Dead Men Tell No Tales - E. W. Hornung (ereader for comics txt) 📗
- Author: E. W. Hornung
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“You touch it,” said I, “and you’ll drop dead on that hearth.”
He pretended not to hear me, but he heard the click of the splendid spring which Messrs. Deane and Adams had put into that early revolver of theirs, and he could not have come down much quicker with my bullet in his spine.
“Now, then,” I said, “what the devil do you mean by shamming deaf and dumb?”
“I niver said I was owt o’ t’ sort,” he whimpered, cowering behind the chair in a sullen ague.
“But you acted it, and I’ve a jolly good mind to shoot you dead!” (Remember, I was so weak myself that I thought my arm would break from presenting my five chambers and my ten-inch barrel; otherwise I should be sorry to relate how I bullied that mouse of a man.) “I may let you off,” I continued, “if you answer questions. Where’s your wife?”
“Eh, she’ll be back directly! ” said Braithwaite, with some tact; but his look was too cunning to give the warning weight. “I’ve a bullet to spare for her,” said I, cheerfully; “now, then, where is she?”
“Gone wi’ the oothers, for owt I knaw.”
“And where are the others gone?”
“Where they allus go, ower to t’ say.”
“Over to the sea, eh? We’re getting on! What takes them there?”
“That’s more than I can tell you, sir,” said Braithwaite, with so much emphasis and so little reluctance as to convince me that for once at least he had spoken the truth. There was even a spice of malice in his tone. I began to see possibilities in the little beast.
“Well,” I said, “you’re a nice lot! I don’t know what your game is, and don’t want to. I’ve had enough of you without that. I’m off tonight.”
“Before they get back?” asked Braithwaite, plainly in doubt about his duty, and yet as plainly relieved to learn the extent of my intention.
“Certainly,” said I; “why not? I’m not particularly anxious to see your wife again, and you may ask Mr. Rattray from me why the devil he led me to suppose you were deaf and dumb? Or, if you like, you needn’t say anything at all about it,” I added, seeing his thin jaw fall; “tell him I never found you out, but just felt well enough to go, and went. When do you expect them back?”
“It won’t be yet a bit,” said he.
“Good! Now look here. What would you say to these?” And I showed him a couple of sovereigns: I longed to offer him twenty, but feared to excite his suspicions. “These are yours if you have a conveyance at the end of the lane - the lane we came up the night before last - in an hour’s time.”
His dull eyes glistened; but a tremor took him from top to toe, and he shook his head.
“I’m ill, man!” I cried. “If I stay here I’ll die! Mr. Rattray knows that, and he wanted me to go this morning; he’ll be only too thankful to find me gone.”
This argument appealed to him; indeed, I was proud of it.
“But I was to stop an’ look after you,” he mumbled; “it’ll get me into trooble, it will that!”
I took out three more sovereigns; not a penny higher durst I go.
“Will five pounds repay you? No need to tell your wife it was five, you know! I should keep four of them all to myself.”
The cupidity of the little wretch was at last overcoming his abject cowardice. I could see him making up his miserable mind. And I still flatter myself that I took only safe (and really cunning) steps to precipitate the process. To offer him more money would have been madness; instead, I poured it all back into my pocket.
“All right!” I cried; “you’re a greedy, cowardly, old idiot, and I’ll just save my money.” And out I marched into the moonlight, very briskly, towards the lane; he was so quick to follow me that I had no fears of the blunderbuss, but quickened my step, and soon had him running at my heels.
“Stop, stop, sir! You’re that hasty wi’ a poor owd man.” So he whimpered as he followed me like the little cur he was.
“I’m hanged if I stop,” I answered without looking back; and had him almost in tears before I swung round on him so suddenly that he yelped with fear. “What are you bothering me for?” I blustered. “Do you want me to wring your neck?”
“Oh, I’ll go, sir! I’ll go, I’ll go,” he moaned.
“I’ve a good mind not to let you. I wouldn’t if I was fit to walk five miles.”
“But I’ll roon ‘em, sir! I will that! I’ll go as fast as iver I can!”
“And have a conveyance at the road-end of the lane as near an hour hence as you possibly can?”
“Why, there, sir!” he cried, crassly inspired; “I could drive you in our own trap in half the time.”
