Cost Price (11 page)

“I will await you there from ten o’clock on.”

Jasper bowed.

“That will be excellent. There is an inn commanding the great cascade. It is known as The Vat of Melody – no one knows why.”

“Come there direct,” I said, “and pick me up. My servant and I will help you to pitch your tents; and then you shall teach me my duties and I will try the weights.” Jasper regarded Colette.

“I cannot,” he said, “regret Ulysses’ demise.”

“No, indeed,” said Colette. “And if we are nice to him, perhaps he will stay with us.”

“You have my permission,” said Jasper, “to do your worst.”

At that, we laughed and shook hands. Then we bade one another good night, and I watched them go. As before, they turned to wave at the edge of the trees.

As I rose out of the dell, Bell stepped out of the shadows and fell in behind.

“They’re honest souls,” I said.

“I think so, sir. I take it they’re Austrian.”

“That’s right. Of the rest of the troupe I know nothing, but we must hope for the best. I think we should be able to manage.”

“It’s not for long, sir.”

“No. And once we’re out of this country, I shall not care. Come along. Let’s get back to the car.”

When we found the Rolls safe and sound, I was greatly relieved; for whilst I was talking with Jasper, a sudden fear for the car had taken hold of my heart. No one, of course, could have moved her, because she was locked: but, had the German found her, to use a colloquial expression, it might not have been too good. The truth is that her precious freight was beginning to loom in the background of every movement we made; and when it was not under our hand, I began to imagine vain things. This may seem foolish enough, and Mansel declined to give the matter a thought: but when you are treating millions much as you treat a spare wheel, contingencies lift up their heads – and may look you down.

We drove back quietly enough – for most of the way without lights, for though the moon had not risen, the air was clear and the sky was without a cloud: so the starlight had a fair field, and for me, who was well accustomed to watching and moving by night, the darkness had lost its sting.

Now Wagensburg had been built on the edge of a cliff, the foot of which was washed by a river, as, a year or two back, we had good reason to know. The road we must use this night ran close to the bank of the river upon the opposite side; and we had to pass the castle, before we could come to our bridge. I knew that I could not see it, for the quarters which we were using lay on the farther side – and, even so, we were careful to keep the curtains drawn: but perhaps because I knew where it was, as we passed, I glanced up at the courtyard – to be more precise, at where the courtyard hung. And as I looked, I saw the flash of a torch.

Without thinking what I did, I set a foot on the brake and threw out the clutch, but the flash was not repeated, and, after a little, I took the car slowly on.

“I saw a light on the terrace,” I said to Bell.

“I thought you seen something, sir, the way you stopped.”

Thinking aloud—

“And what does that mean?” I said. “It means the devil and all, for they’ve found us out. I must leave the car at the junction and go on on foot. You will stay at the junction, keeping the engine running, ready to move. If anything comes, you’ll have a choice of three roads, so you can’t go wrong. And when all’s clear, you will return to the junction and wait for me.”

“Very good, sir.”

(The junction was a spot by the river where three roads met: one ran North to Villach, one East – the road we were using – and one ran West.)

A moment later we came to the junction itself.

I passed the spot and stopped dead: then I took the Rolls back and round, until she was off the road and was facing North. And then I was out of the car and was running down the road to the bridge which lay to the West.

I had about two miles to cover, before I could come to the house; but I dared not make too much haste, for my hand must be steady when I got there, in case I ran into a storm. Then, again, if I was to do any good, my approach must not be made known to the strangers within our gates.

There was, so far as I saw, no car at the foot of the combe or near the house; but the servants’ quarters were screened by a little covert, and what there was behind this, I could not tell.

I padded through the meadows, past Wagensburg’s famous well: then I slipped into the covert – and stood very still.

A man was stooping by a window which served the servants’ hall, trying to peer between the curtains, which had been drawn. The window being open, after a moment I saw him put up a hand and move the curtain a little, just as a breeze might have done. Then he let it go and stood up, as though he had seen what he wished, and, after looking about him, went stealing towards the garage, which had no doors.

