As we approached, the lights from the mansion suddenly disappeared, and for a moment I was unable to find the reason for this strange phenomenon. Then I realized that as we descended, the high wall built round the house had heightened in perspective, shutting off our view of the windows.
Close under the wall, panting after our exercise, but glad of the temporary shelter, we reviewed the situation in low whispers.
“What are we to do?” I demanded at last. “Wait for the police or make a reconnaissance on our own?”
“Why the devil are you asking me?” spat Lawson. “Can’t you offer any suggestions of your own?”
I was taken aback at first, but afterwards I was confirmed in the suspicion which had been haunting me for some time: that, despite all his efforts at calm, the nervous strain of his job was gradually bringing my companion’s mind to a dangerous borderline.
“I can offer one suggestion,” I answered. “We’ve got those chloroform bags you bought in the chemist’s this afternoon. My idea is to get over that wall as quickly as possible and use them on the dogs as we first intended. Maureen may need our help before the police and Gray and Peter arrive.”
“I think you’re right, Bill,” he agreed. “I’m sorry I’ve been a little testy tonight.”
“Don’t be sorry on my account. I understand perfectly. But if there wasn’t such a serious job ahead of us I’d hurl an axiom or two at you.”
I think the subsequent preparations for the assault on the Blind One’s house helped to smooth his ragged nerves.
At first sight the wall, which I guessed to be about ten feet in height, appeared to present insuperable difficulties. It was built of smooth limestone, and jagged pieces of glass, embedded in a layer of cement on the top, gleamed dully when the moon shone out. How the barman’s hero — Watty Wulson, the burglar — ever reached the top still remains for me a mystery.
But for two men working together there were distinct possibilities of success. The only danger was that by accident we might touch the burglar alarm which, from the bartender’s story, obviously led round the wall in connection with the whistle on the roof of the house itself. It would be an instrument, I thought, similar to the one which we had set in action during our visit to Innish-na-gobhar. We were on this occasion, however, forewarned of its existence, and we were confident that we could discover the wires by which it was operated.
Lawson handed me one of the chloroform bags which he carried in his overcoat pocket, and then divested himself of the thick cloth garment. Wrapped round his waist I saw a thin coil of rope which he had borrowed from Miss Cunningham of the White Stag Hotel.
“We might as well make our effort here,” he said. “This is the back of the house and therefore the safest quarter for marauders.”
“Right!”
I planted myself firmly at the foot of the wall, my hands pressed against the cold stone and my knees bent. Lawson slung his overcoat round him, and climbed on to my back. Slowly I straightened, and my companion, balancing himself against the wall, edged his feet on to my shoulders.
I heard him feel about on the coping for a hidden wire, and suddenly a hiss came down to me.
“I’ve found the alarm!” he whispered. “It’s a thin wire right enough. I’m going to cut it.”
I was glad then that at the last moment Lawson had thought of adding to his purchases a pair of wire cutters. But I was also annoyed at the time he took to complete the operation. He was scarcely more than five feet eight in height, but by the evidence of my aching shoulders he seemed each passing second to be approaching the immense weight of about twenty stones.
At last, however, I heard a ‘click’ which had something like finality about it, and Lawson muttered “Ha!” in a satisfied manner.
“Ha yourself!” I growled. “Get your coat spread out on that glass and sit on it. Hurry! I’m not a ruddy Atlas!”
For reply I heard the soft ‘phut’ of his overcoat being placed on the coping, and next moment I had received a sharp blow on the ear from his shoe as he raised himself jerkily on to the improvised cushion.
“Oh, damn!” I muttered. “I wish — ”
“Wish you were up on this wall!” whispered Lawson tersely, as he sent the rope whisking down. “What do you weigh? About fourteen stones?”
“Thirteen.”
“Well, God knows how I’m going to get you up here! But let’s try, anyway. Hold on! I’m dropping down on the other side. I hope the dogs don’t come before you’re over.”
