Blind Corner and Perishable Goods Page 13

  A storm burst one night whilst the relief was taking place, or, to be more precise, when Mansel and Carson were sculling to the mouth of the shoot. Quick as we were, before they stood in the gallery their clothes were wet through; but, though the downpour was frightful, Bell and I dared not delay, lest the boat should be swamped. I never stripped more reluctantly, and even the river seemed snug beside the nakedness of the boat. The rain lashed my bare skin, whilst I sat waiting for Bell, but, when he came down and laid hold of the gunwale, as usual, to come aboard, of my endeavour to trim the craft, I slipped on the dripping thwart and fell clean into the river, capsizing the boat as I went. Meantime, unaware of this misadventure, those in the gallery let down our clothes with a run, and, believing that we had the bundle, lowered it into the water before they found out their mistake. However, we took no hurt, nor even cold in spite of our thirty-mile drive, which shows, I think, that we were in very good condition.

  The search-light consumed much power; so when Mansel left for Salzburg, he always took with him one battery and brought back another charged.

  Our wireless set afforded us great pleasure. We received the English stations very well and so heard the news every evening, and music, whenever we pleased; but I fancy those that made it little dreamed that their notes were larding the shadows of so sinister a place.

  That the dungeon and the chamber made up a grim suite cannot be denied; and, though no one of us said such a thing, I think we could all have spared the grisly memories with which the spot seemed charged. We were too tired to dream; what dreadful matters might else have ridden our slumbers! We laboured upon a scaffold and took our rest in a morgue: we came and went the way dead men had gone—surely, “such stuff as dreams are made on,” ill dreams. But, happily for us, we were too tired to dream. Still, if some tales may be believed, not every weary man has been so favoured. Indeed, if the pitiful dead walk, they must have picked their way between us as we lay in the gallery of nights; but, perhaps because we were so sorry for them, and found their murder so detestable, they had compassion on the strangers within their gates.

  So the days went by, and we drove the shaft forward, propping it with timbers as we went.

  We had laboured for more than a week, before we went out to see how the thieves were faring. We were all impatient to know what things were happening in the enemy’s camp, but, as Mansel said at the time, we knew far better than they that for the moment the treasure was out of their reach, and to gratify pure curiosity at the expense of our work would have been the way of a schoolgirl. “All the same,” he continued, “we mustn’t behave as though they had thrown in their hand; and, when they’ve had time to find out that they are no match for the springs and that without assistance they will not lower the water as far as the shaft, that will be the moment at which to begin to watch. If you must know what another is going to do, when he will not tell you and your chances of observation are limited, the best of all ways to find out is to try to assume his outlook and to put yourself in his place. Very well. I may be wrong, but I think, when they’re sick of bailing, they’ll purchase a pump. And, when that proves useless, as it will, they’ll lift up their eyes to the fact that help they must have. They won’t like the look of that fact, and they’ll waste quite a lot of good time frying to find a way round; but at least they’ll accept. And that is why it behoves us to drive our tunnel as fast as ever we can.”

  On the evening of the tenth day, soon after the sun had set, Mansel and Carson and I went out to see what we could. Hanbury had been warned not to return before midnight, for we did not want our reconnaissance to delay or embarrass the relief.

  We swam up stream, keeping close to the cliff, each with his clothes and pistol tied up in a wrap of oiled silk and strapped to the back of his head. Soon the cliff gave way to the steep slope of the woods; and at once Mansel, who was leading, took hold of an overhanging bough and swung himself on to dry land and out of sight. Carson and I followed. An immediate observation of the road beyond the river showed that, so far as we could see, there was no one in sight.

  We judged that, by going straight up, we should come to the sentinel peak; and, so soon as we had put on our clothes, we began to climb up through the forest in single file.

  Either our judgement was at fault, or we bore too much to the left, for, after ten minutes’ walking, we saw the walls of the castle a bare thirty paces away. We, therefore, bent to the right and, using extreme caution, made our way under cover to the spot where I had met Bell on the night of the attack on the well.

