My cousin was standing before me, regarding his watch.
"From what you tell me," he said, "the countryside appears to be littered with cars. Our immediate vicinity, however, seems to have been neglected. We must therefore wait for Barley. He's a job of work to do, and he won't be here for another hour and a half. Still, that'll give us time to settle two or three points. And between you and me, it's as well that you had that sleep, for unless I'm much mistaken, you won't have time for sleep for the next few hours.
"With regard to the promise Lady Helena gave to Pharaoh ... If you hadn't been overwrought, I like to believe that your reason would have told you that from every point of view that promise was in no way binding to either of you. For one thing, it was exacted— she promised under duress. For another, let's quote his own words. Because you have scruples you are weighted clean out of this race. I am not so embarrassed— I never am. He makes that arresting statement, and then within five minutes he has the blasted effrontery to prove it up to the hilt. No wonder he left the room quickly. He was probably worried to death that Dewdrop would burst out laughing before he could get him outside. If you must have another reason, Pharaoh let you both go because he was stuck. As long as you two sat there, he could not move. More— the warden's suspicions were aroused and the house was full of your men. His only chance was to take up the role he asked for— the role of the Countess's guest.
"So much for the promise to Pharaoh. Now for the Count. He must, of course, be held till Pharaoh is dead. Barley's attending to that. Last night, at 'The Reaping Hook,' he very properly held his tongue, but he knew just as well as you what a valuable prize you'd made. Like guest, like host, you know. In fact, to be honest, we'd been hoping to make it ourselves. You mustn't think we've been idle. We've watched and listened and learned a whale of a lot. And, of course, the Count's removal stood very high on our list. Well, as I say, Barley's attending to that matter. That's the job he's on now— shunting the Count.
"And now for you I'm not going to labour the point, because you seem so sore, but I suppose you realise that you were—er—evacuated in order to save your life? I mean, you can't really believe that Pharaoh, if he can help it, is going to let you live?"
"I haven't really thought about it." said I. "He's certainly tried to kill me, and if he gets the chance I imagine he'll try again."
"Don't imagine," said Geoffrey. "Believe. Believe that he'll go on trying for the rest of his life. As long as you're useful he'll use you— be sure of that. He meant to squeeze the Countess through you.
"And that brings us to her ladyship. This appears to be delicate ground, so I won't say much. But, if you please, ask yourself this: Why didn't she leave with you last night, as she did five nights ago? A possible answer is that she may have thought you'd prove mulish— jib at breaking her promise to the rottenest swine that ever took a girl by the throat. But the great probability is that she wanted to do a deal. She meant to see Pharaoh when you were gone and ask him the price of your life.
"Now this is what I propose: as soon as Barley returns we make at once for Plumage and close down Bugle— not Rush. Rush is ripe for secession. Rats leave a sinking ship. He may have something to tell us. If not we proceed to the castle— complete with Rush. We use the tunnel and footbridge and Rush can unlock the doors. Then we get hold of the warden and put him wise. From him we can learn—"
And there he stopped dead, with his eyes on the foliage behind me, and his pipe half-way to his mouth.
As I turned to follow his gaze Sabre leaped out of the beech wood and over the brook.
For a moment the great dog nosed me, moving his tail, and then, before I could think, he was gone the way he had come.
I was just in time to see Sabre pass over a shoulder and flash out of view. Heavily I made for the spot. Somewhere beyond his point of disappearance Helena Yorick was moving, looking for me.
I dreaded the interview. I dreaded the useless inquest which she and I were to hold. What did the cause of death matter? The thing was dead.
As I saw her she waved, and I answered. Then with one consent we began to go down to the valley that lay between.
The day was yet hot, and the cool of the glen was refreshing beyond compare.
Helena was regarding me straightly. "Is this your greeting, John?" I stood very still.
"Yes," I said. "I'm sorry."
I pulled out the note she had written and looked her full in the eyes.
"I know," she said. "I did it because I loved you."
I tore the note to pieces and let them fall.
"You've done that to my faith," I said.
"But I only pretended John, to save your life."
"I know, I know," I said. "And I'm— much obliged. But I can't get as far as your motive. If I hadn't been mad about you, you couldn't have had me on. Even so, I jibbed at your tale. And so you used our communion to get you home. We'd breathed the same breath, you and I, and you invoked that— that rubric to bring me up to the scratch."
Helena lifted her head.
"And so I'm damned," she said.
"I shouldn't think so," I said helplessly. "But it means we speak different tongues. Oh, can't you see what I mean? I thought it was I that induced the light in your eyes, but now you've shown me that you can switch it on."
"Is it any good my saying I can't? That when it came it was you that brought it there?"
"Helena," I said, "we can't argue. Our words have got different values. Love, light, faith— these words mean one thing to me, and another to you. I can't define love, but—"
"I can," said Helena, quietly.
In desperation I put my hands over my eyes.
"Look here." I said. "If you like to think that I've weighed this wretched business, and decided to turn you down, then you must think it. I can only tell you you're wrong. I haven't weighed it. I've never decided a thing. When Geoffrey gave me that note, something inside me died. I think it was the power of caring ... I'm awfully sorry— I suppose I'm built that way, but it isn't my fault."
