The Trail of Fear (23 page)

He crossed it in safety and reached a ditch and a bank. Here he suddenly realized, to his dismay, that he had completely lost his bearings. He could still just make out the house, but did not know in what position he was relative to it. The river, he thought, ran in front of him across an open field, but he dared not cross this directly. Some way to his right was a mass of dark bushes; to his left the ground was more open. He turned at length, after a little deliberation, to the left and under shelter of the bank ran along till he reached a hedge.

He was just pushing boldly through this when a voice and a torch suddenly challenged him out of the night, a few yards away. In a flash he realized what he had done and dropped to the ground, even as the searching beam shot out into the hedge around him. He had borne too much to the left and, just as he had done before, had come out again on to the road, where he had for the second time been seen by one of the men stationed there.

Before he could do anything, the man ran up, flashing his torch this way and that. In sudden desperation Rezaire leaped up and struck out at him with the butt of his revolver. The man sank down to the ground with a cry, but the next moment footsteps and challenges rang out on either side as others, also stationed on the road, hurried to the scene.

Rezaire, heart beating wildly with fear, had just time to get to his feet and run, crouching down, back in the direction he had come in the shadow of the bank. Behind him he heard voices, saw lights; torches were flashing to right and left, but once again he was not pursued. As he made his way along his brain suddenly grasped the significance of this last, which had not before dawned on him. Why was he not pursued? Because they thought they had him safely. They had missed him so often before by direct attack that they were this time adopting different tactics. He was being gradually surrounded like a wild animal being taken by trappers. They had prevented him crossing the road, they had in all probability stretched a cordon across the open country in front, they had driven him out of the shelter of the last houses and gardens. Men on the road, men behind him, men in front of him; he was being slowly encircled on three sides—and the fourth side was the river. The river meant safety to him, but did they know it? Surely they would not have left the river bank unguarded. Surely by now they must be pushing down the bank from either end to make the trap complete, cutting him off from the quay and safety?

He got up and ran blindly along the ditch away from the road and in the direction of the thick undergrowth that he now realized must fringe the river. He must reach the quay before it was too late.

CHAPTER XXV

AT THE QUAY

Sick with apprehension Rezaire reached the bushes at the end. He had realized the new methods that were being adopted to ensure his capture and indeed had now abundant proof of their working. He could hear noises all around him in the still night air, a smothered cough here, a step on a gravel path there, vague sounds from the men who were slowly stretching their net round him.

If only he had realized before what they were up to, he could easily have outwitted them. If only he had not delayed seeking food in that cottage… Behind him on the road a shrill whistle blast sounded twice—no doubt an indication that he had been located, or a sign to begin the final closing-in.

He came to the bushes, big masses of briars, small trees, long dead grass, all matted together, plunged in, trying not to make any noise, and arrived at last at the water's edge, marshy and muddy, with undergrowth growing right down the banks. The quay could obviously not be here, it must be farther along to the left, though he could not see it. He knew that it was fairly near a big hollow tree standing in an open space—so his letter had informed him. He paused and listened intently. On his right he could hear distinct sounds as of men working cautiously along the river bank. Some way off he saw the gleam of torches and once he heard a curse. They were closing in.

He turned about and struck away from the water. A twig or two snapped, his boots squelched in the mud. He must get further down-stream, but he could not work through the bushes without making a terrible noise. Panic came over him as he began to wonder whether the men further down who were working up-stream had yet got near to the launch and the quay. Almost any minute he expected to hear the sudden outcry which would show that it was too late.

He left the bushes and regained the field once more, hurrying noiselessly along the edge on the soft turf and looking for a path or gap in the undergrowth a little further on. The slow unendurable suspense, helped by all the strain of the last hours, was beginning to have a terrible effect on his nerves; far, far rather would he have suffered the sudden rushes and wild moments of danger than this terrible remorseless closing in of the trap, and his inability to find the one way out before it was stopped.

Skirting the bushes and avoiding the moonlit openness of the field, he almost ran into a building before he realized it was a hen-house on the edge of the field. A sudden outcry of startled fowls arose from within and he left it hurriedly behind, cursing angrily. A little way further on he at last found what he was looking for, the end of the mass of undergrowth and a path leading toward the river, a lighter line in the dark shadow that cut into the thick mass of brambles and trees towering above his head. Glancing back for a moment he could, some way back, almost make out the relentless line of men advancing upon him in the moonlight from the direction of the road and the house.

But these did not matter for the moment; these he could escape; his main fear now was of the parties on either side working down the river bank, the points of the pincers that were seeking to close on him. Sick with anxiety, he turned down the path, stepping cautiously and quietly in the darkness. Other paths intersected the thick mass, running this way and that, but he kept his direction and soon came out into a little clearing, lit by the moon. Beyond it were but a few trees and between them he could see once more the light upon the face of the river now almost at full tide.

