Safe Custody and Laughing Bacchante

by Dornford Yates

  I had food for thought and to spare, and for that reason was grateful to be alone: but even that feast was denied me, for so often as I thought of Olivia, my thoughts began to slide into dreams and I had to force my mind back to my surroundings—to the turrets of the house of Haydn, and the rookery neighbouring these, and the manifold flowers that were starring the sides of the mound.

  Such hopes as I had harboured began to go down with the sun.

  Once dusk had come in, though a score of cars left Haydn, Hubert would be unable to see their occupants, and though, of course, we should follow, as like as not we should be on a wild-goose chase.

  Though I could not see the drive, I had heard the sound of an engine several times, but I knew that it did not concern us, for Hubert had given no sign. I afterwards learned that two vans had come to the castle and that both had gone empty away, and that during the afternoon a servant, perched in a dog-cart, drove forth and back. And that was all.

  The evening breeze sprang up, played for a little while and died. Then the sun went down in glory, and dusk came in.

  Half an hour later perhaps came a flash from my cousin’s torch.

  As I leaped to my feet, I heard the drone of a car . . .

  It was now too dark to be seen, so I lifted the Rolls from the sand-pit and on to the track.

  I was fifty yards from the drive when two cars went by.

  The sight of them scattered my fears of being misled: there was that about their passage which convinced me that here was the enemy going to sow his tares.

  Though Hubert must have run like the wind, their tail-lights had disappeared before he had reached the Rolls, and since I could not go very fast—for, until we were clear of the drive, I dared not put on our lights—our posting of Stiven at the junction bade fair to prove essential to our success. And so it did, for when I pulled the Rolls up in the mouth of the drive, there was nothing whatever to tell me which way the cars had gone.

  Then—

  “To the left, sir,” cried Stiven, and swung himself on to the step.

  We ran with lights until we had sighted the cars: then we switched them off, for the roads were unfrequented and, when things were going so well, it would have been more than grievous to have given our presence away. Not that we had much to fear. Even Harris suspicions would have been hard to arouse, for he thought he had clipped our wings by blocking the road of approach. Still, when thieves are about their business, they do not take things for granted, as other men: and we had no wish to set the enemy thinking and looking over his shoulder and wondering who we were.

  Now we very soon suspected and presently knew that the cars before us were making for the region in which Hohenems stood: this because they led us along the very roads we had used that morning, so that we soon had no doubt that they were for the castle itself. The further we went, the more convinced we became that we were going to witness another attack and so began to consider how best we could bring this to naught.

  So for an hour and more. Then we had the surprise of our lives, for when the cars came to the cross roads, they turned to the right, instead of going straight on.

  Now had they gone straight on, they would in half a mile have come to the road of approach: but the right-hand road would take them away from Hohenems, unless after two or three miles they turned to the left. And that way would certainly bring them round to our farm—to the back of the mountain on the face of which Hohenems stood. I could hardly believe . . .

  Yet so it fell out.

  Three miles further on, the two cars turned to the left.

  “Well, I’m damned,” said Hubert. “They can’t be proposing to go that way to attack. They wouldn’t be fit to stand up by the time they’d got up to our walls.”

  I fell back a little. There was plainly need for caution, and we could not lose them now this side of the farm.

  The road now began to twist and soon became serpentine, so that the tail-lights were often out of our view: this made us uneasy each time we rounded a bend, in case we should find that the cars had suddenly stopped and that we were too close upon them not to be seen. This risk, however, we had to run: but the following four or five miles were very trying, and as we stole round the turnings, I think we all strained our eyes as never before.

  But luck was with us.

  Some three hundred yards from the farm we rounded a bend, to see the cars standing still not a furlong away.

  At once I brought the Rolls to the side of the road, and twenty seconds later we were walking along in the shadows towards our prey . . .

  “We’ll need all hands,” said Harris. “I’ve had enough bites at this cherry and I’m going to finish to-night.”

