I have often wondered why I did not lose heart, for my plight was really desperate, and my rescue could only follow the very capture of the byre: but, I suppose, a merciful Providence heartens those who else would have no hope at all, so that they may not be called upon to bear too great a burden. So I stood there hopefully, with my eyes on the corner of the byre, listening for any sound.
Suddenly a shot rang out.
Ellis was the first to appear, whipping into safety, like the dastard he was: Rose Noble and Bunch followed hastily enough. They all passed into the byre without a word.
After a moment or two:
“That was Job’s side,” said Ellis. “Why doesn’t the ⸻ come in?”
“Because he’s asleep,” sneered Rose Noble. “That’s the only thing that would keep Job at his post.”
Then I heard two more shots, and almost at once Bunch cried:
“There he is by the rotten stump. I can see his pants.”
Here came another shot, and those in the byre cried out that Job was down.
“Serve him right,” said Rose Noble, “for showing them where to shoot. This isn’t Wimbledon.”
“He’s up,” cried Bunch. “He’s up. Punched, though. Lame as a ⸻ tree.”
“What did I say?” said Rose Noble. And then, with a dirty oath, “He’d be something more than lame if I’d been behind him.”
Here came the scuttle of feet, and Punter rounded the byre and flashed within.
“Job’s stopped one,” he cried, panting.
“You must teach him to run,” said Rose Noble, acidly. “Take the right wall.”
“Curse this dark,” said Ellis. “I can’t see a ⸻ thing.”
“There’s nothing to see,” said Rose Noble. “We’ve only got to sit tight an’—”
“He’s down again,” cried Bunch. “Crawlin’ in.”
“Oh, ⸻ Job,” said Rose Noble. “Crawling or lying, what the hell do we care? Time to—”
A little burst of fire drowned what else he was saying, and I heard a bullet strike upon stone, and another sing over my head.
“Three flashes in front,” said Rose Noble. “Now for the other two.”
As though in reply came two shots, not far away.
“Five,” said Rose Noble. “Thank you, you clumsy fools. Ellis, they’re under that hump, trying to move around. Keep your eye on the track: they can’t cross that unseen. Bunch, take the left with Ellis and watch that road.”
“Job coming up, Punter,” said Bunch. “Don’—”
The profane unanimity with which his companions consigned poor Job and all his works to the devil argued that they had slight use for a wounded man. Had it been Ellis or Rose Noble, I do not think the others would have been any more concerned; for they were confederates of necessity, and not at all of choice.
There was another spurt of shots.
“Three from the hump,” said Ellis. “An’ they don’t fancy that road.”
“Show you can see it,” said Rose Noble, “just to encourage the swine.”
As Ellis fired, Job crawled round the edge of the byre into my view, trailing his left leg. When he was round, he stopped short of the doorway, as though he had done enough. After a little, he propped himself on an elbow and looked about him.
The firing was hotter now, and, once and again, Ellis fired down the road. He or Rose Noble always counted the flashes in a loud voice.
Job had seen me and was plainly puzzled by my attitude, for he craned his neck and peered, like a dim-sighted man. But even this inspection did not apparently satisfy his curiosity, for, after a little, he fell again upon his face and started to drag himself painfully almost up to my feet. There he lay for a moment, as though the effort had been too much for him. Then his arm stole out, and I felt him cutting my bonds.
“One flash from the right,” said Rose Noble. “Punter, watch your road.”
“Three from the hump,” said Ellis, and fired again.
“Can you walk?” breathed Mansel.
“Yes,” said I, free and trembling.
“Follow me.”
He stepped out of sight of the doorway behind the car, with me in his wake. Then he put his hand under my arm, and we began to run. A hundred yards later he stopped, to rip Job’s trousers from his legs. Then we crossed the track and headed straight for the combe. Halfway up this, Mansel drew his pistol and, standing with his back to the byre, fired four shots in succession into the air.
“That’s the rally,” he explained. “And now you get back to the house. The courtyard door is open. And you might give Tester some water and tell him that I shall be back in a quarter of an hour.”
Mansel was as good as his word, and twenty-five minutes later we were all six within doors.
If I had then expected to hear his tale, I was disappointed, for Carson was sent forthwith to prepare the cars, and Rowley and Bell made ready to enter the oubliette.
Bell was the older of the two, and Mansel put him in charge.
“Move very carefully,” he said, “and make no unnecessary noise. During the day you may take down one of the shutters and open the shoot. You may do the same by night, provided you show no light. If I don’t come tomorrow night, I shall come the next night without fail: but not, of course, during the day. The bell from the shoot is muffled, so sleep with it to your ear; and test it at dusk.”
Then we lowered them into the dungeon, and, when they had found the searchlight, we slid the slabs back into place. Mansel oversaw this action, himself wiping every edge with great particularity: and, when it was done, he took a handful of dust, which he had got from some chamber, and sprinkled it over the landing from side to side. Then he took a cloth and smeared the
