Читать книгу The Scarlet Squadron - George E. Rochester - Страница 5

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I pushed back my chair and half rose, but, with an agility surprising in one so massive, Bolponi threw himself forward across the table and his great hands clutched at my throat.

I was conscious of Pulhausen stepping back, his perpetual mirthless smile upon his thin lips, then Bolponi and I were engaged in what had all the appearance of a life and death struggle. His little eyes were blazing with fury, and his hands pressed on my throat as though to choke out my very life. We crashed into the small table at which we had been sitting and it clattered to the floor. Backwards and forwards we staggered, he pressing tighter and tighter on my throat, and I fighting with all my strength to release that merciless grip.

“You treacherous spy!”

He gritted the words out from between his lips. I felt my senses reeling. The blood was pounding in my temples, and my lungs seemed as though they must burst. My efforts at resistance were becoming almost futile in their feebleness, and I know there remained for me but one chance. Beneath my blouse I carried a small automatic slung in a holster at my waist. With my left hand clawing at his hands I groped with my right beneath my blouse. My fingers closed on the butt of the gun. I was dimly conscious of a warning cry from the bystanders, then the next instant I had the muzzle shoved into his fat paunch. He sensed at once what that pressing ring of steel was, for his grip on my throat slackened and a look almost of panic leapt into his little bloodshot eyes.

“You—you——”

His voice was hoarse as he mouthed the words, but with my free hand I tore myself loose from his grip and croaked:

“Put your hands up!”

I jabbed him with the automatic to give emphasis to the words and, waveringly, his hands crept above his head.

“At the first hostile move by any man in this room I shall fire!” I said.

I glanced quickly round the circle of faces, and what I read betokened naught of good for me. Who and what this man Bolponi was I did not know, but it seemed he did not lack for friends. Pulhausen, lounging against a table, was looking on with an air of amused detachment. He might have been watching some third-rate melodrama on the stage.

“Soho, Bolponi,” he drawled. “It seems you have caught a Tartar!”

Bolponi’s reply was a strangled oath, but he never took his eyes from my face.

“You will walk in front of me to the door,” I said, “and if any man attempts to prevent our passage, then I will shoot you!”

With my automatic pressed against his waistcoat he commenced to shuffle backwards towards the door. Then came the voice of Pulhausen, cold and emotionless:

“Stop! Do not move another step!”

“Pulhausen,” Bolponi’s voice was almost a scream, “do not interfere; he will shoot—he means it——”

From the corner of my eyes I saw that Pulhausen was toying idly with a small silver-plated revolver and my heart sank. For it was no intention of mine to shoot Bolponi in cold blood. I was bluffing, and it seemed this scarlet-clad Pulhausen was going to call my bluff. I determined to play the game out to the end. Jabbing Bolponi with the automatic, I said:

“Go on; move!”

“Spy,” Pulhausen’s voice was deadly calm, “another step and you are a dead man!”

“Curse you, Pulhausen, leave him alone!” screamed Bolponi. “He will kill me!”

“And is that a matter of great import, my good Bolponi?” purred Pulhausen. “I do, also, confess to some little curiosity as to how you will greet death. It has intrigued me vastly of late!”

Bolponi groaned aloud and his face became livid. No matter what the consequences to Bolponi, Pulhausen did not intend to allow me to escape. As I have said, it was not in my mind to shoot Bolponi in cold blood. Neither did I intend to stand where I was at Pulhausen’s request. Dropping my head, I charged forward. With a roar Bolponi staggered aside. Hitting out left and right I gained the door, for so sudden had been my onslaught that I had taken the onlookers by surprise. As I wrenched open the door a hand grabbed at my arm. Wheeling, I hit a sallow-faced Chinaman full between the eyes. He released his grip and staggered back, and next moment I was out into the night running pell-mell along the uneven road in inky darkness. From the lighted doorway of the inn poured my pursuers.

I ran as I had never run before. I still carried my clubbed automatic. Behind me, on the roadway, I could hear the pounding of pursuing feet. Pausing a moment, I fired two shots over my shoulder and then ran on. More than once I tripped and nearly sprawled my length. I could scarcely see a foot in front of me, so dark was the night. I moved outwards towards the edge of the road, groping, as it were, with my feet. It seemed to me that the road was bordered by a ditch. I halted for a few precious seconds, and, dropping on hands and knees, found that my theory was correct. Then, without waiting to ascertain whether the ditch was wet or dry, I dropped into it and lay flat. As luck would have it, it was perfectly dry.

