Then Mansel shut the gate and shot the great bolts and set his face again to the business of reaching Adèle, or, to be more precise, of thrusting between her and Rose Noble, before the latter knew we were there.
One thing was plain. Before the night was over, we must either have accomplished our purpose or have gained some room or comer where we could lie hid. Now the only shelter we knew was that of the cellar beneath the dining-room’s floor, but, since our goal was as ever, the south-west tower, we decided to make for the latter and to trust to striking another and more convenient lair.
Now, though we knew next to nothing of the way from the porch to Adèle, we had one valuable clue.
When Casemate had been hounded by Rose Noble to “turn out the car,” he had certainly reached the porch as quickly as ever he could. Now his shortest path, as we knew from the bookseller’s guide, was down the Grand Staircase and across the courtyard. But Casemate had not crossed the courtyard. It was, therefore, perfectly plain that that way was shut.
We, therefore, turned to the door in the western wall of the porch, for Casemate had come out of that, and that could, therefore, lead us back to the “gallery of stone.”
I could set down our passage in detail, for I remember most clearly every step that we took. The hopes and fears which attended us, the sudden shocks of thankfulness and dismay, the waves of suspense and relief—all these are engraved upon my memory as letters cut upon a stone. But I think that such a recital would be out of place, for only those that were there could find it moving, and I have not the mind or the skill to trick it out.
And so I will only say that by galleries, stairs and chambers we made our way in the darkness towards the south-west tower. Again and again boards creaked beneath our weight, and sometimes, do what we would, a hinge would whine; we made mistakes in our going and were forced to retrace the steps we had been at such pains to take; and we went at a true snail’s pace and as blind men go, for we dared not use our torches in case their light should betray us and ruin our game.
At break of day we stood in a little lobby that looked out upon the mountains and seemed at that misty moment to command the world.
The place had the look of a guard-room, and so, I am sure, it had served, for a wicket gave directly on to a winding stair, which if a man ascended he came to the roof, but, if he went down, he came to the “gallery of stone.” It was, indeed, the stairway of the south-west tower.
So we broke and entered into that jealous keep which for six long days had mocked us and all our works.
The need for caution was now paramount.
We stood at the enemy’s elbow, and he did not know we were there. We had our hand almost upon him; but he had his hand on Adèle. He was unready, but we did not know the ground. If we could strike before he could, the game was ours; but if we were to be behindhand, we had better be sitting at Lass with our hands in our lap.
We afterwards found that there were in the tower three apartments, consisting of two rooms each. These were a bedroom and bathroom, very well done. The window from which Adèle had signalled was that of the middle apartment, the door of which, as she had told us, gave into the “gallery of stone.”
For a long time we crouched like animals, straining our ears; but we could hear no sound. Then Mansel breathed his orders, and we began to move . . . .
George stood fast in the lobby, ready to shoot at sight; Bell and Rowley stole three steps up the stair and stayed with their backs to the wall and their knives in their hands; and Mansel, with me behind him, began to go down . . . .
It was dark in the gallery, for all its five doors were shut, but a pale smear of light was betraying the threshold of the door which led to the terrace steps. That gave us our bearings at once, but, if there was someone there, we could not see him, and the silence all about us was that of death.
Then came a sigh of the wind, and something moved.
It was a door on our right—the door of the prisoner’s room.
Very slowly we watched it open, letting the daylight out. I could see Mansel just before me, covering the gap with his pistol and steady as any rock. I could see beyond him and into the very room. The floor was bare and polished, and the walls were panelled with oak.
Then, very slowly, the door began to close.
In a flash Mansel had stopped it, and we were within the room.
This was empty.
A window had been left open, and that had occasioned the draught. The bathroom was empty, too. Adèle was gone.
Two minutes later we had proved the truth to the hilt.
The three apartments were vacant, and the door to the roof was shut. Rose Noble, prisoner and all had withdrawn to the opposite tower.
It was a bitter business.
