Gale Warning (17 page)

I put a hand to my head.

“As I’ve told you before,” I said, “I’m not much good at women. But—”

“And I am afraid,” said Audrey, “I’m not much good at men. I’ve told one the truth today. And that is a thing no woman should ever do.”

I was on my knees by her side.

“My pretty darling,” I breathed, “you are unlike any woman I’ve ever seen. And when you say things like that, I want to stand up and shout. I am so proud of you – so terribly, terribly proud. I know where I am with you. And that’s a thing no man can say of a woman – and yet it’s true… I’m sorry that you don’t love me, but let me tell you this – I’d rather go on as we are till the day of my death than have the finest harem the world has ever seen.”

Audrey kneeled up and took my face in her hands.

“My blessed, honest St John – who ever but you would put up with a girl like me? You give, and give, and give: and I pick, and choose, and take. But you never complain, and you never take advantage, and you never pick up and throw back the stones which I throw at you.”

“I have my own ammunition.”

“I know. But it never hurts. And because of all this, I cannot help loving you. If anyone harmed you, I’d do my best to kill him. That’s how I feel – the tigress defending her young. But – I – am – not – mad about you, my darling boy. Not mad about you, as you are mad about me. There, you see – I’ve said it. I’ve spoken the naked truth. And I cannot give myself to you – even to you, St John – until – that – comes.” She let me go, and her beautiful head went down. “I’ll tell you something, though. If I don’t take you, I’ll never take anyone else. I could never stand the touch of them…after the brush of your lips.”

I put my hand under her chin and tilted her rosy face.

“Oh, Madonna,” I faltered, “will you let me kiss your mouth?”

The stars leaped into her eyes and the rarest smile swept into her countenance.

“Why, yes, my blessed,” she whispered. “With all my heart.”

As I kissed her lips, her arm went about my neck.

Plato was pensive.

At half-past six that evening I saw him come out of the Post Office, head in air, to stand on the pavement without, with a hand to his chin. I saw him raise his eyebrows and purse his lips: and then he turned on his heel and strolled slowly away.

Another man came out – a dirty-looking fellow, in filthy overalls and a cap too big for his head. As he turned to follow Plato, I saw him put up a hand and scratch the back of his neck.

“Nothing yet,” breathed Chandos. “And that’s not true. The wire we sent is certainly lying upstairs. But nobody wants to go down, so there it will stay.”

“We must get it down,” said Mansel, “before he comes back. If we don’t, Bogy’s wire will arrive, and he’ll get the two together – and then we’re sunk.”

“Half an hour,” said Chandos. “Ten to one he’ll be back at seven o’clock.”

“Rowley,” said Mansel.

“ Sir.”

“Mr Bagot and I are going across to the Post Office right away. Cover us up to the door and use your eyes. If you see Plato coming, enter at once and then get out of the way.”

“Very good, sir.”

We left the room together – a little, ramshackle bedroom, which Mansel had somehow procured: and I must confess that I was taken aback by the swiftness of his decision to dip his hand, so to speak, in Plato’s particular dish. I had great faith in Mansel and all he did, but it seemed to me sheer madness to sail so close to the wind.

As we crossed over the street—

“I shall talk,” said Mansel, “and you will keep an eye on the door. If Rowley comes in, say, ‘Coming’ and stand by to do as I say.”

A moment later we entered the airless hall. Although I was watching the door, I heard all that Mansel said and was conscious of all that he did.

I heard him ask for the letters for ‘Mr Mason’ and I saw him produce some letter, to show that that was his name.

Of course there were none.

Then he asked for ‘the’ telegram…

Again, of course, there was none: but Mansel declined to accept that obvious fact.

As ducks to water, the French to argument: and when a man is as pleasant as Mansel was, irrelevance is a virtue and trouble beside the point.

Before two minutes were past, three assistants were listening to all he said, and a fourth had gone toiling upstairs to the telegraph-room.

Whilst he was gone, Mansel was telling some story which made the other three laugh, and though the fourth reappeared,
with a telegram in his hand
, Mansel never faltered, but only put out his hand and went on with his tale.