  We were now at the edge of the meadow, and nearly as close to the well as, short of entering the open, a man could come.

  The light was fast failing, but as yet we could see well enough.

  The redoubt had been finished and now stood some six feet high about the well. I am sure it was loop-holed, but this did not appear; probably the loop-holes were covered, whilst they were out of use. Of this fastness a third part was roofed, with what I could not distinguish, but rafters had plainly been laid from the wall to the cupola of the well. There was, therefore, some shelter from the heaven; but I could not help thinking that our quarters, grim as they were, were a hundred times more secure and comfortable than this wretched abode, which was, indeed, no better than the byre from which it had sprung.

  There was a light burning behind the wall, and once or twice we heard voices; but we could see no movement without, and there was no sound of any labour.

  Then Mansel bade Carson and me stay where we were, and himself stole forward along the edge of the wood. He was gone some time, and, when he returned, it was dark. There was, he reported, no sentry that he could locate, nor any sign of the car, which he thought was probably aboard. “If I am right,” he added, “there are but three of them here, and to judge from the voices, all those are within the redoubt. We have, therefore, a chance of eavesdropping which may not occur again. And now do exactly as I do; lift up your feet well and mind your step.”

  With that, he began to step lightly over the grass, making straight for the covered portion of the redoubt; and, a moment later, we were standing beneath its wall, able distinctly to hear every word that was said.

  “Live an’ let live, Rose,” and Punter’s voice. “What’s the matter with the pump?”

  “That,” said Rose Noble, “is just what I want to know. If the pump’s going to shift the water, why didn’t Big Willie have a pump?”

  “Cause he didn’t have time to go an’ get one before we blew in.”

  “He’d a day and a half,” said Rose Noble. “And Big Willie’s not the — to dig a hole with his fingers, when he can have a spade.”

  “A nerror of judgement,” said Job. “That’s wot it was. They ’ad to choose between goin’ an’ getting a pump and ’aving a dart with their pails. Directly I see the water, I says, ‘Ere’s room for a pump.’ I know. I ’ad to watch one once.”

  “Watch one?” said Rose Noble, contemptuously. “What do you mean—‘Watch one’?”

  “‘Watch one,’” repeated Job. “They ’ave to be watched, of course. But they’ll deliver the goods. I tell you, we’ll empty this well in a couple of hours. Wait till you see the — a-buzzin’ away.”

  “My God,” said Rose Noble, brokenly. “He thinks it’s a motor-pump.” Punter let out a guffaw. “You — milkmaid, where would we get the power?

  Where’s the current to drive it? Where’s the plumbers and masons to set it up? I thought you seemed damned anxious to have a pump. Saw yourself ‘watching it,’ I suppose—with a bottle of Bass in your pocket and a fag in your face.”

  “But—”

  “It’s going to be worked by hand, Job,” continued his relentless comforter. “Your hand. You will have to work very hard, pushing a bar to and fro. I think it probable that you will sweat. Yes, I thought that’d daze you, you lazy skunk. There’s a million down in that well, but, rather than work for a week, you’ll let it lie.”

  “Lazy?” screeched Job. “L
azy? Look at my — hands.”

  “Oh, I reckon they’re dirty,” said Rose Noble. “You haven’t drawn enough water to rinse them clean.” The other’s protest he scorched with a terrible oath. “Oh, if I’d ‘Holy’ Gordon and two of his lads! They didn’t care where they slept, whiles the job was raw. They’d ’ve shifted a — river, if it was keeping gold.” He expired violently. “Are you certain sure there’s no one in the house?”

  “Certain sure,” said Punter. “And every mark’s as it was. There’s no one been through that courtyard for more than a week.”

  “Then, what’s their game?” said Rose Noble, half to himself.

  “You can search me,” said Punter. “I’ve dreamed about it o’ nights.”

  “One thing’s plain,” said the other. “They’re banking upon our failure to lick those springs.”

  “An’ I don’t blame them,” muttered Job. “I’d back the — myself.”

  Punter disregarded the gloss.

  “An’, when we’ve chucked in our hand, they’re comin’ back.”

