Then I fell to considering Mansel and Adèle and their love—for now I was sure that she loved him as he did her—and what ever would be the outcome of an affair at once so passionate and so much out of joint.
God knows I did not blame them; I was rather exulting to see two such great hearts at one. It was the future that troubled me, the reckoning that would have to be paid.
And whilst I was in the midst of this reflection, the two came into the Closet, with shining eyes.
I got to my feet, and Adèle gave me her hand.
I kissed it naturally.
“William,” she said, “I think I have the finest lover in the world.”
“You have, indeed,” said I, gravely.
“William the Faithful,” said Mansel and laughed like a boy. He stepped to the trap. “And now,” said he, “I’m going to spy out the land. Don’t talk too loud, you two, and stay in the doorway, please, so that you can watch both rooms.”
“Very good,” said I, and went to my post at once.
When Mansel was gone, Adèle came to my side.
“Sit down, William,” she said. “I want you to know how I feel.”
We sat down on the floor, like two children, and Adèle leaned her head against the wall and slid her slight arm through mine.
“I’m in love with Jonah,” she said. “I think I’ve loved him for years, but I never knew. And then, when I first saw Rose Noble and Jute pulled me off the mare, I remembered our talk in the forest and I knew what they wanted me for. They meant to hurt Jonah through me. That meant that Jonah loved me; and then, all of a sudden, I knew that I loved him. I was terribly worried at first, because it seemed so awful to be in love with anyone other than Boy. And then I came to see that, so long as nobody knew, no harm would be done. And I made up my mind that no one should ever know— not even Jonah himself . . . Well, you saw me break down. You saw me kiss him and put my arms round his neck. I suppose I shouldn’t have done it, but I’m so thankful I did. I want you to know that, William. And Jonah’s so happy, too. We’ve had it all out and we both of us feel the same. You see, we’re locked up here, in a sort of No Man’s Land that lies between life and death. If we die—well, that’s the end. If we live, then we go back. But we can’t tell which it will be, and, so long as we’re in that land, we’re going to love each other with all our heart.”
“But, oh, Adèle,” said I, “what about going back?” A very soft light came into her wonderful eyes.
“You can’t take away memory,” she said. “That we shall have forever, like a star that’s always in the sky. I’m not seeking to justify myself. I know I’m another man’s wife. But I don’t care, William. Nature and Fortune have driven us into this Eden, and I don’t think we should be human if we didn’t help each other to pick the flowers.”
“I don’t think you would,” said I heartily.
And that is the point of view I hold to-day. I daresay it cannot be defended. I can only say that Jonathan Mansel and Adèle were two of a kind that I never saw before and have never seen since. They were wise; “they were lovely and pleasant in their lives”; they were nonpareil; and, looking back, I find it most natural that, suddenly faced with life in the midst of death, two natures so alike and so peerless should have comforted each other.
Adèle looked at me swiftly.
“Do you mean that you understand? I don’t think you can do that?”
“I can understand enough,” said I, “to be very glad you’re so happy.”
“Thank you, William,” she said. “And please don’t feel left out. Jonah was only saying a moment ago that you were the only living being he didn’t mind seeing our love.”
“History repeats itself,” said I, indicating the rooms. “The equerry doesn’t feel left by his king and his queen.”
“Oh, he’s a courtier,” cried Adèle, clapping her hands. “Don’t slander my lieutenant,” said Mansel, putting his head through the floor. “And here’s a piece of good news.” He sank his voice to a murmur. “The car is still out.”
“Which means?” breathed Adèle.
“I hope and believe it means that it’s gone for good, that George and the servants have got it and all or some of its crew. When Rose Noble sent them out, he knew very well that there was nothing to see; he knew we were in the archway and he sent them packing to mislead us and draw us out; I admit he pulled that off, but, unless and until they return, I believe he’s alone.”
I suppose that I showed my excitement, for he continued at once.
“But please remember Rose Noble’s a host in himself. He may be single-handed, but he’s worth ten ordinary men. And so we must watch and wait. If only we’d known of that passage two nights ago—”
“Then,” said Adèle, “you’d never have known that I loved you. And now, please, I’m hungry. Will one of you give me some food?”
Mansel smiled.
“Feminine influence, William, is a terrible thing. With this girl-child round our necks, we shall forget we’re at war.”
“Forget it,” said I, rising, “for half an hour. While you two lunch, I’ll watch the castle gate.”
“Very well,” said Mansel, hoisting himself to the floor.
But keep in the shadow and report the first sign of life. If Hanbury’s sunk the pinnace, I don’t think what’s left of her crew will come aboard before dark. At least, they’ll be fools if they try. But we can’t hang our lives on guess-work and so we must watch. And, by the time I’ve eaten, I may have some plan.”
But he had not; neither had I.
Through all that afternoon we three might have been alone in the Castle of Gath. If others spoke or moved, we neither saw nor heard them, and, when the light faded, we were still without any grounds on which to ase any belief.
