—Colonel Butler had warned him that Audley would be
and then with Colonel Butler, and everyone from Herzner at the Embassy—
to Miss Rebecca Maxwell-Smith and Benje’s Dad . . . and even Thomas Wiesehofer—
Still no sound from above.
He brushed the dirt from his face. There was an egg on the back of his head which was tender to the touch of his fingertips—and . . .
and a slightly raised contusion on his cheekbone, where the lump of chalk had hit him: it even boasted a sticky crater where the chalk had cut into his flesh—
But there was no more time for thought: someone was coming—he could hear voices—
“
foreign country and trapped in an incomprehensible pit.
And now there was light as well as sound above—and he must get rid of his own tell-tale torch—
“Help!” He stuffed the torch under the debris beneath him, and stood up on top of it, steadying himself on the nearest wall.
“
The light intensified, finally shiningdown directly into his eyes.
“Gruss Gott!” exclaimed Thomas Wiesehofer fervently. “Please! I haff fallen into—into this place—this hole in the ground! Please to help me—I am wounded and bleeding.”
The beam of the torch explored him.
“Please to help me!” appealed Thomas Wiesehofer.
There was a pause above.
“Please—”
“It’s that bloody Jerry.” The voice ignored his appeal.
“What?” Another voice.
“That Jerry—from this afternoon . . . the one that was nosing around . . . the one that was in the
“What?” A second light entered the pit, fixing itself on Thomas Wiesehofer. “You’m right.”
“Please!” Thomas Wiesehofer was running out of steam.
“What’ll us do with ‘im, then?” The rich country voice behind the second torch also ignored his appeal.
“Knock the bugger on the ‘ead an’ fill in the bloody ‘ole, I would, dummy1
if I ’ad my way,” said the first speaker uncompromisingly.
“Looks like someone’s already given ‘im one for starters. See ’is face there?”
“Ah, I see’d it. Must ‘a done that when ’e went in. Serve ‘im right!” The first speaker was clearly unmoved by the state of their captive’s appearance. “Serve the bugger right!”
Thomas Wiesehofer decided to get angry. “You up there— do you not hear me? I haff fallen in this hole—you will help me out at once, please!”
“Arr! So you fell into the ‘ole, did you now, Mister?” The first speaker echoed him unsympathetically. “An’ what was you doin‘
out ’ere in the first place, eh?”
“Poachin‘ on the Old Squire’s land, that’s Miss Becky’s now, mebbe?” The second speaker chuckled grimly. “Bloody foreigner—
poachin’ on Miss Becky’s land! This’ll learn ‘im, then!”
“What?” They were playing with him, the swine! “I do not understand—?”
“Arr? Nor you don’t, don’t you?” The first speaker chipped in.
“Well then . . . you just bide where you are, Mister—you just bide there—see?” The torch flashed out. “Keep clear of anyone we catches, is what they said—just make sure they stays where they are ‘til we can cast an eye on ’em—so that’s what us’ll do.”
They?
“You down there—” the words descended through the darkness, which was once again complete “—I got a 12 -bore an‘ I knows how to use it. So you stay quiet then . . . understand?”
dummy1
Benedikt suddenly understood all too well. If the situation in the Chase was as Colonel Butler had believed it to be ... and everything which had happened to him confirmed that now beyond all doubt . . . then this trap had been built for a very dangerous animal, and the night-guards would have been warned to take no chances with it. Of course, being the amateurs they were, they had forgotten half their instructions immediately and had taken a careless look at their catch, chattering like monkeys; but now native caution had reasserted itself, edged with apprehension.
