In the age of chivalry woman must have been built of sterner stuff than the girl of to-day. At least, we read in medieval romance of fair ladies who, after being knocked down by a masterful suitor and carried off across his saddle bow thirty or forty miles, are yet able to appear, cold but radiantly beautiful, at the midnight wedding and the subsequent marriage feast.
But this is a romance of the present day, the age of nerves and high velocity. Barbara Mackwayte, strong and plucky as she was, after being half throttled and violently thrown into the cellar of the Dyke Inn, suddenly gave way under the strain and conveniently evaded facing the difficulties of her position by fainting clear away.
The precise moment when she came out of her swoon she never knew. The cellar was dark; but it was nothing compared to the darkness enveloping her mind. She lay there on the damp and mouldy straw, hardly able, scarcely wanting, to move, overwhelmed by the extraordinary adventure which had befallen her. Was this to be the end of the pleasant trip into the country on which she had embarked so readily only a few hours before? She tried to remember that within twenty miles of her were policemen and taxis and lights and all the attributes of our present day civilization; but her thoughts always returned, with increasing horror, to that undersized yellow-faced man in the room above, to the face of Nur-el-Din, dark and distorted with passion.
A light shining down the cellar stairs drew her attention to the entrance. The woman she had already seen and in whom she now recognized Marie, the dancer's maid, was descending, a tray in her hand. She placed the tray on the ground without a word, then went up the stairs again and fetched the lamp. She put the lamp down by the tray and, stooping, cut the ropes that fastened Barbara's hands and feet.
"So, Mademoiselle," she said, drawing herself erect with a grunt, "your supper: some tea and meat!"
She pulled a dirty deal box from a corner of the cellar and put the tray upon it. Then she rose to her feet and sat down. The maid watched Barbara narrowly while she ate a piece of bread and drank the tea.
"At least," thought Barbara to herself, "they don't mean to starve me!"
The tea was hot and strong; and it did her good. It seemed to clear her faculties, too; for her brain began to busy itself with the problem of escaping from her extraordinary situation.
"Mademoiselle was a leetle too clevaire," said the maid with an evil leer,--she would rob Madame, would she? She would play the espionne, hein? Eh bien, ma petite, you stay 'ere ontil you say what you lave done wiz ze box of Madame!"
"Why do you say I have stolen the box?" protested Barbara, "when I tell you I know nothing of it. It was stolen from me by the man who killed my father. More than that I don't know. You don't surely think I would conspire to kill" her voice trembled--"my father, to get possession of this silver box that means nothing to me!"
Marie laughed cynically.
"Ma foi," she cried, "when one is a spy, one will stop at nothing! But tiers, here is Madame!"
Nur-el-Din picked her way carefully down the steps, the yellow-faced man behind her. He had a pistol in his hand. The dancer said something in French to her maid who picked up the tray and departed.
"Now, Mademoiselle," said Nur-el-Din, "you see this pistol. Rass here will use it if you make any attempt to escape. You understand me, hein? I come to give you a las' chance to say where you 'ave my box..."
Barbara looked at the dancer defiantly.
"I've told you already I know nothing about it. You, if any one, should be better able to say what has become of it..."
"Quoi?" exclaimed Nur-el-Din in genuine surprise, "comment?"
"Because," said Barbara, " a long black hair--one of your hairs--was found adhering to the straps with which I was fastened!"
"Tiens!" said the dancer, her black eyes wide with surprise, "tiens!"
She was silent for a minute, lost in thought. The man, Rass, suddenly cocked his ear towards the staircase and said something to Nur-el-Din in the same foreign tongue which Barbara had heard them employ before.
The dancer made a gesture, bidding him to be silent.
"He was at my dressing-table that night;" she murmured in French, as though to herself, "then it was he who did it!"
She spoke rapidly to Barbara.
"This man who tied you up... you didn't see him?"
Barbara shook her head.
"I could see nothing; I don't even know that it was a man. He seized me so suddenly that in the dark I could distinguish nothing... it might have been a woman... yourself, for instance, for all I know!"
Nur-el-Din clasped her hands together.
"It was he, himself, then," she whispered, I might have known. Yet he has not got it here!"
Heavy footsteps resounded in the room above. Rass cried out something swiftly to the dancer, thrust the pistol into her hands, and dashed up the ladder. The next moment there was a loud report followed by the thud of a heavy body falling. Somewhere in the rooms above a woman screamed.
Nur-el-Din's hands flew to her face and the pistol crashed to the ground. Two men appeared at the head of the cellar stairs. One was Strangwise, in uniform, the other was Bellward.
"They're both here!" said Strangwise over his shoulder to Bellward.
"Ah, thank God, you've come!" cried Barbara, running to the foot of the ladder.
Strangwise brushed past her and caught Nur-el-Din by the arm.
"Run her upstairs," he said quickly to Bellward who had followed behind him, " and lock her in her room. I've seen to the rest. You, Miss Mackwayte," he added to Barbara, "you will come with us!"
Barbara was staring in fascination at Bellward. She had never believed that any disguise could be so baffling, so complete; Major Okewood, she thought, looked like a different man.
But Bellward had grasped the dancer by the two arms and forced her up the stairs in front of him. Nur-el-Din seemed too overcome with terror to utter a sound.
