Try as I will, I cannot distinctly remember what then took place, and I think that I acted blindly, as a man in a trance.

I know that we were both in the passage, the main doors of which were fast shut, that our rope was dangling from a window and that Mansel was about to go down, when the beam of a torch illumined his head and shoulders, and a bullet sang past his ear.

I know that the light and the shot both came from directly above, so that, placed as we were, we could not so much as reply.

I know that we were both on the terrace and that Mansel was casting the rope in the vain hope of catching a merlon in the noose he had made.

I know that we were both in the antechamber, that the great door was as we had left it and that, whilst I fought like a madman to shift the bolt, Mansel was kneeling beside me with his head in his hands.⁠ ⁠…

At last I felt a touch on my shoulder, and Mansel got to his feet. I followed him into the Dining-room slowly enough. My head was strangely heavy, and I felt shaken and spent. Had he bade me lie down and sleep, I should have done his bidding without a word. The shock of what we had done had left me listless.

Mansel sat down in a chair, and I sat down in another and waited for him to speak.

To be honest, I hoped he would stay silent, for I could think of no comment upon our case which would not be bitter as death and wholly vain: but, when he began to speak, he did so with such composure as fairly shamed me out of a humour so recreant and so mean.

“Something, of course,” he said quietly, “has happened to George. I can tell you the time when it happened⁠—ten o’clock yesterday night. He was awaiting a message at the foot of the cliff. No doubt he was being watched. And, when the packet fell down, the enemy laid him out and picked it up. When I say ‘George,’ I mean ‘George and the servants,’ of course. They’re not four any more⁠—four effectives: they may not even be three.⁠ ⁠…

“Point number two⁠—Rose Noble is not alone. He may have been yesterday morning, but he’s certainly not alone now. I suppose he took them in by a rope some time last night. Anyway, he’s smarter than I am, and Punter or Casemate has certainly bested George.

“Point number three⁠—we must get out of this suite. I should never have split our force: and now, by hook or by crook, I’ve got to join it again. If Carson or George is alive, they’ll attack tonight, and we’ve got to open the gate and let them in. What’s a thousand times worse, if we’re still at his mercy tomorrow, Rose Noble will put on the screw.⁠ ⁠…

“Point number four⁠—the ‘hands-up’ phase is over. From now on seeing is shooting, and shooting to kill. Rose Noble’s still hoping to break me, for the sake of doing a deal: but he knows it’s a chance in a million and he’s not going to risk his life by sparing mine.”

And there, I remember, he happened to cast down his eyes.

We were not without light, for he had the torch in his hand, but this he was holding downward, so that its beam made a circle upon the floor.

For a moment he did not move. Then he was out of his chair and down on his knees.⁠ ⁠…

Clean around the table there was a crack in the floor.

It was a very fine cleft and was choked with dust and the wax with which the floor had been rubbed; but these gave way at once to the point of a knife, and then we could see that the floor had been sawn asunder with the finest of saws.

I could scarcely believe that here was another trapdoor, for, for one thing only, the cleft was surrounding the table with a fair two inches to spare, and a trapdoor some eight feet by five seemed out of reason: yet, for some purpose or other, the floor had been cut, and, what seemed to me still more strange, except by the dust and the wax, the cleft had never been stopped.

Mansel was speaking in my ear.

“The table sinks through the floor. I saw it once before in some castle. The idea was to gain privacy. No servants in the room; but the table descended and rose between each course.” He touched the smooth oak beneath the table. “This piece of the floor is really no more than a lift: and, if we can find out its trick.⁠ ⁠…”

I sought to move the table, but it was fixed to the floor.

“That’s right,” breathed Mansel. “The other I saw was fixed. I remember they said it was raised by a system of pulleys and weights. The weights weighed far more than the table, so it couldn’t descend on its own or so much as budge, but had to be hauled down by a windlass between each course.”

“It’s as firm as a rock,” said I, stooping. “You don’t think it’s locked into place.”

Mansel shrugged his shoulders.

“We must try to find out,” he said. “If we can weight it enough.⁠ ⁠…”

Then I saw that, with four counterweights, each, let us say, of the weight of the table and lift, these two would seem as much fixed as though they had beneath them a girder to hold them in place⁠—until there was laid upon them a burden three times their own weight; but that if we could manage to load them to this extent the table would sink through the floor and open a way of escape.

