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“Nor mine,” said I. “I never dreamed it was in him. But that is Orris, Bell. A very valuable man. And now we must get out of here, in case the others come back.”

Beneath our ministration, Orris was soon on his feet: but all his fight was gone, and he took the orders I gave him without a word. I led the way out of the ditch and, presently, off the road and over a gate; and the rogue, with Bell behind him, went like a lamb.

I headed across the country, bearing North; but I did not know the region or what we were going to find. After a full three miles, we came to a little rise which was hiding the lie of the land on its farther side. But I judged there was water there, and that was what I desired.

I told the others to stop and breasted the rise alone.

Below lay grass-grown cross roads, whose fingerpost was rotten and leaning, soon to come down: all about was a pleasant commonage – close cropped turf, bestrewn with a parcel of rocks. One road led over a bridge, beneath which the ghost of a river was making its silent way. In the winter, no doubt, this was a notable stream, but now there was little water – no more than ten or twelve inches, it seemed to me.

After a careful look, I returned to Orris and Bell.

“Bind his wrists, Bell,” I said.

Bell took a cord from his pocket and bound them behind the man’s back.

“And now his eyes.”

“’Ere,” cried Orris, in protest.

“It’s all night,” I said. “I’m not going to kill you yet.”

“Gawd ’elp,” said Orris.

“It’s up to you.”

In silence his eyes were bound.

“And now follow me.”

With Bell’s hand fast on his collar, Orris stumbled along. I led the way round the crest and down to the roads. I took the one which ran East and over the bridge. As I have said, the water was making no sound, and, since the road was metalled, Orris cannot have known that he was crossing a bridge. So for another half mile. And there was a billet lying in the midst of the way – a log of wood, which had fallen off a waggon and been let lie.

I signed to Bell to steer Orris towards this obstruction…

Of course he stumbled and fell, and, because his hands were tied, he could not save himself, but rolled all over the road.

The shock apart, I fear that he hurt himself, for the flood of rebuke which he addressed to Bell was quite unprintable. And I confess with shame that, long before he had done, Bell was shaking with laughter and tears of mirth were running upon my cheeks. Indeed, it was most unfair: but it had to be done.

I picked up the billet and laid it down in the ditch. Then we pulled the man up to his feet and – of course unknown to Orris – began to retrace our steps. One minute later, perhaps, we left the road and made our way back to the water over the turf.

We guided him into the water, which shocked him as much as his fall; then we urged him up the opposite bank. And under a spreading beech tree he came to his journey’s end.

“Go over him, Bell.”

All the man had was his passport, in which was my cheque, and Austrian money amounting to seven pounds.

Orris was pleading.

“Don’ take my passport, sir. I wanna get out o’ this country. I’m through wiv Friar.”

“Give them to me,” I said. “And put your coat over his head.”

“I can’t see a thing, sir.”

I put my cheque into my pocket.

“I don’t think you can,” I said: “but I want to be sure.”

Orris’ head was shrouded, as are those of men accused, to embarrass photographers.

I walked to a boulder some forty paces away. Putting forth all my strength, I managed to roll it aside. I laid the passport and money in the form which the stone had made. Then I rolled back the boulder, so that it lay as before. After that, I inspected the signpost. To snap this off short required no effort at all…

I made my way back to the beech tree and spoke to Bell.

“All right. Uncover his head and let him sit down.”

With that, I sat down myself and lighted a cigarette.

“Can I ’ave my passport, sir?”

“You can,” I said, “if you like to look for it. It’s within fifty paces of where you’re sitting now. For that, I give you my word. But you’ll have to look very hard.”

“You ain’t put it in the water, ’ave you?”

“No. But if you don’t want to look, you can always go to the Consul and–”

“No — fear,” said Orris. “Wivin fifty yards?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll free me ’an’s an’ me eyes, sir?”

“No. That will be your affair. If you get down to it, it shouldn’t take very long. And, with luck, some peasant may pass.”

“Gawd ’elp,” said Orris. “I don’ want no — peasan’s — round. An’ supposin’ they fin’ my passport?”

