“I feel like a toy balloon—all floaty! Oh, Jim—isn’t it fun?”
Jim took her by the shoulder and shook her.
“Now look here, Caroline—this is a job. You’re not to talk nonsense, and you’re not to snuggle, and you’re not to say ‘Jim darling.’”
“Oh!” said Caroline in a tone of outrage. “I wasn’t snuggling!”
“You were. You do. You always did.”
“Jim darling, don’t you like it?”
“There you are—two blobs at one go! You little idiot—don’t you think I want to make love to you? And don’t you see that it would be damned dishonourable if I did? You may just as well face it—if Elmer Van Berg dies, I’m a great deal more likely to be hanged than not. If I made love to you, I should be a dirty cad.”
Caroline sat as far away from him as she could. Two burning tears ran down her cheeks. She dug the nails of one hand into the palm of the other.
Jim went on speaking.
“Now I’ll tell you what I’m doing here. You’d better be prepared for a bit of a shock. The emeralds were at Hale Place, in the Blue Room under Ralph de Burgh’s shield.”
Caroline’s tears dried suddenly. She sat bolt upright and drew a sharply audible breath.
“I found them there,” said Jim. “It knocked me endways. I was staring at them like the village idiot, when a fellow barged in and snatched them. We had a rough-and-tumble, but he got away. I went after him along the field path to Hinton, but it was no go. They’ve altered the time of the last train. He caught it by the skin of his teeth, and I missed it. I believe he came into Ledlington and knocked Nesta up. And I believe she’s meeting him to-night. That’s that. But what I want to know is—did you ever tell anyone—anyone, mind—about the hiding-place behind the shield?”
“No, I didn’t,” said Caroline.
“Sure?”
“Sure.”
“Then I must have put the damned things there myself.”
“You couldn’t have,” said Caroline in a deep sure voice.
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know. It wasn’t you. Now, Jim, listen—because I’ve seen Susie Van Berg, and I’ve got to tell you what she said. It’s—it’s not very good news, Jim.”
She told him about Susie. When she had finished, Jim said quietly,
“That puts the lid on—doesn’t it? I suppose I did it. I can’t believe it, but I suppose I did do it.”
Caroline said, “I’ll never believe you did it!”
“My dear,” said Jim, “if Susie goes to the police with that story of a quarrel, I shouldn’t think the jury would even leave the box.”
Caroline caught her breath. She went on quickly.
“There’s something else. After I left Susie I lost my way. That frightful storm was right overhead. I was in a sort of panic and blundered into someone’s room. There was a screen in front of the door, so they didn’t see me.”
“Who is ‘they’?” said Jim.
“Nesta and that cousin of hers who is housekeeper there—Caroline Bussell.”
He said, “Well?”
“Aren’t you surprised? I was. I nearly dropped right through the floor.”
Jim gave a short laugh.
“I’ve stopped being surprised. Well, what were they up to?”
“I listened,” said Caroline rather defiantly.
“Well?”
“They were doing a sort of magic with a bowl of ink.”
“What!”
Caroline nodded.
“Like crystal-gazing. That Bussell woman is rather frightening. She made Nesta look into the ink, but she couldn’t see anything except fog.”
“Fog?” said Jim in a startled voice. Fog—that was what lay at the back of his own mind—fog, and waves, and a voice.
“Yes,” said Caroline. “Nesta wouldn’t go on. And then Caroline Bussell picked up the bowl of ink, and put it on her lap and looked into it.”
“Well?”
Caroline shivered.
“I hated it! She looked like some horrid sort of waxwork. And then all of a sudden she stopped looking into the ink and began to describe the Blue Room at Hale Place. Nesta asked her where the emeralds were, and she described the Blue Room.”
“Well, they were there all right,” said Jim. “Did she say anything about the shield?”
“No, she didn’t. She called out suddenly, ‘He’s alive! Did you know that he was alive?’ And the bowl tilted and all the ink upset. I ran away.”
