Traitors' Gate (58 page)

Almost at the same instant as his glance fell upon her he realised what must have happened. In passing through the hall she had noticed his untouched glass of port still standing on the table. Prompted, no doubt, by the thought that a drink would help key her up to face the uncertainties of the next half hour, and in her excitement failing to associate the port with the two unconscious wardresses, she had, on an impulse, tossed the drink down. She had knocked herself out with a Mickey Finn.

Up till now everything had gone like clockwork, but her act had stopped the clock dead. And everything hung on timing. The die had been cast. There could be no going back. Gregory knew that if he could not get her out that night, she would have to take her medicine—even if it came to being shot. As for himself, the thought of the situation in which he had landed himself to no purpose made him seethe with rage. It struck him that this was just the sort of unforeseeable happening that so often ruined the plans of murderers.

As he stood staring at her twisted body, he fought to make his brain work calmly. Should he leave her there and quit, or was it still possible to retrieve the situation? He had counted on her to act as his look-out. He had meant her to climb an eighteen-foot wall and wriggle across sixty feet of open ground on her tummy. To carry her the whole way would add enormously to the risk of their being seen, and he doubted his physical ability to do it. Yet so much hung upon his rescuing her. And finding himself up against some unforeseen difficulty had never yet made him throw his hand in.

With sudden resolution he ran forward, snatched up the key that had fallen from her hand, grabbed her wrist and pulled her arm round his neck. Then, with a fireman’s lift, he carried her up the short flight of stairs to her room.

Having got her into it and on to the bed, he ripped off her outer clothes, hunted round till he found the black slacks and turtle necked sweater, and thrust her flopping limbs into them. Deciding that cold or no cold she would have to go without a
coat because its flapping skirts might get in his way, he carried her down to the front door. Leaving her there, he went back for his suitcase. When he had fetched it, he opened the door quietly and looked out.

From where he stood he could make out the silhouette of the Bloody Tower opposite, and the top of the Inner Wall running west from it, but down below was a grey foggy darkness that would have hidden anyone standing there. He listened for a long moment. Hearing no sound of footfalls, he left the door on the latch and went out on to the stone-walled balcony. Walking at a normal pace along it, he went down the steps at its end into Water Lane. After having strained his eyes, peering first one way then the other into the murk, he coughed loudly to draw attention to himself. No challenge came. The place was deserted.

Turning, he ran back up the steps. His rubber soled shoes made his quick movement almost soundless. Dragging Sabine and lifting his suitcase out on to the gallery he shut the door firmly. Again he got her into a fireman’s lift across his shoulders, picked up the suitcase with his free hand, and at a shambling run carried them down into the roadway.

For all Sabine’s slim figure, her dead weight was considerable. By the time he got her to the railing in front of the steps leading down to Traitors’ Gate, he was panting like a grampus, and sweating profusely. Unceremoniously he bundled her over on to the top step, then followed with the suitcase. The pit was a canyon of utter blackness and, as he staggered down the steps with her limbs dangling about him, he knew that he was now out of danger for the moment.

At an easier pace he crossed the stone floor of the old entrance to the moat and so pitch dark was it that he walked right into the great gate before he saw it. Lowering Sabine he undid his suitcase then glanced at the luminous dial of his wristwatch. It was twenty-past ten. He had lost only ten minutes through having to dress Sabine. If things went well, and his strength did not fail him, he might yet get her on to the embankment by a quarter to eleven.

Not daring to use his torch, he felt for the saw, switched on the battery, and set to work on cutting through one of the iron bars of the gate between its two lower horizontal beams. The bars were square and about an inch thick, but very old and
partially rusted through; so, if he had not been afraid of discovery, he could have made short work of them. As it was, every other minute he had to switch off and pause to listen, in case someone passed above and heard the buzzing of the saw. Once he caught the sound of voices, and remained dead still for three minutes by his watch, to ensure that whoever it was had passed well out of earshot.

