Red In The Morning (8 page)

Now, thanks to the work we had done, I knew the road they must take to bring them from Sarrat to Arx, and since it was now exactly a quarter-past ten, I had only to rejoin Bell, take that road before them and choose the spot at which we would hold them up. I, therefore, began to move backwards without delay; but hardly had I begun, when the lorry’s clutch was let in with a jolt that shook the teeth in my head. I can only suppose that the traffic had opened before it. Be that as it may, before I knew where I was, the lorry was pounding along at ten or twelve miles an hour: then its driver swung to the left and changed into top…

I scrambled up to the cab – leaned out and round to the window and called upon the fellow to stop. So far from expressing surprise to see me there, he merely shouted back that he was already late and would be fined twenty francs if he did not get back to ‘the depot’ by half-past ten. I replied that I’d give him a hundred, if he would let me get down.

“Show me the money,” he roared – and actually put down his foot.

Between the speed and vibration, at least a mile had gone by, before I could pull out the money and thrust the note under his nose. And then he applied his brakes and brought his conveyance to rest by the side of the road.

But of course my cake was dough. I was fully two miles from Sarrat, and the time was twenty minutes past ten. As I made my way back on foot, I could not help reflecting that the adjective ‘fickle’ suits Fortune down to the ground. At a quarter-past ten that morning she had delivered the enemy into my hands: precisely five minutes later I was myself in balk.

At eleven o’clock I found Bell, who had carefully ‘covered’ Lousy, seen him joined by Punter and watched them drive out of the town. By twelve, the fault in the wiring had been found out and repaired. And just before one o’clock, I threw myself down beside Mansel in the hollow from which we observed the Château of Arx.

I related what had occurred.

“And there you are,” I concluded. “If I had been quick off that lorry, you wouldn’t have had the pleasure of seeing Lousy return.”

John Bagot was bubbling, but Mansel lifted a hand.

“William,” he said, “you have a most remarkable trait. You take your reverses so gently that Fortune relents.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“I know,” said Mansel. “How should you? The point is this. We’ve never had our eyes off that château,
but Lousy has never returned
. So unless he is two hours late – and that I find hard to believe – you have proved that there is another way into the Château of Arx.”

Now though we had decided that we must give Arx a wide berth, I do not think we should have been human if we had not desired to find out where this second entrance might be; and as soon as we reached our farm, we began to study the map.

This proved that it lay to the west, as did the town of Sarrat; for, had it lain to the east, the distance must have been more than Lousy had said. More. There was only one road, so far as we could make out, upon which such an entrance could lie, and that was the road which served the village of Arx. But this we had not surveyed, except from our post to the north; and from there we could only see the last of its run.

What kind of entrance there was we could not conceive, for the château was standing upon a mountainside; and when you are facing a mountain, as we had been, there can be nothing hidden if only you use your eyes. Add to that that it was to the west that the fall of water came down…

That same afternoon we drove to the south of Arx and climbed to the spot to which Mansel had made his way: but though we stood directly above the fall, we could see next to nothing except a reach of the road in the valley below. And between that and where we stood the cliffs were precipitous. It seemed there was nothing for it, but to approach from the west, and at dawn the next day we made a reconnaissance in force.

There were two parallel roads, running east and west. One was the road which served the valley of Arx; the other lay three miles south. The six of us set out to prove the country which lay between.

At five o’clock that morning we took up a ragged line, some three miles west of Arx, and, as the dawn came up, we moved, as beaters do, from west to east. Of such was the country we could not be all in touch, but Carson and Bell were in the middle, John Bagot and Rowley to the south, while Mansel and I took care of the northern side. In fact, Mansel used the road which served the valley of Arx; but I made my way through the forest a quarter of a mile higher up. (I say ‘a quarter of a mile’, but sometimes it was very much more; for the going was far from easy and simply did not allow me to hold my course.)

I had been moving for an hour and had covered perhaps a mile when I heard the sound of water somewhere at hand. It was not very loud, but had a more vigorous note than the voice of a rill; and yet I could see no fall nor any sign of one. This seemed phenomenal, for water can run but one way on a mountainside; and though it had nothing to do with the matter in hand, I felt I must find out the reason for such a remarkable thing. I, therefore, listened as carefully as I could and, judging the sound to be coming from directly above me, I made for a little recess about forty feet higher up. I call it a ‘recess’ for lack of a better term, but it looked like the very rough step which some giant had made and used when climbing the mountainside. As I went up, it was clear that the sound was coming from there, yet even above the recess the ground was dry. It took me five or six minutes to reach the spot, but there was the answer to the riddle as clear as day.

