At Swords' Point (15 page)

“Prudence then indicates a withdrawal.” That was Joris.

“He who fights and runs away,” quoted Kane, “lives to fight another day —”

Quinn ran his tongue over his lips. “I don't see either of you leaving —”

“I dislike marching in the night,” returned Joris.

“Well,” Kane added, “this is the first time I have ever caught that snake out in the open where one could conveniently heave rocks at him —”

“And now your pitching arm itches?” inquired Joris. “We have only to storm our way into the tower and the game is ours!”

“No —” Quinn corrected. “I think we can swim our way in.”

When Joris heard the rest he had to say, he pushed head and shoulders between the branches to look out at the tower.

“It is going to be a nice dark night. And I do, fortunately, know how to swim. Shall we investigate?”

“No supper to delay us either,” Quinn pointed out wistfully as they slipped out into the open and progressed on hands and knees along the edge of the gully.

“We
are
traveling on our stomachs — if not in the way Napoleon meant. There's a dip that looks too sharp. Here goes —”

Kane disappeared with a crackling of branches which seemed on a par with rifle shots to Quinn's ears.

“Okay,” the whisper floated up slope.

With a last rub to his aching leg Quinn half tumbled, half rolled down until a hand grabbed the cloth between his shoulders and brought him to a stop. He hadn't been able to twist free before Joris slammed feet first on top of them both.

The rest of the journey was not too bad. There was plenty of cover in the way of scrubby brush to aid them in their crawl around the open fields. For a while they paralleled the stream, and Kane halted on its bank for an instant.

“That current seems strong. We might have trouble getting across it in a straight line.”

“If we entered above the point we want to reach —” hazarded Quinn.

“Use the rope, too. So we would not become separated,” Joris suggested.

“How near are we to that break in the wall?” Kane demanded some time later.

Quinn strained his eyes to see. In this dark he wasn't sure of anything.

“I can't tell,” he admitted at last, a small spark of panic springing to life somewhere within him. What if he could not find the break? In the dark, with the current pulling at them, how could they ever reach the place where the wall might be climbed?

“If we go to the end of the island,” he said slowly, “swim across to the tower side, then paddle along, we'll
certainly find it. A whole section of the wall has tumbled down, and some of the blocks half dam the moat. Even in the dark we couldn't miss that —”

“Here's hoping you're right!” Kane muttered and renewed the caterpillar advance.

Only too soon, to Quinn's thinking, they found the place where they must take to the water. He began, shivering, to strip.

“Look here,” he said, “my raincoat's at least partially waterproof — let's put most of our stuff in that.”

“Good enough!” Kane grabbed the garment out of his hand.

They roped together before they proceeded gingerly down to the stream. Joris had insisted upon taking the bulky roll of clothing on his own back, but Quinn was ahead in the guide's position. After all, as he pointed out, he was the only one who had any idea what the break was like and he should be the one to identify it. But he regretted every argument he had used when he stepped abruptly into the numbing flood which was thigh deep even at its rough shore line. A second stride took him off bottom entirely, and he fell forward for a dreadful instant of panic and terror in which his head went under before his arms and legs moved instictively and he began to fight the pull of the rushing water.

It was a battle all the way, and he dared not think how far along he had been carried before he reached the castle side of the river. It was shallower here. He foundered along until the water was only knee deep, then crept forward with caution, having no wish to take a header over a piece of fallen masonry.

Then his outstretched hand smacked against stone. Bracing his feet against the pull of the current Quinn explored by touch. They had made it! Above was the break in the battlements. He gave the cord about his waist a sharp tug to summon the other two.

15

TASK FORCE

Still linked by the rope after the manner of mountain climbers the three made their way up the broken wall. As Quinn felt for hand- and foot-holds he was glad that he could not see what lay ahead. It was a long, long time before he pulled himself out on a ledge or platform and crouched there panting.

“We're here — But where's here?” a voice asked out of the dark.

“The tower should be straight ahead. The courtyard gate is to our right,” Quinn answered.

Then Joris thrust damp clothing into his hands, and he pulled it on. Slacks and jersey were clammy against his wet skin, and he was shivering uncontrollably by the time he was dressed. The drizzle had thinned to a mist which bit to one's very bones.

“Now — that's all we need!”

The catastrophe Kane pointed out was overhead. Clouds cleared perceptibly, and a shimmer of wan moonlight made them visible not only to each other but to
any guard who had the sense to watch the walls.

It was easy enough to locate the tower — that was the bulk which showed jagged teeth of broken masonry to the sky. And the stretch of courtyard between it and the wall appeared reasonably clear of rubble.

Clear of anything which would furnish cover and also under the surveillance of the man by the gate! To cross it in this watery moonlight was to present an excellent target.

“The shortest distance between two points is a straight line.” Kane offered this piece of wisdom.

“Wait - look!”

Quinn's head swung around, but he missed whatever Joris had called attention to. Kane did not.

“By the gate, yeah. Can do — I think. Stick right here — count fifty — slow — then heave a rock to the far right. If I make it I'll give three dots with the torch. Got it?”

“Got it!” Joris returned as tersely.

