Safe Custody and Laughing Bacchante

by Dornford Yates

  For a moment I strained my ears. Then I picked him up and heaved him into the wagon, standing six feet away.

  I stood again at the door.

  “ ’Arf a mo,” said Orris. “An’ wot would you say that was?”

  “Wot was?” said Sloper.

  “Sort o’ rattle,” said Orris. “Like somethin’ failin’ down.”

  Be sure I was cursing myself. To be honest, I had made sure that Orris and Sloper would bring the car up to the door. With the police at full stretch, to leave it out on the road was the act of a fool. But one, of course, could have moved it, while the other made for the barn. And now, as luck would have it, both had left the car and made straight for the barn.

  The two were listening intently—of that I could have no doubt.

  Then—

  “Imaginin’ things,” said Sloper. “ ‘E’s gettin’ down to them weights.”

  “I don’t ’ear him at it,” said Orris.

  Sloper lifted his voice.

  “You all right, sir?” he cried.

  I whipped out of cover and faced them.

  “Friar’s had it,” I said, “and I’m out for blood this morning, so don’t you move.”

  Their four eyes fast on my pistol, the two stood as still as stone.

  “Lock your fingers behind your heads.”

  They did so without a word.

  “Now turn your backs on me.”

  With my left hand, I took their arms and pitched them, one after the other, into the barn.

  It had been in my mind to march them back to the car, to order them into their seats, to take my place in the back and then to force them to drive the car into the barn. Had I not been alone, this would have been easy enough. But, after a moment’s reflection, because they were two to one, I knew that I must not risk their failure to play my game. I believe that they would have played it, for when there is sitting behind you the man who has killed your chief, it takes considerable courage to take any action of which he will disapprove. But such a maneuver was offering too many chances. . . . Once the engine was running, if one of the two were to thrust the gear into reverse, it would certainly cost him his life, but I might be injured before I could leave the car. Or there might be arms in the car, of which I did not know. And there were other objections, which must be manifest. So with the greatest reluctance, I made up my mind that the car must stay where it was. If the police were to pass and see it, my race was run. But, placed as I was, I dared not try to move it.

  I should, of course, have struck down either one or both of the rogues, and had I not been so weary, I think my brain would have shown me that, whether I liked it or no, the thing must be done. But when you have made a prisoner, your instinct is to use him as prisoners should be used and not to offer him violence unless he seeks to escape. And instinct is always active, although the brain may be dead.

  Be that as it may, I bade Orris stand fast and Sloper open the leaves of the door of the barn, for I needed plenty of light if I was to watch two such men. And when the leaves were open, I marched them in.

  “You see that ladder there? Go and pick it up . . . Now carry it past the door and mount it against the wall.”

  After a ludicrous struggle, they did as I said.

  Now the top of the wall was some twenty feet above ground, and, to my relief, the ladder was slightly longer than that. This meant I could send them to sit on the top of the wall, for, once the ladder was gone, they could not descend. Perhaps that is saying too much, for any man could have got down, but his movements would have had to be slow and cautiously made, unless, of course, he was willing to risk his neck. And I did not think Sloper or Orris belonged to that reckless class.

  Indeed, when I ordered them up, there was the deuce of a scene, which, had I not been so pressed, I should have enjoyed.

  “Wot, up there?” protested Sloper. “Oh, be yer age.”

  “Sloper,” I said, “I’m wasting no time on you. If you’re not on that wall in one minute, you’ll follow your master home.”

  Sloper looked at me very hard. Then he looked up the ladder and covered his eyes. And then he took a deep breath and went straight up.

  “Move along to make room for Orris,” I said, as he climbed onto the wall.

  Sloper crawled to the right.

  “I can’ do it, sir,” whimpered Orris. “I ’aven’t no ’ead for ’eights.”

  I cursed him on to the rungs.

  When he was halfway up, he said he could go no further. The man was certainly trembling in every limb. But I had no time to spare, for any moment a peasant might enter the barn.

