She Painted Her Face

by Dornford Yates

  He picked up a length of cord and then stepped over my legs and out of the way. The next moment Elgar appeared, with Elizabeth over his shoulder, as though she were wounded and senseless and he was bringing her in.

  “Put her ladyship down,” said Virgil, making a knot in his cord.

  Elgar unshouldered his burden and set it down on the steps…

  So far I have said nothing of the rabble of thoughts and emotions that had command of my soul. It was a case of mob rule. Passion, regret and hatred; apprehension, incredulity, despair swept to and fro within me, quarrelling amongst themselves. If I arrested one, the others fell upon me until I let go; and I seemed to be the prey of some supernatural nightmare which had followed me out of its darkness into the light.

  For this half-mad condition, there can be no doubt that my impotence was to blame. I am a strong man, as men go: but Virgil’s casual discourse had borrowed for me the strength of some demigod. Had I been free, I would have shown him – I would have torn his throat from his neck…and have broken Elgar in pieces…and cast the two into the drive…if – I – had – been – free… And I was so nearly free. Only my wrists were bound – fast strapped together with leather, behind my back. For all my strength, I could do nothing. The gun was spiked.

  Then my eyes met those of my lady, and order came back to my soul.

  ‘Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased?’

  I can never describe the magic that hung in her steady gaze. Before it, the rabble melted, the mob dispersed, and my plight became an adventure, which I was sharing with her – a very insignificant business, because that we were together was so much more important than anything else. Percy Virgil and all his works seemed suddenly pygmy stuff: the man was a fretful puppet, fit for contempt, strutting before high heaven to make the angels smile. But we were invulnerable. We had armed each other forever five hours before…and that, with an armour no other could ever pierce.

  I tried my best to tell her that all was well. And I think that she understood, for the rarest smile stole into her lovely eyes… And then I came back to earth, like a giant refreshed.

  She was gagged and bound, as I was. But her ankles were tied together, as well as her delicate wrists. Cord had been used to do this sacrilege. She was clad in a blue cloth dress that I did not know – no doubt to bear out the suggestion of sudden flight. Her beautiful hair was tumbled, but that was all.

  Virgil was speaking again.

  “You will have observed, Mr Exon, perhaps with hope, that while we have bound my cousin’s, we have not bound your feet. I will tell you why. Because she is light to carry, but you are not. And so you will walk – to the car. Now, lest you should abuse this freedom, I’m going to put you on a lead.” He held up his cord. “One end – this end will be fastened about your waist: and the other about my cousin’s most excellent neck. You see? I have made a slip-knot…the knot that they hang people with. So that any irregular movement which you may see fit to make will put to inconvenience your, er, heart’s desire. In fact, if I were you, I should emulate Mary’s lamb. Not that it matters – if you like to choke her yourself. But I’ve really made other arrangements – a shade less exacting, I think. But I’ll leave it to you to judge.” He looked up at the light and sighed. “Poor Porus Bureau. If he were here, I don’t know what he would say. The French are so emotional. And he wanted her very badly. He’d say I was smashing a bottle of very good wine…that might have given pleasure to others, though it doesn’t appeal to me. But there you are. If Max hadn’t messed things up…” He glanced at his watch. “And now I think we should be moving. Thanks to you, Mr Exon, I’m a little behind my time. But we haven’t got far to go, and I ought to be back in an hour and a quarter from now.”

  With that, he stepped across me and set the loop he had made about Elizabeth’s neck. Before my horrified eyes, he drew this tight – not tight enough to choke her, but so tight that the loop could not lie, as a necklace does, but stayed where he had put it against her throat. Then he and Elgar, between them, got her on Elgar’s back.

  Somehow I got to my knees and so to my feet, and without a word he fastened the end of the cord about my waist.

  I saw Elsa standing above, with a dressing-case in her hand… Then Elgar began to go down, and I turned in behind him, weak-kneed for fear of stumbling and coming down and being unable to rise because my hands were tied.

  Not that it mattered, perhaps. But I – I did not want to choke my darling myself.

  As we went down to the terrace, I remembered Elizabeth’s coming that afternoon – the pomp and circumstance and the homage the servants did: and now she was leaving, after a stay of eight hours, gagged and bound and helpless, with a halter about her neck.

  It was this reflection that showed me the truth of what Virgil had said – The way to win in this world is to go all lengths. The man was right. It was manifestly simpler and swifter: direct action always is. But it was safer, too – because it was the way of a monster, and we believe in monsters no more than we do in giants.

  Virgil was playing the monster: and that, as calmly as though he were playing bridge. In other words, he was doing the incredible thing. If I had not seen and heard what I saw and heard that night, I would not have believed the truth though one rose from the dead. And so no one else would believe it – that Elizabeth Virgil and Exon had been haled out of the castle and put to death by a man who, six hours later, was taking his early tea with a cigarette.

  I confess that I had no hope: but that was because there was no hope to be had. Percy Virgil’s demeanour had murdered hope. His quiet, confidential manner, his easy air, his natural way of speaking precluded doubt. In all he had said in the turret, he had conveyed the impression not so much of predicting the future as of relating the past. He had revealed no plan, but a fait accompli. The cards were upon the table. The game was done.

