The Shadow of Tyburn Tree

since she had never sought to conceal such matters from him; but the way he had looked at her suggested that he believed her to be concealing something concerning her husband's death. She thought that he had been silently inviting her to tell him the truth, and that perhaps she ought to have done so; but she had instinctively acted on his own teaching—that one must bear one's own burdens in life, and that it was a mark of cowardice to seek to unload them onto other people.

'Man-made laws,' he had once told her, 'are but a rough guide to conduct, for the general protection of society. They should be dis­regarded when they are no longer in keeping with one's sense of right. Do what you will, provided that you can square it with your own con­science. But even if you fail in that you must endeavour to regain your own integrity by finding the courage to face the consequence of your act without whimpering about your lot to others, and involving them in your troubles.'

She had lived by that philosophy and felt that now was no time to go back upon it. If her father suspected anything it was because he believed that Roger had been with her. Had he had it in his power to help her, that would have been different. It was legitimate to ask a friend for any concrete aid that he could render. That was the essence of friendship and a high compliment to the friend concerned; but it was not right to confess one's sins merely for the squalid luxury of weeping on a friend's shoulder.

Convinced that she had acted rightly Georgina sought her bed. It was now just on eleven o'clock, the hour that Vorontzoff had intend­ed to come to her; but she felt fairly certain now that Roger had been right in asserting that the Russian would prefer to accept a later assign­ation rather than risk being surprised in her room.

She took her time undressing and doing her hair so that it was midnight before she doused the candles on her dressing-table and got into bed.

With a little shudder she thought of all that had happened since she had lain there, so secure and happy, snugly curled in Roger's arms. She wondered if he and the Russian had yet met in the Orangery and what would be the outcome of the meeting. She had no great hopes for it as regards herself; as she could not believe that Vorontzoff would pay the least regard to any appeal Roger might make to his better nature; neither could she imagine any way in which Roger could strike a bargain with the Russian, or coerce him, short of using force.

Vorontzoff, she felt certain, would merely laugh at him and, within a few moments openly declare his intention of coming up to her. That would be the crucial point upon which everything hung. Would Roger stand aside and let him? Would his promise to her weigh suffi­ciently with him to restrain him from some act of violence? Her life as well as his would depend upon it, and, ruthless as he might be once he let himself go, she had never known him lose his head in a crisis.

Among other things her father had taught her was, that one can pray every bit as effectually either standing up or lying down as one can when kneeling; and also that prayer is far more potent when offered up for another than for oneself: So she began to pray; silently, fer­vently, not that she should be spared the ordeal that she now dreaded so terribly, but that Roger be given sagacity, restraint and wisdom.

After a time her prayers gave place to a conscious effort to co­ordinate the power of her will with his. She did not seek to dominate him, but to strengthen all. his best qualities by letting her own flow out of her towards him. Suddenly it came to her as clearly as a light in the darkness that they were en rapport, and she knew without a shadow of doubt that Roger was laughing.

It was so. Despite the grimness of the task upon which he was engaged, Roger found something irresistibly comic in the sight of the Russian Ambassador's limp body spreadeagled in a wheelbarrow. Probably it was the absurd, puppet-like way in which his enemy's legs and arms dangled helplessly over the sides of the barrow, and waggled at its every movement; but he could not help chuckling to himself as he wheeled his unconscious human load along a shadowy path through the shrubberies of the moonlit garden.

The Orangery had also been lit only by the moon, and ten minutes earlier Vorontzoff had swaggered into it exuding his usual self-corn­plaisance. He had been annoyed by the postponing of his anticipated triumph, even for an hour; although conceding that there appeared to be an adequate reason for the alteration of the rendezvous. But he was in no mood to let Georgina get away with a brief encounter among the ill-lit semi-tropical greenery. He was an epicure in women and wanted to gaze his fill at her, in comfort and at his leisure; so he had determined to insist that, since in her own room they might be liable to interruption, she should accompany him to his.

