“I will remember, sir. But you will not ring up if you can help it?”
“Only,” said Mansel, “in the last resort.” He put our friend’s hand to his lips. “Be of good cheer, Madam. I make no promises. But I hope that, before very long, you will be rid of your guest.”
“God bless you both,” said the woman, wiping her eyes. As we made our way off—
“The German curse,” said Mansel. “Two decent lives made hell by one of that filthy race. Discomfort, indignity, fear – those things are now their portion, thanks to the Boche. D’you ever see red, William?”
“I really don’t know,” I said. “When I get angry, I seem to get very cold. But I can tell you this. Gems or no, I don’t leave Austria until that lease is up.”
“Nor I,” said Mansel. “What’s Hecuba to us? But a sense of justice is something you can’t fob off. Never mind. From what she says I think we can make it Sunday.”
“I agree,” said I. “And then what?”
Mansel wrinkled his brow.
“Out of the castle,” he said. “The gems, I mean. Into the ground, perhaps. Then, at least, they’ll be safe. But how to get them out of the country, I cannot think.”
Our arrangements for Sunday were made with the greatest care.
To remove the gems from the chamber was easy enough: but two most important conditions governed the work. First, no one of the staff must suspect that any such operation was taking place: secondly, no slightest trace of our labour must be left for the eye of the Boche. It was these two provisos that made the exercise hard, for we could make no preparation, yet had to work to time; and, when we had done, must carefully sweep and garnish where we had passed.
Mansel, who thought of all things, had asked John Ferrers to ‘wash the night-watchman out’ on the day that we had arrived: but we dared not start before midnight or finish later than five.
And there was much to be done.
Planks and trestles must be fetched from the carpenter’s shop, for the work would take twice as long unless we had a true stage. And tools and sand and cement must also be brought to the dungeon where we were to work. The mason’s tools were kept in the carpenter’s shop; and this, as luck would have it, was in the courtyard: but the sand and cement were kept at the foot of the postern-steps.
The original sluice, which was really a slab of stone, still lay in the ancient kitchen, ready to hand. There was a lamp in the chamber, the wire of which Ferrers had cut before he had relaid the stones, five years before: but a reel of wire must be brought, to run from a plug in the hall: and then the connection must be made. When the gems were recovered, they must be instantly washed, to rid them of any poison which might be there. This, in surgical spirit, of which we had a supply. Not till then could we put them in Ferrers’ safe. And then, as I have said, all must be swept and garnished against the eye of the Boche.
On the Saturday evening we sat in Olivia’s boudoir, debating, one by one, the points of our plan: Bell was without the door, and Carson was keeping an eye on Diana’s room.
“And what of Diana?” said Ferrers.
“I advise,” said Mansel, “that she should be left alone. All I should like to know is whether or no she leaves her room that night. And that we can learn by setting a mark on her door. If she should leave her room or even find us at work, it will really do no more than clear the air. We shall see that she does us no harm, for we shall allow her no chance of reporting to Friar. If she writes a letter, it doesn’t go to the post: if she feels she must leave the castle, she’ll be detained.”
(Here, perhaps, I should say that ‘a mark’ may be ‘set on a door’ by laying across the doorway a very fine thread: this is drawn tight six inches above the floor: whoever comes out will break it, without knowing what he has done, and the proof of his exit will lie in the broken thread.)
“I can’t believe,” said Olivia, “that she is in Friar’s pay. What do you say, Richard?”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“I find it hard to believe that she would betray her host; but Friar may have pitched her some tale, which she has believed.”
“Speculation,” said Mansel, “is idle. Does everyone agree that she should be left alone – and permitted to rest in peace or to show her hand?”
We all agreed.
“Very good,” said Mansel. “I think that’s all. I wish the Boche had appeared, for I’m sure he will appear, and I think it just as likely he’ll come by night. The idea of surprise, you know.”
Olivia had a hand to her mouth.
“What if he comes tomorrow – tomorrow night?”
“He won’t be received,” said her husband. “No rot about that.”
“What’ll happen then?”
Mansel laughed.
“He’ll come back with reinforcements – four hours too late. Not that it really matters, for, sooner or later, the showdown will have to come. You are now in residence. If you allow him to come here whenever he likes, he will be sure that you have something to hide; for no English man or woman would tolerate treatment like that.”
“I entirely agree,” said I. “Palin was badly placed. But John, as the owner, must certainly call a halt.”
Olivia sighed.
“What a business it is,” she said. “D’you think we shall ever succeed in getting them out?”
“I think so,” said Mansel. “Friar would manage it somehow: and if he can, so can we.”
On the following evening we dined at nine o’clock, for we dared not advance the hour: but Olivia chose a short dinner and we had left the table before it was ten. At eleven Ferrers and Palin went down with Bell and Carson, to get cement and sand to the head of the postern-steps; this, in several tarpaulins, for these would hold fast their contents and could be used in the dungeon as mortarboards. At midnight, Palin repaired to where the water was flowing into the woods. This flow would presently stop – and so would announce, to one who knew the secret, what we were about. So Palin was to keep watch – in case another was waiting to see what this telltale said. At midnight, also, Carson and Bell crept into the carpenter’s shop, and brought out the stuff we required to make our attempt. While they were thus employed, Ferrers produced the slab, which, after a deal of trouble, Mansel and I persuaded to play the part of a sluice.
