Gale Warning (18 page)

We took the Lowland – and Carson, to drive her back, for whilst we were at work, we should have no need of a car and, what was more to the point, we did not want to leave a car berthed near Midian, until we had found some harbour which nobody would suspect.

(Here, once for all, let me say that if I seem to labour some detail or to place upon record some unimportant fact, it is because I am seeking not only to set down what happened, but to reproduce our outlook at that particular time: for when all is said and done, we were more or less ordinary people, like anyone else, who were rightly or wrongly determined to take the law into their hands.)

By Chandos’ direction, we drove to the east of Midian and then, when we were beyond it, turned to the west: so, after nearly an hour, we found ourselves on a very inferior road, which may have been pretty good once, but had, since then, been used for hauling timber and so had been badly broken and never repaired. Though, of course, I could guess where we were, I could see no distance at all, for the road was sunk in a forest, whose curtains of living green were quite impenetrable. Still, that we were on the side of some mountain was very clear, and the road was really a shelf, for the ground rose as sharp on our left as it fell away on our right.

That the surface was so shocking was just as well, for no doubt because of this, we met no more than a labouring bullock-cart, and when, after four or five minutes, the Lowland came slowly to rest, the silence was such that we might have had the world to ourselves.

“I make it about here,” said Chandos. “If I’m right, there’s a torrent below; but it’s some way down.”

We left the car and looked round. We could neither see nor hear water, but only, now and again, the flutter or pipe of a bird.

Perhaps thirty paces ahead, the road curled round to the left, and I walked down that way to see what I could. As I rounded the bend, I saw before and below me a sudden dell, where a tumbling rill was threading a little pasture – about half an acre of meadow, shaped like the bowl of a spoon. Long years ago, no doubt, some enterprising peasant had cleared the site of timber because of its shape, but at once I saw that it might be of use to us, for, because the dell was projecting away from the road, where it came to an end the curtain of leaves must be thinner and the fall of the ground more abrupt.

And so it proved.

Lying on the brink of the dell, we were ourselves projected some way from the mountain-side, and there, below, we could see the torrent we wanted, to which the rill was hastening by leaps and bounds. But, though, between the boughs, we could see odd fragments of country some six or eight miles away, we could not see anything nearer – much less the château we sought.

“Never mind,” said Chandos. “At least, we now know where we are – to within half a mile. And in country like this, that’s something.” He rose and stood looking round. “Funny thing, you know. I’ve used this road once today, but I never noticed that dell.”

“You were driving the van, sir,” said Carson.

“So I was,” said Chandos, and seemed very much relieved.

Then he saw my face and laughed.

“I should have seen the dell, but I didn’t. Now how was that?”

“Damn it,” said I, “one can’t see everything.”

“I like to think,” said Chandos, “that the answer is this – that the van has a left-hand drive: so the dell was out of my view.” He turned, still smiling, to Carson. “And now you get back to Orthez. Go on this way till you come to a village called Salt: and there turn sharp to the right and go as straight as you can. And tell Captain Mansel that we shall be here at sundown, whatever we know.”

A moment later, Carson went by in the Lowland, and we had begun to climb by the side of the rill.

I have made it very clear that we could not see the landscape we knew was there, because it was summertime and the trees were in leaf. As is always the way, the leafage was thickest above, and it was not the trees round about us which spoiled our view, but those which grew lower down on the mountain-side. If, therefore, we climbed up the mountain directly above the dell, we should presently come to a spot from which we could see, for the trees which had grown in the dell were no longer there, and so there would be no tree-tops to get in our way.

In fact, as Chandos said, a clearing upon a slope argues a view-point of sorts higher up on the hill: and after ten minutes’ labour we had our reward.

That the gap was much smaller than the clearing is really beside the point, for it gave us a first-class prospect of several miles, and though we could not see Midian, Chandos was able to tell where the property lay.

“I’ve overrun it,” he said. “No doubt about that. And now let’s get back, till I think we’re in front of the house. And then we’ll go down to the water and see if I’m right.”

I learned a great deal of Chandos that hot afternoon. Though I was far less heavy, he climbed far better than I, and he never fell once, though I fell time and again. He always had his bearings, though I was hopelessly lost. He recognized traces of man and bird and beast: and he always knew in a moment which was the line to take and which was treacherous ground. But though I was out of my depth, he would never allow the impression that he was the better man, but always explained his knowledge by saying that Mansel had told him in days gone by or that once he had made some blunder – far worse, of course, than mine – and that that had taught him a lesson which only a fool could forget.

So we returned to the road, walked back the way we had come and then went down to the water we could not see.