As this came to an end—

“There is nothing for Mason, Monsieur. I told you so.”

“Let me look,” said Mansel.

“This is for Plato,” said the fellow, holding the telegram up. “There is another coming, but that is for Plato, too.”

“My friends neglect me,” said Mansel. “Well, well, it can’t be helped.”

Then he thanked them and touched his hat and said that he would return – and I followed him out of the place, with a feeling in the pit of my stomach that made me want to sit down.

As we left the building, Mansel turned sharp to the right.

“We’re going upstairs,” he said, “to the telegraph-room. Reconnaisance, John, is a very valuable thing. I got up early this morning to have a look-round this place.”

“B-but what can you do?” I stammered.

“Get hold of that wire,” said Mansel, “before it goes down. It’s not a very big risk – and there’s no other way.”

We entered a small side-door, by which there was some notice I did not read: then we climbed a flight of stone stairs, and a moment later we stood in the telegraph-room.

It was not what I had expected.

One or two machines were ticking, and over some low partitions I saw the heads of two or three men at work: but the atmosphere was not busy, but rather that of careless occupation of which the men engaged were heartily sick.

As we came to a kind of counter, a man looked up from a desk and then returned to some matter of scissors and paste.

“Come on, look alive,” snapped Mansel. I saw the man jump. “They tell me downstairs there’s a telegram here for me. ‘Plato, Poste Restante.’” He drew a large envelope out and slapped it down on the wood. “There’s my name, and I want that telegram now. Why you can’t send it down, I don’t know: but it seems, if I want it, I’ve got to come up and get it… Come on, look sharp. Time’s money to me, you know, if it isn’t to you.”

(The envelope bore Plato’s name and address. It contained the Swindon’s papers – which Plato had left in the car and Carson had found and had taken that afternoon.)

A man came forward, with a cigarette in his mouth and a sullen look on his face. He glanced at the envelope and pitched a telegram down.

“There you are,” he said. “It has this moment arrived. If you had been content to show patience, you need not have walked upstairs.”

“Yes, I know that one,” said Mansel.

He picked the telegram up and left a coin in its place. Then he ripped the telegram open, glanced at its contents and put it into my hand.

“What did I say?” he said.

I read it with bolting eyes.

Plato Poste Restante Poitiers France

Return immediately

Arthur

Had I been able to speak, I should have had nothing to say. But I managed to shrug my shoulders and hand it back.

Mansel picked up the Swindon’s papers and led the way out of the room.

Rowley was in the side street and he followed us into an archway a hundred yards off.

Mansel wasted no words.

“Give Mr Chandos this wire: ask him to wait for Plato and then to come and join us at Lady Audrey’s hotel. Do the same yourself: but first give these papers to Carson and tell him to put them back.”

Then we turned to the left and Rowley turned to the right, and ten minutes later I knocked upon Audrey’s door…

So, though I saw Plato pensive, I did not see him blithe: but Chandos later reported that all was well and that though, when he entered the Post Office, he wore an uneasy look, he emerged a moment later ‘with his tail right over his back.’

“A near thing – yes,” said Mansel, stifling a yawn. “It was a near thing. But the risk was nothing like as big as it looked. And nothing will happen now. The French don’t keep cross-entries. A wire arrived for Plato, and someone who said he was Plato took it away. If anyone should suspect that something is wrong, his one and only idea will be to cover it up.”

“But when Plato came to the desk and was given our wire, that assistant was well aware that there was another wire waiting, which hadn’t come down.”

“Of course he was,” said Mansel. “But if he had told Plato so, he’d have had to go up and get it – don’t forget that.”

“My God,” said I, weakly – and Audrey and Chandos laughed.

The former laid a hand on my arm.

“Never argue with Jonah, St John. Somehow he does the trick – which no one but he could have done. But if you ask him about it, he will immediately prove that only a drivelling idiot could have done anything else.”

“She’s not far out,” said Chandos.

“
Et tu, Brute?
” sighed Mansel. “I really thought you knew me better than that. And now let’s get down to business. Give me that map.”