  I cannot clearly remember our leaving the staircase-turret and passing into the air, for the cord was none too long and I could think of nothing but keeping it slack, but I know that the moon was not up, that Virgil was moving behind me, that Elgar turned to the right and stepped out for the entrance-drive.

  Perhaps ten minutes went by – it may have been less, but I know we had passed the point from which Herrick and I had surveyed the castle at dawn, when I saw in the shadows ahead the shape of a car.

  This was open and low – it proved to be Virgil’s own car ‘now under repair’ – and Elgar discharged his burden directly over its side. It will be understood that I did not have to be told to enter myself, and an instant later I was upon the back seat, with Elizabeth Virgil beside me, so far as I could hear, drawing regular breath.

  I suddenly realized that I was streaming with sweat…

  The dressing-case was set at our feet and Virgil and Elgar got in. For a moment the self-starter whirred… Then all was silence again, except for the purr of an engine in excellent trim. Virgil sat back in his seat and let in his clutch…

  It was as he did this, and we moved, that my fingers encountered something which did not belong to the seat. In an instant, they had it fast: and the moment I knew what it was, the hope which Virgil had murdered came back to life.

  It was a small screwdriver…which Elgar or some mechanic had left in the back of the car…some eight inches long, over all…with a fine enough blade. For all I know, it may have been there for weeks, for, the seat being tilted up, it had lodged between the seat and the padding on the back of the car; and I should never have found it or known it was there, if my wrists had not been fastened behind my back.

  Now, as I have said, my wrists were strapped together – not bound with cord. And every strap has a buckle, and every buckle a prong.

  When a man or a beast is restrained by a leather strap, it is upon the prong of the buckle that such restraint must depend. Disengage the prong from its hole, and the stoutest strap will be loosed and all restraint be at an end.

  My fingers were free. If I could contrive to thre
ad the blade of the screwdriver over the frame of the buckle and under the prong…

  It was a difficult business. I was working blind and my fingers had not fair play, and though I soon found the buckle, I could not reach this with my fingers and so could not guide the blade, while the movement of the car was distracting the aim which I tried to take.

  Blindfold a man and give him a needle to thread – to save his life and that of the lady he loves. And jog his arm, while he is trying…striving to beat the clock. For I was up against time. Virgil was driving fast, and we hadn’t got far to go.

  I do not wish to labour the point, but I think I should make it clear that during that terrible drive I endured such vexation of spirit as sends a man out of his mind. Had there been nothing at stake, the thing I was trying to do would have maddened a better man. It was one of those finical jobs that make a man lose his temper and throw down his tools. He may be the most patient of workmen, but this is a matter of luck. And when luck has made game of his efforts for two or three minutes of time, he has had enough of kicking against the pricks. God knows I had more than enough: but because of what was at stake, I had to go on.

  Again and again I was on the edge of success, and then the car would lurch and I would lose prong and buckle and sometimes my balance, too. And once the blade was in place, but, before I could drive it home, a wheel dropped into a pot-hole and shook it out. I could have screamed with the rage of a thwarted child…

  And then, at last, the blade slid under the prong…

  What happened I do not know, for I never examined the strap, but I know I was trying to lever the prong from its place and the buckle was turning with it and spoiling my game, when, all of a sudden, the strap went slack on my wrists and I knew I was free.

  Now my impulse was to do murder, and do it at once: break Elgar’s neck and then choke Virgil to death: and but for Elizabeth’s presence, I think that I should have done that – and as like as not lost my own life, when the car, which was travelling fast, crashed into a tree. But Elizabeth had to be saved. And so I did nothing at all but shake the strap from my wrists and keep my hands behind me and use my brain.

  At once I saw that the first thing for me to do was to free myself from the cord which put my lady in peril whenever I moved.

  With my eyes upon Virgil and Elgar, I felt for the knot at my waist. This I found and untied. Then I made a bow-knot in its stead, which I could undo in a flash whenever I pleased.

  Then I saw that, for better or worse, I must not launch my attack until the car was at rest, for if, in the struggle, the car were to leave the road, Elizabeth, bound hand and foot, might fare very ill.

  And then I remembered that Percy Virgil was armed.

  This showed me that, come what might, I must deal with him first: else, whilst I was dealing with Elgar, he might very well put me out.

  And there, without any warning, our lights were ‘dipped’ and Virgil reduced his speed…

  Till now I had been too much engaged to observe our way, and now I could see next to nothing from where I sat: but the road was rough and winding, and though there were trees on the right, there were none on the left. Wheresoever we might be bound for, I judged we were nearly there, and I held myself all ready to strike the instant we stopped.

  I sometimes think, looking back, that I should have done what I could to loosen Elizabeth’s bonds; but her hands were bound before her, and not behind, and I found it so important to hide from Virgil and Elgar the fact that my hands were free that I dared not make the movements which I should have had to make. Be that as it may, I did nothing but bide my time – and measure the distance from me to my enemy’s back. Had I been directly behind him, I should have been better placed, but I remember reflecting that a neck which cannot squarely be broken can always be wrung.

