Red In The Morning (12 page)

With my arms about their necks, Mansel, John Bagot and I passed slowly out of the forest, into the blessed sunshine, over the road to Arx and on to a little greensward, where the precious scent of the verdure and the lively cheer of the birds were giving the lie direct to the waters under the earth.

And there I was glad to sink down and to take my ease.

“I.isten, William,” said Mansel. “You’ve had a very bad go. We’ll hear all about it later. I’m going to get Carson and Bell and one of the cars: and John will stay here on guard.”

“What time is it?” I said.

“A quarter to eight.”

“Not too good,” said I.

“I know. That can’t be helped. You’ve got to get back to the farm.”

“I’ll be all right,” I said, “as soon as I’ve had some sleep.”

“Then sleep your fill,” said Mansel: “I shan’t be long.”

I think he said something more, but the kindness of my surroundings and the grateful warmth of the sun ushered me into the slumber my state required.

Had I not been awakened, I should, I dare say, have slept for five or six hours: but, after only one hour, as I afterwards found, a sudden pain in my side made me open my eyes.

Then –

“That’ll do, Tarquin,” said Brevet. “‘
He
, much amazed, doth ope
his
lock’d up eyes.’ You know, I always maintain that
Lucrece
is incomparable.”

I propped myself on an arm.

Lousy was standing beside me, apparently itching to kick me again in the ribs. Brevet was seated as when I had seen him first, that is to say, cross-legged, as tailors sit. And John Bagot was lying, face downward, some four or five paces away.

As I made to rise –

“As you were,” snapped Brevet.

I shrugged my shoulders and passed to where Bagot lay. I kneeled down and turned him over. As I did so, he whispered ‘Fake.’ I loosened his collar and set my hand over his heart. Then I opened one of his eyes and made a grimace.

“He needs attention,” I said. “I don’t know which of you hit him, but–”

“I’m much afraid,” said Brevet, “he’ll have to wait. And now sit down where you were.” In view of the pistol he held, it seemed best to comply. “That’s better. And now get this. I don’t want to kill you here, but, if you cross me, I shall. I don’t want to kill you here, because I would prefer that you proceeded to a convenient burial ground under your own power. I don’t know whether you’ve ever subscribed to the portage of a carcase, but it is a most exacting exercise. And now a question or two. I’d simply love to know how you came by that cut on your head.”

“I slipped and fell.”

“I see,” said Brevet. His eyes came to rest on my shoes, which lay in the sun. “Where did this, er,
contretemps
take place?”

“In the torrent,” said I, boldly, “the one that runs through the village – not very far from here. Bagot got over all right, but, just as I was landing, I put a foot wrong.”

“Dear, dear,” said Brevet. “Ah, well. Boys will be boys. Your trousers seem to be dry.”

“I usually roll them up when I’m crossing a stream.”

“Of course. How stupid of me. And after you had fallen…”

I put a hand to my head.

“You’ll have to ask Bagot,” I said. “When I came round, I felt cold, and I know I asked him to help me into the sun.”

“I observe,” said Brevet, “that Bagot’s shoes are dry.”

“He crossed the stream barefoot,” said I.

“Quite. And may I ask what you were proposing to do?”

“Take a look at Arx,” said I.

“And Captain Mansel?”

“If it helps you at all,” said I, “Mansel’s the other side.”

“I see. And the rendezvous?”

“Nothing doing,” said I.

There was a little silence.

“Trespass,” said Brevet. “A very odious offence. Not a crime at law, as no doubt you know. But, to my mind, a deadly sin. The invasion of privacy. And Horace agrees with me – you know whom I mean. I think you met yesterday.”

“That’s right,” said I. “How’s his face?”

“Sordid,” said Brevet. “Suggestive of the Mile End Road. The result of a marital difference at closing time.”

“The penalty of trespass,” said I. “A very odious offence.”

“Quite,” said Brevet. “Quite. There are, of course, other penalties. ‘Further and better’, I think is the elegant phrase. ‘Further’…”

“Quite,” said I.

Lousy laughed aloud, and a tinge of colour came into Brevet’s cheeks.

I had, of course, no idea when Mansel would come; but I knew that I must, if I could, keep Brevet and Lousy in play until he arrived. If I could not do that, then somehow or other John Bagot must make his escape – for both our sakes. Myself, I could take no action, if only because I was still too weary to put up a fight. I was no longer exhausted, as I had been: but I was heavy-laden, and that was about as bad.