Of the ways of the castle Adèle knew far less than we, for she had been brought in blindfold and had ever, before we seized her, been beyond the “gallery of stone”; but, had she been able to tell us that a tunnel led out of the chapel to Salzburg itself, the knowledge would not have helped us, for we dare not use the passage, in case it was held.
What remained of the waterfall cord was some sixty feet long, and this we had all ready to help our escape. Could we, therefore, have gained the roof, we could doubtless have reached the spur; but we had no means of ascent, and, though I essayed both chimneys, these were built of hewn stone and only a very small child could have made it sway up their shafts.
But for Adèle, Mansel and I would have sallied and might well, I think, have escaped. If the passage was under fire, at least it must be lighted by windows which overlooked the courtyard, and we would have chanced lot in order to reach the gate. To such a risk, however, we dared not expose Adèle. Here I think we were wise. Unless he could starve us to surrender, Rose Noble’s hope of ransom was gone by the board; once we sallied, therefore, the fellow had nothing to gain by sparing our lives—but much to lose, for he knew very well that we would shoot him at sight. Add to this that we had lately enraged him as never before, and you will see that to run such a gauntlet, with Adèle, so to speak, in our arms, was out of the question.
At last we decided to write a message to George and making it into a parcel, to cast it over the cliff.
So far as my memory serves me, this was how the note ran:
George.
The rope has been cut. We are fast in the Closet and the Bedchamber and we have got Adèle. There is a passage connecting the two stone galleries and looking upon the courtyard. You will attack to-morrow—Friday, half an hour after dark. As before, gain the roof; go directly to the door in the south-west tower; guard that; then let fall three ropes to the windows of the King’s Closet; the moment these are in place, demonstrate. You will demonstrate by letting down a ladder to one of the windows of the passage and accidentally breaking the glass. Carefully rehearse the demonstration, which must last one minute. Whilst it is going on, you will take up Adèle by one of the ropes; rush her along the roof, lower her down to the
spur and run with her for the wood; Chandos and I will follow. Not counting the caretakers, Rose Noble is, I think, alone—except for those who escaped when you stopped the car. Work out the whole attack with the greatest care; it must not fail.
We wrapped the note in oiled silk and then in a wet coat of mine, to serve as ballast; this we made into a parcel, and at ten o’clock that night I hurled it over the cliff.
Neither Mansel nor I had expected to sleep at all, For the castle gate had to be watched as well as the doors of the chambers in which we lay; but Adèle insisted on taking her turn with us, so each of us slept for two hours and watched for four.
Adèle was the first to rest, and I was the last; and I remember how I stole up the stairway at two o’clock, to find the rooms full of moonlight., Adèle in the midst of the doorway with her fair head against the jamb, and Mansel sleeping like a child, with her arms about him and his head in her lap. And, when he was gone to the archway and I would have lain alone, she would not have it so, but made me lie down as he had and pillow my head upon her.
The castle gate was not opened during the night, and this made us certain that those that had left with the car were in Hanbury’s hands.
We, therefore, decided to watch no more from the archway, but only to use it as and when we required. To this end we stopped the keyholes of the door and the gate and wedged a cage-grate in the channel beneath the door, to prevent an entry by stealth while our backs were turned.
And here let me say that before it was light we had all three bathed in the channel and made as fair a toilet as our means would allow. Mansel and I could do no more than shave and make ourselves clean, but Adèle must change her frock for one of a powder blue, and, when we sat down to breakfast, she was as point-device in appearance as though she had just left her bedroom in London Town.
The day passed quietly enough, and, except that one of us was always in the Bedchamber, listening for any sound, we kept no particular watch.
Adèle and Mansel were happy as the day was long.
I have never seen two beings so plainly glad of each other, so easy and natural in their love. There was nothing common or unclean in all their tenderness, and, so far from embarrassing my senses, my acquaintance with such devotion lifted up my heart.
One thing only troubled us, and that was the absolute silence which reigned without our doors.
That Rose Noble should make no sound was natural enough; yet the continuous absence of any sign of life came to insist that we had the castle to ourselves and to tempt us against all reason out of our lair. This temptation we certainly resisted, but with every hour the suggestion that we were alone increased in strength, until when the evening came, we were all three unsettled and did not know what to think. In a way this did not matter, for, if, indeed, Rose Noble were out of the way, our release by Hanbury must be a simple affair; yet the bare idea of such fortune seemed something sinister, like the counsel of a prophet whose eyes are not straight in his head.
“The truth is,” said Mansel, “we ought to have played his game. We shouldn’t have made a sound for twenty-four hours. Then he’d ’ve begun to wonder if we were gone; and at last he’d’ve tried to find out and shown his hand. As it is, the positions are reversed, and he’s fairly got us guessing—which is just what he wants.”
This was uncommon sense, but, even whilst I agreed, I found myself supposing that Rose Noble was dead or gone and finding the supposition curiously untoward.
