Something had to be done.
When I stepped behind him, he never moved, but stood staring straight before him, as though he were under some spell.
I lit my cigarette lighter and set the flame to his palm. With an awful shriek, he bounded into the air: then he swung round to face me and fell on his knees.
“What do you wish?” he wailed.
“To be shown this machine.”
“Ah, the machine! Of course.”
From that moment we had no more trouble.
Bell helped him up to his feet, and the fellow showed us a plug – an electric light plug in the wainscot, into which he had inserted two leads. These he had jammed into place by pushing back the loose plug which he had withdrawn. These leads were, therefore, alive. They led to the sideboard, passing beneath the carpet and through a hole which a gimlet had made in the wood. Within the sideboard was the infernal machine. This was controlled by a clock, the dial of which was ringed with small holes, every hour and half-hour. A pin had been set in the hole beside nine o’clock. And the clock was going: it was five minutes fast by my wristwatch… Had we sat down to dinner, as usual, at half-past eight, we should, I suppose, have died at exactly five minutes to nine.
Myself, I drew the leads from the plug, and at once the clock stopped.
The Baron had become the expert.
“Now it is safe,” he declared. “It should not, of course, be lifted and then let fall.”
“Gawd ’ave mercy,” said Punter.
“Silence,
canaille
,” spat the Baron. Then he returned to me. “So long as it is not mishandled–”
“You will remove it,” I said. “Untie him, Bell.”
The Baron swallowed.
“Unhappily, its valise–”
“You will remove it,” I said.
And so he did.
The contraption was plainly heavy, and I must confess I was thankful to follow him out of the building and into the yard. There by my order Punter took off his coat. Upon this the machine was laid down, and, after an agony of protest, the two malefactors took each one end of the garment and started to bear it away.
Never was co-operation more vital or more reluctantly subscribed: indeed, their progress was richer than any low-comedy film. They dared not lay down their burden, for I, who was walking behind, had sworn to shoot if they did: but each was deadly afraid that the other would let fall his end of the improvised bier, and the frantic commands and threats which both continually issued, yet could not enforce, made me shake so much with laughter that, had I had occasion to fire, I cannot believe that I should have done any harm. Happily, however, the two were too much engrossed in their common apprehension and hate to spare any time for my demeanour.
While this was going on, Bell was watching the farm and Carson was fetching a compass to reach the dell; and when the Baron and Punter had reached the top of the hill, I told them to go to the devil and made my way back.
Carson returned at six, to make his report.
The Baron and Punter had staggered into the field at the head of the dell and had laid their burden under the culvert, and so to rest out of sight. They had then come down to the car and there they had sat in silence until the chauffeur returned. Punter had seemed uneasy, narrowly watching de Parol, as though the man might attack him, if ever his back were turned: the Baron showed every sign of being deeply perturbed, now nursing his nose and now inspecting his palm and now forgetting them both in some mental agony; then he would hold his head and rock himself to and fro and clap a hand over his mouth as though to hold back some scream. After about half an hour the chauffeur returned, to offer an insolence which a conversation with Brevet had clearly inspired. De Parol, it seemed, had been warned, before he set forth. Gedge and Brevet had laughed his proposal to scorn – not because it was not convenient, but because he was not the man to carry it out: and they would not carry it out because they would not touch the infernal machine. And when the chauffeur reported that all had gone very well, but the car was destroyed, Brevet had yelled with laughter and had asked where the others were; and when he had said “With the car,” “So are Mansel and Chandos,” said Brevet: “you go back and die.” For this reason the chauffeur had returned by a roundabout way, using what caution he might, until he could see that the two were where he had left them two hours before. This had, of course, assured him that all was well, and when Punter had undeceived him, his dismay – not to say, stupefaction – was ludicrous to behold.
“Well, where are they now?” he said.
“Listenin’ in,” said Punter, “as like as not. I tell you, I know the —. They’d lie down be’ind a matchbox, an’ you’d never know they was there.”
