Eye For A Tooth (15 page)

“By God, you’ve done it,” I breathed. I saw Mansel glance to his right. “Over the apron, and round. We’ve just got time.”

It was the nearest thing – for we had to bestow the Rolls.

Had we left her close to the archway, quite apart from the moonlight, the lights of the incoming car must have picked her up. So we had to drive on, round the castle, until she was hidden from view. And then we had to get back –
before we ourselves were caught by the lights of the limousine
.

“Say when,” said Mansel, whipping over the turf and shaving the castle wall…

I think those were the worst moments of all that terrible night; for there was the limousine coming, yet we were increasing the distance we had to go. We were going away from the wicket. Yet, unless we could reach the wicket before the limousine turned, her lights would fall full upon us and we should have lost our race.

Not until we had reached the postern could I see the apron no more.

“Good enough,” I cried.

And then we were out of the Rolls and were racing the way we had come…

The limousine was out in the meadows – with seventy yards to go. As we reached the edge of the apron, I saw her enter the sweep. For an instant, she seemed uncertain; then I heard Boney change down, and, instead of holding straight on, the beam of her headlights began to come round to the right.

In a flash we were through the wicket, to find a man in the act of drawing the bolts of the leaves of the door itself.

There was no time for nicety. As he turned, Mansel hit him once, and the fellow fell down in a heap.

Mansel picked him up and laid him along the wall, quite close to the gate.

“We must play his part,” he breathed, “and open the leaves. One to each leaf. We keep out of sight, as we do it. And as the car comes in, we close them again. Keep your eye on my leaf and the instant you see it move, bring your leaf over to meet it with all your might.”

As the car passed on to the apron, we drew the bolts. Then we pulled open the leaves, keeping out of sight as we did so, backing towards the wall. Before my leaf was quite open, the car, which had come to rest, began to move forward again. Its headlights were making the archway as bright as day…

With a hammering heart, I waited for Mansel to move. Then I saw his leaf shudder, and that was enough for me.

With all my might I swung the massive oak forward, to the tune of such shouts and yells as I never had heard.

It was the merest chance, but, had we rehearsed the manoeuvre, I cannot believe that the timing could have been better or the result improved.

Almost at the same instant the two great leaves struck the car – and that, directly in line with the steering-wheel.

Since the coachwork was all of wood, and each leaf must have weighed near a ton – for oak is heavy and they were studded with iron – the car gave way, till the leaves came against its side members which slowed them up.

Gulf, who had tried to get out, was killed on the spot; the door, which he had opened, returned to crush his head between itself and its jamb. And Boney was shouting like a madman, and China was trying to clamber into the back of the car.

My leaf was the left-hand leaf – that is to say, the one in which the wicket was cut. And so I found Mansel beside me, as calm as death, holding the wicket to and looking through the crack he had left.

“Here they are,” he said, “with the prisoner. Let them come in. And then we’ve got to get out, as quick as ever we can. Any moment now, the castle will come to life.”

I stood back against the leaf.

Then a hand pushed the wicket open, and George stumbled over the sill and fell on his face. His hands were tied behind him and he moved as a man who is drunk.

Then Forecast, pistol in hand, stepped over his body and cursed him and lifted a foot.

Now George was my faithful friend…

Before the kick fell, I had the man by the wrist.

For some reason, he never fired, but I bent his arm and broke it – I heard the bone snap. As he clapped his left hand to the break, with all the strength in my body I hit him between the eyes.

As he fell, somebody fired – and the archway magnified the explosion, so that my ears could not hear.

Mansel was looking past me, pistol in hand; his left arm was round George’s shoulders, holding him up.

I saw his lips moving, but I could not hear what he said.

“Get the Rolls,” he shouted.

As I stepped out of the wicket, I saw Cain standing beside me, with his back to the wall and his hands clasped behind his neck. Carson was dividing his attention between the man and the car.

This was dangerous – I knew now why Mansel had fired.

“Watch the car,” I said.

Then I turned to Cain.

“Get into the car.”

“I prefer,” drawled Cain, “to–”

I took the man by the throat and shook him down to his knees. Then I seized the nape of his neck and kicked him into the car.

“Thank you, sir,” said Carson.

I turned and ran for the Rolls…

As I backed her on to the apron, a bullet went by my head and Carson fired into the wreck of the limousine.

I turned the Rolls on the apron, and George clambered into the back.