So the dungeon fall was cut off.
By the time we were down there, Carson and Bell were already erecting the stage, and, two minutes later, I was attacking the wall. This was easy to open. Before twenty minutes were gone, I had cut an opening through which a man could pass.
“A little larger,” said Mansel. “Another two courses out.”
I did as he said.
“Put these on,” said Mansel. “I’m not going to take any risks.”
I put on the mask and the gloves.
“And now for the light,” said Mansel, “or will a torch do?”
With that, he threw into the chamber the beam of his powerful torch…
After a long look—
“It’s more than enough,” said I, averting my eyes.
“I quite agree,” said Mansel. “It makes me feel like a ghoul.”
In the chamber were lying three corpses, so hideously lifelike, they might have been preserved. Each of them bore the signs of a hideously violent death. There was no actual stench, but a highly unpleasant odour which I can smell to this day. There were the three satchels in which the dead had been bestowing their spoil: and there were the three old bales, two of them empty and one of them, roughly, half full.
“That’s right,” breathed Ferrers, behind me. “Some gems are still in that bale. The poison got them before they had taken them out.”
While Mansel lighted my movements, I entered the chamber of death.
I took up two of the satchels and gave them to Ferrers who passed them to Carson and Bell. Then I turned to the bale which was still half full.
“For God’s sake be careful,” said Ferrers. “You’re going to do as they di
d.”
But I had nothing to fear, because I was masked and gloved. For all that, I went very gently. The look of my predecessors would have made anyone think.
I put a hand into the bale, to encounter what might have been bran: indeed, it made me think of a lucky dip. Almost at once my fingers touched something hard… Drawing this out, I found it a little object, tied up in a padded bag. I thrust it into the satchel, which still remained…
Eighteen more gems, I brought out, each wrapped in its little purse: and I thrust them into the satchel as fast as I could.
Whilst I was doing this, Carson and Bell had carried the other satchels into the ancient kitchen, there to take out their contents and lay them in rows of ten. They were on no account to uncover the gems.
As I held the bale upside down—
“That’s the lot,” I said.
As I handed the satchel to Ferrers, I heard Mansel speak.
“Into the kitchen, John, and do your stuff. Don’t come back when you’ve done it, unless you’re short. If all the gems are there, send both of the servants back.”
I had meant to prove the bales and the debris, too; but Mansel would not let me.
“Wait for the count,” he said. “Those bales are dangerous. And come on out while you’re waiting – I don’t like that atmosphere.”
I was glad to get out of the place and on to the stage. Treasure chamber, perhaps: but charnel house, too. Indeed, to be frank, no duty I ever did was so repugnant to me; for the dead were dreadful to look on, and, do what I would, my eyes seemed drawn to the features which agony had abused. They were rogues, of course, and had fairly come by their own: but I had a horrid feeling that I was despoiling them, and I cannot doubt that their ghosts were shrieking about me, because I had taken the fortune which they had so nearly won.
For, perhaps, three minutes we waited. Then Carson and Bell appeared.
“Mr Ferrers’ compliments, sir, and all correct.”
“A hundred and twenty-seven.”
“Yes, sir. We counted them twice.”
Then Mansel went off to the kitchen, to wash the gems with John; and Carson and Bell mixed the mortar, that I could relay the stones which I had cut out.
Whilst I was thus engaged, John Ferrers brought back the satchels, into which he and Mansel had stuffed the now empty padded bags. I thrust all three through the aperture which remained; and soon after that, I laid the last stone in the wall. Then I sealed the chamber as fast as I dared.
By half past three o’clock, we had removed the stage and pulled up the sluice: and, as I was washing my trowel, Mansel re-entered the dungeon, to say that the gems had been cleaned and were all in the safe.
While the servants returned the gear to the carpenter’s shop, Ferrers and I took the sand and cement that remained to the head of the postern-steps. There we found Palin waiting, to say that all was well. Leaving him and Ferrers to take the stuff down, I made my way back to the dungeon, to help to remove any traces of what we had done. There were footprints and grains of sand and little spills of cement: the slab was very wet and had to be dried: and the lens which had fallen out of a torch I had used – but did not seem to have been broken – had to be found.
We had mostly trodden the passage which so much attracted the Boche, but other passages led to the postern-steps; these and a winding stair had all to be scrutinized, as well as the steps themselves up which the cement had come. Three times that night I changed the shoes I was wearing, for fear of leaving footprints on pavement which we had dried; and I think we were all in our socks before the business was done.
It was nearly a quarter to five, and I was counting the cloths which we had used to swab up the mess we had made. (We had brought twenty-four in a suit-case – and used twenty-two.) The servants, with Ferrers and Palin, were looking for the lens of my torch; and Mansel was holding a hand-lamp, to light the scene. Though the door to the dungeons was shut, the rush of the water falling without the gates was loud enough to swallow a footstep, for we were not many feet from the outer wall. Indeed, the first I knew was that Mansel was smiling and bidding Diana good morning and asking her why she was up.
