The shutting of a door roused me, and I sat up to find myself alone.

The mountaintops before me were alight with sunshine, and in the huge void which lay between them and the terrace a great bird was sailing and wheeling, as an aeroplane at play.

For a moment I watched it lazily. Then I remembered with a shock the plan we had laid and how perfectly it had worked and how, in the moment of triumph, Adèle had brought it to nought.

In a flash I was on my feet, and trying to think what to do.

I had been left in a faint, not so much as bound. My pistol had been taken, but not my knife. It was clear that I was regarded as safe under lock and key.

At this my heart leaped up, for, of course, I could leave by the suite whenever I pleased: the only question was how to turn to account this unsuspected freedom.

In view of the turn events had taken, Mansel was sure to continue his pretence of a broken back: finding their purpose frustrated, George and the servants were probably lying concealed in the southeast tower: I was at liberty, and the enemy was clean off his guard. If we had shot at a pigeon, we had killed something more than a crow. We had made notable progress, and, before the day was over.⁠ ⁠…

And there I remembered Casemate, and my dreams began to settle, as a house that is built upon sand.

Casemate’s failure to return would ruin everything.

Quite apart from the finding of him senseless, which might any moment take place, the instant Rose Noble learned that Casemate was not up to time, his ever-smouldering suspicion would burst into flame. He would see in a twinkling that here was our handiwork, and, with Mansel under his hand, would turn the tables upon us before we could think.

With a hammering heart, I ran to the channel and fought my way under the door. If I could do nothing else, at least I could get hold of Casemate and carry him out of sight. And, in any event, I was plainly better at large than cooped, like a dog, on the terrace, at the mercy of any whim that came into the enemy’s head.

A moment later I was standing in the “gallery of stone.”⁠ ⁠…

Casemate lay as we had left him, flat on his back.

To my surprise, he was neither gagged nor bound: then I remembered that we had never told George to tie him up. And I had no cord.⁠ ⁠…

I carried him out of the guard room and along a passage by which we had come from the porch. There I found a bedroom that had not been used. I was preparing to thrust him under the bed and was wondering what fool had coined the saying “Out of sight, out of mind,” and whether, had he known Rose Noble, the adage would not have been revised, when another proverb came thrusting into my mind.

A living dog, saith The Preacher, is better than a dead lion.

And that made me think of the fable of the ass in the lion’s skin.

And out of the two came wisdom, if you can call it such.

Richard William Chandos, alive and in Casemate’s clothes, would be infinitely better than Casemate as good as dead. Casemate could not return: but Chandos in Casemate’s clothes could be seen in the porch.⁠ ⁠…

And here another idea leaped into my mind.

Casemate had been uneasy⁠—had said so in so many words. “I don’t like the ⸻ job.” Punter had done his utmost to lay his fears, but the other would not be comforted, rebutting each effort of Punter’s with some unpleasant truth. More, Casemate clearly believed that Jute had seen breakers ahead and had left the ship. “And I don’t blame him.” Was it incredible, then, that Casemate should follow Jute’s lead? Open the castle gate, which he had to pass, slip out and up to the wood and so wash his hands of a business which he very plainly wished he never had touched? Even if he were not seen going, the open gate would account for his failure to reappear.

In less than three minutes Casemate was under the bed, and I was clad in his suit. This was none too clean and something tight; but I liked it better than his hat, which fitted me very well.

Now, though in this time much had happened, it was barely a quarter of an hour since Casemate had parted from Punter at the head of the stair. I had, therefore, a very good hope of suggesting that Casemate had flitted before he was due to return: but our hopes had so often foundered that, for all my haste, I stole, like a thief, from the bedroom, and went with my chin on my shoulder until the passage gave way to a flight of stairs.

So I came to the porch.

The courtyard was empty, and so, to my relief, was the roof. For a moment I found this strange: then I remembered that, when I had come to my senses, the rope which had lain on the terrace was no longer there, and, since without rope I could not descend from a window, it was plainly needless to post a sentinel.

At once I whipped to the gate and drew the great bolts. Then I set aside the shutter which masked the grill and, after a glance behind me, pulled the great leaf open and stepped outside.

I can never remember that moment without emotion.

The sparkle of the wet, green turf and the brilliant foliage beyond, the gay singing of the birds and the sweet smell of the earth filled me with a sudden amazement, as though I had clean forgotten that such things were. Yet, only three days before, I had drunk my fill of them. Which shows, I think, that the burden of those three days was even more exacting than we had guessed.

When I looked back through the grill, there was still no one to be seen; so, quick as a flash, I slipped back into the porch and, leaving the great door ajar, entered the doorway which stood in the eastern wall.

I was a little uneasy about the gate, for, to serve my purpose, it should stay so much open as to attract the eye; but this was the very thing which Casemate, deserter, would have done his best to avoid. Still, he could have done no more than draw it to, and, even while I stood thinking, the fresh northwesterly breeze took the matter out of my hands. At its instance the massive leaf began very slowly to move and had very soon swung so far that none that looked into the courtyard could ever have missed its tale.

Now all this was well enough: when his fellows began to wonder where Casemate could be, an excellent answer was staring them in the face: but a sudden fear came upon me lest Casemate himself should suddenly come to his senses and, rising as it were from the dead, offer a still better answer to his inquisitive friends. Mansel had said that he would be “safe” for an hour; but it might very well be that more than an hour would elapse before we could afford to ignore the chance of his coming to life. And here, for the first time⁠—fear, I suppose, breeding fear⁠—I began to grow uneasy about the condition of things in the southeast tower.

I glanced at my watch.

Fifteen minutes had passed since I had sat up on the terrace to find myself alone. Yet there had been no action of any sort. I had seen no movement and I had heard no sound. We were four fit men to three, while the enemy thought they were three to one dying man. The odds were full in our favour. Yet, though time was precious, no blow had been struck.

