Five minutes later we stood again in the antechamber and when we had opened a casement and found the rope, there was nothing to show, much less to suggest that we had seen the inside of any other room.
“And now the tools,” said Mansel, “and then Hanbury. Carson to stay where he is. We shall make the devil’s own noise, and he is to shoot at sight.” I climbed up and gave the message as fast as I could.
The time was now half past three; the stars were no more to be seen, and rain had begun to fall. This was to our liking, for now any footprints we had made above or below would be wiped out; but the wet was against our foothold, and, as I came back, I slipped on the window-sill.
We had received the tools and were awaiting Hanbury, when some door within the castle was sharply closed.
It was some door behind us—not very far away.
Called upon to say which, I would have named the door of the Closet. The clash of a heavy, spring lock was unmistakable.
Mansel put out the light, and we stood as still as death, straining our ears for footsteps and hearing none.
A rustle without the window told us that Hanbury had begun to descend the rope.
We could not stop him for we had no signal-cord, and together we stood to the window to take him in without sound.
As we did so, came the creak of a floorboard, faint yet distinct. I would have said that it came from the Dining-room.
It was now as dark as pitch. I could not even see Mansel, two feet from where I stood.
Something swayed at the window . . . .
Then we had George in our arms and Mansel was unfastening the rope which was holding him up.
Again I heard a board creak—somewhere at hand.
With the greatest force we lowered George to his feet. As we did so, the dais upon which we were standing tilted suddenly forward, and, with nothing to save us, the three of us crashed to the ground. As we fell, the massive step resumed its proper position with a deafening clap.
There had been nothing to show that the step was not fixed, and, indeed, it was so solid that I do not think it would have moved under ordinary use; but the weight of three men happening to fall upon its edge had, I suppose, been too much for its counterpoise.
For a moment we lay as we had fallen, straining our ears; then Mansel got to his feet and lighted the torch.
“You two all right?” he said.
We told him “yes.”
“Then quick,” says he, “for, by thunder, we’ve rung the bell.”
With that, he set Hanbury to watch the Dining-room door and hold the torch, while I took the stoutest chisel and laid its edge where the lock met the wood of the door.
“You strike,” said Mansel, taking it out of my hand.
I picked up and swung a hammer with all my might —
I cannot attempt to tell the noise we made.
Perhaps our reluctance to make any noise at all and the infinite care we had taken to smother all sound magnified for us this sudden breach of silence; certainly the hour, the emptiness of the apartments and the style and proportions of the building made so many sounding-boards. Be that as it may, had the castle been full of troops and these been suddenly summoned by trumpet and tuck of drum I do not think the uproar could have won to our ears.
It took us, I suppose, two minutes to reduce that lock.
As Mansel wrenched it away, an iron fillet, into which its tongues were protruding, came also. This fillet was a false jamb, that ran the whole length of the door and was laid upon stone. Now that it was displaced, we could see that the door was bolted, top and bottom, upon the opposite side. The bolts were shot into the stone, but, the fillet gone, we could reach them and, with the slightest manipulation, could draw them clear of their sockets and open the door.
I put up a hand, but Mansel caught my arm. Someone was pounding upon the other side of the door.
Together we stared at the oak.
Then came Adèle’s clear voice.
“Is that you, Jonah?”
“Yes, dear,” said Mansel. “One moment, and—”
“No, no,” cried Adèle. “Stop. Stay where you are. Rose Noble’s here by my side. And he says if you open that door you'll lose your match.”
6. The Love of a Lady
Never, I suppose were hopes lifted so high one moment and dashed so low the next.
Indeed, I was so much confounded by the sudden overthrow of our fortune that I stood staring at the door, as a clown at a strange fish, and when I turned to Hanbury, who had come across to our side, he was wearing the blank expression of a player of chess who, having but two moves to make to win his match, suddenly perceives that his opponent has but one.
And this shows how fine was the stuff of which Mansel was made, for, though our dismay was nothing to the bitterness which must have been his, beyond raising his eyebrows he gave no manner of sign that he was put out, and, what was far more, he had a plan in an instant to save the game.
Before he could answer Adèle, we heard the clatter of footsteps and, then, Rose Noble’s deep voice speaking Casemate and Bunch by name.
Under cover of this distraction, Mansel caught us each by an arm.
“Time to be gone,” he whispered. “We’ve shot our bolt. Leave everything and clear out. I’m going to stay. Food and dry clothes to me by the waterfall cord. And paper and pencil. So long.”
Before we could speak, he had returned to the door.
“My dear Adèle,” he said, “I’m delighted to hear your voice.”
“Same here,” said Adèle, cheerfully.
Rose Noble laughed.
‘“Journeys end in lovers meeting,’” he said.
“How’s Boy?” said Adèle.
“None too bad,” said Mansel. “A bit hot and bothered you know, till we’d run you to earth; but that was natural. His leg’s just splendid.”
“How much does he know?” said Rose Noble.
That was as much as I heard, for Hanbury was at the window, and I had something to say before he was gone.
“I stay with Mansel,” I said. “Give me your pistol and torch.”