Diana made no answer, but looked at me.
“And you said you weren’t on the job?”
The scene was like that of some play.
The girl was framed in an archway that gave to a flight of steps: an excellent dressing-gown swathed her from ankle to throat in powder blue; rose-coloured pyjamas and slippers were hiding her feet. Her thick, fair hair was tumbled, as though she had left her pillow without a thought, and a sleeve had fallen back from her wrist, because she had lifted an arm and was laying her slim, brown hand on the haunch on her right. Beyond her, Palin and Carson, before her, Ferrers and Bell, all of them wearing the havoc of heavy toil, were looking upon her in silence, not seeming to breathe.
“And you said you weren’t on the job?”
“I don’t think I did,” said I. “Anyway, I’ve finished now. Twenty-one, twenty-two. That’s right. Shut that case, Bell, and take it back to my room.”
“Very good, sir.”
“What have you finished?” said Diana.
“The job,” said I. “And now I’m going to bed.”
The lady looked at Mansel.
“Captain Mansel, what are you doing?”
“Nothing at the moment,” said Mansel; “but I’m just going to put out this light. John and Palin, we’ll have to let the thing go. Have you a torch, Diana? Otherwise, William will see you back to your room.”
Diana was speaking slowly.
“It must be something that you don’t want me to know.”
“To be frank, we’ve been to some trouble to keep it quiet.”
“But why?”
“So many questions,” sighed Mansel. “Now may I ask you one?”
“Of course,” says the girl, staring.
“How do you come to be here…in the ancient part of the castle…between four and five in the morning, when most people are abed?”
“I – I heard a sound,” said Diana. “And came to see what it was.”
The silence which followed this statement was painful, indeed, for the rush of the water without declared so very clearly that only a monstrous noise could have risen above its din.
Then Mansel put out his light, and I drew my torch. As I threw its beam at her feet—
“Come, my lady,” I said; “I’ll see you back to your room.”
Since that of my torch was now the only light, the girl had to follow the beam or else be left in the dark; and two minutes later we reached the door of her room.
“What do you think of me, Richard?”
“I don’t know what to think. I know that you lied when you said that you’d heard a sound.”
“Then why d’you think I came down?”
“I suppose,” I said, “because Friar told you to.”
“I don’t take orders from Friar.”
“Why did you come down?”
“Because Friar told me that you were up to something – and something big. I’ve come down every night between one and three: but last night I forgot to set my alarm.”
“What did it matter to you?”
“Women are curious, Richard – especially about men. You see, Friar said that you and Captain Mansel were not what you seemed to be. He said you were really two very efficient crooks.”
“Did you believe that?”
“No. And I told him so. ‘Of course you don’t believe it,’ he said. ‘Who ever would? That’s why they’ve had such a run. But it happens to be a fact. And what is more, you can prove it, if you like to keep them in view.’ Well, I said that that was silly. How on earth could I keep observation on people like you? ‘Visit the Ferrers,’ he said, ‘and don’t sleep too sound while you’re there.’ He knew I knew Olivia: I’d told him I’d rung her up, to find that she was away. ‘They’re on their way back,’ he said, ‘and Mansel and Chandos will visit them, sure as a gun. I mean,
that’s why they’re at Salzburg.’ Well, I honestly thought it was tripe: I simply couldn’t believe that he wasn’t pulling my leg. And then it began to happen, just as he’d said. The Ferrers arrived the next day, on their way to Hohenems: and you turned up again and were invited to stay. When I was invited, too – well, nobody who was normal would have spent the whole night in their room.”
“I agree,” I said. “Placed as you were, told what you had been told, I should have done the same. And now that you’ve proved him right, you’re going to let him know?”
Diana’s eyes widened.
“If and when I found he was right, I promised to send him a. wire. We agreed the wording, which was I apologize.”
I nodded.
“That’s only fair,” I said. “You wouldn’t believe what he said, and you told him so.”
“I still don’t believe you’re a crook. Besides, John Ferrers was with you; so you weren’t robbing his house.”
“No, we’re not crooks,” I said. “In fact, we’ve done what we have at John’s request. But I’d rather Friar didn’t know that we’d done it just yet. So will you hold up that wire? That’s all he wanted, you know. That’s why he told you the tale. He knew we were going to work, and he very much wanted to know when that work was done. And then he fell in with you… It was a long shot, of course; but long shots sometimes come off.”
Diana’s eyes were burning.
“You mean to say he’s used me.”
“That was the general idea: but if you hold up that wire, it won’t come off. He is a crook, you know. And he’d very much like to have done what we have done tonight: but without John Ferrers’ knowledge.”
“My God,” said Diana, quietly. And then, again, “My God.”
“Don’t take it to heart,” I said. “No harm has been done.”
“And there you’re wrong,” snapped Diana. “A rotten blackguard has made a fool of me. Worse. I played into his hands; and, but for you, he’d have won his beastly game.”
I fingered my chin.
“Would you like to get back?” I said.
“Just you try me,” said Diana, speaking between her teeth.
“Perhaps we will,” I said. “Meanwhile, if you’d hold up that wire–”
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