THE FIGHT IN THE GUNROOM
It was a long time before I went to sleep. Lady Jane's cipher and
its inconclusive information kept buzzing through my head. But at
last I dozed off and dreamed of fat monks who popped out of a round
hole in a courtyard in endless succession until one of their number,
stouter than the rest, became wedged in the opening. He babbled
profanely in Latin, and I started to go to his aid--and waked up.
The night was very dark, and there was not even a hint of starshine
to light the room. A dog was barking on the Home Farm just outside
the park enclosure, but not another sound broke the silence. I
rolled over, and shut my eyes, and promptly sat up in bed. I thought
I had heard another sound. What it was I could not say. It was very
faint, a gentle burring rip.
I swung out of bed, reached for a candle, thought better of it, and
crossed to the door communicating with Hugh's room. It was ajar, and
as I poked my head in, I could hear his gentle breathing. Nikka's
room, beyond his, was quiet. Outside of us three, only Watkins slept
in that part of the house. The servants' quarters were in the rear
over the kitchens.
My first instinct was to laugh at myself, but I opened the door from
my room into the hall and listened there. At first, I heard nothing.
Then it seemed to me that I detected a creaking, as of subdued
footfalls. I strained my faculties in tense concentration, but the
creaking was not repeated, and I began to believe that my imagination
was playing tricks with me.
To make sure, I crossed the hall in my bare feet, and listened at
Watkins's door. Watkins, I regret to say, snored quite audibly, and
I was inclined to suspect that he had been responsible for arousing
me. But I could not quell the uneasiness which possessed me. I
started to call Hugh and Nikka, and stopped with my hand raised to
knock on Nikka's door. It would be a fool stunt to wake them for
nothing but my own fancies.
After a moment's further hesitation, I crept downstairs into the
entrance hall, groping my way in the pitch darkness. Feeling more
than ever like a fool, I looked into the dining room and music room.
I had just stepped back into the hall when a chink of light shone out
of the short passage that led from the hall into the Gunroom. It
flickered away, and returned.
Wishing now that I had taken the automatic that lay on the table
beside my bed, I stole into the Gunroom passage. I still thought I
might have to deal with one of the servants. In fact, I didn't think
very much of anything, except the necessity of discovering the
identity of the intruder.
The door of the Gunroom opened into the passage. It was ajar, but
not sufficiently to permit me to see inside. I drew it cautiously
toward me. The chink of light was more pronounced. A brief mutter
of voices, hoarse and restrained, reached my ears. As the crack
widened, I adjusted my eye to the opening and peered in.
The Gunroom was a pool of shadows, save only in front of the
fireplace, where a single ray of light played upon a preposterous
figure crouched on the mantle-shelf. The light came from an electric
torch in the hand of a second figure outlined against the dying coals
of the woodfire on the hearth. They mumbled back and forth to each
other, and now I caught once more the faint noise like the prolonged
ripping of tough cloth which had attracted my attention upstairs.
The light flashed on steel, and I realized that the figure on the
mantle-shelf was working with a small saw on the panel of the
over-mantle containing Lady Jane's verse. As I watched, he suspended
his efforts and barked impatiently at his assistant. The ray of
light quivered and shifted upward. For a fleeting section of a
second it traversed the figure on the mantle-shelf and focussed
momentarily on his head and shoulders.
I gasped. The figure on the mantle-shelf was Professor Teodoreschi,
the Italian chemist who had accompanied the Hilyer's party. There
was no mistaking the tremendous shoulders, the long ape-arms, the
pallid face, with its high forehead and heavy jaw. He wore the same
costume of shooting-coat and knickerbockers that he had had on in the
afternoon.
In my amazement my hand tightened involuntarily its grip on the door,
which swung out past me with a loud groan. Another beam of light
flashed from the shadows close by, focussed on me and snapped off.
"Amerikansky!" cried a man's voice.
I heard him leap through the litter of furniture, and dimly saw him
fling his torch at me. It crashed against the door, and I snatched
up a chair, stooped low and lashed at his legs. He tumbled in a heap.
"Hugh! Nikka!" I shouted at the top of my lungs.
I had my hands full on the instant. The man who had flung the torch
at me was already scrambling to his feet. The gorilla-like Italian
had jumped from the mantle-shelf with the alert energy of a big cat.
He and the man who had been helping him were now dodging towards me.
"_Ne tirez pas!_" hissed Teodoreschi in throaty accents that were
vaguely familiar. "_Percez! Attende_, Serge, Vlada! _Percez!
