“All right?” I heard him say.
“O.K.,” said the other, and opened the little door. Rose Noble and Casemate passed in.
Now, as soon as the car had stopped, I had moved as far as I could to the right of the canopy, so as to make the most of what cover I had; whether I moved again was depending on where the man stood who admitted the car. With one of the great doors set wide the car could pass in, and, if as I fully expected, the left-hand door was opened, the porter was sure to hold it and I should be out of his sight.
Now so much fell out very well. Only one door was opened, and that was the left; I saw the hands of the porter pulling it back; but the door had been made in two halves, and, while the lower swung open, the upper stayed fast.
The car was about to pass in—with three inches of headroom to spare, and, if I stayed on her roof, I should be swept off or crushed—probably crushed.
Had I not been on the edge, I must have been badly hurt, for Bunch thrust forward, as though he knew I was there.
I got to my knees and jumped as best I could.
Happily I lit upon turf, but this sloped down from the drive, and I tumbled, like a clown in the sawdust, before I could bring myself up. As I did so, I heard the door shut and the bolts shot home.
To report to Mansel was plainly the first thing to do; and, since anyone at a window could have shot me down, I got to my feet and started to run for the wood. Except that I was shaken, I felt none the worse for my fall, and here I think I was lucky, for I had leapt blindly and had not taken off clean.
Halfway to the wood I rested behind a tree and looked about me.
The prospect was magnificent indeed: all around were mountains and forests, rising and falling as far as the eye could see, and, the sky being very blue and the sunshine brilliant, the castle looked fabulous, and a man that came suddenly upon it might well have been forgiven for rubbing his eyes.
How Rose Noble had come to be so installed I could not think, but, had he spent his life searching, he could not have found a prison one half so suitable. The place was solitary and most secure: no cries could be heard, nor any signals seen; the one approach was hidden, and such as found it could not conceal their coming, for there were not six trees on the spur and the wood lay two hundred yards from the castle wall.
This reflection made me take to my heels, for, if I could withdraw unseen, that would be a point in our favour, and we had none to spare. Indeed, when I thought of those walls my spirits sank, and remembering how near I had come to passing in, I could have struck myself. What was worse, I was sure that, had he been placed as I, Mansel would somehow have done it and not have let slip a chance which surely was gone for good.
So I came to the wood, and, after watching for some time for any sort of sign that I had been seen, made my way down the drive as fast as I could.
Twenty minutes later I reached the cross roads.
There to my great surprise, Rowley rose out of a ditch and said that Mansel was waiting a stone’s throw away. Then he told me which way to take, and a moment later I saw the two cars below me and Mansel and George poring over a paper book, whilst Carson was feeding Tester and Bell was washing his face in a little rill.
They seemed very glad to see me and most eager to hear my news.
I told my tale.
When I had finished, Mansel put a hand on my arm.
“William,” he said, “she will thank you. I haven’t got the words. But please don’t count it bad luck that you were shut out. If you had gone in, you’d have made a fatal mistake. Alone, unarmed and with no idea of the building, you wouldn’t have stood an earthly; and, what would have been far worse, we shouldn’t have known where you were.”
“But—”
“There is no but here,” said Mansel. “You’ve played and you’ve won your game; but, if you’d gone on, you’d have thrown the rubber away. Do please remember that battles have gone wrong, wars have been lost and the history of the world has been changed, because valour has outrun discretion and men have lost touch.”
It was easy enough to see the force of his words, and I have often thought since that the ways of Providence are strange indeed, for, if Casemate had not turned back, I should not have hung in the oak, and, if the castle door had not been cut asunder, I am sure that I should not have lived to tell this tale.
Then Mansel told me that Bell had seen Rose Noble go by and had followed him down; that George and Bell had both seen me on the roof of the car and, while George had pushed on to the cross roads, Bell had raced back to meet Mansel and bring up the cars.
“And now,” said he, “to breakfast. I picked up some food at Lass. And you’ll be glad of a wash. And as soon as ever we’ve done, I want you to show us around.”
Whilst we were eating, we decided that Mansel and George and I should go out on foot, that one servant should watch the cross roads and the others stay with the cars until we returned. If one of the enemy passed he was not to be stopped or followed, but only marked “for,” said Mansel, “Mr. Chandos has done the trick, and we don’t want to start a new hare till we know where we are. Of course, if Rose Noble comes by, you will shoot him at sight; but, unless I’m much mistaken, he won’t come out any more.”
With that, he told Carson and Bell to serve out a pistol apiece, and, when this was done, he and George and I set out for the wood.
As we went I asked what was the book which I had found them reading when I came in.
George pulled it out of his pocket and held it up. “Souvenir,” he said. “When I gave the bookseller his money and borrowed his plumes, he pressed this into my hand. He had a speech ready, I fear, but, beyond that he was the author, I have no idea what he said. Whilst I was waiting at the cross roads I looked to see what it was. It’s a guide in English to Lass and the neighbourhood. The grammar’s unequal, but, if I could write half as good a guide in German, I should be more than pleased. And it’s got a good plan of Lass and a couple of maps.”