The vanguard of my pursuers pounded past on the road above. They had little chance of finding me in that impenetrable darkness. None the less I could not but foresee that my capture was probably only a matter of time. When dawn came I must not be in Suchow. Yet how was I to leave Suchow on foot? It was madness to think of it. And, leaving Suchow, whither was I to head? If only I had been forewarned that this Bolponi was suspicious of all strangers in Suchow. Why should he be? Was it he or his men who were responsible for Davies being missing? What was Bolponi’s game?

Events had happened with almost incredible swiftness since I had entered the inn, and in the reaction I found it impossible to think coldly and calmly. Two facts, however, I did realise quite clearly. One was that I must get out of Suchow before morning came, and the other was that I must do so on the back of either a pony or a mule. My own mule was stabled in the tumbledown quarters behind the inn; it might be possible to creep back there and get it. Obviously Bolponi would scarcely credit me with such foolhardiness as to return into the enemy’s camp, as it were. It was either that or commandeering a mule from somewhere. The latter course I dismissed as impossible. It would be fatal to go round the village endeavouring to obtain a mule, for I did not know where they were stabled. No, if I wanted a mule I must get my own.

The noise of pursuit had quite died away. Keeping to my ditch I crept back towards the inn. Once a strolling cur paused to investigate me, and snarled angrily as I put out my hand to pat him and keep him quiet. That snarl was the prelude to a succession of angry barks, which I thought could not but have the effect of bringing the searchers for me to the spot. But nothing eventuated, and I crept on. Short of the inn I clambered out of the ditch and crawled across the road. Rising in the safety of a clump of stunted shrubs I stood listening. Down the road I heard voices approaching. Slipping round to the rear of the inn I literally groped my way to where I knew the stables were situated. They were in darkness. The silence was unbroken save for the restless stamp of an uneasy beast inside. I dare not strike a light, but, groping along the ramshackle building, I found the door. So far, so good. I began to feel vaguely elated at the success of my plan. I would pad my mule’s hoofs till clear of the village—lead the brute by the halter; then I would ride back to Kanchowfu, adopt another disguise and return to Suchow. But this time I would be on the look-out for the lynx-eyed Bolponi or his like.

Cautiously I lifted the wooden bar and swung the creaking door open. The next moment I was inside the stable. At the same instant the darkness was cut by the beam of an electric torch, and the mocking voice of Pulhausen said:

“So, spy, we meet again! Steady, I have you covered!”

I stood stock still, half-blinded by the brilliant light. Before I could gather myself together to resist, half a dozen Chinamen sprang at me from out of the shadows. I did, I think, put up a bit of a struggle then, but in a remarkably short space of time my hands were bound securely behind my back.

Pulhausen advanced into the light. There was a smile on his lips, but little of mirth in his eyes.

“Fool, oh, fool!” he murmured. “To return here was madness!”

I did not answer and he went on:

“Yet I expected it, although the good Bolponi would have none of it. You would not have got far on foot!”

“Farther than I have got!” I answered, bitterly enough.

He laughed at that and nodded.

“Yes, farther than you have got. But you would not have escaped. It was a cruel fate, my friend, that brought you face to face with Bolponi to-night. He would suspect his own father!”

“Of what?”

“Of being a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He has the eyes of a hawk and the soul of a rat. But before he inflicts his grossness upon us there are one or two questions which I wish to put to you. In the first place, what is your nationality?”

I did not reply, but he nodded as though I had, and said:

“English, of course! The question was, I admit, rather superfluous!”

“Indeed?” I snapped. “And why?”

His lips parted to show a flash of brilliant teeth.

“A stamp may be defaced until it is almost unrecognisable,” he said, with a slight bow, “but always the watermark remains!”

“What do you mean?”

“The English public school! The mark is always there for those with eyes to see!”

And then I understood and, understanding, wondered what manner of man this was.

“But, Bolponi,” he went on, with an airy wave of the hand, “one could not expect.... No matter! Now, my Englishman, what seek you in Suchow?”

I remained silent for a moment, then replied:

“As your powers of observation or deduction seem so acute you can probably answer that yourself!”

“I do not advise you,” he murmured, “to be insolent. Tell me, what do you seek in Suchow?”

I remained stubbornly silent. He moved a step forward till his eyes held mine.

“Perhaps,” he said, “you seek a fellow-countryman!”

I cannot think that I showed any great surprise at the words. Subconsciously I had already associated these men with the disappearance of Davies, though it might not, of course, have been Davies to whom he referred.

“It may also be,” he went on, “that you seek information which your Government ardently desires!”

He paused, and, as I did not speak, continued:

“Thirdly, you might be one of that noble band of adventurers who is ready to sell his sword and his good right arm to the highest bidder. In that case you have come to the right market, but have started ill in upsetting the good Bolponi. He has vowed a horrible death for you!”

