Somebody laughed—a very unpleasant laugh.
I think it was the devil within me— the sheriff that had been sent to fetch Pharaoh's soul.
I pulled myself together, slid my pistols into my pockets, and set about hoisting Dewdrop out of my way.
Now by firing, as I had, upon him, I had cast away the element of surprise; but that was not all the mischief that I had done, for the roar of the heavy pistol had made me completely deaf.
When I had fired in the forest, so savage was the report that four or five minutes went by before my full hearing came back; but here, within four such walls, the shock of the violent explosion had appalled the drums of my ears.
To listen for Pharaoh's coming was, therefore, but waste of time, and, since he might arrive any moment, I made my preparations as swiftly as ever I could.
These were simple— there was not much I could do.
The chair on which Rush was seated slewed to the left, so that the beam of his torch fell full on the cut in the wall. I then took Dewdrop's torch and studied the room, marking the furniture well in case I must move in the dark. Then I slid the torch into my pocket and lay down behind the great table of which I have spoken before.
This was a pedestal table of carved grey oak. Between the two pedestals there was a knee-hole or archway three feet wide by some twenty-six inches high. Looking through this, I directly commanded the cut, while the pedestals offered good cover on either hand.
I ventured to settle myself with the greatest care, for I knew that if I possibly could I must kill my man before he had entered the room: if Pharaoh could contrive to come in, the advantage I presently held would be utterly lost, for, though we should, in a sense be fighting on even terms, Pharaoh was an expert at murder, but I was no more than a resolute amateur.
Since the cut was so narrow, the gauntlet he had to run was extremely strict and, unless my pistol misfired, I did not see how he could do it and save his life. So I lay very still, from force of habit straining my useless ears, with my pistol-hand on the plinth of the pedestal-table and my eyes on the cut that was waiting to frame my dead.
After a little, I found myself thinking how soft the carpet was. . .
I do not know how long I waited but the first intimation I had of Pharaoh's approach was the sudden roar of his pistol as he fired at and shattered the torch.
I fear this tale is a record of bad mistakes, but when I was laying my ambush I made the worst of them all. I have no excuse to offer. I think a child would have seen that he must so place the torch that, while it illumined the cut, it could not itself be seen from the head of the winding stair. Be that as it may, the horrid shock and the darkness took me aback, and when I fired at the cut, I fired an instant too late. Pharaoh's answer came swift as a flash, and his bullet went through my knee-hole, to lodge in the wall beyond.
And then— silence.
We were both of us deafened, of course; and, remembering that, I at least had the sense to move.
An instant later I was standing behind Rush's chair. And then for the first time that night I felt the stab of something I knew to be fear.
I was as good as blindfold, my ears were stopped; four walls hemmed me in, and somewhere within their compass was moving— Death. Pharaoh was trying to find me, stealing this way and that. He had only to brush against me, touch me with the tips of his fingers, and I should be— caught. His deadly swiftness of action would see to that. Any moment this might happen. Any moment the roar of his pistol might make the last sound I should hear. He might be but three feet off— now. In another instant I might feel his breath on my cheek ...
I began to tremble; my knees felt suddenly loose; my cousin's words came leering into my mind, "I never liked blind-man's buff." ...
It was the remembrance of Helena that put to shame my fear: I had heard her whip Pharaoh—here, in this very room; whip him before his fellows; cut him across the face. And the whip she had used was my courage. "You fear him ... you fear his hand." For an instant I thought upon her and strangely enough remembered the way she had of pushing her hair from her temples, as though by that pretty gesture to banish care. Then I turned refreshed to my duty, which was to take Pharaoh's life.
At once I set out to find him, with my left hand stretched before me and my pistol all ready below.
Someone has said the best method of defence is attack. Be that as it may, I truly believe that my action saved my life, for Pharaoh passed me in the darkness and came upon Rush. I know this was so, for he fired upon the body, supposing it to be me, and the flame that leaped from his pistol gave me a mark to aim at, instead of lighting my face.
In a flash I had fired again— and had drawn his fire, for, before I could think, a bullet had flicked the sleeve of my pistol arm.
This showed me, once for all, that so far as snap shots were concerned, I stood no chance whatever against such a man. With such rapid and accurate fire I could not begin to compete, and, as I whipped to one side, I made up my mind that I must not fire again until I knew for certain that my bullet was going to kill. In a word, if I was to win, I must come to close quarters with Pharaoh, if not to grips.
I had now come back to the table, and, as I edged my way round it, I thought of the knee-hole below.
I think it will be admitted that in making your way to and fro in a room that is dark, your tendency is to skirt the furniture which you encounter, keeping in touch with its edge, because, I suppose, you like to be able to feel your way. After all, this is natural. Blind men move by the wall. If, then I entered the knee-hole and let Pharaoh move to and fro, sooner or later he would skirt the pedestal-table and, though I should not hear him, if I had put out my hands, I should feel the slack of his trousers as he went by.
An instant later I was crouching beneath the archway, with my pistol on the carpet before me and my empty hands outstretched upon either side.