Twenty-four hours had gone by, and Audrey and I were sitting on a step of the Lowland, and the Lowland was standing in a lane on the outskirts of Dax.

We had done nothing all day but follow the Rolls. Indeed, as Mansel observed, the day had been Chandos’ day, for he had ‘covered’ the Swindon for over two hundred miles. But not with the Vane. The Vane had been left at Poitiers – in case of accidents. Chandos had done his work with the help of two nondescript vans – small, delivery vans, as unobtrusive as swift. One he had driven himself, with Bell by his side: and Carson had driven the other, with Rowley by his. On these two vans Chandos had rung the changes the whole of the way: and he actually altered their appearance from hour to hour – by adding a flapping tarpaulin, or letting a tail-board fall, or lashing a battered bicycle on to a roof. Since he himself was disguised and the servants looked very much as van drivers usually look, Plato can hardly be blamed for noticing nothing wrong, and Mansel himself confessed that more than once he nearly overran the
cortège
, through failing to recognize some change which Chandos had made.

So Plato had brought us to Dax by seven o’clock, and there it seemed that he was proposing to stop; for, upon some signal from Chandos, Mansel had left the Rolls just short of the town and Audrey, quick as a flash, had taken his place. Two minutes later Rowley had come running back to tell us to berth both cars just off the main road: then he took his stand at the corner, to see and be seen by Mansel whenever the latter should come.

And now half an hour had gone by, but we were still without news.

“Tired, my darling?”

“I am a little, St John. But I’m not all in. This time two days ago…” She drew in her breath. “And you were more tired than I was, and yet you went on.”

“As I’ve said before,” I said, “it’s the pace that kills. You mustn’t make a mistake, yet you never have time to think. That was what got me down – that terrible day.”

“It was terrible, wasn’t it?” said Audrey. “No one but you and I will ever know what we suffered – from Chartres to Tours.”

“I never spared you, did I?”

“How could you spare me, St John? All the same, you went to keep watch, and left me asleep. And you couldn’t stand up, yourself. And then, dead beat as you were, you took your life in your hands and got into that car… I’ll never forget when Bell came back that night to the
Panier d’Or
and said that the Swindon had gone and you weren’t to be seen. He’d run so fast he could hardly get the words out: and I was so dazed I could hardly take them in. I don’t know what I said, but I made for my shoes: and then I sat down on the bed, whilst he put them on. I remember him looking up, with one of my feet in his hands, and saying, ‘Don’t worry, my lady. Mr Bagot’s safe as a house – but he’ll never let go.’ And then I looked up to see Jonah, standing still in the doorway, with one of his hands on the jamb…and then, a moment later, the telephone went…”

“Sheer melodrama,” said I. “And that is exactly where Mansel and Chandos excel. They’re never melodramatic.”

“
Cherchez la femme
,” said Audrey. “It’s all my fault. The play is a straight enough play when I am not on.”

“Rot, Madonna,” said I. “Of course you provide the love interest, but…”

And there I saw Rowley move.

In a flash we had taken our seats, and both cars were ready to leave, when Mansel came round the corner, as though he were nearing the end of an evening stroll.

So Rowley took over the Lowland, and I got into the Rolls, and Audrey, by Mansel’s direction, began to compass the town.

“And now I’ll surprise you,” said Mansel. “He’s staying here for the night, and tomorrow at six in the morning he’s taking the train. He drove straight to the station here, before he did anything else – and Bell walked in behind him to see what he did. He bought a ticket for Orthez – that’s twenty-six miles from here – and he registered all his baggage for Orthez, too. And that’s where our luck comes in, for I happen to know the town: and, what is better still, I know the country about; for nobody lives at Orthez – it’s only a market-town and a good rail-head.”

“Oh, Jonah, what luck! And then?”

“Then he went and bestowed the Swindon: and then he went to put up at the best hotel.”

“But what’s the idea?” said Audrey.

