Читать книгу The Vultures of Desolate Island - George E. Rochester - Страница 7

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I think I have mentioned that Henri had expressed the intention of having me up at five o’clock, or maybe before. I forestalled him, for I was up with the dawn.

Dressing, I opened the door and passed out on to the staircase. The hound was still below in the stable yard. He was a great gaunt, liver-coloured brute, with an excellent array of gleaming fangs. He displayed them for my benefit.

After half an hour of coaxing on my part and sulky, vicious, unresponsiveness on his, I returned to my room. Pulling the iron bedstead up to the window I knotted a couple of blankets and slid down to the crisp turf below.

An ignominious exit, I agree, but infinitely preferable to a certain mauling by way of the stable yard. I ran down to the beach and, throwing off my clothes, plunged into the cool, inviting water.

That swim gave me new life, and when I returned to the house I felt fit for anything. I went up to my window viâ my blanket rope, and scarcely had I unknotted them and rearranged them on the bed than I heard the shuffling footsteps of Henri coming up the staircase.

I put on my cap, pulling it well over my damp hair, for I was not overkeen that he should know I had already made use of the window as a mode of egress.

“Thunder growled in the night,” he greeted me.

“Did it?” I asked. “I didn’t hear it.”

“The dog, I mean,” he snapped. “Someone must have been prowling about here.”

“Some tramp, maybe,” I replied casually.

“Aye, and maybe not,” he snarled. “Come on. Thunder’s chained up now. Plenty of work to be done.”

There was plenty of work to be done. All morning I laboured mightily tidying up the garden, raking the gravel drive, taking up carpets, fixing dust covers over furniture, polishing floors and, in short, cramming about five days work into one long hectic morning.

I saw Erkunstelt only once, and that was when he came out of doors for a breath of the pure morning air. He threw me an indifferent nod, so I presumed I was being accepted at my face value, namely, as honest John Smith, of Godstone.

It was about three o’clock in the middle of that blazing hot afternoon when Henri called a halt. He had done little except querulously superintend my activities, finding fault here and complaining snarlingly there. I had grown to loathe the sight of him and the sound of his voice long before noon.

However, as I have said, it was about three o’clock when he called a halt, and I sat down to a cold lunch of meat and boiled potatoes. I thought it was time I ventured a protest.

“Anyone would think,” I grumbled, “that Mister Erkunstelt was leaving here to-night.”

“He is,” said Henri, and I was so taken aback at this announcement that I sat gaping at him with my fork half way to my mouth.

“Well, what are you staring at?” he demanded. “What has it got to do with you?”

It had a great deal more to do with me than he imagined. At the best I had but a few hours left now in which to find out something about Erkunstelt. And I had fondly hoped to have at least a few days.

“It hasn’t been a very long job, has it?” I commented bitterly, for I had to say something.

“Ah! That’s your gratitude,” sneered the old wretch. “I take you out of the gutter and give you a job, and then you start complaining about it. Aye, that’s gratitude, that is!”

“I am grateful——” I protested.

“No, you’re not!” he yelped. “But you needn’t worry. You won’t sleep under a hedge to-night; you’ll sleep in your bed. We’ve company coming and you’ll be wanted till last thing to-night.”

“But I thought you said Mr. Erkunstelt was leaving to-night,” I exclaimed.

“He’s leaving in the early hours of the morning, and that’s the same thing, isn’t it?” snapped Henri. “You should have been a lawyer, the questions you ask!”

I took the hint and got on with my meal in silence. There were many questions trembling on the end of my tongue, but to have asked them would only have made the old fellow suspicious.

In the first place I wanted to know more about the company which was expected. Also I was vastly intrigued by the fact that Erkunstelt was leaving Four Gables in the early hours of the morning. Why in the early hours?

The meal ended, Henri despatched me to the village with the basket and a list of commodities required for dinner that evening. I had strict orders to hurry, and I was in no way averse to obeying them. For I wanted to be on hand when the expected guests arrived at Four Gables. I wondered if the Flying Beetle knew of Erkunstelt’s imminent departure.

All day long, whilst I had laboured, the Flying Beetle had been in my thoughts. Why had he appeared below my window in that silent and mysterious manner the previous night?

Yes, I had plenty of food for thought during my journey to and from the village. But I arrived back at Four Gables before the expected guests.

The dining-room was at the front of the house, its French windows opening on to an untrimmed lawn. I glanced through the windows as I passed on my way to the rear of the house. Henri was busily engaged in laying silver and cutlery on spotlessly white linen.

Scarcely had I entered the kitchen than he appeared and set me to work cleaning knives and preparing trays. It was almost ten o’clock before I had finished the tasks he set me.

