Two minutes later, I had my hand on the line.
I cannot pretend that I enjoyed the crossing.
The rope was stout and was knotted, to make it easy to hold, but the sound and fury of the water seemed to be greater by night, and I had no idea at all of our landing place. But it was worse for Bell, for I had seen by daylight what we must do. There was no danger about the business, for if one failed to land, it was nothing to climb the rope and come down by the tree; but the uproar, the thrust and ferment of the water—a race of black and silver surging across our path, and the curtain of darkness, masking the solid comfort of earth and sky—these things disguised the venture, to make it hideous.
But, as is so often the way, the crossing which seemed so dreadful was easily made.
I landed perfectly, swung the rope into the darkness and waited for Bell. As he arrived, I caught him and set him down, but I think that he could have landed without my help.
Then I climbed into the beech tree and put the rope back on the bough, so that no one—not even a smuggler—should know that a man had gone by.
From then on our way was easy, though something tedious. Except from a distance, I had not surveyed our route; but from time to time I consulted the compass I had, and after three hours I was sure that we were in Italy.
We rested then, till the dawn began to come up. Then we pushed forward briskly, always down the valleys which I had marked. And so, about seven o’clock, we found ourselves on a ridge which commanded a little hamlet in the Italian style.
It seemed best to avoid the village, and so we did; but later we struck the road and began to make good time, with the happy result that about a quarter to eight we rounded a corner to see a crest ahead and Colette sitting there in the sunlight, busily darning what seemed to be one of my socks.
She looked up to see us coming, dropped her work, and came running with outstretched arms. I caught and held her. Then I put her up on my shoulder, as I was accustomed to do when we were playing our parts.
“Adam, Adam—and Bell who shares your secrets, though I may not. I knew you would come, of course, because you are a man of your word, but I am very glad to see you again. Your tent is all ready, and breakfast is waiting for you. Was it—very difficult?”
“No,” said I. “It was easy—and that’s the truth.”
Bell, the silent, gave tongue.
“It wasn’t easy, sir. You make things seem easy, the way you handle them.”
“Damn it, Bell,” said I, “we’ve had much harder times.”
“That’s very true, sir. We have. And I know you’ve an eye to mountains. But to come all those miles in the dark, an’ never put a foot wrong . . .”
“I agree with Bell,” said Colette. “But, most of all, I am very happy to see you safe and sound. Our voyage was less successful. Three miles from the frontier post, the wagon broke down. The rear axle went. You never saw such a thing. But Jasper was marvelous. ‘Unload the wagon,’ he cries, ‘while I seek a smith.’ And he sends me off to the post to tell them that we are delayed. The guards will not listen to me, so I return. There is the smith at work, by the side of the way, so Jasper comes with me to the frontier post. Very soon he has the guards laughing. And when the wagon arrives, although it is after the time, they let it go through. So all is very well. But we come to Jade so late that we cannot pitch the camp, but sleep in the inn. And now, my dear, I come to the tragedy. When that half wit, Odin, loaded the wagon again, the one thing he forgot was your precious weights. I had seen them set to one side—not laid with the other stuff, because they were yours. And, since I am with Jasper, Odin, that king of fools, must leave them behind. But Jasper has gone to get them. The wagon, of course, is with him. And Odin, too.”
“How—how long will they be?” I said—and hardly knew my own voice.
“They should be back,” said Colette, “by half past ten.”
In fact they were back by nine—without the weights. The guards had made it clear that, while they were free to pass in, they would not be free to pass out. In a word, the frontier was closed, and Austria could not be quitted without a special pass. To bona fide travelers, this would be issued at Villach, or any principal town. When Jasper had asked why this ban had been suddenly set, the sergeant had frowned. “The police are no fools,” he said. “The last time they took this action, a car was found with its spare tires filled with gold.”
Chapter 6. The Hard Way
Of such is the way of Fortune.
Throughout our enterprise, the dame had smiled upon us again and again. On the seventh day of June, Mansel and I had entered Austria, and we had reached Palin’s inn at nine o’clock that night. Had we reached it but four hours later, the chamber would have been empty and I should never have had a tale to tell. At twelve o’clock one night, the Boche had visited Hohenems, search warrant in hand; had he come the night before, he would have caught us red handed, moving the gems. Had Orris not disobeyed orders and shown a light, and had I not been passing at that very time, there can, I think, be no doubt that Friar would have got us down. Then I had met with Jasper and so found a way in a million to get the gems out. And now a careless fool had thrown the whole of our winnings to the winds.
Little wonder I felt very tired. I believe and shall always maintain that Jasper’s dreadful report took a month from my life. It meant that the hunt was up. A very little deduction, and the police would identify me as Jasper’s strong man. And Orris, long ago free, would report to Friar. And Friar would know in a flash that the gems were within the weights. And the weights were at his disposal—as at that of the police.
“You have eaten nothing,” said Colette, with her eyes on my face.
“I am not hungry,” I said. “But I want to talk to you.” I got to my feet. “I like the look of those linches, and there we shall not be disturbed.”
