“It doesn’t hurt,” said Casemate. “I had my arm done once.”
“I guess Rose didn’t do it,” said Punter. “And now slip after them eats. There’s a pot o’ strawberry back o’ the cans of pears.”
Casemate made no answer, but began to descend. …
I think I shall always hear his steps on the stair.
To my fancy his tread seemed wary, as though the man were suspicious, apprehensive of ill to come. He certainly stood at the wicket for a quarter of a minute or more, as though he had remarked and was listening to the vigorous slam of my heart two paces away.
Then he pulled open the door and came into the room.
I did not see Mansel strike him, for the former had been a great boxer and was startlingly quick with his hands. But I heard the dull smack of the blow, and I saw Casemate spin on his heel and then fall away from me backwards, without a cry. I heard his head meet the stone, and his body fell down with a thud, but the sounds were dead sounds and could not, I think, have been heard at the head of the stair.
My eyes were still upon Casemate, when Mansel touched me and turned.
I pointed to the form on the floor.
“Safe for an hour,” breathed Mansel. “The others will tie him up.”
We whipped down into the gallery, and, whilst I summoned the others, Mansel undid the bolts of the passage door.
I must here confess that I quailed at the sight of that suite. For me it reeked of misfortune, of frantic endeavour doomed before it was begun: and to go back to such a cockpit of broken hopes was clean against my stomach. Yet, as Mansel had said, there was nothing else to be done; and, in view of the Casemate business, we had not a moment to lose.
I signed to Rowley to give me his coil of rope.
As he laid it about my shoulders,
“Shut the door, but don’t bolt it,” breathed Mansel. “And stand by to move in five—not ten minutes’ time.”
Hanbury nodded. I observed that he looked very pale.
Then Mansel stole into the passage, and I in his wake.
Before we had gained the Closet, the door had been shut.
The windows of the Closet were still open, as was the trapdoor, and the room was full of sweet air and the murmur of the water below.
Mansel sat down on the floor, and swung his legs into the trap. Then he looked up and smiled.
“William,” he said, keeping his eyes upon mine, “we’re going to bring this right off. I know you’re frightened to death of letting me down: but you won’t—if you do as I say.
“I want you to stand at that window, and I’ll tell you what you will see. Never mind whether you’re dreaming or whether your sight is blurred. This is what you will see—and, consequently, what you will do.
“You’ll see me come out of the archway on to the terrace below. You’ll see me cast the rope and you’ll watch it rise. At the second attempt you’ll see it catch on something—you can’t tell what. You’ll see me test it and watch me begin to climb. I shall go up … up … up … Leaning well out of the window, you’ll watch me with your heart in your mouth. When I’m six feet from the top, to your indescribable horror the rope will begin to slip. Instinctively you’ll try to warn me—let out a hell of a cry. As you do so, the rope will go, and I shall come down. You’ll see me asprawl on the terrace, lying appallingly still and you’ll naturally rush to reach me as quick as you can. I shall be plainly disabled—for all you know, dead. Well, that means the game’s over, and you’ll naturally shout for help. When it comes, they may possibly seize you, but you’ll only do your best to get back to my side. You see, I shall still be breathing, but the fall will have broken my back.
“And now let me have the rope.
“When you see my arm go back, you’ll know that I’m going to sling it. Watch it rise and fall, and mark how I gather it up for the second cast.”
As he spoke, he was making a slipknot, but his eyes never left my face.
Then he smiled again and disappeared.
I made my way to the window, like a man in a dream. …
I cannot swear to what happened in the next two minutes of time. That is the plain truth. Time and again I have called up the burden of those moments, started to set it down and then laid aside my pen. I remember it perfectly: but I cannot say “This I imagined, and that I saw,” for the line between fact and fancy is a line that I cannot trace. Indeed I shall always believe that Mansel had influenced my will, for I did what I did dazedly and was conscious all the time of the smile upon Mansel’s face and the light in his eyes.
I remember leaning out of the window and finding the air most heavy and the sunshine curiously dull: I remember how the sill of the casement punished my back and how