As I stood, biting my fingers, the answer came into my mind. There was but one explanation⁠—the old familiar stile was still barring our way. Neither Mansel nor George nor the servants had been able to come between Rose Noble and Adèle. Close as they were to this bourne, the other’s devilish instinct was holding them up: and, until this relaxed or the monster flew in its face, they dared not move.

Now that, I confess, was guesswork, but this was clear. Could they have done it, Mansel or George or both would have struck fifteen minutes ago. They had not, because they could not: and, if they could not then, God alone knew how long they would have to wait.

And that brought me back to Casemate. “Safe for an hour.” Why, two, three, six hours might not be enough.⁠ ⁠…

Now, though I could gag the man, I had no cord: and without cord I could not bind him as such a man should be bound. I, therefore, opened the door in the eastern wall of the archway in some hope of finding the storeroom to which Casemate had been dispatched.

The door led into a chamber which was clearly the porter’s lodge.

On either side of the window, which was some way above the ground, were steps leading up to two stalls, cut out of the wall, from which the porters could comfortably watch the spur. Facing the window was a door, with a key in its lock. I guessed at once that this led to the caretakers’ room, or, at least, to the room in which they were now confined, for I had no doubt that they had been shut in their quarters, and these were sure to be within sound of the gate. A third door stood open, revealing a passage and staircase, both of stone.⁠ ⁠…

Five rooms I entered, but, though I rummaged desperately, I could not light on so much as a foot of cord, or, for the matter of that, of any substitute. Not daring to wait any longer, I decided to make my way back, and, ripping the tick from a mattress, to tear this into strips and bind Casemate with those.

I, therefore, hastened back to the porch, but, before I crossed to the doorway in the opposite wall, I naturally put out my head to see that the coast was clear.

The roof was empty, but, standing in the courtyard, some ten or twelve paces away, was an elderly man. His back was towards me, but the cut of his clothes was not English, and, when he moved his head, I could see the shanks of spectacles resting above his ears. He was plainly hot, for he had his hat in his hand and was mopping his face, but he looked about him placidly and with evident relish, as a man who has made an effort and is content with his reward.

Then he turned suddenly about, and I knew him at once.

It was the bookseller of Lass.

To tell the truth, I was not greatly surprised.

The guide the old fellow had written showed very plainly his veneration for Gath: when he kept holiday, therefore, that he should visit the spur was natural enough: and though to walk seven miles to look at a castle wall may be the way of a zealot, I imagine his tastes were simple and his pleasures were few.

And so he had come to the spur to look upon Gath.

Finding the gate open, he had naturally seized the chance to make his way in and once more enjoy a prospect from which he had been lately debarred.

But, if I was not surprised, I was considerably moved.

Such was the emplacement of the castle, so thick was the wood that masked the spur and so lonely was the country round about that we had all come to ignore the chance of an outsider’s entry upon the scene. This was now, however, an accomplished fact. A respectable citizen of Lass, an intelligent man, well acquainted with Gath and with its ownership, was actually within the walls and must already have found the open gate and the absence of any custodian matters for serious remark. More. His eyes had only to light upon George Hanbury, Bell or myself, when his suspicions would be instantly quickened by that most lively curiosity which our use of his apartment at Lass and our strange and precipitate departure must have aroused.

And here it seemed that Fortune was at last inclining towards our part, for, while the bookseller’s presence could do us no harm, the last thing Rose Noble desired was a witness of what was afoot.

Now all this swept through my mind in a tenth of the time it has taken to set it down, but right on the heels of this valueless speculation came a fair, clean-cut idea, upon which, for once, I had the good sense to act without any hesitation or weighing of odds.

The bookseller had not seen me, but I stepped out into his view. He looked very much surprised, but, before he could speak, I beckoned to him to follow and, crossing to the opposite doorway, led the way to a corner below some stairs.

“Look at me well,” I whispered. “Have you ever seen me before?”

He replied directly that I was one of the strangers that had made some use of the parlour above his shop.

“That’s right,” said I. “And now, before I tell you how and why I come to be here, answer me this. Would you like to help a lady who goes in danger of death?”

“I would indeed,” said the bookseller stoutly enough.

“Then listen,” said I.

As shortly as ever I could, I told him a few of the facts. He heard me solemnly, with his big, blue eyes on my face.

“So you see,” I said, in the end, “it’s a business of life and death. You’re not safe here. No one is: but a stranger, least of all. I’d be very glad of your help, but I’m bound to tell you that the only help you can give will involve you in a terrible risk.”

“Thank you,” said the bookseller politely. “Please tell me what I may do.”

His calm firmness of purpose took me by storm: of pure gratitude I could have gone on my knees.

“In the first place,” said I, “you’re a doctor⁠—remember that. A doctor out for the day. Hanbury met you in the road at the end of the drive. You can describe him, can’t you? The man who bought Alison’s Europe and borrowed your coat and hat. Very well. He asked you if you knew of a doctor, and when he heard you were one he begged you to come here at once. He said that you’d find the gate open and told you how to get to the southeast tower. There, he said, was a man very grievously hurt.

“Now that is the tale you will tell, when you get to the room: but, before you get so far, I think the fat man you find there will have rushed upstairs to the roof. The ‘open gate’ will fetch him, if nothing else. If he stays where he is, please pretend to examine the man who is lying hurt: take off his coat and shirt and feel his spine: then announce that his back is broken, but that, if he lies flat and still, he may possibly live. Then ask the fat man if he will kindly see if your son has arrived: say that he was to follow you here as soon as he’d changed his tire. That’ll move the fat man all right. You see we’ve got to get him out of the tower.”

“Sir,” said the bookseller gravely, “it shall be done.”

“It’s a dangerous game,” said I. “If he thinks that you’re lying, the fat man will shoot you dead.”

