The Trail of Fear (5 page)

In a flash he did the only thing possible. With a hurried word to the others he turned sharp to the left up the roof pulling himself up by the help of one of the chimney-stacks. Sam was just beside him and they both gave a hand to Harrap. In a moment they were all crouched in the dark angle formed by the chimney springing from about halfway up the roof. Behind them the slates sloped up still further to the top, whence the roof descended in a sweep to the back of the house. The sounds of pursuit drew close.

They lay there trying to restrain their gasping breath and thankful that the light was such that the detectives could not have seen them turn aside.

The two parties of their pursuers met just at the stack behind which their quarry lay hid and conferred together in low tones. Rezaire could catch a word here and there, but evidently they were momentarily at a loss to account for the disappearance. Then he heard one of them say something about chimneys, and they separated again going in opposite directions. They had seen that the only possible hiding place was behind the chimneys and they were going to search the whole row thoroughly from end to end, to ensure that their quarry did not slip away.

Rezaire, his face pressed against the rough dirty brickwork of the chimney, peered around the corner. In all there were more than half a dozen and they were going to begin a thorough search of the small space within the two roofs. Lying hid with the other two, he was conscious that, despite his own position, he was glad that Viv at any rate had probably got away. Nevertheless, he did not see how he himself was going to escape—and with every minute his chances seemed to be growing less.

CHAPTER V

ON THE ROOF

“Where's Viv?” asked Sam in a quick whisper, as the detectives moved away to either end.

“Don't know,” lied Rezaire, and Harrap added: “She's probably pinched by now.”

They lay there in silence wondering what to do next.

Then a new hope came into Rezaire's mind. If by any chance they could again get along to the end unperceived, they might be able to force their way down the fire escape which with luck might now be poorly guarded. But it was obvious they could not get past the police in the trough of the roof without being seen, whereas if they stayed where they were they would soon be discovered. Therefore, their only chance—and a poor one too—was to get along on the crest of the roof. He at once whispered this to the others, who were by now prepared for anything; in fact, they were doubtful whether they would get away at all.

“I'm sick of this eternal chatting and dodging of yours,” Sam said. “The next chance I get I'm going to shoot like a man or have a go with my knife and bad luck to anyone who tries to stop me.”

“So'm I,” added Harrap.

“You're fools,” said Rezaire tersely. “If you start shooting the police will start, and if you hit it's probably hanging instead of quod.”

“Well, I'm going to get down somehow,” retorted Harrap. “I'm not a blasted cat to go crawling all night over the tiles. For the Lord's sake,” he added with an undercurrent of fear in his voice, “let's get where we can walk on ground level.”

“Oh, shut up and come on!” interposed Rezaire tersely.

Sam was the first up, scrambling with as little noise as possible from the chimney up the last portion of the roof to the summit where he crouched down so as not to be seen against the sky. Their pursuers were still some distance away on either side working from the ends in their search behind the chimney-stacks. Rezaire next pulled himself up behind Sam and together they gave Harrap a hand. All of them were now astride the roof-pitch and the slight fog that had arisen swirled about them, giving a sense of unreality and giddiness. Harrap looking down shivered slightly. On the one side they could barely see into the dip between the roofs, but on the other the projecting dormer windows of the attics which faced the back stood up at intervals in a detached fashion, as if floating in the mist, while between them was the steep outer slope of the roof with a sheer drop into the back gardens.

Rezaire began to work himself along straddle-legged. He dared not let himself think about the drop on his right, down the steep roof past the dormers into the garden, but despite his efforts his imagination conjured up picture after terrible picture. He tried to concentrate on not making a noise. Already he could hear voices and the clattering of heavy boots on the slates as their opponents conducted their search along the roof. Would he be able to escape notice as they went past? They would search behind the chimney-stacks, but would the darkness and fog conceal a figure further up on the ridge of the roof itself with the sky behind? He doubted it but there was just a chance. Anyway there was only one way of finding out—by trial; trial and probable error. Behind him he could hear the occasional faint scrape of Sam's boots, otherwise they were moving soundlessly. Any noise they might make was being drowned in that made by the police as they helped one another up at each successive chimney springing.

They had gone some little distance along when Sam touched his shoulder and nodded.

“Harrap's afraid,” he whispered and Rezaire looked back. There, some way behind, almost indistinguishable in the darkness, crouched the little man Harrap, a dim shadow pressed close to the roof. His nerve had gone and he dared not move either way.

