As it passed out of sight, Mansel left his ditch and I stepped to his side.
“And I wonder what that means,” he said, with a hand to his chin. “Presumably bound for Latchet. But why such a van? I mean, the whole of their kit would go in the back of a car – Cain’s and all. Then again I should have thought they would have collected it yesterday. I assume they’re staying at Varvic – that’s natural enough.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand it, William. Any way, there’s a lead, and we’ll follow it up.” He glanced at his wrist. “A quarter to six. Perhaps we shall see them come back.”
So we turned back the way we had come.
We had walked for some forty minutes and had in fact just passed the mouth of the northern drive, when we heard the van coming back. At once we made ourselves scarce; and the van went by as before, with the same man driving and China still by his side.
As it disappeared—
“Forty-two minutes,” said Mansel, regarding his watch. “And that washes Latchet out. At the pace they’re going, they couldn’t have got there and back.”
“Where then?” said I.
“Well, I may be wrong, but it looks like the hunting-lodge. That’s about four miles from here; and if they spent a quarter of an hour there, it would work out about right.”
“Of course,” said I. “But why?”
“We’ll go and see,” said Mansel. “We’ve plenty of time. And I think the environs should be safe, for they have no reason to think that we know that the lodge is there.”
We hastened now, in case the van should return; and we made the mouth of the drive in less than an hour.
“What about it, Bell?” said Mansel, pointing to the print of a tyre.
“She’s been here, sir,” said Bell. “I looked at her prints in the road. They weren’t too clear, but I saw they were Michelin treads.”
“Good for you,” said Mansel, and led the way up the drive…
The lodge had been opened. There seemed to be nobody there, but the shutters hung back against the wall and the front door and windows were wide. On the grass-grown cobbles was scattered the stuff that had lain in the van – four bedsteads and mattresses, two hooded ‘watchman’s chairs,’ as well as blankets and basins and things like that.
“What lovely chairs,” said Mansel. “They must have come out of England. Not many left now. I’d like to have them for White Ladies – and that’s the truth.”
“Too good for China and Forecast.”
“Much too good. But that’s who they’re for – among others. We’re looking at their battle headquarters – no doubt about that.”
“They can have it for me,” said I, and spoke no more than the truth.
The place was perhaps less dreadful beneath the light of the sun; but where other dwellings would have been warmed, this seemed to stew, and all the decay and rankness to burgeon as hotbeds will. The air was still and heavy, and there was about it an odour which I can hardly describe; but it made me think of old deaths, and though it was stale and faded, I think it must at one time have been unspeakable. Worst of all, there was still prevailing that atmosphere of evil which we had felt so strongly when first we had found the place. I am, I suppose, no more or less of a coward than most men are; but the spot made me afraid – and that is the very truth. I do not know what I feared. I was just afraid.
To my great relief, Mansel did not suggest that we should enter the lodge, but, using the greatest caution, we made our way round to the back.
Since we had been there, a car had been driven that way – lately, too, for the tracks it had made were fresh. Since the yard was cobbled, the tyres had left no prints, but the weeds which had covered the cobbles had been laid low and we saw how the car had been turned and then backed to a riot of laurels, walling one side of the yard.
There had been a path – there was still a path through the laurels, for someone who knew of its presence had opened it up. With Mansel and Bell behind me, I took that path, marking the broken suckers and leaves that were bruised and torn.
To this day I do not know why I gave such a lead. I sometimes think that I did it by way of a gesture, as though to deny my fear. But vanity like that is expensive; and in all this time I have not yet paid my account, for to this day I dream of the picture that met my eyes.
Beyond the laurels lay a graveyard, confined by three low, stone walls and the back of the lodge. The boughs of advancing trees hung over the walls and the laurels through which I had passed were unusually high, so the plot, which was not very big, could receive no sun. There were no head-stones, but every mound was staked – that is to say, a black post had been driven through the midst of the mound, and so, I suppose, through the body that lay beneath. Many of the posts were leaning because their wood had rotted under the earth, and more than one had fallen across the graves. On the top of each post was some headgear – some hat or cap or bonnet, the dead had worn, but most were hanging in tatters, and some, except for fragments, had disappeared. One grave was new – mound, post and hat were quite fresh. I had seen that hat before – upon Boney’s head. A legend was painted in German across the wall of the house: the huge black letter was faded, but was still easy to read.
THESE SUICIDES LIE HERE BY THE
GRACE OF VARVIC. CURSED BE HE
WHO DISTURBS THEIR RESTING-PLACE.
I often wonder how many of those poor souls in fact had taken their lives – and how many had had their lives taken and then, to spare their murderer, been branded with felo de se. Of such was the Duchy of Varvic. Where the Duke’s writ ran, no questions were ever asked. And I can well believe that such as knew of the graveyard would not have come near the spot for any money.
Without a word, we returned to the stableyard and had hardly come again to the front of the lodge, when we heard the van leave the road and enter the drive.
At once we stepped into the woods, which stood so thick and uncared for on every side.
