“It was horrible,” said Tom, staring at him with wide eyes. “To shoot him like a dog —”
“He’s worse than any dog,” Farquhar replied. “He’s worse than any wild beast … you would shoot a wolf … I knew him well … I’d worked with him … He had a black heart.”
Miss May Hervey was still sitting at the piano, she had covered her eyes with both hands. Maisie had run to the window and was gazing out.
“It’s terribly dark,” she said.
At this moment there were two shots, they sounded very loud in the stillness of the night.
Farquhar and Tom leapt out of the window and ran down the garden.
“John, John,” cried Maisie, in agonized tones.
Sir Richard thought she was going out after him, he caught her by the arm.
“You can do nothing, Maisie,” he said gently. “I want you here.”
They leaned out of the window listening, there were three more shots in rapid succession. They could hear somebody shouting.
“Fenemore may have reached the gates in time,” Sir Richard said. “He went through the woods by the short cut. It’s the only hope.”
“He must have reached the gates,” Maisie said sensibly, “or they wouldn’t be firing. Oh dear, I wish it wasn’t so dark!”
Fuller Brown was still lying on the floor with a ghastly black hole in his temple. Sir Richard left him there and shepherded the four women into the library.
When Jane found herself in Haviland’s power, being marched across the hall with his fingers gripping her arm, she knew a moment of sheer panic. There was something terrifying about the man, his huge bulk, his oily manner, the horrible way he smiled. He had frightened her before, when he had spoken to her on the airliner, and he was much more alarming now. But Jane realised that it was no use being frightened of the man, she must pull herself together. All was not yet lost. If only Iris would help her they might escape from his clutches.
Jane glanced at Iris and saw that there was no hope of help from her. She was far more frightened of Haviland than Jane was, and, perhaps, with better reason. Iris was like a rabbit in the power of a snake, she could make no effort to free herself, she could only go where he led her, pale and trembling.
I must do something, Jane thought, as they crossed the hall. Haviland’s hands were both engaged, he had put his revolver in his pocket. Jane felt it rubbing against her side.
Haviland was not worrying much about his prisoners, he gripped their arms firmly and marched them along. He did not expect trouble from them, he thought they were too frightened; so he was completely taken by surprise when Jane suddenly turned towards him, and ducked under his arm. His grip loosened, and he staggered backwards on the slippery floor. Jane made the most of her advantage, she seized the revolver out of his pocket and dodged behind a chair.
“Now,” she said, trying to speak as firmly as she could. “Hands up, or I shall fire.”
Haviland’s brain worked slowly. He put up one hand, but continued to hold Iris with the other.
“Let go of Miss Bright,” said Jane.
He looked at Jane and wondered if he could risk it — would she fire or not? He didn’t think she would, but, on the other hand, it would be very unfortunate if she did.
“If I let go of Miss Bright she will fall on the floor,” he complained, trying to reason with this amazing woman.
“Never mind that,” replied Jane. “Let go of her at once.”
For a moment Haviland thought he was beaten, and then he saw what he could do. He seized Iris in his arms using her body as a shield and ran for the door. Jane was afraid to fire in case of hitting Iris. She ran after him across the hall.
Haviland slammed the door in her face, he threw Iris into the car which was waiting at the bottom of the steps and drove off. He had got Iris, that was all that mattered. If Fuller Brown wanted that mad cat he could come back and fetch her himself. Haviland preferred women who were easily cowed, he did not admire Brown’s taste.
Half-way down the drive he stopped to wait for Fuller Brown as arranged. He waited for a few moments and then he heard a shot — it seemed to come from the house — that was queer. Had Brown shot somebody, or had somebody shot Brown? He thought about it, and decided not to wait, something must have gone wrong. What did it matter anyway, Fuller Brown was nothing to him, Fuller Brown could go hang for all he cared. He started off again down the drive.
All this had taken time, valuable time. When he reached the gates he saw Fenemore dash out from the shrubbery and start to close them. He cursed Jane for taking his revolver — it would have been child’s play to shoot Fenemore with the headlights blazing on him — but he was unarmed and helpless. He stopped the car, seized the fainting Iris and dashed into the bushes which lined the drive.
Fenemore saw him and fired, but he was dazzled by the glare of the headlights, and the bullet went wide. He fired again, with the same result. By this time Haviland had disappeared into the bushes. Fenemore dashed after him. It was very dark, and a trifle misty, the moon was hidden behind a thick bank of clouds. Fenemore beat through the bushes with something approaching desperation in his heart. His breath was coming in heavy gasps after his terrific race to the gate. Where on earth had the man gone? Fenemore stood still a moment and listened. He tried to locate the crashing sound made by Haviland as he trampled through the undergrowth, but it was extraordinarily difficult to locate. First he thought it came from one direction, and then from another. He beat backwards and forwards in the bushes — branches whipped him in the face, brambles tore at his legs. As he searched he wondered what had happened to the other girl, Haviland only had one of them now. Fenemore had seen him fling the limp form over his massive shoulders when he got out of the car, but it had been too dark to see which of them it was. He found himself hoping that Jane had escaped … that was strange because he hated Jane …
Fenemore fired off three more shots hoping to direct the others to the spot. Where on earth had they all got to? Where was Maule? Perhaps he had made for the other gate. Where was Day? He began shouting. “Tom, where are you? Tom!” After a few minutes he heard Tom Day’s voice answering him, and called to him to watch the road. It seemed likely that Haviland would make for the road if he could find his way to it in the dark.
