Friar jumped, as jumps a man who receives an electric shock—and then stood still, as though frozen, with his lips a little apart and his eyes like cold, gray glass.
Presently the lips closed, till I saw the set of his jaw; then the eyes began to move, shifting from side to side, but his head and his body stayed still. At last, very slowly, a hand went up to his lips.
“Hers is the proof,” he said thickly, “that Boler is going to produce.”
“I imagine so,” said Mansel.
“Use me,” said Friar, “and beat her. I meant to kill you last night, but I’ll work with you now.”
“Not on your life.”
After a long look, Friar shrugged his shoulders and turned. Then he spoke over his shoulder.
“ ‘Cry havoc!’ ’s all very well; but not when you’ve got a nonesuch under your arm. I assume you know what you’re risking.”
“The like of which,” said Mansel, “the world has never seen.”
Friar nodded.
“That’s right. And it’s not yours to risk?”
“No. It belongs to Ferrers.”
There was a little silence.
“Oh, well,” said Friar, looking up. “What did you do with Orris?”
“Orris was deported,” said Mansel.
“I beg your pardon,” said the other, cupping his ear.
Mansel made to lean out. Then he dropped sideways against me, forcing me to the left.
A bullet crossed the room, to enter the opposite wall.
When I peered over the sill, the man was gone.
“And there’s a viper,” said Mansel, as Carson entered the room. “It’s all right, Carson. Friar took a chance and missed it. I didn’t think he was armed. Don’t show up this side, for he may be in the covert. All the same, I think it likely he’ll make for his car. So try the courtyard, will you? Use one of the corridor windows. I don’t have to say ‘be careful,’ but I’d like to know he was gone.”
“You said he’d be cross,” I said, as Carson shut the door.
“I know. Had I said he’d be cunning, that would have been more to the point. The fellow set out to make me lower my guard. And damned near did it, William. If I had leaned out . . . When he turned, and then went on speaking, that made me think; for his right arm was out of my sight. And then he allayed my suspicion, by being so natural. . . . I’ve only myself to thank. And I searched him, too.”
“I should have bought it,” I said.
“No, you wouldn’t,” said Mansel. “He shouldn’t have cupped his ear.”
I left it there, although I shall always think that very few men would have read that gesture so well. Looking back, it is easy to see that, if Friar had been hard of hearing, he would not have heard what Mansel had said before, and that he made his movement as well to make Mansel lean forward as to enable him, Friar, to bring his pistol to bear; but Mansel’s brain was so swift that, even as the man acted, he could interpret his action and save the game.
Twenty minutes later, Carson returned, to say that Friar had driven away in his car, which the police had left. Sloper was certainly with him; but whether Orris was there, he could not say. Still, after what had occurred, we were taking no risks, and Bell or Carson played sentry from that time on. For one man to watch both drives was quite impossible; but by moving to and fro at the end of the house, he could keep an eye on the courtyard, as well as upon the covert, which lay on the other side. And since the neighborhood was extremely quiet, he could have heard a car coming while it was still a great way off.
So we came out of a pass which was quite unpleasant enough, but might have been worse.
And here perhaps I may say that what both of us found so trying throughout those hours was the forbidding fact that the treasure both parties were seeking was actually under their hand. Thanks, no doubt, to Diana, Boler believed that we had bestowed it somewhere six days before; when he found it was not in our quarters he very wisely decided to make us talk, rather than search a castle he did not know. (To search Wagensburg with effect would have taken three or four men at least three days.) Where Friar supposed it to be, I do not know. But had either dreamed that the gems were in the garage—within six feet of them, as they passed its mouth, the “showdown” which must have followed would have been awkward, indeed. Still, all ended well—thanks entirely to Orris, who gave me the danger signal just in time.
Chapter 4. The Play’s the Thing
At five o’clock that evening we left the castle for good. This with regret, for we had been comfortable there, and the place had suited us well. But, while it made a handsome retreat, once we were known to be there, it became a trap; for it could be approached from two sides, and unless we had been able to keep a continuous watch, a car could have been upon us before we knew it was there.
But now we had nowhere to go.
Orris had not reappeared, and we had little doubt that he had gone off with Friar. This was as well, for the man would have given more trouble than he was worth. Still, I had thought he would do as Mansel had said; and I was faintly surprised that he should have returned to Friar.
That night we passed in a forest, some thirty miles off; and though we had not the comfort of bed and bath, I confess I was glad to be sleeping beside our charge. Since the weather was fine and warm, we did very well.
Early the following morning, Bell packed into two kit bags the stuff he and I should need; and after an ample breakfast which Carson cooked and served, Mansel and I went strolling under the trees.
“I decline to worry,” he said. “You have found out the way, and you are going to take it as quietly and firmly as if it were Jermyn Street.