Cain and China were shouting, and Mansel was backing from the wicket, which was now shut.

“Sound the horn, when you’re ready,” he cried.

I sounded the horn.

As he turned, the leaf was pulled back, to release a pack of servants who ran for the Rolls.

Carson fired at their feet and I let in my clutch.

As Mansel and he reached the Rolls, I put down my foot…

“The southern drive,” said Mansel, taking the seat by my side.

Much less than one minute later, we had left the meadows behind and were into the woods.

“How d’you feel, George?” said Mansel.

“Well, I have felt better,” said George, “but I’m not dead yet. And when Bill pushed Forecast’s face, that did me a lot of good. Oh, and thank you all very much for saving my soul. If they’d gone on as they began, I should not have survived. And now please interrogate Carson, who knows rather more than I. It’s not that I’m being churlish, but the pain in the back of my head embarrasses thought. I think I must have been struck with what the police would call ‘a blunt instrument.’ It’s nothing to do with my fall, though I took the deuce of a toss.”

“What happened, Carson?” said Mansel.

“They’ve a spy or spies in Talc, sir. They knew that the Rolls was out.”

“Ah,” said Mansel. “Go on.”

“It was all very quick, sir. Two shots, one after the other, were fired in front of the house – to attract us, of course; but we didn’t realize that. Then, from the other side, we heard the horn of the Rolls.”

“What, this horn?” said Mansel.

“One just like it, sir. And of course we thought it was you.”

“Very clever,” said Mansel. “And that explains the use of the limousine. Same, very unusual horn as that of the Rolls. And how did they find that out?”

“They know quite a lot, sir,” said Carson, “if you ask me.”

“I’ll say they do,” said Mansel. “Get on with your tale.”

“Well, we all of us turned and ran. We thought you were in a jam, sir, sounding the horn. And we knew it was some way off – say the other end of the wood. In fact, that’s just where it was…

“Well, you know how Mr Hanbury can run, sir. He was leading by thirty yards when we got to the wood. And I was next; and then came Rowley and Bell.

“I saw him take the last of the bends, and I heard him fall. A wire, sir, six feet from the bend, clean across the road, made fast to a couple of trees. And, as I came round the bend, a searchlight comes on – they must have had one fixed on the back of the car. I was blinded, of course, and, as I dived for the trees, a bullet goes by my ear. And then the searchlight goes out and the car slips away. And when I try to find Mr Hanbury, he’s not to be seen.”

“Simple and neat,” said Mansel. “You can’t get away from that. But the smartest thing of all was their striking tonight.”

“How so?” said I.

“Well, don’t you think it was?”

“Well, we didn’t expect them to.”

“Why didn’t we expect them to?” said Mansel.

After a moment’s reflection—

“Cain came with an offer this morning. We naturally thought that, when we had turned it down, it would take him a little while to think up something else.”

“Exactly,” said Mansel. “And why did I think that, William? Because I was
meant
to think it. Cain’s visit this morning was camouflage – dust in my eyes. He’d already planned this attack, and he came this morning on purpose to put me off my guard.
As he did
. If you remember, I told you he was no fool.” He sighed. “Well, it’s over now. But it was a very near thing – right up to the last… Strange that till Forecast appeared and you took hold of his arm, they never realized that we were behind those leaves.”

“They’d no time to think,” said I.

“Not so much that, I think. I think they assumed that the crash was accidental – as, of course, I hoped they would – that the fools who had opened the leaves had merely closed them too soon. That that assumption was suspect, they must have perceived, but to that assumption they stuck, because, since we had not passed them, they simply could not believe that we could have got there first.”

“I’m damned if I blame them,” I said. “I couldn’t believe it myself.”

“They assumed that we were behind them – for all they knew, close on their heels. And so, though the heavens fell, they had to get George inside before we arrived. Never mind. All’s well that ends well. Gulf’s come to the sticky end he had fairly earned. And so has Boney. Less sticky, of course. Still, an end. He was just going to kill you, William; when you were engaged with Forecast. But I saw him just in time, and that’s why I fired. And Forecast’s arm won’t work and he won’t see out of his eyes for a couple of days. Did you hit anyone, Carson?”

“I don’t think so, sir. They dared not get out of the car, but I couldn’t see in.”