The old fellow smiled.

“I am old,” he said simply. “And lonely. Since my wife was dead, I do not much value my life. But you and your lady are young.⁠ ⁠… And, besides, I do not think he will think I am lying⁠—this fat man of yours.”

“He’s pretty shrewd,” said I.

“Let us go, please,” said the bookseller, settling his hat on his head.⁠ ⁠…

We had almost reached the guardroom and I had stopped to listen for any sound, when I heard the scamper of feet upon the roof.

The murder was out, and Punter or Bunch was running to shut the gate.

Mercifully the door of the bedroom in which I had hidden Casemate was less than ten paces away, so I opened it quickly and thrust the bookseller in. As I closed it behind me, I heard a flurry of footsteps and the clack of the guardroom wicket flung back against the wall.

Now, as I have said, the guardroom’s floor was of stone; but the floor of the passage which followed was of oak boards that had been polished and highly waxed: and, since whoever was coming was running as fast as he could, I was not surprised that so soon as he left the guardroom and trod the oak, he slipped and lost his footing and took the deuce of a fall.

For a moment there was dead silence. Then I heard Punter’s voice.

If he omitted any blasphemies, I cannot think what they were: he stayed quite still, vomiting a stream of imprecation and only interrupting his recital to groan with pain.

In the midst I heard other steps coming, and almost at once Bunch spoke.

“What’s up?” said he. “Took a toss?”

“Oh, no,” said Punter shakily. “Just ’avin’ a lil lay down. ‘Toss,’ you gentle ⸻? I wish I’d got the ⸻ that shined these boards.”

“It’s comin’ after the stones,” said Bunch sententiously. “That’s wot it is. You nips off of the stones on to⁠—”

“My God,” screeched Punter, “don’t I know what you does? Ain’t I jus’ done it, you ⸻?”

“All right, all right,” said Bunch soothingly. “But you ain’t broke nothing, an’ wot about shuttin’ the gate?”

“⁠⸻ the gate,” said Punter. “An’ Casemate⁠—the dirty swine. I knew the ⸻ was windy, but I never dreamed he was down to doin’ a bunk.”

“That’s Jute,” said Bunch. “ ’E would ’ave it Jute ’ad beat it, an’ ’e thought the devil o’ Jute.”

“God knows why,” said Punter bitterly. “It’s Jute tore everything up. If ’e ’adn’t let Mansel bounce ’im, we’d ’ve been in Paris by now⁠—’avin’ our breakfast in bed, with our cheque books under our arms. ’Alf a million o’ money, an’ nothin’ said. An’ now you can ’ave my bit for a double Scotch.”

“ ’E ain’t dead yet,” said Bunch.

“He’s broke his back,” said Punter. “Rose knows it better than us.”

“Then, why’s ’e waitin’?” said Bunch. “Sittin’ there like a ⸻ policeman by the side o’ the bed?”

“You can search me,” said Punter. “I don’ think ’e knows ’imself. But it’s no good sayin’ nothin’⁠—’e’s just black ice. I thought the goods was dead when she slipped ’er cuff.”

There was a gloomy silence.

Then⁠—

“Come on,” said Bunch. “Best shut that ⸻ gate.”

The other got to his feet, and the two passed on.

I could hardly believe my ears when I heard the two of them making towards the porch. Here was a stroke of luck for which I had never hoped. And then I saw with a shock how wretched a plotter I was, for, with Punter and Bunch to waylay him, the “doctor” would never have won to the room in which Mansel lay.

The bookseller was speaking.

“I have understood nothing,” he said: “only Rose is your lady’s name.”

“All slang,” said I. “Thieves’ talk. Never mind,” and, with that, I opened the door.

Swiftly we passed through the guardroom and climbed the winding stair which led to the roof.

This was empty, and, now that I could see all around, seemed like the pleasance of some god-philosopher, whence he could watch and contemplate the world. The place did not seem like a roof, but like a gigantic terrace, hung in the air. Even the chimney-stacks could not disturb this illusion, for they had no chimney-pots and might have been great pedestals ready for statuary which had not yet been done. Indeed, the extraordinary prospect troubled my head, and I felt suddenly dizzy and the palms of my hands grew wet.

The sun was high now, and the shadow of the southeast tower lay sharp upon the flags. The stacks, too, threw their shadows and the battlements made a pattern along the side.

As I was peering, I heard the hollow clap of the castle gate.⁠ ⁠…

A moment later we were standing by the door of the southeast tower.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” I breathed, “which room they’ll be in: but I think you’ll find it leads out of the ‘gallery of stone.’ ”

The bookseller nodded, and I put out my hand.

This seemed to please him, for he took it in both of his. Then he put his mouth to my ear.

“I go,” he whispered, “to betray the violator of Gath.”

Then he adjusted his spectacles, nodded, smiled and disappeared.

Now, if I had had a pistol, I should have stayed by the door, to kill Rose Noble as he stepped on to the roof. But my pistol had been taken, and Casemate had carried no arms. I certainly had my knife, but I dared not trust my handling of such a weapon to make an end of such a man. I have often thought since that here I made a mistake and that I should have stabbed the monster as he came out of the door, but up to that day I had never done any worse violence than knock a man down with my fist, and I was frankly afraid of making a mess of the business and thereby wrecking the ship which I was trying to steer.

I, therefore, whipped to the nearest chimney-stack and crouched, with this between me and the southeast tower. This stack was to be my shield. As Rose Noble came by, I would move, keeping it always directly between him and me, and, when he was by, I would dash for the southeast tower. Once within, I had but to shut the door and shoot the bolts to bring us over the bar which had balked us so long. The rest would be child’s play. If five men armed could not break out at their pleasure.⁠ ⁠… It occurred to me suddenly that, if there was no way by the chapel, Mansel would bring out Adèle through the Dining-room floor.

