Читать книгу The House with the High Wall - Arthur Gask - Страница 4

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BY nature painstaking, particularly when he was doing anything for himself, his commando training had impressed upon Robert to leave as little as possible to chance in all his undertakings, and that afternoon, when he was bicycling over the beautiful Hindhead country, he was confident he had got all his plans down to a nicety.

One thing only was not pleasing him. The bicycle had turned out to be something of an old crock, but it was the best one the man at the shop would let out on hire, even then making him deposit the full selling price of the machine, with the arrangement that when he returned it he would get all the money back, less ten shillings a day for the hire.

Not having been on a push-bicycle since his schooldays, he had resolved not to give himself too hard a ride and so, with his machine in the guard's van, he had taken the train as far as Guildford. From there he reckoned he would have little less than twenty miles to go before reaching the fencing enclosing the grounds of the Chase.

From his Ordnance map he had picked out about where he was going to climb over, in a little side lane some couple of hundred yards or so off the main road. However, he was not going straight there, but, instead, was intending to break his journey at the little village of Horton, about a mile distant from the lane. There he would have some sort of meal and wait until darkness had just fallen. A half-moon would be showing and he felt pretty confident he would be able to make a bee-line for the rustic bridge with no difficulty.

He was a little bit uneasy at the thought that he would be seen in daylight so near to the Chase. However, he knew the village at which he was going to stop was not generally patronised by the Ransome family or the staff, as there was a larger and much nearer one in the other direction. Still, he was taking a few precautions there, and with a raincoat buttoned up to his chin and a cap pulled down well over his eyes, was fairly confident he would escape recognition if any of the domestics did happen to see him. Another thing, he had purposely not shaved that morning, as he thought to make himself look common and uninteresting.

When but a short distance out of Guildford he was glad his ride was going to be a short one, as the bicycle became more uncomfortable with every mile he covered. The saddle was not at all to his liking, and he blamed himself many times that he had not made a try-out of the machine before he had hired it. Altogether, his progress was much slower than he had intended, with the result that he arrived at the village he had marked out a good half-hour later than he should have done. The village was certainly a small one, consisting only of a few straggling houses, one general shop, a little inn and a petrol service station and garage.

Two burly-looking men in bowler hats, one of them more than usually stout, were standing outside the inn as he rode up and parked his bicycle against the wall, and he noted they favoured him with hard stares before following him into the bar. Two labouring men were drinking there.

Arranging with the landlord for a pot of tea, tomatoes on toast and some bread and butter, he sat down to a mug of beer to wait until the meal was ready. The two men in the bowler hats proceeded to refresh themselves with beer, too, quickly downing a couple of pots as they conversed in low tones together. The labourers eyed them interestedly, seemingly disappointed that they finished their drinks so quickly and left the bar. Then one of them winked knowingly at his companion.

"'Tecs from London," he said laconically. "Inspectors from Scotland Yard."

"How do you know that?" asked the other.

"Young Harry at the garage told me," was the reply. "He took a squint at the driving licence in one of the pockets of the car."

For some reason he could not account for, Robert felt uneasy. What the devil were detectives doing in a little place like this?

To his relief, however, he was immediately to learn that, as the labourer who had first spoken went on, "Their petrol tank's leaking and Harry's soldering it up for them. They cursed like hell when he said it wouldn't be ready much before eight o'clock."

A minute or two later the landlord called to Robert that his tea was ready, but to his great annoyance he was shown into a small parlour where the two detectives had already started upon a meal.

"Good afternoon!" remarked the stout one pleasantly, and Robert had to reply. Indeed, both the room and the table were so small that, unless he had been downright rude, he could not have refused to take any notice.

"Had a long ride?" went on the detective.

"Not far," replied Robert, and he added carelessly, mentioning the first place that came into his mind, "only from Hastings."

"Oh, I call that a good way," smiled the other. "Anyhow, you've been lucky with weather, as it looks a bit like rain now. Got much farther to go?"

"Only to Horsham," replied Robert, cursing at being questioned, but putting it down to the natural curiosity of a policeman who probably wouldn't be happy unless he was asking something of somebody.

"Well, I hate cycling," said the man. "Haven't been on a bike since I was a boy."

