“It’s no good crying over spilt milk, and we have no time to lose. As soon as they’ve satisfied themselves that we are not hiding somewhere on the fourth floor they will try to find a way up to the roof. I expect all the old ones are blocked, but they’ll break through somehow; so we had better get away across the neighbouring roofs as quickly as possible.”
Switching out the lights as they went, they made for a door at the end of the hall-way and unbolted it. As they had supposed, it led on to the open part of the roof, which was much larger than that occupied by the penthouse. It was surrounded by a low parapet, inside which there was a walk-way; its centre consisted of a series of pointed ridges that embodied skylights, but all of these had been covered and sealed down with tarred felt.
As they glanced about them they were filled with dismay. The warehouse formed an isolated oblong block. All the roofs of the other buildings adjacent to it were several feet lower and some distance off. It seemed that there was no means of escape and that they were trapped there.
“Pan Smutný must have some emergency get-away!” exclaimed Fedora. “But I’ve got a rotten head for heights. Try to find it, then come back for me.”
Leaving her by the doorway of the penthouse, Nicholas hurried round the three open sides of the roof, taking cautious peeps over the parapet as he went. The two longer sides faced on to narrow streets, but the roofs of the buildings opposite were well over thirty feet away. The shorter side, at the extremity of the roof, looked on to the canal that they had twice crossed when trying to find the warehouse. There was no wharf; the wall of the building dropped sheer to the water, so that barges could come alongside and be loaded or unloaded by hoists which projected from each floor level.
For a moment Nicholas peered down at the hoists, wondering if it would be possible to drop from one to another; but the distance between them was much too great, and he decided that even a monkey would not have risked it.
From a steel stanchion near him a thick telegraph cable, encased in some tarred material and having a smaller cable running in long loops below it, stretched in a graceful curve across the canal to a slightly lower building some sixty feet distant. The cable was thick enough to provide a good hand grip, and Nicholas thought that a trained trapeze artist could have crossed by it; but he felt sure that his own muscles were not up to such a strain, and as Fedora suffered from vertigo, that put out of the question even the wild idea of making an attempt. Hurrying back to her, he said glumly:
“I’ve had no luck out there. The streets on both sides are full of police and cars. Even if we could lower ourselves to the top of one of the fire escapes that come up to the fourth floor, we should be spotted coming down. There’s no one covering the far end; but they don’t have to. The canal is there, and there’s no way down at all.”
“That’s bad, Nicky!” Fedora did not attempt to disguise how worried she felt. “If we had been able to lie doggo they might never have found the flat. Once they had searched the warehouse they would probably have decided that we must have been warned and got away before they arrived, or had never come here at all; but now they know we are here for certain they’ll take the building to pieces rather than give up.”
Her words were symbolically prophetic. It was at that moment they both smelt smoke. At first unnoticed by them in the dim light, a wisp of it was curling up from a crack in the covering of a skylight only some ten feet from where they were standing.
“Good God!” Nicholas exclaimed. “Surely they don’t mean to burn the place down.”
“They may,” Fedora replied grimly. “You say there were a dozen or more of them chasing you. That’s more than enough to have searched the fourth floor thoroughly in the ten minutes since we got back here. Having failed to find us they probably think we have gone to earth in some crates previously emptied to form a hiding place; so they have set about smoking us out.”
Nicholas nodded. “I see. Then by now they are down on the third floor with their torches on the stairway and their guns in their hands, waiting for us to be driven into their arms. Of course, they can call up the fire engines to stop the blaze spreading downwards, or to other buildings, but in half an hour’s time the whole of the top here may be a raging furnace.”
“You’ve said it! But I can’t believe Pan Smutný would allow himself to be caught in such a trap. There must be an escape route from the dead end of the penthouse, where it’s flush with the fourth side of the building. The gap to the next roof may be narrower there.”
Turning, Fedora ran back through the hall-way, switching on the lights as she went. At its far end were two bedrooms. She dived into one and Nicholas dived into the other. The windows of both had been screwed down and painted over. Knowing that it was now futile to maintain the secret of the flat, they both smashed panes of the windows, regardless of lights being seen up there from below. From both rooms the outlook was the same; a sheer drop to an alley, no sign of a ladder, and a yawning gulf of from thirty to forty feet to the much lower roof of the next building.
In the hall they met, their drawn faces reporting without words their failure to find an escape route. Parting again, they ran into the other rooms, seeing frantically for some indication of a way to get out of the flat, other than by the trap-door or on to the open roof. They could not find even a clue to work upon.
Back in the hall, Nicholas dragged aside the chest and was about to open the trap-door, when Fedora came upon him.
“What are you doing?” she asked sharply.
“I thought that if the fire is only at the far end, we might go down again,” he muttered. “Then we could anyhow get to one of the fire escapes. It would be better to go down that and be shot than to be burnt alive.”
“You can if you like,” came the quick reply. “But they wouldn’t shoot you. They would wait until you had emptied your gun, then take you alive. I’d rather throw myself off the roof.”