“As soon as you are able, send Bell with a written report about the weights. I’d like to load them as soon as ever we can, for if I should be taken, a hundred to one the Rolls will be put in balk. If you want another reason, once I’m rid of the stuff, I can distract friend Boler by trailing my coat. In other words, I call attention to B. I can be seen in Salzburg, lunch at Villach, be recognized in Innsbruck, and generally take the stage. But I must lie dead low, until we have made the transfer.
“Now for the smuggler’s way. That, of course, is your road. How you explain this movement I leave to you. I suggest that you should tell Jasper about the Boche. Say that you knocked him down and he’s out for blood. And so you prefer to leave by private path. But I leave it to you, William—you have a remarkable flair for picking up cues.” (This was untrue; for I am not “quick in the uptake,” as Mansel is. If a thing is thrust down my throat, I can usually swallow it; but Mansel can persuade his opponent to serve him with what he chooses, and as often as not, to stand behind his chair.) “But one thing is clear as paint—that is that you must not attempt to take with you the weights.” I bit my lip. “I know. You’ll be on tenterhooks, until you see them again. But for you to stick to them would be insanity.
“I’ll tell you why.
“In the first place, both Friar and Boler know that we dare not depute another to carry the treasure out. They have, therefore, eyes for us and for nobody else. So the stuff will be far safer, if you are nowhere near when it comes to the frontier line.
“In the second place, Jasper may well accept your decision to leave the country in an unorthodox way; but he would never swallow your proposal to take the weights—for that would be out of all reason. They are stage properties and go with the tents, costumes, and drums and whatever they have. Departure from such tradition would make a half wit think.
“Thirdly, strong as you are, to take such a way, so burdened, might well be beyond your power. If you met a patrol, you would be sunk, for the first thing that they would do would be to inspect the weights.”
I nodded reluctantly.
“I’m not going to argue,” I said, “for any one of your reasons is good enough. But to leave such stuff to make its own way out is a fearful thing.”
“Of course it is,” said Mansel. “I don’t have to tell you about the stuff I�
�ve carried, because on the greatest occasion you were there.”
“I know. And it shortened my life.”
“So it did mine. But I was never nervous—as I am now. To nobody else would I make this confession, William; but, honestly, I am nervous about this stuff. If I were superstitious, I could believe that Alec the Bad had laid a curse upon such as should handle the treasure he was at such pains to amass.”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“That may be so,” I said. “Three men died, trying to lift it five years ago. And Goat has been sacrificed.”
“That’s four,” said Mansel, and fingered his chin. “And Friar is in the running. I’ll take no more chances with him, and neither must you.
“One thing more. You’re to leave on Thursday; on Thursday evening, therefore, I shall get out. I shall make straight for Strasburg. I may be a little late, for they’re pretty certain to stop me and search the car. But I shall sit at Strasburg, until I have heard from you. Don’t wire there direct; wire, instead, to London—you know the address. They’ll forward it instantly. All Well will mean what it says; any other statement will bring me at once to the office of origin. If I get All Well, I shall leave for London and then for Trieste, so have a line waiting for me at The Heart of Gold.
“Finally, give me your passports—yours and Bell’s. Smugglers don’t have to have passports. But others find them useful now and again.”
Then we consulted the map, for we had to settle where Bell should go to meet Carson and other things. Then I wrote a letter to Jenny, saying I hoped to be back in another ten days—as, to tell the truth, I did; for I felt that, once I had entered Italy, we were as good as home. Friar could go to the devil—to whom he belonged. Once we were rid of the Boche, if Friar ran between my legs, I would break him in two. And that, without compunction, for of pure spite he had hanged a very millstone about our necks. And the man was a murderer.
Godel was very charming and made me think at once of the picture books I loved as a little boy. I saw it first from above, for the road from the East drops into it very sharply, in spite of a double bend. Indeed, it lies at the foot of a waterfall and athwart the tumbling torrent which this becomes. The torrent is spanned by a crooked, covered bridge, a rare enough feature to make a tourist gasp; but lying there in the sunshine, Godel itself would have warmed a painter’s heart. White walls, red roofs, black shadows, wearing, as though it were some order, a sash of the liveliest blue and, because of the meadows about them, seemingly set upon a cloth of emerald green—of such was the village that morning at half past nine.
Bell and I gazed for a little, before we descended the hill. Then we began to go down, in search of our inn. But this we found almost at once, by the side of one of the bends.
The Vat of Melody hung by the side of the fall. This its terrace commanded—the parapet was wet with the falling spray. And though it was but one of the village inns, because it boasted this valuable belvedere, its table was ready for strangers at any time. Few, no doubt, came across it, for Godel is off most maps; but a board, declaring its virtues, stood by the road, and I know that if I had been passing, I should have stopped.
It was there that Jasper joined us at half past ten. I introduced Bell to him and called for wine.
“And where is the troupe?” I said.
“The troupe is coming,” he said, “but not to this inn. It will go direct to the meadows, where we shall pitch our camp. They will not come by this way; but as soon as we see the caravan, we will go down. I usually walk on ahead, for the pace is set by mules, and does not suit me. Once I had to conform, sir, but, now that I am the master, I give myself leave.”
