Then a bell was rung, and, sitting in breathless silence, we heard a servant pass to the flat’s front door.
The next moment Carson entered, bearing a telegram.
Mansel ripped open the envelope, glanced at the sheet and clapped his hands to his face.
The three of us stared at him.
Presently—
“Tell the man to wait,” he said quietly. “He shall have an answer in five minutes’ time.”
Carson withdrew.
Mansel rose to his feet and handed the telegram to me:
RETURN ADÈLE DISAPPEARED SHALL I CALL IN POLICE
PLEYDELL
“Good God,” I cried, rising.
Hanbury snatched the form from my hand.
“You were quite right, Chandos,” said Mansel. “Rose Noble has a way of making himself painfully clear.”
I could only stare, and Mansel gave a short laugh.
“Let me do the same,” he said. “The letters he took had been written to me by Adèle.”
“Oh, my God,” said Hanbury.
“And, when he says ‘stolen goods,’ he’s not referring to the letters, but to something more—more valuable, something which ‘disappeared’ a few hours ago.”
Not until then did the scales fall from my eyes; but though I would have spoken, I could not utter a word.
I watched Mansel pick up the letter and read it through.
“‘Perishable goods,’” he said quietly, speaking as though he were alone. “Yes, I suppose you might call Adèle in Rose Nobel’s hands—‘perishable goods.’”
There was champagne on ice on a sideboard, and Mansel opened a bottle and poured the wine.
When we had drunk, he sat down and wrote his reply:
PLEYDELL POGANEC ST. MARTIN
CARINTHIA ON NO ACCOUNT
MANSEL
And when this had been dispatched, he picked up Rose Noble’s letter and lighted a cigarette.
His agitation cannot have been over, but all sign of it was gone; and from this time on until the end, he was, as always, the coolest and most patient of us all. Few men, I think could have maintained such mastery of themselves; but Mansel’s self-control was absolute, and, though it was now to be proved as surely no man’s has ever been proved before, it never failed and seldom enough gave any sign of strain. Indeed, I often think that the flash of feeling he showed, when the telegram was brought in, was because when he read it, he knew that his secret was ours. Had Rose Noble’s letter followed instead of preceding the telegram, he never would have told us the nature of the papers which had lain in his safe, and I am sure that neither George Hanbury nor I would ever have suspected the truth. Mansel was glad also; for, be a man never so reserved, there is a pitch of trouble which he is thankful to share.
After a little, Mansel folded the letter and held it up.
“I am not going to act,” said he, “upon the suggestion here made, because, for one thing, such a sum is ruinous, and, for another, I do not trust Rose Noble.”
I got to my feet.
“We’re all three in this,” I said. “That’s abundantly clear. If he’d drawn blank in this flat he’d have started on George or on me. But, whichever of us he’d attacked, his price would have been the same.”
“That’s beyond doubt,” said Hanbury. “He’s out to recover the fortune; and, not knowing how much it came to, he’s put it as high as he dares.”
“Exactly,” said I. “Very well. My share was two hundred thousand; in two days” time you shall have three fourths of that back.”
“Same here,” said Hanbury.
“I know that,” said Mansel. “Thank you. But it would break her heart. Sooner or later she would most surely find out, and then—well, you can’t lay anyone under a debt like that. It’s not to be thought of. And, since, as I say, I do not trust Rose Noble, I think it will be convenient to count this document out.”
With that, he put the letter towards a candle’s flame, but after a moment, withdrew it and put it away in his case.
“So all that we know,” he continued, “is that Adèle has disappeared; and, since my cousin, her husband, is out of action and we three know Carinthia as the palm of our hand, we are naturally going to seek her with all our might. Of course we suspect abduction; I think anyone would. But that is all. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes,” said I.
“Good,” said Mansel. “And now please don’t talk for a minute. I want to think.”
I was glad to sit still, with my head in my hands, for the turn of events had shocked me, and I felt as though I were dreaming some disagreeable dream.
The disclosure of Mansel’s secret, the unconscionable daring of Rose Noble, the horror of the plight of Adèle had dealt me three swingeing blows; but what had hit me still harder was the sudden appreciation that thanks to our talk in the forest, Adèle herself must now know that she was the very lady that Mansel loved.
What Mansel would have said, had he known this, I dared not think; but I was quite certain that, when he found it out, as he most surely would, he would be most particular never to see her again.
This was no conjecture, for I knew the man.
Full measure he gave in all things, though it were to his own beggary; and that he would falter where a girl’s heart was concerned was unimaginable.
Adèle was his cousin’s wife, at once his liege lady and his familiar friend: that much I had seen with my eyes; there never was, I believe, so gentle a relation. That the one valued this was patent; it was, I suppose, the light of the other’s life. And now it was soon to founder, sunk by Mansel’s own hand, rather than let come into the shallows of embarrassment.
The thought that my tongue would be to blame for this most bitter upshot haunted me for days, although, as I shall show, I need have had no concern. Indeed, throughout our venture Mansel bore himself with such exalted gallantry that I have often thought since that, though he could not have known of the speech I had had with Adèle, yet he knew in his heart that she would know why she had been taken and that he was carrying her colours for the first and last time.