As the result of his statement, the rest of the talk was too low for Carson to hear, but he gathered that a car would be waiting a few miles off, and a very few minutes later the three climbed up to the road and passed out of his sight.
I had more than enough to consider till Mansel returned, so I left the servants on guard and made my way to the orchard which lay at the back of the farm. But I have so often observed that ‘it never rains, but it pours’, that I was not at all surprised when Bell arrived at a run, to say that someone was coming up from the east, moving over the meadows just out of sight of the road.
Together we ran for the loft, where Carson was keeping watch.
As I stepped off the ladder –
“It’s Miss Lelong, sir,” said Carson.
The Stoat regarded me over the rim of her glass.
“I shan’t try any more,” she said. “I’m out of my depth. I decide to betray my uncle, in order to save your lives. I arrive to find that, while you are perfectly safe, my uncle is down the drain.”
“We happened to be in,” I said. “If we had been out, he would have had it all his own way. In which case, you see, you
would
have saved all our lives. If you were me, wouldn’t you value that?”
The lady shrugged her shoulders.
“Perhaps. I don’t know. Anyway, I’ve wasted my time. And yours. And the car’s lying down, is it?”
“Right down. He’ll have to remove it, of course. But it isn’t worth taking up.”
Miss Lelong shook her head.
“He’ll report it stolen,” she said. “The police will find it and the Insurance Company will do the rest. And until the tumult is over, you will be left in peace, for the dell will become the cynosure of neighbouring eyes.”
“Oh, hell,” said I. “That hadn’t occurred to me.”
“My dear, such a crash as this will not pass unobserved. The local press will attend.” She emptied her glass of beer and got to her feet. “And now I must be going.”
I did not desire her to stay, for though the servants were gone to stop and warn Mansel that I was not alone at the farm, in view of all that had happened I did not want him delayed.
Together we left the flat and made our way into the fields.
Suddenly –
“I suppose you know,” she said, “that they want to get you to Arx.”
“It had entered our heads,” I said.
“Well, don’t you come,” said The Stoat. “And I’ll tell you another thing. They’re playing with the idea of using me as a decoy. They think you might not ignore an urgent call for assistance from Mona Lelong.”
“More pretty ways.”
“Exactly. That was Brevet’s idea. So if I should make some appeal, you’ll know what it’s worth.”
“Thank you very much,” I said quietly.
“Not that I flatter myself…”
“We always try,” I said, “not to let our friends down.”
The Stoat looked away. After a moment or two –
“Don’t come any farther,” she said. “The car’s just over that ridge.”
“Mansel’s due,” I said, “so I think I ought to get back.”
“Of course. Goodbye.”
I took her hand.
“Goodbye,” I said. “And thank you so very much. That we don’t owe you our lives is not your fault.”
“Don’t mention it,” said The Stoat. “‘
Her
honour rooted in dishonour stood.’”
“You silence me,” I said.
“No. Mother Nature did that. But you know how to act.”
“We do our best.”
“I’ll say your best is damned good. Goodbye, again, Mr Chandos.”
“Goodbye, Miss Lelong.”
I watched her pass over the ridge.
Twenty minutes later Mansel drove past the yard.
As I made an end of my tale –
“Fun and games,” said Mansel. “I wish I’d been here.”
“It strongly resembled,” said I, “a harlequinade. If you could have seen the Baron belabour his hat… There was only one ugly moment, and, that I’ve told you about.”
“You mean, the Baron’s outburst?”
“Yes. Punter had certainly hit him – and hit him hard: he also called him a chauffeur, which may have been a reflection upon his birth: well, that sort of thing can very well make a man mad, but it shouldn’t transform a being into a beast. Honestly, it was revolting.”
“Inexcusable?”
“To my mind.” I spread out my hands. “Frankly, I don’t understand it. There was, of course, no question of any betrayal, because there was nothing to betray: but de Parol’s demeanour was that of a man whose accomplice has betrayed him – I mean, such a thing might push a man over the edge.”
Mansel clapped me upon the shoulder.