“You will have,” I said, “to give up calling me ‘sir’.”
Jasper shook his head.
“I have informed the troupe that you are a famous artiste, not long retired. Because once I did you a service, you have most handsomely offered to fill the breach.”
“But this is absurd,” I cried. “I have a certain strength, but I know no tricks and I am not excessively strong. The troupe will see through me at once.”
“Believe me, they will not,” said Jasper. “In the first place, I think I can judge your strength even better than you. In the second, I have explained that you are not now in training and so will be unable to do as you used. So you will be perfectly safe. And everyone understands that you have only come, on condition that your identity is not disclosed. So you will be Monsieur X.” He turned to look to the west. “See. There is the caravan. It is entering into the meadows, beyond the village itself.”
I got to my feet.
“Then let us be going,” I said. “If I am to take the plunge, let me take it as soon as I can.”
Looking back, I shall always consider that Jasper’s tale was far better than any that I could have told. All my shortcomings were forgiven, because I was a notable man; my eccentricities were accepted, and the honor which I was conferring upon the troupe blinded them to the gaucherie which I must have constantly shown. Happily, I was able to do what Ulysses had done—a fact which made me think that a strong man’s reputation may not be always deserved. There are, of course, certain tricks which cannot be mastered at once, which appear imposing indeed, when they are grandly performed. But these are not truly the feats of strength which they seem. But then, a strong man is a showman, and the efforts he seems to make at a country fair would not be made if he was a stevedore.
Early that afternoon I tried the weights.
These were six in number, all more or less bell shaped, with handles above by which a man could take hold. They were not marked, and I really have no idea how much they weighed. Each one was greater than the other, and I must confess I was glad to set the greatest down. The point is that I could lift it without any fuss.
Colette was clapping her hands.
“Bravo, bravo,” she cried. “Oh, but I knew you were strong. The poor Ulysses could never have done so well.”
“But then, he drank,” said I. “Before he took to drink, he was probably very good.”
“But not like you,” said Colette. “Can you lift this chair by its leg?”
“I will try,” I said. “But that is a matter of practice, and I have not done it for years.”
Still, I managed to do it—not very well.
“Splendid,” cried Colette. “Now I will go and find Jasper, and we will rehearse.”
The moment she disappeared, I examined the weights. Precisely as she had said, at the base of each was a plate which could be unscrewed. I judged that the four largest weights would accept the whole of the gems. But I had, of course, to make sure by removing the plates, for I could not tell how much space they really concealed. To do this, I required a square pin, to introduce into the sockets sunk in the plates—a tool not so easy to come by; but each of the weights had its box, and when I looked into the largest, the pin was there.
Here Jasper appeared, with Colette.
“What did I say?” he said. “We shall have to look to our laurels, Colette and I. Now, sir, if you will allow me, I play your part; and when I have done, you shall play it—as you will play it tonight.”
I had supposed I must give an exhibition; but now I found that this was wrapped up in a play. Hardly a play—a masque, which ran for about twenty minutes to music and song. Of this I was the hero, Colette the heroine. The plot is not worth setting down, so I will only say that Colette was to dance, but found her floor strewn with boulders which none of her swains could move. These, of course, I removed, for they were the weights. Then she dismissed her suitors and danced about me, while I made play with the “boulders,” to show my strength. In the end, she sat down on a mushroom—really a stool—and I lifted the mushroom up and, finally, held it high with one of my hands.
All of this I very soon mastered, to their content. Feather weight as she was, to raise Colette, stool and all, was as much as, at first, I could do; but very soon I found that this was a matter of balance and that, taking the
strain as I should, I could have easily lifted a heavier girl.
Here, perhaps, I should say that when they were on the stage the weights resembled boulders, if you stood back; for each had its painted jacket, cunningly stuffed and padded to give it the shape of some rock. Of course, their handles were free, and the little illusion was shattered as soon as I picked them up.
“Sir, I foresee,” declared Jasper, when the rehearsal was over, “a great success. They are sure to demand an encore; but that I forbid. You see, if you do it twice, they will not believe; but when I step forward and say that you are too much exhausted to do it again, all will be sympathetic and deeply impressed.”
“And now,” said Colette, “he must rest; for no man can do as he has, yet not be glad to sit down.”
I smiled.
“I will rest for an hour,” I said. “And while I am resting, my servant shall polish the weights.” As Bell stepped forward, “Don’t try to move them, Bell; that’s my affair; but take their boxes and put them into the tent. From now on, so long as I use them, the weights will be in your charge. Is that all right, Monsieur Jasper?”
“Sir,” said Jasper, “such treatment is more than they merit. But I knew, without being told, that you would do all things well. Employ the stretcher, I beg you. It is one thing to lift those weights when you are properly poised, but quite another to carry them to and fro.”
Safe Custody and Laughing Bacchante Page 38