That our labour was lost was nothing; but the waste of time shocked us, and the thought that, so far from progressing, we were now twice as far from Addle as we had been at the time when we stood in the porch was plain torment.
That we never had any doubt where Rose Noble and his prisoner were gone, I attribute to Mansel alone. Only a brilliant perception can rip the skin off an assumption and bare a fact. Everything certainly argued withdrawal to the south-east tower; but that was not nearly enough. We had to know. And Mansel knew.
I have said we were now twice the distance that we had been from Adèle. And so it seemed, for we dared not use the roof during the day and, as we had reason to know, the way by the Royal Apartments was straitly barred. Yet the thought of returning to the porch and thence beginning again to grope our way was hardly to be endured, because the clock was against us and we feared to let go so much time. Cross the porch in daylight we could not, because of the man on the roof. We must, therefore, wait until nightfall to make the move—some sixteen hours of inaction, when time was so very dear. The harder we stared upon this prospect, the more ugly and hazardous it grew; the more the daylight broadened, the more perilous seemed delay. Any moment Rose Noble might discover that Mansel and I had escaped; any moment the kitchen might be entered, and Hanbury’s release become known; any moment one of the gang might stumble into our arms, and, though we could stop his mouth, his failure to reappear would tell its tale. And if none of these things happened and we lay close until night, would our passage be so successful as the passage that we had made? Was there a way within doors to the south-east tower? And what of the caretakers? That we had not found them last night suggested most strongly that their rooms lay the other side; and if we encountered the woman, she was most sure to give tongue . . . .
For an hour we stayed in the gallery, keeping such watch as we could and, for my part, feverishly considering what we should do.
At length Mansel bade us all listen and, with the plainest reluctance, unfolded the following plan.
“Mr. Chandos and I must re-enter the Royal suite. That we can do from this end without any fuss. Mr. Hanbury with Bell and Rowley will go to the top of this tower. Ten minutes after we have entered, Mr. Chandos will give a great cry. The sentinel watching the courtyard will rush to the opposite wall, to see me piled up on the terrace, with a length of rope in my hand. I shall plainly have fallen down while attempting to scale the wall. Mr. Chandos will be kneeling beside me, trying to lift me up. The sentry will rush to his tower to raise the alarm. He will surely leave the door open—the door from the roof. Mr. Hanbury and Bell and Rowley will immediately cross the roof and follow him in.
“Now I think that Rose Noble will go to the terrace at once; and the others with him. You see, if I were to die, Mrs. Pleydell, comparatively speaking, would hardly pay for her keep. So I think they’ll all get down to me as fast as they can. Very well. While they are gone, Mr. Hanbury, Rowley and Bell will find Mrs. Pleydell, release her and carry her off. Let her down to the spur with Rowley and see that she runs for the wood. Carson to drive her to Poganec there and then. Not until she’s down on the spur will Mr. Hanbury and Bell return to the tower—with the object of killing Rose Noble before he kills them.”
He paused there for a moment, biting his lip.
“I don’t like it,” he added slowly, “but I don’t know what else to do. It washes me out of the battle and Mr. Chandos, too; but a part must be played which no one but we two can play. Rose Noble has got to be drawn from his prisoner’s side. And nothing that I can think of will do that, except my health. Any ordinary demonstration would make him stick tighter than ever to Mrs. Pleydell’s arm. But tell him I’m down and out, and, though he won’t believe you, he’ll go to see. And on that point, one word more.
“Instead of rushing to the terrace, Rose Noble might rush to the roof. He’s a very shrewd man. If he does, you’ve got him, you three. Don’t wait. Just let him have it—both barrels and one for luck. Once he’s over, you won’t see the others for dust.”
As he spoke, some door was opened, and down the winding stairway came Punter’s voice.
“An’, when you’re through, you might take a look at the Willie. I don’t suppose he’d bite you if you took out his bit.”
“Rose said—” began Casemate.
