Gale Warning (24 page)

The thing was a match-stand – a solid ball of glass, that must have weighed a pound and a half. It had been standing on the table by Audrey’s side – and had been knocked off the table when Barabbas threw down the cigar-box, to ease his wrath. And Audrey’s deft fingers had caught it and had whipped it on to the sofa and out of sight.

“Drop your hands to my lap,” said Plato.

We did as he said.

I looked straight ahead, as did Audrey. But Plato was looking at me. I could see him with the tail of my eye, and I dared not move.

I was armed, and he was beside me – instead of three paces away: but because of that cursed pistol, his attention must be distracted before I could strike. One instant – the fifth of a second was all I asked. But, as though he was aware of his danger, his bloodshot eyes never left me for one single moment of time.

I watched him hitch up his trousers, leg by leg. Then he put his right arm about Audrey and held her tight.

I sometimes think that he meant to force my hand – to goad me into showing him violence and so give him an excuse for taking my life. Be that as it may, I cannot believe that restraint has ever been tested as my restraint was tested that summer night.

I sat like a rock, waiting. But his eyes were fast upon me, as though he were determined to deny me the chance for which I was ready to sell my soul.

I saw his fingers appear above Audrey’s breast…Then I saw them enter the front of her open-necked shirt…

And then –
I saw his face change
.

“Hullo,” he said. “What’s this?” And, with that, he drew out Mansel’s letter…the letter which I had forgotten, which Audrey and I were to post.

And between his surprise and excitement, he lowered his guard…

As he glanced at the superscription, the match-stand met his temple with all my might.

Although I say it, it was a sledgehammer blow: and it cracked his skull as one cracks the shell of an egg.

He never moved and he never uttered a cry: but he just fell forward sideways, with his head against Audrey’s knee.

In a flash she had slipped her cuff, and we were both up on our feet, and I had the dead man’s pistol in my right hand.

“The letter,” I breathed.

“I have it.”

She touched her skirt.

“On to the terrace, then. I’ll put you over the wall.”

We whipped to the nearest window.

“Watch the door,” I breathed, as I put my hand to the latch which was locking the shutters to.

Very gently I eased up the steel; and when it was free, I pushed the shutters apart.

The terrace was full of shadows: the dusk was in. “Come,” I said. “We’ll have to chance the alarms.”

As we stepped on to the flags, I heard her catch her breath and she seized my pistol arm.

Then—

“Well done, John,” breathed Mansel. “I knew she was safe with you.”

We had to wait nearly ten minutes before Barabbas re-entered the room he had left. Though he had returned at once, the result would have been the same; but by that time all was ready for his reception.

The terrace was now in darkness, for there is next to no twilight at the foot of the Pyrénées. Audrey was standing there, with her back to one of the walls; and Bell and Rowley, both armed, were standing, one on her right and one on her left. And Carson also was there – standing with his hand on the shutters which we had put to, and watching the long façade for a sign of life.

(As though to assist our purpose, not a light went up that evening in any room facing south: but we afterwards learned that, in view, no doubt, of the capture he meant to make, Barabbas had sent the women to spend the night at Biarritz and had ordered the servants to their quarters, to stay there until he rang.)

Within the room all was in order.

Plato’s body was gone; and so was the blood-stained match-stand with which I had taken his life: and so was a Persian strip which had lain in front of the sofa and so had been marked.

Mansel was standing by the doorway through which Barabbas must come – in such a way that the door, as it opened, would hide him from anyone coming in.

Wearing the dead man’s jacket, Chandos had taken his seat on the tall club-kerb. He was sitting as Plato had sat – as Plato would have been sitting, but for the reckless malice which cost the blackguard his life. His right hand was holding a pistol, and the other was cupping his chin, and he would have passed for Plato – for two or three moments of time.

The sofa, of course, was empty: but that was of no account, for, because its back was as high as its seat was low, no one sitting upon it could well have been seen from the door.

And I was crouching behind a great, leather chair, on the other side of the doorway to that on which Mansel stood.

So we waited…in silence…in the shambles…for the sheep that we meant to kill.

It was a strange experience.

A few yards off, Barabbas was speaking to London, seeking news of the men who were now in his private room. A few yards off, the man in whose charge he had left us was lying dead. A few yards off, the lady whom he had mishandled was waiting for him to die, before leaving his grounds.

No position, I suppose, was ever so utterly reversed. Yet Barabbas had no idea that any change had been made.

I wondered what Audrey was thinking – and wished that she could have been gone: but we dared not let her go down to that angry water, until we were free to go with her and bear her up. One thing I knew very well: that was that she did not deplore the execution to come. She had had a ‘close-up’ of evil – had seen for herself that some men are not fit to live.

