by Andre Norton
"And where are we going to get them?" demanded the American. "Rub a flashlight and summon up a platoon of genii?"
"We are not without resources. You must remain here and try to discover what you can about the ways in and out of that place. I shall reach a contact I know of— smugglers are none too fond of those who poach upon their territory, people who might attract the unwelcome attention of the authorities. By playing on that peculiarity of theirs I may be able to enlist allies. There is no harm in my trying. When I return I shall call thus—" He gave voice to an eerie cry Quinn vaguely associated with owls. Then, before the American could protest, he had melted away into the dark.
If he had to stay here he might as well settle in. Quinn sourly pushed back under the drooping lower limbs of a fir tree. He was soaked to the skin already except in a few spots where his raincoat had actually been the protection its makers claimed—but the heavy branches would keep off part of the flood. And from the spot where he was he could oversee the bridge. He settled down and tried to recall the details of the two drawings and the photographs of the ruins which he had seen in the past.
Quinn was sure that the bridge was the only entrance to the keep. There had once been a postern gate on the opposite side but no bridge existed there now and, short of dropping into the courtyard by helicopter, he knew no way of getting inside except over the road in plain view.
A path led along the other side of the gully to the bridge. And from the point where it issued from the woods it was covered from the keep.
He strained his eyes in the dusk and tried to pierce the growing shadows about the broken gate. There was no way of knowing—those dark patches might only be stones fallen away from the walls—or they—any one of them— might be a man!
There was a flicker of light in the woods and a man came out of cover, a flashlight turned on the road bed before him. He walked forward with confidence as if he expected a welcome. And before he put foot on the bridge he blinked the light three times. A darker blot detached itself from the rubble at the gate to meet him. Quinn longed for the gift of telepathy or of supernatural hearing. But he could only squat and fume while the two conferred. Then the guard returned to his post and the other went back to the woods.
But now he did know that there was a guard, Quinn consoled himself. And the others must be inside. Again he tried to recall the exact shape of the ruins and how the moat embraced the island on which they stood. The moat —it was really a small swiftly flowing river which branched to make the island. Then a photograph flashed into his mind, complete to the last detail.
There was a place where the outer wall of the keep had been broken by a landslide. If one could cross the moat there he might have a chance to climb up and reach the courtyard which enclosed the tower itself. But where was that section of wall in relation to the bridge?
If he could have explored in the open he might have located it quickly. As it was he had to try for landmarks in the tumble of stone, attempting to place them in relation to the remembered photograph. But he was sure-just before it became too dark to see at all—that he did know where it was. They would have to make a wide circle to reach it.
In the past half hour the rain had changed from a downpour to a drizzle. It might clear later. Quinn scrabbled in the knapsack for a piece of hard chocolate to suck. The wind died away and the night was very quiet except for the sound of the stream. There were no lights showing in the ruins.
Quinn became conscious of another sound approaching his hiding place. The swish of a bulk forcing a way through the wet bushes sent his fingers to the pencil gun.
He pulled his legs under him in readiness to spring. If the skulker kept on he would pass almost at arm's length. Of course it might be Joris. But he could not have missed hearing the owl's cry—
A stone rolled, clinked against another, and fell over the rim of the drop. Quinn froze—that had been very near.
His eyes had adjusted to the gloom. And now he saw the black blot hugging the ground at a spot he was sure had been clear earlier. He must do this just right—too much force and his leap could carry them both over into the gully! His hands were damp with more than rain and his heart pounded madly. He had to hit straight and hard—
The blot moved—by inches. Quinn waited. Drag-scrape- He thought he could distinguish heavy breathing now. A foot more—
Quinn threw himself forward. He might not have moved with the grace of a cat but he unconsciously imitated a feline pounce. And he took the crawler totally unawares, knocking him flat. Quinn dug his knees into the small of the other's back and grabbed a fistful of hair as he put the pencil gun to the base of the stranger's skull.
"Quiet!"
The captive's struggles ceased. Quinn realized that he had spoken the warning in English. Then why did—? He backed away from the other's body, keeping his grip on the hair. And by that he half towed, half led the newcomer back under the bushes. Once there he thrust the torch at his prisoner.
The light flashed up on a face he knew. He dropped his hold and could not suppress a slightly hysterical giggle. For it was Lawrence Kane who was now rubbing shoulders with him.
"Anders—" He identified himself.
The tenseness disappeared.
"You are alone here?"
"No. I'm with Maartens. He has gone to see if he can get help from some smugglers he knows."
"How did you get here?"
Quinn outlined their adventures of the day. Then he had a question of his own.
"How and why—"
"I've been here since yesterday," answered the other impatiently. "Around three o'clock today a party of five came down to the tower. They have been in there ever since. There's no way in except over that bridge and they have a guard stationed there."
"Did you see who they were?"
"Wasburg was one. And there was another about whom I'm not sure."
"Wasburg may know the hiding place of the Menie—"
Quinn passed along what the Freule Matilda had told him.
