/When/ Margaret Belman recovered consciousness she was in the open
air, lying in a little recess, effectively hidden from the mouth of
the cave. A man in a torn shirt and ragged trousers was standing by
her side, looking down at her. As she opened her eyes she saw him put
his finger to his mouth, as though to signal silence. His hair was
unkempt; streaks of dried blood zigzagged down his face, and the hair
above, she saw, was matted. Yet there was a certain kindliness in his
disfigured face which reassured her as he knelt down and, making a
funnel of his hands, whispered:
“Be quiet! I’m sorry to have frightened you, but I was scared you’d
shout if you saw me. I suppose I look pretty awful.”
His grin was very reassuring.
“Who are you?” she asked in the same tone.
“My name’s Brill, C.I.D.”
“How did you get here?” she asked.
“I’d like to be able to tell you,” he answered grimly. “You’re Miss
Belman, aren’t you?”
She nodded. He lifted his head, listening, and, flattening himself
against the rock, craned out slowly and peeped round the edge of his
hiding-place. He did not move for about five minutes, and by this time
she had risen to her feet. Her knees were dreadfully shaky; she felt
physically sick, and once again her mouth was dry and parched.
Apparently satisfied, he crept back to her side.
“I was left on duty in Reeder’s room. I thought I heard him calling
from the window--you can’t distinguish voices when they whisper--and
asking me to come out quick, as he wanted me. I’d hardly dropped to
the ground before--cosh!” He touched his head gingerly and winced.
“That’s all I remember till I woke up and found myself drowning. I’ve
been in the cave all the morning--naturally.”
“Why naturally?” she whispered.
“Because the beach is covered with water at high tide and the cave’s
the only place. It is a little too densely populated for me just now.”
She stared at him in amazement.
“Populated? What do you mean?”
“Whisper!” he warned her, for she had raised her voice.
Again he listened.
“I’d like to know how they get down--Daver and that old devil.”
She felt herself going white.
“You mean… Flack?”
He nodded.
“Flack’s only been here about an hour, and how he got down God knows.
I suppose our fellows are patrolling the house?”
“The police?” she asked in astonishment.
“Flack’s headquarters--didn’t you know it? I suppose you wouldn’t. I
thought Reeder--I mean Mr. Reeder--told you everything.”
He was rather a talkative young man, more than a little exuberant at
finding himself alive, and with good reason.
“I’ve been dodging in and out the cave all the morning. They’ve got a
sentry on duty up there”--he nodded towards Siltbury. “It’s a
marvellous organisation. They held up a gold convoy this morning and
got away with it--I heard the old man telling his daughter. The funny
thing is that though he wasn’t there to superintend the steal, his
plan worked out like clockwork. It’s a curious thing, any crook will
work for old Flack. He’s employed the cleverest people in the
business, and Ravini is the only man that ever sold him.”
“Do you know what has happened to Mr. Ravini?” she asked, and he shook
his head.
“He’s dead, I expect. There are a lot of things in the cave that I
haven’t seen, and some that I have. They’ve got a petrol boat inside…
as big as a church!… the boat, I mean… hush!”
Again he shrank against the cliff. Voices were coming nearer and
nearer. Perhaps it was the peculiar acoustics of the cave which gave
him the illusion that the speakers were standing almost at their
elbow. Brill recognised the thin, harsh voice of the old man and
grinned again, but it was not a pleasant smile to see.
“There’s something wrong, something damnably wrong. What is it, Olga?”
“Nothing, father.”
Margaret recognised the voice of Olga Crewe.
“You have been very good and very patient, my love, and I would not
have planned to come out, but I wanted to see you settled in life. I
am very ambitious for you, Olga.”
A pause, and then:
“Yes, father.”
Olga Crewe’s voice was a little dispirited, but apparently the old man
did not notice this.
“You are to have the finest husband in the land, my dear. You shall
have a house that any princess would envy. It shall be of white marble
with golden cupolas… you shall be the richest woman in the land, Olga.
I have planned this for you. Night after night as I lay in bed in that
dreadful place I said to myself: ‘I must go out and settle Olga’s
future.’ That is why I came out--only for that reason. All my life I
have worked for you.”
“Mother says----” began the girl.
“Pah!” Old John Flack almost spat the word. “An unimaginative
commoner, with the soul of a housekeeper! She has looked after you
well? Good. All the better for her. I would never have forgiven her if
she had neglected you. And Daver? He has been respectful? He has given
you all the money you wanted?”
“Yes, father.”
Margaret thought she detected a catch in the girl’s voice.
“Daver is a good servant. I will make his fortune. The scum of the
gutter--but faithful. I told him to be your watch-dog. I am pleased
with him. Be patient a little while longer. I am going to see all my
dreams come true.”
The voice of the madman was tender, so transfigured by love and pride
that it seemed to be a different man who was speaking. Then his voice
changed again.
“The Colonel will be back to-night. He is a trustworthy man… Gregory
also. They shall be paid like ambassadors. You must bear with me a
little while, Olga. All these unpleasant matters will be cleared up.
Reeder we shall dispose of. To-morrow at high tide we leave…”
The sound of the voices receded until they became an indistinguishable
murmur. Brill looked round at the girl and smiled again.
“Can you beat him?” he asked admiringly. “Crazy as a barn coot! But he
has the cleverest brain in London: even Reeder says that. God! I’d
give ten years’ salary and all my chance of promotion for a gun!”
“What shall we do?” she asked after a long silence.
“Stay here till the tide turns, then we’ll have to take our chance in
the cave. We’d be smashed to pieces if we waited on the beach.”
“There’s no way up the cliff?”
He shook his head.
“There’s a way out through the cave if we can only find it,” he said.
“One way? A dozen! I tell you that this cliff is like a honeycomb. One
of these days it will collapse like froth on a glass of beer! I heard
Daver say so, and the mad fellow agreed. Mad? I wish I had his brain!
He’s going to dispose of Reeder, is he? The cemeteries are full of
people who’ve tried to dispose of Reeder!”