The recess had been made by the caving in of the soil, and the soil had at this point caved in because it was only a crust: beneath this crust was a grotto, down in whose depths was running the stream that had made it when Earth was young. Several such grottoes exist in the Pyrénées: possibly there are hundreds, but only a few are known. This seemed to be one of those which had not been found, for the hole into which I was peering had certainly never been entered for many years: yet the grotto to which it admitted was of a considerable size. Not that I could see it, for I could see nothing at all; but the torrent which I could hear running was some little distance off.

Having solved my mystery, I turned again to my duty of searching the ground to the east, but half a mile farther on a cliff rose out of the mountain, to block my way. I could have gone down and round the base of the cliff: but, so far as I could judge, Mansel would be able to answer for the ground that ran up to its foot: and so I turned up the mountain to gain its head.

This proved a much harder task than I had supposed, for the farther I climbed, the steeper the ground became, until this, too, rose into a cliff or cornice, up which I could not go. To skirt this, I turned again, until I was facing west, but I had to move for nearly a quarter of a mile before the cornice gave way and let me come up.

That is the way of mountains: indeed, I know no country which may be so hard to cross as mountain, thick clad with forest, in summer time. Again and again you are forced to compass some feature of which, if you could have seen it, you might have steered clear: and when at last you are round, as like as not you will find you have lost your bearings and have but a poor idea which way you should turn. Since I had a compass with me, I was not so badly placed, but the lie of the land surprised me, for, when I turned east again, the mountainside was before me when it should have lain on my right.

However, steep as it was, I could make my way up, and after a while I saw a very small plateau directly ahead. Of this I was very glad, for it meant that I could sit down and take some rest; and two minutes later I hauled myself on to it, panting, and threw myself down on its turf.

It was a true mountain lawn. How it came to be there, whether Nature or man had made it, I could not tell. But the beeches stood back about it, as though they recognized its right to be there.

After resting for five or six minutes, I got to my feet and looked round, and then at once I saw the remains of a path. It had not been trodden, I think, for a number of years, and on the plateau itself all trace was gone: but it ran down off the plateau towards the east, that is to say, the way I was trying to go.

Such a path was natural enough. With the approach of summer, shepherds lead their flocks to the mountaintops: the way is long and hard, and the sheep are glad of a lawn upon which they can rest and feed, before they go on: this lawn had been found or made for the sheep to use, and the path led down to the valleys and up to the pastures above. And since in this kind of country a path was above all price, I was hastening down its zig-zag before a minute was out.

At first it ran down a gorge: then it curled to the right, to slope down the side of a mountain quite bare of trees. I did not like the look of this reach, for I have a poor head for heights, and the ground below it fell sharply for ten or twelve feet and then disappeared. Still, two hundred yards farther on the forest again took charge, so I started along the reach, keeping my eyes on the path and away from the edge.

I had gone much more than halfway, when, rounding a curve of the mountain, I saw before me a stile which I could not climb. As the result of some landslide, the path was gone. And more than the path. Thousands of tons of soil had fallen away, to fix, between me and the trees for which I was bound, a gulf full forty feet wide and God knows how deep.

This was, of course, why the path had been abandoned, for the fall was by no means recent – already Nature had painted most of the scar.

After a long look, I turned to retrace my steps.

Till now I had been very careful to look away from the brink; but, as I turned, I glanced down, and what I saw far below me wiped all fear of falling out of my mind.

I was looking into a dingle of a considerable size. It might have been the head of a valley, whose exit was out of my view. To the left, built into the hill, was a decent, two-storied house: to the right, in the shade of some trees, were a table and chairs: facing me was a garage which could have accepted six cars: and just in front of the garage a Lowland was being washed.

At once I looked round for cover, but, except upon the edge of the gulf, there was none to be seen. I, therefore, lay down on the path, to find I could still see the car and the farther end of the house. I then took my binoculars out, and, though I was badly placed, for I could not lie square, I was able to see that the man who was washing was Lousy and the Lowland was Gedge’s car.

The garage was stoutly built of good-looking, uncut stone; but the house, which was very much older, was built of stones which had come from some river’s bed. Indeed, it seemed to me that the house had been a farmhouse, but had been partly rebuilt: certainly its shutters had been added, for these were of steel.

Now if Lousy had raised his eyes, he might or might not have observed that someone or something was lying upon the path: but I was perfectly sure that if Gedge or Brevet were to appear on the scene, he would look up and round and would at once remark that someone or something was there. And since it was now past eight, I made up my mind to withdraw as soon as I could. But, though I did nothing else, I must take a bearing first. I, therefore, put up my glasses and got my compass out.

