MRS. MALPLAQUET GOES DOWN TO THE CELLAR
In the age of chivalry woman must have been built of sterner stuff than
the girl of to-day. At least, we read in medieval romance of fair
ladies who, after being knocked down by a masterful suitor and carried
off across his saddle bow thirty or forty miles, are yet able to
appear, cold but radiantly beautiful, at the midnight wedding and the
subsequent marriage feast.
But this is a romance of the present day, the age of nerves and high
velocity. Barbara Mackwayte, strong and plucky as she was, after being
half throttled and violently thrown into the cellar of the Dyke Inn,
suddenly gave way under the strain and conveniently evaded facing the
difficulties of her position by fainting clear away.
The precise moment when she came out of her swoon she never knew. The
cellar was dark; but it was nothing compared to the darkness enveloping
her mind. She lay there on the damp and mouldy straw, hardly able,
scarcely wanting, to move, overwhelmed by the extraordinary adventure
which had befallen her. Was this to be the end of the pleasant trip
into the country on which she had embarked so readily only a few hours
before? She tried to remember that within twenty miles of her were
policemen and taxis and lights and all the attributes of our present
day civilization; but her thoughts always returned, with increasing
horror, to that undersized yellow-faced man in the room above, to the
face of Nur-el-Din, dark and distorted with passion.
A light shining down the cellar stairs drew her attention to the
entrance. The woman she had already seen and in whom she now recognized
Marie, the dancer’s maid, was descending, a tray in her hand. She
placed the tray on the ground without a word, then went up the stairs
again and fetched the lamp. She put the lamp down by the tray and,
stooping, cut the ropes that fastened Barbara’s hands and feet.
“So, Mademoiselle,” she said, drawing herself erect with a grunt, “your
supper: some tea and meat!”
She pulled a dirty deal box from a corner of the cellar and put the
tray upon it. Then she rose to her feet and sat down. The maid watched
Barbara narrowly while she ate a piece of bread and drank the tea.
“At least,” thought Barbara to herself, “they don’t mean to starve me!”
The tea was hot and strong; and it did her good. It seemed to clear her
faculties, too; for her brain began to busy itself with the problem of
escaping from her extraordinary situation.
“Mademoiselle was a leetle too clevaire,” said the maid with an evil
leer,—“she would rob Madame, would she? She would play the _espionne,
hein? Eh bien, ma petite_, you stay ’ere ontil you say what you lave
done wiz ze box of Madame!”
“Why do you say I have stolen the box?” protested Barbara, “when I tell
you I know nothing of it. It was stolen from me by the man who killed
my father. More than that I don’t know. You don’t surely think I would
conspire to kill” her voice trembled—“my father, to get possession of
this silver box that means nothing to me!”
Marie laughed cynically.
“_Ma foi_,” she cried, “when one is a spy, one will stop at nothing!
But _tiens_, here is Madame!”
Nur-el-Din picked her way carefully down the steps, the yellow-faced
man behind her. He had a pistol in his hand. The dancer said something
in French to her maid who picked up the tray and departed.
“Now, Mademoiselle,” said Nur-el-Din, “you see this pistol. Rass here
will use it if you make any attempt to escape. You understand me,
_hein?_ I come to give you a las’ chance to say where you ’ave my
box...”
Barbara looked at the dancer defiantly.
“I’ve told you already I know nothing about it. You, if any one, should
be better able to say what has become of it...”
“_Quoi?_” exclaimed Nur-el-Din in genuine surprise, “_comment?_”
“Because,” said Barbara, “a long black hair—one of your hairs—was found
adhering to the straps with which I was fastened!”
“_Tiens!_” said the dancer, her black eyes wide with surprise,
“_tiens!_”
She was silent for a minute, lost in thought. The man, Rass, suddenly
cocked his ear towards the staircase and said something to Nur-el-Din
in the same foreign tongue which Barbara had heard them employ before.
The dancer made a gesture, bidding him to be silent.
“He was at my dressing-table that night;” she murmured in French, as
though to herself, “then it was he who did it!”
She spoke rapidly to Barbara.
“This man who tied you up... you didn’t see him?”
Barbara shook her head.
“I could see nothing; I don’t even know that it was a man. He seized me
so suddenly that in the dark I could distinguish nothing... it might
have been a woman... yourself, for instance, for all I know!”
Nur-el-Din clasped her hands together.
“It was he, himself, then,” she whispered, “I might have known. Yet he
has not got it here!”
Heavy footsteps resounded in the room above. Rass cried out something
swiftly to the dancer, thrust the pistol into her hands, and dashed up
the ladder. The next moment there was a loud report followed by the
thud of a heavy body falling. Somewhere in the rooms above a woman
screamed.
Nur-el-Din’s hands flew to her face and the pistol crashed to the
ground. Two men appeared at the head of the cellar stairs. One was
Strangwise, in uniform, the other was Bellward.
“They’re both here!” said Strangwise over his shoulder to Bellward.
“Ah, thank God, you’ve come!” cried Barbara, running to the foot of the
ladder.
Strangwise brushed past her and caught Nur-el-Din by the arm.
“Run her upstairs,” he said quickly to Bellward who had followed behind
him, “and lock her in her room. I’ve seen to the rest. You, Miss
Mackwayte,” he added to Barbara, “you will come with us!”
Barbara was staring in fascination at Bellward. She had never believed
that any disguise could be so baffling, so complete; Major Okewood, she
thought, looked like a different man.