Looking back, I find it curious that I should have had no doubt that Rose Noble would come up to the roof. That nine men out of ten would have done so is nothing at all. Rose Noble was the tenth man in all that he did. I cannot pay him a higher compliment. Yet I never had any doubt that, once my decoy was in action, our enemy would fall into the pit which I had digged. I was as certain of this as if I had seen it written among the orders of Fate. This by the grace of God, for upon that certainty was founded the whole of my simple plan and, had I stopped to consider how bold was my postulate, I am sure that my judgment would have faltered and that I should have abandoned my design as out of reason.

Rose Noble came up quietly, without any haste. Had I not been expecting to hear them, I should not have heard his steps. I had thought that he would come running and crying for Punter or Bunch. But he did not. Rather he seemed to be prowling, like some suspicious beast.

For a moment he paused on the opposite side of my stack, for all the world as though he had heard me move. Then he went on his way to the southwest tower.

I let him take ten paces. Then I rounded the stack and made my dash for the door.

And here, I think, my heart stood suddenly still.

The door was shut: and when I lifted the latch, I found it was barred.

For an instant I stared at it blankly. Then the truth rose up in a blinding flash.

Knowing nothing of me, Mansel had followed Rose Noble up the stair and had played my hand before I could play it myself.

The game was won⁠—over: Adèle was saved: Rose Noble had been “caught bending”: and so had I.

A slight noise made me look round.

Rose Noble was standing, glaring, six paces away.

His face was working and his hand in his jacket-pocket was twitching with wrath. I think that he would have spoken, for twice he opened his mouth; but his fury must have choked him, for, though he gaped upon me, the words seemed stuck in his throat.

He was never a pleasant sight, but, so transfigured, he made as dreadful a picture as ever I saw, and I must confess that, as I looked upon him, my blood ran cold.

I was sure he was going to kill me, if only to serve his rage, for he knew as well as did I who it was that had shut the door and that Mansel, while he lay at his mercy, had bluffed him into discarding a winning hand. Indeed, had he guessed that George and the servants were actually in the tower, he would I believe, have shot me down like a dog: but, as the moments went by, yet he did not fire, I began to believe that he had still some hope of saving the game, and, since I was plainly his prisoner, had decided to hold me alive to his future use.

In a word, I was pretty desperate: but the thought of the part I had played in bringing him down did my heart good, and, what is more, it served to steady my nerves and to set my brain working to see if I could not hold out until help should come.

I folded my arms, leaned against the wall of the tower and waited for Rose Noble to speak.

At length⁠—

“How did you get here?” he said.

“Thanks to Hanbury,” said I. “He opened the passage door.”

In a flash he had me by the collar and a pistol was hurting my ribs.

“March,” he said thickly.

Together we crossed the roof and entered the opposite tower. Then we went down the stair to the “gallery of stone.” He held me to the wall with the pistol, while he bolted the passage door. An instant later we were back on the roof.

“How did you come by those clothes?”

“Mine were wet,” said I. “And, as Casemate didn’t need them⁠—”

“Why didn’t he need them?”

“Because Hanbury had laid him out.”

The man’s eyes burned in his head. They seemed to be striving to bore their way into my brain. Though he suspected it deeply, he could find no fault in my tale.

After a little he stepped to the balustrade.

“Bunch! Punter!” he roared.

For a moment he stood still, waiting: then he leaned over the stone.

“Come here,” he cried.

Again he waited, like a great beast about to spring.

“Look in that ⸻ kitchen and see if it’s all OK.”

There was a moment’s silence: then I heard a scared voice.

“ ’E’s gone!” cried Punter.

Rose Noble drew himself up and turned to me.

“Where’s Hanbury now?”

“I don’t know,” said I. “He went to get the servants, but he hasn’t come back.”

“Why not?” said Rose Noble.

“I don’t know,” said I. “I was waiting to let them in, when the doctor appeared. So I left the gate open and came straight up to the roof.”

“I shouldn’t lie,” said Rose Noble.

Before I could answer, Punter appeared on the roof.

“Rose,” he said, “Casemate’s⁠—”

There he saw me and stopped dead, with his mouth and his eyes wide open and a hand halfway to his head.

Grimly Rose Noble surveyed him.

“Well, what of Casemate?” he said.

Dazedly Punter regarded him. Then he pointed to me.

“ ’E’s done ’im in,” he said stupidly. “Look at ’is ⸻ soot.”

The wretched man was plainly thinking aloud, but Rose Noble was not in the mood to receive such gifts. He did not actually strike him, but he took him by the shoulders and shook him, till he wore the colour of death and I really thought that his brains must be loose in his head. Then he flung him away against the wall of the tower and, using a frightful oath, demanded the truth.

At first Punter could not speak. Then he put a hand to his temples and moistened his lips.

“I thought he’d beat it,” he faltered. “When I saw the ⸻ gate open⁠—”

“When was this?”

“Why, jus’ now,” said Punter. “I’d only that moment shut it, when you called down.”

Rose Noble was plainly uncertain what to think.

My tale was unlikely enough, but the facts bore it out. That I should have quitted the porch before George and the servants were safely within the castle seemed to him a mistake which not even a child would have made. Yet, if they were truly within, a child would have had the good sense to shut the gate. Of these two incredible conclusions he did not know which to choose, and, as I watched his teeth at work on his lower lip, I was elated to think that I had contrived to embarrass so subtle a brain.

My triumph was short-lived.

“I guess Hanbury’s only two hands⁠—and those were fast. How did you make the kitchen out of that flat?”

The thrust was so unexpected that I could only stare.

“Speak up, you young fool,” said Rose Noble. “I saw the way he was tied.”

I swallowed desperately. Lest Mansel should mean to use it, I dared not reveal the fact that the table sank through the floor.

