Beaumaroy Home from the Wars

by Anthony Hope

  CHAPTER XI

  THE CAR BEHIND THE TREES

  Mr. Percy Bennett, that gentlemanly stranger, was an enemy to delay;both constitutionally and owing to experience, averse from dallying withfortune; to him a bird in his hand was worth a whole aviary on hisneighbour's unrifled premises. He thought that Beaumaroy might levantwith the treasure; at any moment that unwelcome, though not unfamiliar,tap on the shoulder, with the words (gratifying under quite othercircumstances and from quite different lips) "I want you," mightincapacitate him from prosecuting his enterprise (he expressed this ideain more homely idiom--less Latinized was his language, metaphoricalindeed, yet terse); finally he had that healthy distrust of hisaccomplices which is essential to success in a career of crime; hethought that Sergeant Hooper might not deliver the goods!

  Sergeant Hooper demurred; he deprecated inconsiderate haste; let theopportunity be chosen. He had served under Mr. Beaumaroy in France, and(whatever faults Major-General Punnit might find with that officer)preferred that he should be off the premises at the moment when Mr.Bennett and he himself made unauthorized entry thereon. "He's a hot 'unin a scrap," said the Sergeant, sitting in a public-house at Sprotsfieldon Boxing Day evening, Mr. Bennett and sundry other excursionists fromLondon being present.

  "My chauffeur will settle him," said Mr. Bennett. It may seem odd thatMr. Bennett should have a chauffeur; but he had--or proposed tohave--_pro hac vice_--or _ad hoc_; for this particular job in fact.Without a car that stuff at Tower Cottage--somewhere at TowerCottage--would be difficult to shift.

  The Sergeant demurred still, by no means for the sake of savingBeaumaroy's skin, but still purely for the reason already given; yet headmitted that he could not name any date on which he could guaranteeBeaumaroy's absence from Tower Cottage. "He never leaves the oldblighter alone later than eleven o'clock or so, and rarely as late asthat."

  "Then any night's about the same," said gentleman Bennett; "and now forthe scheme dear N.C.O.!"

  Sergeant Hooper despaired of the doors. The house-door might possiblybe negotiated, though at the probable cost of arousing the notice ofBeaumaroy--and the old blighter himself. But the door from the parlourinto the Tower offered insuperable difficulties. It was always locked;the lock was intricate; he had never so much as seen the key at closequarters and, even had opportunity offered, was quite unpractised in theart of taking impressions of locks--a thing not done with accuracy quiteso easily as seems sometimes to be assumed.

  "For my own part," said Mr. Bennett with a nod, "I've always inclined tothe window. We can negotiate that without any noise to speak of, and itoughtn't to take us more than a few minutes. Just deal boards, I expect!Perhaps the old gentleman and your pal Beaumaroy" (the Sergeant spat)"will sleep right through it!"

  "If they ain't in the Tower itself," suggested the Sergeant gloomily.

  "Wherever they may be," said gentleman Bennett, with a touch ofirritability--he was himself a sanguine man and disliked a mind fertilein objections--"I suppose the stuff's in the Tower, isn't it?"

  "It goes in there, and I've never seen it come out, Mr. Bennett." Hereat least a tone of confidence rang in the Sergeant's voice.

  "But where in the Tower, Sergeant?"

  "'Ow should I know? I've never been in the blooming place."

  "It's really rather a queer business," observed Mr. Bennett, allowinghimself, for a moment, an outside and critical consideration of thematter.

  "Damned," said the Sergeant briefly.

  "But, once inside, we're bound to find it! Then--with the car--it's inLondon in forty minutes, and in ten more it's--where it's going to be;where that is needn't worry you, my dear Sergeant."

  "What if we're seen from the road?" urged the pessimistic Sergeant.

  "There's never a job about which you can't put those questions. What ifLudendorff had known just what Foch was going to do, Sergeant? At anyrate anybody who sees us is two miles either way from a policestation--and may be a lot farther if he tries to interfere with us! It'sa hundred to one against anybody being on the road at that time ofnight; we'll pray for a dark night and dirty weather--which, so far asI've observed, you generally get in this beastly neighbourhood." Heleant forward and tapped the Sergeant on the shoulder. "Barringaccidents, let's say this day week; meanwhile, Neddy"--he smiled as heinterjected "Neddy is our chauffeur"--"Neddy and I will make our littleplan of attack."

  "Don't be too generous! Don't leave all the V.C. chances to me," theSergeant implored.

  "Neddy's a fair glutton for 'em! Difficulty is to keep him from murder!And he stands six foot four and weighs seventeen stone."

