THE STRUGGLE IN THE TUNNEL
I was delayed two days in Bath by the inquest on the body of the
German, the discovery of which in the old graveyard formed a nine days'
wonder in the old western city and then died out altogether.
It was a very barren inquiry, for it discovered nothing. The man was a
stranger, no evidence was produced to show who he was, and as an
unknown stranger he was buried again, not in the old graveyard, but in
the new cemetery away among the hills.
There was only one piece of evidence which carried any interest with
it, and that was the testimony of the doctor.
He stated that the man had been shot through the head and immediately
killed; he produced the .450 revolver bullet which he had found in the
head.
Furthermore, he added that the body had been buried at once, and by
that means preserved from decay. It was practically incorrupt. It
might have been buried there a month.
That was all, and all the coroner's acumen, and all the researches of
the police, could produce no more. Public opinion had to be satisfied
with a very vague verdict.
There was only one point of interest left for me in the matter, and
that was the bundle of bed-linen which was found buried in the grave.
That was proved beyond doubt to be the bed-linen of my old lady of
Monmouth Street; it was plainly marked with the letter C, surmounted on
the case of the pillow by a small coronet.
"Things is coming round in a most extraordinary way to corroborate your
statement about the old lady, Mr. Anstruther," remarked Inspector Bull
patronisingly. "I could 'ardly believe it. I don't know when I come
across another case like it."
I don't suppose he did. It was an enigma which puzzled many wiser
heads than his in the long run; but I think the part which astonished
him most was to be discovering, bit by bit, that the story of my visit
to the house in Monmouth Street, as related to him and his brother, the
"tip-top London detective," was actually founded at any rate on _some_
fact!
The Don and I joyfully directed our respective servants to pack up for
London at the conclusion of the inquest. Dolores had been sent back to
Claridge's by her father, and placed under the care of Mrs. Darbyshire
the morning after the discovery in the old graveyard. He had very
wisely decided to keep her away from the gruesomeness of the inquest,
which pervaded the whole town.
Under the circumstances that little interview which I was so anxious
that he should have with her to discover the state of her affections
towards me, was postponed, and things remained just as they were.
Nevertheless, I think both Dolores and I were perfectly satisfied to
wait for the formal declaration of her father's sanction, being happy
in the consciousness of each other's love and steadfastness.
So the inquest being disposed of, we very gladly went off to the
station beneath the great cliff to catch the afternoon express to town.
We were in ample time, and strolled up and down the platform, taking a
last look at the town which had proved so fateful to us both.
Presently the great engine, the embodiment of modern steam power, swept
into the station, and the Don's man at once secured a first-class
smoking compartment for us, with the aid of the guard, while Brooks
looked after the luggage, the other man being a foreigner.
"I'm afraid I shall not be able to keep the whole compartment for you,
gentlemen," said the guard civilly, as we took our seats; "but I'll put
as few in as I can."
The old Don was the embodiment of politeness; he was the last person in
the world to inconvenience any one on the railway or anywhere else,
though he liked to have a carriage to himself when he could.
He told the guard so.
"I'll do my best, sir," replied the guard, with great _impressement_,
as he pocketed Don Juan's five shillings. "You shall be inconvenienced
as little as possible."
He locked the door and walked away, and I thought we should be left to
ourselves.
The guard, however, had overestimated his powers.
The train was within a minute of starting when two passengers,
evidently in a great hurry, made their appearance at the window. One
was an old gentleman with a white beard, wearing blue spectacles, and
apparently half blind; the other a young sturdy man, evidently his son,
for the elder leant on his arm, and was addressed by him as "father."
The son led the old man straight to our carriage, and called aloud for
the guard on finding it locked.
"Now, guard!" he cried with authority, when the official made his
appearance, "open the door; all the other carriages are full."
"If you wouldn't mind coming down a few carriages farther, sir,"
suggested our guard, "I can find you two good corner seats at once."
"Open this door at once," cried the gentleman furiously; "there is only
half a minute to spare, and don't you see my father is an invalid?"
Don Juan emerged from his corner with a look of genuine concern upon
his face.
"Let the gentlemen in at once, guard," he ordered. "I would not be the
cause of inconvenience to them on any account. Come in, gentlemen, I
beg."
The guard opened the door, and the two passengers entered just as the
stationmaster called out a remonstrance not to delay the train. The
old gentleman sank back in his seat with a sigh of relief.
"I'm so glad we caught the train," he said breathlessly.
Brooks ran up at the last moment and handed our tickets to the
collector, who had been waiting for them, as the train did not stop
again until it reached Paddington.
As Brooks turned and touched his hat to us, it appeared to me that he
started as he looked into the carriage, but the train was just off and
the ticket collector almost pushed him into the next compartment to
ours--a second, of course.
We puffed out of Bath, and I saw the last of its hills and stone houses
for many a day; indeed, I don't think I have seen it since, except
perhaps in the same way from a flying train. We were soon swallowed up
by a great tunnel, and the Don and I subsided into thoughtfulness and
the quiet enjoyment of our cigars.
Our fellow-travellers in the opposite corners maintained an absolute
silence; they might have been two statues.
But in a few minutes we burst out again into the almost blinding
daylight, and then it seemed to me that the appearance of the two men
we were shut up with had undergone a change. It was, if not my fancy,
a total change in the expression of their faces.