“Oh, no, you couldn’t! I - I’m not fit to be out at all; it must be a closed conveyance; but I’ll come to the end of the lane to save time, so let him wait there. You needn’t wait yourself; here’s a sovereign of your money, and I’ll leave the rest in the jug in my bedroom. There! It’s worth your while to trust me, I think. As for my luggage, I’ll write to Mr. Rattray about that. But I’ll be shot if I spend another night on his property.”
I was rid of him at last; and there I stood, listening to his headlong steps, until they stumbled out of earshot down the lane; then back to the cottage, at a run myself, and up to my room to be no worse than my word. The sovereigns plopped into the water and rang together at the bottom of the jug. In another minute I was hastening through the plantation, in my hand the revolver that had served me well already, and was still loaded and capped in all five chambers.
It so happened that I met nobody at all; but I must confess that my luck was better than my management. As I came upon the beck, a new sound reached me with the swirl. It was the jingle of bit and bridle; the beat of hoofs came after; and I had barely time to fling myself flat, when two horsemen emerged from the plantation, riding straight towards me in the moonlight. If they continued on that course they could not fail to see me as they passed along the opposite bank. However, to my unspeakable relief, they were scarce clear of the trees when they turned their horses’ heads, rode them through the water a good seventy yards from where I lay, and so away at a canter across country towards the road. On my hands and knees I had a good look at them as they bobbed up and down under the moon; and my fears subsided in astonished curiosity. For I have already boasted of my eyesight, and I could have sworn that neither Rattray nor any one of his guests was of the horsemen; yet the back and shoulders of one of these seemed somehow familiar to me. Not that I wasted many moments over the coincidence, for I had other things to think about as I ran on to the hall.
I found the rear of the building in darkness unrelieved from within; on the other hand, the climbing moon beat so full upon the garden wall, it was as though a lantern pinned me as I crept beneath it. In passing I thought I might as well try the gate; but Eva was right; it was locked; and that made me half inclined to distrust my eyes in the matter of the two horsemen, for whence could they have come, if not from the hall? In any case I was well rid of them. I now followed the wall some little distance, and then, to see over it, walked backwards until I was all but in the beck; and there, sure enough, shone my darling’s candle, close as close against the diamond panes of her narrow, lofty window! It brought those ready tears back to my foolish, fevered eyes. But for sentiment there was no time, and every other emotion was either futile or premature. So I mastered my full heart, I steeled, my wretched nerves, and braced my limp muscles for the task that lay before them.
I had a garden wall to scale, nearly twice my own height, and without notch or cranny in the ancient, solid masonry. I stood against it on my toes, and I touched it with my finger-tips as high up as possible. Some four feet severed them from the coping that left only half a sky above my upturned eyes.
I do not know whether I have made it plain that the house was not surrounded by four walls, but merely filled a breach in one of the four, which nipped it (as it were) at either end. The back entrance was approachable enough, but barred or watched, I might be very sure. It is ever the vulnerable points which are most securely guarded, and it was my one comfort that the difficult way must also be the safe way, if only the difficulty could be overcome. How to overcome it was the problem. I followed the wall right round to the point at which it abutted on the tower that immured my love; the height never varied; nor could my hands or eyes discover a single foot-hole, ledge, or other means of mounting to the top.
Yet my hot head was full of ideas; and I wasted some minutes in trying to lift from its hinges a solid, six-barred, outlying gate, that my weak arms could hardly stir. More time went in pulling branches from the oak-trees about the beck, where the latter ran nearest to the moonlit wall. I had an insane dream of throwing a long forked branch over the coping, and so swarming up hand-over-hand. But even to me the impracticability of this plan came home at last. And there I stood in a breathless lather, much time and strength thrown away together; and the candle burning down for nothing in that little lofty window; and the running water swirling noisily over its stones at my back.
This was the only sound; the wind had died away; the moonlit valley lay as still as the dread old house in its midst but for the splash and gurgle of the beck. I fancied this grew louder as I paused and listened in my helplessness. All at once - was it the tongue of Nature telling me the way, or common gumption returning at the eleventh hour? I ran down to the water’s edge, and could have shouted for joy. Great stones lay in equal profusion on bed and banks. I lifted one of the heaviest in both hands. I staggered with it to the wall. I came back for another; for some twenty minutes I was so employed; my ultimate reward a fine heap of boulders against the wall.
Then I began to build; then mounted my pile, clawing the wall to keep my balance. My fingers were still many inches from the coping. I jumped down and gave another ten minutes to the back-breaking work of carrying more boulders from the water to the wall. Then I widened
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