With the ease of a skilled campaigner Kane hung for an instant by his two hands on the edge of the battlement, then let go. He was swallowed up by the shadows at once.

“What is he after?” demanded Quinn.

“There was a spark of light over by the gate. Perhaps the guard lit a cigarette —”

“But he went alone —”

“Yes. That is best. For a job such as this there should be but one man — one man who knows just what it is that he is doing —”

In other words, thought Quinn almost bitterly, this was no job for an amateur. He heard Joris counting, slowly. And he saw the Netherlander groping among the rubble for a rock of suitable size to throw.

“Forty-five; forty-six; forty-seven; forty-eight —”

The arm went back, the rock was poised.

“Forty-nine; fifty!” Joris hurled the stone. They saw it
flash in the moonlight. Then even through the moan of the rising wind they heard it strike.

After that there was nothing to do but wait. Quinn rubbed his leg nervously. The nagging worry that it might fail him was always in the back of his mind.

Wind-driven clouds were across the moon. And in that momentary darkness they sighted the three quick flashes from the gate. It was easy to climb down and find Kane tying up a limp captive with the man's own belt.

“This one goes into cold storage. And he seems to be the only one on duty.”

“They are pretty sure of themselves,” ventured Quinn.

“Oh, well,” Kane observed, rolling the prisoners behind a pile of stone, “we all make mistakes. But let us hope the mistakes in this caper continue to be made by the opposition. You're sure that the tower is our goal.?”

“I can't see any other place where anything could be hidden. The hunting lodge was burned down. And they came here —”

“Let us go!” Joris broke in impatiently.

Kane picked up a gun from the top of a nearby stone. “Nice piece of hardware,” he said admiringly. “Just the equipment for a midnight excursion.”

They followed Joris across to the tower.

“Know anything about the layout inside?” Kane asked Quinn.

“No.”

“Well, we can always find the way down by falling. I trust that there are no uncovered wells or oubliettes —”

They hesitated in the doorway. Beyond lay the blackest dark Quinn thought he had ever seen. And Kane's last suggestion — of an open dungeon — was not one he cared to think about.

What they would have done had not the enemy made things easy for them, Quinn could never afterwards decide.
But, as they still lingered, a glow rose out of the ground some distance away.

“Miner's lamp!” Joris identified it in a whisper.

“A division right and left is now indicated,” Kane ordered.

Joris melted away to the left — Kane started right. And Quinn tagged along behind him. The lamp was above ground level now. Had the man who carried it swept the beam across the floor he might have trapped them. But he had no suspicion of trouble.

They were almost even with the advancing lamp when there came the sound of stone striking against stone and a choked-off cry. The light wavered as if the hand which held it had jerked — then it flashed in the direction of the sound. It caught Joris’ shoulder as the Netherlander threw himself behind a mound of earth and stone. The lamp bearer fired, and the crack of the shot was echoed and re-echoed from the walls.

At that same instant Kane launched himself at the marksman. The light crashed to the pavement, but it did not go out. Quinn crept toward it hearing the noise of a wild struggle which, for some odd reason, seemed to grow fainter as he advanced on the lamp.

Then he had it in his hands, but he kept it beamed toward the pavement for fear that he might inadvertently expose one of his companions as a target.

“Joris —”

“Here.” The answer came from within touching distance.

“You shot?”

“Not even a crease — just took a tumble that shook me up. But where did Kane and that other go — ?”

Cautiously Quinn moved the light. It touched and held on the first step in a flight of stairs. His hand began to shake. Kane and the other must have fallen or rolled down those!

“Down —” His mouth was suddenly dry.

“So now we follow,” returned the Netherlander.

Quinn switched off the light, but Maartens called over his shoulder.

“It is not necessary to risk our necks. Let us keep that on as we go. Behind it we cannot be seen — if they shoot throw it ahead of you —”

The steps were wide and shallow — in the center they were worn into hollows. Quinn kept his left hand on the slimy, damp stone of the wall. Unconsciously he counted as he went. And twenty steps brought them to a broad landing. There was no sign of either Kane or his opponent. Quinn's mouth was so dry he could not swallow.

Twenty more steps. The beam went out across an expanse of stone so wide it could only be a floor.

“Greetings! Took your time about getting here —”

Quinn whirled and almost lost his balance. But the light pinned Kane, hunkered on the floor over a bundle of clothing and limp limbs. There was a white face too — with black eyes which stared up and did not squint against the force of the beam.

“Know him?” asked Kane in an even, conversational tone.

“He drove the car which followed Wasburg this morning,” replied Joris.

“He won't drive it back.” Kane got to his feet, gave a smothered exclamation, and rubbed his left arm and side.

“What —” Quinn had no desire to approach that limp body any closer.

“We rolled down the full flight and landed hard. He was underneath. Or you might be scraping
me
off the floor now. But I don't imagine many tears are going to be shed for the late Boris Grundt. He is extremely well known in some very unsavory circles — an MVD man of various unpleasant talents. Shall we stow him elsewhere
lest he attract attention? Behind the stairs might be just the place —”

Kane and Maartens carried Grundt behind the rise of the stairway. Quinn stayed where he was, leaning shoulder and hip against the friendly support of the cold wall, determindedly keeping his eyes away from the impromptu burial party.