“To return to Horace,” I said.

“Yes.”

“We were unaware that we had any quarrel with him.”

Brevet expanded at once.

“Your quarrel with Horace,” he said, “is indirect. Horace is tired of Gedge – that’s not altogether surprising, for Gedge’s interpretation of the laws of hospitality is extremely liberal. He’s been tired of him for some time, and when Gedge declared last week his intention of remaining at Arx until you and Mansel were dead, Horace in desperation decided to try his hand. It might have come off, you know.”

“It might,” said I.

“Though I must confess,” said Brevet, “that I was not sanguine. Horace is not cut out for exploit. And his two, er, confederates were rather out of their depth.”

“Yes, I noticed that,” I said.

“Not that I blame them,” said Brevet. “My own respect for the explosive is very high. But Punter, I understand, went so far as to criticize Horace…”

“He certainly hit him,” said I. “But if ever a wallah bought it, Horace did.”

“He would. He’s a purchaser. He buys quite a lot from Gedge. So Punter reviled him, did he?”

“Reviled him?” said I. “He socked him. Hit him full on the mouth. And Horace was much annoyed.”

“So we gathered,” said Brevet. “But such was his incoherence, we gathered but little else. Punter actually hit him, did he? Oh dear, oh dear. You know, I have always felt that Punter’s outlook was selfish – that the team spirit had been omitted from his make-up. Is that your estimate? I mean, from what he says, this isn’t the first occasion on which you have clashed.”

“So far as I know,” said I, “Punter always did his job. As for yesterday, Horace’s leadership was hardly inspiring.”

“From the way you speak, you appear to have been in the stalls.”

“In the wings,” said I. “There was some scenery to shift.”

“I stand corrected. Scene Two had to be set. I’m told this was most impressive – ‘The Last of the Limousine’. Greaser insists that the car is a total loss.”

“The ground was against her,” I said.

“Poor Horace,” sighed Brevet. “Still, your presence at Arx will revive him. Whatever will Mansel say?”

“I’ve no idea,” said I.

“Or do?”

I shook my head.

“Oh, try again,” said Brevet.

“I imagine he’ll take some action to get us out.”

“I imagine so, too. What action do you think he will take?”

“To be perfectly honest,” said I, “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“He hadn’t allowed for this?”

“Not that I know of,” said I.

“Ah, well. ‘Time’s glory is To turn the giddy round of Fortune’s wheel.’
Lucrece
, again. And talking of time, what is the hour, Lousy?”

Lousy said that it was ten minutes past nine.

“Then I think we should be moving,” said Brevet. “I’m afraid you’ll have to carry your little friend.”

“What, carry Bagot?” said I.

“Yes. He certainly let you down, but it wasn’t altogether his fault. You see, we were very cunning. I wandered into his orbit, head in air, singing a stave from
Patience
, to round the ruse: and Bagot held me up in the time-honoured way. And while he was digesting his capture, Lousy, who was standing behind him, laid him out.”

“I must congratulate you.”

“Spare me, I pray. Chandos the Great would never have fallen so.”

“I might have – easily. John Bagot’s a very good man.”

“No doubt. A shade Boeotian, perhaps, but undoubtedly sound. Sound. I do hope nobody ever describes me as ‘sound’.”

“I shouldn’t think you need worry,” I said, and Lousy laughed again.

Brevet’s eyes narrowed.

“Shall we proceed?” he said.

I got to my feet and passed to where Bagot lay. After feeling his heart again, I made a genuine effort to get him on to my back. In this I failed – I simply had not the strength.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t do it. Lousy will have to help.”

“Try again,” said Brevet, rising.

“Look here,” said I. “You find me asleep in a meadow quite close to Arx. D’you think you’d have found me asleep there, if I had had the strength to be gone?”

Brevet shrugged his shoulders.

“That’s answer enough,” I said. “I’m at your mercy, of course. But it’s no good asking of me the impossible thing. I can walk now – without assistance: but I cannot do very much more. As for lifting eleven stone – well, it’s simply beyond my power.”

Brevet addressed Lousy.

“I’m inclined to believe him,” he said. “Anyway, you’ll have to assist. It’s not very far.”

Lousy crossed to John Bagot and kicked his ribs. To the latter’s eternal credit, he never flinched.