I had not long to wait.
When I did not return his fire, I fancy the man was uncertain whether or no I was dead. He, therefore, sought the spot from which I had fired and, finding no body there, turned and came to the table exactly as I had done. And exactly, as I had done, he began to edge his way round it.
The slack of his trousers brushed my attentive hand.
In a flash I had him by the ankles and, ripping his feet from beneath him, had brought him down on his side. Then I snatched up my pistol, thrust it into his stomach and pressed the trigger— in vain.
The magazine was empty. Slovenly to the last. Rush had never troubled to replenish his clip.
And here my instinct served me there was no time to think.
Pharaoh had fallen to his right hand and so on his pistol arm. While this was taking his weight, he could not aim, and, though in a flash he had flung his weight to the left. In that instant my fingers had caught the wrist of his pistol hand. For a moment he fought for his freedom. Then he let himself fall on his back; but now my wits were working, and before his hand could reach his pocket, I had hold of his other wrist.
I had "scotch'd the snake, not killed it," as Shakespeare says. And I think no snake ever fought so hard for its life. It was all I could do to hold him though I was far stronger than he, for he writhed and flung and twisted, as though indeed he belonged to the serpent tribe. In vain he sought to kick me, for his legs were within the knee hole and he could not draw back his feet. And all my weight was upon him, and I am a heavy man.
And in that instant the room was flooded with light.
For a moment I thought that some one had entered the chamber. And then I guessed that Pharaoh had turned the switches on when first he came into the room, that the switch- board itself might report the repair of the damage which he had done.
So for the first time that night I saw my enemy's face.
I think he must have known that I was his assailant, but the sight of me seemed to send him out of his mind. He fought no more as a serpent, but like the madman he looked, his face convulsed with passion and his ey
es starting out of his head. Again and again he lifted me, arching his back. He wrenched his arms to and fro. as though the limbs were not his. With his heels he thrashed the woodwork confining his feet, and he did his best to reach my face with his teeth. But my "healthy, aimless existence" stood me in stead. He only did himself violence, and both of us knew, I think, that now at last he was to be brought to book at the hand of a fool.
I often think that it was this bitter reflection that made him forget his cunning and robbed him of all control, for the game which he should have played was to offer me no resistance unless and until I attempted to change my grip. Had he played that game, I should have been hard put to it to have my way; but, as it was, he expended his strength, like a madman, upon the strait jacket in which he was now confined.
At last, to my relief, the tempest blew itself out, and he lay back, spent and panting, to take his rest; but before I could think of moving he had lifted his head once more and was staring into my eyes.
I looked back, grimly enough.
He did not struggle; he simply gazed upon me, as though he would brand my image upon his memory. There was foam on his lips, I remember, and the hate in his eyes burned red.
So for perhaps ten seconds. Then the fellow spat in my face.
So a madman made a madman.
If he resisted I know not, but I used him as a lay figure from that time on.
I dashed his hand on the massive plinth of the table, to break his wrist, and when his pistol had fallen I brought his hands together and got to my knees. And then I was clear of the table and had jerked him up to his feet.
I let his broken wrist go, whipped out his second pistol and pitched it across the room.
Then I seized his throat with both hands, turned him back to the table, bent him across its corner and broke his back on the oak.
Chapter 21
SITTING on the bench by the fireplace, I wiped my face and my hands on Helena's black silk scarf. This had been wrung and creased, and I had no doubt that Pharaoh had used it to gag her, before he had carried her off.
Now that the business was over I found it hard to believe. Yet there was Rush dead and dreadful, still in his chair. There was Dewdrop's body, with its broken face to the wall; and there was Pharaoh, still hanging as I had left him, over the edge of the table to which I owed so much. What had seemed so hard had proved easy. A little cunning, a little patience, a little luck— and the three had played into my hands. For my battle with Pharaoh I had only my folly to thank. My cousin would have shot him before he had entered the room.
I looked at my watch.
The time was twenty minutes past twelve. Not an hour had gone by since Pharaoh had "talked" from the ramparts and Dewdrop had read his message to Rush and Bugle and me. And now they were all four dead, but I was alive.
The reflection brought me up to my feet.
Alive, if you please; but I was shut in a chamber from which I could see no way out.
For twenty minutes I sought that secret door, but I could not so much as determine which were the panels that backed it, so well was it hid. I shouted and beat upon the woodwork, using Helena's name— in vain— and when I had bruised my hands and made myself hoarse I went back to the bench I had left and sat down to consider my plight.
Helena was locked in the turret— my hand in my pocket fingered her master key; but the turret, no doubt, had embrasures, and she would be found and released so soon as she could make herself heard. She had, of course, heard the firing, but if the thieves were fighting what did that matter to her? Let Pharaoh revenge her escape upon Bugle and Rush: or seek to blast his way out of the secret room. (Here perhaps I should say that though Helena heard the firing, the sound was so muffled that she could not be sure what it was, while so thick were the walls of Yorick that nobody else in the castle heard it at all.)