And, because he was looking away, he was the first to note the faint glow of light to the left. In some other room ahead there was strong illumination. When the other two returned he pointed it out.

“The digging party — d'you suppose?” Kane took the lamp from Quinn and deliberately flashed it at the nearest wall. The slime-greened stones were massive. Nothing less than a powder blast could shake them loose.

“If they're scratching at those it will take them hours,” Joris echoed Quinn's thoughts.

“Well, they've been in here for some time. Whatever they
are
doing must be a major operation. Shall we go and cheer them on in their labors? The odds have shortened enough to almost allow us a frontal attack. And it will be a surprise party — with the surprise all in our favor.”

They reached the end of the room into which the stairs had descended and entered a walled burrow arched overhead like a huge drain. The flicker of light at its other end grew brighter until Kane prudently snapped off the lamp he carried. But before they were at the next open space he pulled up his companions.

“A little caution is now needed. We should edge to the side —”

Quinn edged — behind Joris this time. And a moment or two later they looked out into one of the strangest rooms he had ever seen.

The cell or dungeon or hall — he could not guess its original use — was long and narrow with a roof so high
that it was lost in the gloom. The floor was native rock, not stone blocks, and part of the wall was the same — here the land itself had been added to the foundation of the tower.

But the most unusual feature of the chamber was that one quarter of the floor was liquid, a silent river, glints and sparkles on the water brought to life by a series of six lanterns set out in a straight line about two feet apart.

Water — here! It must have been diverted from the moat to cut through the foundations of the tower. An excellent device in the old days in case of siege. But why that parade of lanterns — and where were —

A man moved into the circle of light thrown by the lantern nearest the opposite wall where the stream swept under a floor level arch to disappear. He stretched and walked slowly along the line of lanterns, inspecting each one. The third he picked up to make some adjustment. When he had gone the length of the row of lights he moved on as if he were too bored or cold to return to his post.

Quinn stiffened. Sooner or later the fellow was going to reach the mouth of the passage in which they stood. Would they retreat or attack?

But before he got there he turned and went back — straight to the wall of the water arch. There he squatted down, laid aside the automatic he had carried in one hand during his tour of inspection, and plunged both arms deep into the water.

Quinn heard Joris mutter. That action must have some significance for the Netherlander, though Quinn did not see — short of washing — what the fellow could be doing. He was back now, wiping his hands down his rough and dirty trousers.

For the second time the sentry examined the lanterns and walked along the edge of the stream. Twice he stopped and looked at his watch. He was either nervous
or impatient.

But where were the rest? There was no way out of this room except the opening in which they stood. And yet here was a sentry on patrol.

Quinn was startled out of his attempt at deduction by the action of that sentry. A dark blot swooped out of the dusk overhead, planing along the line of lanterns as if it were a bomber making a run to discharge its load. The creature wheeled and fluttered and dived upon the lights so closely that it could have knocked one of them into the water. And apparently that was just what the sentry feared. For he fired rapidly at the swooping shadow.

Either the guard was lucky or he was an expert shot. At the second crack the bat flattened, flapped out over the water, and dropped down into the oily flood.

The attack of the bat upon the lantern row seemed to have thoroughly upset the guard. He inspected each of his charges with careful attention, then turned and headed straight for the tunnel, the purpose of some sort in his deliberate advance. He might just be hunting more bats, but Quinn could not rid himself of the impression that somehow the man had sensed their presence and was about to attack.

A hand fell upon his shoulder and tugged him back. Quinn bit hard on his lip to choke his cry of surprise. They were retreating then — and shoulder to shoulder they crept back to the room of the stairs.

“Well?” Kane asked.

“Clever and most tricky,” Joris answered. “If the old Dukes hid their treasure so, they were ingenious men. And it is no wonder that it has not been found. To my mind it works this way — the current of that stream is strong, probably as strong as that of the moat river. It flows from arch to arch of native rock. Now somewhere along the part of the stream tunnel which is the outlet of the flood there has been made a room, or a niche — or
some kind of hiding place. But to reach it one must fasten a rope to this side, and with that as a guide, get down into the water, and let one's body be pulled along. And since there looks to be no room for air beneath that arch — one must do all this without breathing! It would take a very bold thief — one willing to risk his life for his plunder — to attempt to force such a treasure place.”

“Then Wasburg
must
have known the secret,” said Quinn. “But why do you suppose they have stayed in there so long?”

“There might be other safeguards besides just the water tunnel,” Joris replied reasonably. “It may even be necessary for them to remove a stone barrier. Well, what do we do?”

“We can wait here — like cats at a mousehole — or we can go in after them. There is always the chance that they might pass out the other way — down stream into the moat. And that is just what they would do if they had any suspicions of our camping here. In that event we might as well kiss it all good-bye —” Kane stretched. “I could do with a smoke,” he added a little plaintively.

“I wonder if something has gone wrong,” struck in Quinn. He had waited modestly for the masters at this muddled and dangerous game to advance their opinions before he dared one of his own. “D'you notice how that guard kept looking at his watch. He seemed nervous —”