My mind being so exercised, I do not find it surprising that I cannot clearly remember all that was said that evening, but I know that Mansel determined to sail the next night, but not before then, because he must have a day in which to prepare for the battle to which we were now to go.
Rowley was to leave with our baggage by an earlier train and Hanbury was to change the arrangements for shipping the cars.
Mansel’s Rolls-Royce was furnished with secret lockers and trays, but ours had no such fittings, and, since we must now carry arms, he gave me a note to his coachbuilder and bade me seek him the next morning at eight o’clock. While he and his men were at work, fitting a hidden coffer, Carson and I together were to test and prepare the two cars, so that, with luck, if need be, they could run for a month on end without attention.
Bell was to cross to France by a morning boat, there to buy food and petrol against our coming and to promise ten thousand francs to the officials concerned if we were clear of the Customs in half an hour.
From the port we should drive to Salzburg as hard and as straight as we could and thence direct to St. Martin, for that was the name of the village which served the Pleydells’ farm.
That Adèle was in Austria seemed certain, for without her passport and against her will she could hardly be taken out; moreover the countryside lent itself to violence, for much of it was most solitary, and the lives of its inhabitants were too strait for them to intrude upon matters with which they had no concern. I suppose there were constables of sorts, though I never saw one, except, of course, in the towns; and they would have shrugged their shoulders upon any business less homely than a breach of the local peace. For this, indeed, we were thankful, for official notice of the matter was the last thing we desired; this for more than one reason, but most of all because, so far from aiding, it would have put our enterprise in deadly peril.
; I have no doubt at all that, had the police been called in, Adèle would have paid with her life for their assistance. The fight was between us and Rose Noble and the bare threat of an ally to whom, if he lost, Rose Noble would have to answer, would have been instantly silenced in the most dreadful and effective of ways. Another man might have balked at so detestable a crime, but Rose Noble was ruthless and would, I think, have slain ten pawns, had they stood in the way of his safety or revenge. I verily believe it was this terrible quality, if, indeed it can be so called, to which he owed his immunity, for, while “dead men tell no tales,” it has but to be known that a man keeps that for his motto and those who have to do with him will tell none either.
It was midnight before we parted, and three o’clock of the morning before I fell asleep; but six hours later the coachbuilder was urging his men, and Carson and I were at work. Except that we drove to St. James’s and back again, we laboured incessantly till four, but, when I reported to Mansel at five o’clock, the cars were as ready for the road as the wit of man could make them and both were at hand in his garage by Stable Yard. There they were packed and loaded by Carson alone, and at half past six they were standing in Cleveland Row.
Rowley and Bell were gone, so we were but four to travel as far as Dieppe; yet in a way we were five, for Tester, Mansel’s Sealham, went with us, and, if he was but a dog, he was ever better company than many a man.
He was fine to look at, very strong and healthy, intelligent beyond belief. Given an order that he could appreciate, he would obey it to the death. He knew no fear, was very quick and cheerful, would countenance no one but those his master had commended and worshipped Mansel himself with the most lively devotion that I have ever seen.
At a quarter to seven we passed out of Cleveland Row.
We made no secret of our going, simply because it was a movement we could not hide; “all the same,” said Mansel, “it doesn’t very much matter if they do send Rose Noble a wire. He never expected that I should pay out of hand; but he means me to find it hopeless and then to put on the screw.”
We dined at Newhaven and saw the cars taken on board; then we turned into our cabins to take what rest we could, for, though Mansel had not said so, we all four knew very well that, until we were come to Carinthia, we should none of us sleep again.
The steward roused me by order half an hour before we were due, and I came on deck to find a clean morning and two or three lights marking the coast of France.
Mansel had told me to breakfast before I left the boat, so after a turn or two, I went below, there to find him and Hanbury making a wretched meal.
Whilst I was waiting to join them, he gave me a map.
“We must keep together,” he said; “but, as we can’t see ahead, this is in case we part. Don’t use it at all until then. I’ve marked the route in blue pencil, so that you can’t go wrong. I’d better take the lead. I shall go pretty fast, but please try to keep me in sight. If I lose you, I shall slow up, but I don’t want to have to do that. If you want to attract my attention, use your horn. I’ll take Carson to start with; but later we might make a change, and you or Hanbury drive for a while with me.”
“First stop, Carinthia,” said George.
“If you please,” said Mansel. “I hope we shall be at St. Martin in twenty-four hours. We must water and feed, of course, and fill up the cars; but I wired to my cousin that we should be there by dawn, and I rather fancy, poor fellow, he’ll watch the clock.”
We had already decided that, though we might rest at Poganec after our run, we should leave our baggage at Villach, at an inn which we knew; for not only was this town more central, but to have to “report progress,” as we should if we stayed with the Pleydells, whenever we came or went would be intolerable. This may seem a harsh decision, as they were so deeply concerned, but we should be dealing, we knew, with life and death, and that we should be hampered by any sort of obligation was not to be thought of. We did not expect, however, to have much use for a base, but to be constantly moving in search or pursuit of Adèle; and this was why Mansel had been instant that the cars should demand no attention, yet withstand incessant use.