Our scheme consisted in Lawson laying the rope across his coat to prevent it being cut by the jagged glass. While I held it on the outside he was to lower himself quietly to the ground within the policies of the Blind One’s house. Then, my companion holding on in turn, I was to swarm up until I could lever myself on to the coping of the wall.
Everything went according to schedule until I had reached my eminence and prepared to drop down beside Lawson. Then, without warning, the coat slipped from beneath me and I landed with what I imagined to be a tremendous din on the hard surface of a courtyard. I came down on one foot and one arm, and for a moment I thought my wrist was broken.
There was a sudden quick growl to our left.
“The Great Danes!” exclaimed Lawson. “Are you ready for them?”
Two huge dim forms leapt at my companion. He grappled one by the throat and I saw him whip his chloroform bag over the animal’s head.
I dived for its mate.
Chapter 15
I was fortunate in being able to place the chloroform bag over the head of the Great Dane without hindrance; but once I had achieved my immediate purpose the most difficult part of my task lay before me. The huge animal, which I held tightly by the neck, struggled with desperate energy to rid itself of the bag. I could hear its teeth snapping inside the covering and its strength was so great that when I tried to wrestle with it I was flung heavily to the ground. I still gripped the huge, smooth neck, however, and the elastic band at the mouth of the bag kept it in position.
Lawson was in an even worse plight, for I saw that he had only been able to get the bag over the upper part of the other dog’s jaw. While this might ultimately prove a successful enough method of rendering the beast unconscious, it must have been mightily unpleasant for Lawson, grovelling on the hard, stony surface of the courtyard, to have a white-fanged lower jaw opening and shutting a few inches from his face.
Strangely enough, after their first warning growls neither of the Great Danes had uttered a sound. I knew, of course, that Great Danes are notoriously silent in a fight, but at the same time I was glad that in the present case we had found no exceptions and that we had not to depend upon the chloroform bags, as we had planned, to muffle occasional barking.
Our struggles grew less intense and I was relieved to feel my charge become less devastatingly muscular. I glimpsed Lawson and his dog lying beside me, head to head, somewhat in the attitude of catch-as-catch-can wrestlers in a shoulder clinch, and quite motionless.
“I’ve got him!” muttered the Secret Service man. “How’s yours?”
“Practically unconscious. He kicked me in the solar plexus!”
“You’re lucky. Mine took its pound of flesh from my cheek.”
At last the two animals lay quite inert and I could hear their heavy breathing inside the bags.
“Pity we had to do it,” I said, for the reaction had rendered me a little weak and trembling. “Poor brutes! It wasn’t their fault. If only we could put a nosebag on the Blind One.”
“Poor brutes!” exclaimed Lawson, panting. “My cheek’s running with blood… I’d like to know what would have happened to us without the chloroform bags!”
We dragged the twitching bodies of the unconscious dogs to a dark corner of the wall and left them there, the bags still in position. There was no chance of them regaining consciousness for many hours.
For some minutes we stood warily in the darkness, waiting for any sign that our scuffle had been heard
. But the wind was still roaring and the crashing of the waves on the shore in front of the house seemed to grow steadily louder. Lawson dabbed his bleeding cheek continuously with a silk handkerchief.
When we were fairly certain that our presence in the grounds remained undetected I went cautiously along the wall to where the rope and Lawson’s coat had been left lying on the ground.
I picked them up, and, returning to the black corner, placed them beside the dogs. Then I joined my companion.
*
We found ourselves in a great, overgrown courtyard which reminded me of a school playground. On three sides of us the high wall shut out a portion of the sky, while in front loomed the long, squat bulk of the house.
“Lady O’Brian’s quarters according to the bartender, are in the north wing.” Lawson spoke jerkily, for his tussle with the dog still affected him. “If we could find the room in which they are holding their meeting we might be able to keep an eye on Miss MacLaren’s safety from the window. We can’t do much ourselves until the police arrive.”
“They were leaving Campbeltown at seven o’clock,” I said. “That means that at the earliest they won’t be here before ten.”
“Then we have still two hours to wait.”
“But Gray and Peter may be here somewhere already. They proposed to leave Blaan after dark and it’s only about an hour’s sail from there to the island.”
