Chapter IX: Counterplot

Despite the unexpected incident of the mirror Fouchard was still keen on carrying out his project, for a further search of the château failed to locate the hiding-place of the strange being in the monkish robe.

“If Bertha and her friends are working in concert with that creature, there is every hope we may find them together,” he said. “Failing this, I may be successful in bagging Niels.”

“But if you consider it advisable to give Bertha a length of rope, why not Niels?” asked Conrad. “I fear you are rather inconsistent, Fouchard.”

Fouchard laughed harshly. There was logic in Conrad’s remark, and the detective was obviously a trifle nettled. He did not like to admit that his personal vanity was the dominating counsellor. Bertha might have a little run, but not the man who had worsted him and carried out the successful masquerade. After all, he was very human.

“Suppose nothing happens, and Severin sends no signal,” suggested Wallace. “Are you proposing that we should camp on the Mont des Pins indefinitely?”

“Something will happen,” he snapped impatiently. “Those people will waste no time. I have taken Severin into my confidence. There was no alternative, and I believe he is absolutely trustworthy. He is going to watch Bertha’s movements from the time we leave the château. It is understood you leave to-morrow. I shall be called away the same evening, and mademoiselle will decide to accompany me as far as Paris. The train leaves Arveyes at 6.25 and should arrive at Moselle round about seven o’clock. Mademoiselle and I will alight there, and shall expect to see you.”

“We’ll be there,” promised Wallace. “I suppose it is necessary to go as far as Moselle?”

“Absolutely. The train will be watched at Arveyes if I am any judge of Bertha’s mentality.”

The plan was carried out to the letter. There were quite pathetic farewells on the following morning, just before the Bentley moved out of the drive. Old Severin was given some money and told to distribute it among the staff, not forgetting Bertha. Stowed away in the car were blankets and provisions, in case no sign came from Severin on the first night.

“I wonder if anything will come of it?” mused Wallace.

“Fouchard seems to think so. Let us pray that it will not rain to-night. It would not be very pleasant camping out in a deluge. I shall suggest dropping Yolande at a hotel.”

“She wouldn’t hear of it. She is just as keen as we are to get to the bottom of the mystery, and wants to be in at the kill, so to speak.”

“How far is this place--Moselle?”

“I make it, thirty-odd miles.”

“We’ve got the whole day to waste.”

“I propose we run into Rheims. I have need of some decent tobacco--_tabac de luxe_, as they call it here.”

“We must not miss that train whatever happens.”

“We won’t miss it.”

They thereupon made a speed burst for Rheims and arrived there in good time for an early lunch. It was Conrad’s first sight of the city since the days of the war, when it had been a pitiful wreck. He was astonished to discover a new city. There were streets and streets of fine stone buildings, and scarcely any sign of the ravages of war. The scarred cathedral was in process of renovation, and the whole place was completely changed.

“No wonder the French want indemnities,” he said. “This must have cost a nice pile of money.”

“Probably explains why there is no unemployment in France.”

“Yes, reconstruction--and the big army. It’s difficult here to realise what we have experienced this last week. I am beginning to think it was all a dream.”

“I wish it were,” said Wallace. “But that big shape that nearly gave me the count was not part of any dream. Fouchard is dying to meet Niels face to face, but I would willingly kiss Niels if I could only meet the phantom.”

“I hope you won’t.”

“Why?”

“He has too great a love for naked razors. No, this is no time for heroics. We are up against big things, and I don’t like the look of it at all. Of course, you are young and aching for any kind of excitement, but I’ve had my full share and more. I want to take you back to England intact.”

Wallace laughed as he finished his coffee. He felt that so far he had had no run for his money. The other side had scored all the points.

“Curious thing how Fate works,” he mused. “A fortnight ago I had no idea there was such a place as the Château Grammont, nor such a person as Yolande Fallières. I thought we were going drifting across France in haphazard fashion until we got sick of it and returned to the roast beef of old England. Now here we are as deeply embroiled in this perplexing mystery as if we were first cousins of Fallières. What impresses me most is the courage of Yolande.”

Conrad shot him a swift glance, for there was a curious softness in his voice as he mentioned Yolande. He was now staring through the window with eyes that were apparently focused on nothing in particular. Conrad thought he understood, but like a wise man he said nothing.

They left the city an hour later, and drove easily in the direction of Arveyes and Moselle. They were obliged to pass through the forest again, but were enabled to give the château a fairly wide berth. Wallace discovered that his fan-belt wanted tightening, and Conrad got out of the car while the adjustment was being made. Lying just off the road was a kind of disused mine with a man cracking rock close by. He tried his French on the workman, and was told that twenty years ago tin was discovered there. A certain quantity was mined, but in less than two years the valuable metal petered out and the business was abandoned. They chatted for a few minutes and then Wallace sounded his horn.