Before we had gone very far, we could hear the music it made, but as we drew nearer, the undergrowth grew very thick and the slope, which was steep enough, became precipitous. Indeed, it soon became clear that we had reached the level at which the water had run many ages ago, but now must descend a side of its personal bed – that is to say, the bed it had made for itself, by wearing away the rock over which it ran down.

This was no easy matter, because, whatever else happened, we simply must not be seen from the opposite side: for, though at this time, we did not know of the terrace of which I have spoken above, we knew that the house was not far from the edge of the cliff.

At length, however, we managed to reach a ledge some twelve feet above the torrent, which now was declaring its might, and, parting the leaves of a beech which seemed to have its roots in the rock, we looked across the water, to see a bare cliff standing up on the other side. At first we could see nothing to tell if the house was there: then Chandos craned his neck and looked upstream to the right.

For a moment he stood like a statue, then his fingers closed on my arm and I looked over his shoulder to follow his gaze.

And then for the first time I saw the long balustrade on the edge of the crag –
and two men leaning upon it, as though contemplating the view
. As I saw them they lifted their elbows and turned and passed out of our sight, but I think we both knew that they were Barabbas and Plato, as surely as if their names had been painted on the face of the cliff.

We had now contrived to ‘place’ Midian, in spite of the woods that veiled it against our eyes, and, before we did anything else, we took care to mark its position – for future reference. But not on the map, for the scale was far too small.

First we regained the woods which lay between us and the road and then we began to climb sideways along the slope, until, as Chandos judged, we should be abreast of the parapet which we had seen. To make sure, we descended again – this time to within six feet of the water’s edge, to find that his judgment was good and that now we were actually facing the length of the balustrade.

This time we saw no movement and, because we were down so low, we could not see so much as the roof of the house, but we did see a slice of some awning of red and white stripes which proved that the place was a terrace, and more than a belvedere.

Once more we climbed back to the woods, and Chandos marked the spot by jamming a moss-covered boulder between the roots of a beech. From there we climbed up to the road in a dead straight line, and Chandos marked the spot where we reached the road – by setting another boulder by the side of the way: but this time a stone of such size as no one would have believed that a man could move by himself. Yet he would not let me help him, but only bade me keep watch.

Then we found a little gully and sat down to take some rest, and when we had drunk from a little, leaping rill, Chandos produced a parcel of bread and cheese. Though this was very little, he took out his knife and divided it into two parts; and he seemed very much concerned when I said that I was not hungry, because I had eaten at Orthez an hour or so back. Though I think he must have been starving, he wrapped up my half again and stowed it away, and then devoured what was left – surely as sorry a ration as ever a giant consumed.

Then we sat and smoked for perhaps a quarter of an hour: and then we began the search which we had come out to make.

Since our labour resembled the labour which I have tried to describe, I will not set out in detail the efforts we made: but we scoured that difficult country for nearly four hours and a half, before at last we stumbled upon success.

Foliage can keep a secret as can nothing else. And now I think I know why the tellers of fairy-tales so often enfolded their castles in glancing woods, where wit and courage were useless and magic alone could prevail. For woods and forests confound and bewilder a man, denying him all those aids which he always takes for granted when he is seeking his way. And that, of course, was our trouble that afternoon. We were not only looking for something which we were not sure was there, but we spent two-thirds of our time defeating the confusion and blindness with which we were ceaselessly plagued. The sun was our compass and so our most valuable friend, and, since he knew the region, Chandos could put such friendship to excellent use: but soon after half-past four this present help was withdrawn, for some clouds rose out of the west to promise a storm.

It was nearly six o’clock, and we were descending the mountain, to verify our position by viewing the road, when we came to the sudden brink of a miniature precipice. This was not very high and had been made by some landslip in years gone by, but it was too steep to go down if we could go round, so we bore away to the right, and hoped for the best.

Now had we borne to the left, instead of the right, we should, as we afterwards found, have come to the end of the precipice almost at once: but, by bearing to the right, we were moving along its length, and so were taken considerably out of our way. This was bad enough, but when, after five or six minutes, the precipice seemed to grow deeper and, what was still more provoking, to bear to the right itself, Chandos called a halt and looked back the way we had come.

“I think we’ve come round,” he said. “I know we were facing due north: but I think we’ve come round.”

And with his words the sunlight began to come back.

Chandos glanced at his watch and then stood waiting until the sun was full out.

Then—

“I thought so,” he said. “We’re facing not quite due west, and we’re on the flank of some spur.”

Now how he perceived this truth, I cannot divine, for though I know a spur when I see it as well as anyone else, I cannot recognize features which are buried beneath a quilt some sixty feet thick: yet Chandos was right, for we
were
on the side of a spur – or of what had once been a spur, for now its lower part had fallen away.