But Bellward had grasped the dancer by the two arms and forced her up
the stairs in front of him. Nur-el-Din seemed too overcome with terror
to utter a sound.
“Oh, don’t be so rough with her, Major Okewood!” entreated Barbara,
“you’ll hurt her!”
She had her back turned to Strangwise so she missed the very remarkable
change that came over his features at her words.
“Okewood,” he whispered but too low for the girl to distinguish the
words, “Okewood? I might have guessed! I might have guessed!” Then he
touched Barbara lightly on the shoulder.
“Come,” he said, “we must be getting upstairs. We have much to do!”
He gently impelled her towards the ladder up which Bellward and
Nur-el-Din had already disappeared. At the top, he took the lead and
conducted Barbara into the taproom. A single candle stood on the table,
throwing a wan light into the room. Rass lay on his back in the centre
of the floor, one hand doubled up under him, one knee slightly drawn
up.
Barbara started back in horror.
“Is he... is he...” she stammered, pointing at the limp still form.
Strangwise nodded.
“A spy!” he said gravely, “we were well rid of him. Go over there in
the corner where you won’t see it. Stay!” he added, seeing how pale the
girl had become, “you shall have some brandy!”
He produced a flask and measured her out, a portion in the cup.
Suddenly, the door leading from the bar opened and a woman came into
the room. Her black velvet dress, her gray hair and general air of
distinction made her a bizarre figure in that squalid room lit by the
guttering candle.
“Time we were off!” she said to Strangwise, “Bellward’s just coming
down!”
“There’s the maid...” began Strangwise, looking meaningly at Barbara.
The woman in black velvet cast a questioning glance at him.
Strangwise nodded.
“I’ll do it,” said the woman promptly, “if you’ll call her down!”
Strangwise went to the other door of the tap-room and called:
“Marie!”
There was a step outside and the maid came in, pale and trembling.
“Your mistress wants you; she is downstairs in the cellar,” he said
pleasantly.
Marie hesitated an instant and surveyed the group.
“_Non, non_,” she said nervously, “_je n’veux pas descendre!_”
Strangwise smiled, showing his teeth.
“No need to be frightened, _ma fille_,” he replied. “Madame here will
go down with you!” and he pointed to the woman in black velvet.
This seemed to reassure the maid and she walked across the room to the
door, the woman following her. As the latter passed Strangwise he
whispered a word in her ear.
“No, no,” answered the other, “I prefer my own way,” and she showed him
something concealed in her hand.
The two women quitted the room together, leaving Strangwise and Barbara
alone with the thing on the floor. Strangwise picked up a military
great-coat which was hanging over the back of a chair and put it on,
buttoning it all the way up the front and turning up the collar about
the neck. Then he crammed a cap on his head and stood listening
intently.
A high, gurgling scream, abruptly checked, came through the open door
at the farther end of the room.
Barbara sprang up from the chair into which she had sunk.
“_What was that?_” she asked, whispering.
Strangwise did not reply. He was still listening, a tall, well set-up
figure in the long khaki great-coat.
“But those two women are alone in the cellar,” exclaimed Barbara, “they
are being murdered! Ah! what was that?”
A gentle thud resounded from below.
A man came in through the door leading from the bar:
He had a fat, smooth-shaven face, heavily jowled.
“All ready, Bellward?” asked Strangwise carelessly.
Barbara stared at the man thus addressed. She saw that he was wearing
the same clothes as the man who had come down into the cellar with
Strangwise but the beard was gone. And the man she saw before her was
not Desmond Okewood.
Without waiting to reason out the metamorphosis, she ran towards
Bellward.
“They’re murdering those two women down in the cellar,” she cried, “oh,
what has happened? Won’t you go down and see?”
Bellward shook her off roughly.
“Neat work!” said Strangwise.
“She’s a wonder with the knife!” agreed the other.
Barbara stamped her foot.
“If neither of you men have the courage to go down,” she cried, “then
I’ll go alone! As for you, Captain Strangwise, a British officer...”
She never finished the sentence. Strangwise caught her by the shoulder
and thrust the cold barrel of a pistol in her face.
“Stay where you are!” he commanded. “And if you scream I shoot!”
Barbara was silent, dumb with horror and bewilderment, rather than with
fear. A light shone through the open door at the end of the tap-room
and the woman in black velvet appeared, carrying a lamp in her hand.
She was breathing rather hard and her carefully arranged gray hair was
a little untidy; but she was quite calm and self-possessed.
“We haven’t a moment to lose!” she said, putting the lamp down on the
table and blowing it out.
“Bellward, give me my cloak!”
Bellward advanced with a fur cloak and wrapped it about her shoulders.
“You are the perfect artiste, Minna,” he said.
“Practise makes perfect!” replied Mrs. Malplaquet archly.
Strangwise had flung open the door leading to the front yard. A big
limousine stood outside.
“Come on,” he said impatiently, “don’t stand there gossiping you two!”
Then Barbara revolted.
“I’ll not go!” she exclaimed, “you can do what you like but I’ll stay
where I am! Murderers...”
“Oh,” said Strangwise wearily, “bring her along, Bellward!”
Bellward and the woman seized the girl one by each arm and dragged her
to the car. Strangwise had the door open and between them they thrust
her in. Bellward and the woman mounted after her while Strangwise,
after starting the engine, sprang into the driving-seat outside. With a
low hum the big car glided forth into the cold, starry night.
From the upper floor of the Dyke Inn came the sound of a woman’s
terrified sobs. Below there reigned the silence of death.