"Come, John," said Helena, quietly. She turned to the man. "Shut the wicket, Hubert, and wait in the lodge. The car will stay there."
In a flash she was in the courtyard, with Sabre and me behind.
The doors were open, and Helena sped up the staircase which led to the principal rooms. In the hall the lights were burning, but from first to last I saw no other servants, and we afterwards learned that the Count, at Pharaoh's suggestion, had sent them to bed every evening at half-past ten.
Helena's ear was fast to the library door. After a moment she passed to the dining-room. There for a moment she listened. Then her hand went out to the handle and softly opened the door.
A GIRL was standing on the table, regarding herself in the huge Italian mirror that hung on the wall. Her dress did not become her— it was so much finer than she was. I think she herself perceived that something was wrong, for she frowned at her reflection as she plucked and pulled at the frock. As we stood there, unseen and unheard, she proceeded to take it off, thrusting it up to her shoulders and over her head. The dress, too slight for her inches, clung to her breadth, and for thirty seconds or more a writhing, swearing sack of crimson and gold was surmounting a thickset body and clumsy legs. The scene was too coarse to be comic. Some girl from the streets of Lass was trying on Helena's clothes.
Champagne was on the table and on the floor. I counted seven bottles, of which one only was full. A wineglass had been used as an ashtray and another lay shivered in a pool of the wine it had held. A bottle that had held brandy lay on the floor, and the carpet about it was stained to a deeper red: beside it, a giant liqueur-glass looked foolish enough. And beside these the Count was lying, flat on his back. His condition was most apparent. To say he was drunk conveys nothing.
The girl had seen us in the mirror.
Her hands clapped fast to her cheeks, she was staring at Helena's reflection with starting eyes. To confirm the mirror's report she shot us one glance of horror, then she crumpled and sank down, dragging the dress about her and shrinking as though from some vision which was but waiting to give her the judgment that she deserved.
Helena went to her quickly and touched her arm.
"Don't be afraid," she said quietly. "If you do as I tell you, I'll see that you come to no harm."
She turned to me, to speak English.
"Can you get him on to the terrace and bring him round?"
"I'll try," said I. "But I haven't a lot of hope."
With that I picked up the Count and carried him out. Then I came back for the pails in which the champagne had stood. Their ice was mostly gone but the water was very cold.
I ripped his collar open and sluiced his head and his throat. I shook him and sat him up and opened his eyes. I took off his coat and his shirt and held the ice to his spine. And other things I did, in my efforts to bring him round.
I might have spared my pains: the fellow was too far gone. He would come to his senses in time but nothing that I could do would hale them back.
As I sat back on my heels:
"No good?" said Helena quietly.
"Hopeless," said I. "He's all in. He may come round by midday, but he won't be fit to talk to for twenty-four hours."
As the words left my mouth the castle clock told us the time. A quarter past twelve.
"We must get him away," said Helena. "Now, at once. There's a train that leaves Lass for Innsbruck at one o'clock. We can't put him aboard at Lass— he's too well known: but I guess the train stops at Gola, that's ten miles on. The girl will have to go with him and see that he comes to no harm."
Although I could see that it was drastic, I had then no idea how monstrous was the action which she proposed. Her brother was her liege lord; when he succeeded her father she was the first of his vassals to go on her knees, to put her hands between his, to swear to honour his person and ever maintain his freedom and all his rights. And this was no matter of form. For better or worse, for more than five hundred years the body of the Count had been sacred in the eyes of his house. Times might change, but not Yorick. Its motto held.
IN that handsome July night Helena snapped the tradition and broke her oath. Not a servant would have dared help her. The warden would have withstood her, no matter what tale she told. But the only concern I felt was lest the weight of her brother should prove too much for my back.
After perhaps five minutes our plans were laid.
Whilst Helena spoke with Mona, the girl from Lass, I scrawled a note to Pharaoh and boldly signed it "V.Y."
Dear Faning,—
Sorry, but I'm fed up. I've had enough of Yorick, and I'm going tonight. I don't know where, but I'll probably get a train. See you again some day ...
I think it looked the note of a drunken man.
As I laid down my pencil—
"That'll do very well," said Helena. "He never writes, so nobody knows his hand. Leave it there on the blotting pad. And now we must go. Mona's a broken reed, but it can't be helped. I'm not afraid of her talking— she's far too scared for that. But I am afraid of her bolting the moment she gets the chance."
A moment later our strange procession took shape.
Helena led the way and I brought up the rear, with the Count on my back, while Mona minced between us, bearing her shoes in her hand.
As once before, we passed through my lady's bedroom, down the two flights of steps and so to the postern door. Helena opened this and then stood waiting whilst Mona and I passed out. At once, as we had arranged, I turned to the right and made my way over the turf by the castle wall. One minute later, perhaps, I saw the light that streamed from the porter's lodge. This passed over the Rolls to illumine the jaws of the bridge and had, of course, taught Bugle the trick which had served me so well.
Six paces away from the gates I laid my burden down.
"Is your back all right?" breathed Helena.
"Yes, thank you, my sweet."
At once she turned to Mona, who was drooping besides the wall.