As the boat entered the harbour, we came on deck and presently made out Bell, who was standing with three officials on the edge of the quay. So soon as he saw us, he pointed us out to his companions, one of whom boarded the steamer before she was fairly at rest. I met him with our papers, and, since they were what he had come for, he took them without a word.
This was well enough, but the cars had to be unshipped, and, since the boat-train was waiting, the ordinary registered baggage must, as always, be taken off first. That this would be a long business seemed very probable, for there was but one crane manned, and, as luck would have it, there were many passengers.
As the man who had taken our papers regained the quay, the main gangways were run inboard and I saw for the first time that Bell had a watch in his hand. A little way off was a lad in charge of a basket and a small stack of petrol cans.
“Full marks to Bell,” said Mansel. “They’re going to take the cars first.”
And so indeed they did—such is the power of money.
Mansel’s Rolls was ashore before any of us, and, at a sign from Bell, the lad with the basket began to fill her tank. As the second car was landed, the man who had taken our papers came running out of some office with the document stamped and signed, and, after a glance at our number-plate, handed me back the wallet and raised his hat. Then our baggage was hastily chalked, and, as Mansel started his engine, Bell put away his watch.
“We’re free to proceed, sir,” he said, touching his hat. “By your leave I’ll pay them the money and find you outside.”
“Well done indeed,” said Mansel. “How long have we been?”
“Just under a quarter of an hour, sir. I promised them five thousand if they did it in half an hour, and I said I’d double the money if they did it in half the time.”
With that, he disappeared, and Hanbury started our engine, as Mansel, with Carson and Tester, drove off the quay.
The lad charged to fill our tank was a clumsy workman, so I told him to stand aside and did it myself; and George descended and helped me by taking the caps from the cans.
“You drive first,” he said. “It won’t be light for some time, and your eyes are keener than mine.”
“Very well,” said I.
The landing of the registered baggage was now in full swing, and the quay was alive with porters, bustling to and fro in the lamplight and making less progress than noise; and, since the baggage itself was being swung over our head, I was glad to screw its cap to the tank and to take my seat in the car.
Hanbury picked up the basket and followed me in.
The eastern sky was pale, but it was yet very dark.
Now as we were moving slowly toward the street, I became aware of some paper upon which I seemed to have sat down. So soon as I had a hand free, I plucked this from under my legs, to find in it a dirty envelope, bearing no superscription, but sealed.
“What’s that?” said George, peering.
“It must have fallen from the baggage,” I said. “The nets passed over the car. See what it is. If it’s a bill of lading, we’d better give it back.”
As Hanbury ripped open the envelope, Bell stepped out of the shadows on to the running board.
“Captain Mansel’s fifty yards on, sir; on the right of the street.”
“Very good,” said I, turning across the lines.
“It’s not a bill of lading,” said George sharply.
“What then?” said I, setting a foot on the brake.
By way of answer, he held it to the light of the lamp which illumined the instrument board.
It was a half-sheet of notepaper on which were printed four words:
The goods are perishable.
2. We Take the Field
To show Mansel a memento so ugly went against the grain; yet we dared not suppress it, so I drove to wh
ere he sat waiting, and Hanbury gave the paper into his hand.
He glanced at it, turned it about and then put it away.
“Where did you find it?” he said.
I told him on the seat of the car.
At once he turned to Bell and asked him to try to recall every person that he had seen in the last two hours; “for,” said he, “one of those men was a spy, and, though we can do nothing now, it might be very convenient if you would know him again.”
Then he asked if I was ready and let in his clutch . . . .
The day was coming, but, so long as the night lasted, we had the road to ourselves. Taking advantage of this, Mansel went like the wind, and, since all I could see was his tail-light and this poor pointer vanished with each dip and bend of the road, it was more by luck than by cunning that I managed to cling to his heels. Indeed, the first hour of our journey imposed a continuous strain, for he drove as though the way was familiar, but I did not know it at all, and, what with fear of leaving the road if I drove too fast, and of losing my guiding light if I slackened speed, I wished for the day with a fervour which I think would have opened the eyes of St. Paul himself.
Yet, in a way, this trail stood me in stead, for, when at last it was light and I could see the landscape and Mansel’s Rolls scudding before me like a gull, to follow behind seemed child’s play and, though he went faster than ever, I was able without any trouble to maintain the pace which he set.
The sun rose about six into a cloudless sky, and, since rain had lately fallen, the country was fresh to look on and smelled very sweet. Mansel raised next to no dust, for this had been laid by the rain and was not yet dry, and, as the chill of the dawn changed to the cool of the day, our passage became every moment more agreeable. There was, however, a look of heat in the heaven which there was no mistaking.
Our road was no longer so free as it has been by night, but I was surprised to encounter so little traffic, and, indeed, the clocks had struck seven before the pace at which we were travelling had to be sensibly reduced.
Blind Corner and Perishable Goods Page 22