The death of Plato had not touched her, so far as I saw: she could not shrink from him living, but she had not shrunk from him dead: she had been relieved – that was all…immensely relieved and thankful that I had been able to put him where he belonged. But, vile as Plato was, he did not compare with Barabbas for inhumanity. The latter was monstrous. Plato was loathsome enough: but his face was not near so brutal, his form was not near so gross, and he had not that beastly presence – that savage, dominant will-power that reeked of lust and cruelty and hatred of God and man. Barabbas was the embodiment of evil – and evil paramount. Looking upon him, you knew that he was possessed.

Myself, I felt as though we were awaiting some tiger, a dangerous, man-eating brute, whose death would be hailed with relief by the district in which he moved.

With my eyes upon Mansel, I waited…for the beast to approach his kill…

And then I saw Mansel stiffen, as though he had heard some sound.

For a moment, he listened intently.

Then he nodded his head, and stood back beside the door.

Then I heard Barabbas coming – after the way of a squall.

And, as a squall, the fellow burst into the room, spouting an oath more frightful than any I ever heard.

In fact, he threw open the door, and, as he passed in, he put out his right hand to catch it and slam it to. But before the door met its frame, Mansel had caught and was holding Barabbas’ right wrist.

I heard the oath snap off short, and rose from behind my chair, to see the man standing quite still, regarding Mansel’s pistol as if it were something unclean.

I had his left wrist in a flash, and Chandos rose up from the fender and came up to where we stood.

“I’ll take him, John,” he said quietly. “You take his pistol away.”

As I did this office, Barabbas spat in my face.

“You’re perfectly right,” said Mansel. “John Bagot’s the rock you’ve split on from first to last. It was he who spotted Kingdom, and he who followed here: and, ten minutes back, he killed him – and opened the shutters for us. Oh, and by the way, my name’s Mansel: and that is Richard Chandos, who now is holding your wrists.”

With that, he put up his pistol and, stepping back two paces, sat down on the arm of a chair.

Barabbas made no reply: but I think Mansel’s casual demeanour had turned the iron in his soul.

His face was now contorted into the semblance of some gargoyle, designed by a mind diseased; and, as gargoyles thrust out from a gutter, so he was leaning forward and poking his dreadful head. His brutal mouth was gaping, the lips drawn clear of the teeth: his burning eyes were screwed up, as those of a baby about to burst into tears: and his skin was the colour of cigar-ash, while its many lines and creases might have been done in blue chalk.

Mansel folded his hands and crossed his legs.

“You’ve had quite a good run,” he said. “You’ve lived damned soft and you’ve made a lot of money by paying less fortunate blackguards to steal and do murder for you. And you might have gone on for years…if you hadn’t stepped out of your ground.” He unfolded a sheet of paper and held it up. “You remember this piece of paper? “ The guilty eyelids flickered. “I see you do. That was your boast to me that Lord St Omer was dead – a man as honest and faithful as you are foul. You lay for him and you murdered him out of spite: and you may have thought that his death would frighten us off. Any way, you made a mistake – the mistake of your life.”

Barabbas opened his mouth.

“If that dung-livered —, Kingdom —”

“Believe me,” said Mansel, “Kingdom took every care. But Bagot’s best was rather better than his. And in any event you’ll very soon see him again – and be able yourself to tell him how strongly you feel.”

Barabbas appeared to shrink. Then, without any warning, he tried to set himself free.

I know that I started forward, but Mansel caught my arm.

“Leave him to William,” he said. “He hasn’t a chance.”

So I stood and he sat, watching, while Barabbas fought for his life with a man who was stronger than he.

Barabbas was powerfully built and must have stood six feet two: then, again, he was desperate – and desperation can almost double your strength. But though he fought like a madman, he fought in vain.

Astride, like some grim Colossus, Richard Chandos might have been made of bronze. His body never moved, but only his wrists. Though these were not of steel, they did their duty as well as could have any fetters that ever were forged. Plunging, straining and writhing, Barabbas conveyed the impression that he was cuffed to some staple built into a wall; and all his frantic violence sank to the petty level of that of a naughty child.

Yet it was no childish violence which he displayed: before he had done, his face, which had been dry, was running with sweat and, when at last he stood still, he was breathing fast and deep, as a man who has finished some race.

As though there had been no interruption—

“One thing more,” said Mansel, “and then I have done. I think that you ought to know that only this afternoon the lady Audrey Nuneham prayed me to spare your life. Naturally, I refused, though she did her very utmost to bring me round. Then she begged me to spare you for twenty-four hours – to kill you tomorrow evening, instead of tonight. And that request I granted, because she begged so hard… Of course, that’s all washed out, because when you carried her off, you forced my hand: but I think that you ought to know that the lady whom you have mishandled was your own advocate.”

Barabbas was staring at me.

Then he spoke – in a very thick voice.

“I want to be ready for Kingdom. How did you get him down?”