"Eldest son—eh? It must be a pretty secure hiding place. That treasure has been hunted by experts for the past hundred years and more. And with five of them busy at it now—"
"They may be trying to get more help. Maartens saw the one in the cottage using a walkie-talkie—''
"They'll have to fly it in." There was grim satisfaction in Kane's reply. "There was a landslip during the worst of the storm an hour ago. It brought down a big tree across the cart track which is the only road in here. I think that the odds will remain five to three—"
"Wasburg may be on our side."
"I wouldn't count on that. He comes from the East— and remember who holds the power there now. If your Maartens can get us a few men we might be able to rush the gate in the dark and force our way in."
"You have been all the way around the tower?"
"Not quite. Couldn't get across that open space to the west. And they have booby traps and alarms in the woods. Up until I saw them come to the tower I was watching; another place. There was a lot of activity yesterday in the cellars of a burned building about half a mile from here—"
"The old hunting lodge. But I believe that there may be another way into the tower," Quinn said slowly. "I've seen a photograph that shows where part of the battlement wall has fallen. A man could swim the moat at that point and climb. If he did make it, he would be in the courtyard not far from the tower. And if there is any hiding place it wouldn't be above ground. In my opinion it would be located somewhere in the old cellars or dungeons—probably under the tower itself."
"Hmm—"
It was too dark to read the expression on Kane's face but Quinn knew that the other was thinking fast. And he remembered some of Marusaki's stories about this man. Kane was the troubleshooter for Norreys—this was the sort of situation he must have faced before.
He was about to press Kane for suggestions when the other's hand clamped on his arm and he heard the whisper,
"Someone's coming!"<
br />
The cry of an owl—mournful and nerve-twisting answered that.
"That's Maartens. In here—"
The Netherlander hunched under the bushes and then stiffened as he saw that two rather than one waited him there.
"It's Kane. He's been here since yesterday." Quinn supplied the necessary explanation.
"So?"
"What kind of luck did you have?" Quinn continued.
"None. I found my contact easily enough. But he will not meddle—nor will anyone else he knows. There is something bad—bad and big in progress here. I think that we are now sniffing around the den of a tiger—"
"Say King Cobra and you will be more nearly right," cut in Kane. "If I did see the man I think I did, the most dangerous man I ever knew is holed up down there right now. What he is doing there—so far away from his usual base of operations—I can't tell you. He usually plans and lets several picked stooges risk their necks to bring back the chestnuts he wants. If I am right, I am not surprised you couldn't get your friends to meddle. In fact we would probably be wise to tuck our tails between our legs and light out for home too—"
"Prudence then indicates a withdrawal." That was Joris.
"He who fights and runs away," quoted Kane, "Lives to fight another day—"
Quinn ran his tongue over his lips. "I don't see either of you leaving—"
"I dislike marching in the night," returned Joris.
"Well," Kane added, "this is the first time I have ever caught that snake out in the open where one could conveniently heave rocks at him—"
"And now your pitching arm itches?" inquired Joris. "We have only to storm our way into the tower and the j game is ours!"
"No—" Quinn corrected. "I think we can swim our way m.
When Joris heard the rest he had to say, he pushed head and shoulders between the branches to look out at the tower.
"It is going to be a nice dark night. And I do, fortunately, know how to swim. Shall we investigate?"
"No supper to delay us either," Quinn pointed out wistfully as they slipped out into the open and progressed on hands and knees along the edge of the gully.
“We are traveling on our stomachs—if not in the way Napoleon meant. There's a dip that looks too sharp. Here goes—"
Kane disappeared with a crackling of branches which seemed on a par with rifle shots to Quinn's ears.
"Okay," the whisper floated up slope.
With a last rub to his aching leg Quinn half tumbled, half rolled down until a hand grabbed the cloth between his shoulders and brought him to a stop. He hadn't been able to twist free before Joris slammed feet first on top of them both.
The rest of the journey was not too bad. There was plenty of cover in the way of scrubby brush to aid them in their crawl around the open fields. For a while they paralleled the stream and Kane halted on its bank for an instant.
"That current seems strong. We might have trouble getting across it in a straight line."
"If we entered above the point we want to reach—" hazarded Quinn.
"Use the rope, too. So we would not become separated," Joris suggested.
"How near are we to that break in the wall?" Kane demanded some time later.
Quinn strained his eyes to see. In this dark he wasn't sure of anything.
"I can't tell," he admitted at last, a small spark of panic
Springing to life somewhere within him. What if he could not find the break? In the dark, with the current pulling at them, how could they ever reach the place where the wall might be climbed?
“If we go to the end of the island," he said slowly, "swim across to the tower side and then paddle along, we'll certainly find it. A whole section of the wall has tumbled down and some of the blocks half dam the moat. Even in the dark we couldn't miss that—"
"Here's hoping you're right!" Kane muttered and renewed the caterpillar advance.
Only too soon, to Quinn's thinking, they found the place where they must take to the water. He began, shivering, to strip.
"Look here," he said, "my raincoat's at least partially waterproof—let's put most of our stuff in that."
"Good enough!" Kane grabbed the garment out of his hand.
