A WAY OUT.
When Auriole slipped quietly into the room five minutes later she found
Richard asleep on the camp bed with Blayney's kit bag tucked under his
head.
Below stairs there existed a state of turmoil. She had exploded her
bombshell as to Richard's false identity secure in the belief that it
would result in his immediate liberation.
"But Hell! what are you thinking off?" Hipps had roared. "D'you
imagine we can pass him out after what's happened? So long as the
fellar's above ground we ain't safe."
"You can't mean----" she had cried.
"We're busy. Keep out of the path, kid."
She had left them rattling instructions through the telephone to a
person called Phillips. The need of the moment from their point of
view was to waylay the returning Barraclough.
Van Diest was shouting for his car and from the jargon of voices,
Auriole learnt their intention of making an immediate descent upon the
rival camp to demand terms. In the midst of the chaos Auriole slipped
away, snatched up a bottle of champagne and some biscuits from the
dining table and ran up the stairs to Richard's room.
Parker, who was at the door, shot the bolt after she entered and in so
doing destroyed a foolish hope that she might succeed in getting
Richard out of the house while the excitement relaxed observation. Her
two seater car was under the trees at the end of the road and if they
could reach it----
She seized Richard's arm and stifled the cry he gave with her other
hand.
"Hush, hush, for pity's sake," she implored. "Here's some
champagne--drink it. No, no, it isn't poison--drink--drink," and she
filled a glass that stood upon the table. "Eat these biscuits too, and
listen to me."
Of course he did not understand. He drank the champagne and ate the
biscuits wolfishly while she talked. It was clear something had
happened--some unlooked for reversal of feeling--but beside the food
and drink nothing seemed to matter. The good wine felt like new life
blood flowing through his veins.
"They're downstairs now," she said. "Making up their minds."
He found intelligence enough to ask:
"They know I'm not Barraclough?"
"I told them, yes."
"You shouldn't," he said simply.
"I thought they'd let you go."
"Well?" He refilled his glass.
"They said it wouldn't be possible now. That's why I've got to get you
away--somehow--somehow."
She was moving desperately up and down the room as though by very
desire she would create an opening in the walls.
"Get me away!" he said stupidly. "Why do you want to get me away?"
"Because you're a different man, a splendid man. And they're beasts
and brutes."
It was all very confusing, very unbelievable. Richard had a faint
impression that it was happening to someone else or in a dream. Why
was this wonderful creature worrying about him. The wine was mounting
to his head.
"A splendid man," he repeated senselessly. "And you want to get me
away. Tha's kind--kind."
"I've a car outside if we could only reach it."
That was a droll thing to say, but it sounded real. He answered as
though someone had actually spoken of a car outside and a chance of
reaching it.
"Not a hope."
The bottle was empty now, which was a good thing.
"There must be. The windows!"
He shook his head as she ran toward them. If the beautiful lady wanted
to play the escape game he might as well take an intelligent interest
and play it sensibly.
"No good," said he. "Soon as you lift the shutter bar an alarm starts
ringing and they all rush in."
"S'pose we did that," said Auriole with a sudden idea. "Worked in the
dark, started the bell, and when they came in made a dash for it."
Sensible talk this, he must reply sensibly.
"No good. One of 'em always stands in the door."
"Then somehow we must get them away from the door into your bedroom."
That was logical, interesting, too.
"Of course we must get them away from the door. Tha's the idea. Tha's
the idea," he said.
"Oh! can't you think of a way?" she begged.
It wasn't fair to ask questions. The game was of her invention, not
his. Still, in common politeness one must take a hand, show a
willingness. It would be awful if she lost patience with him and left
him to his loneliness.
He answered that unspoken fear simply as a child.
"But you won't leave me alone again, will you?"
"Can't you realise I'm on your side," she said, shaking him by the arm.
"My side, yes," he repeated. "I'm glad you're on my side. We're
friends aren't we?"
To this pleasant reflection he sat down on the hard chair and smiled
happily. Friends is a lovely word to play with when one has been over
long neglected. He wished she would sit too, and make a pillow for his
head, but instead she was flitting from place to place acting in the
oddest way. From the camp bed she had dragged Blayney's kit bag and
was buttoning it into an old dressing gown provided for his use.
"I must have a head," she was saying, which sounded idiotic to Richard
who saw that her own was beautiful.
He pointed to a bronze bust of Van Diest which had been placed on the
mantelpiece a few days before, presumably to act as a reminder of the
influence dominating the apartment.
"Try that one," he suggested, laughing inanely.
But Auriole did not laugh. She gave a glad cry and called on him to
help. Together they carried the bust and soon had tied it securely
inside the dressing gown.
It did not occur to Richard to ask the reason why this strange dummy
had been created. It was all of a piece with the dream-like spirit
which pervaded everything. Her explanation was voluntary.
"It's to put in your bed," she said. "We'll take out the electric
bulbs, then start the bells going. When they come in and you don't
answer they'll go into the bedroom. They'll find this and think it's
you."
"Think this is me!" said Richard. "That's funny." He broke into a
storm of laughter which ended as abruptly as it began, ended from a
sudden realisation that all this folly and mummery was a real and solid
effort to compass his escape. "Wait a bit," he said, rubbing his brow
fiercely. "It's coming back. I see the idea. Bless you, for trying.
We'll have a shot."
He dragged the dummy into the inner room by the waist cord of the
dressing gown which was tied about its neck. The brain fog was gone.
He was surprisingly clear headed now, and an unnatural vitality buoyed
him up. The bedroom door swung to behind him and he heard Auriole cry:
"I'm doing the lights, be quick."
And at that moment he had a notion and acted upon it quickly. An old
gas bracket over the door helped the operation. When he had finished
he kicked over a chair and re-entered the now pitch dark room.
"I've got hold of the shutter bar," he heard her cry.
"Let her go," he answered.
And down in the hall below they heard the big alarm bell clang out the
warning.
Clinging to each other's hands they waited, their backs flattened
against the wall. And presently it came; the sound of men's footsteps
dashing up the stairs. The door burst open and a number of dark shapes
poured into the room. Framed in the open doorway, a black silhouette
against the light from the well of the staircase, stood Blayney, a
pistol in his hand.
There was a veritable hubbub of voices. "What's the matter with the
lights?" "Where are the switches?" "Hell! that sucker is trying to
put it over on us!" "The bedroom shutters--He's trying to escape."
"For Lord's sake where's the door?"
Someone found the knob in the darkness and the bedroom door was flung
open. There was a scream from Laurence. Then Hipps' voice bellowing:
"Great God! he's hanged himself."
Swinging from the lintel, shadowy against the grey light beyond was,
apparently, the figure of Richard Frencham Altar dangling on a rope.
Even the perfectly trained Blayney deserted his post to leap forward
and see, and in that instant of neglect, Richard and Auriole darted
from the room and slammed and bolted the door.
Nor could Richard resist the temptation of lifting an exultant cry of,
"Good-night, gentlemen," ere he was seized by Auriole and hurried down
the stairs.
As they passed through the front garden and ran stumbling toward the
waiting car they could hear above them the sound of curses and hammer
blows echoing through the house.