“I can’t leave you here,” said George.
“Quick,” said I. “We’ll argue another time.”
With that, I put my hands in his pockets and helped myself. There was a bunch of wedges we had not used. These I took, and his torch. He gave me his pistol unwillingly enough. Then he shook his head and went up the rope. High words were flying as I swung myself into the rain. Rose Noble was clearly angry, and I heard Adèle’s scornful laugh . . . .
As soon as my feet touched the terrace, I made my way to the water and scrambled under the door. I had a vile wet passage, but I managed to save both pistols and Hanbury’s torch. The archway was dank and draughty, so I lost no time in finding the little staircase that served the trap-door and, when I had found it, in climbing as high as I could. Here I was out of the wind and might have been snug; but my clothes were wringing wet and that made the stone seem cold.
I was quite sure that this was the spot at which Mansel proposed to lie hid—for that, of course, was his plan. He intended Rose Noble to think that he had withdrawn, and, presently taking the monster off his guard, to strike again.
And here I may say that I found his plan very good. To release Adèle might be beyond our power, but our luck would be out indeed, if we could not kill Rose Noble before two days were gone by, and his death, as I have said, would break the enemy’s back.
What Mansel would say, when he found me, I could not tell. He did not like disobedience; but for one man to stay alone in such an enemy’s camp seemed to me out of reason, and I hoped very much that he would share my view.
I had not long to wait.
A sudden quickening of the rustle the water made told me that Mansel was passing beneath the door, and an instant later I heard his foot on the stair.
“Mansel,” I breathed. “Chandos speaking.”
“Ah, William,” said he; and that was all.
He sat down on the step below mine and put his head in his hands.
After a little he spoke.
“I didn’t dare stay. Rose Noble was bound to exploit a chance like that. You see, without an audience there’s no point in doing her harm; but with me, so to speak, looking on . . . . He struck her, Chandos. And, because she wouldn’t cry out, he struck her again . . . . And so it seemed best to go . . . . Oh, my God,” he cried suddenly, “there are times when I’d take your offer and buy her out.”
“It’s always open,” I said.
“I know,” he said, “I know.”
For a long time we sat in silence. Then he gave a short sigh.
“Drink some of this,” he whispered, and put a flask into my hand.
It was brandy and did us both good, for our state of mind and of body was wretched enough.
Presently he spoke again.
“No,” he said. “No. What’s the good of buying a broken heart? We’ve got to beat Rose Noble; there’s no other way. But it’s a dreadful business to have to go so slow.”
That was a true saying.
Indeed, the next sixteen hours were the worst I have ever spent. I can never remember them without a shudder, and to our restless senses they seemed more like sixteen days. Without cause we dared not emerge; no cause presented itself. The rain fell down without ceasing, and, though we took it in turns to watch from the archway, no one appeared in the courtyard, or, so far as I know, visited the terrace upon the opposite side. Command the terrace we could not, unless we lay down in the channel below the door; and that was dangerous, for the noise which the water made embarrassed the ear, and we might well have been noticed before we had time to withdraw. There was, however, the keyhole of the great door itself, and, whilst we were listening there, I do not think one could have passed without our hearing his steps.
We saw the dawn come in and the day draw to its close; we heard the drip of the rain and the sigh of the wind; and that was all.
One thing only we decided, for you cannot make bricks without straw, and we had no data with which to make any plan. We determined that, when night had fallen and we dared pull up the rope, we would enter the King’s Closet and eat and rest in such comfort as that room could give. The risk of discovery was small, and, if we could not take shelter which would allow us to sleep, we should, we knew, be unfitted to strike when the moment came. I do not mean that when the day was over we had no resistance left, for we were both very strong and had suffered adversity far more exacting than this; but we knew that to rob Rose Noble the eye must be clear, the hand unearthly swift and all the senses at the very top of their pitch or, as the saying is, a man might as well go home.
At last the daylight faded, and the rain ceased.
When it was quite dark, we laid hold of the rope in the channel and took the strain. To our delight it was loaded, so, bidding me stay where I was and haul it in, Mansel crawled under the door and made for the balustrade beneath which the waterfall leapt.
At last I felt a check, and, very soon after, a package done up in oiled silk was thrust under the door.
Two minutes later we were in the King’s closet, with good, oak boards beneath us and wedges under the doors.
As well as changes of clothing, Hanbury had sent us a blanket sewn into the shape of a bag; this was just what we needed and, with the square of carpet, promised a good night’s rest.
But first there was work to be done.
There was food enough for five, and, what was better still, a bottle of excellent brandy by way of drink.
We changed and made our meal by the shaded light of a torch, for to do such things in the dark without making a sound required more time and care than we were prepared to expend; and, when we had done, Mansel wrote out the first message which we were to send to George:
George.
Send up Adèle’s dressing-case.
(a) Is there any reason why we should not descend by this rope at any time?
(b) Where is the cover nearest to the foot of the cliff and what shape does it take?
I wished to go out this time, but Mansel would not consent. Whilst, therefore, I let down the message, he changed again into his dripping clothes, and, as soon as I took the strain, he returned to the balustrade . . . .