As she finished speaking he got the trap open. If he had had any doubts about the soundness of her view, that settled it for him. A great puff of black smoke billowed up into the hall. Choking and spluttering, he slammed the trap to again. No one could now have got more than a dozen paces along the floor below without suffocating.
Half blinded by the smoke, they staggered back, covering their smarting eyes. Then, in desperation, they again ran along the hall to the door that gave on to the open roof. Even in the few minutes since they had left it the evidence of the fire had multiplied tenfold. At intervals along each pointed ridge there was now a glowing patch indicating the position of the skylights. Their wooden frames and tarred felt made them more vulnerable than the slate-covered sections between them. Spirals of smoke were issuing from their tops, bottoms and sides, and in some places little fountains of sparks spurted up into the darkness.
Their hearts numb with fear, they stood staring at the scene, so fraught with awful prospects of an agonising death from which there was no escape. It was then that the telephone rang again.
As though galvanised by an electric shock, Fedora gave a violent start, swung about, and dashed down the hall to answer it. Nicholas was hard on her heels. He saw her pick the receiver up and say into it eagerly, “Yes … yes … yes.” Then he saw her jaw drop, and her eyes become distended with fright, before she muttered a final “Yes” almost below her breath, and hung up.
“Who was it? Why are you looking so scared?” he asked impatiently.
“It … it was Pan Smutny,” she stammered.
“Then this riot we’ve created saved him from running his head into a noose. That’s something. But what did he say? What did he say?”
“He … he rang up to let us know his escape route. He tried before, but the line was blocked. That other call. It … it’s along a telegraph cable that crosses the canal.”
Nicholas no longer wondered that Fedora’s thin cheeks had gone a greenish tinge. He shook his head. “Even if you were good at heights, we couldn’t make it. To carry one’s whole weight on
one’s arms across sixty feet of space would need the muscles of a Tarzan.”
“It’s not as bad as that,” Fedora gulped. “Pan Smutný said there is some special apparatus to take the weight, under the bed in his bedroom.”
“Praises be!” cried Nicholas, pivoting on toe and heel and rushing from the room. A moment later he was dragging the escape gear from under Mr. Smutný’s bed. There was enough for four people. Each set consisted of a six-inch broad leather belt, into which was sewn the end of a two-foot length of wire hawser, having at its other end a strong iron hook. The way in which it was intended that the gear should be used was obvious. One had only to buckle the belt round one’s waist, put the hook over the telegraph cable, and jump off the parapet. The apparatus took the whole weight of the body, but, by using one’s own strength when hanging on to the cable, one could lift oneself enough to enable the hook to slide a few inches at a time, and, as the cable sloped downwards, little impetus would be needed to carry one across to the building on the far side of the canal.
Grabbing up two of the belts, Nicholas hastened back to Fedora and held one of them out to her. “Here!” he cried. “Buckle that round you, and we’ll soon be out of this.”
She waved it away. “I can’t, Nicky! I can’t! The very thought of hanging from a telegraph cable absolutely petrifies me!”
“You’ve got to,” he said angrily; and as soon as he had done up his own belt he strapped the other round her waist. Then, seizing her by the wrist, he dragged her after him out of the room and along to the door that gave on to the roof.
Now smoke lit by a reddish glare was billowing up from outside the parapet, tongues of flame had broken out from several of the skylights and showers of sparks were being blown about by every breath of wind. From below there came a fierce crackling and it was clear that before long the whole roof would be ablaze.
Pulling the terrified Fedora after him, Nicholas made his way along inside the parapet to the canal end of the building, where the telegraph cable swung from the tall steel stanchion. Halting by it, he said to her:
“For God’s sake pull yourself together. You have only to do as I tell you, and you’ll be perfectly all right.”
“I can’t!” she moaned. “Please, please don’t make me!”
“You’ve got to,” he insisted.
“No! No!” she tried to twist away from him. “You go. Leave me behind.”
“Is it likely? Fedora, you’ve been so splendid up to now. Come on! Make an effort. Shut your eyes.”
Jittering with fear, she obeyed him, and let him help her up on to the parapet. Feeling for the long strap of her pouch bag, she slipped it over her head, so that it should not slide from her shoulder; then she opened her eyes and looked down. At the sight of the water glinting faintly sixty feet below her, she let out a low wail and swayed outward.
Nicholas caught her only just in time. His grab at her arm drew the upper part of her body inward, but her legs folded under her and she toppled right on to him. As he staggered back under the impact he realised that she had fainted.
Behind him there was now an angry roaring. One of the skylights fell in with a faint crash. From the aperture it left, a great tongue of flame shot up fifteen feet above the roof level. It was no longer possible to see across to the penthouse through the dense smoke and clouds of drifting sparks. The air had become hot and searing. It was difficult to breathe and the fumes made every breath painful. Nicholas knew that if he did not get away in the next few minutes, he would never get away at all.
There were no means and no time to attempt to revive Fedora. She was right out, and as limp as if she were dead. For a moment Nicholas stared down at her as she lay, face up, sprawled half across the parapet; then, seizing the hook attached to the belt round her waist, he tried to get it over the cable. Almost at once he saw that it could not be done. With only one hand he could not lift her high enough. He wondered how he could possibly save her. To pick her up and carry her across in his arms was out of the question, as he would need both his hands to propel himself along. Taking out his silk handkerchief, he mopped away the sweat that was streaming from his face.