“I know,” said Punter. “That’s Rose. But I don’t fancy dead men. You can shove the corpse in the ground, but a yard full of sextons can’t bury the — shout. One or two dead’s enough, and before this worry’s over you’ll see all that. No. Let the — waste if you like, but keep ’im alive.”
At Punter’s first word we had begun to withdraw, for it had been arranged that, at the first show of movement, we should immediately enter the room which Adèle had used. At a sign from Mansel, however, I let the others retire and began to follow him gently up the stair. This was, of course, of stone, so we made no sound.
It was a desperate move, but I knew where Mansel was going and I knew he was right to go.
Casemate was bound for the kitchen; so Casemate had to be stopped. And, if he reached the guard-room before us, the game was up. You cannot pursue in silence over a wooden floor.
Mercifully the voices continued, but I never knew what they said. My ears were strained to catch nothing but a step on the stair.
But none came. Only the voices grew clearer the higher we went.
We glided into the guard-room, after the way of a snake. Then we turned right and left and stood, one on each side of the doorway, with our backs flat against the wall. The wicket opened outwards, so we were very well placed.
“I don’t care,” Casemate was saying, “I don’t like the — job. I don’t mind dirty weather, but I like to know where I am.”
“If you must know,” said Punter, “you’re up on the velvet top. Mansel put up a bluff, and its bottom’s fell out. Rose has got ’im as tight as a—”
“Never knew when he hadn’t,” said Casemate. “First, he’d never find us; and then he’d never get in. Now you say ‘That’s all right, but he’ll never get out.’ An’ what about Jute? Where’s Jute?”
“Jute knows ’is garden,” said Punter. “If Jute don’t come in, it’s because there’s some rhubarb wants watchin’ the other side.”
“If you ask me,” said Casemate, “Jute’s — well pulled out.”
“Oh, put it away,” said Punter. “Why, Jute—”
“ — well pulled out,” repeated Casemate. “He’s had a look at his seaweed and he’s got in out of the rain. An’ I don’t blame ’im. ‘Half a million,’ says Rose, ‘for the pickin’ up.’ ‘Pickin’ up.’” He sucked in his breath. “I wonder what he’d call ‘reachin’ down.’ An’ when I said ‘Who’s this Mansel?,’ he says, ‘He’s a one- legged Willie, with a college way of talking and a mouth full of rubber teeth.’”
“Now, look ’ere,” said Punter earnestly. “I don’t deny that Mansel’s not big small stuff. He ran round Jute, an’ he climbs like a — ape. But that’s where ’e gets off. He’s not up to Rose’s weight.”
“He never was,” said Casemate. “But he — near got him down; an’ he’s not dead yet.”
“Now look at it this way,” said Punter, plainly doing his best to hearten his doubting friend. “A man don’t cough up half a million because you tickle ’is chin. He’s got to be broke in pieces, an’ then some more. Well, he’s not going to hand you the funny ’ammer, you know. He’s goin’ to bite an’ scratch—till you’ve got him stuck. Well, he’s had his bite an’ his scratch, an’ now he’s — well stuck. I’ll tell you this. So long is Mansel was out, I never slep’ sound. I’ve seen ’im before, an’ I like to know ’is game. But now I’ll put my feet up, because the — ’s stuck, — well stuck, like a bug pinned up on a board. An’ you watch im come unbuttoned this afternoon. Wait till he hears the goods beginning to talk.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” said Casemate. “I had my arm done once.”
“I guess Rose didn’t do it,” said Punter. “And now slip after them eats. There’s a pot o’ strawberry back o’ the cans of pears.”
Casemate made no answer, but began to descend . . . .
I think I shall always hear his steps on the stair.
To my fancy his tread seemed wary, as thought the man were suspicious, apprehensive of ill to come. He certainly stood at the wicket for a quarter of a minute or more, as though he had remarked and was listening to the vigorous slam of my heart two paces away.
Then he pulled open the door and came into the room.