  “You’d better make it,” I said, “lest a worse thing befall.”

  “I tell you, I can’t, sir. When I was seving—”

  I fired just below his feet, and ten seconds later Orris was up on the wall. But the courage which fear had lent him was spent once he was up, and he dared not sit down, as had Sloper, but crouched on his hands and knees, shaking all over, as though his last hour was at hand.

  I thrust the ladder sideways, so that it fell; then I recovered my bag and made for the weights.

  I laid my pistol down and took out the opening bar.

  Then I looked up at the rogues.

  “I’ve too much to do,” I said, “to watch you the whole of the time, but two or three times a minute, I shall look up. If, when I look up, I observe that either of you has moved, I shall immediately shoot him. And this will be all the warning he’s going to get.”

  Neither made any answer, but Sloper moistened his lips.

  The transfer of the gems took longer than I had expected, for I had to be very careful that none escaped. I had not the time to count them, but I made quite sure that each of the weights was empty before I laid it aside. I put the gems into the bag with what care I could, praying that the wool about each would keep it from injury. Then I tied the bag tight above them, so that they could not shift, and I tied its neck again, in case they did. Once in the bag, they did not weigh a great deal—less, I should say, than ten pounds.

  I screwed back the plates and pitched the weights, now empty, into the hay. It went to my heart to leave them, for Jasper’s sake, but I knew that we could not be burdened with things of that bulk. Before we were back at Jade, the gems would weigh heavy enough.

  I tested the knots on the bag, and, taking up my pistol, I got to my feet. I sought for and found the pistols which I had thrown into the barn and slid them, one after the other, into my coat.

  Then I addressed the rogues.

  “Don’t move just yet,” I said, “for I’m coming back. I shall be less than one minute. And anyone not in his place will meet it good and proper—be sure of that.”

  With that, I stepped to the door.

  I need hardly say that I did not intend to return, but I did not wish them to see the way I took. Not that there was much chance of their doing that, for so far as I could see, a man could only descend by reaching a leaf of the door, and that would be none too pleasant and would cost him a lot of skin. Still, Sloper could have done it in half a minute of time, for he was eight feet from the doorway—less than that.

  Just before I stepped out of the barn, I hung on my heel and leaned out, to be sure that the coast was clear.

  In that instant I was aware of some danger behind; my eyes or my ears may have warned me—of that I cannot be sure. But I know that I flung myself forward.

  So Sloper missed me . . . and met the iron ground with a sickening thud.

  He made a frantic effort to rise, but his back was plainly broken, and almost at once he collapsed.

  I glanced at Orris, still crouching upon the wall. Then I turned Sloper over, ran for an armful of hay and set this beneath his head.

  “You’re a brave man, Sloper,” I said.

  His eyes never opened; his lips parted a little, but that was all.

  “ ’Ad to try,” he murmured, “coz you done the guvnor in. Call it the ole school tie. ’E was a bastard all right,
but ’e was good to me.” He opened his eyes there, and though I think he saw nothing, they roved to and fro. “You ’aven’t no water, ’ave you? I think I’ve broken me beck.”

  “I’ll get some,” I said. “Have you got a cup in the car?”

  “Cubby-’ole,” he murmured.

  I threw a long look at Orris, still crouching on the top of the wall and staring down over his shoulder with horror inhabiting his eyes.

  Then I put up my pistol, seized the kit bag and hurried out of the barn.

  I knew where there was a rill. Eighty yards off, perhaps, on the other side of the road.

  Taking a glass from the car, I ran there as fast as I could; but I had to come back more slowly, for fear of spilling the water which I had won.

  Whilst I was going and coming, no traffic passed, and all I saw was a wagon a great way off.

  Sloper was as I had left him, but when I looked for Orris, Orris was gone.

  I looked round and smothered an oath.

  Then I kneeled down beside Sloper and lifted his head.

  After all, the man was dying—and dying hard.

  He managed to drink a little.

