“A desperate ploy,” said Mr. Curtain, with a gesture of dismissal. “I’ve already located what I seek. But you have no word on these people who are coming?”
“No, and Milligan didn’t mention any names. But we know where their boat will land, if it hasn’t already. The only decent place is in that southeastern bay. If you like, once my men are up we can drive over —”
Mr. Curtain waved him silent. “Any confrontations can wait, McCracken, and it would be best to avoid them altogether. What I want from you is an assurance that our escaped prisoner cannot contact these people and tell them where Benedict is.”
“Well,” said McCracken, “if she hasn’t already met up with them — that is, if they haven’t already sent a rescue party across the island —”
“Most unlikely,” said Mr. Curtain. “The bay will have had an exceptionally tricky tide last night, McCracken — I know a thing or two about tides, you see — and I doubt any craft can have navigated to shore before now.”
“Very good,” McCracken said. “Then I can assure you we’ll capture Number Two before she causes any trouble. I suspect she’s still hiding in the woods by the village. With the wind’s help we should have no trouble burning the woods and smoking her out.”
“You had better be right,” Mr. Curtain said tersely.
The conversation then shifted to the wheelchair, which Mr. Curtain was loath to leave behind. Because of his injured arm, McCracken couldn’t carry both the chair and his briefcase down the steep goat path to the Salamander, yet the chair was too heavy for Mr. Curtain — or indeed for any but the strongest of men — to carry that far. McCracken pointed out that Mr. Curtain wouldn’t actually be using the wheelchair much, to which Mr. Curtain replied that McCracken didn’t use his brain much, either, but still preferred to keep it with him. And so the discussion continued.
Kate, meanwhile, was rifling surreptitiously through her bucket, trying to find anything that might help. At length she muttered, “I can’t figure out how we’re going to manage this.”
“You mean how we’ll escape?” said Reynie in an undertone. “I can’t either.”
“I didn’t mean
“We will?” Sticky asked hopefully. “How?”
“Oh, we’ll think of something,” Kate whispered, which was not quite as specific a plan as Sticky had hoped for. “What I’m wondering is how we’ll meet up with Milligan and find Number Two before those creeps do. How will we rescue her?”
“Wait — you think Milligan is alive?” Constance whispered.
“Obviously! I mean, I didn’t think so at first, but then I realized Milligan would never jump to his death — not when we were still in danger. He must have had something else in mind. Probably he just hasn’t been able to find us. He told us to go to that bay forest, after all. That’s where he’d have gone to look for us.”
Reynie was less optimistic than Kate, but she did have a point. “Let me get this straight. We’re chained up in a cave with no idea what Mr. Curtain’s going to do to us, and your biggest concern is how we’re going to rescue Number Two?”
“Exactly!” Kate whispered.
“I just wanted to be clear on that,” said Reynie, and though he had only a small impulse to smile, this was nonetheless the best he’d felt in some time. “I think the place to start would be to rescue ourselves, Kate.”
“I know, but we need more time! If they’re going to burn those woods —”
“We have more time than they think,” Constance put in. “They’ll have trouble burning anything. It’s getting damp outside. Misting or drizzling. Don’t look at me like that, you know I can sense these —”
“S.Q.!” barked Mr. Curtain. The children flinched and looked up to see him glaring at them. “If any one of our prisoners speaks again — any single one of them, S.Q. — you will report it to me on my return, and they will suffer the consequences. That’s an order, understood? No one is to speak. I will have none of this murmuring among themselves.”
“Yes, sir,” said S.Q. He cleared his throat. “And, er, sir? Might I suggest that McCracken carry your wheelchair while you carry his briefcase? Just down to the Salamander, I mean.”
The two men stared at S.Q., then looked at each other in surprise.
“Out of the mouths of babes,” grunted McCracken.
“I’ll steer my chair as far as the path,” said Mr. Curtain, already moving. “Then we can exchange burdens.” He glided swiftly away up the passage, with McCracken limping along behind him and with never a word of thanks to S.Q. — nor even a glance of acknowledgment — for having made the amazingly practical suggestion that the two of them work
Still smarting from McCracken’s insult and Mr. Curtain’s cold treatment, S.Q. Pedalian had only just returned to his work when Mr. Benedict spoke to him. No one had seen Mr. Benedict wake up, and in fact he spoke now in a careful, measured tone, with a very sleepy quality, as if perhaps he hadn’t woken at all.
“S.Q.,” Mr. Benedict said in this strange, somniferous tone, “I know you have much to do, but if you can spare just a moment, these handcuffs are chafing me again.”
S.Q. turned to Mr. Benedict with a look of distress. “Oh, no, Mr. Benedict, you shouldn’t have spoken! Don’t you realize I have to report you to Mr. Curtain now? It was a direct order, you know! You’ll be punished!”
Mr. Benedict fixed S.Q. with a steady gaze. “I realize that, S.Q.,” he said, still in that slow, sleepy tone, “and it’s quite all right. You must do what you must do, my friend. I bear you no ill will.”
Plainly relieved, S.Q. smiled, then stifled a yawn.
“Still,” said Mr. Benedict, “the handcuffs, as I said, are chafing my wrist most terribly. Just as they always do.”
