4. The Castle of Gath
There was no time to make any plan.
The man was walking fast, and, as I have shown, Lass was no better than a maze.
With one consent, the three of us rushed to the door, and, while Hanbury was speaking to the bookseller, Bell and I stepped directly into the street.
Mercifully a cart was standing not six feet away, and as we darted behind it, I saw that we had before us the very deuce of a task. The man was, of course, on his guard and knew us by sight; the hour was early, and, though the shops were open—because, I suppose, it was Market day—there were not twenty people in view; yet, had the street been crowded, our dress was fatally distinctive and had only to be seen to betray us and our design.
In a flash I had my coat off and had flung it into the cart. I pitched my hat after it, rolled my sleeves to the elbow and, seizing a sack of refuse, which was standing open-mouthed on the kerb, swung this on to my shoulder and started, bent double, down the street. I know the disguise was feeble, but I dared wait no more; and that was as well, for, before I had taken five steps, the man glanced over his shoulder and turned to the left.
We had now a stroke of good fortune, without which I cannot believe that we should have got very far, for it gave us a breathing-space and let me fall back a little and Hanbury and Bell come up. I had hardly come to the comer when I saw the fellow enter a tobacconist’s shop.
At once I turned to see Hanbury close behind. He was wearing a black overcoat, green with age, and the bookseller’s hat, which came down over his ears. In his hands was a newspaper, open as though to be read.
“Watch the tobacconist’s,” I said, and dashed between two houses to tear off my collar and tie.
As I returned a man passed, wheeling a bicycle. His form seemed familiar, and, when I looked at him again, I saw that it was Bell. He had no coat, hat or collar; his trousers were clipped at the ankle and seemed to be falling down; his face and hands were filthy beyond compare. He glanced down the street on his left, and, there, I suppose, seeing Hanbury, picked up his cue and turned.
As I came again to the corner, our man came out of his shop. For a moment he looked about him, but seeing, I imagine, nothing at all suspicious, presently turned on his heel and went his way.
He was a tall, loose-limbed fellow, with a pasty face; he walked as though he liked the look of himself and wore his hat cocked on one side; and, since I presently learned that he was called “Casemate,” from now on I will speak of him by name.
I was slouching along behind him, still shouldering my sack, very conscious of my respectability and full of admiration for Bell, when I saw a crowd gathered ahead, where the street bellied into a place in front of a church. This seemed to interest Casemate, for all his haste, for I saw him peering to see what the matter might be; but, when he was nearer, he suddenly turned away and passed by on the opposite pavement, with his eyes on the ground.
I was wondering at his behaviour, when the crowd began to move and then fall away. Then I saw a familiar bonnet and Mansel, with Rowley beside him, driving a Rolls. Behind came Carson.
Now such a meeting was more than I could have hoped for, for I had been racking my brain for some way in which to find Mansel and tell him what was afoot. Yet, though we were so happily met, I dared make no sign, for Casemate had his chin on his shoulder, and I could not have caught Mansel’s eyes without catching his.
Going as slowly as I dared, with the tail of my eye I watched the car draw abreast; but the crowd was about her wings, and Mansel never looked up. I could have stamped for vexation, for Hanbury was shuffling upon the far side of the street, and Bell was already by. Then Carson cried out a warning and I heard a clatter and crash. Bell had wheeled his bicycle into the second car.
As he picked himself up, I heard Mansel asking for news.
“It’s all right, sir,” said Carson; “a cyclist—” Bell gave him a malignant look—“a cyclist walked into the car. And, excuse me, sir, but you’re rather down on the right. I think you must have broken a spring.”
That was as much as I heard and all that I wanted to know, for, if, when upon the road, one of us wished to say something which was not for everyone’s ears, he had but to state that the car before or behind him had broken a spring; such a statement would naturally call for investigation, and, while this was being conducted, the communication could be easily made.
Now all this was well enough, but, when I returned to Casemate, I saw that he had stopped and was standing under an archway, with his eyes on the two cars and a hand to his mouth.