This time a kind of tender followed the van, to disgorge four great big fellows, all wearing the Varvic green. One of these was plainly some foreman of the estate, for he knew how things should be done, and the others, including China, made haste to do as he said.
By his direction, four man-traps were taken out of the van, and then some coal and some firewood and boxes containing stores.
The traps were laid down well apart, and two men were set to oil them, because, I suppose, they were stiff. The other man and China were told to take up the gear and carry it into the house, and, when they were all at work, the foreman took off his coat and joined the men who were busy upon the traps.
Of course the traps were closed, but his workmen opened one, while the foreman was cleaning the springs. One upon either side, they pulled the jaws apart, easing them to and fro and gradually opening them wider, according to the directions the foreman gave. Such was the power of the springs that to force the jaws to their widest was almost beyond their strength; but at last, with a mighty effort, they got them flat, when the foreman engaged the lug which locked the jaws into place. This lug belonged to the foot-plate, the slightest pressure upon which would disengage it again. (In fact the foot-plate was less of a plate than a grid. This was for the sake of concealment. If the trap were laid in a meadow, the grass would pass through the grid and hide it from view; but a plate would have lain on the grass and so could have been seen.)
For two or three minutes more, the foreman worked on the springs, for now these were fully extended and so could be wiped and oiled as they could not have been before. Then he ordered his men to stand clear, and picked up a piece of dead wood. Standing back himself, he pitched this on to the foot-plate…
I never saw the jaws close, for their leap was too quick for the eye. One moment the trap was open: the next it was shut. But I heard the crash of the iron, and, though I knew this was coming, it made me jump. It made the two men jump, too. And the foreman said something at which the three of them laughed.
And there Mansel
touched my arm, and I turned and followed him deeper into the wood.
As Bell came up with us—
“It’s nine o’clock,” said Mansel, “and Carson is coming to get us in two hours’ time. He’s coming too close to this place, for when we arranged what we did, we had no idea they were using the hunting-lodge. So he must be met and stopped. Which way he will come, I don’t know; but there are only two ways, and each of you must take one. Whoever meets him should do so about six miles from here. He is to turn at once and take whoever meets him back to the farm. Ask Mr Hanbury to drive at once to Villach and purchase some luminous paint. It’s Sunday, I know; but he knows the inn-keeper there and he’ll help him out. Be here with the paint and a brush not later than three. You must leave the car four miles off and walk the rest of the way. And no uncertainty this time – you will approach from the south. Sometime today, you see, they are going to lay those traps. I shall watch where they lay them, and then we’ll mark the places with luminous paint. But, if they lay them in time, I must do the job before dark. Whoever does not meet Carson will have to go on walking until he is met and picked up. Carson can do that job, as soon as Mr Hanbury is under way.”
I did not like leaving Mansel, for if anything were to go wrong, the odds against him were heavy – five to one. Besides, it seemed more than likely that at any time now Cain or Saul would arrive, to say where the traps should be laid: and, if they came, they would not come alone. Still, there was nothing for it; for, luminous paint or no, Carson had to be stopped from approaching the hunting-lodge.
And so we set out, Bell and I. And when we reached the road, I sent him off to the south and turned north myself. This I did on purpose, because the way I was taking was that which the van had gone: and if I was right and others were coming from Varvic, they might come by whilst I was still on their road. The chance was very poor, for after about three miles, I should have to leave their road and turn to the right: but it was better than nothing, and so I did as I say.
I had just passed the place at which Carson was to have met us – the place ‘where three roads met’ – when, sure enough, I had to take to the ditch. I was hardly in before a tender appeared: but, as it approached, I saw it was slowing down, and it stopped fifty paces beyond me…at the place ‘where three roads met.’ Here it set down two men – presumably foresters, for one had a gun in his hand and the other wore a short axe, which hung down from his belt. As soon as they had alighted, the driver let in his clutch and the tender moved off; but they clearly had their orders, for, after a quick look round, they climbed to the top of a bank from which they could see all round them, and then lay down in the bracken and out of sight.
There was no doubt about it. crossroads and turnings and switches were being picketed. Saul, with Cain behind him, was out for blood.
Two things were now clear. The first was this – that a picket had already been posted at the point for which I was making, at which I must turn to the right. And the second was that when I had turned back Carson, I must make my way back to Mansel, to tell him what was afoot.
Now so long as I stayed in the ditch, I was out of the sight of the picket up on the bank: so I went up the ditch on all fours, till I rounded a bend in the road. And there I sat down for a moment, to consider what I must do. So far as I could remember, there was not another turning for nearly two miles – that is to say, the point at which I must turn to the right. I could, therefore, use the road for a mile and a half, and then I must cut across country to gain the road on the right, by which Carson would come. The trouble was that, as I have said before, we did not know this country. Indeed, until this morning, I had hardly seen it by day: and since roads are seldom straight, but twist and turn like serpents, I knew how easy it was for a man who had left the road to miss his way. To cut off a corner sounds simple. So it is – in open country, where you can see your way: but the country hereabouts was very blind, and the sun would help me a little, but not very much. Still, one thing was very plain – that I had no time to spare; for Carson was sure to be early, the time was a quarter to ten, and I had three miles to go. Three miles, more or less. And perhaps I may be forgiven for pointing out that I had not an hour and a quarter, but rather less; for Carson was to meet us at eleven, but I had to stop him three miles from the rendezvous. And, as I have said, he was always before his time.