I knew as well as he what the fellow had seen – Mansel reading or writing and the table with covers for two, for Carson would be in the kitchen, making ready some soup against my return.

When he had entered the garage, I stepped across to the window and pitched my cigarette case into the room. This was made of leather and made but the slightest sound. Then I moved to the mouth of the garage and stood there, straining my ears.

“Do as I tell you,” hissed Friar. “I’m not going to wait any more.”

“Or right, or right,” said Sloper, “but don’ blame me. An’ wot if the car comes in before we done? If you’d wait to get Chandos first, you’d ’ave the other for tea.”

“I’ll have him now,” said Friar. “Go and get Orris in.”

As I stood against the wall, Sloper left the garage and turned to his left. This almost certainly meant that Orris was in the courtyard – the flash I had seen was probably that of his torch. If I was right, at least two minutes must pass before Sloper came back.

I dared not enter the garage, for, while I could not see him, Friar would surely see me against what light there was: so I stood where I was and willed the man to come forth.

I thought that perhaps he would, for to watch the backdoor was natural – I should have done it myself. And so he did…

As he came abreast of me, I hit him under the jaw with all my might: he made no sound at all, but crumpled and fell.

As I got my hands under his arms—

“Well done, indeed, William,” breathed Mansel.

“And where do we go from here?”

“Two others coming,” I said. “We move him out of their way and wait for them. Carson round to the courtyard, to see what’s what. But he must let them go by.”

“Very good, sir,” said Carson’s voice.

We picked my victim up and laid him down by the door he had come out to watch.

“And now what?”

“They’ll enter the garage,” I said. “I’d like to hear what they say.”

“Right. We let them go in and close up.” As we reached the edge of the covert – “And now expound to me, William. Whom have you laid to rest?”

“Friar,” I said.

“Friar? And how in the world–”

“It’s just occurred to me. Punter.”

“Oh, my God,” said Mansel. “Of course you’re right. When I picked this place, I never thought of Punter. Of course Punter knew in an instant that this was where we should go.”

(I have mentioned before that we had known the castle in other days: others, too, had known it, and Punter was one of them. Not to have thought of this was careless, indeed; but we had had much to think of during the week, and the Boche had been more in our minds than had Friar and his gang.)

“Never mind,” Mansel continued. “What is the special idea?”

“Your liquidation, I fancy: and mine when the car comes in.”

“What could be better? And here they come – to report to the fountain-head. As the fountain is out of order, I wonder what they will do.”

Two figures passed into the garage, and we drew near.

“’Ere we are,” said Sloper.

There was, of course, no reply.

“Mus’ be outside,” said Sloper. “You wait ’ere.”

I touched Mansel’s arm, and he nodded…

As Sloper passed me, I struck; and Mansel caught his body and laid it gently down.

“Who is the third man? Orris?”

“That’s right,” I said.

Mansel approached the garage and lifted his voice.

“I want you, Orris,” he said. “So come straight out and keep your hands in the air. If you don’t within ten seconds, I’m going to fire into the garage; and if you’re in the way of the bullet, it’ll be just too bad.”

There was a moment’s hesitation.

Then—

“Coming, sir,” said Orris, and out he came.

Mansel drew his torch and threw the beam on the door.

“Walk to that door, Orris. You’ll have to pick your way or you’ll tread on the dead.”

“—!” said Orris.

“Exactly. You see what comes of trying to mix it with me. Is Punter with you tonight?”

“No — fear,” said Orris. “I wish ’e was.”

“Why d’you wish that?”

Orris let go.