  “It is nearly done,” said Father Herman. “Very soon now, my friend, we shall gather the fruit of our toil.”

  “ ’Ark to Satan,” said Bunch. “ ’Ere followeth the anthem.”

  There was a burst of laughter which Harris instantly checked.

  “This ain’t a circus,” he flashed. “God knows we’ve clowns to spare, but we’re on the job. And put out those — lights. We don’t want no one stopping to ask the time.” The lights of the cars were put out. “Where’s that — of a chauffeur?”

  “The man is here,” said the priest.

  “Take him with you,” said Harris. “The cars won’t shift, and I’d like him under my hand.”

  His issuing of his orders was as sharp as were the orders themselves, and I fancy that Father Herman must have been ready to burst when he heard himself so addressed by such a man.

  That no circumstance of offence might be omitted—

  “An’ don’t go too fast,” said Punter. “I was all of a tremble last time we got up to the top.”

  “In course you were,” said Bunch. “Under that skirt of his he’s got a couple of’ ’ooves.”

  Bugle put in his oar.

  “Well, pick up a stone, Satan. I guess there’s mountains in Hell, but you’re not there now.” He smothered a yawn. “I give you my word. I’m sick of these — Alps. Scenery’s all right to look at, but you don’t want to come too close.”

  “By God, you’re right,” said Punter, feelingly.

  “Carry on,” snapped Harris.

  An instant later the strange procession took shape and began to ascend the mountain, with the priest at its head and Harris himself in its rear.

  My cousin put his lips to my ear.

  “I’ll follow them up,” he said, “while you get rid of the car. Take her on to the farm, get hold of the farmer and put her into her barn. Then come back to this place and start in my wake. Stiven will be between us to act as connecting-file. I shall stick close to their heels, and from time to time I’ll flash my torch to guide Stiven, and he’ll flash his to guide you.”

  “What on earth’s their game?” I whispered.

  “God knows,” said Hubert. “But, by thunder, it’s lucky we came.”

  Nearly an hour had gone by, and I was still mounting blindly in Stiven’s wake, when I heard the gush of some considerable fountain somewhere ahead.

  In that instant I knew where we were—that Father Herman had led us up to the dell which Olivia and I had visited ten days before. Sure enough, some two minutes later, I came to the sloping plateau below the ultimate crest. Though the priest had followed no path, the line he had taken was simpler than the way we had gone, but I think that he knew the mountain and which was the easiest way.

  I was halfway across the plateau when somebody touched my arm.

  “Listen,” said Hubert. “They’ve gone down into that dell. Is that the place that you and Olivia passed?”

  “It is,” said I.

  As I spoke, a torch was lighted, and then two more. And since until now the rogues had shown no light, that this was the scene of their action I had no doubt.

  “I don’t like those torches,” said Hubert, “but we simply must see what’s what. You’ve seen this spot by daylight. Where do we go?”

  “We must
bear to the left,” said I. “And after thirty paces we’ll strike the trees.”

  “I leave it to you,” said Hubert.

  We hastened across the plateau and came to the trees. These were clothing the peak, up which I struck obliquely, so as to bring us above where the enemy stood. While we must not, of course, be seen, we could not be heard, for the sound of the heavy fountain which issued into the dell and the rush of the race which fed the Hohenems fall were far too loud for anyone down in the dell to hear anything else. Indeed, though I could not see, the ceaseless song of the water guided my steps, and after four or five minutes I came to the brink of the channel down which the water was surging on its way to the castle fall. At once I turned, proposing to pass through the bushes which grew between me and the dell, but before I had taken three steps, a torch was suddenly lighted not six feet from where I stood.

  For one shocking moment I thought that we had been seen. Then I saw that two men were below me, close to the head of the channel, where this ran out of the dell. And they were at work. I could see the head of a hammer, driving a heavy chisel into the ground.

