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The Search · The Three Just Men

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  Chapter thirty two of The Three Just Men by Edgar Wallace. This LibriVox recording
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  is in the public domain. The Search where a man traps, said Gonzalez.
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  The white beam of his lamp had detected the ugly thing. He struck
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  at it with his stick, and with a vicious snap it closed. Here's
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  one that's been strung, he said, and examined the teeth. And what's
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  more, it has made a catch. There's blood here. Manfred and Digby
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  were searching the ground cautiously. Then Manford heard the quick intake of his breath,
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  and he stooped again, picked up a strip of braided cloth, a
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  man's, he said, and his relief betrayed his fear. Somebody in evening
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  dress, and quite recent he looked at his finger. The blood is still
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  wet. Digby showed him the ventilator grating through which he had smelt the incense,
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  and when Leon stooped, the faint aroma still remained. We will try
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  the fact first. If that draws blank, will ask Doctor Oberjon's guidance,
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  and if it is not willingly given, I shall persuade him. And in
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  the reflected light of the lamp, George Manfred saw the hard Leon he knew
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  of old. This time I shall not promise my threat will be infinitely milder
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  than my performance. They came to the dark entry of the factory. Manfred
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  splashed his lay inside. You'll have to walk warily here, he said.
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  Progress was slow, for they did not know that a definite path existed between
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  the jagged ends of broken iron and debris. Once or twice Leon stopped to
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  stamp on the floor and give back a hollow sound. The search was long
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  and painfully slow. A quarter of an hour passed before Leon's lamp focused the
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  upturned flagstone and the yawning entrance of the vault. He was the first to
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  descend, and as he reached the floor, he saw silhouetted in the light
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  that flowed from the inner room, a man, as he thought, crouching
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  in the doorway, and cut him. Put up your hands, he said.
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  The figure made no response, and Manfred ran to the shape. The
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  face was in the shadow, but he brought his own lamp down and recognized
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  the set grin of the dead man. Girther. So thus he had died
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  in a last effort to climb out for help. The snake, said Manfred,
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  briefly. There are no marks on his face so far as I can
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  see. Do you notice his wrist? George? Then, looking past the
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  figure, an Zala saw the girl lying on the bed and recognized Joan before
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  he saw her face. Half Way across the room, he slipped on something.
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  Instinctively, he knew it was a snake, and leaped around his pistol
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  balanced merciful Heaven, look at this, he stared, from the one reptile
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  to the other dead. He said, that explains gether. Quickly he unstrapped
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  Joan's wrist and lifted up her head, listening, his ear pressed to the
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  faintly fluttering heart. The basin and the sponge told his own story. Where
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  was Mirabelle? There was another room and a row of big cupboards, but
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  the girl was in no place that he searched. She's gone, of course,
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  said Manfred quietly. Otherwise the trap would not have been open. We'd
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  better get this poor girl out of the way and search the grounds Digby go
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  to he stopped. If Aberjon were in the house, they must not take
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  the risk of alarming him. But the girl's knees were urgent. Manfred picked
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  her up and carried her out into the open, and with Leon guiding them,
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  they came after a trek which almost ended in a broken neck, for
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  Leon to within a few yards of the house. I presume, said Gonzalez,
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  that the hole into which I nearly dived was dug for a purpose,
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  and I shouldn't be surprised to learn it was intended that the late mister Gerthur
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  should find a permanent home there. Shall I take her? No, no,
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  said Manfred. Go on into the lane. Poaquart should be there with
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  the car by now. Pockart knows more about growing onions and driving motor cars.
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  The drive was mechanical. The man's heart and mind were on Mirabelle Lester.
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  They had to make a circuit of the stiff copper wire fence which surrounded
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  the house and eventually reached Hangman's lane just as the head lamps of the Spans
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  came into view. I will take her to the hospital and get in touch
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  with the police, said Manford. I suppose there isn't a near by telephone.
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  I shall probably telephone from the house, said Leon gravely. From where
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  he stood, he could not tell whether the door was open or closed.
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  There was no transom above the door, so that it was impossible to tell
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  whether there were lights in the passage or not. The house was in complete
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  darkness. He was so depressed that he did not even give instructions to Pocart,
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  who was frankly embarrassed by the duty which had been imposed upon him,
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  and gladly surrendered the wheel to George. They lifted the girl into the tonneau
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  and back, looking into the gate, went cautiously up the lane. Leon
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  did not wait to see their departure, but returned to the front of the
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  house. The place was in darkness. He opened the wire gate and went
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  silently up the steps. He had not reached the top before he saw that
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  the door was wide open. Was it a trap? His lamp showed him
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  the switch. He turned on the light and closed the door behind him,
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  and bending his head, listened. The first door on the right was Aberjan's
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  room. The door was ajar, but the lamps were burning inside. He
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  pushed it open with the toe of his boot, but the room was empty.