Since I had walked this road not three hours before, I was able to judge pretty well when I was approaching the turning I had to avoid. Soon after ten, therefore, I took a good look at the sun and left the road for a meadow which sloped to a stream. When I came down to this, I could see no sign of a bridge, so I took off my shoes and socks and waded across. The ground then rose again; but, as I approached the crest, from which I was hoping perhaps to see my road, I saw the tops of trees begin to appear, and, when I was up, there was a wood just below me, thick and high enough to obstruct my view. For fear I should lose my direction, I dared not enter this wood, so I bore to the left in the hope that the trees would give way. And so at last they did, to leave me at the head of a valley which ran to the right. Down the valley I went for a quarter of a mile: then I struck up its side, to find more woods and meadows, but never a sign of a road.
It was now nearly half-past ten, and in desperation I hastened across the meadows, bearing left; for so I must strike the road, though perhaps much nearer the turning than I was to like; but, if I held straight on, I might not come across it for half an hour. So for another ten minutes. Then the woods seemed to close in, and I had no choice but to enter the natural maze they made.
No path presenting itself, I simply thrust my way on as best I could, thigh-deep in a sea of bracken, and stumbling again and again. Fit as I was, the sweat was pouring off me, and when a brier caught my shoulder and would not give way, I shook myself free of my jacket and left it there.
And then I saw a break in the bracken…
Thirty seconds later I was sitting with my feet in the ditch, by the side of the road.
As I sat there, mopping my face, I wondered if I was in time. It was sixteen minutes to eleven, and where I was on the road, I had no idea. If I was close to the turning, the probability was that Carson had not gone by: but, if I was not, then he probably had gone by, while I was yet in the wood; for my progress had been so noisy that I should never have heard the sigh of the Rolls. I decided to stay where I was till five minutes to the hour. If by then he had not appeared, either I had missed him or Bell had stopped him, coming the other way.
And then I heard the Rolls coming – the brush of a tyre, no more…
Carson shared with his master a very remarkable gift. For myself, I can fairly say that, once I have gone some way, I can always take it again. But Mansel and Carson could do much better than that; for, once they had used some road, they could, I think, have mapped it from memory and made very few mistakes. So Carson said at once that the turning which I had avoided was a short mile ahead and that round the next bend was a track in which he could turn the car.
Then I gave him the message which I was to have given to George and told him that I was returning, not only to be with Mansel but to tell him what I had seen.
“I hope Bell’s all right,” I said. “I saw a picket posted, and that put me wise. But he may walk into one.”
“I don’t think he will, sir,” said Carson. “Bell’s pretty fly. An’ when the tender goes by, that’ll make him think. But this picketing makes things awkward.”
“It’s more than awkward,” I said. “You see what it’s done to me. I got here somehow; but by the merest chance. The country’s heart-breaking. If only we had Forecast’s map… Whoever brings that paint will have to be careful to stick to the line of the roads – move parallel to them and never let them out of his sight.”
“Shall two of us bring it, sir?”
“Yes.” I knew who the two would be. “And don’t forget Bell. Mind you go after him as soon as you can.”
“Very good, sir. And what about you?�
��
“Oh, I’ll get back all right.”
“Don’t forget, sir, they’re certain to picket the mouth of the drive to the lodge.”
“I’d thought of that. It’s just as well Captain Mansel is going to wait for that paint.”
“I’ll say you’re right, sir,” said Carson.
“Well, you get on,” I said. “I’ll see you again at three.”
“That’s understood, sir,” said Carson, and set a hand to his hat.
The next moment he was gone.
I made my way back to where I had left my coat; and, when I had disengaged it, by wood and stream and meadow to the point at which, an hour and three-quarters before, I had left the road. I did not take to the road, but walked along beside it, through wood and field. Since I knew that the ‘three ways’ were watched, I was able to fetch a compass simply enough. But as I came back to the road, I heard Cain’s voice.
“Do you mind if I walk on?”
“I should prefer it,” said the Duke.
On my knees, I peered through the bushes which bordered the field.
Cain was standing, glowering, and Forecast, his arm in a splint, was standing rather behind him, with his eyes on the ground. His face was black and swollen, and when at last he looked up, I saw that his eyes were not straight. The Duke was sitting on a shooting-stick, watching two liveried chauffeurs changing a wheel. I should have said ‘trying to change it,’ for the bolts of the wheel in place had, what is called, rusted on and were resisting all efforts to make them move.
“I think,” said Cain, “I think you said ‘Ten minutes’ walk.’”
The Duke appeared not to hear.
“I addressed you,” said Cain, trembling.
“That,” said the Duke, “is because you know no better. A man of your race should never address me first.”
“You insult me,” said Cain.
“Naturally,” said the Duke, and lighted a cigarette.
With a manifest effort, Cain controlled his voice.
Eye For A Tooth Page 15
