“I seem to remember,” said I, “that it was to avoid such a task that you spared my life.”
“True,” said Brevet. “True. Still, I feel something should have been said. A graceful word of inquiry as to how I had done the trick. A flicker of commendation. It is the gesture that counts. But there you are. What is poison to us is Gedge’s staple food. After all, Napoleon was a most howling cad.”
We both heard Gedge let fly.
“Where the devil’s that —, Brevet?”
“Forgive me,” said Brevet. “My services seem to be desired. Make yourself at home, won’t you? I shan’t be long.”
He shut the door behind him, and I was left alone.
Though I was still very tired, I was too much excited to sleep. Two hours had gone by since Mansel had left the meadow; and, once he had the Rolls, I knew that he could be back in forty minutes of time. I tried my best to reckon how long he would have taken to reach the farm. He would have made for Sarrat, the nearest town, there to procure a car to carry him on. Such a car would take forty minutes to reach the farm. Everything, therefore, was hanging on the time it had taken him to get from the meadow to Sarrat – some twenty miles. If he had found some vehicle going his way…and found it early on…
I gave Gedge half an hour in which to collect Lousy’s body and bring it back. If he was not back by then, it would mean that Mansel had got him – and Brevet, too.
As the time went slowly by, I could hardly lie still.
Some twenty minutes had passed when the door of the storeroom was opened and Mona Lelong came in with a key in her hand. For a moment she did not see me, because the shutters were closed and the light in the room was dim: then her eyes fell on my feet and travelled up to my face.
“God Almighty,” she breathed. Then she raised her voice. “Horace,” she cried, using French, “come and see what I’ve found.”
The Baron entered the room.
“What is it now?” he said.
“Behold thine enemy.”
The fellow peered for a minute. Then very slowly his battered countenance lighted, as though some lamp within him were being turned up. His eyes, which had been dull, became burning bright, an evil grin stole into his haggard face, and a look of the purest joy supplanted the hunted expression which he had been wearing when he came into the room.
“So,” he whispered. “So.”
Then he began to laugh, and The Stoat with him.
As on the day before, the tears ran down his cheeks; but this time tears of mirth and ecstasy. He stamped about the floor in a paroxysm of glee, clapping The Stoat upon the shoulder and indicating my bonds. And the lady threw back her head and laughed full-throatedly.
But my mind was upon a meadow a mile away. If Gedge was not back in five minutes…
“Alive,” crowed de Parol, “alive. Had they told me that he was dead, I should have been overwhelmed: but to bring him to me alive…”
“Whatever,” said Miss Lelong, “would dear Mrs Chandos say?”
“And Mansel,” cried the Baron. “How will that
canaille
react?”
“Try to storm Arx,” said The Stoat.
“God is good,” said the other, piously.
The Stoat took out cigarettes and looked at me.
“How did it happen, Samson?”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“I was asleep,” I said, “and Brevet blew in.”
“No Delilah, I trust?”
I shook my head.
“Just – carelessness?”
“You’ve said it,” said I.
The Stoat approached me and kicked me upon the hip.
“Don’t lie to me,” she said. “How did you hit your head?”
“Brevet will tell you,” I said.
She kicked me again – fiercely.
“I’m asking you.”
I told her what I had told Brevet. When I had done –
“A likely tale,” she said. “And how did you reach the field?”
“Bagot helped me,” I said.
“And Bagot?”
“Escaped,” said I.
“From Brevet and Lousy?”
“Yes.”
The Stoat bent over me.
“You — liar,” she said, and slapped my face.
“How does that feel?” said the Baron. “To be struck when your hands are tied? Be thankful I do not burn you.”
The Stoat lit a cigarette and handed her lighter to him.
“Let him feel the flame,” she said.
“Later,” said the other. “Believe me, I know how you feel.”
“You don’t,” said The Stoat. “You haven’t the dimmest idea. When I was at this man’s mercy, he treated me like a leper: he was very polite, as men are – to a prostitute: he may have knocked you about, but he insulted me as only a ‘gentleman’ can.”
“He will soon be dead,” said de Parol. “Let the swine be.”
With that, he urged her out of the room, and again I was left alone – to listen for Gedge’s return.
It was natural, I think, that though my ears were pricked for the sound of the car, I should give some grateful thought to Mona Lelong’s display. That she hoped to be able to help me was very clear: she had just been paving the way – by making her uncle believe that her hatred was greater than his. And if Gedge and Brevet failed to return, that she would be able to help me I had no doubt. But they would take no chances. They were no fools.