Poignardez!_"
The Italian's helper reached me first. I saw his knife in his hand,
and struck out with my fist. Being a knife-fighter, it was what he
least expected, and he went over. I ran behind the large center
table, and as the Italian and the other man closed in, I reared it on
end and toppled it at them. They jumped apart, and I found
opportunity to heave another chair at the chap I had just knocked
down.
But I was in for a bad time. Teodoreschi and the man who had first
rushed me were ugly customers. I evaded them, slipped behind the
couch that stood in front of the fireplace and tried to make for the
window. They headed me off, and I drove a right hook to the jaw of
my original foe that sent him reeling. Then the Italian was on me
like a human juggernaut. He swept aside my blows as though they were
harmless, folded me in his great arms and tossed me from him. I spun
across the hearth into the fireplace, and brought up on all-fours in
the ashes.
Every tooth in my head was jarred by the crash, but I had no time to
think of pain. I heard the guttural snarl of the gorilla-man behind
me, and looked up to see his knife descending in a stab that was
aimed inside my collarbone. Desperate, I threw myself backward
against his legs, and he fell on the couch. Yet he was up again in
an instant, and chopping at me, with foam dripping from his lips.
I had to run, and as I ran, I kicked the fire-irons in his way. They
tripped him and his knife went hurtling across the room into a
bookcase. But I could not escape. His companions herded me back
towards him, and presently I was battling to avoid his clutch. Once
within his reach, I was helpless as a child.
His arms wrapped me like cables; his wicked green eyes blazed at me
with insane ferocity; his teeth gnashed at my throat. And his two
friends hovered near, watching for an opportunity to finish me with
their knives.
Then I heard feet pattering in the hall, a cry of encouragement. I
summoned all my strength for one last struggle.
"Shoot! Hugh! Nikka! Shoot!" I yelled.
Teodoreschi lifted me from my feet, and turned me face upward in his
arms. I honestly think he meant to gnaw through my throat. His
pallid cheeks gleamed with sweat. His eyes were utterly inhuman.
His mouth dribbled saliva. But an automatic cracked in the doorway,
and was followed by a choking cry. He hesitated, glaring down at me,
and I could almost see the human intelligence returning to his face.
There were two more shots, and he slammed me on the floor, with a
barking screech of defiance.
The next thing I remember was Hugh pouring raw Scotch whiskey down my
throat--and how good it tasted.
"Did you get him?" I stammered.
"We got one fellow," answered Hugh grimly. "Or I should say, Nikka
did."
I staggered to my feet with Hugh's arm around me. In the doorway I
saw Watkins, a nightshirt flapping around his calves, forcing back a
motley group of servants. Nikka had picked up the electric torch
which had been flung at me, and was examining by its light the body
of a man that lay between the couch and the fireplace.
As Watkins closed the door, Nikka beckoned to him.
"Did they see this?" he asked shortly, pointing to the body.
"No, sir. None of them got inside, and it's quite impossible to see
be'ind the couch 'ere, sir."
"Good! Oh, Hugh!" Nikka turned to us. "Hello, Jack! Do you feel
yourself again?"
"I'm right as can be," I insisted, which was the truth. "Nothing
bothered me, except having the wind squeezed out of me by that
gorilla."
"What gorilla?"
"The Italian--Teodoresehi."
"Oh, was he in it?"
Hugh and Nikka exchanged glances.
"Well, take a look at this fellow," suggested Nikka.
He switched the torch on the body by the hearth. There was a red
splotch over the heart. The right hand still clutched convulsively a
long knife, with a slight curve near the keen point of the blade.
The light settled on a dark, thin, hooknosed face.
"Ever seen him before?" inquired Hugh.
"No," I admitted regretfully.
"Oh, Watty!" called Hugh.
"Yes, your ludship."
Watkins maintained all his usual dignity of demeanor, notwithstanding
that he was in his nightshirt and bare feet, with a snuffed-out
candle in one hand and an automatic in the other.
"Ever seen this man before?"
Watkins stooped, and almost instantly jerked erect.
"It's 'im, your ludship! It's the man that told us 'e came from you.
On the _Aquitania_, sir! A just and 'Eavenly punishment, indeed,
your ludship!"
"I'll take a little credit for it, if you don't mind," said Nikka,
grinning.
"Jack, did you recognize the third man?"
I shook my head.
"The Italian was the only one whose face I saw.'
"Well, I had a glimpse of Number Three as he escaladed through the
window after Teodoreschi--I'll take your word for the Italian!