The feel of the handkerchief gave him an idea. It was the same one which he had used to bandage his eyes in the X-cell that afternoon. Laying it on Fedora’s chest, he quickly made a corner to corner bandage of it again, folding it now as many times as he could. Crossing her wrists one over the other on the centre of it he bound them together, tying the ends of the handkerchief in a reef knot, so that the greater the strain upon it the tighter it would become. Then he stooped his head and slid it between Fedora’s arms so that her bound hands were at the back of his neck.
There came a moment when he feared he would never manage to accomplish the next stage. He had to lift her, climb up on the parapet and get the hook attached to his own belt over the cable. He was within an ace of overbalancing; but, with a frantic effort, he got the hook over just in time. It took their combined weight, and he breathed again.
Half-blinded by the smoke and choking from fumes, he pushed off. Instantly Fedora became a dead weight round his neck. The hook jerked the leather belt up so that its edge cut into his ribs, and he let out a gasp of pain. Tightening his grasp on the cable, he endeavoured to take his own weight and hers on his arm muscles. For a moment he managed to support it; but the hook did not slide along the cable because the angle was not steep enough, owing to the slight dip it made at the point from which he hung.
Spurred to a fresh effort by the scorching blast now rising from the roof beside him, he did a second pull up; then knocked the hook with his left hand while supporting himself with his right. It moved a few inches.
After resting for a moment, he repeated the movement with the same satisfactory result. Hope now battling with fear he continued the jerky motion, edging his way out from the burning building across the yawning gulf. But every few inches of progress was bought at the cost of a greater agony. When he rested his arms it seemed as if the leather belt was going to cut him in half, and each time he took the strain on his arms it seemed as if they were being torn from their sockets.
He was fifteen feet out when he heard something snap. He could not see anything by looking down, as the unconscious Fedora’s head, hanging backwards so that her chin jutted up towards him, blocked his view below chest level. But he felt sure that some part of his belt had given.
Next moment, as he let their full weight be taken by the hook again, there came a tearing sound. Hastily, he tightened his grasp upon the cable, then gradually relaxed. Swiftly the full horror of his situation was borne in upon him. The gear had been made to take only one person, and the combined weight of two had proved too much for it. The two-foot length of wire hawser, to which the hook was attached, was tearing itself from its setting in the belt.
Once more he moved a few inches; but as he let himself down the belt refused to take the strain. He now had to hang on without respite. Sweat was streaming down his face. Every muscle in his body was as taut as a bow-string. The pull of Fedora upon him had the same effect as if his limbs were being slowly wrenched apart by the pulleys of a medieval rack. He was barely a quarter of the way across the chasm. He could not go forward and he could not go back. The cable hurt his palms intolerably. His grip began to slip. His left hand opened and only its finger tips still kept a precarious hold on the cable. Suddenly they slid from it. He was hanging now only by his right hand. For another moment he remained suspended by it. Then that opened too. With a groan he let go, and together they plunged into the dark abyss.
CHAPTER XVII
ORDEAL BY WATER
Nicholas’ left arm had fallen to his side. His right remained stretched to its utmost reach above his head, as though in some parody of a Fascist salute. At the final sharp rending noise, as the last stitches that held the short length of wire hawser to the belt had given way, the two bodies fell like a plummet.
Fedora was still completely out, hanging by her arms from
Nicholas’ neck, her head at his chest-level lolling limply back. His head too was thrown back. Despite the pull he had forced it back as, his eyes bulging from the strain, he had kept them riveted on his hands, the cable and the hook. Now, as he shot downwards, he had the illusion that he was not moving. Instead, it seemed as if some unseen power had suddenly snatched the cable and the hook upward from him. At one moment the cable had been as thick as the double barrel of a sporting gun; at the next it was no more than a black thread against the starry sky. In that same moment the sky itself seemed about to be swallowed up in darkness. As he had hung from the cable staring upwards, the buildings on either side of him had been outside his cone of vision; as he fell their tops came into it, then their black bulks, rushing together with the speed of express trains, as though about to collide, disintegrate, and crush him under a mountain of rubble.
Yet, had he and Fedora practised that inverted dive scores of times to make a living by it in a circus, they could not have performed it better. It was their absolute rigidity which saved them from any serious harm. Fedora’s toes, hanging a foot or more below Nicholas’ feet, formed the arrow point of their combination as effectively as would have a diver’s out-thrust hands; the faces of both were upturned, and the back of her head broke the force with which the water would otherwise have hit him under the chin. With scarcely a splash they pierced the surface and disappeared beneath it.
The canal was only about eight feet deep. Although the water checked the speed of their fall, they plunged to its bottom almost instantly. Had it been man-made, and concreted, the legs of both of them must have been broken; but it was an old river-bed thick with the silt of ages. Yet this very fact which saved them from crippling injuries now threatened to bring about their deaths. Fedora was plunged in the mud up to her knees, and Nicholas well past his ankles.
Curtain of Fear Page 26