  "I'll back him up--from be'ind--company in support," grinned theSergeant, considerably comforted by this description of his coadjutor.

  "You'll occupy the station assigned to you, my man," said Mr. Bennett,with an admirable burlesque of the military manner. "The front iswherever a soldier is ordered to be--a fine saying of Lord Kitchener's!Remember it, Sergeant!"

  "Yes, sir," said the Sergeant, grinning still.

  He found Mr. Bennett on the whole amusing company, though occasionallyrather alarming; for instance, there seemed to him to be no particularreason for dragging in Neddy's predilection for murder; though, ofcourse, a man of his inches and weight might commit murder through sometrifling and pardonable miscalculation of force. "Same as if thatCaptain Naylor hit you!" the Sergeant reflected, as he finished theample portion of rum with which the conversation had been lightened. Hefelt pleasantly muzzy, and saw Mr. Bennett's clean-cut features ratherblurred in outline. However the sandy wig and red moustache which thatgentleman wore--in his character as a Boxing Day excursionist--werestill salient features even to his eyes. Anybody in the room would havebeen able to swear to them.

  Thus the date of the attack was settled and, if only it had been adheredto, things might have fallen out differently between Doctor Mary and Mr.Beaumaroy. Events would probably have relieved Mary from the necessityof presenting her ultimatum, and she might never have heard thatilluminating word "Morocco." But big Neddy the Shover--as his intimatefriends were wont to call him--was a man of pleasure as well as ofbusiness; he was not a bloke in an office; he liked an ample Christmasvacation and was now taking one with a party of friends at Brighton--alltip-toppers, who did the thing in style and spent their money (which wasnot their money) lavishly. From the attractions of this company--notcomposed of gentlemen only--Neddy refused to be separated. Mr. Bennett,who was on thorns at the delay, could take it or leave it at that; inany case the job was, in Neddy's opinion (which he expressed with thatmassive but good-humoured scorn which is an appanage of very large men),a leap in the dark, a pig in a poke, blind hookey; for who really knewhow much of the stuff the old blighter and his pal had contrived toshift down to the cottage in the old brown bag? Sometimes it lookedlight, sometimes it looked heavy; sometimes perhaps it was full ofbricks!

  In this mood Neddy had to be humoured, even though gentlemanly Mr.Bennett sat on thorns. The Sergeant repined less at the delay; he likedthe pickings which the job brought him much better than the job itself,standing in wholesome dread of Beaumaroy. It was rather with resignationthan with joy that he received from Mr. Bennett the news that Neddy hadat last named the day that would suit his High Mightiness--Tuesday the7th of January it was, and, as it chanced, the very day before Beaumaroywas to start for Morocco! More accurately, the attack would be deliveredon the actual day of his departure--if he went. For it was timed for oneo'clock in the morning, an hour at which the road across the heath mightreasonably be expected to be clear of traffic. This was an especiallyimportant point, in view of the fact that the window of the Tower facedtowards the road and was but four or five yards distant from it.

  After a jovial dinner--rather too jovial in Mr. Bennett's opinion, butthat was Neddy's only fault, he would mix pleasure with business--thetwo set out in an Overland car. Mr. Bennett--whom, by the way, his bigfriend Neddy called "Mike," and not "Percy," as might have beenexpected--assumed his sandy wig and red moustache
as soon as they werewell started; Neddy scorned disguise for the moment, but he had a maskin his pocket. He also had a very nasty little club in the same pocket,whereas Mr. Bennett carried no weapon of offence--merely the tools ofhis trade, at which he was singularly expert. The friends had workedtogether before; though Neddy reviled Mike for a coward, and Mikeaverred, with curses, that Neddy would bring them both to the gallowssome day, yet they worked well together and had a respect for oneanother, each allowing for the other's idiosyncrasies. The true spiritof partnership! On it alone can lasting and honourable success be built.

  "Just match-boarding, the Sergeant says it is, does he?" asked Neddy,breaking a long silence, which indeed had lasted until they were acrossPutney Bridge and climbing the hill.

  "Yes, and rotten at that. It oughtn't to take two minutes; then there'llbe only the window. Of course we must have a look round first. Then, ifthe coast's clear, I'll nip in and shove something up against the doorof the place while you're following. The Sergeant's to stay on guard atthe door of the house, so that we can't be taken in the rear. See?"

  "Righto!"

  "Then--well, we've got to find the stuff, and when we've found it,you've got to carry it, Neddy. Don't mind if it's a bit heavy, do you?"

  "I don't want to overstrain myself," said Neddy jocularly, "but I'll domy best with it--only hope it's there!"

