Chapter XVII: Wallace Escapes

Dinner with the skipper--who formally introduced himself as Captain Michels--was a welcome affair, for both Wallace and Conrad were famished. There was a varied assortment of dishes, and wine in plenty. The whole thing was so unexpected and so illogical in the circumstances that Wallace still wondered whether he was dreaming.

“Sorry your cabins weren’t ready,” said the captain. “We have been giving the yacht a clean-up. But everything will be in order by the time you turn in.”

“Thanks!” said Wallace. “This is a queer sort of business, isn’t it?”

“I know nothing. I have instructions to make you comfortable and to land you at a certain place.”

“Whose instructions?”

“The owner’s.”

“Who is the owner--Niels?”

“That, sir, is quite a private matter.”

“Then you don’t know why we are here--why we have been kidnapped?”

“Not kidnapped?”

“Be frank,” said Wallace. “You are holding us by force.”

“I haven’t exercised any--so far.”

“It is force all the same. We were dragged here by the scruffs of our necks--so to speak, and there is little difference in our position to being in jail with chains round our ankles.”

“Except the dinner,” said Michels, with a smile. “I am sure they do not serve such meals in jail.”

“You mean to carry out your instructions?” asked Conrad.

“To the letter. I am employed for that.”

“Despite the illegality?”

“It is not for me to question orders. Have a cigar?”

Conrad frowned, but took one. Wallace shook his head and preferred a cigarette.

“Of course, I understand that you two gentlemen have been interesting yourselves in certain matters. I know no details, but I am assured that the atmosphere of the yacht is a healthier one than that of the place whence you came.”

“That is a matter of opinion,” said Wallace. “Well, to get to the point, what do you intend to do with us?”

“Land you safely in your native country. There is no hurry; we shall round the coast at half speed. But on Sunday I think you will be able to return to your homes.”

“Sunday!” gasped Wallace. “Why, it is only Wednesday!”

“That is so.”

“But I’ve left a car there--by the side of the road--and it contains our passports, _triptiques_----”

“I was told to inform you that it can be shipped across the Channel if you apply to Monsieur Roche, of the garage near Moulins. Your excellent organisation--the A.A.--would doubtless manage the whole thing for you.”

Wallace sat and fumed. It looked as if Niels had made all the running. If Michels intended landing them somewhere on the coast on Sunday night, it would be Monday before they could get to London, and valuable time would be lost whilst the business of fresh passports was settled. A full week must elapse before he could return to the château. During that period anything might happen. Moreover, his holiday would be up.

“These employers of yours are strange people, captain,” he said boldly.

“Determined people, Mr. Wallace.”

“Don’t argue, Ralph,” pleaded Conrad. “We must make the best of it. Things might be much worse.”

“How could they be?”

Later Wallace went below to look at the engines, and for half an hour his professional interest was held. Their cabins were side by side and splendidly appointed, and nothing was left undone that would add to their comfort. A seaman brought in their clothes, dried and pressed.

“Alice in Wonderland,” said Wallace. “Here are a gang of housebreakers owning a yacht that must have cost a fortune. What do you make of it?”

“I can’t make head or tail of it. I wonder if Bertha is a paid employee, or really in the swindle?”

“Hang Bertha! I wonder what it is they are after.”

“Sunday!” mused Conrad. “That Engineering Congress takes place on Wednesday. I shall just be able to get there, thank heavens! I must--I’m chairman.”

“You mean you--you will stay in England?”

“Well--naturally. The Congress will cover four days, and business calls. Had you forgotten we have a factory?”

“Almost. I’m sorry, Connie. But, you see, I can’t help thinking of--of----”

“Yolande.”

“Yes. What is the use of pretending? I love that girl; but, even if I didn’t, I should feel I ought not to leave her--in that ghastly château. I tell you, it’s a nightmare to me to think of what might happen there at any moment--to-night even.”

“There is Fouchard.”

“Isn’t it obvious that if they have gone to all this trouble to get you and me out of the way they will do the same for Fouchard? They want to empty the château.”

“Yes, I think that is true.”

“It’s damnable--horrible.”

“You are thinking of the--Monster?”