For a moment my brain faltered. I dared not dally, and the last thing I wanted to do was to overtake the man. He had but to dwell upon my clothes to find them strange, and to walk with his eyes upon my back would be the way of a fool. Then I saw a garage before me and, without so much as blinking, I plodded in.
An engine was running, and two mechanics were busy about its head. As I came in, one lighted a cigarette and pitched the match still flaming, on to the floor. There must have been petrol there, for flames leapt up. As the fellow stood staring, I shot my sack of refuse on to the fire, and a moment later the three of us stamped it out.
Both seemed very grateful and clapped me upon the back. This goodwill was just what I wanted, and after an age of dumbshow, the taller of the two took off his dirty overalls and helped me to put them on. I gave him far more than they were worth and I think this satisfied them that I was in fear of the police; and, when I plunged my hands into a tray of old oil, wiped them upon my sleeves and smeared these across my face, I am sure they no longer doubted that a warrant was out for my arrest. Still, with my sack of refuse, I had done them a very good turn, and, though they looked none too easy, they shook me by the hand when I went and gave me a cigarette.
At first I could not see Casemate. Then I saw him striding along fifty yards off. He was just passing Bell, who was pumping up one of his tires, and Hanbury was shuffling along twenty paces behind. Mansel and the two cars were gone.
I was not much easier in my mind and followed with confidence, for my greasy suit had given me a new lease on life, and the thought that Mansel was soon to be in the background did my heart good.
Casemate went down to a river and over an arched, stone bridge. This was in the midst of the town, and here for the first time I was able to see about me and to mark the lie of the land.
Lass lay in a trough of the mountains, the wooded slopes of which pressed close upon every side; the approaches to the town were hidden, and even the railway line was not to be seen. I have known villages so bound, but never another town, and the dignity of spires and gables so landlocked was very pleasing. Yet, as I have said, I was sure that Adèle was not here, and, when Casemate soon took a way which ran out of the town, to curl out of sight between two beetling woods, I was not at all surprised.
That here, however, we three must make ourselves scarce was obvious enough, for, if the streets had been idle, except for a labouring waggon the road to come was bare. And, while I was thinking how we should bring this about, the thing was done.
Bell mounted his bicycle, slowly overtook Casemate and passed out of sight; Hanbury turned up a passage which seemed to lead to the woods; and I was left. As plainly as though they had spoken, they meant me to bring up the rear.
The manoeuvre was sound and perfectly carried out; I was filled with admiration for Hanbury and Bell; but the burden of Casemate’s suspicion was now thrown full upon me, and I was by no means certain that I could carry the weight. I had no cover: mechanics are seldom seem tramping a country road; no man or beast seemed to be going our way.
I continued to walk on slowly, watching Casemate approach the bend and racking my brain. As he turned, he hung on his heel, and after a long look behind him, passed out of view.
My fears now came to a head, and I dared not go on. I was sure the fellow was waiting for me to come up. Yet I dared not stop without reason, nor, without reason, disappear. Then I saw a café b
eside me, with a table outside its door . . . .
As they brought me wine and cigarettes, I saw Casemate’s head appear round the bend of the road.
How long he watched me I do not know, for I dared not look again at the bend until I had drunk my wine; but, when at last I threw it a careless glance, he was out of sight.
At once I left the café and took to the road.
Ten minutes went by before I saw Casemate again, for the way was a natural pass and humoured every whim of the mountains, rising and falling and twisting as these decreed. Indeed, I was afraid I had lost him and was on the point of breaking into a run, when I rounded a comer to see him ten paces away. I drew back at once out of sight, but the encounter shocked me, for it showed how unfitted I was for such an exercise.
But worse was to come.
I had gone, I suppose, a mile in fear and trembling, and the road had begun to rise in a steady climb, when I peered round a bend, to see Casemate retracing his steps.
Now I had just covered a fairly long, straight reach of road, and, before I could have retreated, he would have had me in view. This was plainly the reason why he had gone about, for, if he was being followed, here was the very place to discover his man.