“You can take yourself some bread and cheese across to your room above the stable,” he said suddenly. “I shan’t want you any more to-night. Mr. Erkunstelt will have gone by morning, but his estate agent will be here from Berwick to look over the premises and take an inventory. If you care to wait for him outside the house he might find one or two jobs for you.”

Now here was a thoughtfulness for which I had not looked in the sour Henri, and I thanked him.

“You needn’t thank me,” he snapped. “Mr. Holmes, the agent, asked us to have some sort of odd-job man on the spot in case he wanted him.”

“And you will be here, of course?” I remarked.

“Of course?” he snarled. “What do you mean by saying ‘of course’? No, I won’t be here. I leave with Mr. Erkunstelt.”

“But aren’t you afraid of leaving me here alone?” I demanded. “I might clear off with the silver in your absence.”

“Yes, you might,” he sneered. “You probably would if you could. But the hound will be loose in the house, and pity help you if you set foot in it. All the doors will be locked, anyway. Mr. Holmes has a key of his own.”

“I see,” I replied, and set about collecting my supper.

“Shall I see you again before you go?” I asked, pausing in the doorway with a hunk of bread and cheese in my hand.

“No, you won’t,” he replied brusquely. “Good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” I answered politely enough, and set out across the stable yard.

But I had not taken a dozen paces when I heard Henri’s shuffling step behind me, and his hand closed on my arm.

“Just one word with you, my man!” he snapped, his yellow, wrinkled face thrust close to mine. “When you get to your room go to sleep, see?”

“What do you mean?” I demanded.

“I mean that the hound will be loose in the yard again to-night.”

With that he turned on his heel and ambled back to the kitchen. I continued on my way and mounted leisurely to my room above the stables. Seated on the rickety bed I thoughtfully ate my frugal fare.

I had not the slightest intention of turning in and going to sleep. Erkunstelt’s guests had not yet arrived and I was curious to see them. The fact that they chose the time of their arrival to coincide with the cover of night only served to deepen my interest.

I listened with straining ears to hear the sound of any car or vehicle approaching the house. An hour dragged by, but nothing stirred. More than once I opened my door, only to be greeted by a deep-throated growl from the hound in the yard below.

I had taken the precaution of putting out my light in case the watchful Henri saw that I was not yet abed. I stood long by the window, hoping against hope that the Flying Beetle would put in an appearance. But I waited in vain.

It was a glorious night. A golden moon hung in a cloudless sky, and there was not a breath of wind to disturb the calm serenity of the unruffled sea. The faint murmur of tiny wavelets rippling on the beach in the cove came softly to my ears.

Suddenly I tensed, listening with bated breath. From far to the northwards had come the distant drone of powerful aero engines. The noise grew in volume. Then, starkly silhouetted against the moon I saw the dark outline of four large seaplanes flying in from the sea at a terrific speed.

They roared low over Four Gables. Then the thunder of their engines died away and, as they circled, their noses went down for a landing on the waters of the cove.

They were piloted by expert hands, those seaplanes. That was very evident by the clean landings which they made on the water. Swinging, they surged in towards the beach, gradually losing way.

A heavy sea anchor splashed overboard from each machine. The pilots clambered out of their cockpits and, dropping into the shallow water, waded ashore. They stood conversing on the beach for a few moments, then moved towards the house.

As they approached I drew back from my window, for my face must have been plainly visible in the brilliant moonlight if one of them had chanced to glance upwards.

I heard the murmur of their voices, interspersed with an occasional rumble of laughter, as they passed close below the window, following the track which led towards the front of the house.

Waiting till they had gone, I took further stock of the four seaplanes, squatting on the waters of the cove like some strange birds of the sea. They appeared to be large double-seater machines fitted with single engines. The rear cockpits were untenanted, but the moon glinted on swivel gun-mountings.

I waited a full half hour, during which time I again fashioned a rope from my blankets. Then, judging that the four pilots would by now be closeted with Erkunstelt, I tied one end of the rope to the bedstead and slid down to the ground below.

I was chary at leaving the makeshift rope dangling where it was. One could not be sure that the aged Henri would not be on the prowl. And if his bleary eyes took in the rope, then I might find subsequent necessary explanations somewhat difficult. However, that was a risk which I had to take.

Keeping as much as possible in the shadows I worked my way round to the front of the house. Creeping through the shrubbery, I emerged on the untrimmed lawn which fronted the French windows of the dining-room.

A thin shaft of light streamed through a chink in heavy curtains drawn across the windows. I blessed the forethought which, during one of my trots to the dining-room whilst assisting Henri earlier in the evening, had caused me to slip back the catch of those windows. Fervently I hoped that my handiwork had passed unnoticed by whoever had drawn the curtains.

