Indeed, as we afterwards learned, for a fortnight after his exploit, next to no water was taken out of the well, but Rose Noble spent all of his time quelling mutinies, eating his own words and striving by hook or by crook to hold the gang together against some future attempt. That in this he succeeded does him, to my mind, great credit, for I have shown many times how ill he was served and what poor stomachs for work or for danger the other thieves had.
And here let me say that, to give the devil his due, Rose Noble possessed a commanding personality, swift, vigilant and unearthly strong: and, behind it, like some familiar, stood his astounding instinct, continually showing him things which no manner of wisdom or prudence could ever have perceived. It seems he never ceased to maintain that we were digging, and that with a conviction so infectious that, although he could produce not one jot or tittle of warrant for what he said, the others came to accept this surmise as an established fact, and, though they would draw no water, to search with more or less diligence for any sign of a shaft. And that was, I think, a remarkable achievement: and, as is sometimes the way, it had its reward.
No one of us will ever forget the ninth night of June.
That day we had driven our shaft as far as the point from which Mansel had taken the bearing of the well, that is to say, we had covered just eighty-one yards: and there we had altered our course so as to head directly for where the chamber must lie. It seemed certain that eighty-nine yards, at the most, remained to be pierced; but we had fair reason to think that the distance would prove to be less, and that, when we had covered another eighty yards, we might expect any moment to strike the chamber. We were, therefore, come roughly halfway to the region we sought: and this elated us all, as did the knowledge that the thieves were making no serious endeavour to empty the well: for, though because of their vigilance, we had been unable again to approach the redoubt, we had twice visited the spot upon which the gutter discharged and found it comparatively dry.
It was Hanbury’s turn to relieve Mansel: the night was warm and moonlit, and there was no wind at all.
The relief was more than half done: Carson, indeed, had already descended the shoot, and Mansel was stripped to the waist, when we heard Tester give tongue.
Sharp and clear, across the water came his deep, vigorous bark, bold and menacing.
For an instant we stood breathless, staring at the three long windows, through which the sound had come. Then, in a flash, Mansel had entered the shoot. I followed immediately, clad only in a zephyr and shorts, and was in the boat almost as soon as he. Without a word Carson bent to the sculls, and the craft leaped forward.
Our passage, usually so soon over, seemed that night as though it would never be done, and I well remember remarking how lovely the landscape looked, and what a queer contrast we offered—all of us dripping, and Carson, except for his shoes, mother-naked. All the time Tester was baying someone furiously.
We were unarmed, and, as we came to the bank:
“Single file, please,” said Mansel. “We mustn’t bunch. And, when we come to the track, you will bear to the right and Carson to the left.”
I had the painter, and, before I had made fast the boat, Mansel and Carson were ashore and out of my sight.
Now the track which led to the quarry lay seventy paces or so from the river’s bank, some half of which they had run before I was out of the boat. An impression was, therefore, given that we were but two, and I ran straight into some stranger at the mouth of the track. He had clearly let the others go by and was making good his escape. He was a giant of a man, but I am no featherweight, and the shock of our encounter sent us both to the ground. I was up in an instant, but he was quicker than I, and, what was worse, fleeter of foot, for, although I pursued him west for a mile or more, he gradually drew away and I had to give up his pursuit.
I then returned to the quarry, to Mansel’s evident relief; for all he had heard was our fall, and, before he had been able to reach the mouth of the track, the stranger and I were out of earshot. The car did not seem to have been touched, and no one of her locks had been tampered with: Tester was safe and sound: neither Mansel nor Carson had seen or heard anyone, and it seemed likely that the man I had chased had been the sole occasion of Tester’s wrath. Particularly to describe him, however, was beyond my power, for we had met in the shadows, and I had not seen his face. He was not one of the thieves nor yet the innkeeper; and, unless they had been reinforced, there was little to suggest that he had to do with the enemy, or, indeed, was anything more to be feared than an inquisitive peasant who had noticed George Hanbury’s arrival and found his behaviour strange. As such we found him unwelcome, but, if he was to see us no more, harmless. Yet, there was about the business one curious, disquieting fact, slight in its way as any ghost, yet one that we could not lay.
The fellow was a tanner by trade. That I could swear, for he reeked of the tannery. Now, I have always
