Death Beneath Jerusalem

by Roger Bax

  On balance, the latter alternative seemed to offer greater physical danger, but also less chance of a mistake, and Garve turned to his right along the wall. He felt greatly cheered at having attained his first objective without mishap, and began to make better progress. His immediate problem was easier now, for the hand-hold provided by the rough rock wall made it possible for him to walk upright and feel his way with his feet. Each step had still to be taken with very great caution, for at any moment there might be nothing to step on, but the physical effort was very much less than when he had been crawling.

  He had taken some twenty paces when his left hand, groping for the wall ahead, encountered nothing. He stopped and pondered. Somewhere along this wall should be the tunnel through which they had entered the central chamber. Perhaps this was it. First he groped his way cautiously round the corner of the rock and assured himself that it was really a turning and not just an irregularity. Then he dropped to his knees again and felt his way to the opposite corner. Yes, it was a passage all right, and he had safely negotiated it. As long as he could continue to make steady progress, however slow, he felt that the darkness would not worry him much more than it was doing. A major obstacle, turning his thoughts in again on his meagre hopes of life, might well drive him mad.

  Now even greater caution was required, for the precipice could not be very far ahead of him, though at what distance he did not know. The only safe assumption was that the next step was the perilous one. With that thought in his mind, Garve covered a further twenty paces. Then, while his out-flung hand found the rock as usual, his outstretched foot groped in vain for something solid. He had reached the precipice. He listened, and, far, far below he could hear water splashing.

  He drew back into safety and again considered his position. From the point he had reached, the edge of the precipice ran to his right until it met the cavern wall again. Near that point was the exit he was seeking. To get there he had to negotiate the whole length of the precipice. That crossing would be full of risks. If he clung to the very edge, with empty space on his immediate left the whole time, and the sound of that faraway stream coming almost from beneath him, he might be seized with vertigo and roll over the edge. It was hardly likely to be a straight line, the edge of this abyss, and there might be deep cracks running inwards to provide additional hazards. On the other hand, if he once left the precipice and attempted to take a parallel course inside the cavern he might well lose it altogether. In the end he decided that the safest course was to make a series of shallow loops, first away from the precipice and then back to it. In this way he would be moving most of the time on solid rock, and could always regain his bearings by keeping to the left till he reached the edge.

  The plan involved some loss of time, but otherwise it worked admirably. He was crawling again now, using his hands as before to feel his way. His loops varied considerably, and once he went so far into the cavern without realizing it that it seemed as though he had lost the edge for good. In sudden fright he turned so sharply that on that particular loop he felt that he must actually have lost ground. It was so easy to make a mistake—the slightest variation in the position of the body so altered the angle of movement that the wriggle of a shoulder might double the length of the loop.

  At the end of the tenth loop he returned, not to the precipice, but to a rock wall. Working his way along it to the left he came in a few feet to the edge. Somewhere on his right now, and not far away, if Hayson had spoken the truth, was the passage he wanted.

  Garve wondered suddenly why Hayson had told him of this exit. It had been unsought information, and seemed to mar the perfection of Hayson’s scheme. Garve could not believe that Hayson, who had thought every detail out with such care, would have been so casual in this respect. The only other conclusion was that Hayson had told him deliberately, either because the passage was not an exit at all, and would serve merely to fog him completely, or because it was a particularly dangerous passage. In any event, Garve had come too far now to retrace his steps without a trial of Hayson’s tunnel.

  At this point it seemed legitimate to use a match. Garve took from his pocket a few old fragments of paper, placed them carefully in a tiny heap and set a light to them. The yellow flame burned clearly if unsteadily, and Garve’s pulse leaped with the flames as he saw by their light an opening in the rock wall not three paces to his right, with no pitfall in the way. He watched his bonfire until the last piece of grey ash had ceased to glow and the cavern had become, if anything, darker than before. Quickly, before he had forgotten the direction, he strode to the tunnel. It was so narrow that he could touch both sides at once with his outstretched arms, and down one wall a trickle of water ran. He collected a handful and slaked his thirst. The passage wound in what seemed to be a double S bend, and then both walls ended abruptly in space.

  “The smaller chamber,” thought Garve. “All right so far.”

  At once his nostrils became aware of a very faint and subtle scent. It was so faint that, had he been passing hastily through with a torch he might never have noticed it, but his sense of smell was keener through the inaction of his eyes.

  The smaller chamber, Hayson had said. How much smaller, Garve had no idea, but he hoped sincerely that there was only one exit from it. In any case, only one course lay open to him—to work round the wall as before, until he came to an opening.

  Still proceeding with great caution, he. circled to his left. The shape seemed very irregular, and at one point he negotiated a jutting corner which turned back at an acute angle on the other side. He was just beginning to get worried lest he had turned into a wide tunnel by mistake when his outstretched hand touched something which was not rock. It was rough, and not so cold as the rock. With a feverish excitement which he tried his best to control Garve struck another of his precious matches. Before it flickered out he had seen enough to set his thoughts racing. The chamber was piled high with wooden boxes—and it was the familiar smell of wood sawdust and shavings that he had noticed. Garve ran his fingers along the box nearest to him. It was long, narrow, and not very deep.