“I think it’s twofold,” said Mansel. “For one thing, the car is a link – between Virginia Water and where Barabbas lives: and Plato is snapping that link by leaving the Swindon at Dax. Secondly, the train he is taking here connects with the Paris express, by which a guest from England would normally come: his arrival, therefore, will attract as little attention as any arrival can – in other words, Plato’s conforming to what he knows is the rule.”

“The rule?” said Audrey. “D’you mean to say that Barabbas—”

“My dear,” said Mansel, “Barabbas mayn’t be in
Who’s Who
; but I’ll lay you any money he knows how to live.”

Now that, as children say, we were growing warm, we took more care than ever to make assurance sure, for we all of us knew that the prize was within our reach and the thought of losing it now was quite unbearable.

We were all of us up at dawn, for the Paris express was due at a quarter to six. Rowley was chosen to travel by Plato’s train: Chandos and Bell and Carson followed him down to the station at half-past five: and Audrey and Mansel and I watched the train move off. Then we left for Orthez by road – some twenty-six miles.

We were there a full forty minutes before the train, for the latter went slowly and took a roundabout course: and this enabled Mansel to make his dispositions without any fuss.

I will not set these down beyond saying this – that Chandos alone was to follow the car which took Plato away, Mansel himself was to be in Orthez on foot, and the rest were to watch the roads which ran out of the town. Whoever saw Plato go by was to watch him as far as he could and was then to report to Mansel with all dispatch.

We were all in position by seven, although the train was not due till a quarter past, “for,” said Mansel, “if the fellow is to be met, some car will enter Orthez before the train, and we need not present its driver with our identity.”

The lot fell upon Audrey and me.

We were watching the road to the south, that is to say to the foothills which ushered the Pyrénées. At about ten minutes past seven we saw a car approaching and travelling north. Two or three moments later, a handsome
coupé de ville
went by very fast, with two liveried chauffeurs in front and a cipher on one of its doors. And though there was nothing to say so, I knew as well as did Audrey that that was Barabbas’ car.

The sight of it made me more angry than anything Plato had done. I do not know what I had expected, but it seemed to me so monstrous that the man who had cut off St Omer should be living in such a style. I remembered George’s old car – in which he had met his death…the servants’ quarters at Peerless – in which he had lived…the man and his wife who provided the only service he had… All this, because he was faithful – upright and honest and faithful as the man who had slain him was vile. George could have had his chauffeurs, his
coupé de ville
: but if he had, then Peerless would have suffered, and tenants faithful to Peerless would have fallen on evil days. So George had denied himself – and had lost his race: and the man who had made him lose it was living in pride and splendour on the proceeds of stolen goods.

How long I stood peering after, I do not know, but Audrey’s hand stole into mine, and when I looked round I saw the tears on her face.

“I know how you feel, St John; I know how you feel. But please don’t look like that – it makes me afraid.”

“What of?” I said thickly. “Barabbas? You needn’t fear. I’m not going to spoil my chances by rushing in. I’ll play the – serpent – I promise you that. But before I kill him, I’ll tell him—”

“No, no. Don’t talk like that.” She had hold of my arm. “Jonah and Richard are here, and you’ve got to do as they say.”

“Up to a point, I will. They’re wiser than me. But I have the right to do it and
I am going to do it
– at any cost.”

Her hands were upon my shoulders and her face was four inches from mine.

“You said you loved me,” she said.

“And you know it’s true.”

“Then give me your word—”

“Not on your life,” said I. “Turn me down here and now – but my hands have got to be free.”

“I’m only asking you—”

“–to leave it to them?” I said.

“–to do as they say. That’s all. If they say ‘yes,’ well and good. But they may want to wait awhile, or they may even—”

“What’s the matter with you?” I said, frowning. “This isn’t like Audrey Nuneham.”

“Never mind what’s the matter with me. I make that request.”

“But two months ago—”

“Two months ago be damned. I’m asking you now.”

“To swear away my right, as George’s best friend?”

“They knew him almost as well.”

“They never knew him as I did. They’ve never set eyes on Peerless – where I used to share his life.”

“And what about me? Haven’t I any say in this show?”