  “Nice an’ cole,” he breathed, “but I can’ do any more.” I laid back his head; then I soused my handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his face. “You’re a good bloke, you are, sir. But Orris is dirt. Beat it, ’e ’as. I’ll say ’e can put on an act. ’E ’ad me on.”

  “How did he get down, Sloper?”

  “Run along the wall an’ jump in the ’ay. An’ you gorn ter get me water. No ole school tie about ’im. Gawd, I’m goin’ swimy.”

  He lay like dead for a moment. Then a terrible spasm convulsed his frame.

  I wiped his face and throat.

  “Orris,” he panted. “ ’E’s spiteful. ’E’ll try to get you, sir.”

  “Is he armed?” said I.

  “Not if you got his rod. But. . . ’e’s a trier . . . Orris.”

  “Thank you, Sloper. Don’t try and talk any more. I’m sorry about Mr. Friar, but I knew it was him or me.”

  “I’ll say it was. ’E meant to ’ave them jools.”

  Again he seemed to collapse. Indeed, his breath was so low that I thought he was gone. Then, as though with an effort, he opened his glazing eyes.

  “Primrose ’Ill,” he murmured. “Used to play there, as a kid. Roll on the green grass, while me sister spooned. I ’member . . . one arter . . . noon. . . .”

  The babble faded and died. And half a minute later, Sloper was dead.

  So a faithful servant died as did Shakespeare’s Falstaff, a good many years before.

  I picked his body up and laid it down in the hay. Then I stepped to the wagon and looked at Friar. He was dead, too. I suppose I had cracked his skull. I searched him, found two pistols, and took them away.

  Then I left the barn—I confess with my chin on my shoulder, for Orris was yet alive and was out of the bag.

  “ ’E’ll try to get you, sir.”

  Well, there was nothing for it. He’d have to try.

  I was now much in need of rest; but this I dared not take until Colette was refreshed. Besides, I must find some spot where I could get my back to a wall.

  But first I must do my best to give Orris the slip.

  Where the man might be lurking, I had no idea, but I did not believe he could move in the country as I could, and I had a very good hope of throwing him off.

  With this intent, I passed round the back of the barn. Then I set off toward the frontier, moving beside the road. After covering nearly a mile, I came to a little culvert, allowing a little stream to pass beneath the highway. At once I turned to the left, as though seeking a bridge, and then, behind the cover of bracken, dropped into the bed of the brook. Bent double, I made my way back and, passing under the culvert, clambered up into the woods on the farther side of the road.

  Here I lay down, to survey the way I had come. But though I waited ten minutes, I saw no sign of Orris and, except for cars on the road, no movement at all.

  Cautiously, I made my way back to where I had left Colette.

  As I went, I glanced at my watch—twenty minutes past ten.

  Colette was still fast asleep on her bed of leaves, and the food I had set beside her had not been touched.

  Though it went to my heart to wake her, I knew we must leave the immediate neighborhood—not only because of Orris, but in case the bodies of Friar and Sloper were found; for if hue and cry were raised, the woods about the barn would be the first to be searched. We must make for some spot on the way to the smuggler’s path—if possible, fairly high up, from which we could see about us, yet not be seen.

  Then again, I had to get rid of the pistols which I had won, for I was festooned with the things, which weighed a great deal and which could bear grave witness against me, if I should fall foul of the police. Yet I dared not throw them away, in case Orris should be behind me and pick one up. I could have removed their clips, but, for all I knew, he had a spare clip upon him, and I had no mind to arm my enemy. A river was what I needed; for there I could sink them so fast that neither Orris nor anyone else would ever see them again.

  Here I should make it quite clear that the fact that Orris was at large hung like some dreadful millstone about my neck. I was terribly tired. Thursday had been a hard day, and so had the following night. The rest I had had on Friday had been very poor. Because I was so much concerned, I had hardly slept at all, and though the repose had refreshed me, I would not have chosen to make such a journey that night. My encounter with Friar and his men had summoned what must have been almost the last reserves I had; and while I was prepared to go on until I felt it was safe to rest to be always upon the qui vive added very much to a burden which was already as heavy as any that I have borne.