  Now the night was very dark, and the only light the rogues had was that of their four or five torches, flashed to and fro. I suppose that Harris and his men were well enough accustomed to working by such a light, but to watch them was incredibly trying, for the scene was kaleidoscopic and might have been some constantly changing example of post-impressionist art. To add to our troubles, two or three times a minute some torch would be turned our way: this was disconcerting, for though we had all picked positions which were screened by a veil of leaves, we had the false impression that the beam must give us away, but, what was worse, we were always momentarily blinded, and, before our sight had come back, as like as not we were to be blinded again.

  For myself, half an hour had gone by before I perceived the nature of the work which was being done. But the moment I saw its nature, I saw its aim.

  The rogues were preparing to cut off the castle fall.

  * * * * *

  “Never,” said Palin, incredulously.

  “Hard fact,” said Hubert. “They’d rigged up a sort of blind sluice which they could let down just at the head of the channel, where the channel runs out of the dell. The ground didn’t help, and they had to cut it away. I rather think they’d already sunk some timber we couldn’t see. And the sluice was to slide down and meet this, just as the sash of a window slides down to meet its sill. And that would explain why the rill at the farm was swollen and why the man and his wife were so much upset.”

  “They’ll be a damned sight more upset when the sluice goes down.”

  “For heaven’s sake!” cried Olivia. “The farm will be swept away.”

  “Hush,” said Palin. “Allow the lad to proceed.”

  “Well,” continued Hubert, “they worked on and off until three, but though I’ve no doubt they consulted, because of the noise of the water we never heard a word that was said. That was heart-breaking, but, of course, it couldn’t be helped. But right at the last I’m almost certain they held a sort of rehearsal of the ceremony of lowering the sluice—short, of course, of actually letting it fall. And in any event I was sure that the work was done.

  “I give you my word, I couldn’t think what to do. Everything was ready: any moment now the sluice would fall into place: and in that instant our water-supply would be cut. This meant that in twenty-four hours—at the very most, Hohenems Castle would have neither water nor light. As for the farm, the man and his wife and his oxen and all that was his would simply be blotted out.

  “I decided that we must take action, cost what it might, and when next they approached the sluice we must open fire. So I got hold of John and Stiven, and we all stood by to loose off for all we were worth.

  “Now the thieves had withdrawn a little into the dell—I supposed, to have some refreshment before the balloon went up. But after a little they seemed to stop using their torches, and when I could bear it no longer, I crept down to see what it meant. Damn it, the dell was empty. The lot were gone.

  “For a long time I couldn’t believe it. Why, if all was ready, hadn’t they let down the sluice? What were they waiting for? What could be their object in waiting? And then in the flick of an eyelid I saw the truth.

  “They were going to divert the fall, but not with the object of cutting our water-supply. That would, of course, have been madness—I see it now: for long before we had surrendered, the countryside would have been roused by the sudden flowing of a river where no river had flowed before. The phenomenon would have been examined, and the sluice discovered and destroyed before any more damage was done.

  “No. You know the cascade in the dungeon . . . and the conduit that brings it in . . . and the flap in the kitchen floor. . . . Very well. Cut off the castle fall, and a man can crawl down that conduit and enter the castle that way. A man? Ten men . . . fifty men . . .

  “And there you are. They know that conduit exists, and they’ve laid their plans. At a given moment to-night—or to-morrow, or Tuesday: but I rather fancy to-night—the sluice will go down and the Hohenems fall will stop. Only two men are needed to let down the sluice. The rest will be waiting outside the castle wall on the road of approach. And the moment the waterfall stops, they’ll step down into its bed, enter the conduit and make their way into the kitchen by lifting the flap. Or if they like, into the dungeon and then upstairs.