"I like it," said Robert coldly, "and do quite a lot."

"We're motoring," went on the detective confidingly, "but, worse luck, have struck a spot of trouble here and"—he jerked his thumb in the direction in which the garage lay—"it'll take him a couple of hours, and perhaps longer, to put it right. Our petrol tank's leaking." He yawned. "Damned little uninteresting village this, although the country looks nice. We're thinking of taking a little walk after tea to fill in the time. So do you happen to know anywhere interesting to go to?" He laughed. "We don't want views, but'd like to get a nut or two. There ought to be plenty about in these lanes."

Robert shook his head. "Don't know the district," he said. "Never been here before."

The conversation languished. He hurried through his meal so as to finish before they did, being not particularly anxious they should see in which way he was going. Bidding them good evening, he paid for his meal and, mounting his bicycle, proceeded to ride leisurely away.

Directly he had left the room, the stout one at once remarked to the other with a frown, "Queer young chap, that, Sam! Something fishy about him to me!"

"Surly young cub!" frowned Sam. "At seeing us when he came in here he looked as uneasy as if he were bolting with a cash-box. He didn't like your asking him those questions about himself, either, Charlie."

"Exactly," replied Charlie. "And that was a pack of lies he told us about being such an ardent cyclist and all that. Why, when he rode up here on that old bike I saw the saddle was miles too high for him, and yet he didn't seem to know it. It looked to me as if he hadn't done any riding for years, and he wasn't dressed now for long cycling, either, with ordinary trousers tucked into his socks."

"Then you don't think he's come all that way from Hastings, as he said he had?"

"No, I don't," scoffed Charlie. "He's on no tour, as he wanted to make out. He's only got a little brown paper parcel on his carrier!"

"But what did he mean by lying to us?" asked Sam.

"That's what I'd like to know," growled the other. "He's doing something he shouldn't, of that I'm certain."

Sam looked amused. "You're too imaginative, old man," was his comment. "You always are." He laughed merrily. "Come on! Let's have another quick one before we toddle out for our little walk."

Proceeding more quickly when he was out of sight of the inn, Robert soon found the little lane he was looking for, much closer than he liked to the village where he'd had his tea, indeed much less than a mile away. It was long and narrow, with one side bordered by the fence round the Chase grounds and the other by a tall and thick hedge. He frowned when he could find nowhere to put his bicycle out of sight of anyone who might happen to pass along, but thought it wouldn't matter, as, from its appearance, the lane did not lead to anywhere important, and the chances were no one would be using it at that time of the evening. So he just laid his machine down by the shallow little ditch running the whole length of the lane and, with no delay, started to climb the fence.

The wood of the fence was rotten and he broke off a couple of the tops of the palings in getting over. Then, for a long minute he stood motionless, trying to pick up his bearings; soon, however, he realised it was not going to be as easy as he had thought.

For about ten yards skirting the fence the ground was all cleared of bushes and trees, but beyond that he was faced with the beginning of a dense wood. A few feet above the ground the branches of the trees interlocked, giving to the whole place so gloomy and forbidding an appearance that had he been of a nervous nature he might have felt scared by his surroundings. He had never been in that part of the Chase grounds before, and now began to feel troubled about the light. Certainly there was a bit of a moon showing, but it was hazy-looking, and, as that policeman had prophesied, rain was not far away. With the moon hidden by clouds, things might become very awkward.

However, he did not hesitate long, and proceeded to plunge boldly into the wood. For a couple of hundred yards or so he had to pick his way carefully and then, to his delight, the wood ended abruptly, and he realised it was only a belt of trees he had been passing through.

Before him now stretched a wide vista of park-like land, with only a few big trees scattered about here and there. He was able now to pick up the lights of the big house which he judged to be about a mile away.

Walking quickly forward, he soon found the little stream, and knew exactly where he was. The rustic bridge was now visible, about half-way between him and the house. His heart began to pump painfully. He was so near now to the object of all his hopes!

Very soon there was nothing but a stretch of the park-like land with three big trees between him and the bridge, and he was just quickening his pace in his eagerness, when, to his horror, he thought he saw a figure flitting between the trees. He was not quite certain, but on the instant he threw himself down and faded into the ground.

