THE PACE QUICKENS
"So you are my nephew Percy," said Mr. Pratt when Warrender had gone.
"Light the lamp and let me look at you. I don't recognise you. When
was our last meeting?"
"About ten years ago," replied Pratt, surprised at his uncle's calm
demeanour. "You tanned me for picking one of your peaches."
"Did I?" Mr. Pratt smiled. "You were always a mischievous young
ruffian. But how do you come here? Do you bear an olive branch from
that cantankerous father of yours?"
"I came through the tunnel," Pratt began, ignoring the aspersion upon
his father. Mr. Pratt interrupted him.
"What tunnel?"
"The tunnel between No Man's Island and this tower. Didn't you know of
it?"
"I never heard of it before. Who told you about it?"
"We discovered it by accident. My chums and I came for a boating
holiday, and camped on the island. We have had----"
"You saw my signals?" his uncle interposed.
"Yes, and----"
"And the police are informed? These villains will be arrested?"
"Well, as a matter of fact, Uncle," said Pratt, and was again
interrupted.
"You did not? Then I am afraid you and your companions have tumbled
into a hornets' nest, young man. As we are to have apparently a few
minutes' leisure, I think you had better put me wise, as our American
friends say, about the essential facts of the situation. How many do
you muster?"
Pratt, in the exalted mood of a rescuer, and himself bursting with
questions, was a little dashed by his uncle's cool matter-of-fact
manner.
"There are three of us," he said. "We got in through the tunnel, and
found one man below at the printing press."
"A printing press! Indeed! What literature are my guardians
disseminating?"
"Forged notes."
"Forgers!" ejaculated Mr. Pratt, for the first time showing signs of
agitation. "Things are worse than I dreamed. You are sure of what you
say?"
"Absolutely. We found the watermarked paper."
"The scoundrels! You had better get away. If these fellows are an
international gang of forgers they will have no scruples. The lives of
you and your companions are not worth a rap. Leave me. Get away while
there is time. Inform the police and leave matters in their hands."
"It's too late for that," said Pratt. "We have trussed up the man
downstairs. Our only idea was to rescue you. If we left you now the
others would find Jensen and know that the game is up. They might shoot
you. We must get you away now at all costs."
"It is utter folly. Hare-brained adventuring! I fear you are right; it
is too late. I must join forces with you when this chain is broken. I
blame myself that my signals have let you young fellows into this
terrible trap."
"We had suspicions before we saw them--in fact, ever since we heard
about your staff of foreign servants."
"Yes, yes. I have been frightfully deluded. No doubt it is the talk of
the village. I engaged my cook and gardener through an advertisement.
The cook introduced that scoundrel Gradoff as an unfortunate Russian
nobleman driven from his country. The plausible wretch engaged the
others. They seemed a respectable, hard-working set of men. I was
making hurried arrangements for a trip to North Africa via Paris.
Gradoff gave me every assistance. I was on the point of starting. They
kidnapped me and shut me up here. I thought their sole motive was
robbery. Gradoff tried to get me to sign cheques for large amounts. I
flatly refused, of course. They adopted starvation tactics, threatened
to murder me; but I have looked death in the face too often to purchase
life at such a price. They dropped these efforts some time ago, but I
suspected that Gradoff was forging my name, and thought he would
liberate me as soon as he had fleeced me bare."
"And how did you signal, with the windows boarded up?" asked Pratt.
"With handfuls of flock from my mattress dipped in paraffin, stuck on a
lath from my bed and poked up the chimney. Gradoff discovered me last
night. I was in the chimney. He had gone to the roof, saw the flame
emerge, and snatched the lath from my hands. He whipped out his pistol
and threatened to shoot me. I laughed at him; asked him whether he
wished to add murder to forgery; he gave me a curious stare at that. I
reminded him that we still retain capital punishment. He cursed me and
left. This morning he brought the chain. No doubt he would have killed
me if there had been anything to gain by my death; but he must have
supposed that the signals had not been seen; they had had no apparent
result. You say you had suspicions before you saw the signals.
Why?--apart from the usual British distrust of foreigners."
Pratt was beginning to recount the series of incidents that had occurred
since the arrival on No Man's Island when there came a hail from below.
He went to the top of the stairs.
"What is it, Armstrong?"
"Can you come down for a moment?"
Pratt ran downstairs.
"I didn't want to alarm your uncle," said Armstrong, "but just now,
looking through a chink in the boards, I saw four men coming towards the
tower. What are we to do?"
Pratt went to the boarded window and looked out.
"Gradoff and the chauffeur," he said. "The other two I haven't seen
before. We might have tackled two; let 'em in and bagged them. But
four!--probably armed, like Jensen. It's no go."
"We can only lie low, then, and play for time. The door's a stout piece
of timber, and it's not so easy to blow off a bolt as to blow in a
lock."
"Don't speak," whispered Pratt, "they're just here."
The handle of the door was turned. Then came a sharp knock. A pause of
a few seconds; then a more peremptory knock and Gradoff's voice.
"Jensen!"
The Swede prostrate against the wall wriggled and emitted a low gurgling
noise through his gag. The boys glanced at him; he was unable to release
his limbs; the sound could not have been heard through the thick door.
