Blind Corner

Accordingly, a few miles farther, I stopped by the side of the road, and, leaving the car, sat down on a grassy bank to eat my meal.

It was a fine, smooth day, and the sunshine seemed almost as hot as it had been at Biarritz. The world, so far as I could see, I had to myself. The road stretched white and empty and straight for miles upon either hand.

I was never much of a trencherman when I had to eat alone, and my meal⁠—a pâté de Chartres and some fruit, and a bottle of beer⁠—was soon done; but, since I had plenty of time and the beer had made me heavy, I lay down in the warm grass and went to sleep.

I now know that I must have slept for near fifty minutes before I was awakened by the voices of two men, who were somewhere quite close to me. They were speaking English, and from the speech and the tone of one of them, it was clear that his temper was out of hand.

“You, by hell,” he was crying, and I think it was the bitterness and the enmity with which he kept investing the pronoun that brought me so wide awake. “You. And who are you? You choose, do you? And what about us? Seven years I’ve done⁠—seven years out of my life. And the others⁠—”

I was, indeed, in the act of admiration when the murder was done.

As the other hunched his shoulders above his pipe, Ellis struck him high up to the right of the spine, and, either from the force of the blow or from the wound, the other fell down on his face with a knife in his back.

The murderer staggered across him and nearly fell over the body, bringing himself up against a tree on the far side, panting with stress. So he stayed for a second, with his knees loose and his back flat against the trunk, staring at what he had done. Then he raised his head, and his eyes met mine.

I suppose it was natural that I did not seem able to move. I seemed to be in a trance.

I watched him draw out a pistol and take deliberate aim. I know his hand was unsteady, and I think the bullet went high; but the shot broke the spell that held me, and I heaved myself back down the bank before he could aim again.

I was on my feet in an instant, but, though I did not feel faint, I was shaking like a leaf. After a moment, however, I flung myself again at the bank, rather dazedly, but taking care to make the top at a different place.

Ellis was gone.

The body lay as it had fallen, and a big Alsatian was nosing and licking the face. Already there was a great stain upon the back of the light, tweed coat.

It was in the driver’s mind to thrust alongside, but, if he had done so, he could not have crossed the metals, for the gate was less wide than the road; so he brought his car to rest behind us and a little to the right.

“If anyone moves,” said Mansel, “I’m going to fire.” The windows of the car were open, so they heard what he said. “You’ve tried to stop me by force and you’ve pursued me; and at the first town I come to I’m going to prefer a charge. My papers are all in order; I’ve a licence to carry a pistol; and my luggage is in the car. Perhaps you can say the same. If you can’t, you’ll be detained⁠—pending inquiries.”

“Bluff,” said someone.

“Then call it,” said Mansel.

“You’ve assaulted us,” said another. “I asked you a civil question, an’ you slogged me under the jaw. An’ you talk about the police.”

“Yes,” said Mansel, “I do. Because my record’s clean. Then again, I speak German quite well; and that’s a great help.”

“Bluff,” said the first speaker. “You know as well as I do that you won’t go to the police. You can’t afford to.”

“If you mean,” said Mansel, “that I don’t want to waste my time, that’s perfectly true.”

“I don’t,” said the other. “I mean that, much as you like ’em, the last thing you want just now is to catch the eye of the police.”

Mansel raised his eyebrows.

“I’m not going to argue,” he said, “but I can’t help thinking that you’re mistaking me for somebody else. Excuse me,” and, with that, he fired.

With that, he took out a cigar and leaned his back against a tree.

“Do you seriously think,” he said, “that we’re going to sit right down and let you lift that treasure under our eyes?”

“Not for one moment,” said Mansel cheerfully.

“Then,” said Rose Noble, “why don’t you face the facts? We’re five to one and two boys: this isn’t exactly Holborn: and we’re not afraid to strike.”

“I know Ellis isn’t,” said Mansel.

At that Ellis started up with a volley of oaths, but Rose Noble cursed him into silence, and returned to the charge.

“You know where that treasure is?”

“I do and I don’t,” said Mansel. “To be perfectly frank, I was going to start looking today, but this infernal well has upset my plans. You must have water, you know.”

“Quit that line,” said the other sharply. “And tell me⁠—what do you know?”

“Yes, I see the firearm,” said Mansel. “But it doesn’t faze me. Unless I misjudge you, you’re not going to make the mistake which was made not far from Chartres three weeks ago.”

Ellis leapt to his feet.

“How long are we going to stand this?” he cried. “Put it across the ⸻ once for all. Shove the cards on the table. I’m sick of being chewed.”

Had I been alone, I should have run for cover, and, as like as not, had a bullet in my back for my pains. But Mansel stood fast. By his instant direction, Carson and I lay down while he set his back to the wall, sank his chin on his chest⁠—to hide, as he afterwards told me, the white of his face⁠—and folded his arms.

It seemed an age before Rose Noble passed by, for he went very slowly, as a man in his enemy’s camp, and every four or five paces he stood where he was, still as a graven image, using his eyes and ears. Indeed, I shall always believe that the fellow’s instinct had told him that we were at hand, for I never saw demeanour so suspicious, and I think that, but for the light of the lamp with which he had just been sitting, which had taken the edge from his vision, he must have perceived Mansel, for he certainly looked straight at him for two or three seconds at a time.

At last, however, the darkness swallowed him up, and Mansel lifted his head. For a moment he stood peering: then he signed to me to lie still and began to steal, like a shadow, the way the other had gone. I was taken aback at his movement, for, armed though he was, to go after the monster alone seemed out of reason. And, when I remembered the humour Rose Noble was in, I broke into a sweat.

It was not Mansel’s way to shoot a man in the back, and, since I made sure he was gone to kill Rose Noble, I lay awaiting his challenge with my heart in my mouth.