"If you cross that bridge, the porter will see you, and you will be chased and caught. In a few minutes' time, however, the porter will leave his lodge. You'll know when he's gone, because then the wicket will open. The moment the wicket opens, cross the bridge. When you're safely over the bridge, you can put on your shoes again. Then run down the drive as fast as you can until you come to the woods. Wait there at the edge of the meadows, and the car will be down in five minutes to pick you up."
"It is understood, my lady."
"You will wait without fail, on the right-hand side of the road."
"Without fail, my lady. My lady will not be long."
"Five minutes," I said. "Perhaps I shall come before. But until the wicket opens, you must not move."
"Very good, my lady."
With many misgivings we left her and hastened the way we had come. This time, however, we left the postern ajar.
We had found her bedroom lighted and left it so— an open wardrobe declared the rape of the frock: and now we only waited to set wide open the doors of the principal rooms. Then we went down to the courtyard— up to the last of the jumps.
AS the porter stepped out of his lodge:
"Why didn't you tell me," said Helena, "that his lordship was gone?"
The fellow looked scared.
"I— I didn't know, my lady. I— I thought his lordship was here."
"He went this evening. He says so. He's left a note."
The porter put a hand to his head. "No one has gone out, my lady, since half past nine. And at half past nine, my lady, I know that his lordship was here."
There was a startled silence. Then: "Fetch the night-watchman," said Helena.
The man ran into the courtyard and disappeared.
In a flash the wicket was open and I was outside.
I opened a door of the Rolls and ran for the Count.
She shot us one glance of horror, then she crumpled and sank down, dragging the dress about her.
As I heaved him in
to the car, I saw a bedraggled figure hurrying on to the bridge. I laid the Count flat on the floor-boards and put his coat over his face. Then I took my seat at the wheel and started to turn the car round.
Helena was speaking.
"Rouse the other watchmen and the warden as well. The castle is to be searched. Unless he left by a postern, his lordship must still be here. Tell the warden that I have news for his lordship which will not wait, that I've gone to Lass to catch him in case he has gone."
"Your ladyship will be returning?"
"Within the hour."
I had the car well in the shadows and Helena's door was open before she left the wicket to take her seat. And she was so quick that, though the porter made to escort her, I was able to have the car moving before he was out of the light.
As I whipped over the drawbridge I heard her sigh with relief.
"And now for Mona," she said.
The time was now half past twelve, which shows that much may be done in a quarter of an hour. Indeed. I would not have believed it if the clock had not been chiming as we passed over the bridge.
As we left the meadows I set a foot on the brake and switched out my lights.
For a moment we sat in silence.
Then :
"Mona," cried Helena. "Mona!"
The girl did not answer, and after a frantic moment I flung myself out of
the car.
"Mona!" I cried. "Where are you?"
A figure rose out of the night.
"She's hopped it, sir," said Barley. "Cut through the woods. But I'm thankful to see you, sir. And that's the truth."
It was twenty minutes later, on the skirts of Annabel village, that Barley stood by the Rolls and told us his tale.
We dared not return to the castle before ten minutes past one, for Lass was twelve miles from Yorick and not even the Rolls could have done the double journey in less than thirty-five minutes, no matter how much she was pushed. We had, therefore, ten minutes to spare— much against our will, for that Pharaoh was racing for Yorick we had not a shadow of doubt. Still, to be uneasy was foolish: that day I had done the journey as Pharaoh was doing it now.
It was now ten minutes to one— two hours since Pharaoh had found that the Rolls was gone. If a car had come by at that moment, he could have been at Sabbot at eleven o'clock— to find the village sleeping and every door shut and barred. Charm he never so wisely. Pharaoh would never leave Sabbot under the hour. The man could hardly use violence, for that would set the police on his track: and Sabbot's only garage had many faults. Its master was disobliging and deaf as a post— a hideous combination for anyone pressed for time; its complement of cars was shocking, but before I could take one away, I had had to pay a deposit of twenty pounds; its petrol-pump was not working: its boy was dull of comprehension and had his right arm in a sling.
Still, Pharaoh was Pharaoh, and Dewdrop was there to help. Supposing that they had left Sabbot at half past eleven o'clock. No car that came out of that garage could possibly bring them to Yorick in less than two hours and a half. Say two hours— just in case ... If Pharaoh had the luck of the devil, we might expect to see him at half-past one; but I would have laid a fortune that he would not arrive before six. (Here, perhaps, I should say that I had not forgotten the car I had left in the greenwood— Pharaoh's own car. But Pharaoh did not know it was there, nor did he know how to get to the spot where it stood. That he would stumble upon it was more than I could believe.)
So, as we had time to spare, Barley stood by the Rolls and told us his tale.
"A wire came on Monday, sir, a little later than usual, about ten o'clock. Return at once, it said, and it bore your name. Well, we left as sharp as we could— for Villach, of course; but when we gets out at Villach, there ain't no car to meet us, let alone no Rolls. 'That's queer,' says Mr. Bohun. 'I don't understand it,' he says. 'If Mr. Spencer could wire, he could send a car. It may be all right, but we'd better go careful, Barley, from this time on.' Well, we 'ired a car at Villach and stopped four miles from the farm. Then we enters the woods on foot. It was just about half past four when we sights the house. Everything looks as usual sleepy an' peaceful, you know, sir, an' no one about. But Mr. Bohun's uneasy. 'Mustn't rush in,' he says. 'You stay an' watch out.' he says, 'while I go round to the back.' He hadn't hardly spoken before Rush comes out on the apron, as bold as brass.