“Well, we’re all very lucky,” said Mansel. “Too many chances going in scraps like that. One does one’s best, of course: but when nobody knows what anyone’s going to do and when half the stage is in darkness and the other half in the light, survival is very largely a matter of luck. Oh, and if there’s a spy in Talc, we’ll go in by the front tonight. I’ve no doubt you’re right. And the spy must be in with the post-master. And when he saw us go out, he rang up Varvic and said so. And if I’m right, we must be truly thankful that he didn’t ring up Varvic when we left for the second time. For if Varvic had been ready and waiting – well, I don’t think that we should now be on our way back to the farm. As it is, we can go to our beds and sleep as sound as we please, for it’s Berkeley Square to a birth-mark they’ve had enough for one night.”

So we came back to Goschen, to the immense relief of Rowley and Bell; for though, when they found Carson gone, they guessed that the Rolls had come back and gone off in pursuit, they found it hard to believe that she could be got to Varvic ahead of the limousine.

And here I should say that George had had in his pocket the Lowland’s keys, and since her bonnet was locked, it would have taken two hours to get her on to the road.

Of such are the changes and chances of mortal life. From first to last, the thing had been touch and go. But from what I have said, I think I have made it clear that, if Mansel had not taken his life and our lives in his hand and cut in front of that lorry as it came up to the bridge, George must have been within Varvic before we could reach its gates.

The following morning we rested and George spent the day in bed. The whole of the afternoon we gave to the cars, and particularly to the Rolls, going right over them both from stem to stern, greasing, testing and adjusting with infinite care. This was a special overhaul, for the two were always given the very best attention that cars could have. And here perhaps I should mention that our petrol and oil were delivered to Goschen in bulk, so that, except at Salzburg, we never entered a garage or stopped at a pump.

Mansel had written to the Duchess the day before; but now he wrote again, and the salient part of the letter shall speak for itself.

…
None of us can leave here just now, and so I must write what I would rather have said. I see from last Tuesday’s
Times
that the lord of the manor of Beehive is offering his property for sale. This includes his residence, known as The Hall, the living of Beehive, some five thousand acres and, finally, the village itself. The property will be sold by auction in October, unless previously disposed of by private treaty.

Now you told us that John Bowshot was ‘very fond of the village.’ Have you any reason to think that he was aware of this impending sale? If not, what would have been his reaction, on reading last Tuesday’s ‘Times’? Even if you cannot answer either of these questions, please tell me anything you can think of which might have any bearing upon the point…

I was mystified, but Mansel only smiled.

“When we get her answer,” he said, “I’ll open my heart.”

The next morning, long before dawn, we again went out – Mansel and Bell and I, leaving George and Carson, and Rowley to keep the farm. George was quite recovered and would have gone out with us, but his fall and the blow on the head had shaken him up and Mansel insisted that he should do no more than light duty for another twenty-four hours.

Our intention was, if we could, to inspect the northern drive by the light of day, and, if we saw any movement, to observe it and follow it up. Needless to say, such a reconnaissance had to be made on foot: but we did not like leaving the car, for a berth which will serve at night, may be worse than useless by day – and Varvic knew the country by day; but we did not. And so it was arranged that Carson should drive us out and then return to the farm: that at eleven o’clock he should be where three roads met, not far from the hunting-lodge; and that there we should be waiting for him to carry us home.

It was half-past three in the morning when Carson set us down, roughly a mile and a half from the mouth of the northern drive. It had been raining, but now the sky was clear, and a fresh breeze was combing the tree-tops, to our content: for it meant that we could move without being heard, because the chorister branches would cover our footfalls up. (By night, a man may be heard, but he cannot be seen: but by day, he can be seen, too; and if he is to outwit the ear as well as the eye, the precautions he has to take may ruin his chances of seeing what he came out to see.)

By four we had reached the drive and had made our way along it as far as the notice-board; and there we sat down and waited till the dawn should begin to appear. This was as Mansel had planned, for a man who has known the darkness can see better and farther when the light begins to come in. And then the light began to come in…

At once we rose and, moving like ghosts, began to go up the drive.

We had gone about half a mile – and no one, I think, could have seen us because the light was so thin – when we saw that, across the drive, was lying a pole. This had been painted white and hung four feet from the ground, so that no car could go by until it was moved. It was slung from two posts, one of which had been planted on either side of the drive – that is to say, in the bracken, beyond the ditches which ran by the side of the road. With our minds on an ambush, we all stood as still as death, straining our eyes for any sign of movement of any kind. But when, after four or five minutes, we had seen nothing at all, Mansel signed to us to stay where we were and himself walked up to the pole.