The two cuts to get out the lower section of the first bar took him sixteen minutes. As he had to cut out two more before there would be an opening large enough to crawl through, he knew already that he had been unduly optimistic in hoping to get Sabine to the launch on its first run in. But his experience with the first bar made his work on the other two considerably quicker.

Grimly, he alternately worked away with his saw and paused to listen. At last the job was done. After wrenching out the third bar he looked at his watch. It was two minutes to eleven. Raising Sabine he pushed her through the two-foot square hole he had made. Then he repacked his suitcase, crawled through himself and pulled it after him.

He now had ample time, so he sat with his back against the gate resting for a couple of minutes. Getting to his feet again, he carried Sabine through the tunnel to the far end of the pit in which it terminated. It was somewhat lighter there, as it was not surrounded with high walls, and had only the grim façade of St. Thomas’s Tower on its north side; but the shroud of darkness and fog was still sufficient to hide a person down in it, providing they kept still, from anyone looking down from above.

Having fetched his suitcase, Gregory got from it the ten-inch steel spikes and the mallet with the padded top. To his relief he found no difficulty in driving the spikes firmly into the crevices between the two-foot deep blocks of stone that formed the side-walls of the pit, and the mallet having been muffled its strokes made little noise. But when he had to stand on the lower spikes to drive in others higher up, it was a precarious business.

As he took his time over it, fourteen minutes elapsed before he reached the top. The stone parapet shelved outward and, leaning his arms on it, he peered about in all directions. There was no sign of movement and he could just make out a few of
the nearest old cannons, some sixty feet away.

Descending to the pit, he looked at his watch. It was sixteen minutes past eleven. There was still nearly half an hour to go, and to wait about on the embankment would be to court disaster. For the final stage he reckoned ten minutes should be easily sufficient, so for the next nineteen they must remain where they were, in the pit.

A dank chill pervaded the old moat, making it bitterly cold down there. Gregory got out his flask and took two long swigs of brandy; but he did not dare to force any down Sabine’s throat. To do so might now have brought her round but made her vomit; and he knew that he stood a better chance with a limp body than one half-conscious, moaning and racked with pain.

The minutes dragged interminably, and now that he had time to think he was plagued with fresh fears. Had he made it absolutely plain to Kasdar that if they were not on the embankment at a quarter to eleven he was to return at a quarter to twelve? Had Kasdar, after not finding them at the rendezvous the first time, been seized with the idea that they must have been caught, that the guards would now be on the alert, and that he might be caught too if he risked bringing the launch in again? As there had been no alarm or shouting out on the embankment during the past hour the launch must have remained undetected on its first run in; but would it be so lucky next time?

At last the gruelling wait was over. Taking the two belts out of the suitcase, Gregory fastened one round Sabine’s waist and the other round his own. He had brought them only for the purpose of lowering her over the twelve foot deep embankment to the launch. Now, he thanked his stars he had thought of that, for without them and the rope which joined them it would have been utterly impossible to get her up the ladder of steel spikes.

Suddenly, when he was already half way up it, he was struck by an appalling snag. The rope was only fifteen feet long and the wall eighteen feet high. Before he got to the top he would find himself anchored by her weight and unable to proceed farther. Coming down again, he stared at her still motionless body, frantically racking his wits for a way to overcome this apparently insurmountable obstacle to getting her to the top.

A moment, and he had it. Undoing his own belt he slipped it over his arm, went up again to within three feet of the top, hooked the belt over one of the spikes and, after another cautious look round, climbed out over the edge. By reaching down he was now able to grasp the belt and haul upon it.

Lying on his stomach, he took the strain. She had been heavy enough while he was carrying her, but now she seemed to weigh a ton. As soon as she was off the ground he edged along a couple of feet to get her clear of the spikes; then he strove to haul her up.

The strain on his wrists and arms was agonising. He could only manage to hoist her a few inches at a time. Sweat poured off him. The thin rope bit into his fingers. Once, when she was two-thirds of the way up, it slipped. Like a red-hot iron it seared into the flesh of his hands. He could have screamed from the pain. Clenching his teeth and shutting his eyes, he managed to check the slipping rope and hang on. Another two minutes of almost superhuman effort and he was able to grab the belt round her waist with his right hand. For a few moments he lay there panting. Then in one great heave, he dragged her up beside him.