  “Rifles,” he decided. He was not surprised to find the dump—only elated. By every reason of logic it had to be here. Not for anything else would the Arabs have cut that passage from Hezekiah’s Tunnel or left traces of their recent comings and goings.

  As his hand moved almost affectionately over the box an idea came to him like the flash of inspiration. Hastily groping round on the floor, he found a long lump of rock and weighed it in his hand. Yes, it would do! Using it as a hammer, he struck three blows on the end of the wooden box, which reverberated like the echoes of an explosion through the chamber. The wood split, and he felt the round barrel of the rifle. A few minutes’ work sufficed to drag the weapon from its box. As he had suspected, it was wrapped round and round in several layers of tissue paper, and all the metal parts were packed in grease.

  “Just as well Hayson hadn’t explored this chamber,” thought Garve. He was actually humming a little tune as he worked in the darkness. In ten minutes he had fashioned himself a flare. A foot long, two inches thick, and soaked in grease, it would burn for a considerable time. Standing well away from the dump, Garve struck a match and carefully applied it to the torch. It caught almost at once, and burned with a strong, smoky yellow light. Garve stuck it in a niche and set to work to break open some more boxes without a moment’s delay. In the flickering light he could see that he was really standing in the entrance of a separate chamber, which, from wall to wall, and floor to ceiling, was stacked with boxes. They were all shapes and sizes, and he was pretty sure that machine-guns, bombs, and perhaps even light artillery were concealed in the depths of this vast arsenal. There were enough weapons here to keep a civil war going for a month under Palestine conditions.

  Garve finished a fourth flare to his satisfaction, and pushed two of them down the inside of each trouser leg. Then he lifted the first torch from the niche and made his way, in comparative comfort, into the out
er chamber. It was, as Hayson had said, quite small, and there was only one exit on its farther side. Now that it was no longer necessary to grope every inch of the way, progress was rapid. Garve noted with satisfaction that the passage descended sharply, and was already beginning to congratulate himself on the miraculousness of his escape when he jerked to a halt on the very edge of a drop. The passage ended, not in a cul-de-sac, but in a chasm. His buoyant spirits sadly deflated, Garve peered over the edge. There was nothing at all to see, except that the drop was sheer. He pushed a rock over. It fell plumb to the bottom in about a second. Thirty feet of unclimbable rock separated him from freedom.

  This moment was the bitterest of the whole awful escapade. To be within sight of liberty and yet so utterly incarcerated! He knew now why Hayson had told him of this tunnel. Hayson had imagined him without a light. But for the accident which had given him a torch, he might easily have stumbled over this chasm without suspecting it was there. Even though he had discovered it, he would have been utterly powerless in the dark to negotiate it.

  But was he not powerless, even with a light? Garve considered the situation carefully. He knew with certainty that all those boxes and crates of ammunition had come this way. They could have been drawn up by rope without difficulty, but if, as he surmised, Arab terrorists were constantly using this part of the quarries it was hard to believe that they had relied on such an uncertain method of levitation, involving as it did the constant presence of a rope and pulley, and the assistance of several other people. From the top to the bottom of this quarry Garve had gained the impression that it was a well-used Arab thoroughfare, and he could not believe that it really ended so abruptly at this spot.

  His torch was burning low, and he lighted a second from it, sticking the first in a niche. By the double light he proceeded to make a thorough examination of his surroundings. Any thought of a descent over the edge was clearly out of the question. On his right the rock wall rose smooth and uncompromising. On the left—ah!

  On the left the torch revealed a ledge rising from the side of the tunnel, widening slightly above the chasm, and descending into the darkness on the other side. Garve was getting desperate, and longed above everything, and at whatever cost, to make an end of uncertainty. With the torch in his right hand he crawled up the ledge on his knees and over the peak, keeping his mind with an effort on the contours of the ledge rather than on the depths of the chasm.

  The ledge continued to descend, two feet in width, and surprisingly smooth. It was really easy, this descent, once given the torch.

  The ledge dropped to a tunnel again, a tunnel of the third level, and Garve stepped into it with the increasing certainty that he had put the worst behind him. He was right. A few paces on and he stood in the amphitheatre that he had entered on his previous visit from Hezekiah’s Tunnel. His flare made everything simple. Working round to the left he kept his hand against the wall, crossed the mouth of the passage, regained the wall, and discovered the smooth carvings which had so intrigued him before. The rest was child’s play. In a few minutes he was dropping down into Hezekiah’s Tunnel and climbing through the slimy stream to the Virgin’s Fountain. He was free!

  Free! A great exultation surged through him. Free to tell Esther that he loved her, free to save her from Hayson, free to make Hayson pay for his black treachery! Now that Garve had no longer to think of his own safety, a fierce anger shook him. Hayson had intended that he should lie and rot in that stone jail; he had planned it with merciless care to the last detail. An oversight, not a miracle, had saved Garve. Without a light—and a light far more lasting and substantial than matches could provide—he could never have found that last ledge or made his way along it had he found it. For Hayson it had been almost a certainty—and he had lost by a thousand to one chance.