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  The next two doors he tried on that floor were locked. He went
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  carefully down to the kitchens and searched them. Both They were tenantless. He
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  knew there was a servant or two on the premises. But one thing he
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  did not know, and this he discovered in the course of his tour,
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  was that Aberjan had no bedroom. One of the two rooms above had evidently
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  been occupied by the servants. The door was opened, the room was empty,
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  and in some confusion, a coarse night dress had been hastily discarded and
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  left on the tumbled bedclothes. Aberjon had sent his servants away in a hurry.
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  Why there was a half smoked cigarette on the edge of a deal washstand,
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  The ashlay on the floor. In a bureau, every drawer was open
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  and empty except one, a half drawer filled with hot scraps of cloth,
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  probably the cook or the maid smoked. He found the packet of cigarettes under
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  one pillow to confirm this view, and guessed that they had gone to bed
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  leisurely, with no idea that they would be turned into the night. He
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  learned later that Oberzon had bundled off his servants at ten minutes notice, paying
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  them six months salary, as some sell for the indignity. Fifer's room was
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  locked, but now satisfied that the house was empty, he broke the flimsy
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  catch made a search, but found nothing. Gerth's apartment was an indescribable disorder.
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  He had evidently changed in a hurry his powder puffs and beards, crape
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  hair and spirit bottles littered the dressing table. He remembered, with a pang
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  of contrition, that he had promised to telephone the police, but when he
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  tried to get the exchange, he found the line was dead. A strange
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  circumstance till he discovered that late that evening, Meadows had decided to cut the
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  house from all telephonic communication, and had given orders accordingly. It was a
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  queerly built house. He had never realized its remarkable character until he had examined
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  it at these close quarters. The walls were of immense thickness. That fact
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  was brought home to him when he had opened the window of the maid's room
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  to see if Digby was in sight. The stairs were of concrete. The
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  shutters which covered the windows of Oberjon's study were steel faced. He decided,
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  pending the arrival of the police, to make an examination of the two locked
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  rooms. The first of these he had no difficulty in opening. He was
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  a large room on the actual ground level, and was reached by going down
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  six steps. A rough bench ran round three sides of this bare apartment,
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  except where its continuity broke to allow entrance to a further room. The door
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  was of steel and was fastened. The room was dusty, but not untidy.
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  Everything was in order. The various apparatus was separated by a clear space.
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  In one corner he saw a gas engine and dynamo covered with dust.
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  There was nothing to be gained here. The machine which interested him most was
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  one he knew all about, only he had not guessed the graphite molds.
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  The contents of a small blue bottle, tightly corked and seemingly filled with discolored
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  swabs of cotton wool, however, revived his interest. With a glance round
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  the laboratory. He went out and tried the second of the locked doors.
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  This room, however, was well protected, both in the matter of stoutness
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  of door and complication of locks. Leon tried all his keys and then used
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  his final arm. This he carried in a small leather pouch in his hip
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  pocket, three steel pieces that screwed together and ended in a bright claw.
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  Hammering the end of the gemmy with his fist, he forced the claw between
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  door and lintel, and unless than the men at the lock had broken,
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  and he was in the presence of the strangest company that had ever been housed.
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  Four electric radiators were burning. The room was hot and heavy, and
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  the taint of it caught his throat as it had caught the throat of the
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  Danish servant. He put on all the lights, and there were many,
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  and then began as tour. There were two lines of shelves, wide apart,
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  and each supporting a number of boxes, some of which were wrapped in
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  bays, some of which, however, were open to view. All had
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  glass fronts, all had steel tops with tiny air holes, and in each
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  there coiled in its bed of wool or straw, according to its requirements,
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  one or two snakes. There were cobras, puff adders, two rattlesnakes seemingly
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  dead, but as he guessed, asleep there was a South American fair to
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  Lance, the most unpleasant representative of his species. There were little coral snakes,
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  and in one long box a whole nest of queer little things that looked
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  like tiny yellow lobsters, by which he knew a scorpions. He was lifting
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  a bay's cover. When don't move, my friend, I think I can
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  promise you more intimate knowledge of our little family. Leon turned slowly, his
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  hands extended. Death was behind him, remorseless, unhesitating to drop his hand
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  to his pocket would have been the end for him. He had that peculiar
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  instinct which sense its sincerity, and when doctor Oberjon gave him his instructions,
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  he had no doubt whatever that his threat was backed by the will to execute.
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  Oberzon stood there a little behind him, white faced, open eyed with
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  fear. Mirabel Lester Dickby where was he? He had left him in the
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  grounds. The doctor was examining the broken door and grunted his annoyance. I
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  fear my plan will not be good, he said, which was to lock
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  you in this room and break all those glasses so that you might become better
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  acquainted with the quiet people. That is not to be instead, march what
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  did he intend? Leon strolled out nonchalantly, but Oberzan kept his distance,
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  his eyes glued upon those sensitive hands that could move so quickly and jerk and
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  fire a gun in one motion. Stop. Leon halted, facing the open
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  front door and the steps. You will remember my sainted brother, Signor Gonzalez,
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  and of the great loss which the world suffered when he was so vilely
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  murdered, Leon stood without a quiver. Presently the men would shoot. That
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  any second a bullet might come crashing on his fatal errand this was a queer
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  way to finish. So full of life he knew it was coming. Had
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  only one regret that this shaken girl should be called upon to witness such a
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  brutal thing. He wanted to say good bye to her, but was afraid
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  of frightening her. You remember that, so sainted brother. Oberzon's voice was
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  raucous with fury. Ahead of him, the light fell upon a face.