This is awful, he thought, wiping his dripping face with his handkerchief. If Haviland escapes he will bring the rest of the gang. He stood still again and listened: — he thought he heard stealthy steps moving through the bushes towards the road …
Meanwhile Jane was running down the drive with Haviland’s revolver clasped tightly in her hand. She was not frightened now, she was furiously angry. Her arm was still sore from the rough way that Haviland had held it.
“The beast,” said Jane aloud. “The beast! Why didn’t I shoot him when I had the chance?”
Jane found a strange car in the drive, and the gates closed. She concluded that somebody had got there in time. Reassuring thought. A tall form loomed up at her out of the darkness, she almost shot at it, and then she saw that it was Maule.
“Miss Forrest! Thank goodness you’re safe,” he exclaimed. “Where’s Iris?”
Jane said she did not know. She left Maule standing in the drive and went out on to the road. Tom Day was there, trying to peer down the road into the darkness.
“David told me to come here,” he said. “But I haven’t got a revolver —”
“Take this one,” said Jane. “It will be more use to you.” She pressed Haviland’s revolver into his hands, his fingers closed over it eagerly.
“Don’t let him escape,” Jane cried.
“Not if I can help it,” he replied grimly.
Jane clutched his arm. “Listen,” she whispered.
They listened. There was a rustling in the hedge. Two shadowy forms leaped down the bank into the road. Tom fired twice, the first shot was wide, but the second found a mark. One of the shadows fell in a heap on the road and the other ran off and disappeared into
the woods. It was so dark that it was impossible to see what had happened. Tom was doubtful whom he had shot, he went forward anxiously.
“Good God, it’s David!” he exclaimed aghast.
“It’s all right,” Fenemore said, sitting up in the road, “you got me in the arm. It’s nothing, Tom. Go after Haviland — Iris is somewhere in the wood, he threw her down when he found me at his heels.”
“But, David —”
“Go after Haviland, you fool,” Fenemore cried. “He mustn’t escape —”
Tom went, somewhat reluctantly, and Jane knelt down and tried to feel where David was wounded.
“Tie something tight round here,” he said, in a faint voice. “It’s bleeding a good bit — take my handkerchief.”
She took his handkerchief and tied it round his arm, the warm blood spurted over her fingers.
“Oh, David!” she said, almost weeping.
“It’s all right, just a flesh wound,” he reassured her. He showed her how to tighten the bandage with a piece of stick twisted through the handkerchief.
After a few minutes the others appeared, Maule had found Iris in the wood. She was as white as a ghost, and trembling all over, but apparently unhurt. Jane explained what had happened.
“If that man escapes —” Farquhar said anxiously.
“Go after him —” said Jane. “Beat the woods — I’ll take Iris and Captain Fenemore back to the house.”
CHAPTER
SIX
“If Only We Had a
Doctor!”
It was a depressed and scared little party that met in the dining-room that night and partook of tinned milk and biscuits, or whisky and soda — according to sex and taste. The party consisted of Jane and Maisie, Tom Day, Farquhar and Maule (the others had gone to bed).
“What a fool I was!” said Tom, for perhaps the twentieth time since the accident.
“You couldn’t help it,” Jane replied. “Don’t think about it any more. He seems quite comfortable now, I’ve given him some aspirin —”
“We ought to clear out of here,” said Farquhar, looking at Maisie anxiously. “Haviland will come back.”
“How can we?” objected Tom. “It would be madness to move David in his present condition, and Iris is all out too — and no wonder. She needs rest and complete quiet. We can’t possibly move from here till they’re both better.”
“You and Maisie better sleep here,” said Maule, turning to Farquhar. “Better be all together.”
“And I’ll sit up with Captain Fenemore,” added Maisie.
Jane agreed to this, she had dressed David’s arm as best she could, and found him polite and grateful, but she felt that it would be an ordeal to sit up all night with him in their condition of strained relations. Besides this, she was very tired, her terrifying experiences were telling upon her now. She said good night and went upstairs to bed.
Miss May was in Jane’s room, arranging the curtains. She looked round and smiled at Jane.
“Sir Richard asked me to go all round the house and see that no lights are shining out,” she said importantly. “He thinks it was Mr. Farquhar’s bonfire that showed those men where we were. And lights at night are just as bad as bonfires by day.” She drew the curtain forward and back, and pursed up her lips. “I shall let the band out tomorrow so that it overlaps better. You know, dear, when I went round the house this evening drawing all the curtains so carefully and leaving no gaps it reminded me of something. I said to myself, “You’ve done this before,” — and then I remembered what it was. You’re too young to remember the Great War, of course, but I was ten when it stopped, and I still remember a lot about it, and one of the things I remembered is about the curtains — I didn’t know that I remembered until I began pulling them. It was because of the Zepps, you know, dear.” Jane made interested noises. “Yes,” continued Miss May, “I remember I used to go round every night with Mother and watch her pulling the curtains, and one night when she had a bad headache I did it alone. It’s a long time ago, my dear,” added Miss May a trifle sadly.