"I give you my word, sir, that shook us. We made sure they'd got you all right. But of course we couldn't do nothing until it was dark. Then we crept in and 'ad a close-up." He drew in his breath. "Those two— Rush and Bugle— they're simple: that's what they are. They're like a turn on the 'alls. You could walk right in between them before they'd know you were there. For 'alf an hour that evening we listened to what they said, and of course we very soon knew that Pharaoh'd got his foot in the castle and you was away. Then Mr. Bohun goes for the farmer's wife; but she knows nothing at all, except that his lordship's back and given special orders that Bugle and Rush is to have your rooms at the farm.
"Well, we had to have quarters somewhere, so Mr. Bohun comes here. 'The last place they'll look,' he says, 'and the best I know.' Then we starts in watchin' the castle and visitin' Plumage at night. And that was all we could do, for to look for you was hopeless— we didn't know where to begin. But we knew where Pharaoh was. and we made up our minds to get him, for once he was out of the way all roads were clear."
Barley closed his eyes and pushed back his hat.
"D'you think we could get that man sir? We could have had the others time and again. Bugle and Rush, I mean— though we could have had Dewdrop, too. But Mr. Bohun says, 'No. Bugle and Rush,' he says, 'is our information bureau. So we don't do them in.' he says; 'if there's any news goin' they'll have it, and we may as well be in on that.' So we've let them be— so far. But you wouldn't believe how we've laid an' laid for Pharaoh— and missed him every time. Look at tonight, sir. I'd been lyin' there where I met you since half-past six. Keepin' observation, I was, for Mr. Bohun's at Salzburg— I've told you that. To beat up his quarters, he said, in case you'd called. Well. I thought I had got him tonight, when the Rolls slowed down. I was ready to blow his head off— an' then it turns out that it's you. I don't believe in charmed lives, but if ever a blackguard had one. Pharaoh's him."
"You wait, Barley." said I, and got into the car. "When d'you expect Mr. Bohun?"
"Tomorrow morning, sir. About seven o'clock."
"What could be better?' said I "Tell him to expect me for breakfast at about a quarter to nine. And that after that, if he likes, we'll run along to Plumage and close the information bureau."
As I let in the clutch:
"Goodbye, Barley," cried Helena. "Do what you can for his lordship and please ask Mr. Bohun to forgive me for making free with his room."
But Barley made no answer. I think he was incapable of speech.
We were back at the castle within a quarter of an hour.
As the warden stepped out of the wicket, Helena spoke:
"Has anyone entered the castle since I've been gone?"
The porter replied:
"No one at all, my lady."
I had known that would be his answer, but the words were comfortable words. The race had been ours all the way, but now we knew it was over and the numbers were up. I began to wonder if Pharaoh had yet left Sabbot.
Helena was addressing the warden.
"He's not been to the station, Florin. Unless he's here, he must have gone somewhere by car."
"His lordship's not here, my lady. And the Adelaide postern was open, which shows that he went that way."
"He should have been seen on the drawbridge."
"He should, my lady. But one of the lamps went out about half-past ten. His lordship may well have gone by while the porter was making the change."
"The fact remains that he's gone when I needed his presence most. It can't be helped. I shall have to act without him. Open the gates."
I drove the Rolls under the arc
hway and into the small courtyard.
As the leaves were closed behind us:
"Out of sight of the wicket." said Helena.
There was just enough room to berth the car out of view.
Helena turned to the warden, who had opened the door by her side.
"The porter is to put out his lights, but stay in his lodge. He is to open to no one until you return. Mark that. To no one at all. And in five minutes' time you and all the night-watchmen will come to the library."
"If your ladyship pleases," said Florin.
Helena left the car, and I followed her up the stairs.
As I closed the library door my lady took off her hat, pitched it on to a sofa and moved to the hearth.
"Put a match to this fire, John dear." I knelt to do her bidding. Then I patted her delicate instep and raised my eyes to her face.
"You must be worn out, my beauty."
She put out a little hand and touched my hair.
"I don't know why. I haven't done much but sit still."
I rose to my feet.
"What are you going to tell them?" For a moment she did not answer, but stood with her eyes on the flames.
Then—
"That the man that murdered young Florin is coming to the castle tonight; that three hours ago he did his best to kill you because he knows you can prove that he took young Florin's life; that they know him as 'Captain Faning.' but that I know him as 'Pharaoh' — a very dangerous felon, who is wanted for at least four murders in England alone." She turned to set her hands on my shoulders. "You must forgive me, darling, for playing this hand alone. But now you must stay in the background until we're through. They must not begin to believe that I'm acting on your advice. Now that Valentine's out of the way my authority here is supreme, but I'm putting a strain upon it when I use my brother's absence to order the death of his guest.
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