“Up to a point,” said I. “And so have Mansel and Chandos. But the right to deal with Barabbas is mine alone.”

“I don’t say it isn’t. But they are older than you and all I ask you to promise—”

“And what would you think of me if I gave you my word?”

Her eyes left mine.

“I should be – very grateful, St John.”

“I didn’t ask you that.”

Audrey hesitated. Then—

“I should think that you loved me enough to do as I wished.”

“Look in my eyes,” I said quietly.

She did as I said – for a moment. Then her arms went about my neck, and she hid her face in my shirt.

“You’re always right, aren’t you, St John? If it – comes your way, you must do it. Only – don’t go after it, darling. Not by yourself. You see, you’re not up to his weight – and… I don’t want to lose you, too.”

Plato was duly met by the
coupé de ville
and was driven to the Château of Midian some miles to the south: and since that same afternoon I surveyed the place from a distance, I will here and now describe it as best I can.

The house was by no means a castle, but rather a country mansion of a considerable size, and it stood surrounded by meadows on three of its sides: but the fourth or south side was close to the edge of a cliff, which rose straight up from a river – a deep and troubled water, some eighty feet wide. Such trees as grew in the meadows were young and slight and had been planted apart, so that all the domain was open and anyone trespassing there could be immediately seen. North-west of the house stood the stables, about a three-sided courtyard: but these had been converted, partly into a garage and partly into quarters for some of the staff. And when I say ‘garage,’ I mean it. A private petrol-pump stood up in the stable yard, and a lift had been installed in a coach-house, to raise a car of four tons. Except for the stables, there were no out-buildings.

Now though three sides of the house could be more or less inspected by such as went by on the road, the fourth or south side was as private as any recluse could desire. And this was the side that mattered to such as dwelled in that place, for here a magnificent terrace aproned the length of the house, with an elegant, stone balustrade on the very edge of the cliff. On to this hanging pleasance, both ends of which were screened by a six-foot wall, a man could step from any of the principal rooms – to find himself free of a mighty belvedere, with the magic of the sunlight about him and the song of the river below and, before him, as lovely a distance as ever rejoiced his heart. The cliff beyond the river was thickly wooded with beech, and, above and beyond again, a very riot of forest rose up to the weathered flanks of the Pyrénées. These very charming mountains stretched like some glorious backcloth for miles upon either side, their summits smoking with haze against the blue of the sky; and the picture would have become the page of some fairy-tale, for when I saw it first, it seemed too good to be true.

Such then was Barabbas’ domain – a very lovely stronghold, a very luxurious fort. I do not mean that it was armoured: but it could not be privily approached. Even to observe it in secret was very hard – and almost impossible from any side but the south. But from that side it could be done: and it was from there that we did it, as I shall presently show.

The first thing that Mansel did was to send Bell off to Poitiers to get the Vane. He told him to take the Rolls – to my great surprise: for such an exchange was almost robbery – and, on his way back, to stay the night at Dax and to berth the Vane in the garage in which the Swindon stood. The result of this visit would be that, if Plato returned to Dax, he would find his battery dead and would have to stay where it was until it was charged: so that though he might have left Midian before we knew he had gone, we should have a very good chance of catching him up.

Then he took his seat by Chandos and drove clean round the estate, “for we must do this,” he said, “to get the lie of the land.” Whilst they were gone, the rest of us broke our fast – a fact of which, I may say, I was somewhat ashamed, for Mansel and Chandos and Bell had had nothing to eat: but I very soon found that, when they were ‘on the job,’ food and rest to them meant nothing at all, and that though they could not ignore such physical needs, they were able, far more than are most, to make them await their convenience without any ill result.

Mansel was back in an hour, and ten minutes later Chandos and I set out – to search the woods and forests of which I have spoken above, and to find some point of vantage from which we could measure the house. It went, of course, without saying that such a post would have to be well concealed, yet it must be of such a kind that observation therefrom could be more or less comfortably kept by more than one man at a time; for a sole observer must leave his post to report – or else must postpone some report which ought to be made.