Frantically I looked round for cover, but there was none at all. On one hand an open meadow fell down abruptly to the level the road had left; on the other a high bank of earth rose into a crumbling cornice that overhung the way. Only an oak leaned out of the earthy wall and was thrusting a branch like a roof-tree over the road.
I am a tall man, but heavy, and to this day I cannot tell how I managed to leap so high; but, if I am heavy, I was desperate, and, as I have found before, desperation is a remarkable goad.
Be that as it may, in an instant I had hold of the bough and a moment later was astride it, looking down upon the ground. I then fell forward and cautiously raised my feet, till I was lying along it and, though there was little foliage, pretty well hid. The branch was massive and rigid as any rock.
Casemate rounded the comer and passed below where I hung. Finding the road deserted, he stopped in his tracks and, after a long look, turned on his heel and began to walk back up the hill, whistling some air as he went. He paused for a moment beneath me, to take out a cigarette, and, as he did so, we both heard the sound of the horn of an oncoming car.
Now this meant nothing to me, for the horn was that of some car which was going to Lass, but Casemate stiffened like a pointer and stood with his ears pricked and a match in one of his hands and its box in the other. Indeed, so concerned was his demeanour, that I expected him every instant to take to his heels, though why he should fear some car which could hardly be one of ours I could not think.
The horn was not sounded again, but soon we heard a car coming at a high enough speed.
Casemate immediately whipped to the side of the road, and, taking his stand by the bend, peered anxiously round. The next moment he was out in the fairway, spreading and waving his arms as a signal to stop.
I heard the brakes clapped on, but the car was round the comer before it had come to rest.
Casemate came running back, and somebody put out a head.
“What is it?” said Rose Noble.
I was so much dumbfounded that I nearly fell down from the bough, and then I saw that the luck I had found so unkind a moment ago was playing clean into our hands.
“Somebody’s talking,” said Casemate. “She’s got word through to mother, and Big Willie’s at Lass.”
There was a moment’s silence.
Then—
“How d’you know?” said Rose Noble.
“Jute,” said Casemate. “Last night they came for Big Willie and told him that she had made touch. Jute heard then say so. Big Willie was off like a cracker, and, when he was good and gone, Jute slipped up to the station and took the train.”
“And led him to Lass,” said Rose Noble. “Go on.” “B—but—”
“Go on.”
“He’s there,” said Casemate doggedly. “I’ve seen him. Stuck up in the streets, with a Punch-and-Judy crowd round both of his cars.”
“Where’s Jute?”
“Lying low in the lodge.”
“Thought he’d done enough harm, I suppose?”
“He didn’t bring him,” said Casemate. “Big Willie’s—”
“Of course he brought him,” roared Rose Noble, bursting out of the car. “You snake-faced idiot, what do you take me for? ‘Got word through to mother.’ This isn’t Marlborough Street.” He slammed the door with a fury that shook the car. “By — ,” he added, using a dreadful oath, “wait till I get at Jute. I told him they’d try to bounce him and I made him swear never to move when Big Willie was out of sight. Never. Why did he come by train?”
“Car wouldn’t start,” said Casemate.
“And that never showed him?” raged Rose Noble.
Casemate essayed no answer, but only stared upon the ground, plainly resenting a trouncing which Jute had won, yet sullenly conscious that, by adopting Jute’s reading, he had put himself out of court.
Rose Noble ripped off his hat and mopped his face.
“Who was with Big Willie?” he demanded.
“Two of the servants,” said Casemate.
For a moment Rose Noble stood still, with his head in the air. Then he lowered his eyes and looked at Casemate.
I suppose there was that in his gaze which shocked the other, for he shrank back against the wall, protesting the truth of his words.
“Quite right,” purred Rose Noble, “quite right. You only saw two of the servants. I passed the third on the road five minutes ago.”
A moment later the car was being turned round.