“Out of the window,” I said, “when the servants attacked. I went into the kitchen for shelter and found him there.”

“Why didn’t Mansel go with you?”

“He hadn’t time,” said I. “The light was back on the windows before he could follow me down.”

“You knew the servants were there. Why didn’t you go to the porch and let them in?”

“I tried to,” said I. “But I didn’t dare show a light and I couldn’t undo the bolts.”

“But you did in the end,” said Rose Noble, rubbing his nose. “That’s why that attack was a washout. You whistled ’em down from the roof and handed them in. Are you sure you got out by the window?”

A sudden belief that the man was playing with me sent the blood to my head. In a trice I had lost my temper and found my tongue.

“Have it your own way,” said I. “It won’t be for long. I may have played the hand badly, but I’ve made the odd trick. You’re the wrong side of the door, and we can afford to wait. That doctor comes out of Lass, and, if he’s not back by sundown, I fancy his friends and relations will wonder why.”

Now, if this was all Greek to Punter, it was so much gall to his chief. Servants within or without, so long as Mansel sat still, he could not act, and, unless he acted quickly, the chance would pass. The stranger within the gates had set the sandglass up, and the grains which had lain so long idle had now begun to run. And nothing on earth could stop them. Happen what might, before many hours were over tongues would be wagging and eyes would be turning to Gath. Before any steps were taken, if Rose Noble valued his freedom, he would be wise to be gone.

But, if I had stung him, the monster gave no sign.

“Yes,” he said slowly, “I guess I shall have it my way.”

The words were softly spoken, but his tone was so dark and so sinister that I found them more disturbing than any explosion of wrath. Indeed, his whole demeanour seemed to have changed: the red heat of passion was gone, and, in its stead, a coldness which was not human possessed this terrible man. And, if that did not show me, the next ten minutes declared why men endured his service and went in fear of his name.

He never once used an oath or two words where one would serve, and, if a sign could take the place of an order, he made a sign. He never hesitated or gave any sort of reason for the commands he gave; himself he did nothing and seemed to be oblivious of what was done, yet, when Bunch was about to gag me, he had knocked me down before I knew myself that my hand had instinctively moved towards my knife. No Pharaoh could have been more imperious, no beast so vigilant, nothing but a statue could have stood so still and cold. What was far more, the man compelled belief. That I had duped him was forgotten: if he said “Shut that door,” I knew that to leave it open would have been a fatal mistake: he gave the impression of providing for what was coming to pass: from his orders alone you could foretell the future, till looking ahead seemed as simple as looking back. Little wonder that Bunch and Punter hung on his lips.⁠ ⁠…

Casemate was found and heartily soused with water in a hope of bringing him to, but Mansel had struck too well, and after a little they left him to fare as best he could. I was gagged and my wrists were tightly bound. Food and wine were packed in a battered bag and, without passing through the porch, we left by a lower window and gained the spur.

This was of course, the window by which Hanbury had been brought in. The middle bar could be lifted, so that a man could pass. The contrivance was simple, but none from without could have reached the plate, like a damper, which locked the bar into place.

With never a look behind him, Rose Noble passed up the spur and into the drive. Once out of sight of the castle, he turned to the right and, plunging into the thicket, swung back towards the castle, till he came to a little hollow, sunk in the midst of bushes and overspread with the branches of the surrounding trees.

We were now on the fringe of the wood, and I could see the castle between the leaves: the drive was ten paces away and the spur but three, but, while we commanded both, a man must have stumbled upon us before he knew we were there.

Rose Noble pushed back his hat and lit a cigar.

Then⁠—

“Watch,” he said shortly and flung himself down on the turf.

Without a word, Bunch wriggled into the foliage, until he could see the spur, while Punter opened the bag and began to eat. Of me they took no notice, and, since it seemed idle to stand, I sat myself down. This miserably enough, for my bodily state was wretched and my heart was heavy as lead. If ever a man “meant business,” Rose Noble was he, and there was death in the hollow for whoever came up to the drive. Carson was doomed: the cars were as good as gone: and I was the wretched decoy to draw Mansel out of the castle and into the snare. I could see it all coming as clearly as though it were past and could do no more to prevent it than one of those careless butterflies that we had passed on the spur.

Presently I laid down my head and stared at the sky.

At least the place was lovely, and the day as fine and smooth as a day could be. The fluting of birds and the steady hum of insects soothed the ear: and the wet grass was cool and fragrant against my cheek.

My head was aching, and I was parched with thirst: the gag was most hard on my jaws, and my wrists were already sore: but I was very tired, and, since Nature is a governess not easily put about, the murmur of the insects grew more and more slumberous, and, after a little space, I fell asleep.

“I reckon he’s sweating,” said Rose Noble.

I was wide awake in an instant. With the tail of my eye I could see that, except that Bunch was eating and Punter had taken his place, nothing had changed.

“Sweating blood,” said Rose Noble. “One Willie up on the drop, and, unless he gets a move on, the other walks into our arms as soon as it’s dark.”

“Complete with car,” said Bunch, licking his lips.

Rose Noble shrugged his shoulders.

“Maybe,” he said. “But I guess they’ll give us the cars before we’re through.”

Punter looked down from his post on the lip of the dell.

“He can lay to meeting ’is Gawd, if he comes out.”

“That’s why he’s sweating,” said Rose Noble. “This ⸻ garden’s all right from the castle wall, but it’s just a shade too wild for a good closeup.”

“Suicide ’All,” said Bunch. “But ’e won’t ’ave a dart by daylight. ’E knows⁠—”

“Yes, he will,” said Rose Noble. “He’ll never wait ten hours, while his Willies are getting wet. He’ll bring two o’ the servants with him, an’ they’ll come right up in a line.”

Punter looked round.