In silence we lifted the chairs and set them upon the board: they were immensely heavy, but the table stood fast. Ten more chairs we added, bringing them one by one from the other rooms and using our rope to lash the perilous pile. But, though we added our weight, the mass never budged.

And here we were brought to a standstill, for, though there were yet more chairs, we had used all the rope we had and we could not think how to get them on to the top of the structure their fellows made.

Suddenly I thought of the slab which Mansel and I had hidden beneath the King’s bed.⁠ ⁠…

We had dragged this into the chamber, and I was under the table, with my feet braced against the great stretcher, hauling the stone into place, and sitting, as it happened, directly upon the cleft, when I felt a definite movement beneath my seat.

At once I told Mansel, and, after a short consultation, we lay down upon opposite sides and, taking hold of the stretcher, began to pass by inches on to the lift.

As I drew myself on, I felt this beginning to move, and all at once we were sinking into some cold, dark place.

We must have come down with a crash, but the chairs we had piled on the table were overlapping the lift, and, when these were prevented by the floor, the lift, thus relieved of their weight, immediately stopped.

The torch now showed us a cellar, with a door in its eastern wall. About us was the massive cage in which the lift ran, and at each of its corners were a pulley and a rope and a great counterweight of stone. A little to one side stood the windlass, as Mansel had said.

And now, once again, as they say, we had the wolf by the ears.

The floor was but eight feet away, but, if one of us was to descend, the lift would instantly rise and, taking the other up, lock him once more into the Dining-room; while, if both descended at once, the lift would shoot back into place with a shock which would shake the castle and send the twelve chairs crashing to wake the dead.

But, after a little reflection, Mansel found out a way.

On the under side of the lift, right in its middle, was a hook: to this was attached the great rope which the windlass controlled. If we could reach this rope, the trick was ours.

Mansel took my left wrist in his hands and lowered me clear of the lift. At once I swung to and fro until I could reach and lay hold of the great iron hook. With my left hand I then laid hold of the edge of the lift, and Mansel climbed round my body and seized the rope. Then we came down the rope together, on to the ground.

We let the lift rise by inches, until it was back in its place, and then, with one accord, we turned to the door.

This was unfastened and brought us directly into what seemed a great hall.

For a moment I thought we were out, for I heard the gurgle of water as plain as could be, but then I perceived that the air was the air of a crypt, dank and something musty and very still.

After listening carefully, we ventured to light the torch.

The place was a kitchen, but had not been used as such for a number of years. There was the huge fireplace, with the chains for the spits hanging down, and a grate like a hayrack to serve a dozen joints. Five great, shuttered windows were looking upon the courtyard, and a doorway, whose step was muddy, was in the same wall.

And on the hearth lay George Hanbury, with his wrists and his ankles bound and a gag in his mouth.

That George had been left there to live, if he could, but, if he could not, to die we had not much doubt. He had lain there, gagged and bound, for twenty-four hours: his bonds had never been loosened, he had been given no water, much less any food: he had not so much as been visited. And such as will so use a prisoner are scarcely like to be troubled to find him dead.

Happily George was strong, and his condition of health as fine as ours, and, when we had set him free and had chafed his limbs, he was able to rise and to walk as straight as he pleased. It was clear, however, that he must have food and drink, and, since there remained in the Closet some brandy and bread and meat, we made our way back to the cellar without delay.

By using the windlass, we had the lift down at once, but, when I would have gone up, Mansel put me aside.

“I’m going,” he said. “And please give me full five minutes before you bring me down. Now that one’s got to go back, he may as well cover our tracks: the pile of chairs doesn’t matter, but that slab would make anyone think.”

With that, he mounted the lift, and I hoisted him up.

And while he was gone, George Hanbury told me his tale.

“When the car came out of the castle, I was down by the beechwoods at the foot of the cliff. Rowley was with me, but Carson and Bell and Tester were on guard, within sound of the drive.