We were upon the outskirts of Jade, and a road wound up to another, smaller hamlet some three miles off. And beside the road were linches—a very charming feature, as linches always are.
I led the way to the nearest; there I took my seat and lit a cigarette.
“Listen, Colette,” said I, “and I’ll tell you a tale.”
“A true tale, Adam?”
“Most true. I shall exaggerate nothing—you have my word for that.”
“Proceed, please,” said Colette.
“An Englishman, whom I know, has a castle in Austria. He and his beautiful wife have lived there for several years. But now the Boche is coming, and so he must go. In that castle he had a treasure of very great price. It was beyond all value—and nobody knew of it. It was a treasure of jewels, the like of which the world has never seen; but, more than that, it was historical. And the Englishman felt very strongly that such a treasure as that should not be left for the Boche. He desired to take it to England and to give it to a famous museum, because then it would be safe and could be admired forever by high and low. Well, that was all right; but because of its very great value, he would not have been permitted to take it away. Austria would have stopped him from taking it out.”
“And saved it for the Boche,” said Colette.
“Exactly,” said I. “Which was more than my friend could bear. And so he asked me to help him to get it out. Well, I was very happy to do so. And that was why I came to Austria. And I could have done it, Colette, without any fuss. But I had a piece of bad luck. A thief—a brilliant thief, had heard of those gems. And just when I had arrived, he made an attempt to steal them. I managed to spoil his game, and then he offered to do a deal with me. I think, perhaps, you can guess what my answer was. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘If you won’t deal with me I’ll go to the Boche.’ And the Boche was in charge of the police. I told him to go—and be damned. And so he did.”
“He went to the Boche?”
“He did. And the Boche was on to me, as a dog on a rat. Well, I got the gems out of the castle, and then I was stuck. For the police had been warned to watch the frontier posts. And I da
red not carry the gems. I was ready to cross the frontier—perhaps, by a smuggler’s path. But bear the gems, I dared not—they were too valuable. And so I sought for a way. And then you and Jasper came and showed me the way.”
“We showed you the way?” said Colette.
“You showed me the way. I took out the sand and packed the gems in the weights.”
“God Almighty,” breathed Colette, and put her hands to her head.
“That was why I would not tell you my secret. Because, if I had done so, you would have been scared to death. And now the weights are in Austria, lying by the side of some road. Millions of pounds lie within them. And I am here. Do you wonder I ate no breakfast? And they are not mine, Colette. They do not belong to me. I was doing this for a friend. They are his—and were to be England’s. And now I have let the two down.”
“I think,” said Colette, “I think I am going to be sick.”
“That,” said I, “would be useless. Describe, instead, the spot where you left the weights.”
“I had them put off the road, by the side of a wood. There was a wayside crucifix; we were the far side of that—the frontier side. And there was a row of poplars a little lower down.”
“Going toward the frontier, a crucifix, then the weights, and then a row of poplars . . . Is that what you mean?”
“That is correct,” said Colette. “And all on the right as you go. Not three miles from the frontier, for we had passed the stone. But why must you know, Adam? You cannot go back.”
“I shall go back tonight,” said I. “What else can I do?”
Colette was down on her knees.
“Adam, I beseech you, see reason. Because of me, you have broken the Boche in pieces. I saw what I saw. And then you fled—and came out. I have been beside myself the whole of last night. But now you are safe. To go back would be sheer madness. The district will be alive with nothing but police. You are the one man on earth who cannot go back.”
“Yet must I do it,” I said. “I cannot leave those gems by the side of the way.”
“Jasper will go and collect them and presently get his pass out.”
“And have the weights searched at the customs. Besides, by now I am known for Jasper’s strong man. No, no, I alone can do it. And I am going to do it. I shall return tonight, lie up tomorrow, and come back tomorrow night. I cannot bring the weights, for they would be far too heavy to bear by the smuggler’s way. But I can carry their contents, and so I will.”
“You will be taken, Adam. You have not a chance.”
“I’ve an excellent chance, Colette. But, chance or no, my dear, I am going back. Those gems are in my charge. If they were in yours, would you leave them. . . by the side of the road?”
“The fool!” screamed Colette. “The fool to have left the weights behind!”
“That is the way of a fool. They do incredible things. Fools have made history, Colette. Lost battles, brought empires down, because they are fools. But they will always be with us, so long as the world goes round. The fool in his folly, Colette, has wrought more havoc than any evil man. They mean no ill; and so we do not suspect them, as we suspect a knave. And therein lies their power to bring all our plans to naught. But what is the use of talking? The thing is done. Odin has played the fool, and I have got to go back, to make his folly good.”
Colette cupped her face in her palms.
“I cannot bear it, Adam. For my sake, you put forth your strength—and took away from the Boche the semblance of man. And since he commands the police—”
“My dear,” said I, “he’d been looking for me for days.”
“I do not care. The fire, perhaps, was there. But you poured fuel upon it, because he was ill-treating me. Had you not interfered, he would never have known you were there. And now the whole district is roused. You cannot go back, Adam dear. It would be—suicide.”
“I am going tonight, Colette.”
“In that case I shall come with you, to show you the spot.” I shook my head.
