Cost Price (9 page)

For a moment the man stood trembling. Then he turned on his heel and stamped from the room.

As I listened to his footfalls receding, I had an uneasy feeling that Friar had done very much more than bruise our heel.

Mansel was speaking.

“It is written, ‘No peace to the wicked’. So far as I can see, there isn’t much to the good.”

Be sure I agreed with him.

Less than two hours had gone by, and we were upon the road. In view of what had happened, it would have been folly to stay at Hohenems. And so we had taken our leave. Although we had not said so, we were not bound for Villach, but for a tiny hamlet some thirty miles from that town. It went by the name of St Martin and boasted an excellent inn, at which Mansel and I had rested a number of times. Since the little place was retired, it was fair to expect that we should not be disturbed there for forty-eight hours; and that, so to speak, would give us a breathing space. By moving at once and by night, we hoped to cover our tracks; but this meant that our run must be rounded with a respectable sleep, for out of forty-eight hours we should have spent four in our beds and our labour on Sunday night had been very severe. And so we should be too weary not only to take any action, but to make any valuable plans.

Driving as fast as he dared, Mansel brought us to St. Martin soon after half past six, to find the inn’s doors wide open and the host himself supervising the sluicing down of the hall.

When he saw who it was, he came running, with outstretched arms.

“Oh, my good friends – the best that ever I had! Give you good morning, sirs. Drive the car in, I pray you. See, her stable is ready, all clean and fresh.”

Because the inn had no coach house, by the landlord’s express desire, we always drove the car clean into the great, flagged hall, and there she was lodged for so long as we lay at his house.

Mansel leaned out of the Rolls.

“If I do that, will you shut the doors upon her?”

“Oho! Sits the wind in that quarter? Yes, indeed. The wicket-door shall be used, and no one who passes by will know that a car is within.” He called his good wife. “Breakfast at once, Elise. An omelette and coffee, to start with. Our friends have come back.”

At this, the good woman came running, to welcome us in, and to meet such honest goodwill was better than any breakfast, for food may comfort the body, but kindliness warms the heart.

“And after breakfast,” said Mansel, “a bath and a bed, for we have had next to no rest for forty-eight hours.”

“Sir,” said our hostess, “permit me to know you of old. By the time you have broken your fast, the water will be boiling and the bedrooms will be prepared.”

With that, she bustled away, calling her maids about her and issuing orders as if we were Royalty, indeed.

So it fell out that we very soon sat down to a truly excellent breakfast under the limes. Then we strolled for a little, to give our digestions a chance; and then we bathed and lay down, to sleep for a full ten hours.

By seven o’clock that evening we were all different men, and, while Carson and Bell were busy about the Rolls, Mansel and I took counsel under the limes.

“By tomorrow at latest,” he said, “the hunt will be up. We must leave here tomorrow evening and go to ground. If Wagensburg is empty…”

Wagensburg was a castle in which we had spent some time a few years back: in fact, for a while we had owned it, though we had never lived there as owners usually live. And then we had sold it again to a youth with more money than brains, who was sure that his wife would be charmed with such a residence. I fear that he was mistaken, as husbands usually are, for the castle was again in the market before a year was out. But in that time the house had been modernized and, what was more to the point, a road of approach had been made to the back of the house.

Now if Wagensburg was empty, we could come and go by this road and could use the servants’ quarters in secret; for, though we were, in fact, in possession, the main drive would never be taken, the courtyard would never be entered and the front of the castle would argue a desolate mansion for all to see.

I took a deep breath.

“And then what?”

“We reconnoitre a route from there into Italy: and when we are sure of that, we fetch Diana Revoke.”

“I thought that was coming,” I said.

“I can’t say I like it,” said Mansel, “but, thanks entirely to Friar, we cannot share the passage, as I had hoped. Either you or I must cross, while the other covers his going with all his might. Now the best way to cover A’s movement is to direct attention to that of B. And there Diana can help, for she is the very type that appeals to the Boche. If, therefore, she works with B – and pulls her weight, the Boche will persuade himself that he is doing right in sticking to B. And I have an idea that she’ll be a new one on him. When he asked who was in the castle, Ferrers suppressed her name.”

“I think she’s all right,” I said.

“So do I,” said Mansel. “I’m almost sure. But I’m not too good at women, and many a man’s come down on the lady’s mile. Still, we shan’t trust her a lot. She will believe that A is in Italy. And that B is going to meet him, bearing the swag. In any event, I don’t see what else we can do. She wires to Friar tomorrow, and Ferrers will vet the wire. She writes to Friar tomorrow, and Ferrers will steam the letter, to see what she says.”

“Friar should be still off the map.”