He--Number Three, I mean--looked very much like the Russian, the
brother of that Countess you were so smitten with."
"I wasn't smitten with her," I denied indignantly. "Here, Hugh,
don't drink all that whiskey."
"I like your nerve," he retorted. "Didn't I pour a quarter of the
bottle down your throat?"
"Be that as it may," I went on when he had surrendered it, "I
shouldn't be surprised if Number Three was the Count. Now I think of
it, the Italian called 'Serge!' when they first jumped me.'
"That would be right, then," agreed Nikka. "Did he call this carrion
anything?"
He touched the dead man with his foot.
"He called 'Vlada!' at the same time."
"That sounds reasonable, too," said Nikka, deep in thought.
"Why?"
"The man is a--what you would call a countryman of mine. He is a
Gypsy. I tell you, my friends--"
He broke off, and stared down at the body on the floor.
"What?" asked Hugh.
"Why, this. Our task grows as we draw nearer to it. I have said
before that we face a gang of international thieves. But see how
their importance swells. Hugh, this man Hilyer--when all is said and
done, an English country gentleman, living to outward seeming within
the law--is one of them. They have a pair of shady Russian nobles,
probably with ex-spy records. We have seen a Levantine financier
with them. We know they have powerful connections in America. We
know they have access to the criminal organization of the Gypsies.
We have seen an Italian scientist--"
"He's no more Italian than you are," I interrupted. "He may be a
scientist, but he's French."
"Who is he, then?" asked Nikka placidly.
"He is that same Toutou Hugh's uncle spoke of."
Hugh leaped up.
"How do you know that, Jack?"
"I just know, that's all. Yesterday afternoon I saw him, although I
did not recognize him, as he normally is. He's fearsome enough in
that mood, God knows! Well, a few minutes ago I saw him
blood-crazed. He wanted to bite my throat out like a tiger. Oh,
he's Toutou, all right."
Hugh's face grew bitter-hard.
"In that case," he said, "I am going to drive over to Little Depping,
and do a bit of killing on my own."
Watkins, without a word, deposited his snuffed candle on the
mantel-shelf next an open kit of burglar's tools, and stepped up
beside his master.
"You can't do that sort of thing, Hugh," I urged.
"Why not? He's a murderer, isn't he? He killed my uncle--butchered
the poor old chap! D'you suppose Hilyer would dare to complain to
the police?"
"What you say is right enough, Hugh," said Nikka quietly, "but you
forget that Hilyer's gang are hardly the kind to give up without a
fight, especially when the man you want is their leader. Also, I
fancy you under-rate your enemies' intelligence, if you suppose
Toutou or Teodoreschi or whatever his name is will return to Little
Depping."
"They prepared an alibi for him when they were here," I cried.
"Don't you remember? When they were leaving, Mrs. Hilyer said that
they had to put him on the London train before they drove home."
"And you can depend upon it that he took the train," added Nikka.
"He probably dropped off at another station, and they met him with a
car."
Hugh sat down gloomily.
"I suppose you are right," he admitted. "But I should like to shoot
the swine."
"You are very likely to have the opportunity," Nikka comforted him.
"That is, supposing you shoot first. Now, see here, you chaps, what
are we going to do with this fellow I shot? We can't have any
publicity, and while you may persuade servants not to talk about an
ordinary burglary, you can't hush them up if it includes a killing."
"What's your suggestion?" asked Hugh.
"Remove him secretly, and tell the servants that nothing is missing
and we don't want the affair talked about."
"The idea is good," assented Hugh. "I'm not anxious to have any more
sensational interest attached to me, But what can you do with him?
The body is in this room. It's got to be taken out. You can't bury
a body without digging a grave. That means leaving a trace. Suppose
some one should see us or suppose some one should find the grave and
investigate. Mind you, old top, whatever our motives, we are
violating the law if we don't report the man's death."
"There may be a way out of your difficulty," I remarked.
"What is it?"
"Use the Prior's Vent."
They both looked at me as if I had gone mad. Even Watkins regarded
me with stern disapproval.
"What are you talking about?" demanded Nikka.
"This is serious," reproved Hugh. "Just because you find a silly
cipher--"
"I am serious," I insisted. "This has been an eventful evening.
Among other things, I think I have found the Prior's Vent."
Hugh shook his head sadly.
"There's been too much talk of secrets," he said. "Watty, go and
ring up Dr. North. He must have hurt his head in that mix-up."