He leaned forward and took her by the wrist.
“Who were they talking about?”
“I don’t know.”
“Hadn’t they mentioned anyone?”
Caroline’s hand trembled under his.
“I don’t know—yes, Nesta did. She said, ‘Where’s Jim?’”
“Was that before or after she asked about the emeralds?”
“I can’t remember.” Her voice was distressed. “I think it was before.”
“She asked, ‘Where is Jim?’ What did the Bussell woman say?”
“I can’t remember—I’ve got it all sort of muddled. There was the thunder, and what Susie had just been saying, and that creepy waxwork woman. I don’t think I’ve ever been so frightened in my life.”
“But you’re sure she said, ‘He’s alive’?”
“Yes—I’m sure about that. She said, ‘He’s alive!’ in a loud startled sort of way. And she said ‘Did you know he was alive?’ and the ink bowl tipped over and I ran away. I don’t know why she said it, because of course Nesta knew that you were alive.”
Jim let go of her wrist and sat back.
“I don’t think she meant me,” he said in a slow controlled voice.
XXXI
About ten minutes later Jim suddenly clutched Caroline and said, “Hush!” The front door of Happicot had opened and someone was coming out. There was no light in the little passage. The door shut again.
Jim spoke under his breath.
“It’s Tom—”
The light of the street-lamp showed overalls, a leather cap, and goggles.
“She’s sending Tom,” said Jim.
They saw him go round the house into the shadow.
“Suppose it’s a blind,” said Caroline.
Jim’s hand tightened on her wrist. He said,
“Look!”
The light in the room over the sitting-room had gone on. Min stood there, drawing down the blinds. There were two windows. A dark blind blotted out one of them. Min came up to the other. The second blind snapped down, but just before it shut the lighted room from view they both saw a hand fall on Min’s shoulder. It was a man’s hand with a bit of shirt sleeve showing. Then both windows were dark, and out of the shadow beside the house came the figure in overalls, pushing Tom’s motor-bike.
“It isn’t Tom—Tom’s up there with Min. That’s Nesta! Get ready to start as soon as she’s making enough noise not to notice us. What can you do?”
“Fifty,” said Caroline.
The chug-chugging of the motor-bicycle filled the quiet road. A corner of the blind above was lifted. Someone was watching Nesta start. Jim thought Tom would probably hear all about that later on.
The bicycle began to move, the blind was reluctantly dropped, and the next moment Jemima was off and the chase was up. Fifty wasn’t going to be very much good if Nesta was really out for speed; the motorbike could do seventy and still have something in hand. Jim thanked his stars that Nesta was on her own job. If she had sent Tom, they would probably have lost him round the first corner and never set eyes on him again. As it was, the tail-light was well in view when they came upon the main road, and it became obvious that she was not doing more than a cautious thirty-five.
Caroline kept about thirty yards behind. There was very little traffic on the road, and it was now practically dark. They ran for five miles, and then the taillight disappeared.
“Where’s she gone?” said Jim in a puzzled voice.
; “Sandy Lane,” said Caroline.
“Is it drivable?”
“They’ve made a parking-ground in a field about a quarter of a mile along to the left. They get simply loads of trippers now. The road’s all right as far as that, but I can get Jemima a good bit nearer the ruins. Do you think she’s going there?”
They turned off, and saw the red spark again. Jim said,
“It wouldn’t be a bad place to lie up in except for the trippers.”
“They’ll have gone hours ago—not likely to be many in this weather.”
They ran on past the parking-place. Caroline switched off her lights and crawled forward over a horribly rough surface. She could just see a black line of hedge on either side. The red spark drew away and then suddenly went out.
Jim whispered, “Has she turned off?”
“Stopped, I think. We must too. I can’t turn here—we shall have to back.”
He opened the door and jumped out.
“Caroline—will you do just what I say? Back down to the parking-place and turn, then stay there till I come. Get as much out of the way as you can.”