“Carson heard the car coming, and the moment it passed he gave chase. I don’t know whether they had expected this, but they did the best they could think of to shake him off. Of course they failed. They didn’t bother much about the foot of the cliff: they certainly went that way, for I saw them go by, but they passed at sixty and never so much as slowed up. The sight of them worried me, but I didn’t see what I could do but stay where I was. Of course Carson could have caught them, but, as Bell and he were alone, he thought he couldn’t do better than cling to their heels. For half an hour they had the devil’s own luck⁠—never a check. Then comes a hairpin bend, and two hundred yards further on a flock of sheep.⁠ ⁠…

“When Carson rounded the corner, Bunch was fifty yards off and turning his car. Sheep or no, it was an excellent move. The car has a shortish wheelbase, but a Rolls takes some getting round. Then Carson did well. He stopped, went into reverse and started to back to a turning he’d marked at the top of the hill. Before he could get there, Bunch was coming like hell. There was Punter beside him, and Casemate was back in the car. As they went by, Punter fired full at Carson and hit the brim of his hat.⁠ ⁠…

“This annoyed Carson and Bell, and I must say I’m not surprised. And, as soon as the Rolls was round, they put her along. By this time Bunch had stolen a bit of a start, but they gradually overhauled him, and, choosing a smooth bit of going, Bell took a shot at their tank. He didn’t hit it that time, but he laid it open the next.⁠ ⁠…

“It was now a matter of time and nothing else. Bunch might do another three miles, but he couldn’t do more, so Carson fell back a little, to keep, as he judged, out of range. Considering they’d fired again and made a hole in the screen, I think he was wise.

“They were now not more than six miles from the foot of the cliff, and heading that way. The road was full of bends, so half the time the cars were out of each other’s sight. You can guess what happened. Three miles on Carson rounded a bend to see the car, doors open, by the side of the road. Of course, he put down his foot and went by a blue streak. Two shots were fired, but they didn’t do any harm.

“Then Carson drove back to the spur, and he hadn’t been there ten minutes when I came in. I was as pleased as Punch when I heard his report. I assumed they’d gone out to get food: and now their car was done in, and they were cut off. We fairly picketed that spur. A ferret couldn’t have passed the line we held.⁠ ⁠…

“Bell and I visited the beechwoods at three. I hated leaving the spur, but it didn’t seem prudent for one to go out alone. We saw no one, and, when we got back, Carson had nothing to report.

“At last it began to grow dark, and I had to face two fresh facts. The first was this. According to plan, one of the cars must now leave for the foot of the cliff and stay there perhaps till dawn. That was awkward enough, but the second was worse. It was a yard of pearls to a bootlace that Punter and Casemate and Bunch would try to get home that night.

“After a lot of reflection, I decided to go alone to the foot of the cliff. I went. I meant to take Tester, but at the last I forgot. I found the rope gone and imagined you’d pulled it up. At ten o’clock something fell down about ten yards from where I stood. As I bent over it, somebody laid me out.⁠ ⁠…

“Well, there you are.”

“The next thing I knew I was lying in the back of the Rolls, which was doing forty over a wicked road. Then I was taken out and hauled through a ground-floor window into the Castle of Gath.”

“Of course it was easy. When the servants heard the Rolls coming, they thought it was me. They probably thought it odd that I should drive on up to Gath, but, before they’d scented the trouble, the fat was burnt.”

As I bent again to the windlass, my mind was full.

Not only was Rose Noble’s foresight a fearsome thing, but the fellow was very well served. Punter and Bunch and Casemate had done uncommonly well. But what struck me most of all was that, though their car had been ruined and the Rolls was at their gate, the temptation to take her inside had been withstood. That for this resolution we had Rose Noble to thank, I have no doubt: the others would scarce have renounced so handsome a prize. Yet, had we seen the Rolls in the archway, the sight would have told us that George was out of the running, and Adèle would not have been delivered into the enemy’s hand. This was the pink of strategy⁠—the casting away of a sceptre to win a crown: and I must confess a sudden, craven fear that we should never outwit a man so firm of purpose and so unearthly wise.

The gurgle of water in the kitchen came from a little well. This had been sunk in the floor and was fed by a pipe which clearly ran out of the channel we knew so well. A similar pipe was conducting the overflow. By this simple device, the cooks had always fresh water ready to hand, and, what is more to the point, poor George was able to drink and to bathe his aching jaws. Then we plied him with brandy and made him eat what there was, for, though he made light of his bondage, a man cannot suffer as he had and feel as sound the same night.

While he was eating and drinking, we laid our plans.

That the servants were close at hand we had no doubt. Indeed, it seemed certain that they would any moment attack. If they did so before we could reach them, they would assuredly fail, for, for one thing only, they would enter by way of the roof, which the enemy was holding against our escape from the suite. They would thus walk clean into a trap, of which we, below, could not warn them, because we could not climb up. We, therefore, determined to make at once for the gate and, opening this if we could, to bring them in. If we could contrive to do this without being seen or heard, we should for the first time have the advantage of the enemy, for, whilst they were sure that they had but two men to deal with, and those under lock and key, in fact there would be six men free and within their camp.