I saw him regard it carefully. Then he laid hands upon it, as though to lift it up or set it aside. But the pole would not move. I saw Mansel glance at the tree-tops, as though he wished for more light: then he stepped to the side of the road and peered at one of the posts. Presently he looked round, whereupon I came up and joined him, to peer at the post myself.

“What do you see, William?”

“There’s a hoop or hasp on the post, and that is holding the pole.”

“I agree. That’s why I can’t lift it. But why can’t I slide it along?”

“I think,” I said, peering, “I think, because it is wedged. Shall I go and see?”

“Not on your life,” said Mansel, catching my arm. I looked at him sharply. “You see, I’m almost certain that that’s what you’re meant to do.”

“Good God,” said I. “You mean…”

“I don’t know,” said Mansel. “And there’s not enough light to see. In a quarter of an hour, perhaps…”

In less than a quarter of an hour, both he and I could see something upon the ground, at the foot of each post. They had been laid in the bracken and very carefully set. In fact, they were man-traps – the fiercest, most barbarous gins that ever were made.

I have seen such relics in England, but never so savage as these; for those had been made to take a man by the leg, but these had been made to kill. Their teeth were less teeth than spikes, and their jaws were made to meet at rather more than one metre above the ground. Now a metre is three feet three, so that, if a man touched one off, he would, if of normal stature, be pierced just above the hips, and, though some friend should release him almost at once, must certainly die of his wounds in a very short time.

Any man approaching a post, as I had proposed to do, to see how the bar was held or to set it free, must have walked clean into a trap and have touched it off; and when I considered these things and that, but for Mansel’s instinct that something was wrong with this drive, one of us must surely have met with a shocking end, my knees felt loose and the palms of my hands grew wet.

“Saul’s contribution,” said Mansel. He spoke through his teeth. “Well, I’m glad to have seen one open, instead of closed. Think of hearing a scream and rushing up with a torch … to find – someone you knew torn in pieces…so mad with pain that you would have to shoot him, to end his agony… Never mind. We’ve been spared – this time. But I expect he’s got more than two.”

He turned there, and we made our way back to the road, “for, if we went on,” said Mansel, “we could not watch the garage without moving round the meadows within the woods. And that is an exercise which now we shall have to forgo.”

But since we had plenty of time, as soon as we reached the road, we turned to the left and set out to walk the five miles which lay between us and the mouth of the western drive.

We could not talk as we went, for we moved in single file and kept to the edge of the road – Mansel and Bell to the right, and I to the left. So we always did, for then, if we had to be quick, we stood a much better chance of taking effective cover against some approach or attack. But, to speak for myself, I did not feel like talking; for Saul, by setting his man-traps, had hit us more hard than he knew. All the success we had met with had been due to reconnaissance. We knew how to move in the forest by day as by night: we had learned to take advantage of light and shade and sound; and I do not believe that we had been seen or heard on any patrol we had made or any watch we had kept. But now that valuable ground had been cut from under our feet; for to fall into one of those man-traps meant certain death. Visit Varvic by night, we could not, unless we kept to the roads: and even by day, when to use the roads would be madness, our approach and withdrawal must both of them be so cautious, and therefore so slow, that any observation which we could contrive to keep would cost more than it was worth.

We had covered, I suppose, a little more than two miles, when, still some distance ahead, we heard the sound of a car. At once we left the road and took to the ditch – Mansel and Bell to the right, and I to the left. From there we could see well enough, without being seen, for the ditches were deep and the grass beside them was high.

The car was no car, but a van. And China was sitting in front, by the driver’s side. He was staring straight ahead, and his look of glum apprehension was that of the low comedian who knows his job. But, although I could not help laughing, I found it in my heart to pity the rogue. After all, so far as we knew, China was not concerned in John Bowshot’s death: yet here he was deeply involved in the consequences of that crime. He had seen his two cronies come to a violent end and now had no one at all to whom to confide his forebodings, with whom to share his highly unpleasant lot: such stripes as three had endured, he now had to suffer alone: and yet he could not withdraw, for his passport was gone. Be that as it may, there he was, sitting beside a man I had never seen – a small thick-set fellow, wearing the Varvic livery of Lincoln green.

The van was a very big one, with double doors at its back: it had not stood in the garage, when I was there; and it was moving slowly – doing, perhaps, some twenty-five miles to the hour.

