Rose Noble came up quietly, without any haste. Had I not been expecting to hear them, I should not have heard his steps. I had thought that he would come running and crying for Punter or Bunch. But he did not. Rather he seemed to be prowling, like some suspicious beast.
For a moment he paused on the opposite side of my stack, for all the world as though he had heard me move. Then he went on his way to the southwest tower.
I let him take ten paces. Then I rounded the stack and made my dash for the door.
And here, I think, my heart stood suddenly still.
The door was shut: and when I lifted the latch, I found it was barred.
For an instant I stared at it blankly. Then the truth rose up in a blinding flash.
Knowing nothing of me, Mansel had followed Rose Noble up the stair and had played my hand before I could play it myself.
The game was won—over: Adèle was saved: Rose Noble had been “caught bending”: and so had I.
A slight noise made me look round.
Rose Noble was standing, glaring, six paces away.
His face was working and his hand in his jacket-pocket was twitching with wrath. I think that he would have spoken, for twice he opened his mouth; but his fury must have choked him, for, though he gaped upon me, the words seemed stuck in his throat.
He was never a pleasant sight, but, so transfigured, he made as dreadful a picture as ever I saw, and I must confess that, as I looked upon him, my blood ran cold.
I was sure he was going to kill me, if only to serve his rage, for he knew as well as did I who it was that had shut the door and that Mansel, while he lay at his mercy, had bluffed him into discarding a winning hand. Indeed, had he guessed that George and the servants were actually in the tower, he would I believe, have shot me down like a dog: but, as the moments went by, yet he did not fire, I began to believe that he had still some hope of saving the game, and, since I was plainly his prisoner, had decided to hold me alive to his future use.
In a word, I was pretty desperate: but the thought of the part I had played in bringing him down did my heart good, and, what is more, it served to steady my nerves and to set my brain working to see if I could not hold out until help should come.
I folded my arms, leaned against the wall of the tower and waited for Rose Noble to speak.
At length—
“How did you get here?” he said.
“Thanks to Hanbury,” said I. “He opened the passage door.”
In a flash he had me by the collar and a pistol was hurting my ribs.
“March,” he said thickly.
Together we crossed the roof and entered the opposite tower. Then we went down the stair to the “gallery of stone.” He held me to the wall with the pistol, while he bolted the passage door. An instant later we were back on the roof.
“How did you come by those clothes?”
“Mine were wet,” said I. “And, as Casemate didn’t need them—”
“Why didn’t he need them?”
“Because Hanbury had laid him out.”
The man’s eyes burned in his head. They seemed to be striving to bore their way into my brain. Though he suspected it deeply, he could find no fault in my tale.
After a little he stepped to the balustrade.
“Bunch! Punter!” he roared.
For a moment he stood still, waiting: then he leaned over the stone.
“Come here,” he cried.
Again he waited, like a great beast about to spring.
“Look in that ⸻ kitchen and see if it’s all OK.”
There was a moment’s silence: then I heard a scared voice.
“ ’E’s gone!” cried Punter.
Rose Noble drew himself up and turned to me.
“Where’s Hanbury now?”
“I don’t know,” said I. “He went to get the servants, but he hasn’t come back.”
“Why not?” said Rose Noble.
“I don’t know,” said I. “I was waiting to let them in, when the doctor appeared. So I left the gate open and came straight up to the roof.”
“I shouldn’t lie,” said Rose Noble.
Before I could answer, Punter appeared on the roof.
“Rose,” he said, “Casemate’s—”
There he saw me and stopped dead, with his mouth and his eyes wide open and a hand halfway to his head.
Grimly Rose Noble surveyed him.
“Well, what of Casemate?” he said.
Dazedly Punter regarded him. Then he pointed to me.
“ ’E’s done ’im in,” he said stupidly. “Look at ’is ⸻ soot.”
The wretched man was plainly thinking aloud, but Rose Noble was not in the mood to receive such gifts. He did not actually strike him, but he took him by the shoulders and shook him, till he wore the colour of death and I really thought that his brains must be loose in his head. Then he flung him away against the wall of the tower and, using a frightful oath, demanded the truth.
At first Punter could not speak. Then he put a hand to his temples and moistened his lips.
“I thought he’d beat it,” he faltered. “When I saw the ⸻ gate open—”
“When was this?”
“Why, jus’ now,” said Punter. “I’d only that moment shut it, when you called down.”
Rose Noble was plainly uncertain what to think.
My tale was unlikely enough, but the facts bore it out. That I should have quitted the porch before George and the servants were safely within the castle seemed to him a mistake which not even a child would have made. Yet, if they were truly within, a child would have had the good sense to shut the gate. Of these
