The Toll-Gate Page 27

  John could not help laughing. ‘I wish you will not! I could lend you some blunt.’

  ‘Thank ’ee, Soldier, breaking shins is what I don’t hold with!’ said Chirk, whose morality, though eccentric, was rigid.

  John smiled, but said nothing. A handsome gold watch lay on the table, and he picked it up. ‘You were fortunate, weren’t you? A well-breeched swell!’

  ‘Getting winged ain’t my idea of good fortune!’ said Chirk tartly. ‘If he’d had more than one barker, likely I’d be as dead as a herring by now, for he was a good shot: hit me while his prad was trying to bolt with him!’

  ‘Jerry, was there an exchange of shots?’ John asked, a little sternly.

  ‘Ay, but I fired over his head, so you’ve no call to look at me like that, Soldier! I ain’t a man o’ violence!’

  ‘You’re a very foolish fellow. Don’t rob any more travellers! If all goes as I believe it will, we shall finish our business tomorrow.’

  ‘I’d as lief we did,’ commented Chirk.

  ‘And I! I am going to tell you just what I have arranged to do, and what your part must be. Everything depends on Stornaway, but I think he will do exactly what I want him to do.’

  ‘I daresay you know what you’re about,’ said Chirk.

  But by the time the Captain had come to the end of a brief account of what had passed between himself and Stornaway, the faintly sceptical expression on the highwayman’s face had changed to one of blank dismay. ‘And I thought you was a downy one!’ he ejaculated. ‘Lord, Soldier, you’ve got more hair than wit, seemingly!’

  ‘Have I?’ said the Captain, smiling.

  ‘If you don’t see that you’ll be queered on that suit, you’re wood-headed!’ said Chirk bluntly. ‘I never clapped my ogles on young Stornaway, but by what Rose has told me – let alone what you’ve just told me – any cove as ’ud trust him an inch beyond the reach of his barker is no better than a bleater! God love you, Soldier, he’ll turn cat in pan on you! A cull as’ll whiddle on his friends, like he done tonight to you, won’t think twice afore he tips you the double! P’raps you’ll tell me why he was so anxious you shouldn’t force him to show you the cavern till it was morning – if them windmills you’ve got in your head don’t stop you thinking?’

  The smile lingered in John’s eyes. ‘Oh, no! Not a bit! He wanted time to take counsel of Coate, of course.’

  Chirk’s jaw dropped. ‘He – And you’re being so very obliging as to let him?’

  ‘It is precisely what I wish him to do. By hedge or by stile, I must get Coate into that cavern. I’ve been in the deuce of a puzzle to know how to do it – till I hit upon this notion. I believe it will answer: if it doesn’t, the lord only knows what’s to be done next!’

  ‘Just what do you think will happen?’ enquired Chirk, regarding him with a fascinated eye.

  ‘Well, setting myself in Coate’s place, it’s as plain as a pikestaff I must be disposed of. I’m working with the Redbreast; I know too much. It may be dangerous to kill me, but it would be far more dangerous to let me live to tell Stogumber the gold is hidden in a cavern here. Furthermore, Coate knows I came here unexpectedly, and that I’m a stranger to everyone in Crowford, and he might well think that no one would feel any particular degree of surprise if I were to vanish as suddenly as I appeared. I think, then, that Henry will keep his tryst with me, and will lead me to the cavern.’

  ‘So that Coate can murder you there?’

  ‘So that Coate can murder me there,’ nodded the Captain cheerfully. ‘I do him the justice to believe that he would prefer to have no hand in my murder, but between greed of gold and fear of Coate he will obey his orders – and weep over the harsh necessity later!’

  ‘Yes, I remember as how you said you was going to enjoy yourself!’ said Chirk acidly. ‘Rare fun and gig it’ll be, down in that tomb! Well, I knew when I first saw you that you’d broken loose from Bedlam! You’ll find Coate waiting for you, and a nice, easy shot it’ll be for him, with you carrying a lantern so as he’ll know just where to aim his pop!’

  The Captain grinned. ‘If Coate is already in the cavern I shall know it, for he cannot fasten the fence from within. But I think he won’t be: he leaves little to chance, and even if he took the fence down, and concealed it in the undergrowth, anyone must see that a fence or a gate has stood there. He won’t wish to make me even a little suspicious. If I am wrong, and find the cavern open, be sure I’ll be content to enter with only Stornaway’s lantern to light me – and will stay beyond its beam!’