The kitchen-door was unlocked and yielded without any fuss.

As we looked into the courtyard, hardly daring to breathe, the beam of a torch swept the wall beneath which we stood. It was little more than a flash and came, as before, from above; but it showed that the passage windows were still being watched. We had expected no less, but, although the beam was directed upon the wall, it lighted quite twenty feet of the courtyard itself, and, unless we could cross this belt between the flashes, we could not fail to be seen.

“No good waiting,” breathed Mansel. “We must go across one by one. The first twenty feet on foot and as hard as we can: then, down on your face and crawl the rest of the way. If we go lightly, the water will cover our noise. Chandos first. Wait for me in the porch: I may be a little time coming, because I must shut this door. And now stand by.”

Whilst he was speaking, the flashes came and went, but at intervals so irregular that no observation could help us, and we had nothing to do but to take our chance.

At last Mansel gave the word, and I made my dash.

As I fell on my face, a flicker lit up the courtyard.⁠ ⁠…

Ten minutes later we were all three in the porch.

The wicket-gate was locked, and its key was gone. We, therefore, made ready to open the great gate itself, using the greatest care to make no sound. And here, to our vexation, we met with another check. Though we could feel the great bolts, we could not make out how to draw them, for each was engaged with some catch which we could not release. It was dreadful to stand there fumbling, because of some simple holdfast never devised to embarrass a porter’s hand, but intended to prevent the bolts turning under battery of the gate. Yet show a light we dared not: and, as the minutes went by and the catch still mocked our fingers for want of sight, I began to feel that Fortune was not so much frowning upon us as laughing at us in her sleeve.

Then Mansel gave a short sigh and drew his bolt, and a moment later his fingers were playing with mine.

As the door yielded, he put his mouth to my ear.

“You go and find them,” he said. “Hanbury and I stay here. If you don’t strike them at once, try using the torch. But⁠—”

And there, somewhere behind us, a shot rang out.

As we swung round⁠—

“I saw the flash,” said Hanbury. “Up on the roof.”

I ran full tilt into Rowley, who was standing at the foot of the ladders, with a cord in his hand.

“Oh, thank God, sir,” says he. “We thought you were gone.”

I shook him by the shoulder and pointed up to the roof.

“Recall them!” I cried. “Recall them! How can you get them back?”

He was tugging at the cord, like a madman, when another two shots rang out.

I could not stand there idle, but began to go up the wall.

I was on the second ladder, when someone above me looked down.

“Is that you, Bell?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get Carson and come down to the gate.”

“Very good, sir.”

I slid and fell back to the ground, to run to the gate.

Mansel was standing, waiting, cool as a man in a garden, regarding his flowers.

“Carson must stay out,” he said. “I daren’t have everyone in. He and Tester must feed us and keep the cars. Send him for food and drink, as soon as he’s down. And two fifty-foot lengths of rope. The others come in.”

Whilst he was speaking, another four shots were fired, and I ran back to Rowley with my heart in my mouth.

Him I sent to the gate and took his place. I think he was glad to go, for the firing was growing hotter, and to stand at the foot of the ladder in the knowledge that those you were awaiting might very well never come down pulled at a man’s nerves.

Such concern will seem out of reason. When six men set out in a body to play with fire, it hardly becomes them to tremble lest someone be burned. But our outlook was not so simple. We feared no more for Carson than Carson feared for himself: but we all of us feared very much for the matter in hand. Our school was not that of Rose Noble. If one of us was wounded, we could not let him lie: he would have to be saved and attended at any cost: how high that cost would be no one could tell, but, placed as we were, we all knew that such a distraction might ruin our enterprise.

It seemed an age before Bell began to descend.⁠ ⁠…

“Are you hit?” said I.

“Oh, no, sir,” said he. “Nor’s Carson. But, of course, we had to go slow.”

I sent him to Mansel at once.

Then a shot was fired right above me, and Carson came down with a run.

“Come,” said I, and led him away up the spur.⁠ ⁠…

It was well that I did so, for a light leaped out of the darkness, and a bullet went over our heads. To round the picture, I turned and fired back at the torch. No doubt the bullet went wide, but the light was put out.

