Gale Warning (23 page)

Plato appealed to Barabbas.

“Are you going to let him sit there and call me a fool?”

“Why not?” spat Barabbas. “It isn’t a lie, is it?” He got to his feet. “If he called you a wash-out, he’d be a bit nearer the mark.” He took a step towards Plato, and Plato retired. “Sunk by a couple of children…an’ one of them featured that day in a paper you read.”

With that, he turned on his heel, stamped to a table by Audrey, picked up a silver cigar-box and wrenched at its lid. This gave way with a jerk, and seven or eight cigars fell on to the floor, but Barabbas let them lie and, taking one that was left, slammed the lid to and pitched the box back on the table, to ease his wrath. Then he returned to the fireplace, lit his cigar and pitched the match into the grate.

Then he spoke without looking round.

“How far did you get that day?”

I thought very fast.

“To Tours,” I said. “But he gave us the slip that night.”

“Where did you find him again?”

“At Poitiers. I was sending a wire, and—”

“Who to?”

“To Mansel.”

“Why?”

“I’d promised to wire if I’d lost him for twenty-four hours.”

“What time was this?”

“Seven o’clock?”

Barabbas turned to Plato.

“You hear what he says.”

Plato snarled, rather than spoke.

“An’ I say he wasn’t there.”

“Then how,” said Barabbas, “how did he know
you were
?”

Plato shifted his ground.

“Yes, an’ what price Bogy?” he cried. “Didn’t he OK Bagot? Wires he’s at Shepherd’s Market – five hundred — miles off… An’ all the time the —’s standing beside me… Are you going to say that’s my fault?”

“Bogy be damned,” roared Barabbas. “What’s the use of a lying wire, when you’ve got two eyes in your head?”

With a working face, Plato sat back in his chair.

Barabbas returned to me.

“Where did you wire to Mansel?”

“I never did,” said I. “When I saw Kingdom, I tore the telegram up.”

“Where had you addressed that wire?”

“To Cleveland Row.”

“Did you wire later on?”

“I did not.”

“Why didn’t you wire later on?”

“Because I was only to wire if I’d lost him for twenty-four hours.”

“Why only then?”

I hesitated. Then—

“Because he doesn’t like getting wires when he knows he’s watched.”

Barabbas looked at Plato: and Plato averted his eyes.

“Have you written to Mansel?” said Barabbas.

“Yes.”

“When did you write?”

“The day before yesterday.”

“What did you say?”

“I said that Kingdom was here.”

His eyes like slits, his face like some dreadful mask, Barabbas sat still as death; and I sat still before him, watching the effect of my statement and doing my very utmost to fathom his thoughts.

I had tried to do two things. I had tried to convince him that Mansel was not at hand and to divert to Plato the beastly rage which might any moment break out. (It had gone against the grain to suppress the pungent truth that Plato himself had conveyed me for forty miles; but if I had told him that, it might have dawned upon him that some hand other than Bogy’s had sent the telegram which Plato received; and that, of course, would have been fatal, for he would have known in a flash that such finesse as that had never come out of my brain.) How far my attempts had succeeded, I could not judge, for the brutal face before me gave nothing away. But I knew that he must be weighing his chances of saving the game – that is to say, his chances of dealing with Mansel, before the latter had actually opened his mouth.

Except to be seen upon the terrace, I had no plan. Indeed, I was counting upon Mansel, for I did not see how without him we could emerge from the peril in which we stood. This was extremely grave. Since Audrey was at their mercy, I dared resist no order they cared to give. Violence was out of the question: with a brace of pistols against me, all I had was a bludgeon, stuck into my sock: then again I was cuffed to Audrey, while my seat was so deep and so low that to spring to my feet was wholly beyond my power. Yet if we were to gain the terrace, we had no time to lose, for a clock behind Barabbas declared it was half-past eight, and the light would begin to fail before nine o’clock.