Now I am cautious enough, but when twenty minutes more had dragged by, yet the rogues had not returned, I could have shouted and sung. Thirty minutes should have been ample, and I was ready to swear that they had been gone forty-five. Such delay could mean but one thing – that Mansel had been ready and waiting when they returned to the field.
I saw the
dénouement
, as though I had been ‘in the wings’. Gedge and Brevet shot dead, and the others with their hands in the air…the bodies conveyed to the car, and this driven into the quarry, bearing its dreadful load… Punter raising the curtain, while Mansel stood by… Carson and Bell –
And there I heard the car coming…
It swept to the door of the house. Then –
“Get going,” snapped Gedge. “And six feet deep, mind you. We don’t want to be stunk out.”
A quarter of an hour had gone by and an interesting discussion was taking place.
“We may be able,” said Brevet, “to use him alive.”
“You mean, to string Mansel along?”
“That was in my mind,” said Brevet.
“How?” said Gedge, biting his lip.
“I don’t know: but Mansel may take some action which gives us a line. Whereas, if we put him down …”
Gedge addressed me.
“What’ll Mansel do?” he said.
“I’ve no idea.”
“Does he know of the quarry?”
“If Bagot is pulling his weight, he very soon will.”
“You knew before.”
“Of course we knew the quarry: we didn’t know it made a way in.”
“How d’you know now?”
“I heard the curtain go up.”
“Where and when were you to meet Mansel?”
“On the other side of the water, at half-past ten.”
“That’s no good,” said Brevet. “Bagot–”
“— Bagot,” said Gedge.
“I’m not so sure,” said Brevet. “He will a tale unfold.”
“And then what?”
“Mansel may rush his fences – he’ll know he’s up against time.”
“By —, he is,” said Gedge.
“We stray from the point,” said Brevet. “Do I pass him into Paradise now, or must the angels wait?”
Gedge stooped to examine my bonds. As he stood up –
“How long will Lousy keep?”
Brevet shrugged his shoulders.
“Two days,” he said.
His eyes fast upon mine, Gedge fingered his chin. Then –
“I’ll think it over,” he said.
He turned on his heel and went out.
As his footfalls faded –
“The reprieve,” said Brevet. “Your heart must have been in your mouth.”
“There’s not much in it,” I said.
“To be frank, I’m afraid there isn’t. You are as good as pork, as Ben Gunn would say. Don’t you love
Treasure Island
?”
“It’s a damned good tale,” said I.
“Bagot could play Jim Hawkins, the cabin boy.”
“What makes you say that?” said I.
“He possesses the requisite blend of initiative and mischief.”
“Lousy would probably agree.”
“True,” said Brevet, “most true. But Bagot didn’t stop there. He actually removed the remains, while we were away – the act of an
enfant terrible
, which, I need hardly say, caused great unpleasantness.”
“I gather that you found them again.”
“Eventually,” said Brevet. “But it might have been awkward, you know. Gathering dead at noon is hardly a healthy pursuit.” He sighed. “Gedge was most outspoken, as you will believe.”
“I can’t say I’m sorry,” said I.
“That,” said Brevet, “would be too much to expect.” He took his seat on a table and dangled a leg. “Entirely between you and me, does Mansel deserve the reputation he has?”
“Yes.”
“Achates commends Aeneas.”
“No,” said I. “I’ve worked with him more than once, and he’s terribly good.”
“Do you believe Gedge will get him?”
“No. He’s the better man.”
“But the rape of his
fidus Achates
will shake him up.”
“He’s used to hard knocks,” said I.
“Hero worship,” said Brevet.
“Seeing’s believing,” said I. “The day Gedge sent his challenge, he wrote himself off.”
“Our Gedge has his points,” said Brevet.
“I know. But he’s weighted out. Gedge may be cast iron: but Mansel is high-speed steel.”
There was a little silence.
“Well, we shall see,” said Brevet. “At least, I shall. Possibly you will, too – from Heaven’s battlements. D’you remember this day last week?”
“Yes.”
“How we, er, forgathered at Stère?”
“Yes.”
“You were very downright, Mr Chandos.”
“I tried to be.”
“You spoke,” drawled Brevet, “of deaths and punishments.”
