“Why tonight or tomorrow morning?”
“To put the Duke wise,” said Mansel. “To tell him exactly what happened this afternoon – that he had visited Goschen, bearing upon him the map which the Duke had marked; and that, since he had lain unconscious for three or four minutes of time, for all he knows, you may have studied that map. If Forecast did that, as it is his clear duty to do, the Duke would immediately alter the rendezvous. But Forecast won’t do that. Confessions of failure are never pleasant to make: and so he’ll keep his counsel and hope for the best.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” said George, “if he saw the breakers ahead. Talk about confessions of failure! What ever is going to happen when Cain drives up to that inn? I’d give a month of my life to be in on that scene. Confusion confounded won’t be in it. They’ll shout one another down for the first half-hour.”
“I agree,” said Mansel, laughing. “From the moment Cain arrives, there’ll be the devil to pay. Cain, of course, will spread Forecast all over the floor. Then he’ll go off to Varvic, there to be spread all over the floor himself. And then they’ll take hold of themselves and get down to things.” He hesitated, biting his lip. “We’ve had all the luck to date, but now we’re going to come up against heavier stuff. Cain is no damned fool and Duke Saul is a powerful man. And both will be very frightened. ‘Such men are dangerous.’ We shall have to be very careful from Tuesday on.”
“To be perfectly honest,” said George, “I’m all for coming to grips. The party will be complete on Monday night. The big five – three wilful murderers and the two unpleasant beings who set them on. When do we begin the process of elimination?”
“As soon as they try to,” said Mansel. “They’re bound to try to get us, and that is our chance.”
“You don’t think that Cain will leg it?”
“I don’t think so,” said Mansel. “If he had known what had happened, I don’t believe he’d have come. But once he’s here, I don’t think he’ll run away. After all, the matter is grave. That letter and those instructions would make very awkward exhibits, if any inquiry was held upon Bowshot’s death. Then again Forecast will watch him – and so will the other three. They may even pinch his passport. After all, he sent them here; and they will contend that he’s got to get them out. And so, by God, he has. He daren’t leave them here to go to the British Consul and spill the beans.”
“You’re right,” said George. “He’s in a jam and a half. And his only chance of escape is to wipe the three of us out.”
“That’s how I see it,” said Mansel. He turned to me. “Was there anything else, William?”
I told him of my concern as to which of the private drives the Duchess would use, when she set out for the lane on Sunday night.
“But,” I added, “that doesn’t matter now. If the Duke isn’t there when she leaves, he can’t sit on her tail. Still, I’m sure that he knows which drive she is going to take, and I cannot see how he can know.”
“Nor can I,” said Mansel. “And yet I’m sure you’re right. For how can he post Forecast, if he doesn’t know where she’ll emerge? And I don’t agree that it doesn’t matter now. It will simplify matters for us, if we know which drive she will take; for it’s better to stop her by Varvic than to let her leave a trail which leads to the lane. But perhaps we shall be wiser before we go to bed. I’m sorry to be such a bore, but I want you to take us to Varvic as soon as we’ve dined. I want to see the lay-out and get a good idea of the lie of the land.” He set a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t think I don’t trust your reports – they’ve been terribly good. But nothing’s the same as seeing things for yourself.”
My second visit to Varvic, I paid at ten that night. Myself I drove the Lowland as far as the mouth of the northern private road, that is to say, the drive which Bell and I had taken on Thursday night. Mansel sat by my side, with George and Carson behind. Mansel and George and I alighted at the mouth of the drive, and Carson took my seat, with orders to berth the car in some convenient place and then return to the drive and wait for us. For we were to go on foot; for then, if some car came by, we should not be seen.
Nearly an hour went by before we saw the moonlight upon the meadows ahead, for for most of the time we were climbing, and, though the road was dark, we showed no light.
Since again the moon was shining out of a cloudless sky, the castle and its surroundings showed up as well as before, and Mansel and George were both immensely impressed. When they had looked their fill, we turned to the right and began to compass the castle, walking in the meadows, but keeping to the edge of the woods.
After, perhaps, three hundred and fifty yards, we came upon the second or western drive, and at once we saw, looking down it, that this was under repair. From where we were standing, its surface looked very good; but nearer the castle loads of chips had been shot and drums of, no doubt, cold tar, were lying upon the roadway, ready for use.
“And there’s the answer,” said Mansel. “This drive is blocked. And when we come to the next one, you’ll find that that’s under repair. And there’s the advantage of being an autocrat. On Friday Saul calls for his bailiff and says, ‘Repair these two drives – the material to be in place on Saturday night.’ And it is so.”
He was, of course, perfectly right. When we came to the southern drive, we found that that, too, was obstructed, so that no car could pass. And yet, like that of the other, its surface was perfectly good.
We made the circuit of the meadows, but, since the garage was shut, we did not approach the walls of the castle itself. We then returned to where Carson had berthed the car, and drove from there to the mouths of the other two private roads. These we studied with care. And then we drove to the spot which the Duke had marked on the map, where he proposed to meet Forecast upon the following day.