Hanbury’s answer was clear.
(a) No reason at all. We have lengthened the rope, so that it reaches the ground. By day the last forty feet will be concealed in a bush. No one could ever climb up without help from above.
(b) Beechwoods two furlongs north-east. Unless you direct otherwise, one car will be always concealed within sound of the drive, and one at the foot of this cliff from nightfall till dawn.
As soon as he had changed, Mansel wrote out his reply.
Good. Visit the beechwoods twice daily at ten and three. Don’t wait any longer to-night. Send Carson and another to Poganec with the enclosed note instead.
The note was addressed to Captain Pleydell and was very short.
I have spoken with Adèle. She is very cheerful and seems to be in excellent health.
These dispatches I sent alone, and, when they were gone, we finally closed the trap-door and getting into our blanket, lay down on the carpet to sleep.
Whether Mansel rested I know not, but I slept like the dead. The Closet was full of pale light when I awoke, and Mansel was at the window, with his eyes on the east.
It was ten o’clock in the morning, the weather was very fine, and I had my ear to the keyhole of the archway door, when I heard a footstep upon the terrace beyond.
As I turned to summon Mansel, I felt his hand on my arm.
“Casemate is with her,” he said.
The next instant he was down in the channel and was peering under the door.
Slowly Adèle and her warder passed into and out of my view. Her hair had been rudely shorn to the shape of her head, and about her shoulders she wore a rag of a shawl.
Then I heard Casemate’s voice.
“ — this sunshine,” he said. “Don’t you want a hat on your curls?”
“No,” said Adèle. “Well, I guess I do,” said Casemate. “You carry on, an’ move. You’re not here to wave to Charlie; you’re here for exercise. An’ Rose is red-hot this morning, so I shouldn’t tread on his toes.”
With that, he left her.
“Pull up the rope,” said Mansel; and, before I could think, he was gone.
I was taken so much by surprise that, though I did his bidding, I could hardly believe that our attempt at rescue was fairly begun. Casemate was seeking his hat; that, before he returned, we should be able to let down Adèle to safety seemed to me a chance in a thousand, while, if we were caught in the act, her life would be in great peril and our present enterprise wrecked. I found it unlike Mansel to take such a risk and was wondering whether for once his zeal had outrun his discretion, when Adèle’s face appeared in the channel almost between my legs.
In a flash I had her under the arms, and had drawn her clear of the door and lifted her up. Mansel followed at once, and, whilst I worked like a madman to pull up the rope, he spoke to Adèle.
“If we can do it in time, we shall let you down the face of the cliff. The moment you’re down, unfasten the rope and run for your life to the beechwoods that lie north-east.” He pointed the direction with his arm. “Over there. George or Carson will be there with one of the Rolls. Tell them to drive you—”
He stopped there, and, after listening intently, caught my wrist.
“Let go the rope,” he breathed . . . .
For a moment I could hear nothing. Then came Rose Noble’s voice.
“Hat be damned. I said ‘See that she moves.’ By — , that’s clean enough talking. D’you think—”
And there, I suppose, he saw that Adèle was gone . . . .
For a moment there was dead silence. Then came a rush of steps to the balustrade.
Adèle and Mansel and I stood still as death, while the rope fled steadily back the wa
y it had come. That Rose Noble must now observe it seemed almost certain; whether he would see that it was moving we could not tell.
A sudden roar from the terrace made my heart stand still.
“By — , she’s gone,” screeched Rose Noble.
“Look at that — cord.”
“She’s never had time,” cried Casemate. “I only—”
“Time? howled Rose Noble. “Time? It’s only your white-livered sort that wants time to break out of hell.
Bunch! Punter!” he yelled. “Turn out the — car.
Go and help them, you — . And if we don’t take her at the foot of this blasted rock I’ll twist your block off your body with my bare hands.”
Before the threat was issued, Casemate was gone. I could hear him shouting for Bunch like a man possessed.
The rope was now back in the channel and lying as snug and as taut as though it had never been touched.
Mansel was speaking low.
“Sit down on the step, dear, and let me pull off your boots.”
Adèle obeyed him at once. She was, of course, drenched to the skin.
“Now go up these stairs; they’ll bring you into a room. Your dressing-case is there. Change your clothes as quickly as ever you can. The instant you’re through, come back.”
Here came voices from the courtyard, and almost at once I saw figures about the car. This was in the midst of the archway that ushered the castle gate and directly opposed to that beneath which we stood. The car was standing, as we were, in deep shadow, but the courtyard was full of light. It follows that I could not distinguish whose the figures might be but, after a little, I heard Rose Noble’s voice. I suppose the car was unready for her engine would not start for all the frenzy with which someone was swinging the shaft. Another—Casemate, I think—was clumsily dashing spirit into the tank . . . .
At last with a stammer and then with a sudden roar the engine came to life; and that put an end to my observation, for the noise was deafening and a dense smoke from the exhaust screened any movement that was made.
Blind Corner and Perishable Goods Page 30