A minute passed, two, and then, thinking he must have been mistaken, he rose slowly to his feet and started to walk forward again. With his first step, however, not one but two figures darted from behind the trees and raced, as if for their very lives, in the direction opposite to that in which he was coming.

A furious curse was hovering upon his lips, but he did not have time to utter it, before his face cleared and broke into a relieved and delighted smile.

The fugitives were young boys and closely followed by a lurcher-looking dog who, even at that distance, showed by his running that he came of greyhound strain.

"Poachers!" exclaimed Robert, hoarse in his relief. "But, by hell, they gave me a shock!"

In less than a minute he had reached the bridge and, almost suffocated in his excitement, was starting to grope under the planking of the little bridge. The stones with which he had blocked up his hiding-place were exactly as he had left them and evidently nothing had been disturbed. Lying prone upon the ground, he thrust in his arm up to the elbow and swept it round.

There was nothing there!

For the moment, such was his consternation that he could not take it in. Then his mouth grew dry, his breath came in laboured gasps and his whole body shook from his palpitating heart.

But it must be there! With the stones undisturbed as they had been, it was a million million chances against anyone having found the hiding-place! Then what had happened that the jewel-case was no longer there? It couldn't have been washed out by the stream having risen at some time, as there was no opening big enough to let it pass. Besides, no water could have ever reached there, as the hiding-place was as dry as a bone!

In frenzied haste he pushed up his coat sleeve as far as it would go and, this time, thrust his whole arm under the planking. He could reach now to the cross-beams of the bridge and his hand swept round and round in every corner.

"Nothing, nothing!" he breathed hoarsely, and then his fingers felt something peculiar that he knew was not dust or leaves. He grabbed a handful and, withdrawing his arm, found himself gazing blankly at some very finely-shredded morsels of dark paper mixed with something else of a much softer nature.

He stared and stared and then, as in a sudden flash, it came to him what it meant. "Hell, the paper it was wrapped in," he exclaimed, "and the leather for the jewel-case! Some animal has had its nest here."

With all his hopes instantaneously revived, thoughts came to him like lightning. He must prise up the planking of the bridge! The necklace would be somewhere there, unharmed but buried in the dust!

He looked round for something to use as a lever and, snatching up a fallen branch of a tree, jumped down into the half-dry bed of the little stream to see if he could more easily shift the planking from underneath.

And at that moment he heard in the far distance the baying of a hound.

The sweat burst out upon his forehead as, motionless as a graven image, he stood straining his ears to determine from which direction the sound came.

God—it might be the baying of one of those Alsatians! But it might be, also, that he was chained up in his kennel!

The baying was not repeated and he shook off his fears. Bah—he was in the mood now to take the very worst of risks, and if the damned dog came to tackle him he'd settle the brute quick and lively with this stick! If he were off a leash he'd arrive much quicker than his keeper and could easily be dealt with alone!

Once well below the bank of the little stream, he flashed a little torch to see if he could get the end of the branch anywhere between the planks of the bridge underneath, and quickly found the place he wanted. Suddenly, however, his eyes fell upon something hanging down from the crack where he was going to insert his lever—and his eyes boggled in amazement. Once again he was frozen into a startled immobility.

Right before his very eyes, strung upon what appeared to be a length of twisted wire, were dangling down some five or six pieces of what looked like glass broken from a green bottle. Even with the caked dirt with which they were in part covered, he could yet see that their colour was green and, as the wire to which they were attached swung gently to and fro in the wind, every now and then they flashed back the rays from his torch.

Oh heavens—it was the necklace!

With hands that shook far more than they had ever shaken in the worst of dreadful moments before impending battle, he reached up and took hold of it, drawing it very gently through the space between the planks.

The whole length came easily into his hands and, even at that moment of nerve-racking crisis, with the thought that the baying hound might now be hot upon his trail, he stopped to count the number of the stones. One and twenty, he counted and, from the weight of the necklace, he knew the setting must be of platinum.

With a muffled cry of triumph he awoke to action, and his movements were like lightning. Thrusting the necklace deep down into the breast pocket of his jacket, he sprang up out of the bed of the stream and was off like the wind, laughing almost hysterically with every step he took.