“Of course. The killing is his work. He is different from the others. I don’t believe there is any connection between the Monster and Niels’s party. But they seem to have one thing in common--the knowledge of something of tremendous value hidden in the château.”

“But if Fouchard is missing Yolande will go.”

“She might--ultimately. But suppose--suppose she left it too late? That Thing, Man, Monster--whatever it is--murdered poor Fallières savagely, and even Severin, who was an old man and offered no kind of an obstacle. Do you think he will stop at that?”

Conrad was silent, for, like Wallace, he realised the deadly danger for a woman placed as Yolande was placed. But business was business, and it was of the utmost importance that he should be back in London within a week.

“We seem to have shot our bolt,” he said.

“Shot! Well, I’ve done nothing, except to get bowled over by that seven-foot devil, and suffocated by Walther. I’ve never had a chance to do anything to help. That’s what irritates--I’ve no battle-wounds to show.”

“Better sleep on it to-night. At least, nothing can be done now. We are as harmless as caged canaries.”

But Wallace did not feel like turning in. His brain was uncommonly active, and his nerves at concert pitch. Leaving Conrad, he went on deck and walked up and down under the stars. The moon was still hanging in the western sky, and he could see the French coastline clearly, with scattered lights on the downs. The yacht was making up the Channel at leisurely speed.

Three hundred miles beyond that strip of sea and those wind-swept downs was the Château Grammont--and the girl who had made so deep an impression upon him. He could feel the spell of her even now--something dragging at his heart, whispering apprehensively. A seaman was singing a shanty softly, but it was in German, and he did not understand the words. Yet, like all such songs, he guessed there was a woman in it--a woman left in the last port, just as he had left one at the château.

A mad idea came to him. It was driven home by the twinkling lights and that haunting song. He looked down at the sea; it was placid as a millpond. Pensively he walked back to Conrad’s cabin, and found that worthy partly undressed.

“Hullo! Not going to bed?”

“Not yet. Connie, I want you to come outside. Slip on your coat.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I want to show you something.”

Conrad put on his coat and followed Wallace on deck. They went to the port side of the ship, and Wallace pointed to the lights on shore.

“How far would you say those were?” he asked.

“Difficult to say; two miles at least.”

“Not more?”

“Might be three. It’s a wonderfully clear night.”

“And do you remember that when we joined the yacht the tide was just on the flow? I recall the waves creeping----”

Conrad suddenly realised the significance of this. He grasped Wallace by the arm firmly.

“Don’t be insane!”

“I should be insane if I let a chance slip. To-morrow we may be in mid-channel. It’s a risk, but I’m going to take it.”

“What! Three miles?”

“I’ve done as much before, in a less calm sea. Look, there’s a big town farther along--probably Dieppe. With any luck I could reach the château by to-morrow morning.”

“I won’t permit it.”

“Sorry, Connie, but I shall have to go without permission. Will you lend me all the money you have left? I may want to hire, or even buy, a car on the moment.”

“No!” replied Conrad firmly. “Rather than see you fling your life away I will warn the skipper.”

“Oh, no, you won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you would do the same thing yourself if you were in my boots. Seriously, old man, I can get across that bit of sea if I’m right about the tide.”

“And if you aren’t?”

“We won’t discuss that. Come on, I’ve got to get into my own clothes. Hunt up that money.”

He bundled Conrad into his cabin, and went through the connecting door to his own, in order to change his attire. Conrad fought with his conscience, but gave way at the end, for he had a fine appreciation of Wallace’s physical abilities.

“Why not take a life-belt?” he whispered.

“Couldn’t swim in the thing. I’ll put the notes in this old tobacco-tin. And I’ll drop you a wire as soon as I can. Let’s stroll along the deck--innocently.”

Conrad was breathing hard, for he was not in love with the project, but Wallace, standing on the threshold of freedom, was as keen as a hound in the chase. They turned by the wheel, and then got amidships, where it was absolutely deserted.

“Now’s my chance,” whispered Wallace. “Good-bye, old man!”

“Good luck!”

He ran lightly to the side, and, mounting the rail, dived cleanly, striking the ocean without a splash. Conrad, with his heart beating furiously, watched his head reappear, and saw the powerful arms strike out towards the French shore.