Blue Hand

by Edgar Wallace

  Villa struck a match to start a new cigar and in its light Jim had a momentary glimpse of the two men. Bronson was in regulation air-kit. A leather coat reached to his hips, his legs were encased in leather breeches and top-boots. He was about his height, Jim thought, as an idea took shape in his mind. What an end to that adventure! Jim came as near to being excited as ever he had been in his life.

  Presently Villa yawned.

  “I’m going to lie down in the passage, and if that dame comes out, she’s going to have a shock,” he said. “Good night. Wake me at half-past four.”

  Bronson grunted something and continued his perambulations up and down the road. Ten minutes passed, a quarter of an hour, half an hour, and the only sound was the dripping of the rain from the trees, and the distant clatter and rumble of the trains as they passed through Rugby.

  To the north were the white lights of the railway sidings and workshops; to the west, the faint glow in the sky marked the position of a town. Jim pulled his useless pistol from his pocket and stepped on to the roadway, crouching down, so that when he did rise, he seemed to the astonished Bronson to have sprung out of the ground. Something cold and hard was pushed under the spy’s nose.

  “If you make a sound, you son of a thief!” said Jim, “I’ll blow your face off! Do you understand that?”

  “Yes,” muttered the man, shivering with fright.

  Jim’s left hand gripped his collar. The automatic pistol under his nose was all too obvious, and Felix Bronson, a fearful man for whom the air alone had no terror, was cowed and beaten.

  “Where is the bus?” asked Jim in a whisper.

  “In the field behind the house,” the man answered in the same tone. “What are you going to do? Who are you? How did you get past—”

  “Don’t ask so many questions,” said Jim; “lead the way—not that way,” as the man turned to pass the house.

  “I shall have to climb the fence if I don’t go that way,” said Bronson sullenly.

  “Then climb it.” said Jim, “it will do you good, you lazy devil!”

  They walked across the field, and presently Jim saw a graceful outline against the dark sky.

  “Now take off your clothes,” he said peremptorily.

  “What do you mean?” demanded the startled Bronson. “I can’t undress here!”

  “I’m sorry to shock your modesty, but that is just what you are going to do,” said Jim; “and it will be easier to undress you alive than to undress you dead, as I know from my sorrowful experience in France.”

  Reluctantly Bronson stripped his leather coat.

  “Don’t drop it on the grass,” said Jim, “I want something dry to wear.”

  In the darkness Bronson utilized an opportunity that he had already considered. His hand stole stealthily to the hip-pocket of his leather breeches, but before it closed on its objective Jim had gripped it and spun him round, for Jim possessed other qualities of the cat besides its lives.

  “Let me see that lethal weapon. Good,” said Jim, and flung his own to the grass. “I am afraid mine is slightly damaged, but I’ll swear that yours is in good trim. Now, off with those leggings and boots.”

  “I shall catch my death of cold.” Bronson’s teeth were chattering.

  “In which case,” said the sardonic Jim, “I shall send a wreath; but I fear you are not born to die of cold in the head, but of a short sharp jerk to your cervical vertebra.”

  “What is that?” asked Bronson.

  “It is German for neck,” said Jim, “and if you think I am going to stand here giving you lectures on anatomy whilst you deliver the goods, you have made a mistake—strip!”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  UNDER menace of Jim Steele’s pistol, Mr. Bronson stripped and shivered. The morning was raw, and the clothes that Jim in his mercy handed to the man to change were not very dry. Bronson said as much, but evoked no sympathy from Jim. He stood shivering and shaking in the wet clothes, whilst his captor strapped his wrists behind.

  “Just like they do when they hang you,” said Jim to cheer him up. “Now, my lad, I think this handkerchief round your mouth and a nearly dry spot under a hedge is all that is required to make the end of a perfect night.”

  “You’re damned funny,” growled Bronson in a fury, “but one of these days—”

  “Don’t make me sing,” said Jim, “or you’ll be sorry.”

