PECULIAR MESSENGERS
Gerald was alone for some time; he remained in the same position.
He was partly stunned by what had happened. It had all taken place so
rapidly, and so unexpectedly, and he feared--greatly--the danger ahead.
Man to man, he would have feared nothing. He was not a coward.
But, as it was, he had a murderer to deal with, and his opponent had the
keys.
He considered Loide's character, and he calculated that his own life was
a small thing in the lawyers estimation. It was an unwholesome thought.
He turned his head slowly, and then very quickly, for he saw a glimmer
of light. It was from the barred window.
The moon was shining, and would soon o'ertop the trees he could see
silhouetted on what was his horizon.
He thought of escape--naturally. But it was a poor thought; he
anticipated no success.
A point in his favor was his early athletic training. With finger or
foothold he would have been a factor to reckon with in an attempt to get
out.
Running the whole length of what was his roof were the supporting beams
of the floor boards above. They afforded no grip if he got there--and he
had to reach them.
He looked at the window. If he ran and sprang high enough, he would be
able to grip the bars.
He essayed it--failed at first, but was clinging successfully the second
time.
The width between the bars was not great enough for him to put his head
through, but he threw up his left leg and hooked the toe of his boot so
that he could rest there, and look round without the heavy strain on his
arms.
In the semi-darkness he looked out on what appeared to be a long garden
with high trees at the bottom.
Behind those trees he knew the moon was coming up, and that presently
that awful darkness would be ended.
The rafters above him--they were his only hope of escape.
By means of the window he could reach those beams, and possibly the
trap-door, but he feared--horribly feared--that his fingers would slip
from the pieces of square wood, which it seemed impossible to grip.
He tried it, however. He got both legs up and through the rails till the
thickness of his thighs prevented further protrusion.
He sat there with his calves out of window, resting a moment, and
getting ready for his test of strength.
Then, his hands at the top of the bars, and his feet resting at their
base, he stretched up first one hand and then the other.
He gripped easily the long timbers--gripped them easily while his weight
was supported by his feet, but the moment he hung--well, that same
moment he dropped to the ground.
In his fall he did not hurt himself at all--he was prepared for it.
He had known, even while testing it, that the task was a hopeless one;
there was nothing to grip in the strict sense of the word; all he could
do was to pinch the wood with his fingers, and the difficulty of that
operation with one hundred and forty pounds depending is apparent.
He felt his way over to the beds, and lay down; his exertions had
fatigued him a bit.
He lay very quietly, thinking--thinking of the possibility of escape,
and realizing more and more how hopeless the idea was, how secure was
the trap he was in.
He heard a sound and started up--the sound ceased. He called out:
"Who's there?"
And there was a scampering, scraping, scratching noise. What it was
burst on him at once. He muttered:
"Rats!"
He was not afraid of them. His limbs were free.
He had read accounts of those rodents attacking living men, but he had
looked upon them as mere fiction. He was content to think that he could
beat them off if his voice failed to frighten them.
The moon o'ertopped the trees, and he was thankful. The light was a
great comfort.
It shone into the cellar, and he lay there on the beds as in a patch of
lime-light, the shadow of the bars running as great dark lines across
the floor.
He put his hands under his head, and lay quite still, looking up at the
moon. Presently a shadow was cast--there was something at the window!
He did not move, and then he saw what it was--a cat--a common or garden
cat!
A well cared for, plump, collared member of the feline race--he could
see the silver part of the leather collar in the moon's beams.
The cat looked in between the bars and listened. Then she stealthily ran
or dropped, after the manner of her kind, down the wall on to the floor.
It was evident from her manner that this was not her first visit. The
squeaking and scuttling of the rats had ceased as by magic.
The fear they had not felt for the man, they instinctively felt for the
cat--their natural enemy.
Quite idly, without moving, Gerald said:
"Puss, puss; poor pussie."
The cat paused in her stealthy walk across the cellar floor. Gerald
spoke again.
Perhaps she was reassured by his voice, for she did not run away when he
stretched out his hand and scratched her neck and head; indeed, she came
closer. Evidently Gerald had found her soft spot.
Another shadow! Another cat! Then another!
They followed the example of the first and dropped down--it was
evidently a happy hunting ground for the neighboring cats.
Gerald was rather pleased than otherwise--they acted as a kind of
police, so far as the rats were concerned.
The moon, as it climbed its way along the heavens, lighted up different
parts of the cellar, and presently in looking round a ray of hope
entered Gerald's heart--for there, on a nail in the wall, was a coil of
wire!
There were possibilities in it.
He walked to the coil and took it down, and his heart sank again.
It was the thread-like wire used in bottling, and absolutely useless as
a means of escape.
Then suddenly a thought occurred to him, which sent the blood rushing to
his head, and set his pulse and heart beating faster.
"My God!" he said, "there's a chance yet."
From his breast pocket he drew his note-book and tore three leaves out.
In the light of the moon with a pencil he wrote:
"For God's sake, whoever finds this, take it to the nearest
police station. I am imprisoned without food or drink in the
back cellar of The Elms, Maypole Road, Wimbledon, by a man
who threatens to murder me. This is life or death. For God's
sake, help."
"That ought to be strong enough," he muttered, as he reread it. "I don't
know that I can add to it in any way."
Then he made two copies of the document, and folded all three into flat,
long-shaped tapers.
He then broke off a couple of yards of the wire, and called a cat to
him.
Scratching the cat, and fastening the note to the collar with the wire,
was not altogether an easy task, but he accomplished it. Then he
effected the same thing round the necks of the other two.
One had no collar at all, and Gerald had to make one with the wire. He
succeeded, and then one by one he pitched the cats up to the window.
They looked round with ruffled fur at this indignity after such soothing
treatment as they had been experiencing, and probably in their hearts
thought that Gerald was no gentleman.
They evidenced this thought of him by walking away and leaving him.
He climbed up to the window bars, and watched them as well as he could.
They lingered, probably with a view to the formation of a choir; but
Gerald said "Shoo!" and they fled. As they did so, he heard a clock
striking.
Counting the strokes, he found it was ten o'clock. He had been in the
cellar an hour only, and it seemed days.
He remembered the period of his residence in suburban lodgings. He
remembered the care of the proprietors of cats then, how before going to
bed they would patiently call "puss, puss, puss" at their back doors, in
order to prevent their pets spending a night out.
He prayed earnestly that the owners of the feline trinity he had just
let loose were affectionately disposed towards their cats. He hoped
great things from those messages.
If not to-night, surely in the morning one of the three must bear fruit.
He prayed so with all his heart and soul.