Instead, he had been standing there awaiting her coming for barely a minute when Roger stepped softly from behind a banana-palm, and slugged him heavily on the back of the head with a small bag con­taining four pounds of wet sand.

It was over two hours since Roger had left Georgina, so he had had ample time to make his preparations; and, so far, his plan had gone with the smoothness of clockwork. As the sandbag hit Vorontzoff he had given a single grunt, his knees collapsed and he slumped un­conscious onto the mosaic pavement. Picking him up, Roger carried him outside to the wheelbarrow which he had placed there for the pur­pose. In it there was already a small portmanteau containing various things that he might require. Bracing his muscles he had lifted the shafts and set off cheerfully down a garden path that led away from the back of the house.

On emerging from the shrubberies he followed the east side of the walled fruit garden, then, with no small effort, pulled the barrow over a steeply curved Chinese bridge that spanned a small stream. On its far side the garden ended, but the path continued, winding its way through semi-cultivated woodlands that had been planted with many thousands of bulbs and clumps of rhododendrons. A quarter of a mile farther on, the tops of a group of tall Scotch pines, rising high above the other trees, stood out clearly against the night sky. Their promin­ence was due to the fact that they had been planted on a great artificial mound several hundred yards in circumference. In its interior, under many feet of earth, lay a large, low, circular chamber, to which access could be gained by a short passage, ending at a stout wooden door set in one side of the mound.

Nearly all large country houses of the period had in their grounds similar man-made wooded knolls with a subterranean chamber under­neath. Many of them were of great antiquity, as they were an ingenious Roman device for ensuring a supply of ice right through the summer. When the lakes froze in winter hundreds of big blocks of ice were cut from them and stored, after which the change of temperature above ground affected them hardly at all, as even in the height of summer, the shade of the trees kept cool the thick layer of earth beneath which they were stacked.

Having visited the mound during one of his walks with Georgina a few days before, Roger knew that the door of the chamber was not kept locked. Halting the wheelbarrow at the bottom of the slope he pulled the Russian across his shoulders, carried him to the entrance opened the door, from which there issued a blast of cold air, and pushed him inside. He then returned for the portmanteau, rejoined his victim and, producing a dark lantern, lit it from his tinder-box.

VorontzofI was still lying comatose. Shining the light upon his face Roger leaned forward and gave it a couple of hard slaps. The Russian began to roll his head about slightly and make a low moan. Roger repeated the tonic and his enemy's eyes flickered open. Pulling him roughly to his feet Roger half led, half pushed him along the short passage as far as the opening into the chamber and let him drop to the floor there. Then he fetched his portmanteau, got out four candles, stood them up and lit them. Their light struck rainbow colours from the nearby ice blocks, giving the weird scene a resemblance to Dante's frozen seventh Hell.

It was as silent as the grave there; until the Russian scrabbled his feet in wriggling into a sitting position from which he stared malevolent­ly up at his captor.

Roger grinned down at him, and said suavely. ' 'Tis not quite the type of entertainment to which you were no doubt looking forward, Excellency, but I advise you to accept it with as good a grace as you can muster, or 'twill be the worse for you.'

His victim muttered something in his own language, then swore at him. Stooping, Roger grabbed him by his lace jabot, shook him violently and cursed him with great fluency for a solid two minutes. He then opened his case again, took from it two lengths of whipcord and holding them up addressed the Russian.

'Listen, you rat. Heed carefully what I am about to say, for your life hangs upon it. No doubt you have places such as this in your own country. You can judge for yourself that the temperature here is below freezing point. I have but to tie your hands and feet, gag you, and thrust you out of sight behind one of the ice-stacks at the far end of the chamber for you to die here. How like you the idea?'

The Russian's wits had now returned to him, and he muttered: 'You are already in jeopardy of a hanging. To murder me would make it a certainty.'

'On the contrary, Monsieur. To do as I suggest is the one method by which I can make positive beyond all doubt that your mouth will remain closed at to-morrow's inquest; and, believe me, I am much inclined to adopt