Then I stopped and gave Carson his orders and told him that we were all safe, and he promised to be at the gate in a quarter of an hour. Then I stole back to the castle, and Mansel took me in.

Two doorways led out of the archway, one upon either hand. These Mansel set us to watch till Carson should come: “but I don’t think,” said he, “they’ll disturb us: they’ve got their hands full. They’ve the roof to watch, and the passage, and it won’t be light for three hours.”

Here he was right, for Carson came and went, but nobody else; and, though lights flashed on the roof and the passage windows were closely and continually watched, no one came down to the archway or entered the great courtyard.

Carson went heavily away, for, though his part was most dangerous⁠—because, except for Tester, he was alone⁠—and though he would be the sole link between us and the world we knew, he had the true heart of a fighter and could hardly bear to leave us at such a pinch.

Early next morning he was to drive into Lass and there to take in supplies which should last us a week. He was then to bestow the two cars as best he could, somewhere beyond the wood and by the crossroads. He was not to move during the day, but by night he was to come to the spur and there wait till one of us met him or else it was dawn.

Then Mansel shut the gate and shot the great bolts and set his face again to the business of reaching Adèle, or, to be more precise, of thrusting between her and Rose Noble, before the latter knew we were there.

One thing was plain. Before the night was over, we must either have accomplished our purpose or have gained some room or corner where we could lie hid. Now the only shelter we knew was that of the cellar beneath the dining-room’s floor, but, since our goal was, as ever, the southwest tower, we decided to make for the latter and to trust to striking another and more convenient lair.

Now, though we knew next to nothing of the way from the porch to Adèle, we had one valuable clue.

When Casemate had been hounded by Rose Noble to “turn out the car,” he had certainly reached the porch as quickly as ever he could. Now his shortest path, as we knew from the bookseller’s guide, was down the Grand Staircase and across the courtyard. But Casemate had not crossed the courtyard. It was, therefore, perfectly plain that that way was shut.

We, therefore, turned to the door in the western wall of the porch, for Casemate had come out of that, and that could, therefore, lead us back to the “gallery of stone.”

I could set down our passage in detail, for I remember most clearly every step that we took. The hopes and fears which attended us, the sudden shocks of thankfulness and dismay, the waves of suspense, and relief⁠—all these are engraved upon my memory as letters cut upon a stone. But I think that such a recital would be out of place, for only those that were there could find it moving, and I have not the mind or the skill to trick it out.

And so I will only say that by galleries, stairs and chambers we made our way in the darkness towards the southwest tower. Again and again boards creaked beneath our weight, and sometimes, do what we would, a hinge would whine: we made mistakes in our going and were forced to retrace the steps we had been at such pains to take; and we went at a true snail’s pace and as blind men go, for we dared not use our torches in case their light should betray us and ruin our game.

At break of day we stood in a little lobby that looked out upon the mountains and seemed at that misty moment to command the world.

The place had the look of a guardroom, and so, I am sure, it had served, for a wicket gave directly on to a winding stair, which if a man ascended he came to the roof, but, if he went down, he came to the “gallery of stone.” It was, indeed, the stairway of the southwest tower.

So we broke and entered into that jealous keep which for six long days had mocked us and all our works.

The need for caution was now paramount.

We stood at the enemy’s elbow, and he did not know we were there. We had our hand almost upon him; but he had his hand on Adèle. He was unready, but we did not know the ground. If we could strike before he could, the game was ours: but if we were to be behindhand, we had better be sitting at Lass with our hands in our lap.

We afterwards found that there were in the tower three apartments, consisting of two rooms each. These were a bedroom and bathroom, very well done. The window from which Adèle had signalled was that of the middle apartment, the door of which, as she had told us, gave into the “gallery of stone.”

For a long time we crouched like animals, straining our ears; but we could hear no sound. Then Mansel breathed his orders, and we began to move.⁠ ⁠…

George stood fast in the lobby, ready to shoot at sight: Bell and Rowley stole three steps up the stair and stayed with their backs to the wall and their knives in their hands: and Mansel, with me behind him, began to go down.⁠ ⁠…

It was dark in the gallery, for all its five doors were shut, but a pale smear of light was betraying the threshold of the door which led to the terrace steps. That gave us our bearings at once, but, if there was someone there, we could not see him, and the silence all about us was that of death.

Then came a sigh of the wind, and something moved.