“All serene!” he cried. “We’d better take the turning to the left, for we are not far from the château.”

Conrad agreed, and the journey was continued. They reached Moselle far too early, and spent an hour in walking round the old town, which had some wonderful architecture to display. The train, to their astonishment, arrived punctually, and Fouchard and Yolande alighted from it.

“Here we are!” said Fouchard. “Bertha wasn’t risking anything. At the booking-office there was rather a queer fellow behind me. I had the sense to take tickets to Paris. A wicked waste of money, but it had to be done.”

“I almost wished I were going to Paris,” said Yolande. “But Paris will keep. Are we going straight back now?”

“Yes,” replied Fouchard. “I suggest taking the other route in order to miss Arveyes.”

“You direct me,” said Wallace.

In an hour they were on the road close to the Mont des Pins. Wallace drove the car as far into the shelter of the trees as was possible, and looked to Fouchard for instructions.

“We must watch in turn,” said the detective. “From the top of the hill the château is clearly visible. Severin has placed a red-shaded electric lamp on a table by the third window on the first floor. If that lights up it means we are wanted at the château. It is now eight o’clock. I propose to take first spell. If one of you would relieve me at about one o’clock it would leave but three hours before daylight.”

“No. Let us share up the time fairly,” said Wallace.

But Fouchard was obdurate. He was not in the least tired, he averred, and if necessary he was quite prepared to watch the whole night.

“I’ll take a few sandwiches and a bottle of wine,” he added. “This path leads direct to the summit.”

He thereupon left them, and Wallace commenced to prepare a meal. Fortunately the night was warm and there was no sign of wind. Under the light of an inspection lamp they made quite a good meal. Later, Yolande was tucked in the back seat with some rugs round her and urged to sleep.

“I could not sleep for anything in the world,” she said. “It is good to be in the fresh air. The odour of the pines is wonderful.”

For some time they talked about anything but the business at hand. Despite Yolande’s assertion she fell into a doze, while the two men smoked immoderately. It was nearly midnight when Fouchard came running down the path.

“The signal has come,” he said. “There is not a minute to spare.”

Wallace uttered a low hiss of excitement and entered the car immediately. Fouchard and Conrad followed, and Yolande was awakened from her slumbers by the starting of the engine.

“Are we-- Severin has signalled?” she asked.

“Yes.”

The car moved over the uneven ground on to the road. A moment later it was speeding towards the château. The downhill stretch of road was covered at a tremendous speed, and in a few minutes the car pulled up outside the lodge.

“Stop the engine,” said Fouchard. “It may be heard.”

The gate was closed, but a pull on the bell brought the lodge-keeper from his bed. He blinked to behold the party.

“Open the gate, Pierre,” said Yolande. “Quick, and make no noise.”

“_Oui_, mademoiselle.”

“You had better stay with Pierre,” said Fouchard. “This time I insist.”

“Very well.”

“Take care,” whispered Yolande, as they left her in Pierre’s keeping. “There is danger, I fear.”

“Danger for Niels and company,” growled Fouchard, as he moved forward in the darkness.

Wallace and Conrad followed, and the trio soon arrived outside the château. A vague form came running towards them. It turned out to be Severin.

“What has happened?” asked Fouchard. “Speak quickly, and softly.”

“I watched the woman carefully, monsieur. I think she signalled from her bedroom soon after you had left. She came down later and stayed in the servants’ hall. At ten she went to bed. I hid myself in a linen cupboard close to her room, and at twelve o’clock she opened her door and went down the stairs. I followed and saw her open the door and let in two men.”

“Two!”

“Yes, monsieur. It was too dark to see who they were, but I heard one say, ‘Heinrich has just arrived--most fortunate.’”

“Go on.”

“They all went along the passage, and a little later I heard the door of the cellar squeak. It is the only door that does that. I crept along, but did not see them.”

“You mean they are in the cellar now?”

“Yes.”

“How long have they been there?”

“Not two minutes. I ran straight back here, because I saw the lights of the car.”

“Good! There is no other way out of the vaults?”

“None.”

“Then I fancy we have them. Come!”

They hurried along the passage and soon reached the entrance to the cellar. Severin pushed open the door carefully to prevent its habitual squeak.

“Are we to come?” asked Conrad.

“Just as you wish--but tread lightly.”

They followed him down the stairs, Severin bringing up the rear.

“Lock that door,” whispered Fouchard.

“I have done so,” replied Severin.

The place was in pitch darkness, but a whispered message to Severin brought a flood of light. Simultaneously a voice yelled “_Achtung_,” and a burly figure was seen blocking their path. Fouchard whipped out his pistol.

“Move an inch and I fire!” he cried.