Just as a spur-rest juts out from the line of the back of a boot, a mass of soil-covered rock was jutting out from the line of the mountain-side. And we had climbed on to its flank, without knowing what we did.

Chandos led the way up…

After a minute or two the foliage seemed to fall back, and I saw far more of the heaven than I had seen for hours: but we were not clear of the tree-tops by any means, and though we were not yet up, I could see with half an eye that our view would still be prevented, because the spur was not as tall as the trees.

But I had not looked behind me – as Chandos had…

It made the prettiest picture, framed in a dainty oval of trembling green. I could see the length of the terrace and all of the house beyond. And when I had taken my glasses and trained them on to the place, I saw that Plato was laughing with a lady whose hair was as fair as her lips were red, while two other fairies in shorts were doing a song and dance – I think, to the gramophone.

“I wonder where he got them,” said Chandos. “They’re devilish good.”

‘He’ was sitting on a couch which was slung beneath the awning a slice of which we had seen from the river’s bed – a great, big bull of a man, all dressed in white. His nose was hooked, his eyes were like two black beads and his mouth was as brutal as any I ever saw. His hair was an iron grey, and his face was red, and his jaw stuck out as though he were underhung. Even from where I sat I could see the drive that had won him the place he held, that strange, relentless force that made the others look puppets and him a puppet master that knew no law.

‘Now Barabbas was a robber.’

Perhaps he was. But this was a robber-chief.

There are many lonely barns in the Pyrénées: sturdy, stone-built aeries, to house the sweet-smelling hay which the mountain meadows yield. Sometimes, if the ground is convenient, they cover a byre, but they are part of no homestead and often stand five miles from the farm they serve.

To such a barn Carson brought us at half-past seven o’clock, and there we reported to Mansel and heard what he had to say.

“Having got so far,” he said, “I should like to have waited awhile before going on. I’ll tell you why. Because I’ve a great respect for Barabbas’ brain. And I have no doubt at all that at this particular moment he has us in mind. The provisions of George’s Will have most certainly made him think: and I should have preferred to let those thoughts die away, before proceeding to prove how well founded they were. But, you see, we cannot wait: for Plato won’t stay very long, and if we let Plato return, when he hears what Bogy says, the fat will be burnt: and if we don’t let him return – well, there just won’t be any fat. And so we must go on, without any delay.

“I think it’s clear that Chandos and I must lie low. We are in Barabbas’ country, and we must run no risk of giving our presence away.

“Audrey complicates matters – and that is the downright truth. She cannot lie low with us, for we shall lie low in this barn: and she cannot be left to stay in some village alone. So John must take charge of her and stay with her at Castelly, where she is now.”

“How far is Castelly?” I said.

“Twenty miles from Midian,” said Mansel. “I daren’t have you nearer than that. Not that Barabbas will see you, but people talk. And Midian has many servants… That’s why I’ve laid up the Rolls: she’s too conspicuous to use as a run-about.” He got to his feet and began to pace up and down. “If you play the honeymoon couple, I think you should be all right. I’d like to give you Rowley, but honeymoon couples don’t drag a chauffeur about.

“And now for tomorrow.

“I want to have a look at that cliff, so Chandos and I will survey it at break of day. And then we’ll go up to the viewpoint which you have found. You may bring Audrey there – not before eleven o’clock. But you must conceal the Lowland, before you take to your feet. There’s a large-scale map of these parts. Don’t use the roads I’ve marked.”

I took it, ruefully.

Then a hand came to rest on my shoulder.

“It’s all right, John,” said Chandos; “we’re not going to leave you behind.”

“It’s all damned fine,” said I – and the two of them laughed.

Then—

“Look at it this way,” said Mansel. “In view of all she has done, would you have the heart, John Bagot, to send Audrey Nuneham home?”

I shook my head.

“Very well. Since she is not to go home, would you be content, John Bagot, for anyone other than you to have her in charge?”

“No,” I said. “I shouldn’t.”

“Then that disposes of that – there’s no other way. Oh, and just in case, I think you should carry a weapon from this time on.” He produced a ‘life-preserver’ – a slender drum-stick of whalebone, whose knob was loaded with lead. “To be used with care,” he added. “You can split a man’s skull with that. I should carry it under your trousers, stuck into your sock.”

Then he told me how to go to Castelly and how to find the inn at which Audrey was waiting to dine: and Chandos saw me off in the Lowland and gave me what comfort he could: but I had a dreadful feeling that I was leaving the stage and from this time on I should have to watch from the wings.