“Your observation, William, is very sound. You see, Punter
did
betray him. He told you and Carson and Bell what de Parol’s profession is. Punter called him ‘a shover’ – ‘a — shover,’ you said. And ‘a shover’ is thieves’ argot for a man who utters counterfeit coin.”
At six o’clock the next morning, Mansel, John Bagot and I were sitting by the edge of the sinkhole which I had found in the forest the day before. Carson and Bell had come with us, less to carry the gear than to mark the place: then they had gone back to the farm with orders not to return till eleven that night. This meant, of course, that if the grotto were to prove impenetrable, we should pass a wasted day: but that could not be helped, for one thing we dared not risk – and that was discovery. And when they did return, they were not to return to the hole, but to a track in the forest a mile and a half away.
Our gear was slight enough, but of good quality. We had two short lengths of oak joist, a quantity of very strong cord, three pairs of hedging gloves and three powerful, leather-cased torches which we could sling. But though there were gloves and a torch for each of us, it was by no means certain that all of us could go down: indeed, the most we hoped for was that two would be able to prove the grotto’s depths, while the third could stay at its mouth, if possible just underground and so out of sight. It was, of course, unlikely that the enemy’s eyes would be turned to such a place: but, if they were and if any movement was seen, it might go hard indeed with whoever was down below.
Whilst John Bagot was keeping watch, Mansel fastened a cord about me and laid the lengths of timber across the aperture. A moment later, I was some ten feet down.
Finding a rest for my foot, I used my torch, to see before me a chasm some four feet wide. From this was rising the song of the underground stream, now very much more distinct and, to my ear, clearly enriched by some natural sounding board. And this could only mean that the stream was running in a cavern of a considerable size. Looking behind me, I saw that the grotto ran straight for some fifteen or twenty feet and then came to an end, thus making a little chamber, which seemed to be sound. I trod it carefully and threw my beam on its roof. Then I summoned Mansel, that he might see for himself.
“I can see no snag,” I said. “I stand beneath the hole, and John steps on to my shoulders. He picks up the wood and hands it to you. Then he comes down himself. Tonight we reverse the procedure, which lets us out.”
“And John stays here?” said Mansel.
“That depends,” said I. “The wood will span that chasm. If the quarters below are better, he may as well come on down.”
Two minutes later, we were, all three, below ground. Now, good as our torches were, the light they threw was lost in the chasm’s depths: all we could vouch for was that after ten or twelve feet the soil which made up its walls had been changed into stone – I suppose by the action of the water which had made the chasm its bed. Still, this was comforting, for soil can give way and fall, but the petrification we could see suggested, rightly or wrongly, that nothing short of an earthquake would bring it down.
I helped Mansel adjust the timber. Then he bound a second cord to one of the joists and let its coil fall. He then took off his coat, and John Bagot and I, between us, threaded a much finer line up one of the sleeves of his shirt, across his back and down the other sleeve. When it emerged, I tied its end to the cord which was already fastened about my waist. This finer line was to be my signal cord: it could not slip, yet was free to go down with me; and, while Mansel could not now miss any signal I gave, his hands would be free to handle the other cords.
Then the three of us put on our gloves, Mansel and Bagot laid hold of the cord about me, and I let myself into the gulf. While the two of them took the strain, I left the oak and took hold of the second cord. A moment later I had begun to go down.
At first I secured some foothold, but once I had reached the stone, I had to depend entirely upon the cords. In vain I sought for some excrescence or crack, but, as though they resented my intrusion, the walls would give me no help. Indeed, after twenty-five feet they seemed to withdraw; so I gave up trying to reach them and handled my torch instead. This showed me at once that the chasm had bellied out and gave me some hope that the bottom was near at hand: but when I threw the beam down, its report was valueless, for it lost itself in the shadows almost at once. But one thing I thought I saw, and that was the wink of water, such as a man may see when he looks down a well.