Gaining the trees behind which the poaching boys had been hiding, he almost stumbled over a dead rabbit lying on the grass, and he grabbed it up as he went by. "Better and better," he chuckled happily. "It's a nice fat one and the old woman shall cook it for me to-morrow."

Proceeding at a quick run, he soon reached the belt of trees surrounding the grounds, but then had to pull up to consider, not being able to pick up the exact place from where he had first come out of the wood. Hearing, however, the baying of the hound again, and this time much nearer, he chanced it and plunged in among the trees.

As he anticipated, the fence was not far away and he soon emerged into the cleared ground with the fence right in front of him. To his delight, he had miscalculated only to a very small extent, for not a dozen yards to one side he saw the palings whose tops he had broken down when he climbed over. He hurried across and had almost reached them when, in the damp and clinging air of the November night, his nostrils were suddenly assailed with the smell of tobacco smoke.

He pulled up dead in his tracks. There was no doubt about it. It was tobacco smoke, and it meant that someone who had been smoking had very recently passed by, or worse still—a horrible contingency—was just on the other side of the fence where he had left his bicycle.

Creeping cautiously forward, but well away now from the broken palings, he raised himself up on his toes and looked stealthily over into the lane. With difficulty he suppressed a furious oath, for there, not twenty paces from him, were the two detectives from the inn!

They were seated upon the little bank just under the thick hedge, with their mackintoshes spread out on the ground under them; and within arm's length, almost, was his bicycle. They were talking in low voices.

Damnation! By evil chance their walk to look for nuts had brought them to that very lane! Of course, they had recognised his bicycle by the not-too-tidy little brown-paper parcel upon his carrier and now were waiting for him to return! Damnation, again! The two detectives in front of him, and behind—that baying hound with perhaps a gamekeeper accompanying him!

Still, the policemen could really have nothing against him if he climbed boldly over at once and picked up his bicycle. They had no legitimate reason for stopping him. It was no business of theirs what he was doing and he could refuse to answer any questions and tell them to go to hell!

Ah, but that would make him more than ever a marked man to them, and open up horrible possibilities! He realised now that his answers to their questions must already have aroused their suspicions.

So what if, with nothing definite against him, but only out of suspicion, they had a quick warning sent out to all the neighbouring county police stations, stating they had encountered a man upon a bicycle in very suspicious circumstances and suggesting he be hauled up to give an account of himself?

Hell, then, if upon some trumped-up excuse the local police insisted upon searching him, they would find the necklace in his pocket and the whole game would be up at once. The police had long memories, and the broadcast sent out to them about the missing necklace in Goodwood Week would be remembered, and the necklace recognised with no difficulty.

No, no, he must shake off these detectives immediately, and they must not have another opportunity to question him as, if they did, the explanation he would have to invent would almost certainly increase whatever suspicions they had now. He must get away upon his bicycle with the least possible delay, and part company with it the very first moment he could. Then, if those devils in the lane did their worst and started a hue and cry—it would be for a man on a bicycle the county police would be told to look for, and a man without one would not attract their attention.

Still, he must continue to have the use of that bicycle for a short time. He would be helpless without it, as it must carry him to some railway station from where he could train up to town. Yes, his bicycle was his main hope now, but how the deuce could he get it without being brought in contact with the two detectives again?

Once more he heard the baying of the hound, and it came from not very far away now. He thought hard.

Now it might have been that, with danger threatening both in front and behind him, the dreadful position in which he now found himself quickened his wits. Or, again, it might have been that his commando training was still giving good service. At any rate, he did not have to think long, and—patting one of his overcoat pockets as if to make certain he had got in it what he needed—with something of a grin upon his face he darted away for about a hundred yards by the side of the fence and then, with the utmost care to make no noise, climbed over into the lane. The light was very dim and he could only just discern the figures of the detectives in the distance.

Now it was quite true, as Robert had surmised, that only a blind chance had brought the detectives that way. Sam had no idea it was too late in the year for any nuts to be found, but he remembered that once when a boy upon a Sunday-school excursion into the country he had found plenty in the lanes and, an out-and-out Cockney and giving little heed to seasonal conditions, he supposed they could be found now. Was not Christmas always the right time for nuts and was not Christmas only a few weeks away?