  ‘The only thing as I’m sure of is that you’ll be put to bed with a shovel!’

  ‘Oh, not if you play your part, and Stogumber his, I hope!’

  ‘What are you wishful I should do?’ asked Chirk uneasily. ‘I’ll tell you to your head, Soldier, I ain’t a-going to help you to make a pea-goose of yourself! I daresay you think it ’ud be a capital go if you was to get your noddle blown off in that cavern, but precious queer stirrups I’d find myself in, if that was to happen!’

  ‘I shouldn’t think it a capital go at all,’ replied John. ‘And whatever may happen to me, you will be protected by Stogumber. You have only to do precisely as I bid you, and we shall come about famously.’

  ‘Yes, well, maybe we got different notions about that!’ retorted Chirk. ‘Seems to me your notion o’ what’s famous ain’t by any means mine!’

  ‘Be quiet! A fine rank-rider you are, to turn as melancholy as a gibed cat at the hint of a risk!’

  ‘Hint? Hint of a risk?’ interpolated Chirk indignantly.

  ‘That’s all. Now, you listen carefully to what you must do, and see you don’t forget anything!’

  ‘I thought it wouldn’t be long before you took it into your head I was one of them troopers of yours,’ commented Chirk rebelliously.

  ‘If any trooper of mine ever argued with me as you do, I’d have him under guard before the cat could lick her ear! Stubble it! I’ve told Stogumber that you have found the gold, but that I would not let you divulge the hiding place to him until my plans were completed. I told him also that Stornaway is nothing but a sapskull, and knows nothing of the robbery. Whether he believes that or not is no matter: he will believe it. You will tell him that Stornaway, when it was shown to him that Coate had been using him as a mask, readily agreed to use his best endeavours to discover where the treasure had been hidden, and – like you! – suspected the cavern might be the place. You will then tell him that I have baited my trap, and you will take him to the cavern. He can borrow the landlord’s cob, and you must both be there a full hour before eight o’clock. You will see fast enough if Coate has entered the cavern. If he has not, take the horses well beyond it, and tether them, and yourselves find cover within sight of the cave-mouth. And then wait! When Coate enters the cavern, which I am persuaded he will do as soon as I am safely inside it, follow him, but not so close that he will see or hear you until he has reached the main chamber. Do you perfectly understand? It will not suit me at all for Stogumber to arrest him before that moment.’

  ‘Out of course it wouldn’t!’ agreed Chirk, with deceptive cordiality. ‘Why, if Stogumber and me was to do the trick afore he got into the cavern, you wouldn’t be able to play at hide-and-seek in the dark with as nasty a pair o’ cut-throat culls as ever I see!’

  ‘Exactly so!’ said John gravely. ‘But, you see, I have very good reason for what I am doing. Don’t forget that I shall be expecting Coate, and so shall not be taken by surprise! Unless he can see me clearly, he won’t risk a shot at me, and you know how little light two lanterns afforded us in that place! If it comes to a struggle, why, I fancy I should be able to hold my own against the fellow! Come! Promise me that you’ll do precisely as you’re bid! If you don’t, you may well bring all to ruin!’

  After a long pause, and with every sign of reluctance, Chirk gave him the required promise. John gripped his hand,
and got up. ‘Excellent fellow! I’m off to snatch a few hours’ sleep now: I’ll rouse you at six o’clock.’

  There were several points on which Mr Chirk would have liked to have received some further information, but he had by this time reached a very fair estimate of Captain Staple’s character, and he wasted no time in asking questions which, he gloomily knew, would only be fobbed off. Stretching himself out on his improvised bed, he philosophically went to sleep.

  In a very few hours’ time, he was on his way to the village, slipping out of the kitchen just as Ben emerged, yawning, and knuckling his eyes, from his room.

  Upon learning that he must mind the gate during the morning, Ben said that Mr Sopworthy had commanded his services at the Blue Boar. The Captain, knowing very well that he found his work at the inn far more agreeable than pikekeeping, said suspiciously: ‘You don’t go to Sopworthy on Sunday!’