“Didn’t we ought to spread, Rose?”

The other shook his head.

“Stop one, an’ you stop the lot. Say we lay out a servant⁠—well, what’ll Big Willie do? Fall on his ⸻ stomach an’ pray to God. He’s only the wood to shoot at, an’ he’s three down instead of two. An’ that’s when we move. By the time he’s got his soul straight, I guess I’ll be ready to flip a fly off his nose.”

“You don’ wan’ to kill ’im,” said Bunch. “If you⁠—”

“ ‘Kill him?’ ” breathed Rose Noble. “ ‘Kill him?’ ” I could hear him suck in his breath. “No, I’m not going to kill him. And if I were you, I wouldn’t so much as loose off, if you see his face⁠—in case you killed him, for, if you did, by ⸻, I’d feed your tripe to a mongrel before your eyes.”

A prudent silence succeeded this horrid threat, which was not so much spoken as snarled and suggested a return of the temper with which the monster was ridden a while before. For my part, I would have welcomed that cold, black mood, for now his manner argued a confidence so rich and ripe and lazy as made me twice as hopeless as I had been before.

“I’m going to sell him,” said Rose Noble. “Hang him up on a wall of that court⁠—expose him for sale⁠ ⁠… with a bucket on either foot⁠—the way they made ‘Poky’ remember the name of his ‘bank.’ If he won’t buy himself in, I guess the Willies’ll think when they see the weights. An’ before we reach the reserve, I guess the goods will ask him to change his mind.”

“But see here, Rose,” said Punter. “They won’t ’ave the cash to pay with, an’ ’ow can we wait? That blasted chemist⁠—”

“Who wants to wait?” said Rose Noble. “I’ll take their ⸻ word. Oh, I guess they’ve got false bottoms, the same as anyone else. I wouldn’t trust Mansel a foot⁠—if none of his like could hear. But let one of ’em pass his word in front of his ⸻ kind, an’ he hasn’t the spunk to break it for fear they’ll think he’s a swab. That’s what they mean when they talk of Noblesse Oblige; if you want plain English, Don’ let ’em see your dirt.”

The venom with which he uttered this ugly argument declared the deadly hatred he bore us all, and I could not help wondering what was the fellow’s history, for he had a commanding presence and was by no means common, as Punter and Bunch, while his speech was constantly betraying a considerable education which for some unaccountable reason he seemed to despise.

Punter took a deep breath.

“This time tomorrow,” he said, “we’ll be on the ⸻ road.”

“Out of the country, you mean, and pushing for France.”

Bunch looked up from his victuals.

“Wot price the Customs?” he said. “I’ll shift the ⸻ Rolls, but there’s photos stuck on to ’er papers, an’ I don’ wan’ to be asked why I’m drivin’ a stolen car.”

Rose Noble yawned.

“I guess we’ll give one of the Willies a lift to France. They’ll have to go back to London to raise the wind. An’ he’ll put us through the Customs⁠—if we remember to ask him while Mansel’s up on the wall.”

Punter spoke over his shoulder.

“What ‘Poky’ was that you mentioned? There was a ‘Poky’ Barrett I saw in a Boston bar. But he, was a little old screw, with a jerky leg.”

Rose Noble laughed.

“ ‘Poky’ Barrett,” he said, “is forty-two.”

“Go on,” said Punter, incredulously.

“Forty-two,” said Rose Noble. “But he had⁠ ⁠… an illness⁠ ⁠… not quite seven years ago⁠ ⁠…”

Somehow I got to my knees and tried to speak.

The three watched me curiously.

I threw myself down and rubbed my head on the ground in a wild endeavour to tear the gag from my mouth. I heard Punter laugh and say something about a dog. The attempt exhausted me and was utterly vain. When I got again to my knees, my face was streaming with sweat.

Rose Noble looked at me and lifted his lids.

“An illness,” he said softly. “Some people might say ‘an attack.’ It changed him⁠ ⁠… unbelievably.⁠ ⁠… And the jerky leg came on about the same time. You see, when he wouldn’t answer, somebody happened to touch his sciatic nerve.”

With a bursting head, I flung myself back on the turf.⁠ ⁠…

I can never describe the agony of that hour.

I knew that Mansel would come, and I knew he would come before dark. He would never wait for ten hours before starting to my relief: and Carson had to be saved from walking clean into a trap. He had not rope enough to go by the cliff⁠—the spur was his only way. And so he would come⁠ ⁠… by daylight⁠ ⁠… up to the wood⁠ ⁠… If he came, he was doomed. He could be seen approaching for two hundred yards or more, and no cunning would ever avail him against an ambuscade. There was no scope for cunning. The wood was dense, while, except for four or five trees, the spur was bare. I had no hope for him, and, if I had, Rose Noble’s air would have killed it, for he, the soul of prudence, was awaiting his enemy’s coming with his hands, so to speak, in his pockets and his sword in the rack.

Of what was to follow his wounding, I tried not to think.

Whoever was with him would be taken, alive or dead: and Carson would walk into the shambles soon after the sun had set. With me for spokesman, those that were left in the castle would be apprised of the truth, and no doubt, at dawn the next day Adèle and Hanbury and I would be pleading with prayers and fortunes for the life of a broken man. And so the play would finish⁠—in a welter of blood and tears. Redress was not to be thought of: the chances of vengeance would not be worth taking up. Then The Law would step in, pick over the ghastly business, madden us all with its ritual, ask unanswerable questions and believe what it chose. A hideous publicity would follow: the names of Adèle and Mansel would be in everyone’s mouth: reporters would cluster round Poganec: charabancs would be run to The Castle of Gath.⁠ ⁠…

In this affliction of spirit I again and again forgot my bodily distress. This was as well, for the gag choked me and had broken the sides of my mouth, my wrists seemed to be on fire, the pain in my head was raging, and I might have been covered with blankets, so fast was I streaming with sweat. At times I made sure I was sickening for some disease, but I think that it was the tightness as well of my clothing as my bonds which joined with the heat of the day, not only made me so hot, but caused my blood to rebel against such usage.