  “That’s too easy,” said Rose Noble. “Besides, they’re a heap too careful to swallow a risk like that. Big Willie’s got his feet up. But I’d give a bag of money to know his game.”

  “Rose,” said Punter, “they’re waitin’. What else can they do? They didn’t half like that bomb. So they gave us the well. But they’re watchin’ an’ prayin’ all right, and, as soon as the pump starts suckin’, they’ll show a leg.”

  “Maybe they will,” said Rose Noble. “But don’t tell me they’re sitting still. I’ve seen these Willies before, and they’re not that shape. I’d swear they were digging, but where’s their — shaft?”

  “Diggin’,” said Job. “My Gawd.”

  “Where’s the use?” said Punter. “Say they’ve drove a tunnel as far as the well: you’d want half Lancashire to do it, but say they have. Well, who’s going to pull out a brick? There’s nothin’ the matter with the treasure, but fifty tons of water waitin’ the other side. Talk about a dam burstin’. You don’t have to be an engineer to—”

  "There’s a snag somewhere,” said Rose Noble. “I Can feel it in my bones. They’re moving; I’ll swear they’re moving; and I think they’re underground. What did they want with the well that afternoon?”

  “They wanted the buckets,” said Punter.

  “No they didn’t,” said Rose Noble. “If that was all they were after, why wouldn’t young Willie speak? If you want my opinion, those buckets are down in the well. When Mansel had got what he wanted, he just looked around to see what mess he could make; and the buckets came first.”

  “You don’t say?” said Punter. And then, “The dirty dog.”

  I was aghast at the man’s perspicacity, but Mansel, beside me, began to shake with laughter.

  “The point is,” said Rose Noble, “what did Big Willie want?”

  No one vouchsafed any answer, and, after a pause, he continued, weighing his words.

  “That pup was too blasted glib with his answers about the well. He wasn’t lying, but he talked like a — guide. Why? I’ll give you two answers, and you can take your choice. Either he was giving us a line which they had found N.B.G.; or else he left out of his budget some one essential fact.” He hesitated there for a moment. Then he went slowly on, speaking as though to himself. “‘A chamber,’ he called it: and then, ‘a recess in the wall’.”

  “That’s right,” said Punter. “You bet it’s a sort of a cell, with a gratin’ to keep the bags from washin’ away.”

  “Much more likely walled up,” the other replied. “No point in wet gold, if you can have it dry. And there s where I’m bogged,” he added violently. “There’s something below they know of that we can’t guess. By — if I knew where they were.”

  “Might help, might not,” said Punter.

  “‘Might’?” sneered Rose Noble. “‘Might’?” I could hear him suck in his breath. “Any one of the six would do; Little Willie, for choice. I shouldn’t lose him twice. And I guess he’d see the point of putting us wise. A man mayn’t value his life, but he’s always devilish sticky about parting with one of his skins.”

  With his words came the chink of glass, and some liquid was poured.

  “Seein’s better than believin,’” said Punter. “Here’s to the — pump.”

  I suppose that toast was honoured, and, after a moment, somebody rose to his feet.

  “You two stay here,” said Rose Noble. “I’m going out for a stroll.”

  Had I been alone, I should have run for cover, and, as like as not, had a bullet in my back for my pains. But Mansel stood fast. By his instant direction, Carson and I lay down while he set his back to the wall, sank his chin on his chest—to hide, as he afterwards told me, the white of his face—and folded his arms.

  It seemed an age before Rose Noble passed by, for he went very slowly, as a man in his enemy’s camp, and every four or five paces he stood where he was, still as a graven image, using his eyes and ears. Indeed, I shall always believe that the fellow’s instinct had told him that we were at hand, for I never saw demeanour so suspicious, and I think that, but for the light of the lamp with which he had just been sitting, which had taken the edge from his vision, he must have perceived Mansel, for he certainly looked straight at him for two or three seconds at a time.