I never looked at my lady: but I held her fingers in mine – and found them as cool and as steady as once they had been in a meadow, not very far from Dieppe. And that, to be honest, inspired me as nothing else could have done: for if she, in the face of a danger which neither Mansel nor Chandos was minded to court, could display a composure so fine, then I, ‘the tougher vessel,’ ought at least to be able to keep my head – and to seize and exploit, if it came, the slightest chance of bringing her out of a pass into which she should never have come.

I cannot say if Barabbas was looking at me, but that Plato was I know, for though I was watching Barabbas, I could see him with the tail of my eye. His face was as red as that of his master was grey, and was shining all over with sweat; and it seemed to be bigger than usual – perhaps, because it was charged to the full with blood ; but I must confess that I did not like the look in his eyes… The bright stare of Murder is not an agreeable sight.

“Where – is – Mansel – now?”

The question was bound to come, and I met it as best I could.

“I believe him to be in London. I may be wrong. He’d have got my letter this morning. I think it more than likely he’ll leave tonight. But Mansel keeps his own counsel. Unless it is necessary, he never tells anyone else what he’s going to do.”

Barabbas drew his pistol. Then he stepped up to the sofa and thrust the mouth of the weapon against my throat.

“Look to your right,” he ordered.

I did as he said.

I saw him place his left hand upon Audrey’s curls. Then he lifted her forelock, twisted this round his finger and closed his fist. This action brought his knuckles against the top of her head. Then, without shifting his hand, he began to turn it over, towards the back of her neck…

I saw the lock take the strain.

The sweat was breaking on my forehead, but Audrey sat like a statue, with the faintest smile on her lips.

I saw the skin rise up…that delicate patch of skin in which were growing the roots of the lock which Barabbas held.

“Where – is – Mansel – now?”

Somehow I made answer.

“I can only tell you the truth. I think he will leave London tonight. But I do not know.”

Audrey’s skin was stretched tight. In another instant, the roots of the lock would give way, and a piece of her beautiful hair would be torn from her head. And the mouth of the monster’s pistol was sinking into my throat.

“Why do you do this?” I said. “You know far better than I do where Mansel is. I don’t believe he’s left London; but I don’t
know
. But you
do
know. If Mansel were to leave London, you know as well as I do you’d hear it within two hours.”

It was a bow at a venture. I knew – and had reason to know – that no one but Plato knew where Barabbas lived. But Barabbas did not know that I knew it. And what more natural than that I should assume that, when Plato had left for Midian, the secret had been committed to Bogy’s charge?

The brutal fingers relaxed, and the tortured skin sank down. Then the pistol left my throat, and Barabbas stepped back.

Audrey was very pale. When I made to press her hand, I found that I had it fast in a grip of iron. But when I let go her fingers, they closed upon mine.

“Where is Chandos?” said Barabbas.

“I think he’s at Mansel’s flat.”

“Did you tell them to come to Castelly?”

“I told them that I was there.”

“Why – were – you – at – Castelly?”

“I thought it was – far enough off.”

“Why didn’t you go hack to England two days ago?”

“Because the arrangement was that if I ran Kingdom to earth, I was to stay somewhere near—”

“–until Mansel arrived?”

“He didn’t say that. ‘Pending further instructions,’ was what he said.”

“Were you told to scout round?” said Barabbas.

I answered him bitterly.

“Mansel’s not such a fool.”

“Why – did – you – scout – round?”

I put a hand to my head.

“I hoped…if he came…to be able…to give him some news.”

Barabbas leaned forward.

“‘When’ – not ‘if,’” he said softly. “You hoped, when he came, to be able to give him some news.” He snatched his cigar from his lips, and flung it down on the floor. “Perhaps this’ll teach him not to put stage-struck Cissies into the line against me. ‘Mansel’s not such a fool.’ Only a fool would have used you, you blind — calf. And only a — fool would have let you tear into pieces the goods which you’d got away with by God’s own accident.” He turned upon Plato, whose face was now something less red. “Write down Bogy’s number and give it to me.”

The Kingdom of Heaven stared.

“Bogy’s number? You’re not going to ring him up?”

Barabbas stamped upon the floor.

“Bogy’s number, you —. If Mansel’s leaving London. I want to know when he goes.”