Bunch drained his bottle of wine and lay down to sleep. Before he did so, he took a scarf from his pocket and bound my feet, and so put out the spark of hope I had cherished that, when the moment came, I could hurl myself into the bushes and betray his danger to Mansel by means of the noise I made.

Rose Noble was speaking.

“I guess you’ll remember today. It’ll spoil the greenwood for you for the rest of your life. When you see the sun on the leaves and you hear the birds piping around, I guess you’ll remember today, and, when you remember, I reckon you’ll wish it was raining and that the boughs were bare.

“May be it’ll learn you something that they don’t teach at Oxford or the schools for pretty, young boys. Stick to your ⸻ last. Live an’ let live. If somebody pulls your nose, go to the police. Keep your ⸻ tadpoles, an’ watch ’em turn into frogs, but leave the deep-sea fishing to them that know.⁠ ⁠…

“When Mansel climbed into that strongbox, he cut his throat. He gave me this wood for the taking⁠—just the kind of damfool error a squirt like Mansel would make. The poor trash couldn’t see that, if ever it got to a dogfight, the ⸻ that had this thicket was bound to win.”

If the fellow’s words enraged me, I think that they angered him.

He knew as well as did I that we could not have taken the castle and held the wood as well and that Mansel had had to stake all upon freeing Adèle: he knew that Mansel had taken trick after trick, though the game was not of his choosing and every card was marked⁠—that Mansel could still win the odd⁠ ⁠… and the game and the rubber and all⁠ ⁠… if he would but sit still in the castle and let Carson and me take our chance. He had sought to belittle the man who in fourteen days had achieved what Rose Noble himself had believed three impossible feats, first of all finding a needle out of a bottle of hay, then seizing a very bastille and, finally, plucking his lady out of the lion’s mouth. He had sought to diminish Mansel, and he had failed, because the facts were against him and he had no sort of material with which to build his case. This poverty made him wroth, and, could he have called back his words, I think he would. But since he could not, he started to curse and swear, reviling Mansel in filthy and blasphemous terms and working himself into a very passion, because, I fancy, he knew that with every execration he was, so to speak, but further exposing his sores.

Throughout this exhibition, Bunch was pretending slumber, and Punter never moved, whilst I, of course, lay as I was, for, now that my feet were bound, I could not stir.

At last the storm blew itself out, and, after a decent silence, Rose Noble turned to the future and left the past.

“I guess Jute’ll bite his thumbs, when he finds we’re gone.”

Bunch propped himself on an elbow and let out an oath.

“Serve ’im ⸻ well right,” he spouted, “the dirty goat. Sits down in that crooked village an’ leaves us to get the wet. I know ’is ⸻ idea of keepin’ the background warm. Oysters an’ girls an’ movies an’ a skinful every night.”

“He had his orders,” said Rose Noble, “an’ he’s broken ’em twice. If he’d done as I told him, we shouldn’t have had this fuss. But maybe it’s as well. It don’t amuse me to suckle an insubordinate ⸻ that’s let me down.”

This definite intimation that no claim by Jute would be paid was greeted by Punter and Bunch with the highest glee, partly, no doubt, because each was expecting to profit by such a rule, but mainly, I think, because they detested Jute and the thought of his losing his share did their hearts good. Indeed, had they known the truth⁠—that Jute was no longer alive to lodge his claim, they could not have been better pleased. They crowed and giggled like children, abused the dead man with a relish which must have made him turn in his grave, and showed an impatience for action which all their approaching welfare had failed to inspire.

Punter shook his fist at the castle and cried aloud.

“Come out, you one-legged ⸻, and take your gruel.”

“Easy now,” said Rose Noble. “He knows that he’s for the high jump, and I guess you’d straighten your tie before buying that hop.”

“Rose,” says Bunch, all of a twitter, “are you sure we’d better not spread? You know. Just in case⁠—”

Rose Noble sat up.

“If and when I say so, but not before. What the hell’s the use of spreading before they show up? Or even then?”

“None whatever,” said Mansel.

Then a shot was fired just behind me, and Rose Noble fell back, staring, with the blood running into his eyes.

Himself, Mansel unbound me and took the gag from my mouth, while Carson and Bell, who were with him, stood covering Punter and Bunch⁠—in a way, a needless precaution, for the two seemed stupefied and gazed about them slowly, as though they had just been translated into another world. And so, I suppose, in a sense, they had been, for Rose Noble was stone dead, shot through the brain.

When he saw the state of my mouth, Mansel drew in his breath. Then his hands went under my arms, and he lifted me up.

There was a rill in the wood⁠—we had heard the fuss of its water, whenever we used the drive. This we sought in silence, for I was past speaking, and Mansel held his tongue. Indeed, he had his hands full, for though I could walk, I had lost my sense of balance and but for his arms, must have fallen a score of times.

The water revived me, but, when I would have spoken, Mansel stopped me at once.

“All in good time,” said he. “Those swine must be disposed of, and the cord’s way back with the cars. You will stay here and rest, and I’ll come back and find you as soon as ever I can.”

With that, he was gone, and I turned again to the water and drank my fill.⁠ ⁠…

After a little, I lay back and gazed at the sky.

To tell the truth, I was thankful to be alone.

I had been just as much shaken as Punter and Bunch, and the world seemed out of focus to my labouring brain.

One moment the enemy was rampant, and the next Rose Noble was dead: before he had left the castle, Mansel had appeared in the wood: the inevitable had not happened, the impossible come to pass.