So far as I was concerned, that was the grimmest moment of all that terrible night, for here was a malefactor, standing upon the drop, yet so far from considering how he should meet his God, preparing to deal with his late accomplice in crime and actually seeking information to serve his filthy turn in the world to come.

His demand provoked a picture so shocking that for two or three moments I could not find my voice: then I told him the truth, because it seemed indecent to lie to a dying man.

“He sat down between us,” I said, “and I brought over my left.”

Barabbas set his teeth.

“And Bogy?” he said. “How did you work that wire?”

Mansel got to his feet.

“That’s our secret,” he said. “If it’s any use to you, it was nobody’s fault.” Then he spoke to Chandos. “Let him go, William,” he said.

I shall never know which was the most astonished, Barabbas or I. The two of us stared upon Mansel, open-mouthed.

Then Barabbas brought round his hands, and lowered his head, as though to examine his wrists.

As he did so, Mansel hit him – on the point of the jaw. This, with his bare fist: but Barabbas’ head went back as though he had been kicked by a horse, and Chandos caught his body and held it up.

Mansel was speaking to me: but his voice seemed a great way off.

“Go out to Audrey,” he said, “and turn her face to the wall.”

Feeling considerably shaken, I turned to do as he said…

At first I could not see her. Then Rowley stepped out of the shadows.

“Her ladyship’s here, sir,” he said.

Her hands came out for mine, and I carried them on to my shoulders and set my back to the wall.

We never spoke, but I held her head in my hands, while Mansel and Chandos went by – with Barabbas’ body between them, to cast it over the cliff.

This done, they threw down Plato’s, as well as the match-stand with which I had taken his life. But they left his coat on the terrace, as if he had flung it down before plunging into the flood.

Then Mansel came to where we were standing.

“I want you a moment, John.”

I followed him back to the room which had seen and heard so much evil and now was to know no more.

“Except for the match-stand,” said Mansel, “did you touch anything here?”

“Only the pistols,” I said. “And the shutter’s latch.”

“Did Audrey?”

I shook my head.

Then he told me to take the two pistols and throw them over the cliff and then to ask Audrey to lend him her handkerchief.

I was as quick as I could be. When I got back, Chandos and he were going over the parquet, searching for any traces that might have been left. (It must be remembered that when they had reached the terrace, they had been dripping wet, and that though they had been rubbed down and had put on trousers and socks which had been wrapped up in oiled silk, such toilet had been hastily made – and water which falls upon parquet will leave a mark unless it is wiped away.) Two or three marks there were: so I took off my shirt, which was dry, and using this as a rubber, Chandos and I between us polished them out. Whilst we were doing this, Mansel was wiping with brandy the shutter’s latch I had touched: this, with the help of my lady’s handkerchief, which he soaked from a massive decanter, ready to hand. And then, for good and all, we went out of that cursed room, leaving the lights full on and the shutters ajar, to find the terrace alive with little eddies of wind and see the lightning playing over the western hills.

“As I hoped and prayed,” breathed Mansel. “A storm is just what we want. And now before we go, is there anything else?”

“The strip of carpet,” I said.

“We shall have to sink that,” said Mansel, “and hope for the best.”

Then he and Chandos and I went up to where Audrey was standing with Rowley and Bell: but Carson stood fast where he was, with his eyes on the house.

“Everyone listen,” said Mansel. “We have but one object in view – to rush you two back to Castelly as quickly as ever we can. But you must return in the Lowland, as you set out. Chandos will see you into and out of the water and so to the Vane. Rowley will drive you to the Lowland – you’ll have to show him the way. After that, you will shift for yourselves, explaining your soaked condition by saying you were caught in the storm. Tomorrow, wet or fine, you will, as usual, drive out for the whole of the day: and every day you will do that, until I send.

“One thing more. On the way to the Lowland, Rowley will stop at the barn. There he will pick up a hacksaw, to cut that cuff from John’s wrist. That he will do himself, while Audrey is bringing the Lowland on to the road.

“And now, if you please, we’ll be gone. You two will have to be lowered, because you’ve never climbed up. Chandos and Bell and Rowley will, therefore, go first.”

“And you and Carson?” said Audrey.

“We shall follow,” said Mansel. “Those dogs have got to come out. Besides, they’re just what we want to sink that strip of carpet and keep it down.”

I shall always maintain that, though she was roped, to go down that cliff in the darkness and enter that angry snow-broth was a lot to ask of a girl. But Audrey never faltered or gave any trouble at all, but did without any question exactly as she was bid.

So all went smoothly enough.

Chandos descended the cliff, with the end of the rope in his teeth. When he was ready, he signalled, by tugging it twice; and then he let his end go and I pulled it up. While Mansel made it fast about Audrey, I folded the strip of carpet and made it into a pad to lay on the balustrade: then I took hold of the rope and made ready to take the strain. Mansel tested his knots: then he picked Audrey up and swung her over the edge…