“He should,” said Mansel. “I very much hope he is. But I’m not going to bank upon it. I’ve seen Friar’s shape before.”

At dawn the following morning we left for Wagensburg. This, on reconnaissance only. We had to know what to expect.

Each of us knew the way as he knew the palm of his hand, and, before an hour had gone by, Mansel had brought the Rolls to a spot within two miles of the road of approach we sought. Though the ways hereabouts were lonely, nearer he would not go, lest the car should be marked by some husbandman, early abroad. So there we left Carson, with orders to keep out of sight, and Mansel and Bell and I continued our journey on foot.

Soon we crossed the river we knew so well, and twenty minutes later we came to the road of approach. This must have cost much to make, for the ground was difficult; but it had been well done. It ran through a valley or combe, to rise by an easy zigzag past blowing meadows and Wagensburg’s famous well. Then it passed into the coppice which masked the back of the house.

Moving along it quietly, we saw no sign of life, and when we emerged from the trees, there was the mansion before us, grey and cool and silent, its venerable walls in shadow, its roof already alight with the morning sun.

After a careful reconnaissance, we cut a pane from a window and entered Wagensburg.

There was certainly no one there; but the house was dry as a bone and the servants’ quarters were now much more convenient than had been the masters’ rooms a few years back. There were basins and running water, a mighty electric stove and a refrigerator fit for an hotel. Better still, there were two bathrooms, each furnished with water heaters, to beat the band. This proved, as did the stove, that the house was supplied by the mains, and that, if we could make some connection, we might enjoy all the comfort that power can bring.

“Carson’s job,” said Mansel. “If the thing can be done, he’ll do it. We’ll leave a flyer behind, to square the account.”

And there we left the mansion and made our way to the car.

On the way back to St Martin we purchased such gear as we needed, here and there: and we took in a store of tinned food and two cases of beer.
Mens sana in corpore sano
is what some wise man said.

When at last we sat down to our breakfast at half past ten, we had a free day before us, to spend as we pleased. Mansel, of course, went fishing; and I must confess that I passed the time in a meadow behind the inn, resting in the shade of some chestnuts and, when I was not dozing, composing a foolish letter to Jenny, my wife.

At nine o’clock that evening we took our leave of the inn-keeper and his wife, charging them to forget our visit and to expect our return. And less than three hours later we were installed in the mansion we knew so well, the Rolls was fast in a garage built on to the house, and Carson had done his job and had given us power and light.

We were now quite close to the frontier – no more than eighteen miles: but none of us knew the country through which it ran, for on all our other visits we had come and gone by the West: but now we must go by the South.

Had not the Boche been set on, we should, no doubt, have gone back by Germany: but now that was out of the question, for there his writ would run with the power of the Rhine itself.

Now the border was mountainous, and was not defined by some river, as so many frontiers are. But to guard a mountainous frontier is easier than it looks, for, if frontier posts are well placed, Nature will keep the country which lies between. I have known, upon such a border, two posts nine miles apart; but though one would have declared that any young, strong man could contrive to pass between these, only a beast, I think, could have made its way by. A crag would force him aside, and when he had passed round this, a torrent he could not ford would be barring his way: he would find a sudden valley which promised well, and after some weary miles would end in a
cul de sac
. And so, if the posts are well sited, though they stand some distance apart, it may be most hard to go by. Add to this that the guards know the line which the frontier takes and have their private viewpoints to which they send out patrols: though these are withdrawn at dusk, no man can cross by night, unless he has first made sure of his way by day.

When we were at Salzburg, Mansel had purchased some excellent large-scale maps: and we passed our first morning at Wagensburg studying these. So we divided our frontier into three parts. And this we did with three pencils – red and blue and green. The red were the portions commanded by frontier-posts: the blue were the portions which were, on the face of it, hopeless, because of the opposition of monstrous heights: the green were the portions by which a way might be found.

Our greatest hope was, of course, to strike some smugglers’ way.

That afternoon Mansel wrote a letter for Diana to send to Friar, as well as a letter to Palin, which I will set out.

Dear Palin,

Please leave for London at once. When you are there, please leave at once for Trieste. There is a hotel at Trieste, called The Heart of Gold. A letter will go to you there, telling you what next to do. When you are in London, go to St James’s Street and buy the best mats of the Italo-Austrian frontier that you can buy. Study these carefully.

Yours ever,

Jonathan Mansel.

PS. Say nothing to the Ferrers. Just go.

When the light was failing, Carson left for Villach, taking the Rolls. He was to post the letters and to call at The Sickle, in case some letter or message was lying there. He was to be very careful in all he did. He was to leave the Rolls in a thicket without the town and to make his way in on foot, keeping, so far as he could, to the meaner ways.