As it passed out of sight, Mansel left his ditch and I stepped to his side.

“And I wonder what that means,” he said, with a hand to his chin. “Presumably bound for Latchet. But why such a van? I mean, the whole of their kit would go in the back of a car – Cain’s and all. Then again I should have thought they would have collected it yesterday. I assume they’re staying at Varvic – that’s natural enough.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand it, William. Any way, there’s a lead, and we’ll follow it up.” He glanced at his wrist. “A quarter to six. Perhaps we shall see them come back.”

So we turned back the way we had come.

We had walked for some forty minutes and had in fact just passed the mouth of the northern drive, when we heard the van coming back. At once we made ourselves scarce; and the van went by as before, with the same man driving and China still by his side.

As it disappeared—

“Forty-two minutes,” said Mansel, regarding his watch. “And that washes Latchet out. At the pace they’re going, they couldn’t have got there and back.”

“Where then?” said I.

“Well, I may be wrong, but it looks like the hunting-lodge. That’s about four miles from here; and if they spent a quarter of an hour there, it would work out about right.”

“Of course,” said I. “But why?”

“We’ll go and see,” said Mansel. “We’ve plenty of time. And I think the environs should be safe, for they have no reason to think that we know that the lodge is there.”

We hastened now, in case the van should return; and we made the mouth of the drive in less than an hour.

“What about it, Bell?” said Mansel, pointing to the print of a tyre.

“She’s been here, sir,” said Bell. “I looked at her prints in the road. They weren’t too clear, but I saw they were Michelin treads.”

“Good for you,” said Mansel, and led the way up the drive…

The lodge had been opened. There seemed to be nobody there, but the shutters hung back against the wall and the front door and windows were wide. On the grass-grown cobbles was scattered the stuff that had lain in the van – four bedsteads and mattresses, two hooded ‘watchman’s chairs,’ as well as blankets and basins and things like that.

“What lovely chairs,” said Mansel. “They must have come out of England. Not many left now. I’d like to have them for White Ladies – and that’s the truth.”

“Too good for China and Forecast.”

“Much too good. But that’s who they’re for – among others. We’re looking at their battle headquarters – no doubt about that.”

“They can have it for me,” said I, and spoke no more than the truth.

The place was perhaps less dreadful beneath the light of the sun; but where other dwellings would have been warmed, this seemed to stew, and all the decay and rankness to burgeon as hotbeds will. The air was still and heavy, and there was about it an odour which I can hardly describe; but it made me think of old deaths, and though it was stale and faded, I think it must at one time have been unspeakable. Worst of all, there was still prevailing that atmosphere of evil which we had felt so strongly when first we had found the place. I am, I suppose, no more or less of a coward than most men are; but the spot made me afraid – and that is the very truth. I do not know what I feared. I was just afraid.

To my great relief, Mansel did not suggest that we should enter the lodge, but, using the greatest caution, we made our way round to the back.

Since we had been there, a car had been driven that way – lately, too, for the tracks it had made were fresh. Since the yard was cobbled, the tyres had left no prints, but the weeds which had covered the cobbles had been laid low and we saw how the car had been turned and then backed to a riot of laurels, walling one side of the yard.

There had been a path – there was still a path through the laurels, for someone who knew of its presence had opened it up. With Mansel and Bell behind me, I took that path, marking the broken suckers and leaves that were bruised and torn.

To this day I do not know why I gave such a lead. I sometimes think that I did it by way of a gesture, as though to deny my fear. But vanity like that is expensive; and in all this time I have not yet paid my account, for to this day I dream of the picture that met my eyes.

Beyond the laurels lay a graveyard, confined by three low, stone walls and the back of the lodge. The boughs of advancing trees hung over the walls and the laurels through which I had passed were unusually high, so the plot, which was not very big, could receive no sun. There were no head-stones, but every mound was staked – that is to say, a black post had been driven through the midst of the mound, and so, I suppose, through the body that lay beneath. Many of the posts were leaning because their wood had rotted under the earth, and more than one had fallen across the graves. On the top of each post was some headgear – some hat or cap or bonnet, the dead had worn, but most were hanging in tatters, and some, except for fragments, had disappeared. One grave was new – mound, post and hat were quite fresh. I had seen that hat before – upon Boney’s head. A legend was painted in German across the wall of the house: the huge black letter was faded, but was still easy to read.