Now when Helena's release was effected and Geoffrey and the warden were found, the three would take counsel together upon her report. The position would be considered—but not for long.
Four dangerous, desperate felons were trapped in a secret room the very existence of which was known and must be known to no servants at all. If, therefore, they were to be released, my cousin and Barley and Florin must perform this most perilous office entirely alone. And what would be the object of risking three valuable lives to open that secret door? To destroy four bloody-minded convicts— the men had to die— when the chamber, left undisturbed, would work this destruction in silence and without fuss. And then, a week later, a grave could be dug in the woods, and Florin and Barley could enter and carry the corpses away.
The thing was clear. To open the room would be madness. The council would surely decide that Pharaoh and his companions must be left to die where they were.
OF course, if Bugle's body were found . But dead bodies sank. I had a hazy idea that after six days they floated ... after six days ...
Somewhat dazedly I surveyed my surroundings.
Rush offended me. Besides, I wanted my belt.
I stepped to its side and unstrapped and unlashed the corpse: this subsided sideways, over the arm of its chair. I walked to the cut in the wall, regarded the steps for a moment, and slammed the panel that hid them into its place. The cellar would make me no exit: that was beyond all doubt.
For some absurd reason a verse of the Bible kept coming into my head. "We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out."
Its irrelevance angered me.
I had no desire to take anything out of the world. Nor, for that matter, had Pharaoh. If instead of world you read room— he had brought nothing into this room and now it was very certain that he would carry nothing out. Or Dewdrop, either. Or Rush. Not a single golden sovereign— not even their lives, although they had brought them in. It occurred to me that I, too, had brought my life into this room.
It is certain we can carry nothing out.
I stamped uneasiness down, and turned again to the walls. No windows, no doors. How did one get out of chambers that had neither windows nor doors?
It was then that I thought of the fireplace.
A grate must have a chimney; and if the chimney was wide . . .
The chimney was wide—and barred by a massive grille.
With the aid of Dewdrop's torch I examined the heavy lattice. This was corrupted by rust. If I had a crowbar ...
My eye fell upon the cross-bar which was resting upon the dogs— the bar to fend logs from falling on to the slab .
This bar was of polished steel, and though I soon found that I could not burst the lattice, after two minutes I felt the whole grille move. At once I turned my attention to the clamps which held it in place, and ten minutes later I had torn two out of the sockets in which they had stood so long. Then I laid hold of the grille, and under the weight of my body the side no longer supported slowly gave way.
I have said that the chimney was wide; and so it was. If I could find a foothold I could climb it for several feet. My fear was that it would be narrow before I had gone very far.
I need not have feared for my foothold. A series of slots had been made for the feet of a sweep. And though as I mounted the flue it certainly diminished in size. I was able to move, not, indeed, with freedom, but without any actual danger of being wedged.
It was not a pleasant experience, for soot and filth kept falling into my eyes and choking my nose and mouth with each breath that I drew, and, after some twenty feet, as luck would have it, I let fall Dewdrop's torch.
With a venial flurry of oaths I decided to let this lie. At the moment it could not serve me—I could hardly go wrong.
So I went on my way blindly, cursing the soot and the cobwebs and hoping as hard as I could that the flue was not peculiar to the room I had left.
I must have climbed forty feet when my hand encountered a ridge and I felt a current of air. And then I knew I was saved, for the ridge and the draught were declaring the mouth of a second flue.
I had
to climb above it before I could leave the main shaft. Then I put my feet over the ridge and, since I could find no foothold, began to let myself down.
With my hands on the ridge I sought foothold—and sought it in vain. The flue was becoming enormous: I could scarcely straddle its width. Unless I could find some ledge.
And then I knew that I had come to a fireplace.
An instant later my feet were touching the wood that was laid on the dogs.
I could, of course, see nothing. The room was dark. But as I crawled out of that fireplace I knew where I was.
I had come to Helena's bedroom.
I took two paces forward and bore to the left.
An instant later I was touching her standard lamp.
The room was little disordered.
A wardrobe door was open, and three or four dresses were hanging out of its mouth. I could see that the bed had been lain on, and a little gilt chair had fallen on to its side.
As my eyes travelled round, I saw myself in the pier-glass.
As may be imagined, my state beggared all description, and I made at once for the bathroom to do what I could. For me to move was to damage, but at least the tiles in the bathroom would take no hurt.
Roughly I washed the filth from my head and my hands, but though I did what I could to wipe the soot from my shoes, I very soon saw that until I could change my clothing I should not be fit to move in a furnished room. And what clothes I had were at Plumage.
At once to get to the farm became my burning desire.
Before I did so I must set Helena free. That was simple enough. I had her master key, and there was her private stair to bring me down to the hall. And yet I dreaded the duty. I did not want to see her—at least not now. I dreaded the explanations which I should be forced to give. I did not want her to know that I had been there in that room: that I had seen Pharaoh break her, that I had heard her purchase my safety for ten thousand pounds a year.
Storm Music (1934) Page 18