“I don’t think they will,” I said. “It isn’t too easy to see, and they don’t know it’s there.”

“—,” said Orris. “But wot about this bandidge? Mr Bell will want ’is ankerchief beck.”

“I’ll give him another,” I said, and got to my feet.

“Now, listen ’ere, sir,” said Orris. “If you’ll unbandidge me eyes…”

And that was as much as I heard, for Bell and I were moving over the turf.

Three minutes later we stood upon the top of the rise. Orris, still blindfold, was making frantic efforts to get to his feet.

As we made our way back to Godel—

“I think,” I said, “that we can write Orris off. He doesn’t know where he is: he will think that Godel lies on the further side of that stream: the signpost is out of action: and if he desires his passport, I don’t think he’ll come across it for quite a long time.”

“He won’t budge without it, sir. You never heard what he said when you took it away. It’s his – sort of talisman, sir.”

“Not a bad talisman, either – for people like that. And now we must hurry, Bell. We’ve both got to have some breakfast, and you’ve got to have some sleep.”

By noon that day the troupe was ready to move.

The waggon had been carefully loaded, so that such stuff as would be required at the inn could be removed and replaced without disturbing the rest of the stock-in-trade. As soon as the performance was over, the troupe and waggon would leave for the frontier-post. This was six miles from Godel. It seemed that by seven o’clock the cavalcade would be moving in Italy.

I had arranged with Colette that Bell and I should leave the troupe at the inn. I proposed to repair to the dell in which she and Jasper had found me the week before. There Bell and I would lie low: and then, when dusk had come in, we would take the smugglers’ way.

The troupe would stay for that and the following nights by a hamlet called Jade. This I soon found on my map. So far as I could make out, Bell and I could be with them by eight o’clock.

“So have our tent pitched,” I said, “for we shall be tired.”

“I do not like it, Adam. What would Eve say?”

“Eve would say nothing at all, for she is a dutiful wife.”

Colette set her chin in the air.

“I think she would say a great deal. Supposing you were to fall foul of a frontier-guard. I am told that they fire at sight.”

“Let us hope that they do not see me. And do you want me stopped at a frontier-post?”

“Ah, no. I could not bear it.”

“Then let me go my way – and breakfast with you tomorrow at eight o’clock.”

“Who is this man to stop you? This dirt of a Boche?”

“Who, indeed?” said I. “Yet Austria does as he asks.”

“I am ashamed of my country – to use an Englishman so. What is he like, this filth?”

“He is big and square-headed, as many of his countrymen are. His mouth is grim and brutal; his eyes seem to be afire. But he is a coward, Colette.”

“As most of his countrymen are.”

“Not all, Colette. Some have a fanatic courage.”

“Say ‘machine-made’.”

“I think you are right,” I said. “It is not natural. But he has not that. He would stamp on a creature he knew was weaker than he: but if a man showed him the whip, he would turn and run.”

“Such things are not fit to live.”

“I must confess he’d be much improved by death.”

“Please do not improve him, Adam.”

“Not I,” said I, laughing. “If I were to see him, Colette, it would, I assure you, be I that would turn and run.”

“I am glad to hear it,” she said. “All the same, I cannot see you in that role.”

“I hope very much, my dear, you won’t have the chance.”

“Is he looking for you?”

“That is the order which he has given your police.”

Colette clapped a hand to her mouth.

“A policeman was here this morning – a plain-clothes man.”

“Whilst I was out?”

She nodded.

“How do you know he was a policeman?”

“I knew when I saw him. You cannot mistake the breed.”

“Did he ask any questions?”

“No: but he watched us, Adam. We had not long finished breakfast and Odin was washing up. And then he walked back to Godel.”

“What could be better?” I said. “The inspection has taken place; but, happily, Bell and I were not on parade.”

“For me,” said Colette, gravely, “it was the finger of God.”

“I think so, too. Be sure, I am very grateful.”

“But what have you done, Adam?”

“I told you – I have given offence.”

She looked at me very hard.

“Very well. I will ask no more. If I see his like again, I will tell you at once.”