  He found him a spot under a hedge, which was fairly dry and sheltered from observation, and there he entertained his guest until the grey in the sky warned him that it was time to wake Villa.

  Mr. Villa woke with a curse.

  “Come in and have some cocoa.”

  “Bring it out here,” said Jim. He heard the man fumbling with the lock of the door and raised his pistol.

  Something inside Jim Steele whispered: “Put that pistol away,” and he obeyed the impulse, as with profit he had obeyed a hundred others.

  Men who fight in the air and who win their battles in the great spaces of the heavens are favoured with instincts which are denied to the other mortals who walk the earth.

  He had time to slip the pistol in his pocket and pull the goggles down over his eyes before the door opened and Villa sleepily surveyed him in the half-light.

  “Hullo, you’re ready to fly, are you?” he said with a guffaw. “Well, I shan’t keep you long.”

  Jim strolled away from the house, pacing the road as Bronson had done the night before.

  What had made him put the pistol away? he wondered. He took it out furtively and slipped the cover. It was unloaded!

  He heard the man calling.

  “Put it down,” he said, when he saw the cup in his hand.

  He drank the cocoa at a gulp, and making his way across the field to the aeroplane he pulled on the waterproof cover, tested the engine and pulled over the prop.

  Eunice had swallowed the hot cocoa and was waiting when Villa came in. What the day would bring forth she could only guess. Evidently there was some reason why Digby Groat should not wait for her, and amongst the many theories she had formed was one that he had gone on in order to lead his pursuers from her track. She felt better now than she had done since she left the house in Grosvenor Square, for the effect of the drug had completely gone, save for a tiredness which made walking a wearisome business. Her mind was clear, and the demoralizing tearfulness which the presence of Digby evoked had altogether dissipated.

  “Now, young miss, are you ready?” asked Villa. He was, at any rate. He wore a heavy coat and upon his head was a skin cap. This, with his hairy face and his broad stumpy figure, gave him the appearance of a Russian in winter attire. Why did he wrap himself up so on a warm morning? she wondered. He carried another heavy coat in his hand and held it up for her to put on.

  “Hurry up, I can’t wait for you all day. Get that coat on.”

  She obeyed.

  “I am ready,” she said coldly.

  “Now, my dear, step lively!”

  Jim, who had taken his place in the pilot’s seat, heard Villa’s deep voice and looking round saw the woman he loved.

  She looked divinely beautiful by the side of that squat, bearded man who was holding her forearm and urging her forward.

  “Now, up with you.”

  He pushed her roughly into one of the two seats behind the pilot, and Jim dared not trust himself to look back.

  “I’ll swing the prop. for you, Bronson,” said Villa, making his way to the propeller, and Jim, whose face was almost covered by the huge fur-lined goggles, nodded. The engine started with a splutter and a roar and Jim slowed it.

  “Strap the lady,” he shouted above the sound of the engine, and Villa nodded and climbed into the fuselage with extraordinary agility for a man of his build.

  Jim waited until the broad strap was buckled about the girl’s waist, and then he let out the engine to its top speed. It was ideal ground for taking off, and the plane ran smoothly across the grass, faster and faster with every second. And then, with
a touch of the lever, Jim set the elevator down and the girl suddenly realized that the bumping had stopped and all conscious motion had ceased. The Scout had taken the air.

  Eunice had never flown in an aeroplane before, and for a moment she forgot her perilous position in the fascination of her new and wonderful experience. The machine did not seem to leave the earth. Rather it appeared as though the earth suddenly receded from the aeroplane and was sinking slowly away from them. She had a wonderful feeling of exhilaration as the powerful Scout shot through the air at a hundred miles an hour, rising higher and higher as it circled above the field it had left, a manoeuvre which set Villa wondering, for Bronson should have known the way back to Kennett Hall without bothering to find his landmark.

  But Bronson, so far from being at the wheel, at that moment was lying bound hand and feet beneath a bush in the field below, and had Villa looked carefully through his field glasses he would not have failed to see the figure of the man wearing Jim’s muddy clothes. Villa could not suspect that the pilot was Jim Steele, the airman whose exploits in the abstract he had admired, but whose life he would not at this moment have hesitated to take.

