Blind Corner

Blind Corner

By Dornford Yates.

Table of Contents

1. Titlepage
2. Imprint
3. Dedication
4. Blind Corner
   1. I: The Well-Digger’s Statement
   2. II: The Way to Wagensburg
   3. III: The Battle with the Springs
   4. IV: The Attack on the Well
   5. V: We Go to Ground
   6. VI: Tester Gives Tongue
   7. VII: Rose Noble Moves
   8. VIII: The Race for the Chamber
   9. IX: Out of the Eater
5. Colophon
6. Uncopyright

Imprint

This ebook is the product of many hours of hard work by volunteers for Standard Ebooks, and builds on the hard work of other literature lovers made possible by the public domain.

This particular ebook is based on a transcription from Faded Page and on digital scans from the Internet Archive.

The source text and artwork in this ebook are believed to be in the United States public domain; that is, they are believed to be free of copyright restrictions in the United States. They may still be copyrighted in other countries, so users located outside of the United States must check their local laws before using this ebook. The creators of, and contributors to, this ebook dedicate their contributions to the worldwide public domain via the terms in the CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication. For full license information, see the Uncopyright at the end of this ebook.

Standard Ebooks is a volunteer-driven project that produces ebook editions of public domain literature using modern typography, technology, and editorial standards, and distributes them free of cost. You can download this and other ebooks carefully produced for true book lovers at standardebooks.org.

To Norman Kenneth Stephen, late Senior Assistant Master of Harrow School, who was the first to show me that, though few can bend it, the long bow of English is on every man’s back, this book is respectfully and gratefully dedicated.

Blind Corner

I

The Well-Digger’s Statement

When the first of these things happened, that is to say upon the twentieth day of April, 192‒, I was twenty-two years old, a little stronger than most men of my age, and very ready for anything that bade fair to prove more exciting than entering the office of my uncle, who was a merchant of consequence in the City of London.

I had lately been sent down from Oxford for using some avowed communists as many thought they deserved, and, though George Hanbury⁠—for he had been with me in the affair⁠—and I received much sympathy and more complimentary letters from complete strangers than we could conveniently answer, I think we were both more distressed than we would have cared to admit to take our leave of Christchurch before our time. For my part, I had been glad to get out of England and to put the matter as far away from my mind as ever I knew.

I had, then, spent five weeks at Biarritz, the guest of some people called Pomeroy, with whom, such was their benevolence, I believe I might have stayed indefinitely; but a letter from Hanbury, with whom I was to share a flat, threatening to forego the agreement if I did not return to Town, at length precipitated my departure.

I returned as I had come, alone in my car, making for Dieppe and spending the first night at Angoulême and the second at Tours.

From Tours to Dieppe is a comfortable day’s run, and I rose that April morning, intending to pass my third night on the packet which should take me to England.

I left Tours about ten in the morning and came to Chartres at one. There I purchased my luncheon and, after taking in petrol, reentered the car, for the weather was very fair, and I meant to eat by the way.

Accordingly, a few miles farther, I stopped by the side of the road, and, leaving the car, sat down on a grassy bank to eat my meal.

It was a fine, smooth day, and the sunshine seemed almost as hot as it had been at Biarritz. The world, so far as I could see, I had to myself. The road stretched white and empty and straight for miles upon either hand.

I was never much of a trencherman when I had to eat alone, and my meal⁠—a pâté de Chartres and some fruit, and a bottle of beer⁠—was soon done; but, since I had plenty of time and the beer had made me heavy, I lay down in the warm grass and went to sleep.

I now know that I must have slept for near fifty minutes before I was awakened by the voices of two men, who were somewhere quite close to me. They were speaking English, and from the speech and the tone of one of them, it was clear that his temper was out of hand.

“You, by hell,” he was crying, and I think it was the bitterness and the enmity with which he kept investing the pronoun that brought me so wide awake. “You. And who are you? You choose, do you? And what about us? Seven years I’ve done⁠—seven years out of my life. And the others⁠—”

“Your confinement,” said the other coolly, “seems to have affected your brain. The secret’s mine, and you know it. Why, because you’ve been in prison, should I make it over to you?”

“Because we’re partners,” blurted the first. I could hear him swallow. “That’s why.”

“Partners?” said the other. He laughed lightly. “Let me refresh your memory. For five years I led you, Ellis⁠—you and the other four. I gave you two-thirds of every cent we took. Then, one day, you struck. You demanded five-sixths. When I refused, you swore you’d work on your own⁠—with what result we know.” He laughed again. “So much for partnership. Add, then, two points,” he continued: “first⁠—that I had the secret before ever I saw your face, and, second⁠—that at your