  Garve looked at his watch and found that it was just short of midnight. The air was strong and bracing, and the stars had never seemed more beautiful. Even the frightful smell of the Kedron brook seemed homely.

  Garve sat on a boulder above the fountain and finished his whisky and sandwiches. He felt astonishingly fit—he would start to worry about the nervous reaction when it came. Then, though the hour was late, he set off without delay to have it out with Hayson.

  11. A Warning—and a Precaution

  As Garve approached Hayson’s house he saw that all its rooms were in complete darkness, while the Willoughbys’ home next door was still a blaze of light. It looked very much as though Hayson had returned straight to the Willoughbys. Garve decided to find out.

  As he walked noisily up the short drive the door opened and Esther herself looked anxiously out:

  “Philip,” she cried, and there was such overwhelming relief in her voice that Garve felt repaid for all that he had endured that night. “Philip, you’re safe! Oh, thank heaven. Do come in. Everyone will be so relieved.”

  “Quite like the prodigal’s return,” said Garve, not at all sure of his ground. “It’s a bit late for a social call, but I thought I might as well drop in.”

  “Might as well drop in!” cried Esther indignantly. “I like your casualness, after giving us all the fright of our lives. Why, we were expecting to have to sit up all night for news. You’d better come and give an account of yourself.”

  Garve followed her into the lounge with an apologetic glance at his muddy trouser bottoms and boots. Willoughby was there, and the faithful Jackson, and Baird from police headquarters. Directly they saw him they all jumped up with various expressions of thankfulness. Willoughby shook him by the hand paternally, Baird poured out a stiff whisky for him, and Jackson regarded him with the sort of benevolent censure which is usually meted out to an erring child. Questions poured in on him from all sides, but he brushed them aside.

  “Where’s Hayson?” he demanded abruptly.

  “No need to worry about him, my boy,” said Willoughby soothingly. “He’s quite safe. His knowledge of the quarries made it comparatively easy for him to get out. He’s taken a search party back to look for you. Baird has lent him a couple of police officers.”

  “A search party!” Suddenly Garve threw his head back and laughed immoderately.

  “Easy there, easy,” said Baird, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Here, have another drink. You’re all used up.” Obviously he thought that Garve was hysterical. “I expect you’re famished. What about a sandwich?”

  “Thanks,” said, Garve. “Forgive me for seeming a bit—confused.” He wolfed a couple of sandwiches. “I suppose I hadn’t quite expected this sort of reception. Please tell me everything.”

  “Tell you everything,” exclaimed Esther. “Why, we’re expecting you to tell us. All that’s happened at our end is that Hayson came rushing in soon after nine o’ clock in a terrible state of mind and said that you were lost in the quarries, and could he have some assistance.”

  “Was that all he said?”

  “He was too upset to talk much. He said that you had insisted on going on with only one torch, and that when that failed he had become separated from you looking for the bulb. He was frightfully concerned about you. He said it was a hundred to one that if you’d wandered away from the exact spot where he left you, nobody would ever be able to find you, and that you’d probably fall down a precipice. He gave us the impression that the chance of your getting out alive was pretty remote. We’ve been worrying ourselves sick.”

  “Too bad,” said Garve sympathetically. “Did he—er—blame me for the accident?”

  “He thought you’d been unnecessarily rash—and when we heard his story, so did we. I should say it’s you who need a nurse—not I. Every time you go out you get into some sort of trouble. It would almost have served you right if he’d left you in the quarries.”

  Garve started to laugh again helplessly. The irony of the situation was too rich. Of course, he might have expected this. It rounded off and perfected Hayson’s plan. Indeed, it was an essential part of it. If Hayson had simply come back and said nothing, and
then Garve had turned up, the task of explanation would have been extremely awkward. Hayson had had to cover himself against the odd chance, and he was doing it with supreme artistry. When eventually the search party returned to report failure, they would be full of admiration for Hayson’s tireless persistence. They would describe, with corroborative detail, how Hayson had insisted on exploring the most dangerous places himself, how he had led the way continuously, how he had become more and more depressed as their shouts drew no response. Garve could imagine just how it would happen. At no time would Hayson be running any risk—he knew the quarries so well, and he would take the policemen round and round and up and down, well away from the only place that mattered, until they were utterly confused and exhausted. Next day, no doubt, he would have insisted on going down again, until obliged to report in the end that there was no trace of his friend, who had undoubtedly perished over one of the many precipices. And every one would think he had behaved splendidly, and Esther would be touched by his devotion. Or alternatively, if, as was actually to happen, he returned and learned that Garve was alive and well, he would express his joy, and in everyone’s eyes Garve would be under an obligation to him.

  For the moment Garve realized that he was beaten. All along the line Hayson had been too clever for him. If he denounced the man now, nobody would believe him. They would demand evidence, and he could produce none. They would think he was the subject of delusions, and his reputation in Jerusalem would be ruined. Already, they obviously felt that he had treated Hayson inconsiderately, and that he had been insufficiently impressed by the speedy and selfless way in which the search party had been organized.