“If you please, Colette. I must not be taken now. Once I am clear of the inn–”

“My God, this accursed performance! No finger of God is there. And you are the very one that has brought it about. It is the masque, Adam dear, that has won us the invitation to play at the inn.”

I smiled.

“To which you subscribe, Colette. I am not wholly to blame.”

“Yes, yes. Of course I subscribe. But never before have I played as I play with you. If I am good, it is you that have made me so.”

“Don’t be absurd, Colette. I cannot act, and you know it. I am not drunk, like Ulysses – that I confess. But I can only smile and hold up my weights.”

“I know. That is all you do. But you have a way no actor could ever capture. You are the real thing, Adam. And that is why you have gone to the hearts of these clowns… and why I have risen to heights I never knew I could reach.” I began to laugh. “And what are you laughing for?”

“I wonder what you would say – to a friend of mine. He is a king among men. And if he were to play my part – well, the world would come running to see him for twenty miles round.”

“Is it he who is coming to meet you?”

“In Italy? No. At least, I don’t think he is. But I should like you to meet him, for he is the finest gentleman that I have ever known. As for him who will meet me in Italy, perhaps he will join the troupe for two or three nights. He can sing and play like an angel – and make you die of laughing. He and Jasper together will bring down the house.”

“And do we not bring down the house, when you lift me on high?”

“We do more than bring down the house. We bring unheard of requests to perform at a house of call.”

Colette made a
moue
.

“We will talk again,” she announced, “when we are in Italy.”

The host of The Vat of Melody treated us well.

We were given an excellent lunch, and three changing rooms were provided close to the bar. These gave to a passage from which we could gain the terrace on which we were to perform.

For luncheon, the inn was full. Some were chance customers: most were the
bourgeois
of Godel, come to see from the stalls the troupe of which they had heard. Wise in his generation, the innkeeper did good business that Thursday afternoon.

Jasper and I shared one of the changing rooms, and there, by Bell’s direction, the weights were put. This was natural enough: but I must confess I was glad to have them under my eyes.

Now, no stage was even used, but we had a three sided frame in which curtains were hung. The centre side faced the audience: the sides to the right and left were furnished with wings. The whole was extremely simple and weighed very light; but it was well contrived, for, while we were thus enabled to move and have our being ‘behind the scenes’, entrances and exits could be theatrically made – and our audiences liked the effect, which was, of course, more important than that which is afforded by an alfresco performance with no apparatus at all. The terrace just permitted our frame to go up – to the great content of Jasper, as of myself, for if someone should appear in the audience whom I did not wish to see, the contrivance would give me a chance to make good my escape.

But no such unwelcome spectator put his spoon into the dish. Bell was without the inn, ready to hasten to warn me of any untoward approach; but my scene with Colette was concluded, and he never came. Indeed, he was retrieving the weights and I was changing my clothes, before I heard the voice of Diana Revoke.

“Have you a bedroom here, where I can powder my nose?”

I sat very still.

This could mean only one thing – that Boler was here.

The thing that I had been dreading had come to pass.

And then Diana was gone – upstairs, no doubt, to some bedroom upon the first floor.

I slid into my trousers and coat…

Bell’s head appeared.

“May we come in, sir? I’ve got the stretcher outside.”

I beckoned him to come close, and he shut the door.

“Miss Revoke’s in the inn,” I said. “I’ve just heard her voice. And I think that where she is, the Boche will be. Get the weights into this room and then fade away. Go down in the cellars, or something. But I must get out. I shall go straight to the dell: but you must see the weights on the waggon, before you leave. If the Boche is still here, on no account help to load them, but see it done. Watch from a window, for instance. The moment you’ve seen them on, get out and follow me. And now bring the stretcher in.”

As Bell and a scullion set down the last two weights, I stepped out into the passage and hastened towards the terrace from which I had come. I was hoping to see Colette, to say that the Boche was here and that I must be gone. But I was just too late, for Jasper was supervising the taking down of the frame, and Colette was not to be seen. I supposed that she had finished her rounds, given her collection to Jasper and gone to change. Lest Jasper should see me, I drew back into the passage and thought very hard.