Plato got to his feet and passed to the writing-table between the doors. Then he came up to Barabbas and gave him a slip of paper, folded in two.

Barabbas glanced at this. Then he put it into his pocket and rose to his feet.

“Cover these two,” he said shortly. “And no funny business with Bagot. I don’t want a mess on this floor.”

Plato drew his pistol and took his seat on the kerb: and Barabbas passed round the great sofa and out of my view.

I heard him stamp over the parquet and come to the door: and then he slammed it behind him, and Plato and we were alone.

Fool or no, I knew that this was our chance – our chance to gain the terrace, before the dusk had come in. And, fool or no, I knew that, if we could not escape, then I must have Plato’s pistol before Barabbas came back. If not, I should surely die; for, once he had spoken with Bogy, he would have but one idea – to put an end to my life. That filthy passion which he had so long controlled would know no law but that of its own demands. And Audrey would be left to the mercy of two relentless butchers, who had their backs to the wall.

I shot a glance at the clock.

A quarter to nine.

I reckoned that I could count on a quarter of an hour: it would take at least so long for the call to be made: and whilst he was waiting, Barabbas would not come back, for he did not wish any servant to hear the number he gave.

A quarter of an hour…in which to knock Plato out… Plato, half sitting, half standing three paces away…whilst I was sunk in a sofa from which I could not spring up…And Plato was holding a pistol: but I was cuffed to Audrey, and both my hands were bare…

Audrey was scratching my palm with a fingernail – a very tiny movement, of which I was just aware.

I let my eyes travel down Plato, until they came to his feet. Then I dropped my head and stared at my own. And then, still looking down, I glanced to my right.

At first I could not think what Audrey wished to convey, for her chin was up and she was staring before her, either at Plato or at something behind his head. Then I saw a muscle move in her bare, right arm…

That led me down to her hand –
which was out of sight
.

And then I perceived the truth.

Audrey was concealing some weapon which she was ready to give me and I must be ready to take.

I looked again at our warder – to meet his venomous stare and to rack my brain for some way of distracting the fellow’s attention for only one moment of time.

It was the distance between us that came near to breaking my heart. From his point of view, it was perfect: he was neither too near, nor too far. He could observe the slightest movement we made. What was almost more to the point, he could have killed me twice over, before I could have left the sofa and covered the three short paces which lay between him and me.

As though he divined my thoughts, a hideous leer began to disfigure his face. Then he glanced from me to Audrey – and licked his repulsive lips.

Then he looked back at me.

“How did you know,” he said, “that I liked them young?”

So the Kingdom of Heaven pronounced his own sentence of death. Whether I could carry it out was another matter: but the dreadful saying lent me an iron resolution, such as in all my life I had never known. Had Audrey begged for his life, I would have laughed in her face; if she had tried to prevent me, I would have struck her aside. And it was not fear for Audrey that stopped me from standing up; but only the fear that my victim might save himself by shooting me down before I could reach his throat.

I tried to keep the blood lust out of my eyes…

Plato was fingering his chin.

Then he bared his left wrist and, after a long look at me, shot a glance at his watch.

I watched him hungrily. He seemed to me to be trying to make up his mind – to decide if he could do something, before Barabbas came back.

I began to will him to do it. Whatever it was, it was better than that he should sit still, observing my every movement, three paces away.

Again he fingered his chin.

Then he glanced at the door and got to his feet.

“Put up your two hands,” he said, “as you did in the car.”

I could hardly believe my ears.

He was going to sit down between us…To spite me by fondling Audrey,
he was going to sit down between us – and hand me my heart’s desire.

I pressed Audrey’s fingers twice. Then I raised my right hand up, taking her left hand with it, as I had done when Barabbas had entered the car.

Plato stepped up to the sofa and deftly passed his pistol from his right hand into his left. Then he leaned forward and down and thrust the weapon’s muzzle against my ribs. Holding it there, he backed round, till he felt the edge of the sofa under his hocks.

As he turned, I put out my left hand – behind my back: and there was Audrey’s right hand, with the weapon which she had concealed.

As Plato took his seat, my left hand, no longer empty, sank down between my thigh and the sofa’s arm.