The horrid threats which distinguished his lengthy reply soon showed that our assumption was perfectly right. Punter had led his companions to Wagensburg – not, of course, in person – and had furnished them with a plan, the omissions of which were outstanding, few details of which were correct. This was not wholly his fault, for, since he had visited the castle, considerable changes had been made: still, while laying great stress upon the courtyard, as being the castle’s hub, and insisting that that was a place at which no light should be shown, he had failed to disclose that in the courtyard itself were four or five well-grown trees, to say nothing of a well, with a parapet two feet high. His unsuspecting colleagues had discovered these picturesque features in the most painful of ways, and to Orris had belonged the distinction of finding the well. This he had almost entered, for, the parapet tripping him up, he had fallen heavily forward, to encounter nothing but space. How he had saved himself, he had no idea, but the venture had deeply shocked him, as well it might. Yet, upon his declaring his repugnance to what he had found, instead of receiving the sympathy which was his due, he had been, as he put it, ‘cursed silly’, for daring to raise his voice… From that most pregnant moment, Orris had lost all interest in what was toward: for him, the enterprise was poisoned – by pain and fright and, curiously, most of all, because he must keep to himself his agony of body and mind. Indeed, he made no attempt to disguise the relief he felt at being made prisoner.

How Mansel kept a straight face, I do not know: I confess I was shaking with laughter before the rogue was halfway through his recital of blood and tears.

“Go over him, William, will you?”

I found a pistol and torch – the torch, no doubt, which had stood us in such good stead.

We took him into the house, turned him into the stillroom and locked the door.

“And now,” said Mansel, “before we go any further, please put me wise. I was awaiting the Rolls: instead, your cigarette case alighted beside my chair: it seems that you’ve saved my life, but I’d love to know how.”

My tale was soon told.

“By God,” said Mansel, “but what a stroke of luck. If Orris hadn’t been sore, he wouldn’t have lighted his torch: if you hadn’t passed at that moment, you wouldn’t have been forewarned – and Friar would have got you first, and then me, before you were cold. For I should have come to the door, as I always do. William, we must be more careful. Fancy forgetting that Punter knew this place.”

Be sure I agreed with him.

Then I went off to call Carson, to send him for Bell, while Mansel inspected my victims and took their pistols away.

I never got as far as the courtyard, for Carson met me halfway.

He was out of breath, for he had been running fast.

“The German, sir,” he panted. “They must have been trailing Friar, an’ now they’ve found his car at the foot of the drive.”

“Are they on their way up?”

“By now, sir.”

“Come along,” I said.

I turned and ran the way I had come.

Mansel looked up from the business of searching Friar.

“What is it, William?”

“The Boche.”

Mansel straightened his back.

“Where?”

“On his way to the courtyard.”

For a moment Mansel considered this very unpleasant news. Then he gave his orders as quietly as if we had hours to spare.

“Carson, our two dispatch cases. Everything else we must leave. Take them through the covert and wait on the other side. William, get Orris out and switch off every light. Between you, pick up Friar and carry him into the covert. I can manage Sloper – he looks pretty light.”

Two minutes later, Friar and Sloper, still senseless, were lying out of sight in the thicket; and Orris, now thoroughly scared, was standing on the edge of the meadows, listening to Mansel’s words.

“If you don’t fancy foreign prisons, you’d better do as I say. Pick up those two cases.” Orris obliged. “This is my servant, Carson. From now you are in his charge.” Mansel turned to Carson. “Tie a cord to his wrist and make him walk in front. If he gives any trouble, shoot him and shove his corpse in the ditch.”

“Shan’t give no trouble, sir.”

“Bell’s got the Rolls at the junction. Get there as quick as you can. Keep her moving till daybreak, always touching our bridge-head once in the hour. When it’s light, you must lay her up, and one of you come to the bridge. Bind Orris hand and foot and keep him on the floor of the car.”

“Very good, sir.”

“They’re here,” said I. “I saw the flash of a torch.”

“Good,” said Mansel. “Come on,” and led the way back.

As we came to the edge of the covert—

“The garage is empty,” said a voice.

“Blockhead!” hissed the German. “Can you be quiet?”

With the greatest caution, five figures reconnoitred the building. Then, after a consultation we could not hear, one, who was not the German, ventured to open the door.

His reluctance to enter the house was very clear, and the German was dancing with impatience before the fellow had done as he dared not do himself. Indeed, he would not go in, till the four had preceded him and had declared the coast clear. Then he stamped his way into the quarters, shouting for lights.