I confess that from ten o’clock on I could not keep my eyes from my watch, for Villach was not very far and if the Rolls had been taken, our cake was dough: but Mansel refused to worry, “for Carson,” he said, “will never walk into a trap.” Sure enough, soon after eleven, the Rolls stole into the yard, and two minutes later Carson made his report.

This was significant.

“I posted the letters, sir, but I couldn’t touch The Sickle: it’s practically cordoned off: there’s plain-clothes men all round it – I counted five. They’ve trestles across the roads in, and they’re stopping all cars.”

Mansel looked very grave.

“Where did you post the letters?”

“At the post-office in the square, sir. I watched my chance.”

“I’m sure you did. What I’m getting at is this. There’s a proper hotel in the square – I forget its name. Were there police about that?”

“So far as I saw, sir, not one. I specially looked for them. Then there’s another hotel on the opposite side. I’ll swear there was no one there.”

Mansel looked at me.

“Who knew we were going to The Sickle?”

“The Ferrers, Diana and Palin.”

“Exactly. And when did they know?”

“We told them,” I said, “after dinner on Monday night.”

“And the Boche arrived two hours later. We said we were going on Thursday – and this is Thursday night. Who told the Boche we were going to The Sickle on Thursday?”

“There’s only one answer,” I said.

“I quite agree,” said Mansel. “But what a show! And that is the Boche all over. He deals himself a truly beautiful hand. But he doesn’t know how to play it. Diana Revoke is his agent. He puts her on to Friar, and she picks us up. Luck of the devil himself. We make her free of our plans and she passes them on. He saw her that night, of course, while we were abed. And then he strikes
too soon
– and ruins everything. If he’d held his hand…if he hadn’t struck tonight… Well, at least we’ve looked over his shoulder.”

(It is, of course, elementary that a house should be watched, before a raid is made.)

“She had me on,” I said.

“Not your fault,” said Mansel. “Your eyes were on Friar. But what a lovely hand! And the fellow’s thrown it away. We must write to Ferrers at once and tell him to let her go.”

“Where to?” said I.

Mansel shrugged his shoulders.

“Report to us at Spittal – wait till we come. But after the washout at Villach, they may be shy. Still, she’ll have to leave Hohenems. And since I got her in, it’s for me to get her out.”

“And Friar?”

“God knows,” said Mansel, and laughed. “If he finds out, heaven help her. But that is her affair. The point is that, thanks to Carson, we are now wise.”

I put a hand to my head.

“I can’t believe it,” I said. “She’s an English girl.”

Mansel fingered his chin.

“I suppose she is,” he said. “But what was she doing in Salzburg? And why does she run with the Boche? Oh, I’ve got it, William. I’ll lay her mother was German – which means that, as like as not, her father was, too.”

I went to my bed that night, a sobered man.

The next morning, before it was light, we entered the Rolls and drove out. Within the hour, Mansel and Bell and I had been dropped at three different points, and Carson drove back to the castle, with orders to keep the house and to fetch us when dusk had come in. Each of us bore a map and was to explore the district which neighboured the frontier, as best he could. He was to avoid observation at any cost and was to be back to meet Carson not later than eight o’clock.

I was set down some thirty miles from Wagensburg and, if the map was true, almost exactly three miles from the frontier itself. But that was as the crow flies.

I made at once for a beechwood, as offering cover from view, and, once within this shelter, I threw a look round.

The dawn was coming up, and the country was taking shape. Colour was stealing into a lovely world, shading the exquisite contours, in black and green, turning from grey to white the magic of falling water and changing from pall to quilt the glory of forests that hung on the mountainsides.

The wood’s recesses were dark, but, by keeping close to its edge, I was able to see. Very soon I was climbing sharply, and, on my left, a valley followed me round. Looking South, from behind a tree, I saw the sun touching a summit a mile ahead. From this, it was clear, I should get a most excellent view and so I set out to get there before I did anything else.

It was nearly two hours before I had my way, for the going was very severe and I had to make more than one detour and then come back to my line. Add to this that I never moved into the open, until I was pretty well sure that no one was there to see. But in the end I got there, to find my reward.

I was commanding the length of a valley system which ran clean across the frontier and into Italy. Of this there could be no doubt, for the map declared that the summit upon which I was lying was little more than two miles from the border itself. And I could see further than that. As though to confirm this conclusion, several cigarette ends and two or three empty tins were insisting that others had found it much to their taste. In a word, it was an observation post: and such posts overlook ways by which frontiers may be crossed.