It took me a little time to be sure of my way, for the map which Forecast had had was of a much larger scale than any that we could procure, and it had shown many details which did not appear upon ours. After a little, however, I stopped where a road on the left ran into a wood.
“It’s down there,” I said. “It must be. And not very far. What’s more, we’d better walk, for I think it’s a farm and that this is the road of approach. I know it’s a building of sorts, for the map showed that.”
So again we took to our feet, to walk for a long half-mile through very thick woods: the road of approach was more of a track than a road and had not seen regular use for a very long time. And then the woods gave way, and there stood a hunting-lodge.
A glance was enough to show us that it was desolate.
I have seen deserted habitations that still retained some charm; but this was sinister. It gave forth a smell of corruption – and worse than that: and the woods were advancing upon it as though they would swallow it up. Rank grass was sprouting between the cobblestones, and a rabble of fungus was thrusting beside the door. From this the paint was peeling, as it was from the shutters by which the windows were hid, and stains on the walls swore to gutters which had been choked. At the back of the place, which was only two storeys high, was a lot of stabling which had not been used for years, where some of the woodwork was rotting and giving way. But, as I have said, it was not that the place was neglected and had been let go: there was about it a cold and dreadful air, as though it had harboured evil, and things which must not be talked of had happened within its walls.
“Ugh,” said George, with a shudder. “I wouldn’t come here alone for fifty quid. I’ll lay a ducat it’s haunted. It fairly reeks of murder and sudden death.”
“I quite agree,” said Mansel. “And it isn’t imagination. There’s something very shocking about this place. Anyway, let’s be going. We’ve done what we came to do, and we’ve had a full day.”
Forty minutes later we were back at the farm.
5: A Lady Fails to Return
After breakfast the following morning we held a council of war. At this we reviewed our plans, “for yesterday evening,” sa
id Mansel, “I spoke in haste. And I’m not so sure as I was of the line that we ought to take.”
The first conclusion we came to was that we must advance the time of our dealing with Forecast’s car. Mansel had said four o’clock; but that was a dangerous hour, for Latchet would be at its quietest between twelve and two, and somewhere between those hours the rogues would be eating their lunch: but by three the village would be stirring, and, unless they took a siesta, the rogues might well be about.
The thing was this. We must enter the coach-house by the window which we had so often used; but this meant using a rope, made fast to the branch upon which we had always stood. All would be well, when once we were up in the tree, for the leaves were thick, and passers-by seldom look up in the ordinary way. But we had to reach the tree by using the path, which not only offered no cover, when once it emerged from the woods, but actually ran between walls for the last fifty yards. So, come what might, we must choose the quietest hour.
Once the car had been dealt with, it seemed pretty certain that Forecast would throw in his hand. He could not telephone to Varvic, because on Sundays the Post Office was shut: and though he discovered at two that the car would not start, and so would have time, by using a horse and cart, to reach the hunting lodge, he could only inform the Duke that he could not strike that night, for you cannot follow a car in a farmer’s gig.
So far, so good. The car would be out of action by half-past one. And that would put Forecast out of the running that night. Then arose the question of bearding Duke Saul.
“Supposing,” said Mansel, “the meeting has been appointed for half-past six. Well, that will mean that we have to hold him there until after ten. That doesn’t matter to us; but, Saul being who he is, when he doesn’t turn up for dinner, Varvic will be concerned. And that doesn’t matter to us; but, if Varvic is in a state, the Duchess may feel unable to keep her appointment with us. And that would be the devil and all; for it is of the highest importance that we should see her tonight.”
“That’s a good point,” said George. “And I’ll tell you another thing. There was doom about that place – that hunting-lodge. I may be entirely wrong, but I’m not at all sure that Forecast has not been invited to a party from which it is intended that he should never return. I mean, he knows quite a lot; and they always say that dead men tell no tales.”
“I frankly admit,” said Mansel, “that that had occurred to me. But, upon consideration, I’ve turned it down. We are far more important than Forecast is. When we have been settled, then Forecast should watch his step. But we come first.”
“That’s right,” said I. “Saul intends to use Forecast to wipe us out. And then he will wipe out Forecast – but not till then. But I do see Mansel’s point. We simply must not prejudice the Duchess’ visit tonight.”
“Look at it this way,” said Mansel. “Saul keeps the appointment, but Forecast doesn’t turn up. Saul will be fed to the teeth, but I don’t see what he can do but let the Duchess go out and follow her as before. There’s no object in cramping her style, but a very considerable object in seeing where she goes. For then he can set Forecast on. In other and simpler words, Saul will make the best of a bad job. And so I propose that we should keep the appointment, but not be seen. At six o’clock we’ll be at the hunting lodge. And keeping well out of sight, we’ll see what takes place. But we won’t declare ourselves.”
“I regretfully agree,” said George. “I’d like to have pulled Saul’s nose. But don’t lose sight of this – that, now that Saul is aware that someone is wise to the oil, he’ll follow extremely close on the Duchess’ heels. If he dims his lights, she’ll never know that he’s there. He’ll fairly hound her tonight: in fact, as like as not, he’ll keep her in view.”