  “It is lovely!” gasped Eunice, but her voice was drowned in the deafening thunder of the engines.

  They were soaring in great circles, and above were floating the scarves of mist that trailed their ravelled edges to the sun, which tinted them so that it seemed to her the sky’s clear blue was laced with golden tissue. And beneath she saw a world of wonder: here was spread a marvellous mosaic, green and brown and grey, each little pattern rigidly defined by darked lines, fence and hedge and wall. She saw the blood-red roof of house and the spread of silver lakes irregular in shape, and to her eye like gouts of mercury that some enormous hand had shaken haphazard on the earth.

  “Glorious!” her lips said, but the man who sat beside her had no eye for the beauty of the scene.

  Communication between the pilot and his passengers was only possible through the little telephone, the receiver of which Jim had mechanically strapped to his ear, and after awhile he heard Villa’s voice asking:

  “What are you waiting for? You know the way?”

  Jim nodded.

  He knew the way back to London just as soon as he saw the railway.

  The girl looked down in wonder on the huge chequer-board intercepted by tiny white and blue ribbons.

  They must be roads, and canals, she decided, and those little green and brown patches were the fields and the pastures of Warwickshire. How glorious it was on this early summer morning to be soaring through the cloud-wisps that flecked the sky, wrack from the storm that had passed overnight. And how amazingly soothing was the loneliness of wings! She felt aloof from the world and all its meanness. Digby Groat was no more than that black speck she could see, seemingly stationary, on the white tape of a road. She knew that speck was a man and he was walking. And within that circle alone was love and hate, desire and sacrifice.

  Then her attention was directed to Villa. He was red in the face and shouting something into the telephone receiver, something she could not hear, for the noise of the engines was deafening.

  She saw the pilot nod and turn to the right and the movement seemed to satisfy Villa, for he sank back in his seat.

  Little by little, the nose of the aeroplane came back to the south, and for a long time Villa did not realize the fact. It was the sight of the town which he recognized that brought the receiver of the telephone to his lips.

  “Keep to the right, damn you, Bronson. Have you lost your sense of direction?”

  Jim nodded, and again the machine banked over, only to return gradually to the southerly course; but now Villa, who had directed the manoeuvre, was alert.

  “What is wrong with you, Bronson?” and Jim heard the menace in his voice.

  “Nothing, only I am avoiding a bad air current,” he answered, and exaggerated as the voice was by the telephone, Villa did not dream that it was anybody but Bronson to whom he was speaking.

  Jim kept a steady course westward, and all the time he was wondering where his destination was supposed to have been. He was a raving lunatic, he thought, not to have questioned Bronson before he left him, but it had never occurred to him that his ignorance on the subject would present any difficulties.

  He was making for London, and to London he intended going. That had been his plan from the first, and now, without disguise, he banked left, accelerated his engines and the Scout literally leapt forward.

  “Are you mad?” It was Villa’s voice in his ear, and he made no reply, and then the voice sank to a hiss: “Obey my instructions or we crash together!”

  The barrel of an automatic was resting on his shoulder. He looked round, and at that moment Eunice recognized him and gave a cry.

  Villa shot a swift glance at her, and then leapt forward and jerked at Jim’s shoulders, bringing his head round.

  “Steele!” he roared, and this time the pistol was under Jim’s ear. “You obey my instructions, do you hear?”

  Jim nodded.

  “Go right, pick up Oxford and keep it to your left until I tell you to land.”

  There was nothing for it now but to obey. But Jim did not fear. Had the man allowed him to reach London it might have been well for all parties. As Villa was taking an aggressive line, and had apparently recognized him, there could be only one end to this adventure, pistol or no pistol. He half twisted in his narrow seat, and looked back at Eunice with an encouraging smile, and the look he saw in her eyes amply repaid him for all the discomfort he had suffered.