Crouching, I ran across the strip of turf and flattened myself against the curtained windows. Gently I pressed with the palm of my hand, and barely stifled an exclamation of delight as I felt the French window give inwards under the pressure.

Inch by inch I opened it, then slipped through and quietly closed it behind me. There was a space of about two feet only between the windows and the curtains, but, with my back erect against the windows I found it permitted me to stand there without noticeably creating a bulge in the curtains.

Voices in the room came distinctly to my ears, mingled with the clink of cutlery and occasional laughter. I moved my head, the fraction of an inch at a time, until, through a chink in the heavy curtains I could command a view of the room.

Erkunstelt and his four visitors were at dinner. Henri was waiting on them, and somehow I could not suppress a momentary grin. For he seemed strangely akin to some gaunt and skinny carrion bird hovering over the feast.

Erkunstelt was seated at the head of the table and I had an excellent view of his bearded profile. His four guests were clad in well-cut grey uniforms, high-necked and tight-fitting. Two sat facing me, whilst the other two, seated at the opposite side of the table had their backs to me.

But let me here describe them and give their names as I learned them that night. The two who faced me wore small, glittering silver wings on the left breasts of their tunics. The one nearer Erkunstelt was a swarthy fellow with strong features, dark brooding eyes, and tight-lipped mouth. That was Zwolfe.

His companion was fair-haired and smiling, with an expression which bordered almost on the inane. Falze was his name, and the day was to come when I was to learn that those smiling features but served to mask a soul as cunning as that of a rat.

I could see little of the two who had their backs to me, but they also wore the small silver wings. One was lithe of build, with the olive-tinted skin of the Latin race. His cleanly-cut features, seen when he turned to address some remark to Erkunstelt, were in no way marred by a short, close-cropped, dark moustache. That was Vali di Sapi, languid, elegant.

The fourth fellow was heavily built, with cruel, thick-lipped mouth, squat, ugly nose, and coarse, brutish features. That was Vorsorge—sullen and uncommunicative.

So there, my masters, you have a pen picture of what I saw in Erkunstelt’s dining-room that night.

It was a remark from Zwolfe which first riveted my attention—a remark rapped out in sharp, incisive tones and obviously carrying on with some topic which had been under discussion when I arrived.

“I tell you again, Erkunstelt, I do not like it.”

Erkunstelt laughed.

“But why, my Zwolfe? There is no danger.”

Zwolfe shrugged his shoulders.

“That may be,” he said dryly, “but, to me, our coming here to-night savours of putting one’s head in the lion’s mouth.”

“I admire your choice of simile,” replied Erkunstelt lightly, “but permit me to point out that the lion—the British lion—is an aged beast without a snap left in its toothless jaws.”

“Other fools have thought the same,” growled Zwolfe, toying with his glass, his eyes on the cloth.

“Your nerve is going!” said Erkunstelt harshly.

“You know it is not!” retorted Zwolfe.

“Then to whom do you refer when you speak of other fools?”

Zwolfe did not answer for a moment. Then he raised his head and looked Erkunstelt full in the eyes.

“I refer to Sir Jaspar Haines,” he said quietly, “to Petroff and Levinsky. Also to those who plotted at Zadan. You knew them—you knew them all, and where are they to-day?”

His companions stirred uneasily, and even the sour Henri plucked at his lips with trembling fingers as he stood against the sideboard, napkin over his arm.

“They were fools!” replied Erkunstelt harshly. “They were fools who bungled and, with their death, they paid the price.”

“You lie!” retorted Zwolfe evenly. “They did not bungle. They plotted against England and they were hounded down by one man.”

Crack!

Erkunstelt’s hand had tightened convulsively on the stem of his glass and, in those strong fingers the stem had snapped like a carrot. A drop of blood stained the white linen tablecloth.

“An omen!” tittered Falze, but his mirth was ghastly.

“Silence, you!” roared Erkunstelt, launching himself to his feet and crashing a mighty fist on the table.

With blazing eyes he wheeled on Zwolfe.

“You talk of the man who hounded those others to their deaths!” he shouted. “Nay, he is little more than a boy—that cursed Flying Beetle whom you mean. But mark this! Should he ever cross my path then I will settle the score which has steadily mounted against him. Aye, I swear on my oath that neither Petroff, Levinsky, not those others shall go unavenged——”

He broke off so abruptly that the words seemed to have been choked in his throat. As though turned to stone he stood staring, with great head thrust forward, at a small piece of pasteboard which was lying in front of him on the table.

It was the same size as a visiting card, absolutely devoid of any lettering, but embossed with a black replica of a flying beetle.