THE COUP
The wonderful spell of fine weather showed signs of breaking up.
Seen from the terrace of the château, the landscape presented a
gloomy aspect, sunk in the shadow of an overcast sky. It seemed like
the natural aftermath to the night of terror that had passed.
“Storm brewing,” said Conrad.
“Looks like it. There is scarcely a breath of wind.”
“Do you realise that our holiday is nearly at an end?”
“Yes--worse luck.”
“You don’t want to go back?”
“I am thinking of Yolande--of what happened last night. To leave her
here in the circumstances would be--appalling.”
“Fouchard will remain.”
“Suppose he goes? He has hinted at the possibility of his being called
back to Paris. In any case he won’t stay here indefinitely--and the
Monster may.”
“Fouchard may clear up the business before he leaves.”
“I wish I could think he would.”
When Yolande joined them she showed signs of the ordeal through which
she had passed, and she informed them that more servants were leaving,
while she had not yet been successful in engaging any others to take
the places of the last batch that had absconded.
“The agents write to say that no servants will consent to come here.
The newspapers are too full of the tragedies that have taken place. I
am left with a cook, two maids, and Bertha, excluding Watkins and a
gardener who lives out. Soon I shall have to cook my own food,” she
added, with a wan smile.
Wallace was staring down at the road which wound through the valley. A
car was coming down it, and he recalled the fact that it was the first
car he had ever seen on that road.
“Where does it lead?” he asked Yolande.
“It joins the main road beyond the château. It is seldom used by
anything other than the carts of the peasants and woodmen.”
“That thing _is_ moving,” said Conrad, as the car approached them.
Wallace made no reply, but his eyes were fixed intently on the car. It
seemed familiar--strangely familiar. When it was almost directly
beneath the château he uttered a cry of astonishment.
“What----?”
“That’s Niels!” he gasped. “I’ll swear to it. It’s the car I followed
that evening-- Here’s a chance. I’ll get him this time. Where is
Fouchard?”
“Gone for a walk. Wait--I’ll come!”
He apologised to Yolande and, grabbing his hat, ran after Wallace.
Before he reached the garage Wallace had the car out. Conrad dived
through the open door and sat down.
“Hold on!”
Two quick gear-changes and the Bentley was tearing down the drive with
Watkins staring after it, and scratching his head. Once through the
gate, Wallace changed to “top.” The responsive car sailed round the
bend and emerged in the main road.
“There he goes!” cried Conrad, pointing to a cloud of dust ahead of
them.
“Sit tight and hold your breath. I did a bit of tuning-up yesterday.”
The accelerator pedal went lower and lower, and the crackle from the
exhaust rose higher. Hedges and fields streamed by--faster and faster.
To Conrad everything seemed blurred, and the white ribbon of road
seemed to be rushing at them, while the car appeared to remain
stationary except for a slight side movement. The cloud of dust in
front became more distinct. Soon the rear part of the other car could
be seen.
“We’re gaining,” said Wallace, “and I’m not warmed up yet. I fancy
this will be an unlucky day for Niels. Look at the little
blighter--grinning at us!”
“So long as he limits it to grinning I don’t mind.”
“He won’t be able to do that if he makes the pace much hotter. Roads
bad here. Farther on it’s dead straight for about ten miles. We are
barely doing seventy.”
“Is that all? Steady! By Jove, that was a near thing.”
This as Wallace took the sharp bend at speed. It resulted in a
nerve-wracking skid which, but for the most skilful handling of the
car, would have ended disastrously.
“We gained two hundred yards by that.”
“Don’t make it a habit.”
The straight portion of the road was now entered. Wallace sighed as he
saw the tall poplars vanish in the distance, and let the car have her
head. The needle moved around the dial swiftly under the wonderful
acceleration, and the crackle of the exhaust became a continuous roar.
To Wallace it was sheer joy, but Conrad regarded it differently. He
was not used to having himself flattened out against the cushion, nor
to having his lungs supercharged with oxygen. He found it difficult to
breathe, and all he could see was the tail of the fugitive car getting
nearer and nearer.
“What are you going to do--pass him?” asked Conrad.
“Ditch him if he won’t slow up.”
But when both cars were within a hundred yards of each other Wallace
found the intervening space increasing. It was incredible, for the
speedometer was close upon the “ninety” mark.
“Well I’m--” he gasped.
“There’s a level crossing ahead!” cried Conrad suddenly. “And a man is
waving. The bar is coming down.”
Niels did not hesitate for a second. Wallace saw the leading car rush
beneath the falling bar. It bounced alarmingly on the uneven ground,
but got its equilibrium again and went streaming down the open road.
“Damn!” grunted Wallace, and slammed on all his brakes. Conrad was
nearly flung over the low windscreen as the Bentley decelerated with
frightful abruptness and came to a dead stop with its bonnet within
two yards of the stout bar.
“_Sacré!_” yelled the man in charge. “_Pourquoi_----”
Wallace did the most sensible thing. He apologised in his best French
and, seeing that no train was yet in sight, waved a hundred-franc note
under the nose of the irate man. It was the magic Sesame, and half a
minute later the Bentley was across the lines, and hurtling after the
almost invisible car.