  But it was not to look at her eyes that he had turned. His glance lingered for a while on her waist, and then on the waist of Villa, and he saw all that he wanted to know. He must wait until the man put his pistol away; at present Villa held the ugly-looking automatic in his hand. They passed over Oxford, a blur of grey and green, for a mist lay upon the city, making it difficult to pick out the buildings.

  Soon Jim’s attention was directed elsewhere. One of his engines had begun to miss and he suspected water was in the cylinder. Still, he might keep the machine going for awhile. A direction was roared in his ear, and he bore a little more west. It seemed that the engine difficulty had been overcome, for she was running sweetly. Again he glanced back. The pistol was tucked in the breast of Villa’s leather jacket, and probably would remain there till the end of the journey. To wait any longer would be madness.

  Eunice, watching the scene below in a whirl of wonder, suddenly felt the nose of the aeroplane dive down, as though it were aiming directly for earth. She experienced no sense of fear, only a startled wonder, for as suddenly the nose of the aeroplane came up again with a rush and the sky seemed to turn topsy-turvy. There was a tremendous strain at the leather belt about her waist, and looking “down” she found she was staring at the sky! Then she was dimly conscious of some commotion on her right and shut her eyes in instinctive apprehension. When she opened them again Villa was gone! Jim had looped the loop, and, unprepared for this form of attack, Villa, who was not secured to the machine, had lost his balance and fallen. Down, down, the tiny fly shape twirled and rolled with outstretched arms and legs, tragically comic in its grotesqueness….

  Jim turned his head away and this time swung completely round to the girl, and she saw his lips move and his eyes glance at the telephone which the man had left.

  She picked up the mouthpiece with trembling hands. Something dreadful had happened. She dare not look down: she would have fainted if she had made the attempt.

  “What has happened?” she asked in a quavering voice.

  “Villa has parachuted to the ground,” lied Jim soothingly. “Don’t worry about him. He’s not in any danger—in this world,” he added under his breath.

  “But, Jim, how did you come here?”

  “I’ll have to explain that later,” he shouted back, “my engine is misbehaving.”

  This time the trouble was much more serious, and he knew that the journey to London
he had contemplated would be too dangerous to attempt. He was not at sufficient height to command any ground he might choose, and he began to search the countryside for a likely landing. Ahead of him, fifteen miles away, was a broad expanse of green, and a pin-point flicker of white caught his eye. It must be an aerodrome, he thought, and the white was the ground signal showing the direction of the winds. He must reach that haven, though, had he been alone, he would not have hesitated to land on one of the small fields beneath him.

  Here the country is cut up into smaller pastures than in any other part of England, and to land on one of those fields with its high hedges, stiff and stout stone walls, would mean the risk of a crash, and that was a risk he did not care to take.

  As he grew nearer to the green expanse he saw that he had not been mistaken. The sheet was obviously planted for the purpose of signalling, and a rough attempt had been made to form an arrow. He shut off his engines and began to glide down, and the wheels touched the earth so lightly that Eunice did not realize that the flight was ended.

  “Oh, it was wonderful, Jim,” she cried as soon as she could make herself heard, “but what happened to that poor man? Did you—”

  There was a flippant reply on Jim’s lips, but when he saw the white face and the sorrowful eyes he decided it was not a moment for flippancy. He, who had seen so many better men than Villa die in the high execution of their duty, was not distressed by the passing of a blackguard who would have killed him and the girl without mercy.

  He lifted Eunice and felt her shaking under the coat she wore. And so they met again in these strange circumstances, after the parting which she had thought was final. They spoke no word to one another. He did not kiss her, nor did she want that evidence of his love. His very presence, the grip of his hands, each was a dear caress which the meeting of lips could not enhance.

  “There’s a house here,” said Jim, recovering his breath. “I must take you there and then go and telegraph dear old Salter.”

  He put his arm about her shoulder, and slowly they walked across the grasses gemmed with wild flowers. Knee-deep they paced through the wondrous meadowland, and the scent of the red earth was incense to the benediction which had fallen on them.