It was a door on our right⁠—the door of the prisoner’s room.

Very slowly we watched it open, letting the daylight out. I could see Mansel just before me, covering the gap with his pistol and steady as any rock. I could see beyond him and into the very room. The floor was bare and polished, and the walls were panelled with oak.

Then, very slowly, the door began to close.

In a flash Mansel had stopped it, and we were within the room.

This was empty.

A window had been left open, and that had occasioned the draught. The bathroom was empty, too. Adèle was gone.

Two minutes later we had proved the truth to the hilt.

The three apartments were vacant, and the door to the roof was shut. Rose Noble, prisoner and all had withdrawn to the opposite tower.

It was a bitter business.

That our labour was lost was nothing: but the waste of time shocked us, and the thought that, so far from progressing, we were now twice as far from Adèle as we had been at the time when we stood in the porch was plain torment.

That we never had any doubt where Rose Noble and his prisoner were gone, I attribute to Mansel alone. Only a brilliant perception can rip the skin off an assumption and bare a fact. Everything certainly argued withdrawal to the southeast tower: but that was not nearly enough. We had to know. And Mansel knew.

I have said we were now twice the distance that we had been from Adèle. And so it seemed, for we dared not use the roof during the day and, as we had reason to know, the way by the Royal Apartments was straitly barred. Yet the thought of returning to the porch and thence beginning again to grope our way was hardly to be endured, because the clock was against us and we feared to let go so much time. Cross the porch in daylight we could not, because of the man on the roof. We must, therefore, wait until nightfall to make the move⁠—some sixteen hours of inaction, when time was so very dear. The harder we stared upon this prospect, the more ugly and hazardous it grew: the more the daylight broadened, the more perilous seemed delay. Any moment Rose Noble might discover that Mansel and I had escaped: any moment the kitchen might be entered, and Hanbury’s release become known: any moment one of the gang might stumble into our arms, and, though we could stop his mouth, his failure to reappear would tell its tale. And if none of these things happened and we lay close until night, would our passage be so successful as the passage that we had made? Was there a way within doors to the southeast tower? And what of the caretakers? That we had not found them last night suggested most strongly that their rooms lay the other side: and if we encountered the woman, she was most sure to give tongue.⁠ ⁠…

For an hour we stayed in the gallery, keeping such watch as we could and, for my part, feverishly considering what we should do.

At length Mansel bade us all listen and, with the plainest reluctance, unfolded the following plan.

“Mr. Chandos and I must reenter the Royal suite. That we can do from this end without any fuss. Mr. Hanbury with Bell and Rowley will go to the top of this tower. Ten minutes after we have entered, Mr. Chandos will give a great cry. The sentinel watching the courtyard will rush to the opposite wall, to see me piled up on the terrace, with a length of rope in my hand. I shall plainly have fallen down while attempting to scale the wall. Mr. Chandos will be kneeling beside me, trying to lift me up. The sentry will rush to his tower to raise the alarm. He will surely leave the door open⁠—the door from the roof. Mr. Hanbury and Bell and Rowley will immediately cross the roof and follow him in.

“Now I think that Rose Noble will go to the terrace at once: and the others with him. You see, if I were to die, Mrs. Pleydell, comparatively speaking, would hardly pay for her keep. So I think they’ll all get down to me as fast as they can. Very well. While they are gone, Mr. Hanbury, Rowley and Bell will find Mrs. Pleydell, release her and carry her off. Let her down to the spur with Rowley and see that she runs for the wood. Carson to drive her to Poganec there and then. Not until she’s down on the spur will Mr. Hanbury and Bell return to the tower⁠—with the object of killing Rose Noble before he kills them.”

He paused there for a moment, biting his lip.

“I don’t like it,” he added slowly, “but I don’t know what else to do. It washes me out of the battle and Mr. Chandos, too: but a part must be played which no one but we two can play. Rose Noble has got to be drawn from his prisoner’s side. And nothing that I can think of will do that, except my health. Any ordinary demonstration would make him stick tighter than ever to Mrs. Pleydell’s arm. But tell him I’m down and out, and, though he won’t believe you, he’ll go to see. And on that point, one word more.

“Instead of rushing to the terrace, Rose Noble might rush to the roof. He’s a very shrewd man. If he does, you’ve got him, you three. Don’t wait. Just let him have it⁠—both barrels and one for luck. Once he’s over, you won’t see the others for dust.”