For this strange uncertainty of outlook I have never been able to account; I am not given to imagining vain things, or to letting my fancy fly in the face of fact; yet, though I was not uneasy, my mind would not come to rest, but continually dwelled upon the silence and the prosperous tale which it told.
At last the day was over, and dusk came in.
When it was dark, we opened the Closet windows and shut the trap-door. Then Mansel set me at a window, with Adèle by my side, and himself to watch the Bedchamber until the moment should come.
The night was most black and still, and I stood leaning out into the thunderous air, straining my ears for the rustle of a rope coming down . . .
But none came; and, after a long time, I began to feel sick at heart.
I did not move, for the night was before us, and while it was dark we could hope; but Hanbury was always punctual—and now he was late . . . .
I do not know how long I stood there, but suddenly my heart bounded as I heard a movement above.
An instant later I had a rope in my hands . . . .
As I put my weight upon it, another rope brushed my arms, and almost at once, a third.
By my silent direction, Adèle gave one flash with her torch and, in a twinkling, Mansel was by our side.
Himself he tested the ropes; then he bound one about her and lifted her on to the sill.
Adèle put her arms round his neck and pressed her face against his.
So we stayed, waiting . . . .
Then came a clatter from the passage the shiver of broken glass.
“My beautiful darling,” said Mansel, and swung her out of the window and into the night.
For a second he watched her rising, then he drew back.
“You next, William,” he said; “as quick as you can.”
At once I leaned out to grope for the other two ropes.
“Quick,” breathed Mansel. “That demonstration’s too thin.”
Desperately I flung out both arms, sweeping the air— and found nothing.
“They’re gone,” I cried, drawing back. “They were—”
Mansel was at the next window, leaning out and craning his neck.
As I did the same, a very faint exclamation came down from above.
And then a thick laugh.
“Isn’t that nice?” said Rose Noble.
7. We Practice to Deceive
Try as I will, I cannot distinctly remember what then took place, and I think that I acted blindly, as a man in a trance.
I know that we were both in the passage, the main doors of which were fast shut, that our rope was dan¬gling from a window and that Mansel was about to go down, when the beam of a torch illumined his head and shoulders, and a bullet sang past his ear.
I know that the light and the shot both came from directly above, so that, placed as we were, we could not so much as reply.
I know that we were both on the terrace and that Mansel was casting the rope in the vain hope of catch¬ing a merlon in the noose he had made.
I know that we were both in the antechamber, that the great door was as we had left it and that, whilst I fought like a madman to shift the bolt, Mansel was kneeling beside me with his head in his hands . . . .
At last I felt a touch on my shoulder, and Mansel got to his feet. I followed him into the Dining-room slowly enough. My head was strangely heavy, and I felt shaken and spent. Had he bade me lie down and sleep, I should have done his bidding without a word. The shock of what we had done had left me listless.
Mansel sat down in a chair, and I sat down in another and waited for him to speak.
To be honest, I hoped he would stay silent, for I could think of no comment upon our case which would not be bitter as death and wholly vain; but, when he began to speak, he did so with such composure as fairly shamed me out of a humour so recreant and so mean.
“Something, of course,” he said quietly, “has happened to George. I can tell you the time when it happened—ten o’clock yesterday night. He was awaiting a message at the foot of the cliff. No doubt he was being watched. And, when the packet fell down, the enemy laid him out and picked it up. When I say ‘George,’ I mean ‘George and the servants,’ of course. They’re not four any more—four effectives; they may not even be three . . . .
“Point number two—Rose Noble is not alone. He may have been yesterday morning, but he’s certainly not alone now. I suppose he took them in by a rope some time last night. Anyway, he’s smarter than I am, and Punter or Casemate has certainly bested George.<
br />
“Point number three—we must get out of this suite. I should never have split our force; and now, by hook or by crook, I’ve got to join it again. If Carson or George is alive, they’ll attack to-night, and we’ve got to open the gate and let them in. What’s a thousand times worse, if we’re still at his mercy to-morrow, Rose Noble will put on the screw. . . .
“Point number four—the ‘hands-up’ phase is over. From now on seeing is shooting, and shooting to kill. Rose Noble’s still hoping to break me, for the sake of doing a deal; but he knows it’s a chance in a million and he’s not going to risk his life by sparing mine.”
And there, I remember, he happened to cast down his eyes.
We were not without light, for he had the torch in his hand, but this he was holding downward, so that its beam made a circle upon the floor.
For a moment he did not move. Then he was out of his chair and down on his knees . . . .
Clean around the table there was a crack in the floor.
It was a very fine cleft and was choked with dust and the wax with which the floor had been rubbed; but these gave way at once to the point of a knife, and then we could see that the floor had been sawn asunder with the finest of saws.
I could scarcely believe that here was another trapdoor, for, for one thing only, the cleft was surrounding the table with a fair two inches to spare, and a trapdoor some eight feet by five seemed out of reason; yet, for some purpose or other, the floor had been cut, and, what seemed to me still more strange, except by the dust and the wax, the cleft had never been stopped.
Blind Corner and Perishable Goods Page 32