Jeanne of the Marshes Part 47

He took an electric torch from his pocket, and both men drew a little breath of relief as the light flashed out. Cecil climbed on to a chair and closed the window. Forrest glanced at the clock.

"It's quite late enough," he said. "It should be high tide in a quarter of an hour, and the sea in that little cove of yours is twenty feet deep. Come along and work this door."

"Have you got everything?" Cecil asked nervously.

"I have the chloroform," Forrest answered, touching a small bottle in his waistcoat pocket. "We don't need anything else. He hasn't the strength of a rabbit, and you and I can carry him down the pa.s.sage. If he struggles there's no one to hear him."

Cecil pushed his way against the panels and opened the clumsy door.

They groped their way down the pa.s.sage.

"Faugh!" Forrest exclaimed. "What smells! Cecil," he added, "I suppose half the village know about this place, don't they?"

"They know that it has been here always," Cecil answered, "but they most of them think that it is blocked up now. We did try to, Andrew and I, but the masonry gave way. These lumps on the floor are the remains of our work. Keep your torch down. You'll fall over them."

Forrest stopped short. Curiously enough, it was he now who seemed the more terrified. The wind and the thunder of the sea together seemed to reach them through the walls of earth in a strange monotonous roar, sometimes shriller as the wind triumphed, sometimes deep and low so that the very ground beneath their feet vibrated as the sea came thundering up into the cove. Cecil, who was more used to such noises, heard them unmoved.

"If my people had left me such a dog's hole as this," Forrest declared viciously, "I'd have buried them in it and blown it up to the skies.

It's only fit for ghosts."

The very weakening of the other man seemed for the moment to give Cecil added courage. He laughed hoa.r.s.ely.

"There are worse things to fear," he muttered, "than this. Hold hard, Forrest. Here is the door. I'll undo the padlock. You stand by in case he makes a rush."

But there was no rush about Engleton. He was lying on his back, stretched on a rough mattress at the farther end of the room, moaning slightly. The two men exchanged quick glances.

"We are not going to have much trouble," Forrest muttered. "What a beastly atmosphere! No wonder he's knocked up."

Cecil, however, looked about suspiciously.

"Don't you notice," he whispered, "that we can hear the wind much plainer here than in the pa.s.sage? I believe I can feel a current of fresh air, too. I wonder if he's been trying to cut his way through to the air-hole. It's only a few feet up."

He flashed his light upon the wall near where Engleton was lying. Then he turned significantly to Forrest.

"See," he said, "he has cut steps in the wall and tried to make an opening above. He must have guessed where the ventilating pipe was. I wonder what he did it with."

They crossed the room. The man on the couch opened his eyes and looked at them dully.

"So you've been improving the shining hour, eh?" Forrest remarked, pointing to the rough steps. "We shall have to find what you did it with. Hidden under the mattress, I suppose."

He stooped down, and Engleton flew at his throat with all the fury of a wild cat. Forrest was taken aback for a moment, but the effort was only a brief one. Engleton's strength seemed to pa.s.s away even before he had concluded his attack. He sank back and collapsed upon the floor at a touch.

"You brutes!" he muttered.

Cecil lifted the mattress. There was a large flat stone, sharp-edged and coated with mud, lying underneath.

"I thought so," he whispered. "Jove, he's gone a long way with it, too!" he muttered, looking upward. "Another foot or so and he would have been outside. I wonder the place didn't collapse."

Engleton dragged himself a little way back. He remained upon the floor, but there was support for his back now against the wall.

"Well," he said, "what is it this evening?"

"The end," Forrest answered shortly.

Engleton did not flinch. Of the three men, although his physical condition was the worst, he seemed the most at his ease.

"The end," he remarked. "Well, I don't believe it. I don't believe you have either of you the pluck to go through life with the fear of the rope round your neck every minute. But if I am indeed a condemned man.

I ought to have my privileges. Give me a cigarette, one of you, for G.o.d's sake."

Forrest took out his gold case and threw him a couple of cigarettes.

Then he struck a match and pa.s.sed it over.

"Smoke, by all means," he said. "Listen! In five minutes we are going to throw you from the seaward end of this place, down into the cove or creek, or whatever they call it. It is high tide, and the sea there is twenty feet deep. As for swimming, you evidently haven't the strength of a cat, and there is no breathing man could swim against the current far enough to reach any place where he could climb out. But to avoid even that risk, we are going to give you a little chloroform first. It will make things easier for you, and we shall not be distressed by your shrieks."

"An amiable programme," Engleton muttered. "I am quite ready for it."

"Then I don't think we need waste words," Forrest said slowly. "You have made up your mind, I suppose, that you do not care about life.

Remember that it is not we who are your executioners. You have an easy choice."

"If you mean," Engleton said, "will I purchase my liberty by letting you two blackguards off free, for this and for your dirty card-sharping, I say no! I will take my chances of life to the last second. Afterwards I shall know that I am revenged. Men don't go happily through life with the little black devil sitting on their shoulders."

"We'll take our risk," Forrest said thickly. "You have chosen, then?

This is your last chance."

"Absolutely!" Engleton answered.

Forrest took out the phial from his pocket and held his handkerchief on the palm of his hand.

"Open the door, will you, Cecil," he said, "so that we can carry him out."

Cecil opened it, and came slowly back to where Forrest was counting the drops which fell from the bottle on to his handkerchief. Then he suddenly came to a standstill. Forrest, too, paused in his task and looked up. He gave a nervous start, and the bottle fell from his fingers.

"What in G.o.d's name was that?" he asked.

It came to them faintly down the long pa.s.sage, but it was nevertheless alarming enough. The hoa.r.s.e clanging of a bell, pulled by impetuous fingers. Cecil and Forrest stared at one another for a moment with dilated eyes.

"Can't you speak, you d----d young fool?" Forrest asked. "What bell is that?"

"It is the front-door bell of the Red Hall," Cecil answered, in a voice which he scarcely recognized as his own. "There it goes again."

They stood perfectly silent and listened to it, listened until its echoes died away.

CHAPTER XV

For the fourth time the bell rang. The two men had now retraced their steps. Cecil, who had been standing in the hall within a few feet of the closed door, started away as though he had received some sort of shock. Forrest, who was lurking back in the shadows, cursed him for a timid fool.