  “I say ‘they will’: but they won’t. They’ll wait in the drive all right, but they’ll soon get tired of waiting for the sluice to go down. . . . The sluice no longer exists. We broke it up with the hammers and chucked it over the fall. The timber and wedges and ropes have disappeared. We slung the hammers and chisels into the woods. I admit it’s easy to destroy, but I never enjoyed twenty minutes so much in my life. And I’ve only one regret. That is that I shall not be present when Harris and Haydn are standing by the side of the waterfall, commenting upon each other’s comments upon its failure to stop.”

  We were sitting at the dining-room table, on which a meal had been waiting for Hubert and me. The room was warm, for a good fire burned on the hearth, and the curtains were drawn although it was almost day. Hubert and I were all unshaven and stained and might have passed for a couple of broken tramps: Palin, gowned and slippered, was plainly fresh from his bath: and Olivia, dainty as ever, might just have come down to her breakfast at nine o’clock.

  Palin looked at her, and she nodded and then sat back in her chair.

  “We congratulate you,” said Palin. “No one could have done better. Not one in ten thousand would have done half so well.”

  He stopped there and cleared his throat.

  “What you’ve told us is of great interest—of quite extraordinary interest. And, as it happens, we are able to add to your tale. Or rather, let us say, to your theory.

  “Our friends would have entered the castle by the conduit, as you have surmised. But after perhaps fifty minutes, they would have withdrawn with the ‘vestments’ by the way they had come.”

  “Very probably,” said my cousin. “I give you that.”

  “It’s not probable,” said Palin. “It’s certain. There is not one shadow of doubt.” He took a deep breath. “You see, we’ve found out the cipher . . . and the way to get at the ‘vestments’ is to cut off the dungeon fall.”

  Chapter 13. Judment of Death

  I was so weary and Palin’s announcement was so big that several seconds went by before I could take it in. Indeed, I was still saying over the words I had heard him use, when Hubert let out a cry and leaped to his feet.

  “My God,” he said, “then we’ve gone and torn everything up. The sluice was ready and waiting. If we hadn’t broken it down, we could have used it this morning—”

  “And wiped out the farm,” said Olivia. “Now listen. I’ll explain in a moment, but do get this into your head. What you have done is just perfect. Nothing could have been better. The thieves will go empty away, and we shall
have the ‘vestments’ to-night.”

  My cousin stared. Then he sat down again slowly, with his eyes fast upon Olivia and a hand to his mouth.

  “You see,” said my wife, “it’s this way. To open the secret chamber, the dungeon fall must be stopped. But the dungeon fall can be stopped without stopping the castle fall. And that we can do from within. There won’t be any flooding. We’ve got a sluice of our own.”

  And here is the place to set out the contents of that piece of parchment which Olivia’s grandfather had cut into three vertical strips.

  I cannot be certain that every word is correct, for we never saw the strip which the Count of Haydn possessed. But Olivia had the first, and Father Herman’s breviary gave us the third: and from these two Olivia and Palin were able, as they had hoped to be, to reconstruct the second beyond any reasonable doubt.

  The vestments lie wrapped as they were received in three bales. They are in the inner dungeon of the three. This is hewn from living rock. The doorway to this dungeon is set in the wall of the great dungeon and is sealed with stones cut to fit it laid in cement. A cascade like an arras hangs down over the doorway to conceal it quite. None can ever enter except he first prevent the flow of the water. Let him let down the shutter belonging to the pipe, so the water will turn aside and flow back to the bed whence it came. In truth the shutter is the first rise at the foot of the stair by the kitchen and is locked into the first tread. The tread must be drawn forward. When this is done the shutter will fall into place.

  Nothing could well have been clearer than these directions, and since I have described the dungeons and the pipe or conduit which ran under the kitchen floor, there is no need of any comment: but perhaps I may make bold to point out that the third of the vertical strips contained all the vital words.

  As I read the answer to the riddle which we had been fighting to solve, all my weariness left me, and I was as eager as Hubert to start work at once: but neither Olivia nor Palin would hear our prayers.