The Pawns Count Part 7

Fischer laid down the receiver. He turned towards the others. He was breathing a little quickly, and his eyes glittered behind his gold-rimmed spectacles.

"Miss Van Teyl," he announced, "has left for Tilbury. She is going out on the _Lapland_ this morning. My G.o.d, she's got the formula!"

There was a moment's silence. Joseph was standing by with a wicked look on his face.

"I saw her slip away," he muttered, "and I watched her come down again.

There was just time."

Fischer turned suddenly to where Graham was lying. He drew a sheet of writing paper from the rack upon the table, and a pencil from his pocket. There was an evil and concentrated significance in his tone.

"That formula," he said, "can be written again. I think you had better write it."

"I'll see you d.a.m.ned first!" was the weak but prompt reply.

Fischer bent a little lower over the prostrate figure, "Look here," he went on, "we don't run risks like this for nothing. You're better dead than alive, so far as we are concerned, anyway. We'd planned to take the formula from you, and you can guess the rest. There are cellars underneath here into which no one ever goes who matters. Now here's a chance of life for you. Write down that formula--truthfully, mind--and we'll discuss the matter of taking your parole."

"See you d.a.m.ned first!" Graham repeated, his voice a little more tremulous but still convincing.

Fischer stood upright and turned to Jules.

"Get a bottle of brandy and a gla.s.s," he ordered.

The man pushed open the trap-door and disappeared. He came back again in a few moments, with a bottle in one hand and a gla.s.s in the other.

Fischer poured out some of the cordial and drew a small table up to Graham's side.

"There," he said, loosening the cord around his left wrist, "drink that, and think it over. We shall be gone for about ten minutes. If you change your mind before, ring that little hand-bell. If you have not changed your mind when we return, it will be the cellars."

"Beasts!" Graham muttered.

Fischer shrugged his shoulders. For a moment he had straightened himself. His face had softened, but it was in tune with his thoughts.

"I would twist the necks of a million fools like you," he said, "for the sake of--"

He paused, leaving his sentence uncompleted, and beckoned to the other men. They followed him through the trap-door and down into the cellars below. The place was once more silent. Graham rolled from side to side, drew a long breath, and tugged vainly at his bonds. The effort overtaxed his strength. He seemed to feel the darkness closing in upon him, the rus.h.i.+ng of the sea in his ears....

CHAPTER V

So far as Sandy Graham was concerned, his unconsciousness might have lasted an hour or a day. As a matter of fact, it was scarcely a minute after the disappearance of Fischer and his confederates when he was conscious of a rush of cold air in the place, and beheld the vision of a tiny flash of light at the lower end of the gloomy building.

Immediately afterwards he heard the soft closing of a door and beheld a tall, shadowy figure slowly approaching. He lay quite still and looked at it, and his heart began to beat with hope. One of the lights had been left burning, and there was something in the bearing and att.i.tude of the man who finally came to a standstill by his side, which was entirely rea.s.suring.

"Lutchester!" he faltered. "My G.o.d, how did you get here?"

"Offices of a young lady," Lutchester observed, producing a knife from his pocket. "Allow me!"

He cut the cords which still secured Graham's limbs. Then he looked around him.

"How did they bring you here?" he whispered. "I suppose there is a pa.s.sage from the restaurant?"

"Up through a trapdoor there," Graham explained, pointing.

Lutchester stood over it and listened intently.

Then he turned around, lifted the gla.s.s of brandy from the table, smelt it approvingly, and tasted it.

"Excellent!" he p.r.o.nounced. "The 1840. Allow me!"

He refilled the gla.s.s and handed it to Sandy, who gulped down the contents. The effect was almost instantaneous. In less than a minute he had staggered to his feet.

"Feel strong enough to walk about fifty yards?" Lutchester inquired.

"I'd walk to h.e.l.l to get out of this place!" was the prompt reply.

Lutchester took his arm, and they pa.s.sed down the dusty aisle between the worm-eaten and decaying benches and through the outside door, which Lutchester closed and locked behind them. The rush of cold air was like new life to Graham.

"I can walk all right now," he muttered. "My G.o.d, we'll give these fellows h.e.l.l for this!"

They made their very difficult way across a plot of ground from which a row of dilapidated cottages had been razed to the ground. The fog still hung around them and seemed to bring with it a curious silence, although the dying traffic from one of the main thoroughfares reached them in m.u.f.fled notes. Lutchester climbed to the top of a pile of rubbish and then, turning around, held out his hand.

"Up here," he directed.

Graham struggled up until he stood by his companion's side. The latter stood quite still, listening for a moment. Then he climbed a little higher and swung around, holding out his hand once more.

"I'm on top of the wall," he said. "Come on."

Graham's knees were shaking, but with Lutchester's help he staggered up and reached his side. On the pavement below a man in chauffeur's livery was standing, holding out his hands, and by the side of the curbstone a closed car was waiting. Somehow or other the two reached the pavement.

Lutchester almost pushed his companion into the limousine and stepped in after him. The chauffeur sprang to his seat and the car glided off.

Graham just realised that there was a woman by his side whose face was vaguely familiar. Then the waves broke in upon his ears once more.

"I was right, then, it seems," Pamela observed approvingly. "You were just the man for this little affair."

Lutchester sighed.

"Unfortunately," he confessed, "a messenger boy would have been as effective. I stumbled over to the chapel--rubber shoes, you observe,"

he remarked, pointing downwards--"and soon discovered that blinds had been let down all round and that there were people inside. There was just a faint c.h.i.n.k in one, and I caught a glimpse of several men, your friend Oscar amongst them. Having," he went on, "an immense regard for my personal safety, I was hesitating what means to adopt when the lights were lowered, and it seemed to me that the men were disappearing."

"Do go on," Pamela murmured. "This is most exciting."

"In a sense it was disappointing," Lutchester complained. "I had pictured for myself a dramatic entrance ... a quiet turning of the key, a soft approach--owing to my shoes," he reminded her--"a cough, perhaps, or a breath ... discovery, me with a revolver in my hand pointed to the arch-villain--'If you stir you're a dead man!' ...

Natural collapse of the villain. With my left hand I slash the bonds which hold Graham, with my right I cover the miscreants. One of them, perhaps, might creep behind me, and I hesitate. If I move my revolver the other two will get the drop on me--I think that is the correct expression? A wonderful moment, that, Miss Van Teyl!"

"But it didn't happen," she protested.

"Ah! I forgot that," he acknowledged. "Still, I was prepared, I had the revolver all right. But as you say, it didn't happen. I made my way to the chapel door, let myself in, found our friend lying in a half-comatose state upon one of the blue plush Henry sofas, in the shadow of a horrible deal pulpit. I gathered that he had been left there to reflect upon his sins. There was a bottle of remarkably fine brandy within reach, which I tested, and with which I dosed our friend here. I then cut away his bonds, arm in arm we walked down the aisle, I locked up the place, threw the key away, kicked my s.h.i.+ns half-a-dozen times crossing that disgusting little plot of land, climbed boldly to the top of the wall, and behold!"

Pamela smiled upon him in congratulatory fas.h.i.+on.