“Damned weakling,” muttered Sam.

“Go back and give him a hand.”

“I'm hanged if I do. He oughtn't to…”

“Well, I will…”

“Look here,” whispered Sam fiercely. “You go right on or I'll stick a knife in you. You're going to help me to escape and you can let those other two rip for all I care.”

“He's getting down again behind the chimney now. The fool! That's just where they are looking. He'll be caught as sure as anything. Shh…”

The police were coming nearer. They were making a very thorough search. Surely they must see anyone on the top of the roof? Only a cat could have escaped them—unless a man could have got down the steep slope on the outer side of the roof while they passed.

Rezaire straddled on a few cautious yards, Sam just behind him. Then he stopped again and put his lips close to Sam's ear: “They'll see us when they come,” he breathed.

“Well, then we'll shoot and run for it.”

“They'll shoot us too; there are almost half a dozen of them.”

“Can't we get down on the far side of this roof?” Rezaire shuddered. The idea had occurred to him, but it was terrifying, repugnant. He thought of the drop beneath. There was nothing, not even a parapet at the lower edge.

“We must do something quick,” muttered Sam; “they're coming.”

It was quite true. They could almost now see the dim figures of the Scotland Yard men. They were at the chimney-stack about ten yards away.

“Quick!” whispered Sam again. “Go over and hang by your hands from the top. It's the only chance.”

As he spoke he swung himself outward and let himself slip a little way down the further side of the roof till he lay flat against it, his hands gripping the ridge piece at the top. Rezaire took a deep breath and nerved himself to follow his example. In another moment they were hanging there side by side on the steep slope of the slated roof. The noise they made had evidently reached their pursuers' ears, for their voices suddenly ceased. There was silence and then Rezaire heard one of them say: “Could have sworn I heard something.”

Then another voice replied: “I suppose there's nowhere else they could have gone?”

“Unless they've gone over the roof and dropped fifty feet into the garden or the road.”

The search resumed for a minute or two and then the first voice said: “Shouldn't be surprised if they've got away down one of the trap-doors. I think Harrison's wrong. Doesn't seem to me that they would be such fools as to wait behind these chimneys till we came for them.”

Then the noise of their search passed on. Though they had taken but a few minutes, to Rezaire it seemed to be hours that he had hung there in terror, a terror that was inspired not by the police but by the knowledge that only the grip of his fingers prevented him from sliding down the roof and so to that terrible drop to the ground. His shoulders ached, his arms ached, his fingers ached. He pressed himself as close to the roof as he could, hoping that this position would take some of the weight off his arms, but the slates were too smooth to be of much aid. Gradually his fingers became numb and he could hardly feel. He kept getting the impression that his grip was loosening and convulsively tightened it every few seconds. So numb with the strain were his fingers growing that the cold edge of the roof seemed to glow with heat, as if he were clasping a bar of red-hot iron.

Then he was tormented with a new fear. Supposing the police should see his fingers just appearing over the edge of the roof and should creep unsuspected up on the far side and suddenly loosen their grip. He would have no chance; the first he would know about it would be that he would be slithering down the tiles, vainly clutching and grasping… There would be a slight check at the iron gutter and then he would be tumbling through the air. He did not mind the thought of death so much but it was the physical pain that would be bound to accompany such an end. To linger for hours with all his bones broken… He thought almost enviously of Harrap. Though Harrap was certain to be discovered, he at any rate was free from that terror.

The police had at length passed. He could hear Sam's restrained breathing as he moved quietly at his side. The ordeal was over. They could pull themselves up, straddle along the roof to the end, rush the man or men at the fire escape and then perhaps freedom.

He began to pull himself up. It seemed more difficult than he had thought. His arms were numb and aching with the strain they had endured, and he could do nothing to assist himself. He could not dig his toes in; he could not get any hold by drawing his knees up. The pull must come from his arms alone and they were too tired. He suddenly thought his fingers were slipping and gave a desperate jerk,—and to his horror they really did slip. It almost seemed as if the void behind were sucking him down.

“Sam,” he muttered quickly. “Give me a hand. I'm going.”

“Half a minute,” panted Sam, pulling himself up with caution. The strain had been great even for his strong sinews. “In a moment.”