It had taken longer than he had allowed to get her up out of the pit. There was now not a moment to be lost. One quick look round and, still gasping for breath, he pulled her across his shoulders. Lurching to his feet he staggered with her at a stumbling run towards the river. Half-blinded by sweat he reached the railing. Lowering her beside one of the cannons, he dashed the sweat from his eyes and peered down at the black fog-misted water. To his unutterable thankfulness he saw the dark bulk of the launch just nosing her way in.

In a hoarse whisper he hailed her. A low answering hail came back. Apprehensively he glanced over his shoulder, but no movement broke the surrounding gloom. The tide was ebbing fast. The nose of the launch grounded three feet out from the embankment wall; but it was near enough. He hoisted Sabine’s limp body on to the rail. Then he leaned over and said in a voice just loud enough for Kasdar to hear him:

‘She is unconscious. By mistake she took some dope that knocked her out. But that was over an hour and a half ago. Water in the face and a hard slapping ought to bring her round pretty soon now.’

As he finished speaking he grasped the rope again in his lacerated hands, and tipped her over. Lowering her was renewed torture, and he could feel the blood oozing between his fingers. But a man that Kasdar had brought with him was standing in the bow. He caught Sabine by her dangling ankles, drew her towards him, seized her round the waist, and took the strain. With a moan of relief, Gregory let go the rope.

At that instant the silence was shattered by a challenge, ‘Halt! Who goes there?’

Gregory swung round. Only a dozen yards away a figure had suddenly emerged from the fog and was rushing upon him.

‘Jump for it!’ shouted Kasdar. ‘Jump for it!’

But momentarily Gregory seemed paralysed. Within a matter of seconds the sentry was upon him, yelling, ‘Hands up! Hands up! Stay where you are, or it’ll be the worse for you!’

Coming to life Gregory sprang at him and seized his rifle. As they struggled for the weapon their voices mingled in new shouts. Gregory was calling to Kasdar:

‘Get her away! Her life depends on it! Never mind me! Get her away!’ while the sentry was bellowing:

‘Turn out the guard! Turn out the guard!’

Already the other two sentries had heard the commotion. Their nail-studded boots rang upon the roadway as they raced to the scene, and both of them were echoing their comrade’s shouts:

‘Guard, turn out! Turn out the guard!’

Another minute and Gregory was the centre of a mêlée in which all three men, although hampered by their rifles, were trying to seize him. He caught a glimpse of the launch disappearing in the darkness. Then one of the soldiers reversed his rifle and struck at him with its butt. The heavy blow caught him on the shoulder. His knees buckled and he fell backwards. His head struck the iron wheel of the cannon behind him, and he went out like a light.

On the morning of Thursday, November 12th, Sir Pellinore was sitting at his desk in his big library. At a little after midday Erika joined him there. She had only just arrived from Gwaine Meads, as the result of a letter she had received from him that morning. Her rich gold hair was as smoothly done, and her fine face as carefully made up, as usual, but there were deep shadows between her high cheekbones and pansy-blue eyes; and, whereas she habitually carried herself with distinction, there was now a despondent droop about her shoulders.

Coming to his feet, Sir Pellinore boomed, ‘Delighted to see you, my dear. Got your telegram an hour ago. But you needn’t have bothered to send one. You’re always welcome here. You know that.’

As she thanked him she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Then he held a chair for her and went on, ‘Bad business this, about Gregory; but I thought you ought to know.’

‘It’s terrible!’ she said. ‘Terrible! I think that woman must have Satanic powers, and have cast a spell on him. But witch or not, I could cheerfully murder her.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Sir Pellinore sat down again, leaned back and tapped the tips of his fingers together. ‘She wasn’t really to blame for this business. Gregory was determined to get her out even before he’d been down to the Tower to see her. You could hardly expect her to refuse the offer.’