I did not see Mansel strike him, for the former had been a great boxer and was startlingly quick with his hands. But I heard the dull smack of the blow, and I saw Casemate spin on his heel and then fall away from me backwards, without a cry. I heard his head meet the stone, and his body fell down with a thud, but the sounds were dead sounds and could not, I think, have been heard at the head of the stair.
My eyes were still upon Casemate, when Mansel touched me and turned.
I pointed to the form on the floor.
“Safe for an hour,” breathed Mansel. “The others will tie him up.”
We whipped down into the gallery, and, whilst I summoned the others, Mansel undid the bolts of the passage door.
I must here confess that I quailed at the sight of that suite. For me it reeked of misfortune, of frantic endeavour doomed before it was begun; and to go back to such a cockpit of broken hopes was clean against my stomach. Yet, as Mansel had said, there was nothing else to be done; and, in view of the Casemate business, we had not a moment to lose.
I signed to Rowley to give me his coil of rope.
As he laid it about my shoulders, “Shut the door, but don’t bolt it,” breathed Mansel. “And stand by to move in five—not ten minutes’ time.”
Hanbury nodded. I observed that he looked very pale.
Then Mansel stole into the passage, and I in his wake.
Before we had gained the Closet, the door had been shut.
The windows of the Closet were still open, as was the trap-door, and the room was full of sweet air and the murmur of the water below.
Mansel sat down on the floor and swung his legs into the trap. Then he looked up and smiled.
“William,” he said, keeping his eyes upon mine, “we’re going to bring this right off. I know you’re frightened to death of letting me down; but you won’t—if you do as I say.
“I want you to stand at that window, and I’ll tell you what you will see. Never mind whether you’re dreaming or whether your sight is blurred. This is what you will see—and, consequently, what you will do.
“You’ll see me come out of the archway on to the terrace below. You’ll see me cast the rope and you’ll watch it rise. At the second attempt you’ll see it catch on something—you can’t tell what. You’ll see me test it and watch me begin to climb. I shall go up . . . up . . . up . . . Leaning well out of the window, you’ll watch me with your heart in your mouth. When I’m six feet from the top, to your indescribable horror the rope will begin to slip. Instinctively you’ll try to warn me—let out a hell of a cry. As you do so, the rope will go, and I shall come down. You’ll see me asprawl on the terrace, lying appallingly still and you’ll natura
lly rush to reach me as quick as you can. I shall be plainly disabled— for all you know, dead. Well, that means the game’s over, and you'll naturally shout for help. When it comes, they may possibly seize you, but you’ll only do your best to get back to my side. You see, I shall still be breathing, but the fall will have broken my back.
“And now let me have the rope.
“When you see my arm go back, you’ll know that I’m going to sling it. Watch it rise and fall, and mark how I gather it up for the second cast.”
As he spoke, he was making a slip-knot, but his eyes never left my face.
Then he smiled again and disappeared.
I made my way to the window, like a man in a dream . . .
I cannot swear to what happened in the next two minutes of time. That is the plain truth. Time and again I have called up the burden of those moments, started to set it down and then laid aside my pen. I remember it perfectly; but I cannot say “This I imagined, and that I saw,” for the line between fact and fancy is a line that I cannot trace. Indeed I shall always believe that Mansel had influenced my will, for I did what I did dazedly and was conscious all the time of the smile upon Mansel’s face and the light in his eyes.
I remember leaning out of the window and finding the air most heavy and the sunshine curiously dull; I remember how the sill of the casement punished my back and how the sweat was running upon my hands and face; I remember shrieking incoherence and feeling suddenly sick and staggering down to the archway trembling in every limb . . . .
And then I was all dripping wet and down on my knees, and Mansel lay huddled before me with one leg beneath the other and a loose look about his neck.
I got my arm under his shoulders and raised him up, but his head rolled over sideways and, though I tried to prop it, it would not stay.
I cried out at that, but maybe I had shouted before, for I saw Rose Noble coming, with Punter and Bunch. They seemed to come down in a wave—down the steps from a door in the wall.
Blind Corner and Perishable Goods Page 34