  At last, however, the darkness swallowed him up, and Mansel lifted his head. For a moment he stood peering; then he signed to me to lie still and began to steal, like a shadow, the way the other had gone. I was taken aback at his movement, for, armed though he was, to go after the monster alone seemed out of reason. And, when I remembered the humour Rose Noble was in, I broke into a sweat.

  It was not Mansel’s way to shoot a man in the back, and, since I made sure he was gone to kill Rose Noble, I lay awaiting his challenge with my heart in my mouth. But, after four or five minutes, to my surprise and relief, Mansel emerged from the shadows, as silently as he had gone, and whispered to Carson and me to get to our feet. Then he drew our heads together and spoke in our ears.

  “Rose Noble has gone to the castle; while he’s out of the way, I’m going to satisfy Punter that we’re playing a waiting game. Carson will stay here and watch.

  If Rose Noble returns, shoot him. If he doesn’t, the moment I say ‘Good night,’ make straight for the sentinel peak. Chandos, you come with me and do as I say.”

  With that, he walked round the redoubt, with me at his heels. A gap in the wall to the South served as a narrow doorway and suffered the gutter to pass, and, after a careful survey Mansel stepped lightly within.

  “Good evening,” he said. “Put up your hands, please. And, above all, make no sound.”

  The prohibition was needless, for Punter and Job were so much dumbfounded that neither of them, I am sure, could have cried out to save his life. Indeed, they sat like two wax-works, staring upon Mansel as though he were an apparition, with their jaws fallen and their eyes bulging out of their heads. Both were unshaven, and Punter was in his socks: a sorry pair of boots was standing on the rim of the well. The covered portion of the fastness was directly opposed to the doorway—above which hung a canvas blind, now hitched to one side—on the farther side of the well; and, since the two were there seated with their backs to the wall, Mansel had stepped to one side to have them in better view.

  “Put up your hands,” he repeated.

  The two obeyed.

  Something between them and Mansel stirred in its sleep: and I saw that this was the innkeeper, stretched on the bare ground and tied, like a dog, to one of the pillars of the well. “I’m sorry to intrude,” said Mansel, “but I’ve come all the way from Vichy, and to make such a journey for nothing is not my way. The really annoying thing is I’ve forgotten my measuring-line; but I dare say you can lend me some cord. William, there’s a coil on your left. Just make it fast to that crowbar, and take the depth.”

  I instantly fell to work, and a moment later the crowbar was descending the
well. While I was thus engaged. Mansel continued to talk.

  “You see,” said he, “though I don’t suppose you know it, these springs are intermittent. It’s a well-known thing in Natural History, an intermittent spring. It ebbs and flows, you know, rather like the tides of the sea. Well, we have them on the ebb; and, if you’d got down to it that night you’d have had the treasure. I confess I was rather anxious, but when I took the depth the next day, while you were down in the combe, to my intense relief I found that the flood had begun. Now I shouldn’t tell you all this if the information would do you the slightest good. But it won’t: and I’ll tell you why. Because you don’t know when to expect the ebb. That’s "'here the well-digger’s statement is so valuable. Of course you can find out—by the process of—er—exhaustion.”

  Here I touched bottom and began to pull up the bar.

  When it’ s up,” said Mansel to me, “extend your arms and measure from tip to tip. You’re just six feet aren’t you?”

  I nodded, and he returned to Punter and Job.

  “Of course, to get up against Nature is no end of a job. There’s a proverb you probably know, which is rather in point. “You can drive Nature out with a pitchfork, but she’ll always come back.” I know you’re not using a pitchfork: you’re using a bucket instead. But, pitchfork or bucket, as you see, the result is the same. She always comes back.”

  The cheerful tone in which Mansel delivered this dismal homily and the unpleasantly obvious pertinence of his remarks had their effect: for Punter looked ready to burst with mortification, and Job was regarding his second comforter with the fishy stare of one who perceives his fortune to be almost too repugnant to be true. Indeed, I had much ado to keep a straight face and I dared not look at Mansel, for, if our eyes had met, I am sure the humour of the case would have been too much for us. I, therefore, busied myself with measuring roughly as much of the cord as was wet, and presently reported my finding of fifty-four feet.