  I have said that the night was dark, and since we were sunk in some valley which ran north and south, we were denied the glow which heralds the rising moon. Still, I could see some six feet – and that was more than I needed to do what had to be done.

  And there, as though in reply, the car passed over some rise and then swept into surroundings of which I shall always think as the mouth of Hell.

  In a flash the world was transfigured.

  The air, which had been sweet, became the breath of corruption – reeked of decay: the sudden chill of a morgue displaced the pleasant cool of the summer night: the steady purr of the engine changed to a snarl and the darkness became so thick that I could not have seen my hand in front of my face. Then I knew that we were on cobbles, and, when I lifted my head, I saw the lines of three ridge-poles against the sky. We were in the great court of some mansion, long uninhabited.

  (Here I should say that, by rights, the lamps of the car should have helped: but they were so deep and so trained that their light was concentrated, as that of a torch, and neither the beams which they threw nor the apron of light which they spread did anything more than hold the eye, when it found them, and so increase the darkness they did not actually touch.)

  Now what possessed Elgar to do it, I do not know; but, as the car came to rest and I rose to my feet, the man slewed round in his seat and dropped down a hand for Elizabeth’s dressing-case. As he heaved this up, it struck me under the knees and, because I was rising and was neither up nor down, the blow made me lose my balance and sent me backwards into the seat I had left. Since this was low and tilted, I as good as fell on my back, and before I could rise again, Percy Virgil was out of the car, on the opposite side.

  Not that I saw him – the darkness was far too dense. And so, at least, I knew that I had not been seen. But I knew where he was, for I heard him using my name.

  “The, er, cemetery, Mr Exon… It’s better known as Palfrey – the place which Jezebel mentioned at dinner tonight. Nobody ever comes here, because it is said to be cursed. But, blessed or cursed, it has a magnificent well… Ninety feet deep, Mr Exon. And fifty-two feet of water – I measured it yesterday… And its parapet is of white marble – at least, it used to be white – and it has three statues about it…statues of men in armour, leaning upon their swords. How’s that for a sepulchre? I wish you could see it, Mr Exon. I’m standing beside it now. Elgar, you see, has gone to borrow some stones…to go into the dressing-case. As anchors go, it wasn’t quite heavy enough…”

  By now my door was open, and I was half out of the car, with Elizabeth in my arms.

  You see, we shall lower that first: and that will be attached to my cousin’s feet. And then we shall lower her: and as she’s already attached, that will bring us directly to you.”

  I was on the cobbles now and was stealing the way we had come. I never found it so hard to turn my back on a man: but Elizabeth had to be saved before anything else.

  “And so, you see, Mr Exon…”

  And there I saw Elgar approaching, against the dusk prevailing without the court.

  For a second I hesitated. Then I laid Elizabeth down and twitched the cord from my waist.

  And then I went to meet Elgar, who could not see me… And, as I went, I ripped the gag from my mouth.

  He must have found the case heavy, for when I was almost upon him, he laid it down for a moment, to rest his arm.

  As he straightened his back, I took the man by the throat…

  It was a curious business and seemed to belong to the stage or the cinema’s screen, for whilst we two stood silent, Virgil, a little way off, was addressing the empty car. I could not hear all he said, but his tone was as careless as ever and once he laughed. But Elgar could not laugh. He never struck me. From first to last his hands were tearing at mine. They might as well have torn at the cobbles beneath our feet. So for, perhaps a full minute… Then his knees sagged, and his arms fell down by his sides

  Still gripping his throat, I lowered his weight to the ground. Then I cracked his skull on the cobbles and let him go.

  The sound was slight enough, but Percy Virgil heard it – and found it strange.

  For an i
nstant there was dead silence.

  Then —

  “Is that you, Elgar?” he cried – and brought my heart into my mouth.

  I had meant to approach him forthwith, as Elgar would have approached him, bearing the dressing-case. But now Elgar’s failure to answer would tell him that something was wrong, and, once his suspicions were roused, it. would be but a matter of moments before he discovered the truth. And my lady was still within range…

  In a flash I had whipped to where I had laid her down. As I stooped —

  “Mother of God!” screeched Virgil – and told me he knew we were gone.

  My hands encountered nothing. Elizabeth was not there. Being bound, she could not have moved, yet she was not there. For an instant my heart stood still: and then I saw that, because of the darkness, I must be a foot or so out. I felt to the right…to the left. I took a pace forward, and stepped on a rotten stick. Its snap declared my presence and I shot a glance at the car. I could, of course, see nothing – except the beam of its lights. Virgil was quiet as death. Death… The man was armed, and Elizabeth lay hereabouts. Hereabouts, but where? I fell on my hands and knees and began to crawl, sweeping the cobbles before me with one of my hands. It was just about here – I knew it. More to the right, perhaps… No? Then I must have passed her… I made my way back. As I went, I cast to and fro – frantically. And then my hand brushed something – the sole of her shoe. My heart leaped up to heaven…and then fell down into hell. It was not her shoe. It was that of the man I had killed – from whose side I had set out to find her a moment ago…