Jane did not speak, she thought there was more coming.
“I wish I was younger,” Miss May said, “I’m too old for this sort of thing — sixty-five this year — it’s lonely to be old, and I’m no use to anybody, just a burden —”
Jane said, “You’re not a burden, we need you frightfully,” and meant it. There was a peacefulness about Miss May which was comforting and reassuring in the midst of terrors. Everybody else was struggling to get what he or she wanted, Miss May was past all that. She had passed through the storms and the struggles of life long ago, she was like a rock amongst the turbulent waves, peaceful and immovable as a rock. They had been selfish about Miss May, Jane thought. They had taken what they wanted from her and given nothing — or very little — in return. She craved for love and kindness, but she was too sensible to ask for it.
Jane put her arms round the fat little person and kissed her. “We couldn’t do without you,” she said. “You’re so safe and comforting — Oh, God, I wish I were old!”
They clung together for a moment, and then Miss May disengaged herself gently, and smoothed her hair.
“You’d be just as frightened if you were old,” said Miss May practically, “and have much less fun. If I were young I should take this chance in both hands. And now you had better go to bed, dear. You’ve had such a tiring day.”
Jane was comforted and calmed — after all, things might have been a lot worse. It was no good worrying about what might happen — they had endured so much, and had always managed to pull through. Haviland might never come back. David might be better in the morning. Jane went to bed and slept remarkably well.
David Fenemore improved rapidly, his arm healed well, he was young and fit, an excellent subject for a bullet wound. Jane dressed his arm night and morning, but she left the actual nursing of him to Maisie. She thought that her presence in his room disturbed him; he followed her about the room with his eyes.
It was very unfortunate that they had no doctor or nurse amongst their party, but David seemed to know a good deal about medical matters himself; he showed Jane how to bandage the wound and prescribed medicine for himself. Jane very nearly remarked upon his knowledge, but decided not to. He was polite and grateful to her, but there was a feeling of constraint between them which was exceedingly uncomfortable.
Maisie told her that he lay for long hours gazing out of the window — he had asked for his bed to be moved so that he could see out. Once the pain and fever had subsided he looked very young and boyish with his ruffled hair and his pale face. A little boy in bed, Jane thought as she came in one morning and found him alone. She felt she would like to smooth his ruffled hair with her hand, but she did not do it, of course.
“You’re looking better today,” she said, trying to control the strange flutterings of her heart, and to speak in a calm friendly tone.
“I’m much better,” he replied. “I am going to come down to dinner to-night. Will you sing after dinner, Jane?”
He had only called her Jane once before — that dreadful moment in the mess at the aerodrome rose before her eyes like a picture.
“We haven’t been having music,” she said faintly.
“I know — and I think it’s a pity.”
Jane did not answer, and he watched her for a few minutes in silence while she prepared the new dressing for his arm.
“Will you be glad when you haven’t got that job to do?” he enquired boyishly.
“Very glad,” replied Jane, and added with a twinkle in her eye, “It will mean that your arm is well again, you see.”
“Some women like nursing,” pursued David.
“Well, I don’t,” Jane told him.
She was still busy with the dressing when there was a knock on the door and Sir Richard came in followed by Farquhar.
“Is your patient fit for a little chat?” Sir Richard enquired, smiling rather anxiously.
“Of course I
am, sir,” David said. “Has anything happened?”
“Nothing has — exactly — happened,” replied Sir Richard, “but Farquhar thinks there’s somebody about the place. He heard movements round his cottage last night — he thinks there’s somebody hiding in the garden —”
The four of them looked at each other in dismay.
“Haviland, I suppose,” David murmured.
“I suppose so,” agreed Sir Richard. “We decided not to say anything to the others. Iris is terrified of that man.”
“You’ll have to find him,” David said, “you can’t let it go on. He’s probably lurking about waiting for a chance to get hold of Iris —”
“Is he armed?” Sir Richard asked.
“Not unless he has got another revolver,” Jane said quickly. “I took his out of his pocket and gave it to Tom — of course, he may have got another somewhere.”
“You’ll have to risk it,” David said. “You’ll have to be careful. Good lord, what a nuisance it is that I’m laid up!”
“We thought you could help us to lay plans — plans to trap him,” Sir Richard said.
David lay and thought about it for a few minutes. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s so difficult when you’re not there yourself. I don’t see what you can do except go out and look for him. Keep together, of course. There’s Tom and Farquhar and Maule and Bunce — four of you —”
“And me,” Sir Richard said.
“Not you, sir. You’re too valuable to us.”
“Nonsense,” cried Sir Richard. “I shall most certainly go with them.”
They talked about it a little longer without finding any more feasible plan. Jane fetched Tom and Maule and Bunce and they joined in the conclave. Finally the five men fetched their revolvers and set forth upon their quest.
They walked down to the garden; Tom and Farquhar and Sir Richard in front, and the others following closely behind.
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