But Rezaire felt it would be too late. He could distinctly feel himself slipping now. All the weight of his body was on the muscles of his fingers and they could not hold it. As Sam finally threw one leg over the ridge of the roof, his numbed fingers gave way…

He heard Sam's gasp of horror and then he began to slide downward kicking and struggling, but there was no grip to be had on the slates. Once, by pressing his whole body frantically to the roof he arrested his movement slightly but he had too much momentum to check completely. He felt sick with terror and then suddenly something came up between his legs with a bang and he found himself sprawling astride the pointed gable of one of the dormer windows that projected from the roof. For a moment he could hardly believe his good fortune and clung there not daring to move.

“My God!” floated down Sam's whisper. “That was close.”

But Rezaire was feeling too sick to answer. All his courage had been shaken out of him by the accident. He could bluff the police and take the wildest risks in making an escape without turning a hair, but this was different. In one case the stakes were but prison for so many years; in the other they were lingering pain and death.

He stayed there a bit longer while the life crept back into his aching arms, rejoicing at the feeling of something solid between him and the ground. Out of the roof a small dormer, one of a line of similar windows, thrust itself, only a foot or so from the gutter edge, with a small gabled roof at right angles to the main slope and it was astride this, facing inward, that he found himself. He was perfectly safe and hidden from the police on the far side, but—he could not get up again. Above him the main roof sloped up to where Sam crouched, but it was far too steep and slippery to crawl up and without a rope Sam could not help him. Also his pursuers were on the other side and that way lay capture. It seemed he was trapped.

Sam's whisper came to him again.

“You all right?” it queried. “What are you going to do?”

Before he could answer, there came a sudden shout and a sharp challenge somewhere away to his left, followed by the sound of feet on the leads.

“That's Harrap for certain,” called down Sam in low tones. Then a moment later: “The damn fool's running this way. They'll see me.”

“Come down here.”

“How'll I get up?”

“Don't know. You'll be caught if you don't.”

The sound of feet approached. A voice shouted urgently to one “Lacey” to look out.

Sam swiftly made his mind up, swung himself over, and judging his position, let himself slide. Both feet, however, went to one side of the gable and he only saved himself from plunging onward by throwing his arms across the ridge. As he helped him to safety, Rezaire marveled at the coolness and courage of the man. Not for a thousand pounds would he have taken that risk of his own free will, but Sam had not seemed to give it a thought.

Together they sat astride the small dormer roof and listened to the sounds of pursuit and the shouts in the central dip between the pitches.

Then suddenly clear and sharp came the crack of an automatic and the sound of a cry. The running stopped for an instant and a whistle blew.

“The fool!” muttered Rezaire. “They'll shoot now.”

As if in answer came two more reports and quite close it seemed to them a man's cautious “Aim low, boys!”

“Gee! Harrap's going to make a Sydney Street business of it,” muttered Sam excitedly, but Rezaire only repeated: “The fool!”

From where they were they could hear the fight, though with the whole roof between them they could see nothing.

After the two shots there was silence for a space.

“Harrap's hiding somewhere and they're stalking him,” was Sam's comment.

Then came a sudden shout and four more shots in rapid succession. One bullet hit something on the top of the roof; they heard the hum of it above their heads and a little chip of tile struck Rezaire on the arm. They heard a faint groaning somewhere above.

Then within a few seconds there came a quick rush of feet further over on the right, another shot, a muffled cry, and a metallic clatter. Then a hum of voices.

“They've got him,” said Sam. “He hadn't much of a chance up there.”

“He'll be lucky if he gets off hanging,” added Rezaire.

“What are
we
going to do anyway? We can't sit here forever and we can't get up again.”

“I've got an idea,” whispered back Rezaire. “While that show was going on I looked over the edge here. This attic window, the roof of which we're on, is open. We can get into this house.”

“Anyone in the room?”

“I don't know. We must take our chance. I don't think so, unless he's still asleep; if he'd been wakened by the noise he'd have had his head out of the window before now.”

“I suppose it's the only thing to do. We might get through quietly and out at the back.”

Sam began to let himself down the side of the gable while Rezaire watched him. The old fear was creeping over him again. But watching Sam do it seemed so easy. He just let himself cautiously down still holding the side of the attic window till his feet rested on the gutter at the edge of the roof. Then having tested the strength of the gutter he shifted his grip round to the front of the window which, as Rezaire had observed, was open, till he was at length kneeling on the sill.