"And this last week ... the times that we've spent together, on the road, in the forest, and—and elsewhere ... last night and the night before ... all these things mean nothing? Their memory leaves you cold?"
I nodded miserably.
At last she lifted her head.
"I CAN still care," she said slowly. "I have the power of being sorry — or glad. And I'm glad this has happened— thankful, and that's the truth. It's a jolt in a way, of course; but although we don't speak the same tongue, I think you'll get what I mean. It's very much better that this should have happened now than in six months' time. And now I'm going to speak plainly ... Don't think I'm pleading my cause. That's not my way. I've never pleaded my cause, and I never shall. I make known my will, and people observe it or not, as they feel inclined. Nothing on earth would induce me to marry you now. You're the one man on earth I can't marry— get hold of that. But I want to show you your trouble, because— well, I owe you something and perhaps one day it'll save you from making the same mistake.
"You are an idealist, John. That's one of the reasons why you appealed to me. I love idealists. I'm one myself. But idealists must live, and, what is still more important, they've got to let live. You can't see that just now; you can't translate what I say; but I think you'll be able to one day, and then you'll remember my words.
"You see, if I had deceived you—and, of course, I don't deny that I did, I laid myself out to deceive you: I used every art that I knew— well, if I had deceived you with any shameful object ... let's say to smooth my path to some other man, then your estimate would be true, for by using our understanding to let you down I should have committed a sin which not even an angel from heaven could ever forgive. But we both of us know that what I did I did because I loved you ... And when you come down to earth, as I think you will, you'll see that that makes a difference ... And something more you'll see. You'll see what it cost me to do it. I debased our lovely coinage ... to sa
ve your life.
"Some people would call you a fool, but I know better than that. You see, I know you so well. You're so very simple and downright, and Honesty is your god. That worship and your unbridled idealism are, as it were, the lenses through which you see. And so what I did looks monstrous ... It's because of that that I'm neither angry nor hurt— only thankful. If you had weighed me and had dared to find me wanting ..."
Five hundred years of seigniory loaded the argument: the cold majesty of a lion seemed to look out of her eyes: her repose became suddenly fatal— that of some lovely idol from which there was no appeal.
Something was stirring within me ... The challenge had stabbed some emotion that was not dead.
"Finish the sentence," I said. "That's just what I've done."
For a moment she regarded me curiously.
Then—
"No, you haven't," she said. "You think you have: but you haven't. If you could speak my language, you'd understand what I mean. But that's by the way. As I said just now, I—I am—thankful that this has happened. ... To be honest, I knew it might happen. I saw its shadow while I was writing that note. And I very nearly added, 'Don't let him know I've done this.' And then I thought' 'No,' because that was a coward's way. I wasn't prepared to deceive you ... to save myself."
With a sudden air of pleasure she looked about. Then she whipped off her hat and pushed back her hair from her temples, as though to make the most of the cool.
"How fragrant this valley is! It's like a church turned into a perfumer's shop." She drew a luxurious breath. Then she looked at the rill, took two or three steps towards it, and breathed again. "How very strange. I can actually smell the water. Is it imagination, or am I right?"
I answered with an effort.
"It's not imagination," I said.
The eager look left her face and she stood very still. I could see that her eyes saw nothing.
"I know," she said, half to herself. "Don't rub it in."
Again something stirred within me ... something that seemed to be broken. The movement hurt.
I saw her brace herself and lift up her head. Then she whistled for Sabre.
As the Alsatian came bounding—
"And now where's your cousin?" she said. "I fancy the game's nearly over. But I'd like him to hear my news and then we can settle the best way to go in and win."
AS once before, the three of us sat on the turf, and, as once before, Helena Yorick was speaking with my cousin's eyes on her face. But mine were upon the ground.
"If I had to give my story a title, I should call it 'How Pharaoh was hoist with his own petard.' But that wouldn't be strictly correct, because, as you'll hear, it was infallible Dewdrop that let him down.
"As John has told you, I saw him out of Yorick just about twenty past three. Then I went straight to bed, and after a little I managed to get to sleep. At half-past six I was awakened by the most awful din. Sabre was barking like mad and the fire alarm of the castle was going all out. Then I heard men running and voices, and I'd hardly got my dressing-gown round me before old Florin was speaking and knocking upon my door.
"Well, you'll never guess what had happened. A watchman had found blood on the terrace— a trail of blood that led him up to John's room."
She paused there and turned to me. "I'd no idea that Dewdrop had stabbed you so deep. I don't know why, but I thought he'd only just pricked you. It never entered my head that you were bleeding like that."
I said nothing, and at once she resumed her tale.
"The moment I heard the news I saw the infinite value of holding my tongue. I knew whose blood it was and why it was there, but I felt that, left to itself, that blood would cry out with an eloquence which I could never approach. All the representations it made might not be strictly true, but that was not my affair. I was not going to say, for instance, that it came from a wound in the fleshy part of the leg. It might have come from the mouth ... The harder I thought, the brighter the outlook appeared. By using you so roughly, Dewdrop had stirred up a regular hornets' nest; it seemed to me more than likely that with a very little direction the hornets would turn their attention to Pharaoh and him.
