Mansel had returned from Toulouse with ropes and timber and two stout, waterproof packs: but, best of all, he had brought a small, powerful windlass, for which he had paid a great deal. This was geared; and so, although it could raise a weight of six hundred pounds, a child could have turned its handle, without any fuss. I need not insist on the difference which such a machine would make: but its greatest virtue in our eyes was that it made for speed. And, as I have shown, speed was truly vital, if we were to enter Arx and to ‘live to tell the tale’.
John Bagot begged very hard to be allowed to lead us not only into the cavern, but up the stream, “for I have done nothing,” he said, “but let Chandos be taken alive.”
This was a monstrous saying, and Mansel and I denied it with all our might. But when we had done, we told him in so many words that, if only for Audrey’s sake, he must stay at the head of the shaft.
“Please look at it this way,” said Mansel. “The quarrel is ours. That being so, if you come to any harm, what can we say to Audrey, with whom at this very time you should be on your honeymoon? Of course you have pulled your weight – it’s made a world of difference – having another man. But when two can do the trick, I refuse to make it three. I won’t let the servants go down – I haven’t the right.
“You and Bell will control the windlass – with Mona Lelong standing by. If we should find ourselves failing, then we shall signal for help and you will come down. If we are gone more than an hour – then you will come down. But not otherwise. And now you must give me your word to do as I say.”
Poor John hooked mutinous: but, after some hesitation, he gave his word.
“That’s right, John,” said Mansel. “You see we’re older than you.”
“And Carson and Rowley?”
“They will keep the Rolls moving upon the road. They’ll touch the quarry for a moment twice in the hour. But I dare not leave one man alone on the road to Arx.”
“And the Lowland?”
“Will be berthed in a wood by Sarrat. As long as we have the Rolls, she can always be reached.”
“And I watch and pray?” said Mona.
Mansel laughed.
“I don’t think you would consent to stay at the farm: yet I decline to believe that you wish to re-enter Arx.”
“Not by way of the cavern. I’ll give you that.”
“And all you want is your passport?”
“Yes. You know where it is. And there’s twenty thousand francs in the drawer. If I am to pay my debts, I’d better have that. But for God’s sake don’t risk your lives to get that trash. Passports have been lost before now, and new ones issued instead. But they don’t do that with lives.”
“We won’t – I promise. But I’d like to have a look at the château, when once we have opened the road.”
At half-past one the next morning, all was in train.
To get our gear to the sinkhole had entailed the kind of labour which men, who once have made it, prefer to forget: but, because they were not to go down, Bagot and Bell and Rowley had borne the heaviest stuff. (This was not, of course, division of labour: had Mansel and I been tired before we went down, the atmosphere of the cavern would have been harder to fight.) Then Rowley had returned to the quarry to meet the Rolls.
I threw a glance round the grotto.
Mona was looking at me, with a hand to her mouth: Bell was adjusting the straps of Mansel’s waterproof pack: and Bagot, with a hand on the windlass, was trying to light with a torch the chasm’s depths.
All this I could see by the glare of a powerful lamp – one of two which Mansel had brought from Toulouse. The other was wrapped in oilskin and was hanging about my neck.
Mansel and I were wearing bathing shorts – and nothing else except heavy, climbing boots. From throat to ankle, our bodies were covered with oil.
I glanced at my waterproof watch.
“Half-past one,” I said. I looked at Mona and smiled. “What’ll you bet we’re not back by a quarter-past two?”
“Give me a chance,” said Bagot. “I’d like to have a look round.”
I laughed and took hold of the rope.
Carson had made a ‘swing-seat’ – that is to say such a seat as children employ with a swing: and sailors use them when they are ‘painting ship’. Upon this I settled myself. A moment later I was sinking into the chasm’s depths.
I need not describe my journey. Enough to say that it was most easily made. So can that become child’s play, which, for lack of a helping hand, has been a most desperate matter of life and death.
When I had passed down the slide, I unwrapped and lighted my lamp. This I set down in the cavern, to flood the way to my pool. It made an enormous difference, as did my climbing boots: for now I could see where to tread and, because of the nails in my soles, I did not fall.