“I don’t like this deadly quietness round the house,” muttered Lawson. “Strange they haven’t sentries on the go, if this meeting inside is so important.”
“Probably the Blind One is quite content with having a burglar alarm and her Great Danes. And at any rate she can have no suspicion that outsiders will visit Ringan tonight.”
“Maybe. But if the Blind One is the kind of person I think she is, every precaution will be taken… Got that pistol I gave you?”
“Yes. Three shots left in it from last night.”
“Luckily I hadn’t to use mine at all at Innish-na-gobhar. I’ve still got eight rounds ready for them.” We followed the wall to our left, keeping out of the glare of the two lights, which, we discovered, shone from the second storey in the south wing. I had a notion that they came from the servants’ quarters, and later in the evening this was proved to be correct.
As we neared the house we saw that the wall was built parallel to the north gable, about ten feet from it, leaving a cement-paved passage which led to the front premises. Through this we tiptoed with caution, though we knew that unless someone were actually outside the house and close to us the sound of the wind and the sea would not allow of our movements being heard.
Round at the front we discovered a great lawn, dotted with rhododendron bushes.
“By Jove!” I whispered. “There’s the room!” On the extreme right of the house, on the ground floor, a great bay window was flooded softly with light which filtered through thin red curtains.
“And may not that be the Blind One’s own quarters?” asked Lawson.
He pointed high above our heads, where from a top storey window an unshaded light gleamed out over a balcony.
“Quite likely,” I answered.
For a long while we stood irresolute, uncertain of our next move. Obviously there was no reason why we should go closer to the house, for the red curtains effectively screened all view of the interior of the ground floor room.
“What about finding the front gate and leaving it open for the police?” I suggested. “If they have the sense to try it they will be spared the necessity of climbing the wall. There’s nothing to be gained by hanging around here.”
“Very well!” agreed Lawson. “It ought to be over there to the left.”
We made our way through the clumps of rhododendron, until we found the gravelled drive. Skirting the edge, we followed the white gleam, and ultimately we came upon the gate, high, closely barred and made of iron. At the top were gigantic spikes.
The method employed to keep it tightly shut was simple, a huge iron bar, clamped to a stone pillar on the verge of the drive, being placed in a socket attached to a steel plate on the gate itself. From the outside no one could reach through the bars to raise it, and even with the help of a battering-ram it would have been difficult to break in.
Lawson lifted the bar from its socket and carefully placed it on the grass. As he did so a soft voice came from the outside.
“Don’t move, or I’ll shoot to kill! Kind of you to have opened the gate for us!”
My first instinct was one of panic. Had we been caught red-handed by the Blind One’s confederates? Would our capture mean that Maureen was to be placed in grave danger of discovery? After all our efforts were we to be beaten thus simply?
And then another thought struck me. Why, if out there stood members of ‘The Screaming Gull’, should they threaten to shoot persons who had apparently come from the house? Why should the strangers require to use threats to enter the grounds of the Blind One? Come to think of it, had I not heard that smooth, rather humorous voice before?
And then I knew.
“Come in,” I said. “I think we’ve met before.’
The gate swung open and, after the two strangers had entered, it was closed by them again. The persons who approached us were, as far as height was concerned, ill-matched. One was tall. His companion looked like a dwarf. The latter came close to me and looked up into my face.
“Guid sakes!” he exclaimed “It’s ma faither!”
“Hello, Gray,” said Lawson “Just in time to join the revels.”
*
For over an hour the four of us lay beside a rhododendron bush, which grew opposite the windows with the red curtains, waiting patiently for some signal for action. Gray, Peter, and I all had our overcoats, but Lawson had left his behind the house, in the angle of the wall, and latterly I could hear his teeth chattering with the cold. The short-cropped grass was damp, too, rendering our position still more uncomfortable.
My ‘son’, in spite of the chill, frosty air, appeared to be enjoying himself immensely. His native accent, so carefully concealed while in the Campbeltown hotel, had returned in its full vigour. He continually munched sweets, which, he said, had been presented to him by Professor Campbell, ‘a dacent ould boy’.