A third time Gradoff knocked. He rattled the door-handle, repeated his
call, with the addition of sundry violent expletives. The boys remained
tensely silent.
The voices without subsided. Conversation was still carried on, but in
lower tones.
"Probably they think he is downstairs getting paper," whispered Pratt.
"There's nothing alarming at present."
"But they'll smell a rat if he doesn't soon answer. What then?"
"They may think he has fallen ill or something."
"And then?"
"Well, I can't answer for the intelligence of Gradoff and company, but
if I were in his shoes I should either break in the door or send some
one round by the tunnel. You see, he can't have the ghost of an idea
what has happened. And if his game were discovered, he wouldn't expect
to find the place merely closed against him."
"I dare say you're right. But don't you think you had better go through
the tunnel and hurry Phil up? We should be in a pretty tight place if
Gradoff did send a man or two round, and we found, when we had released
your uncle, that the exit at the other end was blocked."
"I don't care about leaving you alone. Suppose they broke in while I
was away?"
"Two wouldn't be much better than one against four armed ruffians. And
they'd guess that you and Phil had gone to fetch the police, and I fancy
they'd be too anxious to save their skins to bother much about me. At
any rate, I'll risk it. I think you had better go. In fact, when you
meet Phil, why not go and tell Mr. Crawshay how things stand? Phil and
I will get your uncle away if it's possible, and though I don't suppose
Crawshay could do anything to secure the gang--there's apparently only
one policeman--he might 'phone or wire the authorities, and set every
one on the qui vive for miles around."
"All right. If I'm going, better go at once, before any one has time to
go round by the cottage. I'll consult Phil about your suggestion, and go
to Crawshay if he agrees. I wish I had the torch. I shall have to grope
my way along the tunnel, but I'll be as quick as I can."
He ran noiselessly down the stairs. The flagstone was upright, as it
had been left. He jumped into the cavity, crossed the store-room,
entered the tunnel on the farther side, and hurried along as rapidly as
the darkness allowed. Now and again he stopped to strike a match and to
listen for Warrender's footsteps, but he reached the end without having
seen or heard anything of his friend.
By the light of a match he saw that the flagstone was slightly
depressed. Then he caught sight of Warrender's electric torch lying on
the ground, and was seized with a vague uneasiness. He picked up the
torch. Revolving the stone, he heard something slide with a metallic
rattle along its surface, and felt a smart blow on one of his feet. He
flashed the torch, and saw a hammer and a chisel. Still more uneasy, he
clambered up into the cellar, and without lowering the flagstone,
climbed on to the staircase.
"You there, Phil?" he called up.
There was no answer. The door at the top was open. He rushed up, ran
through the kitchen and the corridor to the front of the cottage, and
looked anxiously around. No one was in view.
"What on earth is he doing?" he thought.
It was clear that Warrender had fetched the tools from the motor-boat
and returned to the cellar. Why then had he left them there? Where had
he gone? What could have interrupted him?
Pratt felt himself on the horns of a painful dilemma. He had now the
instruments of his uncle's deliverance; one impulse urged him to hurry
with them back to the tower. On the other hand, Warrender's
disappearance argued that something untoward had happened, and he was
loth to leave the spot without making an attempt to find him. For a few
moments he stood in the doorway, weighing the one course against the
other. A search for Warrender might prove fruitless, and in any case
would take time. Meanwhile affairs at the tower might be developing in a
way that would nullify the prime motive that had actuated them all--the
release of his uncle. It seemed that this had a paramount claim upon
him, and he turned, reluctantly, to retrace his steps to the cellar.
As he passed the foot of the staircase to the upper floor, it occurred
to him that from the windows there, giving a wider outlook over the
surroundings of the cottage, he might see Warrender approaching:
perhaps, indeed, as the result of an after-thought, he had made a second
visit to the motor-boat. Pratt ran upstairs, and going from room to
room, threw a searching glance upon the prospect. Neither on the eastern
side nor on the western was there anything to attract his attention.
But looking out of the window of the room facing south, he noticed that
the foliage of the thicket beyond the weedy path was violently
disturbed. Some one was moving in it, towards the ruins. He watched
eagerly: surely it was Warrender returning. Presently two legs came into
view; but they were not Warrender's. They were encased in rusty brown
leggings. In another moment the figure of Rush emerged from the thicket
upon the path, and immediately behind him was a second form, that of a
tall and heavily built man with a broad flattish face. When free from
the thicket they quickened their pace.
Pratt hesitated no longer. The men were evidently making for the ruins:
perhaps they intended to proceed along the tunnel. It was imperative
that he should anticipate them. He hastened downstairs, and had just
reached the cellar when he heard clumping footsteps overhead. Leaping
into the cavity, he swung the stone over, turned the hand-grips, and by
the light of the torch bolted along the tunnel. After running about
twenty yards he switched off the light and stopped. Voices came from
behind him; then he heard two heavy thuds in succession; the men had
jumped into the tunnel. The flagstone banged as it was swung carelessly
into place; the men were coming after him. Without more delay he set
forward with all speed, guiding himself by touching the walls with his
outstretched hands.