So, with the shifty young cyclist of the inn all forgotten now, they had turned hopefully into that dark and narrow lane as a most likely place for nuts—to their amazement at once coming upon Robert's bicycle lying upon the ground. As Robert had surmised, they recognised it instantly by the little brown-paper parcel on the carrier.

"The devil," exclaimed Charlie, in some excitement, "our young friend! Whew, just as I thought, the young gentleman is up to no good! Now what's he come here for?"

Opening the parcel upon the carrier, they were not much interested in its contents, as it contained only a slab of chocolate, a piece of cheese, a bread roll and a couple of apples. "His luggage for a cycling tour!" scoffed the stout inspector contemptuously. "Obviously it was going to be an extended one!" and he asked again, "What's he come here for?"

Sam was quite ready with various suggestions, from burglary, poaching, to a rendezvous with some girl, but his colleague promptly turned them all down. "Too early in the evening for burglary," he frowned, "and, besides, he's got no kit of tools." He grinned. "How could he break in anywhere with a slab of chocolate and two apples? No, and he's not here for poaching, either. He's not dressed for crawling about in damp woods." He looked very doubtful. "And it's not likely to be a girl, as I noticed the young blackguard hadn't had a shave this morning." He shook his head. "No, I can't imagine for what reason he's come here, but, as we've nearly a couple of hours on our hands, we'll give it a chance and wait for him to come back." He ground his teeth together. "Gad, won't it be a bit of sport to see his face? Going to Horsham, was he, and this lane is right in the opposite direction!" He strode over to the fence. "Look, that's where he got over. The break in those palings looks quite fresh."

The two sat on patiently, with their reward to be the disgusted surprise of the impudent young bounder who had been so off-hand to them at the inn. The stout detective was greatly looking forward to asking him some pertinent questions. "I'll roast him," he snarled, "and find out what he's really up to!"

About three-quarters of an hour went by, with the detectives enjoying their smoke, and then Sam clutched suddenly at the other's arm. "What's that?" he exclaimed. "What's that light? By cripes, he's started a fire up there!"

With widely opened eyes they stared up the lane. Flames were rising on one side from the shallow little ditch and, in the brief seconds before the men woke to action, reached a foot and more high. The two detectives sprang like lightning to their feet and, with a speed hardly to be expected from such heavy-looking men, raced to find out what was happening.

Even, however, as they reached the fire the flames had spent their fury and were fast dying down. All that was now left for the detectives to see were the smouldering remains of some sheets of newspaper that had evidently been spread wide open upon the ground.

"What the devil——" began the one called Charlie, but then, turning with the quickness of the strike of a snake to look backwards up the lane, he roared furiously, "Blast, he's diddled us! There he goes!"

Of course it was Robert who was going and, springing up on his bicycle, he did so at a speed that offered no possible hope of his being overtaken.

The detectives realised it was hopeless and, saving their breath, stood with angry faces watching him until he turned the short bend in the lane leading on to the highroad.

Then they turned and looked at each other, with the stout one's heavy face breaking into a highly amused smile. "Cute chap, that!" he exclaimed admiringly. "No country bumpkin there!" He slapped his comrade viciously on the shoulder. "What mugs we were, Sam! Think of us two old stagers letting a boy make suckers of us like that! Fancy that young devil squinting through the fence, seeing us sitting here, and no doubt grinning to himself how he was going to fool us! Bah; it's young curates we ought to be and not policemen!"

Picking up their mackintoshes to walk back to the village, another surprise awaited them, for, wrapped up in Charlie's, they found a dead rabbit.

"Gosh," exclaimed Charlie, regarding Sam with wondering eyes, "he left it for us as a present. Well, I'll be damned! The cheek of him!"

"You can keep my share of it," growled Sam. "I shouldn't wonder if it's not poisoned."

"No, no, it's not poisoned. He wouldn't have had time. It's only just been killed. Feel it. It's quite warm!"

"Then he was only a poacher after all," said Sam disgustedly. "Nothing worse than that?"