He consulted a gold wrist watch, and said sharply:

“I will give you exactly a minute in which to tell me what you are doing in Suchow, who sent you, and why you are here. If you refuse to speak, then the consequences will be extremely unpleasant for yourself!”

There was a silence in which I thought rapidly. I had not the slightest intention of telling this suave Pulhausen the nature of my business in Suchow. I could only hope against hope for something to turn up. The ease with which he had penetrated my disguise, when the seeds of suspicion had been sown by Bolponi, rankled. There was something dominant about the man, some great potentiality for good or for evil. There returned to me in that moment the look of fear which had crept into Bolponi’s eyes when this Pulhausen had appeared in the doorway. Then the easy, contemptuous manner in which he spoke to Bolponi. In what relationship did they stand, these two? What was at the back of it all?

“Your time is up!” Pulhausen’s voice cut in on my thoughts, “I shall refuse to hear you speak now!”

He turned to the six Chinamen who were grouped about me:

“Guard him well, for he rides with us at dawn. If he escapes, then everyone of you shall hang!”

He strode to the door of the stable and, halting on the threshold, turned to me.

“Englishman,” he said coldly, “Suchow is the pass which leads into the valley of death, and we are the seneschals of Suchow!”

With that he was gone, and I was left with the mules and my guard. I spent the remainder of the night on a heap of dirty straw. I slept fitfully and in brief snatches. So this, then, was the inglorious end to my quest for Davies. Probably to be butchered somewhere out in the hills. Bitterly I regretted not having sought out some obscure lodging instead of staying at the inn. But it is always easier to be wise after the event than before, and certainly it had not entered into my calculations that every stranger in Suchow was scrutinised and, if necessary, asked to prove his bona fides.

From Hong Kong to Suchow my disguise had passed muster without question. It is said that a fool can find what he looks for. Whether Bolponi was a fool or not I could not say, but certainly he had looked to find in me other than I appeared to be, and by the aid of Pulhausen he had found it.

It had been an ingenious method of unmasking me, that cigarette end laid so lightly upon my false scalp. So simple, yet I had sat like a fool through it all, unconscious of anything untoward happening.

I was wide awake with the dawning. A grey light filtered in through a hole in the wall. I was almost numbed with cold, and was grateful for the bowl of steaming coffee which one of my guards brought me, together with a hunk of brown bread. My bonds were not unloosened, but I was fed by the simple expedient of having the bowl held to my mouth, and likewise the bread. I was then led outside the stable and hoisted on the back of a mule, with my feet tied beneath its belly. The mule was then led round to the front of the inn, where already stood a long string of pack-mules and ponies heavily laden. Twenty or thirty men, Chinese, Mongolians and hillmen, were bustling about. The majority were armed, some with knives and revolvers stuck in their belts and ammunition pouches slung over their shoulders, others with rifles under their arms or in the saddle slings.

A group of villagers and mangy curs were collected watching the preparations for departure. My mule was backed into place near the forefront of the line, and two armed Chinamen ranged themselves one on each side of me. Then in the doorway of the inn appeared Bolponi. He squinted here and there, then strode forward as his eyes took in myself.

“Well, you dog!” he snarled, and struck at me savagely.

The blow made me reel in the saddle, and he laughed harshly.

“I’ll make you sorry you did not shoot, you hound!” he shouted, and struck me again.

“Poor sport, Bolponi!” came the drawling voice of Pulhausen, “but doubtless excellent for circulating the blood on a raw morning such as this!”

Snarling, Bolponi turned to Pulhausen who stood at his elbow.

“Why take the dog along, Pulhausen?” he roared. “Why take him, I say? He is a proved spy, and better let his bones rot in Suchow than take him with us!”

“Ah, but think of the death which will be his,” drawled Pulhausen. “What think you, Bolponi, will be the sentence of the Tribunal? A death by inches, my fat one; and think of the enjoyment you would miss were we to slay him now! A death befitting a spy will be his, Bolponi, and I doubt not that you will be master of ceremonies!”

Bolponi laughed harshly, but with evident enjoyment.

“Aye, he threatened to shoot me, the dog! Nom d’un chien, but he will regret the impulse that stayed his finger on the trigger!”

“I do not doubt it!” murmured Pulhausen courteously. “But to horse, Bolponi!”

He and Bolponi were muffled in great-coats. As for me, I sat shivering with chattering teeth. To my surprise, Pulhausen pulled a blanket off a mule pack and threw it round my shoulders.

Bolponi roared his protests, but with a smile Pulhausen remarked:

“What, would you let the cold and exposure of this desolate region cheat you of your spy, Bolponi?”

Obviously Bolponi would not, for he protested no more, but lumbered into the saddle of his pony. There came a sharp order from Pulhausen, at the head of the cavalcade, and we jolted into motion, heading westwards into the hills.