“It’s all or nothing now,” said Wallace. “Damn it, the Bentley ought
to beat that thing, whatever it is.”
“I’m not so sure. But for heaven’s sake don’t brake like that again,
without giving warning. You nearly lost me.”
“Sorry. She’s getting warmed up beautifully. We’re gaining again.”
“Very little.”
Away went the straight road like a knife-edge, over hill and dale into
the hazy distance. The air was charged with a sickening odour.
“Castor oil,” said Wallace.
A blinding flash of lightning struck down, and instantly the thunder
crashed. The threatened storm had broken. The last reverberations had
scarcely died away when dense rain lashed down. Conrad tried to put up
the hood, but their great speed prevented it.
“Can’t stop,” shouted Wallace. “Keep your head down or you’ll be
flayed.”
This was no exaggeration, and Conrad crouched low, while Wallace
pushed his face closer to the screen for protection. The other car was
lost for a minute or two in the deluge, but it loomed in sight
again--much nearer.
“He’s beaten. I’m going to push him into the ditch. Look out for
yourself!”
The ensuing tactics were nerve-wracking. The Bentley slowly overtook
the mystery car. Soon a few lengths separated them. Through the
lashing rain and pools of water the churning wheels buzzed. Wallace
was drawing out with the object of getting alongside when Conrad
uttered a wild yell, for the right-hand steering gave the passenger a
better view of the road. Wallace swerved in, and a big closed car,
coming in the opposite direction, missed his rear wheel by inches. It
permitted the fugitive car to draw away again.
“Rotten luck! Keep your eyes skinned, Connie!”
“This is hell!” protested Conrad, outraged.
“It’s the chance of a lifetime, and we can’t afford to miss it. I’ll
get him again. He’s not so good on mud.”
Up crept the Bentley, foot by foot. Wallace caught a glimpse of
Niels’s face. It was set and grim, and, like them, he was drenched to
the skin. He was about to overtake again when another car came towards
them. The driver glared at the apparent madman of the road.
“The devil is with him,” groaned Wallace. “I’m dreading that my petrol
will give out. I know I hadn’t much when I started. Confound this
rain!”
Grim-faced and shivering with cold, Conrad peered through the bottom
of the windscreen. He was just beginning to realise that the fires of
youth were burning out. It was Wallace who got all the thrills. Conrad
would have preferred a hand-to-hand combat. There were different
grades of courage.
“Now,” said Wallace. “We ought to get him here.”
Again he steered towards the centre of the road. The bonnet of the
Bentley passed the rear wheels of the other car. They were actually
side by side on a road that allowed scarcely any margin. Niels’ head
moved slightly towards Wallace.
“Stop--or I’ll ditch you!”
Niels seemed to slow down a little, but did not stop at once. Owing to
the opposite positions of the steering-wheels on the two cars,
Wallace’s head came within three feet of Niels. He yelled at him with
all his might:
“If you don’t stop I’ll smash you to blazes!”
Niels gave a quick glance at the three-foot ditch on his right and
began to slow down. At the corner, close to a tumbledown farm, Wallace
put the Bentley across the bows of the other car, and caused Niels to
complete his braking abruptly.
“Quick, Connie!”
Both of them leapt from the car and made for Niels. Wallace was quite
prepared for a fierce resistance, perhaps with a firearm thrown in,
but Niels merely thrust his unkempt little head forward and glared at
them.
“Are you mad?” he snapped.
“Not quite. You’re coming with us, and the less you have to say about
it the better.”
“What do you want with me?”
“You’ll find out later. Come out of that car!”
“You are playing a dangerous game, monsieur.”
“Come out!”
Niels shook the water from his cap and stepped into the road. At that
moment two figures emerged from the shelter of a big tree on the
opposite side. One was Walther and the other Heinrich, and both of
them carried pistols.
“Hands up!”
Wallace swung round, and saw Walther pointing his pistol at his head,
whilst Heinrich covered Conrad.
“Tricked!” said Wallace bitterly.
Events moved swiftly after that. Niels produced a pistol and pushed
the barrel into Wallace’s back, whilst Walther produced a pad from his
pocket. In a twinkling he clapped this over Wallace’s nose. It did its
work with remarkable speed, and a few seconds later Conrad was
similarly treated.
“Get them into the car--quick!” said Niels.
This was done and the hood erected over the unconscious victims, after
which they were searched and disarmed.
“What about that other car?” asked Heinrich.
“You had better take it to Roche’s garage. Ask them to store it for
the time being.”
“I can’t drive it.”
“Then Walther can. Yes, that is better, for Walther is a complete
stranger. We will wait here for you, Walther. How soon will the
effects of that stuff work off?”
“Half an hour. It will give us time to bind them.”
“Good.”
Walther stepped into the Bentley, examined the controls, and then
started off down the filthy road.
“Everything according to plan,” said Niels, rubbing his hands. “We
will have them in Rupert’s hands before long.”