Here I may say that, something to my surprise, the sturdy song of the torrent which I had heard above was hardly any louder than it had been before: this proved, if nothing else, that the water which lay below me had nothing to do with this sound. I, therefore, hoped for some opening into the cavern which I was sure must exist and I strained my eyes and my ears for any sign of one.
I was very near the water, and, as I afterwards found, some ninety feet down, when the song of the torrent swelled into a musical roar. At that moment I saw that the chasm had lost its shape, because the stream that had worn it from west to east had suddenly found an outlet towards the north: and through this outlet was rising the vigorous note of the more important water flowing beyond.
Here then was the opening to my cavern, though whether or no I could take it remained to be seen.
I had to let go my torch, because, approaching the water, I had to have a hand free, not only to bear myself up, but to pull, if I had to, upon my signal cord; for, once I was down, I had first to discover how deep the water might be, then to find foothold of some sort and then to make up my mind whether or no I could pass where the water went. And what with the roaring and the darkness and the uncertainty, it was more, I confess, by luck than by anything else that I found myself standing in water up to my knees, with a hand upon a small boss, of which I was afraid to let go. However, I had the sense to pull once on my signal cord, which meant that I wished to stay still and be lowered no more. At once the strain was taken by Mansel and Bagot above. Even so, I had much ado to avoid being swept off my feet; but at last I was standing square, with my back to the wall.
So stablished, I used my torch, to see that I was standing in the midst of a waterslide – I borrow that name from John Ridd, because it exactly describes this remarkable fall which, swift and strong, yet slid on its way in silence, or at least with a sound so slight as to be lost in that of its mightier brother beyond. Its outlet was, in fact, a tunnel or shaft not quite twenty feet long, and eighteen inches higher than the water in which I stood. And beyond the shaft was lying the cavern I sought.
Had the tunnel been six feet high or had I been a dwarf, I could have made my way down it simply enough: but three feet six is a very awkward height – when two feet of that is water and the gradient is one in two. Still, it was passable; and, after a long look, I thrust my torch into my shirt and pulled twice on the signal cord.
I had a bad moment or two on that treacherous slide, for, before I was halfway down, I put a foot wrong, and, once the water had me, it was not disposed to give up possession again. When I got to my knees, it thrust me off my balance and on to my side: when I drew myself up to my feet, it carried these from beneath me, so that I fell on my face: and when I sat up, to draw breath, before I had drawn it I found myself on my back. At last I realized that I must be clear of the shaft and I had the sense to endeavour to leave the stream; so I flung out an arm for handhold of any kind. At once I encountered a column, slender, stable and solid, that might have been made and placed for the sake of such as the water was seeking to drown; and, laying hold of this, I drew myself out of the slide and on to a shelf of rock.
When I had got my breath, I took my torch – in some anxiety: but the water had done it no harm, and when I illumined the column to which I owed so much, I saw, what I might have guessed, that it was a stalagmite.
I find it hard to describe what else I saw, for the beam of my torch was quite lost in the majestic dimensions it did its best to reveal. The place might have been the nave of some cathedral church, with galleries, chapels and natural monuments; and a long line of stalactites, hanging high up on the wall, rendered the pipes of an organ with great fidelity. That the cavern was full of sound, I need hardly say, for the torrent which had betrayed it the day before was flowing down all its length: I could not see the water, because it was sunk in a channel which it had worn, but, as I had guessed, its steady recitative was echoed and magnified.
Having gone so far, I was, I knew, due to return or else to summon Mansel, to share my discovery. But, since it was perfectly clear that I must return – for I was soaked to the skin and the place was too chill and too damp to allow me to dry – I decided to see something more before I went back. I, therefore, got to my feet and moved carefully down to the stream, proposing to mark whence it came and whither it went. My compass showed me at once that the water was flowing roughly from south to north, but the way up and down was barred. The barriers could be surmounted, but only with time and care: they were natural ridges and walls, all wet as you please, and a man who fell would slide straight into the channel in which the water ran, because he would find no handhold, to stay his course. But two men, roped together, could do very well. Before I turned to go back, I turned my torch on to the water – I know not why. It lighted a little pool, where the torrent fretted a moment before going on. And there, in the pool, was something that was not natural.