His colleague examined the rabbit and then frowned. "I'm not so sure there. This little animal was neither shot nor trapped. It was caught by a dog. See where he's mauled it on its back? Then if he was a poacher where's his dog? No, he's still a mystery, and I'd like very much to lay him by the heels." He nodded. "Now, if you don't want your share of this rabbit I'll take him home to the missus. She'll be darned grateful."

So into the main road again they walked leisurely, with the rabbit dangling at the detective's side. A couple of minutes or so later they were overtaken by a man who had come hurriedly after them. He had a gun over his shoulder and was accompanied by a big Alsatian dog.

"Here you," he called out angrily, "where did you get that rabbit from?"

His tone of voice was so offensive that the detective's answer was curt and brusque. "What's that to do with you?" he countered. "You mind your own business."

"Damn you," shouted the man. He jerked his head in the direction of the Chase fence. "You've been over on to our land. My dog smelt someone had been about, but I was just too late to catch you." His eyes glared. "I'm Mr. Ransome's gamekeeper, as I expect you know."

"We don't know," snapped the detective, "and we don't care two hoots if you are."

"Where did you get that rabbit from?" repeated the man. "I demand to know."

The man's manner was altogether so rude and overbearing that it would have given the detective quite a lot of pleasure to infuriate him as much as he could. However, it had suddenly dawned on him that they were not in the nicest of positions for detective-inspectors attached to Scotland Yard. Newspapers always loved to get hold of a bit of scandal about the police, and some sort of explanation was certainly needed for their being found upon the public highway in the possession of a rabbit which had just been killed. Obviously, they must have acquired it in some unusual way.

So he spoke mildly and with an amused smile. "It's quite simple," he said. "Not five minutes ago, a little way back, we saw a dog chasing the rabbit in the road. He caught it, and I took it away from him. That's all." He held up the rabbit admiringly. "A nice fat one, isn't it? It'll make a good meal for us when we are back in town."

"Where's your dog?" demanded the man truculently.

"Our dog!" exclaimed the detective in apparent surprise. "It wasn't our dog. We haven't got one. We'd never seen the brute before."

"I don't believe you," snapped the gamekeeper, "and so you'll just come along with me to the constable in the village and tell him who you are." He spoke menacingly. "If you don't come quietly, my dog here'll make you. I warn you he's not too good-tempered if I mark anyone to him."

The detective whipped a little automatic from his hip pocket and held it up for the other to see. "You try any tricks, my friend," he said sternly, "and you'll be wanting another dog."

"Ah, gunmen!" exclaimed the gamekeeper in some excitement. "Swell mobsmen from the city!"

"You fool," snarled the detective, "we're detective-inspectors from Scotland Yard," and he took a card out of his pocket and showed it.

The gamekeeper scowled in his disappointment. However, he was impressed. "All right," he said, sourly, "you can keep the rabbit," and he made off without making the slightest of apologies.

"Now we shall have to stick to that story," nodded Charlie. "We'll have to say we took it from a dog." He grinned. "Here, lend me your mac, Sam. I'd better wrap it up before some other nosey-parker comes along."

"You be damned," exclaimed Sam. "You're going to have the rabbit. So use your own mac. You're not going to have mine. I've heard rabbits have got fleas in their fur, and if anyone's going to do any scratching it'll be you and not me. Throw the damned thing away."

"Not I," exclaimed Charlie. "My pride's been wounded by being taken for a poacher and I'm certainly going to have some little compensation to wipe out the insult."

In the meantime Robert was making with all the haste he could for Portsmouth. He had looked up in his pocket time-table that there was an express from there at eight o'clock, with a non-stop run all the way to town, and he reckoned he'd be quite safe if he caught it.

Arriving at the railway station with five and twenty minutes to spare, his way of getting rid of his bicycle could not have been simpler. He just parked it outside the station and left it there, being quite certain some light-fingered gentleman would soon come along and pinch it. Five minutes later, having purchased his ticket for London, he had a peep out and saw the bicycle was still there. Returning again, however, just before the train was due to start, he saw, to his great relief, it was gone.

"Bang goes eight quid," he frowned, "but what's that to five thousand?" and he patted gloatingly the heavy little object in his breast pocket.