“You are very sweet, Colette. But the way I go is a way no woman can take.”
“You will take Bell?”
I shook my head.
“Bell will want to come, but this is a one-man job.”
The truth was I dared not take Bell, in case I did not come back.
“So you mean to go back alone to a land which has closed its frontiers for fear that you should escape.”
I smiled.
“Some years ago I did that—and here I am.”
“Did you go back alone?”
“No,” I said, “I admit I was not alone. But I had far more to do, and that wasn’t a one-man job. But let that go. Your strong man is out of the bill, until you can get the weights. And so he is free for the moment to—go on leave. That is what I am going to do. But I shall be back on Sunday. And then I will eat such a breakfast as never was eaten before.”
“What time shall you leave?” said Colette.
“About sundown.”
“Very well. I will have some food ready for you to take.”
“Not too much, Colette. I’ll make up when I get back.”
“And wine?”
I shook my head.
“Water will do for me. There are plenty of springs.”
“Very well.” She hesitated. “May I tell Jasper—what you have told me?”
“Yes,” I said. “And don’t let him go for the weights until I return.”
“He will not go till the frontier is open again.”
“Which means you will stay here,” I said. “I had not thought about that, but my wits are confused.”
“We must have the weights,” said Colette. “To replace them would be very costly—more than we can afford. When I think of all that money spilt on the floor . . . People had been very generous. There must have been more than three pounds.”
“You will allow me the honor to make that my affair. Let us call it five pounds. I would have given fifty to put the Boche where he belonged. And then you gave me my chance.”
“Jasper would not hear of it, Adam. When I told him what you had done, he said the good God had sent you ‘to save Colette.’ I know he has said nothing yet; but that is because he cannot trust himself. He is afraid of tears, and when he tries to thank you, he knows that he will break down.”
“Tell him I did what I did to please myself. The Boche had laid hands on my sweet. And whoever does that offends me—and pays the price.”
Colette had her eyes on the ground.
“I told you,” she said, “I liked great gentlemen.”
With that, she was gone.
Later I spoke with Bell.
“I must go and get them, Bell; but then you knew that.”
“Yes, sir. When shall we start?”
“I can’t afford to take you. I must have someone outside in case I get stuck.”
“I’d—rather come with you, sir.”
“I know you would. I shall miss you. It can’t be helped. If I am not back by Monday, wire to Captain Mansel, saying I’m overdue.”
“To London, sir?”
“That’s right. He’ll know what action to take. And now we must summon Mr. Palin. I’ll write out a wire in a minute, for you to send. You must meet him and put him wise. Present him to Jasper and see that he sleeps in my bed. I’m sure he’ll go very well.”
“Not with Miss Colette, sir.”
“Which is absurd—he’s my friend. And do what you can for her; she’s rather upset. I’d better take a kit bag, so empty one. And don’t forget the key, to unfasten the plates.”
“Very good, sir. You’re—set on going?”
“What else can I do?”
“I—don’t like your going alone, sir.”
I laughed.
“You never do, Bell. But I always come back.”
“You will look out for Friar, sir?”
“I certainly will,” I said.
“He’ll shoot at sight—Friar will, sir. Don’t forget th
at.”
“I won’t forget—I promise; if the fellow runs into me, I’ll put him down.”
I rested for most of that day; but at six o’clock that evening Jasper came to my tent.
“Well, my friend,” said I; “and where have you been all day?”
Jasper folded his hands.
“You have a proverb, sir, saying, ‘Motley’s the only wear.’ For me, that is very true. I have no other suit. Yet there are times when I cannot wear my motley, and then I am ashamed of my nakedness. Today has been one of those times. But now, for very shame, I have come to you; for I cannot let you go off, until I have said my say. God alone can reward you for what you did yesterday. You not only pulled the dog off, but you broke the dog in pieces for what he had done. I saw him, and I am content. And I spoke with the doctor later—I wished to savor his fate. And the doctor said that, though the man will recover, his visage will be so shocking that he must live in private and cannot go out and about. And so my Colette, my darling, and all his other victims are now avenged. And how have we paid our debt? By leaving behind your weights—the tools with which you have added cubits to our stature . . . in which you had hidden a treasure beyond all price. That, then, is our return for what you have done. You counted upon us to help you, and you had every right. Of course you did not tell us, for had we known, we should have been frightened to death. But you relied upon us. ‘My weights,’ you said, ‘that Bell has taken such care of, upon which my performance depends . . . be sure they will bring my weights with them, though they bring nothing else.’ And then . . . we left them behind . . . by the side of the way.” He put a hand to his head. “I knew, of course, that you had not joined us for nothing. Gentlemen such as you do not join strolling players because the strolling players suggest that they should. I knew that in some way or other this strange association would serve your turn. But that did not concern me, for, once you had passed your word, I knew you would give full measure—and so, indeed, you have. No man was ever so generous, so handsome in all he did. Well, there we are. You have kept your side of the bargain with all your might; you have saved and avenged Colette; and, in return, we have struck you a mortal blow.”
Safe Custody and Laughing Bacchante Page 43