He passed like a wraith across the clearing and silently through the trees. Then he could have shouted for joy, but that his enemies were so near. Away to the right in an open space stood the big hollow tree and in front of him was another small open space, this time right on the bank of the river, where a flat square piece of ground like a table jutted out into the swirling water. It was the quay; and there by the side of it was a long black mass. His launch! France! Safety! It lay there, a protective shadow with a faint subdued glow of light hovering over it from the closed-in cabin—the goal of all his hopes. Already he could distinguish the dark figure of one of the crew standing on the quay side waiting for him. To board it, push silently off down-stream and start the engine when out of hearing would be but the work of a minute.

With joyful heart he was about to traverse the last few yards that led to freedom, when a sudden quick sound smote his ear. It came from the left and just behind. There was someone in the bushes quite close. He kept as still as possible, verifying his suspicion. Then he heard it again and terror gripped him. Was it the party that he feared, working along the river bank, and nearer than he had thought? If so, he dared not board the launch this very moment; he would assuredly be caught, since his pursuers were too close to allow of a get-away. He must first distract their attention momentarily, and draw them off if possible.

He stole back to the edge of the trees and from the shadow peeped out into the little clearing he had just crossed, white in the moonlight. The noise, subdued, yet intermittent, came from just the other side, as if someone were trying to move silently through brambles, having lost the path. Then he realized that it was too far round to the front to be the particular party of detectives that he feared, since now that he listened intently he could hear them too, both parties of them, on the river bank on either side.

For a moment he stood there wondering, then suddenly it came to him who it was. It must be that stranger who had been in the loft with him, a short while before—the other apparent fugitive from justice. That unknown was of course in the trap too… He gasped suddenly as he realized the possibilities of the situation, remembering how the thought had flitted through his mind before, that he might turn the presence of this other to account. Here ready to hand was the means of distracting for a moment the attention of the detectives to ensure his making good his own escape. This unknown man, now moving in the shadow just to the right, should draw off the police while he himself went free.

No sooner had he decided than he was putting his plan into effect. Swiftly he moved round to a new position, and peered through the bushes till he could just see the stranger, the dark figure of a man. Then with a smile to himself Rezaire deliberately trod loudly on a twig and called in a low gruff voice: “Now then, who's that?”

The effect was instantaneous, and as he had hoped.

The man gave a convulsive start, a low cry, and fled swiftly across the clearing away from this sudden new danger—straight in the direction of the detectives, coming up the river bank. Rezaire chuckled at his ruse. The capture, or at any rate the noise and sudden distraction, would just give him the time that he needed for his escape. Then the chuckle froze suddenly on his lips, and he gave a little gasp. For the flying figure had halted as it reached the hollow tree and turning swiftly was lost in the shadows. But it was not that which had made Rezaire gasp. For as the figure turned, looking back across the clearing, the face had been clearly visible under the moonlight.

It was Viv!

Viv! Rezaire sprang forward. His lips formed to shout her name, but at that moment there came to his ears the louder noise of the party of detectives beyond. Instinctively he turned and ran in the direction of the quay, driven only by the instinct of self-preservation.

He reached the quay and then for a moment his footsteps faltered. If only he had known it was Viv, they could both have got away. But now it was too late. Vivienne, whom at the very first he had helped to escape, had almost reached safety, and then he had unknowingly betrayed her to save himself, for she could not remain undiscovered for long. He could have cried aloud at the irony of it all.

Then he pulled himself together. Why should he regret it, just because it was Viv? Had he not carried the gang on his shoulders long enough? Vivienne, Harrap, Sam, Dixon, time and time again he had jeopardized his whole safety for their sakes… He moved onward, listening for sounds be hind him. Soon he would hear the sudden outcry that would herald her capture.

A figure detached itself from the shadow of the boat.

“Mr. Carlyle?” it queried, and he automatically answered “Yes.”

Safety at last. He was at the launch now, he could almost see into the little cabin, dimly lit, but at the same moment he realized in an instant one thing. He could yet save Vivienne,—but only by sacrificing himself. He could see it all in a flash. He would rush madly down the river bank to where the other detectives were slowly advancing, would be captured; the chase would be called off, Vivienne, well hidden, would be left alone, and could escape afterward, for, as far as the police knew, they only had the one quarry in their net. For him, capture, ignominious capture, and prison—but Viv would be safe. He could save her—
if he sacrificed himself
.

He stood on the plank leading to the launch. To turn back meant the end of all the struggle, which he had at last brought to success; it meant imprisonment, failure—and all to save Viv. To go forward meant safety—freedom—life.

He put one foot on the little deck. He looked into the cabin where in the shaded light he could at last see figures,—the men who would be his companions to freedom.

Then with a little gasp he turned impulsively, his mind made up, and ran desperately back into the darkness, plunging noisily along the river bank to where the detectives were closing in upon him…

* * * *

But even at the last Rezaire had proved true to himself and his character, for it was not to save Vivienne that he had turned back. The real reason was that he had just seen clearly one of the figures awaiting him in the cabin.

It was Sam. Sam, who, how he knew not, had escaped and found his way to the launch. Sam whom, despite his threats, he had betrayed. Sam with his cruel anticipatory smile, and his long evil knife.