He did not wait for an answer, but made off up the lane. It was years since he had been here. He tried to remember where the footpath left the lane, and to fix in his mind the exact spot at which the red light had vanished. He must be getting near it now.
And then all of a sudden there was the motor-bike, jammed up against the hedge. A bare yard farther on he came on the wicket gate.
The ruin of St Leonard’s Priory is one of the sights of the country. It cannot be said to be easy of access, but in summer weather it is much in favour with school treats, sketching-parties, and lovers. There are one or two graceful arches, several lengths of crumbling wall, and an ivy-grown tower. There is also a sufficiency of fallen stones to afford seats for everyone.
Jim followed the path until he could see the dark mass of the tower loom up between him and a sky which was not quite so dark. He stood still and listened. For all he knew, he was on the wrong tack, but if he were on the right one, he would be in luck if he could discover Nesta before she discovered him.
From this point onward there ceased to be a path, or else he had lost it. He had to feel before him with his foot at every step. There were blackberry trails, very thorny; there were nettles; and there was fallen masonry in every stage of decay.
At intervals he stopped to listen. His only real chance of finding Nesta lay in his unusually keen sense of hearing. If she spoke in however low a tone, he thought, on a night as still as this, that he would hear something. And then all at once he didn’t hear, he saw.
He was about a dozen yards from the tower, which was really only a shell, the hollow side towards him. The winding stair, which had once led to the top, had long since fallen, but the slits which had lighted it remained, piercing the outer wall at regular intervals. What Jim saw was the lowest of these slits, and he saw it because on the other side of the tower wall someone had struck a match. The tiny flame showed the slit as a narrow, faintly illuminated panel on a black wall.
Jim crossed the intervening space as quickly and as noiselessly as possible. As he approached the slit, he heard the murmur of voices. He laid a hand on the rough, damp wall of the tower, stooped to the slit, and from the other side of it heard Nesta say,
“I want to see them.”
He listened eagerly for the man’s voice. All that he knew of him up to the present was the feel of his agile twisting body and the sharpness of his teeth. He had not the slightest doubt that it was his burglar to whom Nesta was speaking, and when she said, “I want to see them,” he had not the slightest doubt that she was asking for the emeralds.
He listened for the man’s voice. When it came, he thrust a second hand against the wall and leaned upon both hands heavily.
The voice was as familiar to him as his own—a rather soft-sounding voice, with no particular mark of age or class—a smooth, low-pitched voice. And it had been sounding in his mind ever since the wreck of the Alice Arden.
In the shock of this recognition he lost what was said. Nesta spoke again in a sharp undertone.
“I want to see them.”
Then the voice, and this time he got the words too.
“Then want’ll have to be your master.”
“Will it?” said Nesta. “We’ll see about that. I’m going to see them, and I’m going to have them in my hands.”
“Not much, you’re not! Anyway I haven’t got them on me—I told you that before—not such a fool.”
Nesta did not speak any louder, but her voice had the true scold’s rasp in it.
“I’m to run your errands, and fetch and carry for you, and go here and go there, and be cheated out of what I’ve earned? You can think again!”
“Look here,” said the man—“that’s enough! Do you hear? You’ll get your share all right when I get mine. Neither of us is going to get a penny until I’m safe out of the country. The sooner I’m out of the country the sooner you’ll get your share. Stop talking like a lunatic and hand over the cash!”
“And I tell you,” said Nesta, “that I won’t hand over a penny if I don’t see the emeralds!” Her voice broke on the word and choked.
On the other side of the wall, Jim wondered whether she was being silenced for the moment or for good and all. If she was being murdered, he would have to go to the rescue, and the prospect enraged him. Next moment however there was an indignant spluttering whisper.
“Take your filthy hand away!”
“All right—but you’ll get scragged in earnest if you start mentioning names.”
“Who’s going to hear them?” said Nesta.
