“You go and find them,” he said. “Hanbury and I stay here. If you don’t strike them at once, try using the torch. But—”
And there, somewhere behind us, a shot rang out.
As we swung round—
“I saw the flash,” said Hanbury. “Up on the roof.”
I ran full tilt into Rowley, who was standing at the foot of the ladders, with a cord in his hand.
“Oh, thank God, sir,” says he. “We thought you were gone.”
I shook him by the shoulder and pointed up to the roof.
“Recall them!” I cried. “Recall them! How can you get them back?”
He was tugging at the cord, like a madman, when another two shots rang out.
I could not stand there idle, but began to go up the wall.
I was on the second ladder, when someone above me looked down.
“Is that you, Bell?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get Carson and come down to the gate.”
“Very good, sir.”
I slid and fell back to the ground, to run to the gate.
Mansel was standing, waiting, cool as a man in a garden, regarding his flowers.
“Carson must stay out,” he said. “I daren’t have everyone in. He and Tester must feed us and keep the cars. Send him for food and drink, as soon as he’s down. And two fifty-foot lengths of rope. The others come in.”
Whilst he was speaking, another four shots were fired, and I ran back to Rowley with my heart in my mouth.
Him I sent to the gate and took his place. I think he was glad to go, for the firing was growing hotter, and to stand at the foot of the ladder in the knowledge that those you were awaiting might very well never come down pulled at a man’s nerves.
Such concern will seem out of reason. When six men set out in a body to play with fire, it hardly becomes them to tremble lest someone be burned. But our outlook was not so simple. We feared no more for Carson than Carson feared for himself: but we all of us feared very much for the matter in hand. Our school was not that of Rose Noble. If one of us was wounded, we could not let him lie: he would have to be saved and attended at any cost: how high that cost would be no one could tell, but, placed as we were, we all knew that such a distraction might ruin our enterprise.
It seemed an age before Bell began to descend. …
“Are you hit?” said I.
“Oh, no, sir,” said he. “Nor’s Carson. But, of course, we had to go slow.”
I sent him to Mansel at once.
Then a shot was fired right above me, and Carson came down with a run.
“Come,” said I, and led him away up the spur. …
It was well that I did so, for a light leaped out of the darkness, and a bullet went over our heads. To round the picture, I turned and fired back at the torch. No doubt the bullet went wide, but the light was put out.
Then I stopped and gave Carson his orders and told him that we were all safe, and he promised to be at the gate in a quarter of an hour. Then I stole back to the castle, and Mansel took me in.
Two doorways led out of the archway, one upon either hand. These Mansel set us to watch till Carson should come: “but I don’t think,” said he, “they’ll disturb us: they’ve got their hands full. They’ve the roof to watch, and the passage, and it won’t be light for three hours.”
Here he was right, for Carson came and went, but nobody else; and, though lights flashed on the roof and the passage windows were closely and continually watched, no one came down to the archway or entered the great courtyard.
Carson went heavily away, for, though his part was most dangerous—because, except for Tester, he was alone—and though he would be the sole link between us and the world we knew, he had the true heart of a fighter and could hardly bear to leave us at such a pinch.
Early next morning he was to drive into Lass and there to take in supplies which should last us a week. He was then to bestow the two cars as best he could, somewhere beyond the wood and by the crossroads. He was not to move during the day, but by night he was to come to the spur and there wait till one of us met him or else it was dawn.
Then Mansel shut the gate and shot the great bolts and set his face again to the business of reaching Adèle, or, to be more precise, of thrusting between her and Rose Noble, before the latter knew we were there.
One thing was plain. Before the night was over, we must either have accomplished our purpose or have gained some room or corner where we could lie hid. Now the only shelter we knew was that of the cellar beneath the dining-room’s floor, but, since our goal was, as ever, the southwest tower, we decided to make for the latter and to trust to striking another and more convenient lair.
Now, though we knew next to nothing of the way from the porch to Adèle, we had one valuable clue.
When Casemate had been hounded by Rose Noble to “turn out the car,” he had certainly reached the porch as quickly as ever he could. Now his shortest path, as we knew from the bookseller’s guide, was down the Grand Staircase and across the courtyard. But Casemate had not crossed the courtyard. It was, therefore, perfectly plain that that way was shut.
We, therefore, turned to the door in the western wall of the porch, for Casemate had come out of that, and that could, therefore, lead us back to the “gallery of stone.”
I could set down our passage in detail, for I remember most clearly every step that we took. The hopes and fears which attended us, the sudden shocks of thankfulness and dismay, the