Then out went all the lights and there was a scampering of feet. Wallace produced the pocket-torch which he had brought with him, and flashed it. He saw the form of their late obstructor vanishing around a corner and Fouchard a few yards behind him. Then there was a flash and a loud report mingled with a groan of pain. The torch revealed the fugitive on the ground with Fouchard leaning over him.

“Watch that door!” yelled Fouchard.

Wallace ran back, but on rounding the end arch and flashing his light, perceived that the door was open. He ran up the stairs and stood listening. For a few seconds there was no sound, and then he heard an engine start up, and cursed under his breath. It was evident that Niels had flown and that Bertha had got safely to her room. Severin was not the only man who had a key to the cellar!

He repaired to the cellar again and found Fouchard with his victim.

“They got away,” he said.

“Damn! One of them had a duplicate key. We’ve muddled this badly. One of us ought to have stayed upstairs. The wire has been cut somewhere. Take your torch and see if you can-- No, it would take too long. Help me with this fellow.”

They got the wounded man on to his feet and piloted him upstairs. Fouchard led the way into the library and the prisoner was put into a chair. He proved to be a comparatively young man of powerful build, and he was in considerable pain, for Fouchard’s bullet had lodged in his leg. The detective fastened two handkerchiefs together and made a temporary bandage.

“Now, friend Heinrich, you won’t hurt for a bit,” he said grimly. “I think I will have a look in your pockets.”

The result of his search was a wallet containing money and some visiting cards, some business letters, and a pipe. He hunted for a weapon, but found none.

“Lucky for you, my friend,” he said. “A revolver would have got you five years.”

Severin came forward with a small slip of paper in his hand. He had found it in the cellar, he said. Fouchard pursed his lips as he perused it. It contained some figures and a name:

27
31
36
Steinbech

“A key to something,” he mused. Then turning to Heinrich. “Now, my friend, perhaps you would like to explain what you are doing in this place?”

“What do you think?” asked Heinrich coolly.

“What I think may have a considerable effect upon the sentence you will get,” snapped Fouchard. “It is not nice for a young fellow like you to be implicated in a savage murder.”

“You go too fast. It may interest you to know that a few hours ago I was across the frontier. I can produce a passport to prove that.”

“Your passport won’t help you much. You are in a pretty tight fix, and I advise you to tell the truth.”

Heinrich smiled and shook his head.

“You have caught me--like a thief. What explanation do you expect me to make?”

“What did you come to steal?”

“What is there to steal in a wine-cellar?”

“Don’t answer me back like that,” Fouchard thundered. “You are in league with certain other people. You will find that a French prison is not a very comfortable abode. Tell me what I want to know and I may make things easier for you. What do these figures mean?”

“That is simple,” replied Heinrich. “I dropped that slip of paper. It is a system for winning money at roulette. I proposed to visit Monte Carlo during my stay in France. A friend was good enough to furnish me with this admirable system.”

“You amazing liar!” roared Fouchard. “Do you think I am so ignorant of roulette that I could swallow such a story? There is no system there. What does ‘Steinbech’ mean?”

“That is a code word for my bank to wire me money if I should need more than my present small capital. Of course the system fails at times--at least it calls for more----”

“Silence! Enough of this fooling. I am not in the mood for it. You are resolved to keep your mouth closed?”

Heinrich’s expression changed to one of great seriousness. He winced as he moved his injured leg.

“I have nothing to say,” he added.

“Very well. I will ring for the police to come and take charge of you.”

He left the room to go to the telephone. Wallace could not but admire the fortitude of the man, faced as he was with his loss of liberty for a considerable period.

“Why don’t you give us a hint,” he said. “You don’t look like a criminal, and there has been murder committed here.”

“If I could help you I would, but I am pledged to secrecy. All I say is ‘take care.’ There is greater danger here than you imagine.”

Nothing would wring another word from him, and half an hour later the local police called and took him away.

“So much for my ruse,” sighed Fouchard. “There is a lot hidden in this piece of paper if one only had the wit to understand it.”

“The figures are undoubtedly a key to something,” said Conrad. “Something they are dead keen on finding. How to apply them is the problem. Then the name ‘Steinbech.’ What can that possibly imply?”

Fouchard shrugged his shoulders. He had the sense to see that nothing in this world would make Heinrich divulge what he knew. The figures were puzzling because they might refer to a thousand different things. Their very simplicity magnified the difficulties.

“It is like shoving at nothing,” he averred. “Would you kindly go and escort mademoiselle back, monsieur. There is nothing more to be done to-night.”

Wallace was delighted to carry out this task. He told Yolande exactly what had happened, and she shook her head in bewildered fashion. The picture of Heinrich and that of the Monster with his murderous razor did not harmonize at all.