Henry left his car at The Three Farmers on the Withstead road, and
proceeded with energy towards the beach. He was glad enough to walk
after the long drive.
The day was chilly, the air full of moisture, and a thin, cold mist was
rising off the marshes. What breeze there was came from the land and
took the mist only a few hundred yards out to sea. The motor-boat
telephoned for by Mr. Ember earlier in the day ran into it as she came
into Withstead Cove to land a passenger. The passenger, who was Mr.
Belcovitch, was very glad indeed to be landed. He had no nautical
tendencies, and would have preferred danger on dry land to safety at
sea. He made his way up the beach and, confused by the mist, went into
the wrong cave. As he turned to come out of it, having discovered his
mistake, he heard footsteps, and promptly sheltered himself behind a
convenient buttress.
Henry walked briskly past and, as Mr. Belcovitch stared after him,
disappeared into the next cave. He disappeared and he did not return.
Belcovitch heard a familiar sound, the sound made by the pivoting stone
as it swung back into its place. He recognised it, and became a prey to
some rather violent emotions, of which fear, hatred, and a desire to
annihilate Henry were the chief. Henry was unknown to him, therefore
Henry was not one of them. His walk, his carriage, his whole appearance
marked him out as belonging to that class which Mr. Belcovitch made a
profession of detesting. He possessed the secret of the passages, and
was therefore in the highest degree dangerous.
Belcovitch followed him as rapidly and as silently as a man can follow
whose very existence has for many years depended on his proficiency in
these respects. He closed the stone behind him with a good deal more
care than Henry had taken, and, having done so, went up the steps at a
surprising rate and in a moment had his quarry in view. Henry had
switched on a torch and was proceeding at a moderate rate down the main
passage. Belcovitch, moving after him like a cat, did some rapid
thinking. It would be very easy to shoot, but it would make a noise. He
fingered a length of lead piping in one of his pockets and thought with
impassioned earnestness of the back of Henry’s neck. Yet, supposing that
Ember knew of Henry’s visit—he did not want any unpleasantness with
Ember. It would probably be better not to kill Henry in case it should
prove that Ember would rather have him alive. It was always better to be
on good terms with Ember. Molloy had fallen out with him, and it
appeared that at this very moment two comrades were on their way to
eliminate Molloy. All this very rapidly.
He decided not to kill Henry. It was a pity, because there was a most
convenient well into which he could have dropped him. He decreased the
distance between them and unfastened the black silk muffler which he
wore instead of collar and tie.
Henry pursued his unconscious path, his mind occupied with Jane, and
plans, and Jane, and Ember, and Anthony, and Raymond, and Jane again. It
is to be regretted that he did not look behind him. The villain ought
not to be able to steal upon the hero in the dark without being heard,
but Henry had not had Mr. Belcovitch’s advantages. The latter had all
the tricks of the half-world at his command, and Henry had not.
Just before the laboratory turning Belcovitch came up with a quick run,
and that was the first that Henry heard of him. The next instant he felt
himself tripped, struggling desperately to keep his footing, slipped in
the slime, and came down choking, with a black silk muffler tightly
knotted about his throat. Belcovitch was a very neat operator. First the
trip, then the twist, and then the chloroform bottle. He had never made
a crisper job of it. He took Henry by the heels and proceeded to drag
him along the passage towards the laboratory, Henry being mercifully
oblivious of what was happening.
When Jane heard that faint dragging sound, she had just about half a
minute to decide which passage it came from, and to get away down the
other one. It really took her less than thirty seconds to realise that
some one was coming by the way that she herself had come, and to dart
into the slanting passage which held the well. A yard or two down she
turned and stood where she had stood to see Ember pass the day before.
Whoever was coming had no light. Of course they could see the light from
the laboratory and were steering by it. It was a man coming; she could
tell by the tread. He was dragging something—something heavy. What? Or
who? Jane sickened.
A dark figure passed between her and the glow that came from the
laboratory. She took three light steps, and saw that what he dragged
behind him was a senseless man—senseless or dead.
She heard Ember call out, “Belcovitch, is that you?” And a voice with a
strong foreign accent answered.