  ‘It’s on account o’ the company they got at the inn,’ explained Ben virtuously. ‘So I tells Mr Sopworthy as I’d go, guv’nor. Promised him!’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry for that, but you can’t go: I need you.’

  ‘Mr Sopworthy will be in a rare tweak if I don’t!’

  ‘No, he won’t. I’ll make all right with him.’

  ‘But Jem-Ostler says as he’ll let me help him groom the swell cove’s prads!’ cried Ben, much chagrined. ‘Coo, they are a bang-up pair!’

  But although he laughed, the Captain refused to relent; so instead of beguiling the breakfast table with artless chatter, Ben ate a hearty meal in cold silence: a form of punishment which suited John’s humour exactly.

  Since there had been no reappearance of Chirk at the toll-house, the Captain was satisfied that Stogumber must have consented to go with him to lie in wait outside the cavern. He had directed Chirk not to go by way of the road, but to ride across Huggate’s fields; and shortly before eight o’clock he himself set forth, walking up to the barn to saddle Beau. Remembering how cumbersome he had found his top-boots in the cavern, he did not wear them; and as he swung himself into the saddle he grinned, thinking of Mr Babbacombe’s shocked horror, could he have known that his friend was riding about the country in woollen stockings, much stained breeches, a flannel shirt, and a leather waistcoat.

  He reached the lane some minutes before Stornaway put in an appearance, and began to walk Beau slowly up it. It was not long before the sound of a trotting horse made him turn his head. Stornaway came up with him, muffled in his caped coat, and with a thick scarf wound round his neck. That he was extremely nervous, John saw at a glance. He broke at once into speech, complaining of the autumnal chill in the air, and assuring John, who had asked for no assurance, that he had left Coate snoring. John saw him steal several of his furtive glances at him, and guessed from the direction of these that he was trying to ascertain whether or not he was carrying pistols. Rather maliciously, he said: ‘No, I am not armed, Mr Stornaway. Why should I be?’

  ‘Armed! I never thought of such a thing! Though, to be sure, for anything I know you may be meaning to murder me in that cavern!’ said Stornaway, flustered into unwise speech.

  ‘Why should I?’ asked John.

  Thrown into worse confusion, Stornaway tied himself up in a muddle of half-sentences, while John reflected that so loose a tongue must effectually have warned him that mischief was intended, had he not been already well aware of it. Stornaway seemed to be incapable of keeping anything to himself; and it was not long before he had presented John with one of the few pieces of information that could interest him. ‘You should not call me Mr Stornaway,’ he told him. ‘I am Sir Henry Stornaway now, you know!’

  ‘I felicitate you,’ said John dryly. ‘May I know when this happened?’

  ‘Oh, about five o’clock, I fancy! My grandfather’s man – an insolent fellow! – did not fetch me, so I’ve no very precise knowledge. The thing is that I’m master at Kellands now, as several people will precious soon discover!’

  It seemed to be so much in keeping with his character that he should be looking forward to an easy triumph over his grandfather’s servants that the Captain was scarcely angry. He returned an indifferent answer; and the rest of the way was beguiled by Henry’s rambling exposition of what he meant to do at the Manor, as soon as his grandfather was buried.

  This diverted his mind from his present anxieties, but when he led John off the lane, towards the cavern, these returned to him, and he grew markedly silent, while the fretting behaviour of his horse betrayed unmistakeably how much his nerves were on the jump.

  The fence was securely tied across the mouth of the cavern, and the withered gorse bushes almost wholly concealed it. While Stornaway lit his lantern, John stood with his head up, listening intently. He heard no sound of horse’s hooves, but he could not suppose that Coate was far behind, and reflected that once he left the lane the rough turf would muffle the noise of his approach.

  ‘Have you no lantern?’ demanded Stornaway, still on one knee before his own.

  The Captain glanced down at him, slightly shaking his head, a glint in his eyes.

  Stornaway looked a good deal taken aback, but said after a moment: ‘You should have brought one! It is devilish dark inside, and you might easily miss your footing, not being familiar with the place! You had best take mine, for I should not wish you to break your leg, as my father once did!’

  ‘You shall lead the way,’ replied the Captain amiably.