“I did more. I foretold them, Brevet, and so I do again. For the part you played that day, you will die in this world and pray for death in the next. There was some excuse for Gedge, but for you there was none. You’re far better read than I am, but I can remember the words ‘Better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck and he were cast into the sea.’”
Brevet was on his feet, trembling.
“You damned clod,” he mouthed. “Who are you to condemn me? I could have moved mountains, if I had had your chance. You – you cumber the earth; but I could have been a proconsul. Instead, I’m a criminal – and you are a country squire. D’you wonder that I hate you, Chandos? D’you wonder that I look forward to spilling what brains you have?”
“No,” said I, “I don’t. And I could have been sorry for you if you hadn’t laid hands on my wife.”
Brevet’s face was working. So were his hands. I watched his fingers curling into his palms.
After a little, he left me without a word.
I was glad to be alone, for I felt more weary than ever, because, I suppose, my hopes which had risen so high had been so suddenly dashed: and I knew that if some effort should presently have to be made, I should not be able to make it, unless I had slept. The storeroom was pleasantly warm, for the sun was striking the corner to which it belonged and, luckily, its floor was of wood, so that I was not cold. My hands being tied behind me, I could do nothing at all to unfasten my bonds, but, seeing a pile of sacks a few feet away, I made my way up to them and, dragging some into position by using my teeth, I furnished myself with a pillow of which I was very glad.
Here perhaps I should say that I could hear, though but faintly, the definite rush of water not very far off. This water was not without, but within the house, and it seemed to me likely enough that this was the very stream upon which I had turned my torch a few hours before.
But I was too tired to consider what that might mean and, with its rustle to lull me, I fell asleep.
When at length I awoke, the storeroom was dark. This meant that I must have slept for at least ten hours, Be that as it may, although I was very hungry, I was myself again.
The first thing I did was to see if in any way I could manage to free my hands. But this I could not do, for they had been bound too well. Then my thoughts turned to the water which I could hear. If indeed it belonged to the stream which entered the cavern I knew and if the rope I had used was still hanging down, that way lay a chance of escape. It was a very slight chance. First, I had nothing to tell me that this was in fact my stream: if it was, could I gain the cavern, or should I be jammed and drowned before I could get so far? And if I could reach the cavern and find my rope, could I possibly climb it unaided before that unearthly chill had taken away my strength? It was a very slight chance. There might be another way out which a captive could take: but I felt that this was unlikely – Arx was too strong. Still, anything was better than being butchered by Brevet the following day.
It must not be thought that I was blind to the fact that, unless my hands were freed, I could make no attempt to escape, but was, as Brevet had said, ‘as good as pork’. But, in my desperation, I forced myself to assume that The Stoat would see me over this dreadful stile. That she would do what she could, I had no doubt: and she knew as well as did I that nothing at all could help me, so long as my hands were bound.
I afterwards found it was nearly ten o’clock before the door was opened and Brevet switched on the light.
I saw at once that the man had recovered his poise.
“Had a nice rest, Mr Chandos?”
“Yes.”
“Good. ‘Weariness can snore upon the flint’, can’t it? I believe that’s
Cymbeline
, but I can’t be sure. Never mind. D’you think you could toy with a
chaud-froid
?”
“I should be glad,” said I, “of something to eat.”
“That’s what I thought,” said Brevet. “I proposed that Greaser should serve you with some sort of cheer. But Miss Lelong had a very much better notion, and so I am here to bid you to sup with us. In fact, we have had our meal, but we are still at table, to which, as often as not, we sit very late. And some broken meats remain. D’you think you can rise?”
“Not with my feet tied,” I said.
Brevet picked up a pair of pliers and, standing well to one side of me, cut the wire.
I managed to get to my knees and so to my feet.
“Can I have a wash?” I said.
“Of course. And may I say how very moving it is to meet someone who thinks of washing before he eats. Even Horace regards ablution as waste of time: while, compared with Gedge and Punter, the average private-schoolboy is, believe it or not, ‘the mould of form’.”
He led the way into a kitchen which stood beside the storeroom in which I had lain. The farther wall of the kitchen was natural rock. At once I heard the water most loud and clear.
Now running water speaks many different tongues. There is the speech of a fall, the speech of a troubled torrent and that of a steady stream. And this was the third of those – the swift, smooth rush of a vigorous head of water, meeting no let or hindrance and sliding, rather than running, down some steep place.
Brevet saw me look round.