They roped together before they proceeded gingerly down to the stream. Joris had insisted upon taking the bulky roll of clothing on his own back, but Quinn was ahead in the guide's position. After all, as he pointed out,, he was the only one who had any idea what the breaks was like and he should be the one to identify it. But he regretted every argument he had used when he stepped 1 abruptly into the numbing flood which was thigh deep even at its rough shore line. A second stride took him off bottom entirely and he fell forward for a dreadful instant of panic and terror in which his head went under before his arms and legs moved instinctively and he began to fight the pull of the rushing water.
It was a battle all the way and he dared not think how far along he had been carried before he reached the castle side of the river. It was shallower here. He floundered along until the water was only knee deep, and then crept forward with caution, having no wish to take a header over a piece of fallen masonry.
Then his outstretched hand smacked against stone. Bracing his feet against the pull of the current Quinn explored by touch. They had made it! Above was the break in the battlements. He gave the cord about his waist a sharp tug to summon the other two.
CHAPTER 15
TASK FORCE
Still linked by the rope after the manner of mountain climbers the three made their way up the broken wall. As Quinn felt for hand- and foot-holds he was glad that he could not see what lay ahead. It was a long, long time before he pulled himself out on a ledge or platform and crouched there panting.
"We're here— But where's here?" a voice asked out of the dark.
"The tower should be straight ahead. The courtyard gate is to our right," Quinn answered.
Then Joris thrust damp clothing into his hands and he pulled it on. Slacks and jersey were clammy against his wet skin and he was shivering uncontrollably by the time he was dressed. The drizzle had thinned to a mist which bit to one's very bones.
"Now—that's all we need!"
The catastrophe Kane pointed out was overhead. Clouds cleared perceptibly and a shimmer of wan moon-light made them visible not only to each other, but to any guard who had the sense to watch the walls.
It was easy enough to locate the tower—that was the bulk which showed jagged teeth of broken masonry to the sky. And the stretch of courtyard between it and the wall appeared reasonably clear of rubble.
Clear of anything which would furnish cover and also under the surveillance of the man by the gate! To cross it in this watery moonlight was to present an excellent target.
"The shortest distance between two points is a straight line." Kane offered this piece of wisdom.
"Wait-look!"
Quinn's head swung around but he missed whatever Joris had called attention to. Kane did not.
"By the gate, yeah. Can do—I think. Stick right here— count fifty—slow—and then heave a rock to the far right. If I make it I'll give three dots with the torch? Got it?"
"Got it!" Joris returned as tersely.
With the ease of a skilled campaigner Kane hung for an instant by his two hands on the edge of the battlement and then let go. He was swallowed up by the shadows at once.
"What is he after?" demanded Quinn.
"There was a spark of light over by the gate. Perhaps the guard lit a cigarette—"
"But he went alone—"
"Yes. That is best. For a job such as this there should be but one man—one man who knows just what it is that he is doing—"
In other words, thought Quinn almost bitterly, this was no job for an amateur. He heard Joris counting, slowly. And he saw the Netherlander groping among the rubble for a rock of suitable size to throw.
"Forty-five—forty-six—forty-seven—forty-eight—"
The arm went back, the rock was poised.
"Forty-nine—fifty!" Joris hurled the stone. They saw it flash in the moonlight. Then even through the moan of the rising wind they heard it strike.
After that there was nothing to do but wait. Quinn rubbed his leg nervously. The nagging worry that it might fail him was always in the back of his mind.
Wind-driven clouds were across the moon. And in that momentary darkness they sighted the three quick flashes from the gate. It was easy to climb down and find Kane tying up a limp captive with the man's own belt.
"This one goes into cold storage. And he seems to be the only one on duty."
"They are pretty sure of themselves," ventured Quinn.
"Oh, well," Kane observed, rolling the prisoner behind a pile of stone, "we all make mistakes. But let us hope that the mistakes in this caper continue to be made by the opposition. You're sure that the tower is our goal?"
"I can't see any other place where anything could be hidden. The hunting lodge was burned down. And they came here—"
"Let us go!" Joris broke in impatiently.
Kane picked up a gun from the top of a nearby stone. "Nice piece of hardware," he said admiringly. "Just the equipment for a midnight excursion."
They followed Joris across to the tower.
"Know anything about the layout inside?" Kane asked Quinn.
"No."
"Well, we can always find the way down by falling. I trust that there are no uncovered wells or oubliettes—"
They hesitated in the doorway. Beyond lay the blackest dark Quinn thought he had ever seen. And Kane's last suggestion—of an open dungeon—was not one he cared to think about.
What they would have done had not the enemy made things easy for them, Quinn could never afterwards decide. But, as they still lingered, a glow rose out of the ground some distance away.
"Miner's lamp!" Joris identified it in a whisper.
"A division right and left is now indicated," Kane ordered.
Joris melted away to the left—Kane started right. And Quinn tagged along behind him. The lamp was above ground level now. Had the man who carried it swept the beam across the floor he might have trapped them. But he had no suspicion of trouble.