As he spoke, some door was opened, and down the winding stairway came Punter’s voice.

“An’, when you’re through, you might take a look at the Willie. I don’t suppose he’d bite you if you took out his bit.”

“Rose said⁠—” began Casemate.

“I know,” said Punter. “That’s Rose. But I don’t fancy dead men. You can shove the corpse in the ground, but a yard full of sextons can’t bury the ⸻ shout. One or two dead’s enough, and before this worry’s over you’ll see all that. No. Let the ⸻ waste if you like, but keep ’im alive.”

At Punter’s first word we had begun to withdraw, for it had been arranged that, at the first show of movement, we should immediately enter the room which Adèle had used. At a sign from Mansel, however, I let the others retire and began to follow him gently up the stair. This was, of course, of stone, so we made no sound.

It was a desperate move, but I knew where Mansel was going and I knew he was right to go.

Casemate was bound for the kitchen: so Casemate had to be stopped. And, if he reached the guardroom before us, the game was up. You cannot pursue in silence over a wooden floor.

Mercifully the voices continued, but I never knew what they said. My ears were strained to catch nothing but a step on the stair.

But none came. Only the voices grew clearer the higher we went.

We glided into the guardroom, after the way of a snake. Then we turned right and left and stood, one on each side of the doorway, with our backs flat against the wall. The wicket opened outwards, so we were very well placed.

“I don’t care,” Casemate was saying, “I don’t like the ⸻ job. I don’t mind dirty weather, but I like to know where I am.”

“If you must know,” said Punter, “you’re up on the velvet top. Mansel put up a bluff, and its bottom’s fell out. Rose has got ’im as tight as a⁠—”

“Never knew when he hadn’t,” said Casemate. “First, he’d never find us: and then he’d never get in. Now you say ‘That’s all right, but he’ll never get out.’ An’ what about Jute? Where’s Jute?”

“Jute knows ’is garden,” said Punter. “If Jute don’t come in, it’s because there’s some rhubarb wants watchin’ the other side.”

“If you ask me,” said Casemate, “Jute’s⁠—well pulled out.”

“Oh, put it away,” said Punter. “Why, Jute⁠—”

“⁠⸻ well pulled out,” repeated Casemate. “He’s had a look at his seaweed and he’s got in out of the rain. An’ I don’t blame ’im. ‘Half a million,’ says Rose, ‘for the pickin’ up.’ ‘Pickin’ up.’ ” He sucked in his breath. “I wonder what he’d call ‘reachin’ down.’ An’ when I said ‘Who’s this Mansel?’, he says ‘He’s a one-legged Willie, with a college way of talking and a mouth full of rubber teeth.’ ”

“Now, look ’ere,” said Punter earnestly. “I don’t deny that Mansel’s not big small stuff. He ran round Jute, an’ he climbs like a ⸻ ape. But that’s where ’e gets off. He’s not up to Rose’s weight.”

“He never was,” said Casemate. “But he ⸻ near got him down: an’ he’s not dead yet.”

“Now look at it this way,” said Punter, plainly doing his best to hearten his doubting friend. “A man don’t cough up half a million because you tickle ’is chin. He’s got to be broke in pieces, an’ then some more. Well, he’s not going to hand you the funny ’ammer, you know. He’s goin’ to bite an’ scratch⁠—till you’ve got him stuck. Well, he’s had his bite an’ his scratch, an’ now he’s ⸻ well stuck. I’ll tell you this. So long as Mansel was out, I never slep’ sound. I’ve seen ’im before, an’ I like to know ’is game. But now I’ll put my feet up, because the ⸻’s stuck. ⸻ well stuck, like a bug pinned up on a board. An’ you watch ’im come unbuttoned this afternoon. Wait till he hears the goods beginning to talk.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” said Casemate. “I had my arm done once.”

“I guess Rose didn’t do it,” said Punter. “And now slip after them eats. There’s a pot o’ strawberry back o’ the cans of pears.”

Casemate made no answer, but began to descend.⁠ ⁠…

I think I shall always hear his steps on the stair.

To my fancy his tread seemed wary, as though the man were suspicious, apprehensive of ill to come. He certainly stood at the wicket for a quarter of a minute or more, as though he had remarked and was listening to the vigorous slam of my heart two paces away.

Then he pulled open the door and came into the room.