  Still, there was nothing for it. Our wonderful luck had returned—for it was a most merciful chance that Friar, and not some peasant, had found the weights. Had some peasant carried them off in innocence, I cannot think when I should have run them to earth, for until I had had some rest, to tramp from farm to farm would have been beyond my power. Our run of good fortune was back, and I was not going to break it, so long as I could stand up. Once I was back at Jade, I could sleep for a week.

  Taking comfort from this reflection, I took Colette’s little hand and put it up to my lips. But that was no good at all. I had to ruffle her curls, before she would open her eyes.

  She started up.

  “It’s long past ten, my dear. We’ve got to get on.”

  Colette clapped a hand to her brow.

  “And I was to watch while you slept! Adam, Adam, why did you not leave me behind?” Her eye caught the meager ration which I had laid out. “You, who are unfit to stand up, have been watching and waiting on me. If ever a trust was betrayed!”

  “Come, come, Colette. Had I had need of you, I should have seen that you watched. But I had no need of you, and so it was best you should sleep, for very soon now you must watch, while I take my rest.”

  Colette put a hand to her head.

  “I cannot remember. Why had you no need of me?”

  “Because I had work to do. I had to recover the weights.”

  Colette stared.

  “That’s right. The weights were gone. And you have been looking for them. I could have helped you there.”

  “I found them, my dear. And I have the gems here, in my bag.”

  “Adam! ”

  “I can hardly believe it myself, but there they are. But since I must hold what I have, I want you to eat your breakfast and then strike out with me for the smuggler’s path. I don’t want to go so far, but we must get away from here. We must find some fold in the hills in which we can pass the day—one of us keeping watch, while the other sleeps. I think there are many such places, where we can lie safe. But the sooner we find one, the better—for that, you must take my word. You shall know everything later, but now I want to get on.”

  Colette stood up at once.
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  “I will break my fast there,” she said, and picked up the food.

  “Eat a little now,” I said. “It will give you strength.”

  She shook her head.

  “My appetite will be the better, when we are safe.”

  She thrust the scraps into her pouch. I threw a look over my shoulder and pointed the way.

  “Make for that stricken tree; I’ll follow behind.”

  So began an excursion which lasted for nearly three hours.

  For most of that time we had to make our own path, for all of that time I had to keep our direction, carry those cursed pistols, and look behind.

  And then at last, I saw, a long way below us, the road which presently ran between the dell I had found and the smuggler’s path, and fifty feet up was a little grass-covered lip which argued a dip or hollow upon its farther side.

  I should, I know, have approached this by a circuitous route. But I was at the end of my tether, and that is the truth. My steps had become uncertain, my legs were trembling beneath me of sheer fatigue.

  How I covered those fifty feet, I shall never know; but close upon the heels of Colette, I stumbled over the lip, to sink down in a little aerie, which in its shape resembled a gravy well.

  Colette was kneeling beside me, with fear in her beautiful eyes.

  “Adam, Adam darling, you look so ill.”

  “I’m done, my sweet. I shall have to doze for a little. There is where you come in. Will you watch while I rest?”

  “You know I will. But—”

  “In half an hour,” I said, “I shall be myself again. It must not be more than that. Unstrap my watch.” She took my watch from my wrist. “In half an hour from now, I have a duty to do. It will not take very long, and then I will rest again. But I charge you, Colette, to wake me in half an hour.”

  “It will break my heart,” she said, “but I will do as you say.”

  “Watch well, Colette, especially the way we have come. If you see any sort of movement, rouse me at once. I do not want to be taken, now I have got so far.”

  “If,” said Colette, “we are taken, it will not be because I have slept at my post.”

  I smiled and nodded. Then I pillowed my head on the kit bag and fell asleep.