“That’s very true,” said Mansel. “And we must provide against that. The simplest thing to do is to place an obstruction of sorts in the private road. After she has gone by, of course, and before he arrives. That’ll give William time to stop her at the mouth of the drive, and, if the oil is running, to turn off the tap. And then he can get in with her and drive all out for the lane. Not for the farm. The coupé must not go to the farm, for the farm is the place to which Saul thinks she may go.”
“Good,” said George. “Bill shall deal with the Duchess, and I will deal with the Duke. Leave the obstruction to me. I’ve seen that drive and I know the very place – where the road falls sharply and curls, and then there’s a sudden rise.”
“I know the spot,” said I. “ But then I’ve driven the road and I used my lights.”
George smiled.
“The idea was in my mind when we walked that road last night. And it wasn’t pitch dark you know. And I felt it was a promising spot, and I wished I could see. And then some tree-top waved, and the moon came through.”
Then we settled times and movements and who should do this and that, and then we had in the servants and told them their several duties and all that we had arranged.
At eleven-thirty that morning, Mansel and Bell and I were once more using the path which led from the Salzburg road, on which, five weeks ago, poor Bowshot had met his death: and in rather less than an hour we were looking down upon Latchet, asleep in the mid-day sun.
Some cottage doors were open, and a man was leaving the village with a sack on his back; but that was all.
Moving rapidly, one by one, we left the woods and made for the spot where the path became an alley, that is to say, began to run between walls. There we waited a moment – not on the path itself, but on either hand, in case another should enter from the opposite end.
Then Mansel entered the alley and began to walk leisurely down, limping a little, as usual, because of the wound which he had had of the war.
With our eyes on his back, we waited – Bell and I…
We saw him come to the mouth that gave to the road, and we saw him glance to and fro. Then he put a hand into his pocket…
At once we entered the alley and ran as hard as we could.
Arrived at the back of the coach-house, Bell mounted upon my shoulders and swung himself on to our branch, and I leaped up and caught this and pulled myself up. Then we made room for Mansel, and two or three moments later, he joined us up in the tree.
By now Bell was out of his jacket, which he had handed to me, and was standing against the wall with a hand on the window-sill. He opened the shutter a little, looked down into the coach-house, and then set the shutter wide. So we knew that the car was below and the doors of the coach-house were shut.
Bell put out a hand for his jacket, which I meantime had folded into a pad. This he laid on the sill. Then he stood with his arms uplifted against the wall, whilst I unwound the rope which was coiled about his body from arm-pit to hip.
Directly I had this free, Mansel made one end fast to the branch upon which we stood, and Bell passed the other over the window-sill. Whilst they were so engaged, I put on some wash-leather gloves, the palms of which had been well rubbed with resin an hour before.
When the rope had been all paid out, Bell swung himself out of the way, and I took his place. And then I was over the sill and was letting myself down the rope. As I reached the coach-house floor, I raised my eyes to see Mansel framed in the window’s mouth.
Pulling off my gloves, I stepped to the car: then I opened her bonnet as quietly as ever I could. I could not know on which side the distributor lay; but luck was with me, for there was the thing before me, all ready to hand. In a flash I had its cap off. Then I took the rotor away, slipped this into my pocket and clipped the cap back into place.
The distributor was dusty, which meant that my finger-marks showed; so I took my handkerchief and wiped the whole of it clean. Then I closed the bonnet, pulled on my gloves again and turned to the wall.
My gloves helped me very much, but the rope was none too thick, and I must confess I was glad to get a hand on the sill.
And then I was up and out and was standing once more on the branch.
Man
sel had the rope loose before Bell had pulled it up, then he gave it to me to coil and, after a glance at the alley, let himself down to the ground.
Bell slipped into his jacket and pulled the shutter to. By then I had coiled the rope, and he took some twine from his pocket and tied it about the coil in case this should slip.
With the coil about my neck, I peered through the leaves, to see Mansel, leaning against the wall at the mouth of the path, with a hand in his jacket’s pocket, to tell us the coast was clear.
I glanced at Bell, who was looking the other way. As I did so, his hand came out…
As soon as the leafage would let me, I followed his gaze. And then I saw China coming, full in the midst of the alley some twenty-five paces away.
I knew the man at once, from his photograph, for his cheek-bones were very high, and he had the lowest forehead I ever saw. But the puzzled frown he was wearing was not at all to my taste – for I knew that he was staring at Mansel…who had his back towards him and was leaning against the wall.
I shot a glance at Mansel, for, if he did not look back before China had reached our tree, I knew I must fall on the man as he passed underneath. And, as I looked at Mansel, he turned…
With the utmost nonchalance, he regarded his watch. Then he shrugged his shoulders, stepped out into the road and turned to the left. That is to say, of course, away from the inn.
China broke into a run…
As China swung out of the alley and round to the left, Bell and I reached the ground, to run as hard as we could the way we had come. As we reached the end of the walls, I threw a look back, and there was Mansel behind us, but thirty paces away.
He signed to me to go on, and we ran for the woods…
I flung myself down in the bracken and waited for him to come up.
“Anyone behind me?” he panted.
“Not a soul in sight, sir,” said Bell.
“But how did you do it?” said I. “Did you lay him out?”
Eye For A Tooth Page 9