“No one,” said the smooth voice very smoothly. “And shall I tell you why? Because you’ll be dead before you get them out. It’ll look fine on the hoardings—‘Woman Found Strangled.’ You’ll get your photograph into the Sunday papers if that’s what you want. Pity you won’t be there to see them!”
“Tom knows where I’ve gone.”
For all his dislike, Jim could admire her nerve. He wondered how much Tom did know.
“Oh—Tom knows, does he? Well, you be careful, or he’ll know more than he likes. Hand over the cash!”
“Not till I’ve seen them!”
They were so close against the wall that Jim could hear every movement and—almost—every breath. He heard the man step sideways, and he heard Nesta take a sharp breath.
“Hand that money over!” said the man.
Nesta laughed.
“Do you think I’m such a fool as to have it on me? Keep your hands to yourself, and keep your distance!”
There was another movement. Jim thought the man stepped back.
“Where’s the money?” The smoothness of his voice was broken.
“That’s it,” said Nesta—“where is it? I don’t mind telling you, you know. It’s not a hundred miles away. For the matter of that, it’s not a dozen yards away. It’s where I put it, and there it’ll stay until I’ve seen what I want to see. Of course you can start looking for it if you like. You’ve got a box of matches—I should try if I were you. I shan’t mind seeing you burn your fingers!”
There was an empty, dangerous pause. It occurred to Jim that it would be bad luck if he were to get mixed up in another murder. Some day Nesta would go too far. He wondered if the day had come. He would not himself have gambled on the self-control of the man on the other side of the wall.
The pause broke. The voice was smooth again.
“That true?”
Nesta laughed.
“Cross my heart!”
“You’ll get it crossed with a knife if you’re not careful!”
“Not this time,” she said. “Let me see them, and you won’t have to waste your matches.”
There was another pause.
“Come on, or I’ll think you haven’t got them! And if you haven’t got them, I’m off.”
A match head scraped on emery, and the slit in the wall fl
ared yellow. Jim, stooping forward on the inner side, saw, framed by the black wall, a man’s hand with eight green stones dangling, just as he had seen it in his dreams. In his dreams it had been Elmer’s hand, but this was a smaller, smoother hand than Elmer Van Berg’s. The match was out of the picture. It was above and behind the green stones, making a transparency of them.
Jim heard Nesta exclaim, then saw her face, avid and dark, lips parted, close-set eyes intent. On the other side there came into view a man’s profile—straight forehead, long nose, straight thin lips, long chin—and all in a moment was blotted out again. The match fell, trailing a spark across the darkened picture, and in the same instant Jim reached at arm’s length through the slit, caught the swinging chain, and jerked it clear.
XXXII
Caroline sat in the car, and felt the darkness and the silence come blanketing down. She had backed into the parking-ground and run up close under the hedge, so that on one side she had a black wall of thorny twigs, and on the other the formless shadows of the field. She had switched off her lights lest by any chance she should be seen. The time went slowly.
After a bit she shut her eyes and began to think about Jim. Of course she had been thinking of him all the time, but this was a very special kind of thinking. He had kissed her differently, and he had said, “I love you with all my heart and soul.” And he had said, “If I get out of this, we’ll get married.”
Caroline thought about these things. It was like looking out from under an angry black cloud into a heavenly sunny place. It was like looking into a dream and finding beauty and gladness beyond anything you had imagined. Caroline looked.
She was not sure how long she had been dreaming, when a light startled her broad awake. It shone red through her eyelids, and she opened them, dazzled, to meet the headlights of a car. As she exclaimed, someone shouted. The light swung aside and a car drew up at right angles to Jemima. Instantly the doors were flung open and she was hailed by name. Two people jumped out.
“Hi, Caroline—I spotted you! You were asleep—we jolly nearly ran you down! Who are you with? Have you got your clue? Because if you have, you might just as well hand it on and save us trekking up to the Tower.”
Outrageous Fortune Page 21