  "It must be there. Hasn't got wings, has it? At any rate, not till youput it in your pocket, and go out for an evening with the ladies!"

  Neddy paid this pleasantry the tribute of a laugh, but he had one morebusiness question to ask:

  "Where are we to stow the car? How far off?"

  "The Sergeant has picked out a big clump of trees, a hundred yards fromthe cottage on the Sprotsfield side, and about thirty yards from theroad. Pretty clear going to it, bar the bracken--she'll do it easily.There she'll lie, snug as you like. As we go by Sprotsfield, the carwon't have to pass the cottage at all--that's an advantage--and yet it'snot over far to carry the stuff."

  "Sounds all right," said Neddy placidly, and with a yawn. "Have a drop?"

  "No, I won't--and I wish you wouldn't, Neddy. It makes you bad-tempered,and a man doesn't want to be bad-tempered on these jobs."

  "Take the wheel a second while I have a drop," said Neddy, just for allthe world as if his friend had not spoken. He unscrewed the top of alarge flask and took a very considerable "drop." It was only after hehad done this with great deliberation that he observed good-naturedly,"And you go to hell, Mike! It's dark, ain't it? That's a bit of allright."

  He did not speak again till they were near Sprotsfield. "ThisBeaumaroy--queer name, ain't it?--he's a big chap, ain't he, Mike?"

  "Pretty fair; but, Lord love you, a baby beside yourself."

  "Well, now, you told me something the Sergeant said about a man as was"(Neddy, unlike his friend, occasionally tripped in his English) "reallybig."

  "Oh, that's Naylor--Captain Naylor. But he's not at the cottage; we'renot likely to meet him, praise be!"

  "Rather wish we were! I want a little bit of exercise," said Neddy.

  "Well, I don't know but what Beaumaroy might give you that. TheSergeant's got tales about him at the war."

  "Oh, blast these soldiers--they ain't no good." In what he himselfregarded as his spare hours, that is to say, the daytime hours whereinthe ordinary man labours, Neddy was a highly skilled craftsman, whoseonly failing was a tendency to be late in the morning and to fall illabout the festive seasons of the year. He made lenses, and, in spite ofthe failing, his work had been deemed to be of National Importance, asindeed it was. But that did not excuse his prejudice against soldiers.

  They passed through the outskirts of Sprotsfield; Mike--to use his morefamiliar name--had made a thorough exploration of the place, and hisdirections enabled his chauffeur to avoid the central and populous partsof the town. Then they came out on to the open heath, passed Old Place,and presently--about half a mile from Tower Cottage--found SergeantHooper waiting for them by the roadside. It was then hard on midnight--adark cloudy night, very apt for their purpose. With a nod, but without aword, the Sergeant got into the car, and in cautious whispers directedits course to the shelter of the clump of trees; they reached it after afew hundred yards of smooth road and some thirty of bumping over theheath. It afforded a perfect screen from the road, and on the other sidethere was only untrodden heath, no path or track being visible near it.

  Neddy got out of the car, but he did not forget his faithful flask. Heoffered it to the Sergeant in token of approval. "Good place, Sergeant,"he said; "does credit to you, as a beginner. Here, mate, hold on,though. It's evident you ain't accustomed to liqueur glasses!"

  "When I sits up so late, I gets a kind of a sinking," the Sergeantexplained apologetically.

  Mike flashed a torch on him for a minute; there was a very uncomfortablelook in his little squinty eyes. "Sergeant," he said suavely butgravely, "my friend here relies on you. He's not a safe man todisappoint." He shifted the light suddenly on to Neddy, whoseproportions seemed to loom out prodigious from the surrounding darkness."Are you, Neddy?"

  "No, I'm a sensitive chap, I am," said Neddy, smiling. "Don't you go andhurt my pride in you by any sign of weakness, Sergeant."

  The Sergeant shivered a little. "I'm game--I'll stick it," he protestedvalorously.

  "You'd better!" Neddy advised.

  "All quiet at the cottage as you came by?" asked Mike.

  "Quiet as the grave, for what I see," the Sergeant answered.

  "All right. Mike, where are them sandwiches? I feel like a bite. One forthe Sergeant too! But no more flask--no, you don't, Sergeant! When'll westart, Mike?"

  "In about half an hour."

  "Just nice time for a snack--oysters and stout for you, my darling?"said jovial Neddy. Then--with a change of voice--"Just as well thatdidn't pass us!"

  For the sound of a car came from the road they had just left. It wasgoing in the direction of the cottage and of Inkston. Captain Alec wastaking his betrothed home after a joyful evening of congratulation andwelcome.