Somehow I gained the water and made my catch – and no one was ever more pleased with more worthless things. Tea leaves, potato peelings and half an envelope. This bore the name ‘de Parol’ and, best of all, was postmarked… The letter had been posted in Paris three days before.
I now had some news worth telling, to carry back: in other words I could prove that the water came out of Arx. Whether its exit would make an entrance for us had yet to be seen; but it looked very much as though this particular cavern belonged to a group, one of which served the château, as Bagot had said.
It was not until I pulled off a gauntlet, the better to stow away the tell-tale document, that I realized with a shock that the chill and the wet together had stolen a march on my vitality. My fingers were already so numb that I could hardly deal with the buttons upon my coat; and though I did what I could to chafe them back into life, I knew that what they needed was warmer air. So did all my system; the blood was running sluggishly in my veins. In a word, it was very clear that I must get back.
At once I turned to survey the way I had come.
Till then I had had no idea that I was so far from the shaft. I was full thirty paces away and forty feet lower down, and, though that sounds little enough, the going was very hard and I could no longer move freely as I had done coming in.
I marked as well as I could the way I must go: then I put up my torch, and gave the signal to hoist. This I did clumsily, because my hands were so cold, and I shall always remember how much relieved I was when I felt the cord about me grow steadily taut. At once, as best I could, I laid hold of the second cord, for I am a heavy man, and to put all my weight on one cord was undesirable. So, very slowly, partly dragging myself, but mostly being dragged, I began to go back up the slope to the shaft and the chasm beyond.
Had the cavern been lighted, movement, though never easy, could have been usefully made: but I could not direct my torch, because, of course, I was climbing hand over hand, and so I could make no use of such little aids as there were for the sole of the foot. Indeed quite half the distance I covered, if not on my stomach, upon my knees, for I slipped continually and could not regain my feet.
Arrived at the waterslide, I gave the signal to stop, for, though I knew it was vital that I should get on, I felt I must rest for a moment before going up the shaft. Indeed, it was then that it first came into my mind that, unless we could find some truly waterproof suits, the atmosphere of the place might rule out any attempt to enter Arx by this way. I could endure cold and wet with any man: I had often been soaked to the skin and had stayed so for hours on end, and never had such a condition touched me at all: but now, after half an hour only, I was distressed; for the cold that had entered my system was stealing away my strength. My progress had been exhausting; but the rest, which should have refreshed me, had done me no good, and the effort still to be made if I was to reach the chasm, took on a monstrous, not to say desperate air. And here was danger, indeed; not content with reducing my body, the cold was besetting my soul.
I pulled myself together and gave the signal to hoist…
To this day I do not know how I passed up the waterslide without being drowned. I lost my cord very soon, because my hands could not grasp it, and that is the truth. Mansel and Bagot, between them, hauled me up, but I had to keep my head above water – and this, as I have reported, was two feet deep. I remember gaining the chasm and trying in vain to recapture the cord I had lost: and after that, to be honest, I knew no more, till I found myself lying stripped in the open air, and Mansel and Bagot working to bring me round.
(For this unusual collapse, I cannot account. I must have hit my head when I went up the waterslide, for when they landed me, my forehead was gashed: but that alone would never have laid me out. I think perhaps the truth is that the air within the cavern was short of oxygen and that when my system sought to fight off the cold, my lungs could lend no support to the effort it made.)
“Better, William?” said Mansel.
I took a deep breath and sat up.
“Yes,” I said, “I’m better. If I could get into the sun…”
Mansel put off his shirt and slacks and helped me to put them on: then he got into mine, which were wringing wet.
“There’s a little meadow,” he said, “not very far from here. The sun will be on it by now. D’you think we three can make it?”
“And Gedge?” said I.
“Gedge be damned,” said Mansel. “Besides, he’s still abed.”
“The devil’s driving,” said I, and got to my knees…