"Oh, don't be so rough with her, Major Okewood!" entreated Barbara, "you'll hurt her!"
She had her back turned to Strangwise so she missed the very remarkable change that came over his features at her words.
"Okewood," he whispered but too low for the girl to distinguish the words, "Okewood? I might have guessed! I might have guessed!" Then he touched Barbara lightly on the shoulder.
"Come," he said, "we must be getting upstairs. We have much to do!"
He gently impelled her towards the ladder up which Bellward and Nur-el-Din had already disappeared. At the top, he took the lead and conducted Barbara into the taproom. A single candle stood on the table, throwing a wan light into the room. Rass lay on his back in the centre of the floor, one hand doubled up under him, one knee slightly drawn up.
Barbara started back in horror.
"Is he... is he..." she stammered, pointing at the limp still form.
Strangwise nodded.
"A spy!" he said gravely, "we were well rid of him. Go over there in the corner where you won't see it. Stay!" he added, seeing how pale the girl had become, "you shall have some brandy!"
He produced a flask and measured her out, a portion in the cup. Suddenly, the door leading from the bar opened and a woman came into the room. Her black velvet dress, her gray hair and general air of distinction made her a bizarre figure in that squalid room lit by the guttering candle.
"Time we were off!" she said to Strangwise, "Bellward's just coming down!"
"There's the maid..." began Strangwise, looking meaningly at Barbara.
The woman in black velvet cast a questioning glance at him.
Strangwise nodded.
"I'll do it," said the woman promptly, "if you'll call her down!"
Strangwise went to the other door of the tap-room and called:
"Marie!"
There was a step outside and the maid came in, pale and trembling.
"Your mistress wants you; she is downstairs in the cellar," he said pleasantly.
Marie hesitated an instant and surveyed the group.
"Non, non," she said nervously, "je n'veux pas descendre!"
Strangwise smiled, showing his teeth.
"No need to be frightened, ma fille," he replied. "Madame here will go down with you!" and he pointed to the woman in black velvet.
This seemed to reassure the maid and she walked across the room to the door, the woman following her. As the latter passed Strangwise he whispered a word in her ear.
"No, no," answered the other, "I prefer my own way," and she showed him something concealed in her hand.
The two women quitted the room together, leaving Strangwise and Barbara alone with the thing on the floor. Strangwise picked up a military great-coat which was hanging over the back of a chair and put it on, buttoning it all the way up the front and turning up the collar about the neck. Then he crammed a cap on his head and stood listening intently.
A high, gurgling scream, abruptly checked, came through the open door at the farther end of the room.
Barbara sprang up from the chair into which she had sunk.
"What was that" she asked, whispering.
Strangwise did not reply. He was still listening, a tall, well set-up figure in the long khaki great-coat.
"But those two women are alone in the cellar," exclaimed Barbara, "they are being murdered! Ah! what was that?"
A gentle thud resounded from below.
A man came in through the door leading from the bar:
He had a fat, smooth-shaven face, heavily jowled.
"All ready, Bellward?" asked Strangwise carelessly.
Barbara stared at the man thus addressed. She saw that he was wearing the same clothes as the man who had come down into the cellar with Strangwise but the beard was gone. And the man she saw before her was not Desmond Okewood.
Without waiting to reason out the metamorphosis, she ran towards Bellward.
"They're murdering those two women down in the cellar," she cried, "oh, what has happened? Won't you go down and see?"
Bellward shook her off roughly.
"Neat work!" said Strangwise.
"She's a wonder with the knife!" agreed the other.
Barbara stamped her foot.
"If neither of you men have the courage to go down," she cried, "then I'll go alone! As for you, Captain Strangwise, a British officer..."
She never finished the sentence. Strangwise caught her by the shoulder and thrust the cold barrel of a pistol in her face.
"Stay where you are!" he commanded. "And if you scream I shoot!"
Barbara was silent, dumb with horror and bewilderment, rather than with fear. A light shone through the open door at the end of the tap-room and the woman in black velvet appeared, carrying a lamp in her hand She was breathing rather hard and her carefully arranged gray hair was a little untidy; but she was quite calm and self-possessed.
"We haven't a moment to lose!" she said, putting the lamp down on the table and blowing it out.
"Bellward, give me my cloak!"
Bellward advanced with a fur cloak and wrapped it about her shoulders.
"You are the perfect artiste, Minna," he said.
"Practise makes perfect!" replied Mrs. Malplaquet archly.
Strangwise had flung open the door leading to the front yard. A big limousine stood outside.
"Come on," he said impatiently, "don't stand there gossiping you two!"
Then Barbara revolted.
"I'll not go!" she exclaimed, "you can do what you like but I'll stay where I am! Murderers..."
"Oh," said Strangwise wearily, "bring her along, Bellward!"
Bellward and the woman seized the girl one by each arm and dragged her to the car. Strangwise had the door open and between them they thrust her in. Bellward and the woman mounted after her while Strangwise, after starting the engine, sprang into the driving-seat outside. With a low hum the big car glided forth into the cold, starry night.
From the upper floor of the Dyke Inn came the sound of a woman's terrified sobs. Below there reigned the silence of death.