“You think I’ve done this,” said Audrey.

“No, I don’t,” said I. “It never even entered my head.”

There was a little silence.

We had dined in our improvised salon and now had adjourned to the bedroom – which we were to share. A rough and ready bathroom – the pride of the little house – at once completed our suite and was going to save our face.

“Your heart’s at the barn,” said Audrey. “You’d rather be there than with me.”

I turned away from the window – and the mountains looming gigantic against a vesture of stars.

“All coins have two sides,” said I. “And so, I believe have most hearts. Mine has, anyway. And on one side of mine is your face. It will always, always be there – long after I’m dead. But I’ll deal with that in a minute. Let’s look at the other side first.

“At dawn tomorrow they’re going to get down to things. They’re going right up to Midian – they say, to survey the cliff. But I shall be here – in bed. Well, that makes me want to scream. I ought to be there. I’ve got a right to be there. But I mayn’t even be in the offing until eleven o’clock. Then I shall hear what they’ve done and what they are going to do. And when evening comes, I shall wish them luck and drive back here to Castelly.”

“The model dry-nurse,” said Audrey. “You know, it’s a shame about you.”

“And now we’ll go back,” said I, “to the other side of my heart.” I lighted her cigarette and took one myself. “When I got to the barn this evening, Mansel put the cards on the table, without any mucking about. He told me that you were here and that I was to stay with you. That order I am obeying, as a matter of course. But I want you to get this, Audrey – that if he had ordered me to stay at the barn, I should have disobeyed him and gone to you. I knew he was with you today: but when I got to the barn and I saw you weren’t there, I was like a cat on hot bricks, till he told me that you were safe. And I’ll tell you this – if I had been in his place I would never have come away and left you alone.”

Audrey opened her eyes.

“For one afternoon?… At Castelly?… Why ever not?”

“I don’t know. I just wouldn’t have done it. You see, though nobody knows it, we’re taking on Barabbas and Plato at their own game. Well, it goes without saying that that is a dangerous game. And because you are of our party, you are involved. For one thing only, you know Barabbas’ secret – the secret he’s taken such infinite pains to preserve. In a word, you now know who he is. And that knowledge alone has put you within the danger line. Well, that’s all right so long as there’s somebody with you. But—”

“The old, old story. ‘Women and children first.’”

“That saying,” said I, “will never apply to you. If anyone tried to apply it, Mansel and Chandos and I would all laugh in his face. But one thing you can’t get away from, and that is this. If harm were to come to Mansel or Chandos or me, we should call it the luck of the game and leave it there: but if harm were to come to you, we should never forgive ourselves for the rest of our lives.”

“My dear,” said Audrey, “what harm could come to me? I know as well as you that the nearest I’ll get to Midian is the top of that spur you’ve found. I’m not even going to trespass. In more romantic language, I am not and am not going without the law.”

“But you’re running with people who are: and, what is far more to the point, you are yourself in a position to give Barabbas away. If I’d known you were here alone—”

“I wasn’t,” said Audrey. “Jonah’s as bad as you. Rowley was watching the inn, till he saw you arrive.”

“That’s more like it,” said I, and felt strangely relieved.

In fact, my spirits rose, for I had been worried to think that Mansel had not taken a precaution which my instinct advised.

I stood to the window again and stared at the topless hills. But though my thoughts went back again to the barn, the image of Audrey was, so to speak, superimposed. I saw her clean-cut beauty, as I had seen it tonight and so many times: I saw her waking and sleeping, and I saw her at work and at play: I saw her slim, brown hands and her slender throat – and the curls which Bell had trimmed, because ‘it would take too long to go to a barber’s shop’: I saw the stars in her eyes and the pride of her parted lips and I saw her smile – the light of her countenance…

I never heard her move, but I found her standing beside me, looking into the night.

When she spoke, she spoke very low.

“Shall I go to London, St John? I will, if you’d like it. I don’t…want to…cramp your style.”

I put my arm about her and held her against my heart.

“If you went to London,” I said, “I should go with you: until this show is over, I cannot leave you alone.” I drew in my breath. “I suppose I’ll be able to then: I suppose, perhaps, I shall have to – though God knows how I shall do it, after these days. You see, you’ve become part of me – the principal part. Take you away, and what’s left isn’t worth having, and that’s the truth. So when I take care of you, I’m taking care of myself. It’s the instinct of self-preservation that makes me look after you.”

I felt her sigh.

“You give and I take – as usual. Oh, St John, shall we ever do anything else?”