I think this short colloquy must show how fine and swift a brain our principal enemy had. No matter how clogged, he had the truth free in an instant, and, though, when he passed him, he had not recognized Bell—and for that he can hardly be blamed, for he had seen him but once—the moment he learned that one servant was not with Mansel, he knew why the dirty cyclist was taking his subordinate’s road. That he made no mention at all of Hanbury or me, was, I confess, a considerable blow to my pride, but I fear he credited us with little cunning, but only a blunt pugnacity when it came to a fight.
Now whether this stung into action my mother wit I cannot say, but I know that, as he and Casemate entered the car, I saw at my feet a chance which never would come again.
The car was closed, and its canopy was fixed; the road was narrow, and, in his endeavours to turn, the driver was bringing his charge directly below where I hung. For me to alight on its roof was the easiest thing in the world, and, once I was there, lying flat, although there was no luggage-rail, I could grip the canopy’s edge above the driver, for a shield, which is called a “sun-visor,” was there to conceal my hands.
In a flash I was sitting sideways upon the bough, and, as the car came back for the last time, I stepped gingerly on to its roof, trusting to my rubber-soled shoes to make no noise. I was flat in an instant, or the branch would have knocked me down, and a moment later I had fast hold of the rim which was to keep me steady and save me from sliding off.
As the car thrust forward—
“Bunch,” said Rose Noble to the driver, “if you see that — cyclist, run him down.”
“You bet,” said Bunch, and put the car at the hill with the rush of a bull.
I was not much alarmed for Bell’s safety, for I was quite certain that he had observed Rose Noble and, if he was yet upon the road, had only to hear the car coming to disappear. Indeed, I had my work cut out to think for myself, for the road was none too even and I was mortally afraid of losing my place.
Bunch was a good driver and swooped at his comers in a spectacular way, but whenever he swung the car round, I had to fight like a madman to stay where I was, and if the fowls of the air have a sense of humour my progress must have afforded them infinite mirth. Except for one sharp descent, our road continued to rise or to keep the height it had
won, and so far as I can remember we met no other vehicle. Two or three peasants passed, and the sight of them staring at me sent my heart to my mouth; but no one of those in the car seemed to notice their gaze, or, if they did, to find it curious.
At last we came to cross roads, where we turned to the right, and very soon after, we left the road for a drive which led into a wood so artlessly and was so shrouded with moss and the litter the trees had made that a man might have passed it by, as promising nothing at all. Yet in less than two minutes of time the wood was behind us, and we were heading for a castle which seemed to me to command all the kingdoms of the earth.
We were now upon the spur of a mountain, and, I judged, some three thousand feet up. The drive ran straight down the spur, the sides of which were plainly precipitous, for, after a little, the turf which flanked the drive fell suddenly out of sight. The whole of the end of the spur was masked by the castle’s façade, and it was easy to see that the building had been set on the spur as the nail upon a man’s finger, that is to say, moated on three of its sides by God knows what depths and accessible only on the fourth.
The walls were high and massive, rose into battlements and looked as good as new; and the place had an air of being old rather than ancient and more of an aerie than a keep. It was clearly inhabited, for there were blinds in its windows and smoke was rising from some chimney I could not see. Indeed, I could see nothing beyond the great façade, except a crocketed spire which stood up on the left. A stout, round tower rose at each end of the wall; these were corniced and lad red, conical roofs; in the midst of the wall was a gateway, the great doors of which were shut.
I was now trembling with excitement, for the castle, of course, was the goal to which we had been trying :o come, but what carried me away was the knowledge bat I was about to be landed within its walls. Once I was in, and my presence unsuspected, who could tell what might not come about?
A yard or so from the gateway Bunch brought the car to rest. As he did so, his passengers alighted and passed at once to a wicket, cut out of the left-hand door. Then a bell clanged, and almost at once I heard steps. There was a grill in the wicket, and somebody drew its shutter to look between its bars. Whoever it was must have seen me, had not Rose Noble’s head been in the way.
Blind Corner and Perishable Goods Page 26