Blackstone and the Heart of Darkness (27 page)

Eleven

Blackstone paced up and down the yard in front of the Melbourne Mine office, his mind in a turmoil.

There’s
one
name
missing
—
but
he’s
dead
, Hubert Robertson had said, when shown a list of the gang members taken into custody.

And
what
name’s
that
? Blackstone had asked, never dreaming that the answer would have the devastating effect on him that it actually had.

Tom
Yardley’s
name
, Robertson had replied.

Tom Yardley’s name!

Tom had been his comrade. Tom had saved his life in Afghanistan. It was almost inconceivable that the man who had first alerted to him to what was going on in this village could actually have been a part of it himself.

Furious at allowing himself to have been knocked off balance for even a second, Blackstone marched back into the office.

Robertson was shrunk down in his chair, as if already anticipating the returning man’s anger.

Blackstone glared down at him for perhaps half a minute, then said, ‘I don’t know what you hope to gain by trying to blacken the name of a dead hero, but it won’t do you any good at all.’

‘But I’m only telling the truth,’ Robertson whined. ‘Yardley
was
part of the gang.’

Blackstone had made a promise to himself he would remain calm once he was back in the office, but now he grabbed Robertson by his lapels, and pulled him clear of his seat.

‘I could kill you easily,’ he growled. ‘I could snap your neck, and you’d be dead.’

He felt a hand gripping his shoulder tightly, and heard Inspector Drayman say, ‘That’s enough, Sam!’

Yes, Blackstone thought, it was enough. It was
more
than enough. He was a police officer, and there was no excuse for him behaving as he was.

He released his grip on Robertson, and the clerk flopped back awkwardly into his chair.

‘Convince me that what you’re saying is true,’ he said, much calmer now. ‘Give me one good reason why Bickersdale would have wanted Tom as a member of his gang.’

‘Once he’d come up with the idea of using the Melbourne Mine as a base for his new operation, he moved all the men who’d been working here to his other mine,’ Robertson said, with a tremble in his voice.

Blackstone nodded. ‘Yes, he would have had to do that, wouldn’t he? He couldn’t possibly put his vile plans into effect while there were still ordinary, decent working men around.’

‘But that left him with a problem,’ Robertson said. ‘Once his miners had gone, he had no idea what was being said about him in the village.’

‘And why should he even have cared what was being said?’

‘Why do you think? Because if the villagers were getting suspicious, he wanted to know about it. He didn’t want to wake up one morning and find himself surrounded by policemen. If anything was going to go wrong, he needed time to cut and run.’

‘So why didn’t he send one of his gang down to the pub to hear what was being said?’

‘Because that wouldn’t have worked. People in Marston would never speak openly—in front of outsiders—about what they were thinking. They needed to be in the company of somebody they knew—somebody they trusted.
Somebody
born
in
the
village
. And that person was Yardley.’

‘Then you’re claiming that Torn Yardley was no more than Bickersdale’s nark?’ Blackstone asked. ‘In that case, he wasn’t really one of the gang at all, and probably had no more idea of what was going on up here than anybody else in the village?’

‘He knew,’ Robertson said.

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘You’ve seen the cells that Mr Bickersdale kept the girls locked up in, haven’t you?’

‘Yes?’

‘They’re carved out of solid crystal rock. That’s a skilled job. The cut-throats Mr Bickersdale brought in from the outside were only
pretending
to be miners. They would have had no idea of where to even begin.’

‘Tom did that?’

‘Yes, he did.’

*

The
cells
are
,
in
many
ways
,
things
of
beauty
.
When
the
light
from
the
oil
lamp
catches
them
right
,
they
glisten
,
and
the
shadows
melt
into
the
crystal
to
create
strange
and
wonderful
patterns
.

Bickersdale
never
notices
this
.
All
that
matters
to
him
is
that
they
are
carved
out
of
solid
crystal
rock
,
and
that
the
only
way
in
or
out
of
them
is
through
doors
so
sturdy
that
even
the
strongest
man
could
not
break
them
down
.

But
there
is
one
cave
with
a
door
that
is
even
sturdier
—
and
this
cave
,
the
men
have
been
told
,
they
must
never
go
near

They
know
what
it
contains
.
It
is
here
that
Bickersdale
stores
the
money
he
has
made
from
the
white
-
slave
trade
,
and
rumour
has
it
that
it
amounts
to
more
than
six
thousand
pounds
.

It
torments
the
men
that
they
cannot
break
down
the
door
and
take
the
money
.
But
hard
and
ruthless
as
they
are
themselves
,
they
are
still
afraid
of
Bickersdale
.
They
remember
what
he
did
to
Davis
—
how
much
the
man
screamed
,
and
how
long
it
took
him
to
finally
die
.

Besides
,
it
would
be
impossible
to
escape
with
the
money
once
they
had
it
.
The
only
way
in
and
out
of
the
mine
is
in
the
cage
,
and
every
time
that
cage
goes
up
or
down
,
Bickersdale
is
standing
there
—
a
pistol
in
his
hand
—
watching
it
.

So
while
they
might
dream
of
the
money
—
might
lick
their
lips
at
even
the
thought
of
it
—
it
is
as
safe
at
the
bottom
of
the
mine
as
if
it
were
in
the
vault
at
the
Bank
of
England
.

Or
so
they
think
.

And
so
Bickersdale
himself
thinks
.

But
there
is
one
man
who
has
other
ideas
.

*

‘Are you actually saying Torn Yardley stole Bickersdale’s money?’ Blackstone demanded.

‘Yes, he did.’

‘But how is that possible?’ Blackstone asked. ‘How
could
he have done it, when there was only one way in and out?’

But even as he was speaking he was remembering what he and Bickersdale had said to one another at the bottom of the mine.

There’s
only
one
way
out
,
and
that’s
under
the
control
of four
armed
police
officers
, he’d told Bickersdale.

You’re
quite
wrong
about
that
, the other man had replied.
There’s
a
second
way
out
—
as
I’ve
recently
discovered
to
my
cost
.

‘There wasn’t only one way.’ Robertson said. ‘Not for an experienced miner like Tom Yardley.’

*

It is a little after eight o’clock in the morning when Bickersdale goes down into the mine. The pockets of his frock coat are weighed down with the gold coins they contain. He walks along the passageway to his strongroom, takes out his key, and inserts it into the lock.

He knows that his men believe he has six thousand pounds stashed away here, but they are wrong. The figure is closer to ten, and today he will he adding another thousand.

He opens the door and senses immediately that something is wrong. The air in the room is colder than it normally is, and he can feel a draught where there should not be one.

He advances into the cave, holding his oil lamp in .front of him. The first thing he sees is that his iron chest is open and the money gone. The second thing is that there is a hole in the base of the back wall.

He gets down on his hands and knees and crawls along the low tunnel. When he has gone no more than a hundred yards, the tunnel opens up into a higher, wider passageway. He understands immediately that this passageway belongs not to his own mine but to the abandoned one that lies beyond it.

He is not sure whether to go to the left or the right, but finally chooses the right. He. follows the passageway for another hundred yards, until a second one intersects it. He is forced to accept that he is in a maze—in a honeycomb of tunnels that connects both to mines that have long ceased to function and mines that are still being worked. He knows that if he carries on much longer he will lose his sense of direction and might be wandering about for days.