"I told the warden to rouse you and, if he could get no answer, to break down the door. Very wisely, you'd left this unbarred— I shouldn't have thought of that. Of course your room was empty, but I went in myself and looked carefully round. You see, I was sure that you must have stanched the wound, and I wanted to see if you'd left any traces of this. But, again, you'd been very careful. And so I was free to give the hornets a tip.
"I turned to the warden.
" 'Where does this trail lead to?' "Poor Florin stared.
" 'But it leads to this chamber,' he said.
" 'Nonsense,' said I. 'It leads from here. Some hurt has been done Mr. Spencer and he has been taken away.'
"The truth of the fiction was obvious. The hornets saw it at once. Four or five servants rushed off to study the end of the trail.
" 'Who was aware,' I demanded, 'that Mr. Spencer was to be lodged in this room?'
"Florin ticked off the suspects.
" 'Your ladyship, myself, the valet, Rachel, both the night-watchmen ...'
"He hesitated there, so I dug in the spurs.
" 'Is that absolutely all?'
" 'Captain Faning knew,' said Florin.
"I gave a most lifelike start.
"'Captain Faning!' I cried. 'So he did. And his servant, too.'
"It was Florin's turn to start.
" 'And his servant?' he cried.
" 'Yes, yes,' I cried. 'Both of them knew. His servant was there last night. I didn't know it when I was speaking to you. But he was behind the curtain— I don't know why.'
"Then I called upon Florin to find you— I gave all sorts of wild reasons why you must be found. And then I fainted, and good, honest Florin caught me and carried me down to my room.
"So you see I'm quite a good actress—
"Well, the hunt was up all right. Talk about sensation ... I could smell the lust for vengeance. The hornets were fairly off.
"I'd no time to bathe, but I made the best of a shower. You see, my one idea was to get down to Annabel as soon as I decently could.
"Before I was out of the bathroom, I heard the incredible news.
" 'Captain Faning' and his servant were gone.
"The rest was very easy. I sent for old Florin and told him most of the truth. I told him that 'Faning' was Pharaoh, and that Pharaoh was after the gold; that Pharaoh had killed young Florin, and that since you, John, could prove this, he was going to take your life. Nothing on earth could save you— except his death.
"There's not much more to be told. I said nothing of Valentine, of course. His return now might not be fatal, but he's very much better away. At a quarter to eight I left the castle a fortress and drove to Annabel."
"Unarmed and unaccompanied?" said Geoffrey.
Helena shrugged her shoulders.
"The risk was slight, and how could I take a servant to where I'd left Valentine? Yet it was vital that you should know at once that Pharaoh was out. To my dismay, you were gone; but, as your room door was locked, I guessed you'd left Valentine there and so would come back.
"Well, I took a room and had breakfast and talked to the man and his wife. They knew me, of course; but I couldn't help wondering what they'd say if they knew that the Count of Yorick was lying two doors away. Then at last Barley returned about half-past ten.
"Well, we held a consultation, Barley and I. His orders were at once to remove the Count, and, much as I wanted to see you, I felt that for every reason those orders must take first place. You see, though Barley knew where he'd left you, neither he nor I had a map, and, though he's plainly a shark at finding his way, his directions to me were enough to break anyone's heart. I've been looking for you for six hours. I sat down and cried once. Sabre'll bear me out."
"Great heart," said Geoffrey quickly, and touched her hand.
Helen
a smiled.
"The glory to Sabre," she said. "And for all the good I've done I might have given Barley a message— he'll be here in half an hour. I was able to help him, though. I diverted the household's attention while he got my wretched brother into the car. As for his ultimate disposal— well, when I look at you, I feel humble. I acknowledge a master brain. 'The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, Familiar as his garter.' "
"Pure chance," said Geoffrey lightly. "I'd painted the river just there, and the monks were very kindly and obviously simply stamping to use their skill. You know. Any friend of mine ..."
This told me the truth of the matter. I knew where Valentine was. And that was some sixty miles off in a private ward. This stood remote, its windows commanding the cloister of the convent to which it belonged. The only patients admitted were those alleged to have been bitten by dogs that were mad. The treatment lasted a fortnight ...
"Well, there you are," said Helena. "There are the facts. And now, if you please, Mr. Bohun, what do we do?"
"We take you back to Yorick. I shan't know a moment's peace till you're where you belong."
"And then you're wrong," said Helena. "I'm going to see the fun."
Chapter 17
IN the discussion which followed I took no part, and indeed I scarcely listened to what was said, for my thoughts would not leave the scene in the fragrant valley, and at last, since I did not care, I tired of haling them back and let them be. Like so many flies, they hovered over that inquest, alighting on question and answer, feeding on look and accent, and returning again and again to the graze on Helena's leg. This was slight, but the skin had been more than bruised, for the silk of her delicate stocking was smeared with blood.
I rose and moved down stream. There by the side of the water I sought some fern. I was gone some time, for the finer fronds were rare, but after a while I had gathered a little bunch. This I drenched with water . . .
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