This showed me that the house was facing roughly south-west, that the entrance to the dingle must lie between north and west, and that, from where I was lying, a peak with a broken tooth was rising south-east and by south. With that very meagre information, I felt I must be content: so I put my compass away and began to crawl back to the gorge.

In half an hour I was back again on the plateau from which I had taken the path; and there once more I sat down – this time less to rest than to consider my discovery.

The rogues were not staying at Arx – at least not the Arx that we knew. From the château to the dingle must be at least two miles. That the dingle was no more than a garage, I simply did not believe; for Gedge would never sleep a mile from his car. The entrance to the dingle was the entrance we had to find, for that was where Lousy had driven the day before. Yet he had spoken of the ‘shatter’, as being some twenty miles off…at which he had to be back by eleven o’clock. And Mona Lelong had said that Gedge used the château…had made it perfectly clear that she and her uncle were living cheek by jowl with Brevet and Gedge.

I remembered the light-railway cuttings. The one to the west of the château might possibly lead to the dingle… No, that was wrong, for in that case I must have crossed it, and no one could ever have tunnelled under those hills.

After twenty minutes’ hard thinking, I gave the thing up. The hour was now nine o’clock, and I must be getting back. So I ate two sandwiches and wished that I had brought six – and then set out for the point at which I had parted from Mansel four hours before.

This time I did lose my bearings. Of course, my compass helped me, but not very much, for cliff and ravine and thicket conspired to stand in my way. For two hours I fought and struggled, always perceiving too late the line which I should have taken, the path which I should have trod. And when at last in desperation I made to come down to the road and chance being seen, I was not allowed to do that without very near breaking my neck, for I blundered on to the very brink of a quarry, to see the road beyond and below it, some eighty yards off.

I was walking round the brink and wiping the sweat from my face, when a sound came up to me from the floor of the quarry below. It was a very slight sound, but I parted the bushes beside me, to see, if I could, what had made it and who was there.

I think that Brevet had made it, for Brevet was there. I shall always think he had tripped, for he was nursing his foot. Any way, after a minute, he limped to the road. He looked up and down and then listened, as though for the sound of a car. Then he stooped and picked up a pebble, and turning, threw it behind him into the quarry itself. This must have been a signal, for almost at once the car I had seen – the Lowland – pulled quietly out of the quarry and on to the road. There it stopped for Brevet to take his seat: and then it slid out of my sight and away from Arx.

As fast as I could, I made my way down to the road, and there I found Mansel waiting, with a hand to his chin.

“Did you see that?” he said.

“I did.”

“Then the entrance is here – somewhere. And yet I inspected this quarry three hours ago. I admit there’s a shed or garage – it must be through that.”

We walked back into the quarry.

To the left, out of sight of the road, I saw the end of the cutting which ran to the level crossing, west of the village of Arx. Opposite this, again out of sight of the road, a shelter of galvanized iron was projecting from the welter of rock – a thing to house a lorry against the snows. This housing was shut by a curtain – and when we sought to raise it, the curtain was locked.

“Very ingenious,” said Mansel. “This is the entrance, of course. Observe, if you please, the causeway of baulks of wood: that might be no more than a runway: in fact it is there to prevent a tyre leaving a print. So simple, so very obvious – when demonstrated by facts. You know, I’m losing my cunning – and that’s the truth. You’ll have to help me, William… And now please resolve this riddle. This, we know, is the entrance, because we’ve seen them come out. But this quarry is more than a mile from the Château of Arx. About a mile and three quarters. Well, what about that?”

“This,” said I. “It’s about a drive and a chip from where they garage the car.”

The others had little to report.

Carson had reached the head of my avalanche or landslide, but had seen nothing from there: Bell had gained the trees which grew on its farther side, but a persistent cornice had stopped him from going down: John Bagot and Rowley had searched the southern slopes and found nothing at all.

Still, we had much to digest, and when we were back at the farm, we sat down to draw our conclusions and see where they led.

We had located the second entrance to Arx.

There could be no doubt that the quarry belonged to Arx, and had been used by the Baron to serve his special requirements and mask them, too. It was an incomparable cloak – an honest, uninteresting feature, whose use or disuse would attract no attention at all.

The quarry warranted the railway: the railway warranted the crossings: and the crossings warranted the barriers across the road. The quarry made an admirable entrance – comparatively easy to construct and unobtrusive to use. The dingle into which I had peered was certainly the head of a valley whose tail I could not see: that tail approached the quarry from the opposite side, and a tunnel had been driven, connecting the two: if proof of this were needed, the blue-brown stone of the quarry was that of which the garage had been built.