“Honours are even,” said I. “You give just as much as I do, my darling girl. What woman was ever sweeter to any man? You’re not in love with me, though I am with you. Yet, to make me happy, you let me show you my love – you let me play the lover, as I am playing it now. If I liked to ask tonight, I know you’d deny me nothing, because, though you don’t really love me, you’d think it would be unfair to me to refuse. That is your god – fairness: at any cost to yourself, you’ve got to be fair. Your sex, your beauty, your style – these things don’t count with you. In your eyes, you and I are just two human beings; and since, as you seem to believe, I’ve been more or less fair to you, you’re determined to be fair back, whatever it costs.”

Her head came to rest on my shoulder, and her hair was against my face.

“It costs me nothing, my darling. I tried to make you see that the other day. I’m being natural with you, as you’re being natural with me. And I think more girls would be natural, if there were more men like you. Ten minutes ago I had my armour on – the armour I always wear with everyone – except you. But you have disarmed me – as usual. Piece by piece, St John, you’ve taken it off – and made me ashamed and sorry I put it on.”

There was a little silence, because, to be honest, I could not control my voice.

Then—

“All my life,” I said thickly, “I shall remember those words. No one but Audrey Nuneham could have said such a handsome thing.”

She made no answer to that: but she lifted her head and brushed my face with her lips.

I turned her round and held her up in my arms. “Who gives and who takes?” I said, with my eyes upon hers.

She set her hands upon my shoulders.

“That wasn’t giving,” she said, with the rarest smile. “That was an acknowledgment.”

I woke with a start the next morning at six o’clock. Then I saw Audrey asleep some four feet away, and the sight of her let recollection out of the slips.

At once I repaired to our bathroom, there to make my toilet before she should wake: but when I came out, she was sitting up ‘doing her hands’ – to my mind, a wanton proceeding, for Nature had ‘done’ them for ever, when Audrey was born.

Whilst she was rising, I got the Lowland out and had the tank filled at some pump: and then we had breakfast together, before setting out from Castelly at eight o’clock.

I fear this was earlier than Mansel had meant us to start, but I wished to approach the spur by some way other than that which Chandos and I had found: and this, of course, would take time, for I had to discover a way. The truth was I wished, if we could, to avoid that shelf-like road which Chandos and I had frequented the day before; for it was not a road which a tourist would willingly take, still less a road upon which he would waste any time, because, as I have shown, there was nothing to see. Then, again, I could remember no track, running out of that road, upon which we should have a chance of concealing the car: and that was a serious matter, for a car is not like a tank, but must have a decent surface on which to move.

All this I explained to Audrey, who fully agreed with me: and the end of it was that we took a mountain road some four miles south of the water above which Midian stood. If the map was true, this road turned north, towards Midian, before it had gone very far, and though I was rather afraid that we might have to climb some shoulder before we could get to the spur, that seemed more satisfactory than haunting the other road and trying to find some harbour which was not there.

In the night some rain had fallen, but now the sky was clear, and what with this and the very brilliant sunshine, the country looked more legendary than real. The mountains were all about us, and hanging woods and pastures neighboured the way we took: I never saw verdure so green or the detail of distance so sharp: and almost every bend would disclose some magnificent prospect, as rich and soft and peaceful as though it were tapestry. I do not think we met or passed twenty people in twenty miles, and when once or twice we stopped, to consider the map, such sounds as we heard were those of Nature alone, although the air was as still as that of a crypt.

As though for our convenience, from the moment our road turned north, it began to rise by zigzags to gain some height, and after five or six minutes we came to the grey-green saddle to which it led. From there, as was natural enough, it began to run down: but a grass-grown track ran on up, to lose itself in the trees.

In silence Audrey stopped, and I got out of the Lowland and took to the track.

This showed no signs of usage, and after ten or twelve paces the metalling disappeared and only the grass was left. And then it curled to the right and came to a sudden end, for the mountain rose up like a wall as though to arrest its course.

Not being used to mountains, I found this strange, for the track had been well made a good while ago, and yet it led to nothing and served no purpose at all. And then I saw the answer to the riddle. Years ago the track had been overwhelmed. An avalanche had fallen, to blot it out: an avalanche, so mighty that those who had made the track had thrown in their hand, preferring to lose their labour rather than fight a battle which Hercules would have shirked. And now the avalanche was part of the mountain-side; and the track had become a cloister, kept by the birds and beasts.

Had we sought for a month, I am sure we could not have found a spot so safe and convenient in which to bestow the car; and before five minutes were past, the Lowland was standing silent at the foot of the mountain wall, with beeches and chestnuts about her and the bend of the track behind: and since she made no marks where she left the road, no passer-by would have dreamed that she was at hand.