Then a great many things seemed to happen at once: the steel gate
opened; the helpless man was dragged in; and, as the gate fell to, there
came Raymond Heritage’s scream.
Jane shook from head to foot. The scream cut like a knife. Why did she
scream like that? Who was it? Who was it? Who _was_ it? She got her
answer in Raymond’s gasp of “Henry!”
An inner blackness, much, much worse than that intolerable dark which
had oppressed her, swept between Jane and everything in the world. When
Raymond said, “Henry!” the light went out of her world and left it
black. She heard Ember say, “Is he dead?” but she could not see
Belcovitch’s shrug and shake of the head. She leaned against the wall
and could not move. I suppose that in that moment she knew that she
really loved Henry. It hurt—dreadfully.
Then she heard Raymond’s voice again:
“What have you done to him? Devils, devils!” And Ember:
“My dear Raymond, calm yourself. He’s not dead, nothing so crude. Mr.
Belcovitch is an artist, and Captain March will come round in a minute
or two and be none the worse. I’m sorry you had a shock.”
Light, dazzling light flooded Jane’s consciousness. Henry wasn’t dead.
The dark was only a dream, and she was awake again. She was very much
awake, and her whole waking thought was bent upon the necessity of
getting help for Henry before that dream came true.
Ember and Belcovitch would murder him if they had time. Raymond would
make what time she could, but in the end they would murder him unless
Jane could get help.
She turned, holding to the wall, and moved along the passage. When she
had taken a step or two something happened which she could never think
of without self-abasement. Her nerve went suddenly, and she began to
run. It was only for a dozen steps; then her self-control came into
play. She pulled up panting, and, after listening for a moment, crept
the rest of the way, reached the steps, and came out into the empty
hall, dirty, wet, and as white as a sheet.
As soon as she had the panel shut she ran across the hall and down the
corridor to the library. She shut the library door with a sharp push,
and was across the room and taking down the telephone receiver before
the sound of the bang had died away.
“Exchange!” she said, “Exchange!” and clenched her hand as she waited
for the reply. It came with a dreamy accent, the voice of a girl
disturbed in the middle of Sunday afternoon. Nobody should be
telephoning in the middle of Sunday afternoon.
“Can you look up a London number for me? Sir Julian Le Mesurier”—she
spelt it. “Please be very quick; _please_, it’s important.”
“Righto,” said the dreamy voice incongruously.
Silence fell. Jane held on to the telephone, and tried to control her
breathing, which came in gasps. The room seemed full of mist; she shut
her eyes.
When Jane started to run down the laboratory passage Jeffrey Ember was
superintending the removal of the black silk muffler from Henry’s neck.
When they rolled Henry over on to his face he groaned, and when they
tied his hands behind his back with the muffler he tried to kick,
whereupon Ember produced a piece of rope and they tied his ankles too.
The sound of Jane’s running feet had come very faintly upon Ember’s ear.
Henry was groaning and kicking, and Belcovitch was cursing in a steady
undertone. It was not until he rose to get the piece of rope that his
mind took hold of that faint sound and began to analyse it. There had
been a sound in the passage outside—some one moving—some one running.
Yes, that was it, some one running, light foot and very fast.
Ember finished tying Henry up and got to his feet.
“There was some one in the passage just now,” he said. “I must go and
see. There was something; I heard something. It was like some one
running.” He spoke as if to himself, and then turned to Raymond.
“You will stay where you are in that chair—otherwise....” He swung round
to Belcovitch.
“If she moves, shoot Captain March at once,” he said, and was gone,
leaving the gate ajar behind him.
In the library Jane waited for her call. It came with startling
loudness—a bell that seemed to ring inside her head—and then the dreamy
voice drawling, “Here y’are.”
In Piggy’s study Isobel Le Mesurier said, “Hullo!”
“Is that Lady Le Mesurier?” said Jane.
“Yes, speaking.”
“Please tell your husband——”
And Isobel’s charming, friendly voice, “He’s here. Won’t you speak to
him yourself?”
Jane’s hearing, always acute, was strung to an extraordinary pitch. She
could hear the girl at the exchange speaking to some one; she could hear
Isobel saying, “Piggy, you’re wanted”; and behind these sounds, on the
extreme edge of what was perceptible, she heard the click of the panel
and Ember’s footsteps as he crossed the polished floor. She knew that
they were Ember’s footsteps, and she heard them coming nearer.