I reached my pool, to find my faithful rope waiting to lead me up: and though I did not enjoy the last twenty-five feet of the race – I was, indeed, most thankful to reach my bar – I was not at all fatigued and did not feel very cold.
When I had got my breath, I found my feet and stood up and set my back, as before, against the tunnel’s roof. That the kitchen was all in darkness, I saw at once. I undid my signal cord and made it fast to my bar: and then I pulled it four times, to report that all was well.
I climbed through the hatch and stood listening. Except for the rush of the water, I heard no sound.
I pulled off my gloves. Then I undid my pack and took out my pistol and torch. The latter, I ventured to light and lay down in the hatch. Then I put off my boots and my shorts and put on a pair of trousers and rubber-soled shoes. Before they were fairly on, I saw Mansel’s arm in the hatch…
As I helped him into the kitchen –
“My word, William,” he said, “I’m devilish glad to be here. Your itineraries are exacting – to say the least. I didn’t like the slide very much, but those last twenty-five feet would make a porpoise think.”
Two minutes later he was changed.
I put out the torch, and he opened the kitchen’s door.
The passage without was lighted, as we had thought it would be.
We left the kitchen and closed its door behind us, because we wished to diminish the sound which the water made. At once we heard someone singing.
A tremulous falsetto was singing the line of a song.
Nous avons fait un bon voyage…
This was, I believe, the first line of a pretty duet, which had been the rage of Paris some years before. But now that one line was rendered over and over again. And the man who was singing the line was short of a voice.
“De Parol,” breathed Mansel. “He must have gone over the edge. And I’m much afraid this means that our birds are flown.”
With his words, my heart sank down. They had to be proved, of course: and he might be wrong. But I knew how unlikely it was that Gedge would allow an idiot to trouble his ears.
The pitiful wail went on.
Nous avons fait un bon voyage…
The sound was coming from the dining-room, the door of which was shut. We passed it by and made for the stair beyond. We knew our way, of course, for Mona had shown us exactly what to expect.
No light was burning on the landing: but the first door we came to was open – and that had been Gedge’s room. And when, after waiting a little, I lighted my torch, we saw that the bed was unmade and his things were gone.
And Brevet’s and Punter’s rooms were empty, too.
I will not describe our disappointment, for I think that it may be imagined without any words of mine. But I think that we felt, perhaps, as a robber may feel – who has taken infinite pains and has run exceptional risks to reach and open some safe, only to find it empty and, so, all his labour and cunning but waste of time.
Mansel sighed.
“I was always afraid of this. From the moment that Mona said that Gedge was waiting to get to some other job.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, well… As we’re here, we’d better have a look at de Parol. He may have lost his reason; but people who’ve lost their reason sometimes talk.”
The singing had ceased now, and when we stopped by the door of the dining-room, we heard no sound but that of a muffled rattling and then the irregular smack of some objects let fall.
“He’s throwing dice,” breathed Mansel, and opened the door.
The Baron was sitting at the table, and all the lights were on. Two places only were laid. On the floor, by the second, lay Greaser, plainly as drunk as a lord.
The Baron peered at us, dice box in hand.
His face was foul and unshaven: his hair was wild: and his eyes were wide and staring – you only had to meet them to know that the man was mad.
He rose to his feet and bowed.
“Enchanted,” he said. “Sit down and drink, I pray you. Tomorrow we die.” He resumed his seat and pointed to Greaser’s body. “He’s dead, you know. Entirely between you and me, I think they poisoned his wine. But I promised to stay with him; and once I have passed my word…” He threw his dice again. “Dear me. An ace and a two. I’m losing tonight. But I shall win it all back. And then I shall denounce Mona.” He slammed the table. “I’ll have her boxes searched. No, no, don’t argue with me. Greaser tried to argue, and look at him now. It’s very degrading, of course: but what can I do? The money was on my table. Three hundred and fifty francs. And Greaser wouldn’t take it. Besides, he’s dead.”
Mansel took his seat at the table.
“What of Gedge and Brevet?” he said.
The other’s finger flew to his lip.
