for dining, but three of us have eaten nothing all day. But we cannot dine, unless you will drink with us. May I pour you a brandy and soda?”

  The poor man looked helplessly round, and Mansel mixed the liquor and put it into his hand.

  “Monsieur is very kind.”

  “Nonsense,” said Mansel, “nonsense,” and raised his glass.

  The other did the same and drank long and deep.

  “And now,” said Mansel, “what can we do for you?”

  The man put a hand to his head.

  “Forgive me,” he said, “but your movements interest us.”

  “Do you find them irregular? I mean, we know Austria well and have very often made her our hunting ground. There is hardly a stream hereabouts that I have not fished. And I used to own this castle—not very long ago.”

  The man was staring.

  “You owned Wagensburg?”

  “Yes. I spent a summer here, but I tired of the place. And then, you know, I had a whim to come back. I fear I have asked no permission, but we are doing no harm, and are using the servants’ quarters, as you can see. But we shall not be here much longer. We have to get back to England—and, to be frank, your country is not what it was.”

  “Alas, that is only too true, sir. I am but one of many who are alarmed.”

  “No doubt you know more than I do. But I can tell you this, that I have not visited Germany since the war. I never liked the Germans, but I can never forgive them for what they did. Austria was a cat’s paw—I bear her no such ill will. But upon this, my latest visit, a German enters my room in a private house. It was when I was staying at Hohenems, Mr. Ferrers’ home. He enters my room with a warrant—a German in Austria. He vapors about some treasure which I am trying to steal. . . . Well, I do not like such treatment. That is why I left Hohenems. That is why I sought refuge here, for I wished to avoid his attentions for the rest of my stay. You see, I dislike the German. For me, he taints the air. So when I leave Austria this time, I do not think I shall come back.”

  The man had his eyes on the ground.

  “I have always liked the English,” he muttered. “All that has happened has been most distasteful to me. But, believe me, sir, I cannot help
myself. So long as this beast is at Robin, I have to do as he says.”

  “Do you refer to that very vulgar upstart who came to Hohenems?”

  “That is the German, sir, whose orders I have to obey.”

  “Has he sent you here?”

  “He brought us here, sir, this night. And now he has disappeared.”

  “Why did he bring you here? What wrong have we done?”

  “None that I know of, sir. He maintains that you have a treasure, which you are seeking to smuggle out of the country, as soon as may be.”

  “But—”

  “Monsieur, it is his idea. He has no evidence. Again and again I have asked him to give me something to go on—some grains of foundation for his hypothesis. But all I receive is insult. I have not, perhaps, a very outstanding brain, but I was walking my beat when he was in swaddling clothes. And I know the law and my duty. If I had a case against you, English or no, be sure I should follow it up. But I have nothing against you—except that a gang of thieves led us here tonight.”

  “A gang of thieves?” said Mansel.

  The other nodded his head.

  “A gang of English thieves, whose leader is one Herr Friar.”

  “Friar?” said Mansel. “Friar? Is Friar a thief?”

  “What do you know of him, sir?”

  “I saw him in Salzburg,” said Mansel, “about a fortnight ago. He came up and claimed my acquaintance. I told him that he was mistaken and thought I had shaken him off. But that night he came to my rooms, and, to cut a long story short, I knocked him down. D’you say he’s here now? I suppose he hopes to get back.”

  The other spread out his hands.

  “All I know, sir, is this—that he led us here and his car is at the foot of the drive. And now tell me this, if you please. Could he have known you were going to Hohenems?”

  “No,” said Mansel, “he couldn’t. I didn’t know it myself. He may have known that I was a friend of the Ferrers’.”

  “Had you stayed at the castle before?”

  “Certainly. A year or two back.”

  “Then that explains it,” said the other. “That is why he forced himself on you. He has entered Hohenems once—but not as a guest. He desires to repeat his visit, and knowing that you had the entrée, he sought to improve an acquaintance that did not exist.”