I did not see Mansel strike him, for the former had been a great boxer and was startlingly quick with his hands. But I heard the dull smack of the blow, and I saw Casemate spin on his heel and then fall away from me backwards, without a cry. I heard his head meet the stone, and his body fell down with a thud, but the sounds were dead sounds and could not, I think, have been heard at the head of the stair.

My eyes were still upon Casemate, when Mansel touched me and turned.

I pointed to the form on the floor.

“Safe for an hour,” breathed Mansel. “The others will tie him up.”

We whipped down into the gallery, and, whilst I summoned the others, Mansel undid the bolts of the passage door.

I must here confess that I quailed at the sight of that suite. For me it reeked of misfortune, of frantic endeavour doomed before it was begun: and to go back to such a cockpit of broken hopes was clean against my stomach. Yet, as Mansel had said, there was nothing else to be done; and, in view of the Casemate business, we had not a moment to lose.

I signed to Rowley to give me his coil of rope.

As he laid it about my shoulders,

“Shut the door, but don’t bolt it,” breathed Mansel. “And stand by to move in five⁠—not ten minutes’ time.”

Hanbury nodded. I observed that he looked very pale.

Then Mansel stole into the passage, and I in his wake.

Before we had gained the Closet, the door had been shut.

The windows of the Closet were still open, as was the trapdoor, and the room was full of sweet air and the murmur of the water below.

Mansel sat down on the floor, and swung his legs into the trap. Then he looked up and smiled.

“William,” he said, keeping his eyes upon mine, “we’re going to bring this right off. I know you’re frightened to death of letting me down: but you won’t⁠—if you do as I say.

“I want you to stand at that window, and I’ll tell you what you will see. Never mind whether you’re dreaming or whether your sight is blurred. This is what you will see⁠—and, consequently, what you will do.

“You’ll see me come out of the archway on to the terrace below. You’ll see me cast the rope and you’ll watch it rise. At the second attempt you’ll see it catch on something⁠—you can’t tell what. You’ll see me test it and watch me begin to climb. I shall go up⁠ ⁠… up⁠ ⁠… up⁠ ⁠… Leaning well out of the window, you’ll watch me with your heart in your mouth. When I’m six feet from the top, to your indescribable horror the rope will begin to slip. Instinctively you’ll try to warn me⁠—let out a hell of a cry. As you do so, the rope will go, and I shall come down. You’ll see me asprawl on the terrace, lying appallingly still and you’ll naturally rush to reach me as quick as you can. I shall be plainly disabled⁠—for all you know, dead. Well, that means the game’s over, and you’ll naturally shout for help. When it comes, they may possibly seize you, but you’ll only do your best to get back to my side. You see, I shall still be breathing, but the fall will have broken my back.

“And now let me have the rope.

“When you see my arm go back, you’ll know that I’m going to sling it. Watch it rise and fall, and mark how I gather it up for the second cast.”

As he spoke, he was making a slipknot, but his eyes never left my face.

Then he smiled again and disappeared.

I made my way to the window, like a man in a dream.⁠ ⁠…

I cannot swear to what happened in the next two minutes of time. That is the plain truth. Time and again I have called up the burden of those moments, started to set it down and then laid aside my pen. I remember it perfectly: but I cannot say “This I imagined, and that I saw,” for the line between fact and fancy is a line that I cannot trace. Indeed I shall always believe that Mansel had influenced my will, for I did what I did dazedly and was conscious all the time of the smile upon Mansel’s face and the light in his eyes.

I remember leaning out of the window and finding the air most heavy and the sunshine curiously dull: I remember how the sill of the casement punished my back and how the sweat was running upon my hands and face: I remember shrieking incoherence and feeling suddenly sick and staggering down to the archway, trembling in every limb.⁠ ⁠…

And then I was all dripping wet and down on my knees, and Mansel lay huddled before me with one leg beneath the other and a loose look about his neck.

I got my arm under his shoulders and raised him up, but his head rolled over sideways and, though I tried to prop it, it would not stay.

I cried out at that, but maybe I had shouted before, for I saw Rose Noble coming, with Punter and Bunch. They seemed to come down in a wave⁠—down the steps from a door in the wall.

As they reached the terrace, a slim figure flashed in their wake. I watched it outstrip the three men⁠ ⁠… thrust them aside.⁠ ⁠…

Then Adèle was down beside me and sitting back on her heels, with agony in her eyes and Mansel’s head in her lap.