“Hush,” he whispered. “They’re sleeping. They want all the rest they can get. There’s going to be a battle, but don’t say I told you so. And all the dead will be laid in rows on the green.” He threw his dice again. “There’s another nine for Lousy. He was the first, you know. I saw him lying there with his head on one side. A most unnatural posture. But that’s the worst of the dead.”
“Gedge and Brevet have gone.”
The Baron appeared to consider. Then he burst out laughing and slapped his thigh.
“You’re perfectly right,” he crowed. “They took the bus and they’ve gone to – let me see… I gave them a letter to our Ambassador there. My grandfather was his butler – or, rather, his butler’s father. That’s years ago. If he could see me now, how proud he would be. But he’s dead, too. But I shall never die. You see, I’ve drunk the water of everlasting life.”
“But they’re coming back?” said Mansel. “Gedge and Brevet, I mean.”
“They must,” cried the Baron. “They must. Who’s to bury Greaser? I really can’t ask the servants to dig a grave.”
“Did they have a wire?” said Mansel.
The other nodded his head.
“A lovely wire. And very happily worded. ‘Love’, it said. I think it was Brevet’s birthday. D’you know he’s twenty-two? And I shall be thirty-five when Lousy’s dead. But the bus couldn’t manage the tunnel. Somebody’s filled it up.” He laughed and laughed, till the tears ran down his face. “I oughtn’t to laugh, you know. Besides, I’m going to complain. That curtain was most expensive. And what about Mona’s taking two hundred francs?” Mansel rose to his feet. “Now don’t say you’re going. You promised to stay with Greaser, and you must keep your word.”
“You must excuse us,” said Mansel.
The Baron rose and bowed.
Then he sat down and once again lifted his voice.
Nous avons fait un bon voyage…
As the door closed behind us –
“Well, that’s that,” said Mansel. “And now for Mona’s passport. It isn’t worth wrecking his plant – he’ll never use it again.”
For myself, I was thankful to leave the dining-room. Never before or since have I stood and witnessed the way of a man who has lost his mind. Absurd as had been his chatter, I never felt less like laughter in all my life: for, though I dare say I am wrong, I had the clear impression that some malevolent spirit had come to possess his soul…had found it untenanted, and so had entered in, to make a mock of his betters, who, with all their faults, had been made in the image of God.
A door, quite close to the kitchen, admitted us to a passage, hewn through the rock. This led us into a cavern – much longer, but not so spacious as that we knew. An easy path had been made through all its length, and, in this, lines had been laid, to take a trolley we found at the other end.
A second door admitted us to the château, the front of which we had studied so many times.
The house was all in darkness, and, if the servants were there, they must have been fast asleep. In Mona’s bedroom we found her passport and money, as she had said we should. Then we made our way back to the hall, through which we had come.
And on a table there was lying a telegram.
D’ Aniel Château d’Arx Près Sarrat.
Mansel ripped it open, and the two of us read it together by the light of my torch.
For August eighth read August eleventh but advise immediate attendance.
RUST.
The wire had been sent on Tuesday from Châteaudun.
“I’m much obliged,” said Mansel. “That makes me feel very much better. In fact, it was well worth coming to learn this news. And now let’s be getting back.”
In less than a quarter of an hour, we were once again in the grotto, and Bell was wiping the oil from my back and legs.
Mona was speaking.
“And all for a scrap of paper. Don’t say you’ll do it again.”
“I hope we shan’t have to,” said Mansel. “And I have travelled first-class. How you two survived is more than I understand.”
“I was in the guard’s van,” said Mona. “And he looked after me.”
With that, she produced some hot soup: and whilst we were drinking this, we told in detail the tale I have just set down.
When we had made an end –
“I’m not surprised,” said Mona, “that my uncle has lost his wits. And I can’t pretend that I am greatly concerned. He had only one use for me, as I’ve told you before. And Greaser will care for him. He may get tight, but he’ll never let him down. He’s immensely rich, you know: and they’ll hardly take action now, whatever they find.”
We left our gear in the grotto, for, while we might need it again, we could not believe that it would ever be found. Then we made our way down to the quarry, where after some twenty minutes Carson and Rowley arrived.