More than once an absurd fear seized me that it was all a dream, and, indeed, I was still uneasy when I heard a comfortable sound⁠—the sigh of one of the Rolls.

Ten minutes later Tester was licking my face.⁠ ⁠…

“It’s very simple,” said Mansel, filling a pipe. “The whole of the credit is yours. You cut the Gordian knot: and when, because of my failure, our case was ten times worse than it had been before, you pulled the whole show round and did the trick.”

To this I demurred, but he brushed my protests aside.

“Listen,” he said. “They carried me in and laid me down on a bed in the middle room of the tower. They took my pistol and knife, locked them up in a cupboard and took the key. Then they locked every door, except the door to the roof and that of the room in which I lay. Well, that washed out George and the servants, for they were in the oratory, very properly biding their time. Then they handcuffed Adèle to my bedpost, and, when she slipped out of the cuff, they clipped her ankle instead. Then Rose Noble sat down and watched me⁠—from a chair at the foot of the bed. Adèle told me afterwards that he never took his hand from his pocket or his eyes from my face.⁠ ⁠… If you can conceive a tighter place than that, I’d like to hear what it is.

“Well, the ‘doctor’ appeared, and, before he’d said thirty words, Rose Noble was out of the room. When I rose to follow, Adèle almost bent it again. She started up, forgetting her ankle was fast to the leg of the bed. I just managed to catch her in time.⁠ ⁠…

“I shut the door to the roof and started to look for the keys. I found them at last, high up in a niche in the wall. Then I unlocked the doors. I had no idea where George and the servants were, and, as luck would have it, I tried the oratory last. Not until then did I go back to the ‘doctor’ and ask about you. To my horror, I learned he had left you up on the roof.⁠ ⁠…

“Of course I realized I had shut the door in your face, and, when I rushed back to listen, I could hear Rose Noble speaking and you reply. I took Bell’s pistol, posted George and Rowley as best I could and cautiously opened the door, to find that the roof was empty and the opposite door was shut. This made me think very hard. Although he knew we had rope, Rose Noble was giving us the roof: but the gifts of a man like that are always dangerous, and I instantly wondered if he meant to take to the wood.

“A moment’s reflection convinced me that this was so.”

“In the first place, to use his own words, ‘if ever it got to a dogfight, the fellow that had this thicket was bound to win’: in the second, the dogfight was coming⁠—there was any amount to suggest that the servants were in: the castle would soon be unhealthy, because of the doctor’s friends; and, then, the cars for the taking and Carson as well: finally, he knew I should seek you, and the very best place in which to hold you prisoner was, therefore, the wood.

“There was not a moment to lose. We couldn’t go down the cliff, for we hadn’t sufficient rope, and our only chance was to reach the wood by the spur not only before Rose Noble, but before he was in a position to see us go.

“I left George and Rowley with Adèle, who was now as safe as a house, and Bell and I slid down from the roof to the spur. The ‘doctor,’ a gallant old fellow, drew up the rope behind us and then slipped back to the tower. Believe me, I ran for this wood, with my heart in my mouth.⁠ ⁠…

“When we made the drive, I sent Bell off for Carson and lay in wait. Almost at once you appeared. I watched you come out of the window and start for the wood, but, when I felt for my pistol, it wasn’t there.⁠ ⁠…

“I’d given it back to Bell, before I went down the rope, and in the rush I’d forgotten to ask for it back.

“Well, there was nothing to be done. I retired, marked you to cover and then went off to pick up Carson and Bell. I’m afraid the delay cost you dear, for I had to be careful to meet them a long way back and, of course, we had to come up without snapping a twig. But I think, perhaps, after all, it was better so, for the sprint had unsteadied my hand, and, if I had missed or anything else had slipped, you were a pretty good hostage and I was but one to three.

“The rest you know.” He rose to his feet and stretched luxuriously. “And now, if you feel like moving, we’ll get into one of the cars and go back to Adèle. Carson and Bell are digging a certain grave, and I think we’ll leave them to it⁠—and him to them. To tell you the truth, I don’t want to see him again. The sight of him rouses feelings that one shouldn’t have against the dead. In his way, he was a great man, and, if he’d had the help I’ve had, he’d have wiped me off the map. He hadn’t a servant worth having⁠—they let him down right and left: he practically stood alone: and, even so, it took six of us all we knew to bring him down.”

It is not for me to review that valediction: I heard it in silence, and in silence I leave it now. The quarrel was not mine, but Mansel’s, and I will not pick over the blossoms he chose to lay upon the grave.

Without a word, we made our way to the cars, and, taking the first, drove slowly out of the drive and down to the castle gate.

Then Mansel climbed in by the window that had the loose bar, and two minutes later he swung the great leaf open and I drove in.

When I was in the courtyard, I stopped and sounded the horn. Before its echoes had died, a casement of the oratory was opened, and Hanbury put out his head.

“All over,” said Mansel simply. “Open the doors.”

He was on his way to the guardroom, before I was out of the car, with Tester scrambling before him, agog to prove the promise of so unusual a field.

I followed leisurely, still thinking on the death of Rose Noble and of all that had passed, and trying to believe that the clock in the dashboard of the Rolls was telling the truth when it said that the hour was no more than half-past nine.

So I came to the guardroom and down the winding stair.

The passage door was open, and Mansel was standing in the passage, fronting Adèle. His back was towards me, but I saw that his head was bowed and he had her hand to his lips. The back of her other hand was across her eyes.

And between them and me crouched Casemate framed in the passage doorway, pistol in hand.

I let out a cry that might have been heard in Lass, but, as I did so, he fired, and I saw Mansel stagger a little and then sink down on his knees.

Before Casemate could turn, I had knocked him flat on his face and was kneeling upon his back. Then I took my knife and drove it into his spine.

But the mischief was done.

Mansel was still alive, but the bullet had entered his stomach, and there was death in his face.