Sir Julian was speaking:
“Who is it?”
Jane heard her own voice, and it sounded small and far away.
“Jane Smith, speaking from Luttrell Marches. They’ve got Henry in the
passages. He’s hurt. They’ve got a motor-boat in Withstead Cove. Help as
quickly as you can. Some one’s coming.”
Ember was half-way down the corridor. Piggy was speaking:
“Anthony Luttrell’s on his way—should be with you any minute.”
Ember turned the handle. Jane called out:
“Oh, can’t you get me that number—oh, can’t you get it quickly?...” And,
as the door opened sharply, she dropped the receiver and turned.
Ember came in—a new Ember. There was something terrifying in his look,
and he said harshly:
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to telephone,” said Jane. “They take such ages.”
Mr. Ember’s look was terrifying, but Jane was not terrified. As she
dropped the receiver something happened to her which she did not
understand. Within the last half-hour she had felt an extremity of fear
and sudden anguish, violent relief, and again intensest fear and
suspense. From this moment none of these things came near her. She moved
among them, but they did not touch her at all. The thing was like a play
in which she had her part duly written and rehearsed. There was no sense
of responsibility, only a stage upon which she must play her part; and
she knew her part very well. She did not have to think, or plan, or
contrive. She knew what to do, and how and when to do it. From the
moment that she dropped the receiver at the telephone she never faltered
for an instant.
Ember looked at her with eyes which saw every tell-tale stain upon her
dress and hands. The something in his gaze which should have been
frightening became intensified.
“Lady Heritage wants you in the study,” he said.
Jane knew very well that he said the study because the study was next to
the door in the panelling. If she refused to go, he would stun her or
shoot her here. She did not refuse, and walked down the corridor by his
side in silence. They crossed the hall, and Ember kept between her and
the stairs. Jane walked meekly beside him with downcast eyes until he
passed ahead of her to open the study door. In that moment she turned on
her heel, sprang for the stairs and raced up them, running as she had
never run in her life.
Ember would not risk shooting her in the hall—she felt sure of that—but
he was after her like a flash, and she had very little start. She
reached for the newel at the top and jumped the last three steps, with
Ember about two yards behind. Then down the corridor with a rush and
into her room, and the door banged and locked as he reached it.
Jane wasted no time. She thought that Ember would hesitate to break down
the door until he had at least tried promises and threats, but she was
taking no chances. She heard him speaking as she opened the cupboard
door and locked herself inside it. His voice was only a murmur as she
heaved up the trap-door in the floor and climbed carefully down the
ladder upon which Henry had stood that night which seemed like weeks and
weeks ago. The catch in the wall at the bottom was a simple handle like
the one behind the panelling. She emerged into the garden room, opened
the window, dropped out of it, and ran quickly and lightly along the
terrace, keeping close to the wall of the house.
Ember talked through the door for five minutes. His remarks ranged from
persuasive promises to threats, which lost nothing from being delivered
in a chilly whisper. At the end of the five minutes he put his shoulder
against the lock and broke it. He found an empty room and a locked
cupboard. When he had broken the cupboard door and discovered nothing
more exciting than Renata’s schoolgirl wardrobe, he went to the open
window and stared incredulously at the drop to the terrace. Jane had
turned the corner of the house and was out of sight.
Ember came downstairs with the knowledge that he must complete his
business quickly if he meant to bring it to any conclusion other than
disaster.
He went straight to the library and rang up the Withstead exchange.
“The young lady who was telephoning just now, did she get the number she
wanted? She did? Would you kindly tell me which number it was?”
There was a pause, and then the information came: Sir Julian Le
Mesurier! There was certainly no time to be lost. Molloy and his
daughter both traitors, both spies, both in Government pay! Molloy
should be reckoned with by now, and some day without fail he would
reckon with Renata.
He came into the hall, and released the spring of the hidden door. As
the panel turned under his hand, he heard the purr of a motor coming
nearer. It drew up. The bell clanged. Mr. Ember stepped into the
darkness and closed the panel behind him.