The valley I had seen on my left, when I was skirting the wood, gave to another valley which ran south-east: this, in turn, gave to another, which ran south-west. More, I could not make out; but by then you were over the border…

This was all to the good: but when such a pass is unguarded, as I have said before, that is, as a rule, because Nature guards it herself. I could not see much water, although I could hear the falls, but I had little doubt that it was water that barred this way. Still, it was well worth proving, and after a little I put my binocular up and, after a careful look round, began to go down.

I should, I think, have done better to make my way back to the wood; but, after three dreadful hours, I reached the valley I sought. This was the second valley, that ran south-east.

I was now in the midst of the waters. On the floor of the valley itself, a boisterous torrent was raising its organ voice; and this was fed by waterfalls right and left. Some were stout heads of water, snaking their way down a mountain and every now and then plunging over some steep: some were cascades as fine as a maiden’s hair, that seemed to turn into smoke or ever they reached the ground: and some leapt from ledge to ledge – bow upon bow of blue and white and sunshine, which no painter could ever capture, but only a poet could serve.

But water, lovely to look at, bears a sting. Some can be crossed with care: but some of it no man can cross, except by a bridge.

And then I saw the footprint…

In my exultation, I think that I shouted aloud, but such was the music of the waters, no ear could have heard my cry.

A man had gone by this way a few hours back – in all likelihood a smuggler – to show that there was a passage from here into Italy.

The footprint was pointing due South, and I took the line which it gave me without delay. Be sure I moved with care, but here I could not be seen from the observation post.

Soon I found another, which led me up to an eddy at which I could cross a fall; but then, though I peered, I could find no further traces and had to work out my progress as best I could.

It was after noon when I came to a barrier. This was no less than a gorge, about which there were no footprints, within which a mighty fountain was having its violent way. No man could ever have crossed it without a bridge; and, after wasting some time in moving beside its brink, I hastened back to the footprint which had led me over the fall. For it seemed pretty clear that I had lost the line… Sure enough, after two or three casts, I found another print which was pointing towards the main torrent that raged in the valley’s bed.

For nearly an hour I sought for a way to cross this savage water… But for the footprint, I should have thrown in my hand; but the man that had made it had been going down to the torrent, for here the latter was making a miniature horse-shoe bend, and the footprint which I had found was within its heels.

And then, at last, I saw how my man had gone by.

From the opposite side, a handsome beech was leaning over the water, and on to one of its arms was fastened a rope. Its end was now coiled and seemed to be tucked away in a fork of the tree: and, of course, I could not use it, because it was out of my reach. No one, I think, who had not been seeking, as I had, and had not been sure, as I had, that the torrent could be crossed, would ever have noticed the rope, for the leaves about it were thick and only by lying down by the edge of the furious water was I able to see the hitch which had been drawn tight on the bough.

Still, though I could go no further, I was content, for I had now no doubt that I had done as we hoped and had hit on a smuggler’s way. To make sure, I searched the bushes upon my side of the flood; and there, sure enough, was a staple, of which but an inch was protruding, which had been driven into the cleft of a rock.

From the other side of the water, taking a very short run, a man could swing himself over the boisterous flood: as soon as he landed, he fastened his rope to the staple against his return: on his return, he had only to swing himself back and then restore his rope to its hiding place in the beech.

I have said that I was content, and so I was. If I was a mile from the frontier, I was no more; and I was ready to swear that my movements had not been seen. I confess that I did not relish the thought of this leap in the dark and I hoped that I might be able to make it by day, for the bellow of the water was angry, as though the torrent was resenting the contemplation of such
lèse-majesté
. But that was ‘frightfulness’. To a strong man, the venture was nothing, for, if he failed to land, he had only to climb the rope and come down by the tree…

And there I saw the ‘snag’, which, had I not been so jubilant, I should have seen before. In a word,
I was on the wrong side
.

The way was there, plain enough, for me to take: I could take it with hardly a thought, for in my time I had trodden more perilous paths: but I could only take it, when the rope was attached to the staple which I had found.

This was serious. When the way is hard and strait, goods are not smuggled on every night of the week. Yet, when the time came, I should have to go at once: I could not watch night after night, waiting on the whim of a smuggler who might not appear for ten days.

And then it occurred to me that a smuggler’s path should not be a one way street…

At once I returned to the staple, at which I had scarcely looked.

This, as I have said, had been driven into a cleft or crack in the rock. Stouter than the cleft was wide, it was literally jammed in the fissure, which ran at right angles to the stream. Indeed, this ran into the water, some five feet away, growing gradually wider, as it approached the flood.

Hoping against hope, I felt in the cleft…

At once my fingers encountered a very fine cord, which, when I drew it out, I saw to be an ordinary fishing line: and when I followed this up, I found it was sunk in the torrent by means of leads. How this was made fast to the rock, I could not see; but I fancy a second staple had been driven into the cleft and out of sight.