“Peter would insist on coming with me,” complained Gray. “He said that if he didn’t come, his father, Mr. William MacNair, would be very much annoyed, because he had told his ‘son’ specially to meet him on Ringan.”
“Well, well, Peter!” I murmured. “So I told you to come here, did I?”
“Och, faither, maybe I was exaggeratin’ a wee! But ye ken fine I’d never desert ye.”
I had to laugh at that, and Gray and Lawson joined in softly. It was rather remarkable how we were able to keep up our spirits, in face of the coming danger; but Lawson and Gray were ideal companions for the job, while Peter’s optimism was not to be suppressed. The Secret Service men talked ‘shop’ continuously, and I heard that night many anecdotes concerning their deeply interesting work.
On the subject of Merriman’s courage in coming to Blaan, grievously wounded as he was, Gray became eloquent.
“Any other man would have been groaning in hospital,” he said. “But Merriman refused to consider his hurt at all serious. His mind and his spirits are as keen and vigorous as ever. Of course, Anderson is continuously attentive. He seldom leaves him, and I rather imagine that if it hadn’t been for his care Merriman wouldn’t have been able to do what he did. Actually he is as well looked after as if he had been taken to hospital. He was in bed at Dalbeg when Peter and I left tonight, exhorting us to doughty deeds and complaining bitterly that Anderson had utterly refused to allow him to accompany us to Ringan. Professor Campbell and the doctor were seated on either side of him, trying to calm him down.”
“You know,” I said, “I once suspected Anderson of being a member of ‘The Screaming Gull’. He seemed to me altogether too curt and efficient.”
“Anderson tells me that for a
while he was certain you had shot Merriman,” chuckled Gray. “His idea was that you appeared too innocent to be true.”
“Miss MacLaren didn’t believe that!” said Lawson quickly. “Did she?”
“Of course she didn’t.” Gray appeared to be very serious. “But then we all know what she believes.”
“What’s that?” asked Peter, as if taking a cue.
“She believes,” returned Gray, “that Mr. William Dunbar is the pattern of all virtues.”
“Which,” chimed in Lawson, “is manifestly false, as anyone who heard him stumbling over the dung-heaps at Innish-na-gobhar would realize.”
“The three of you would do well on the stage,” I remarked. “Low-patter comedians.”
“Och, faither,” murmured Peter, “dinna be mockin’ us!”
“You young blighter!” I whispered. “Wait till I get you off this island! I’ll take it out of your hide!”
“Naw, naw, faither! Ye’ll ha’e ower much else tae think aboot… Wha’s tae be yer best man?”
Lawson and Gray, I realized, were chuckling delightedly at Peter’s quick-fire sallies. I decided, therefore, to maintain a dignified silence. The incongruity of the whole affair did not occur to me at the moment, though afterwards we all marvelled at the excellence of our spirits as we lay that night on the cold, damp lawn of the Blind One’s home, with the possibility of violent death hanging like a sword above us. It was Peter’s influence, I think, that did it for us. He was absolutely unafraid. For him the adventure was something to be enjoyed to the utmost. For him the power of the Blind One held no terrors.
“How was Maureen able to persuade ‘The Screaming Gull’ that she should be allowed to come to Ringan tonight?” I asked after a while.
“I think Peter told you,” Gray answered, “that she went to see MacTavish, the minister of Castlebrae Church, this afternoon. Merriman had given her the secret signs of the Society and the current password — which, incidentally, is ‘Flora Macdonald’. She told the old boy a true enough story about having been at his service the previous night and about having understood that a meeting was to take place at Innish-na-gobhar Farm. Then she let him understand that it had come to her ears that the date of the final rally had been advanced and that for the sake of the cause she desired to play some small part in its accomplishment. Her fervour delighted the minister, who immediately invited her to accompany the party to Ringan in the evening. He had been completely bluffed by her knowledge of the workings of the Society and by the gull on her arm.”
The Screaming Gull Page 17