  Stornaway hesitated, and then rose to his feet. The entrance to the cave laid bare, he stepped into it, the Captain following him. Except when he warned the Captain to stoop, or to take care where he was setting his feet, he hardly spoke during the descent to the main chamber. John said nothing at all, being fully occupied in listening for any sound of pursuing footsteps. As he climbed down the rough stairway, the rushing noise of the water again assailed his ears, and he realized that it was loud enough, in the confined space, to drown the mere sound of footsteps. This, while it would materially assist Stogumber, would certainly make his own position more perilous, since he would be obliged to rely for warning of Coate’s arrival on the chance of seeing the light of his lantern before he darkened it, as he undoubtedly would, on reaching the main chamber. It began to seem as though he might indeed find himself playing at hide-and-seek in the dark, as Chirk had prophesied. However, the imminence of danger had never yet exercised a depressive effect upon the Captain’s spirits; it merely sharpened his faculties; and not for a moment did he hesitate to go on.

  When they came to the main chamber, Stornaway immediately led John up to the chests, saying jerkily: ‘There they are! You may see for yourself that only one has been opened. It was Brean who did that. He came here to steal from us. That’s why Nat stabbed him. Now I’ll show you where –’

  ‘All in good time,’ interrupted John. ‘I’ll take a look inside the opened chest first, if you please.’

  ‘Nothing has been removed from it!’

  ‘Nevertheless, I will see that for myself,’ replied John, beginning to undo the knot he himself had tied.

  Stornaway fidgeted, and protested querulously that this was a waste of time. It was plain that he was anxious to get John out of the main chamber before some reflection of the light from the lantern Coate would be forced to use on the stairway should be perceptible through the rugged opening on to the slope that led to the stair. When he thought John was not watching him, he kept glancing in the direction of the opening; but John, while pretending to be intent upon inspecting the contents of the chest, was watching him all the time, and watching also for any glimmer of light in the darkness beyond him. Suddenly, and after what seemed an æon of time, the darkness was pierced by a flicker of light, as though someone beyond the opening had turned a lantern unwarily. In the same instant Stornaway swung round, interposing his greatcoated figure between the Captain and that glimmer of light, and saying in an unnaturally loud voice: ‘There! Yo
u see that the chest is full! Do not let us be lingering here! I shall catch my death in this dreadful cold! You made me promise to show you Brean’s body, and I will do so. We can cord the chest again later: do, for God’s sake, make an end of this!’

  ‘Very well,’ said the Captain. ‘Where now do you mean to take me?’

  ‘This way!’ Stornaway said, going towards the shorter passage which led to the river. ‘I wish you had brought a lantern.’

  His own lantern cast its light only through one unshuttered side, and the Captain had no hesitation in following him, since the beam of light was thrown ahead, and could not cast his own figure into relief. He trod heavily, allowing his nailed brogues to scrape and clatter on the slippery rock beneath them; and as he went he rapidly considered what had most probably been planned for him. From Stornaway’s urgent desire to lead him away from the large chamber, it seemed certain that his murder was not to take place there, but either in the passage beyond it, or where this curved abruptly, and widened into the broader and loftier passage through which the stream ran. Then, quite coolly, he rejected this theory. Stornaway had just taken care to warn his friend that their prospective victim was not carrying a lantern; and Coate would certainly realize that he must depend for his aim on the light Stornaway would cast on to the Captain from his own lantern. But the man who held the lantern would naturally be the leader, and little though Coate might relish having Stornaway as an accomplice he would certainly take care to keep him alive while he was so necessary to the final success of his schemes. He would risk no shot in the confined space of the corridor, John decided, for the slightest deviation of his aim might mean the death of the wrong man. A moment’s reflection convinced him that the river passage would be almost as hazardous a place to choose, for although it was very much broader, the stream, running along one side under the slimy rock face, took up quite half its width, so that only an uncomfortably small space could lie between two men standing beside it. Had he himself been carrying a lantern, no doubt Stornaway, at a prearranged signal, could have cast himself on the ground; but since Stornaway must hold his lantern with its beam fixed steadily upon him this would be an impossible manoeuvre. No one, thought John, would be quicker to realize this, and to provide against such a contingency, than the efficient Mr Coate. Moreover, he doubted very much whether that cool gentleman would, whatever the circumstances, place the slightest reliance on Stornaway’s ability to keep his head if he thought himself in the smallest danger of being shot.