“It’s no good,” said Brevet. “You shouldn’t have hit him so hard.”

I stood to Bagot’s head, set my hands under his arms, lifted up his shoulders and waited for help. With a filthy oath, Lousy moved to his feet and bent down to lay hold. As he did so, John Bagot kicked…the kick of a vicious horse, and, yelling ‘Run!’ I launched myself at Brevet who was standing some eight feet off.

Had I only been fit, I might have taken the trick: but, though I spoiled his aim – for the fellow fired upon John…an instant too late – I could not follow up my advantage, because my arms were like lead. Brevet went down, to be sure, but before I could seize his wrist, I felt the mouth of his pistol against my throat.

“One movement,” said Brevet, speaking between his teeth. “Only one. A shudder will do.”

I lay very still. I dared not do anything else. Still, Bagot was out of the wood and Lousy was lying dead of a broken neck.

Looking back upon those moments, I count them among the worst that I ever passed. This was because I feared that Bagot would return to the charge. To take to your heels and leave to his fate your companion is, on the face of the thing, against all decency: yet, had Bagot yielded to his instinct to come to my help, Brevet would have killed me at once and then turned upon him. But John Bagot had the great courage to play a coward’s part – the hardest part, I think, for which Fortune can cast a man: and, though, as I afterwards learned, he stayed at hand, in the hope of being able to intervene, he never showed himself, much less made some fatal attempt to set me free. He was, of course, unarmed, for Brevet had taken his pistol as well as mine. In the hope that Lousy was armed, he had waited until we moved and then had searched the body to no effect. He had followed us up to the road to which I led the way, with my hands behind my head and Brevet’s pistol thrust into the small of my back. He had seen us wait under cover close to a gate, until, at half-past nine, a car with Gedge and Greaser had stolen up. Clearly it had been arranged that the car should come to that spot to pick up Brevet and Lousy about that time: why they had gone on ahead did not appear, but Gedge’s surprise when he saw me showed that they had not expected a meeting with us.

“By —, I’m happy,” he said. “How did you land the swine?”

“But for Lousy’s folly,” said Brevet, “I should have had them both.”

“—!” screeched Gedge. “
Not Mansel
?”

“Not quite,” said Brevet. “Bagot.”

“Bagot be —,” said Gedge.

“Quite. But he scuppered Lousy before he left.”

“’E never!” cried Greaser.

“Wrong again,” said Brevet. “For nearly thirty-five minutes Lousy has been in hell. ‘And all the
hooters
sounded for him on the other side.’”

“Where’s the body?” snapped Gedge.

“Full in the open,” said Brevet, “six minutes’ walk from here.”

Gedge swore at some length, condemning his late accomplice in shocking terms, because he had elected to die so far from a road.

Then he turned upon Greaser.

“Get the car round,” he blared. “This — goes into the bag, an’ then we come back.”

At this my heart leaped up, for Mansel might well return before Lousy’s remains were gone, in which case such as were charged with the duty of bringing them in – and Brevet would surely be one, for he alone knew where they lay – would either become his captives or meet their death.

The car was put about and I was thrust in, always with Brevet’s pistol against my ribs. Then Gedge blindfolded me and Greaser let in his clutch.

I knew when we entered the quarry, for I felt the tyres take to the timber which we had seen, and the walls gave back the sound which the engine made. Then Gedge got out of the car and after a moment I heard the curtain rise. At once the car went forward. It did not wait for Gedge, but went on slowly enough for, possibly, forty yards. The air smelled cool and damp, as that of a tunnel may. The curtain behind us was lowered, as we were moving along. When the car had come to rest, I heard Gedge pass it on foot, to raise a second curtain directly ahead. Then he whipped into the car and Greaser drove on. A very few seconds later we stopped again, and I was then hustled out, across a strip of gravel and through a door. They need not have bandaged my eyes. I knew where I was.

I was then thrust into a storeroom upon the ground floor, where Gedge and Greaser, between them, bound my ankles and wrists with galvanized wire. Then my bandage was taken off, and Brevet put up his pistol and wiped his face.

“Find Punter,” said Gedge, and followed Greaser out of the room.

Brevet looked after him. Then he returned to me.

“A trying fellow,” he said. “I make him the sort of present that only the gods dispense, and his response is to use regrettable language because a corpse must be carried four hundred yards.”