The idea seemed to fascinate me, and I kept my eyes fixed upon them
both.
Presently, after a quick glance at his companion, the old man put his
hand into the pocket of the thick travelling coat he wore and quickly
pulled out a revolver; then in a voice which I knew again full well he
addressed us both, at the same time covering Don Juan with his pistol.
"If you make the slightest movement, or speak without my permission, I
shall fire."
I saw as I sat looking at them that the younger man had also produced a
revolver, and was covering me.
Then the two moved nearer us into the two central seats of the
compartment, for the convenience, as it proved, of talking to us.
Don Juan and I sat petrified with astonishment, whilst the elder man
spoke again. I knew him from the first moment he had opened his lips,
despite his disguise, to be the Duke of Rittersheim, or "Saumarez," as
he had called himself.
"Don Juan d'Alta," he began, "I know you very well, and I don't suppose
you have forgotten me."
"I know your voice, _Your Serene Highness_," responded the old Don,
with a distinct accentuation of the title.
"Very well," replied the Duke. "Then that knowledge will enlighten you
to the extent that you will be aware that I want something of you."
Don Juan made no reply.
"I want," proceeded the Duke, "the key of the steel safe which you
removed from 190 Monmouth Street, Bath, and sent to the Bank of
England. I want also an order from you to the directors of the Bank of
England, authorising them to give me access to the safe. My friend
here has writing materials."
My glance turned to Don Juan, who was contemplating the Duke with a
stony stare of contempt.
"You will get neither the key nor the order, sir," he replied.
The Duke shrugged up his shoulders.
"You will compel me, then, to take a certain course," he answered. "I
believe you have the key with you?"
He was right, the Don had it, but neither of us answered him.
"You will not answer," he proceeded. "Very well; silence gives
consent. I believe you have it.
"That being so, I give you five minutes by this watch to make up your
mind, Señor. At the conclusion of that period, we shall shoot you both
as I shot the German they have been making such a fuss about in Bath,
and take the key if you don't give it up. I have no doubt whatever I
can get some clever fellow to copy your writing and manufacture me an
order.
"At any rate, neither of you will be in a position to prevent me."
I confess that my blood ran cold at his words, as he took his watch out
with his left hand and laid it on the seat. All my visions of
happiness with Dolores seemed melting into shadows of grim death.
Don Juan, however, kept perfectly calm; there was scarcely a twitch on
his face as he answered, although the colour had fled from it.
"That is all very well, sir," he replied coolly; "but what are you
going to do with our bodies? You will be discovered, tried, and
executed."
The Duke laughed aloud.
"They don't execute Serene Highnesses," he replied; "but, at any rate,
as you are curious about my safety, I will tell you. In a few minutes
the train will run into a tunnel. There we shall shoot you.
"In half an hour's time, during which we shall have the discomfort of
regarding your two dead bodies, the train will once more enter a
tunnel, the last before we reach London, and invariably the driver
slows down in it to negotiate a very sharp curve. There we shall cast
your bodies out on to the line as soon as we are in the tunnel, and
availing ourselves of the slowing down which will occur a few minutes
later, we shall leave the train."
As he spoke, the train entered the tunnel he mentioned, and almost at
the same moment I saw a face appear at the window on the farther side
behind the Duke and his accomplice.
It was the face of Brooks--my servant!
At first he expressed great astonishment at the situation as he looked
through the window, then he very clearly frowned to me to keep silence.
Covered by the rattling of the train in the tunnel he began very
carefully to open the door.
"The minutes are passing, gentlemen," remarked the Duke, in a mocking
tone. "I must beg of you to make up your minds."
He clicked his revolver lock as a gentle reminder; but as he glanced at
us in triumph, Brooks crept into the carriage behind him, and in a
flash, with a great spring, his two strong hands held down those of our
assailants which held their pistols. It was a splendid act of judgment.
In a moment I sprang forward too, to aid him, and then began a fearful
struggle, in which Don Juan could take but little part. The great
endeavour of Brooks and myself was to prevent the men using their
revolvers; with all our strength we held down their hands and rendered
them powerless.
When it appeared to me we were getting the mastery of them, I heard the
Duke gasp out some guttural remarks in German to his companion.
Then suddenly the latter released his hold of the pistol, leaving it in
our hands, but his freed hand went to his breast and reappeared with a
long knife in it.
I did not actually see the blow, but I heard Brooks cry out, and I knew
that the man had struck him.
But meanwhile Don Juan had picked up the revolver and pointed it
towards the two villains.
"Fly, Duke," he cried, "for the honour of your house, or I will kill
you."
With a curse the Duke let go his revolver and cried out in German to
his companion. Then in a moment the two slipped out of the open door
of the carriage on to the footboard and disappeared. We saw them no
more.
Don Juan and I turned at once to Brooks, who had sunk back with a groan
on the cushions.
"Are you hurt, my poor man," asked the Don; "have they stabbed you?"
"Yes, sir," he answered faintly, with his hand to his side. "They've
about done for me, but I'm glad I die fighting like a British soldier
should. I'm glad I've wiped the old score out by saving my master and
you, sir."
When a quarter of an hour later the train ran into Paddington poor
Brooks lay back in a corner with set white face. He had had his wish;
he had died like a British soldier.