We said no more at that time, for we were approaching the wood.
This we afterwards found was nearly a mile across, by some half a mile in depth. The drive which led to the spur went to the heart of the thicket and there turned sharp to the left; from there it ran slightly up hill to the edge of the wood and then directly down to the castle gate. It follows that, from anyone walking, the spur and the castle were hidden till he came to the edge of the wood, but then burst upon him in an instant, as though some curtain had suddenly been let fall.
Before we breasted the rise, for caution’s sake we had stepped in among the trees, and, when I had parted the branches and Mansel and George had come up, I heard the one catch his breath, while the other stood staring like a zany upon the remarkable scene.
Presently we moved to a knoll and lay down behind its swell.
The spur was empty, and the castle walls bare as I had left them; only the smoke I had noticed gave any sign of life.
“Where’s that guide?” said Mansel suddenly. “See if it mentions this place.”
Hanbury had the book in an instant and was studying one of its maps.
“Gath,” he said, after a moment. “This should be the Castle of Gath. And now for the text.”
Hastily he scanned the pages.
Then he bent the book open and gave it into Mansel’s hand.
And, since I cannot better the bookseller’s description of the place, I will set it down word for word.
THE CASTLES OF GATH
Few peoples know of this castles, because great care was taken from at first that it must be most private and for a long time it was not mark on the state maps.
Gath was builted in the end of the fifteenth century by the great King Maximilian, Holy Roman Emperor, “The Last of the Knights,” as he is named by his proud loving subjects, so as to be a tranquil castles where he can retire to rest sometimes from the cares of reign. It was always kept in readiness to receive him and a small suite.
The visitor who will go the seve
n miles according to the plan of the page 7 will be handsomely rewarded, for the site is unique and the building is posed on the brink of a mountain and seems to be a veritable “castles in the air.” It is easy to believe that the great King was happy to stay here during his short respites and in the company of a few trusted retainers to find peace and refreshment, not to be said inspirations for future glory.
But if one has found it so fine to see from afar, it will be a pity not to visit the interior. This may be done on Wednesdays and Saturdays between two and four o’clock by permission of the present owner, Count — of — .
The visiting of the apartments is made under the custody of a caretakers who fulfills intelligence with curtesy.
We now enter by a deep archway into a fine courtyard, with a waterbason in its midst. A spring rises in the bason and flows in a cascade through the courtyard and under a smaller archway. Let us follow it. Lo, we are in a pretty terrace, where flowers blow, and running all of the length of the South of the Castles, not counting the round tower at each end. Here we seem to be standing on the edge of some earth, for the green cliff falls down directly and the cascade curves over it like a bow. This is the water supplies of the Castles.
We now retrace our steps to the courtyard and ascend the Grand Staircase on the West. The first room is an antichamber, as the furniture suggests, for everything has been left in the State Apartments as when the great King died.
The following was the reception room of the King. The tapestries are notable.
From this we go into a gallery of stone. Here, no doubt, were guards when the King was there, for the gallery is at the corner of the courtyard and the King’s apartments are about to begin. This gallery leads into the south-west tower, which is not shown and has been modernized, and another staircase goes down from it to the terrace where the flowers blow.
Now we come to the south front and the King’s apartments. These are untoucheds.
The first is another antichamber.
Then we enter the royal dining-room. The tapestries are very fine. The visitor will observe that the room is not large because the King has not entertained a guest here.
We now pass into the King’s Bedchamber. This is very stately. The crimson hangings of the magnificent bed and the superb furniture and tapestries, the richery of the polished woodcarvings all reflects the departed majesty of “The Last of the Knights.”
The King’s Closet comes next.
From this we enter the Queen’s Bedchamber, which is like the King’s, but, of course, less magnificence. The hangings are purple.
Then comes another day-chamber for the uses of the Queen, and we then enter an antichamber before passing into a stony gallery similar in all respects to the first.
The south-east tower is not shown.
Now we come to the oratory. There is a door and stairs going down from the oratory into the chapel. There are many shrines in the mountains, but not like this. It is still here always, in the midst of the storm. The glass in the panes is unquestionable and the finery of the woodcarving is beyond praise.
That is all that is shown.
The other part of the Castles have been modernized.
It is regretful that, since above written, the owner of Gath has lately died and there is a law-suit for the possession of the Castles. Because of which the interior is not now shown.
This admirable description we read all three together, Mansel holding the book and waiting, until we had finished, to turn a page.
When it was done he looked up into the sky.
Presently he sighed.
“One has much to be thankful for,” he said. And then, “Let’s hope they let her walk on ‘the pretty terrace, where flowers blow.’”
Hanbury and I said nothing, for, indeed, there was nothing to be said.
Presently Mansel spoke again.