“Every convenience,” he said, and pointed to an opening which had been cut in the rock. That gives to an underground stream: all refuse goes out of that hatch and is seen no more. Myself, I believe that the stream would accept a corpse; but lower down there may be a bottleneck, and if that was suddenly corked, conceive the inundation that would result. So, in spite of all temptations, we bury our dead.”
There was a sink by the opening, which was some three feet square. To this I made my way, to put my head under the tap.
“May I ask you to turn it on?”
Brevet obliged.
The water was very cold, and it did me a world of good to feel it running over my head and face.
I turned about and held my hands under the flow.
At length –
“That’s better,” I said.
Brevet turned off the tap and led the way out of the kitchen, along a passage and into a dining-room. The windows of this were wide, and the lights were on.
About the table were seated the four I had expected to see.
De Parol was facing Punter, asprawl in his chair: on his right, The Stoat was sitting, smoking, with her elbows upon the board and her chin in her hands: between her and Punter sat Gedge, who was picking his teeth: a cigar glowed in his ashtray and a bottle of champagne was standing within his reach.
The Baron rose at once.
“Ah, welcome, dear Mr Chandos.” He bowed from the waist. “This is a privilege indeed. Yesterday you entertained me: today I have the great pleasure of returning the compliment. Sit here on my left – where we can see you. Brevet, some soup for milord. A spoon would be out of place. He shall lap like a dog.”
It seemed best to take my seat.
Brevet busied himself at the sideboard, while the others regarded me in silence, as though I were some strange fish.
Brevet placed before me a plate of cold soup.
“I can recommend this,” he said.
For a moment I hesitated. Then I bent my head and began to drink. It was not a pleasant operation, but I knew that I needed food.
In one of my pauses for breath, a hand came down on my head and pressed my face into the soup.
“‘Drink, puppy, drink,’” said The Stoat.
Punter sniggered ashamedly.
That was the first of many indignities.
By the time I had made my meal, my face was a mask of grease: but for that I declined to care – I was making my enemies sport; but they were giving me back the strength I required.
Disgustedly The Stoat surveyed me.
“The landed gentry,” she sneered. “How galling it must be for him to keep such company.”
“Juvenal says,” purred Brevet, “that–”
“Blast what Juvenal says. When does he die?”
“Depends on Mansel,” said Gedge.
“You’re not going to sell him?”
“No.”
“Then–”
“I know my stuff,” snapped Gedge.
“Why so uncommunicative?” said Brevet. “The gentleman stands condemned. He is already a shade. Except, therefore, to some sympathetic seraph, he is debarred from reporting the circumstances of his decease.”
Gedge vouchsafed no reply.
“‘And some fell on stony ground,’” sighed Brevet. He turned to me. “We don’t usually run to tombstones, but if there is any short epitaph on which you have set your heart…”
“Let’s choose him one,” said The Stoat.
“‘Is this the face?’” said Brevet.
“Too topical,” said The Stoat. “What about ‘The Blight that Failed’?”
“Oh, very good,” cried Brevet, and even Gedge gave a half-laugh. “Greaser shall draw it out on a number plate. And you shall photograph God’s acre and send the relict a print.”
“Goody, goody,” cried The Stoat, and jumped in her chair. “But will Nature’s darling get it?”
“Every time,” said Brevet. “She’s not as naive as she looks.”
“I regret,” said the Baron, “I very deeply regret that I had not the pleasure of entertaining her here.”
“Don’t despair,” said Brevet. “When Mansel and Bagot have ceased to strut and fret, the invitation may very well be renewed.”
“When,” said Punter, sagely.
The word might have been a goad.
Gedge turned upon the fellow, with blazing eyes.
“You palsied —,” he cried. “You creeping —. ’Cause Mansel burst ‘Rose’ Noble, he won’t burst Daniel Gedge. I’ve only got to see him. He’s kept away for a week, because he’s afraid. But now I’ve forced his hand. Where Chandos is, he’ll come.”
“‘Rose’ ’ad Chandos,” said Punter. “An’ Mansel came.”
For a moment I thought Gedge would strike him. Then –
“Let him come,” he said, and sucked in his breath. “Let him come, as he will, by the quarry. Let him force the outer curtain – to say he’s there. Let him come to the second curtain – an’ then force that…”
There was a little silence.
Then –
“I do not like this,” said the Baron. “I do not like this at all.”
“Then go an’ stop him,” sneered Gedge. “You know where he lives.”
“Curse and damn,” screamed de Parol. “You brought him here.”
“You want him fixed, don’t you?”