“One thing stands out—any chance of a snap division, which we may have thought we had, can be written right off. If they thought we were still at Villach, it would be different; when your enemy’s that far away, you’re apt to be careless about keeping the door he can’t enter and watching the wall he can’t scale. But to rush a position like this when it’s properly manned is quite impossible. Very well. There’s only one thing to do, and that is to go on play-acting.
“If Chandos was not seen on the spur—and I think it unlikely that he was—Rose Noble has a right to infer that when we came to the cross roads we didn’t know which way to go. Well, he hasn’t much use for inferences, and so I propose to prove to his satisfaction that this inference is a fact. We’re going to forget about Gath, and we’re going to scour the country for miles around. We shall take up our quarters at Lass, come to the cross roads at dawn and spend the whole of the day visiting villages and farms and combing the countryside. While we are doing this we shall take care to study Gath from every side. That’ll be easy enough. And to-morrow, to round the picture, we shall discover the castle and drive up and ring the bell. I don’t imagine Rose Noble will answer the door, but I’m sure that he’ll be within earshot and I’d like him to hear what I say.
“And, if all goes well, two or three days later we’ll call again. But this time we’ll come by night, and I think we’ll let the bell go.”
For a little we lay there silent, digesting his words.
Then—
“At the moment,” said I, “they’ve lost us. Doesn’t it seem a pity to let them find us again?”
“Yes,” said Mansel, “it does. But no man can have it both ways. So long as he’s out of touch, Rose Noble won’t close an eye; and so long as his eyes are open, we shall never get into Gath. So far as I can see, one sentry is more than enough to watch those walls. Very well. Would you omit that precaution, when the last time you’d seen the enemy he was two miles away?” Hanbury fingered his chin.
“How did Rose Noble get there?” he said. “I mean, it’s a private house.”
Mansel shrugged his shoulders.
“I imagine he’s bought the caretakers. It’s often been done in London—in the good old days. And there it was dangerous; but here there’s next to no risk. No neighbours to raise their eyebrows; seven miles from the nearest town; ownership in dispute, and no visitors allowed. Once he had found the place, it was too easy.”
“I agree,” said Hanbury. “And the greatest of these is ‘ownership in dispute.’ Supposing the disputants heard that the Castle of Gath was taking in paying guests.”
“What then?” said Mansel.
“Well, wouldn’t they take some action?”
“Of course they would,” said Mansel. “But what action would they take?”
“I don’t know,” said Hanbury. “But—”
“Neither do I,” said Mansel, “and there’s the rub. If they’d let me take the action, well and good. But they’d never do that. If I pitched it in pretty strong, they’d probably come along with a couple of local police and a lawyer’s clerk . . . . And don’t forget—whatever action was taken, Rose Noble would know whom to thank. He’d know that I was behind it, and I’m frankly afraid to think what his answer would be. You see, the goods are perishable. Because of that, we must never let him see that the game is up. It’s got to be up, before he sees that it’s up . . . before he has time to hit back . . . . ”
Half an hour later we were at the cross roads.
It was now eleven o’clock, and within a quarter of an hour our plans were laid.
For five miles about we were to prove the country, making no attempt at concealment and courting the observation of anyone watching from Gath; in this way, whilst appearing to search, we should gain such a knowledge of the district as might any moment be of the greatest use. In the course of our movements we were to visit two points from each of which it seemed likely that a man could look full upon Gath; these particular visits were, of course, to be surreptitiously made, and we hoped that they would help us to discover whether an endeavour to climb to the castle by the cliffs could possibly succ
eed.
Mansel and I would take one car, and Hanbury and Bell the other; each patrol was to go its own way, returning to the cross roads at sundown, en route for Lass.
Carson and Rowley, meanwhile, were to lie close in a wood and take their rest, “for to-night,” said Mansel, “you two must drive to Poganec and take Captain Pleydell our news.”
“How much shall you tell him?” said I, as we took to the car.
“Only where he can find me and that we know where she is.”
Yet when the time came to send it, the note was longer than that.
It was half past three when Mansel and I began to ascend a mountain which we thought must command the castle and be commanded in turn. Its sides and peak were wooded, so we had little to fear. The Rolls we had left with Tester by the side of the way, and each of us carried a binocular of a considerable power.
At last we came to the summit, and almost at once we saw Gath, not directly opposed, but lying a little to the left, so that we could observe the whole of its south and east sides.
I could dwell upon its emplacement, but I should waste my words, for I have not the pen to hail a miracle, and that is what we saw.
Enough that the face of the cliff was “produced” in the castle walls, and that Gath was the crown upon a crag that no man could ever scale.
So much the naked eye showed us.
It was the binoculars that showed us Adèle.
She was standing on the little terrace, with her hands on the balustrade. Whether she was watched I cannot say, but she was alone. Below her was the leaping cascade, and, behind, an archway, framing a door that was shut. She was standing very still; her head was up, and her eyes lifted to the peak upon which we stood.
Mansel tore off his wrist-watch, ripped its case open and thrust the watch into my hand.
Blind Corner and Perishable Goods Page 27