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  Digby, Stay where you are, shouted Leon. The sound of the explosion
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  made him jump. He saw the brickwork above the doorway splinter, heard a
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  little scuffle, and turn gun in hand. Oberzon had pulled the girl in
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  front of him so that she afforded a complete cover under her arm. He
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  held his pistol run. She screamed. He hesitated a second again, the
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  pistol exploded, and a bullet ricocheted from the door. Leon could not fire.
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  Oberzon so crouched that nothing but a trick shot could miss the girl and
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  hid him. And then as the doctor shook free, the hand that gripped
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  his wrist. He leaped down the steps and into the darkness. Another second
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  in the door slammed. He heard the thrust of the bolts and a clang
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  as the great iron bar fell into its place. Somehow he had a feeling
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  as of a citadel door being closed against him. Doctor Roberjon had returned unobserved,
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  though the night was clear. Passing through the open water gate. He
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  had tied up to the little quay and landed his unwilling passenger, Digby,
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  according to instructions, had been making a careful circuit of the property, and
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  at the moment was as far away from the barge as it was humanly possible
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  to be on Challenged, the doctor had worked his way back to the house.
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  The light in the hallow warned him that somebody was there, how many
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  he could not guess. Take off your shoes, he growled in Mirabelle's ear,
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  and she obeyed. Whatever happened, he must not lose touch of her
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  or give her an opportunity of escape. Still grasping her arm with one hand
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  and his long mouser pistol in the other, he went softly up the steps,
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  got into the hall and listened, locating the intruder instantly. It all
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  happened so quickly that Mirabel could remember nothing except the desperate lunch she made to
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  knock up the pistol that had covered the spine of Leon Gonzales. She stood
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  dumbly by watching this horrible old man fasten the heavy door, and obediently preceded
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  him from room to room. She saw the long cases in the hot room
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  and shrank back, and then began a complete tour of the house. There
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  were still shutters to be fastened, peep holes to be opened up. He
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  screwed up the shutters of the servants room, and then with a hammer,
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  broke the thumb piece short. You will stay here, he said, I
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  do not know what they will do. Perhaps they will shoot. I also
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  am a shooter. Not satisfied with the lock that fastened her door, he
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  went into his workshop, found a staple hook and padlock, and spent the
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  greater part of an hour fixing this additional security. At last he had finished
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  and could put the situation in front of four very interested men. He unlocked
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  the door of the concrete anne and call the crestfallen gunmen forth, and in
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  a very few words explain the situation and their danger. For every one of
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  you. The English police hold warrants, he said, I do not bluff.
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  I know this afternoon I was visited by the police. I tell you
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  I do not bluff you me. They cannot touch because they know nothing,
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  can prove nothing. At most I shall go to prison for a few years.
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  But with you it is different. Are they waiting outside, asked one
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  suspiciously. Because if they are, we'd better move quick. You do not
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  move quick or slow, said Auberjon. To go out from here means certain
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  imprisonment for you all. To stay if you follow my plan means that every
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  one of you may go free, and with money. What's the idea,
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  asked Kuccini. Are you going to fight them? Sure? I am going
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  to fight them, nodded Aberjon. That is my scheme. I have the
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  young miss upstairs. They will not wish to do her any harm I intended
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  to. And then this house. Do you mean you're going to hold it?
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  Asked one of the staggered men. I will hold it until they are
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  tired and make terms. Cuccini was biting his nails nervously. Might as well
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  be hung for a sheep as a lamb boss, he growled, I've got
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  an idea. You've roped us into this. You may rope yourself out of
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  it, snapped Aberjon. There is the door. Go if you wish.
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  There are police there, make terms with them. A few days ago you
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  were in trouble. My friend who saved you, the doctor Aberjon. There
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  is life imprisonment for every one of you, and I can hold this house
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  myself. Stay with me, and I will give you a fortune greater than
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  any you have dreamt about, and more than this. At the end you
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  shall be free. Where's Girthur? He has been killed by accident. Auberjon's
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  face was working furiously. By accident, he died, he said, and
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  told the truth unconvincingly. There is nothing now to do but to make a
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  decision. Cuccini and his friends consulted in a whisper. What do we get
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  for our share? He asked, and Auberjan mentioned a sum which staggered them.
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  I speak the truth, he said. In two days I shall have
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  a gold mine worth millions. The habit of frankness was on him, and
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  he told them the story of the Golden Hill without reservations. His agents at
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  Lisbon had already obtained from the ministry an option upon the land and its mineral
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  rights. As the clock struck twelve on June fourteenth, the gold field of
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  Viscara automatically passed into his possession. On one side, you have certain imprisonment.
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  On the other you have great monies and happiness. How long will we
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  have to stay here, ask Cuccini. I have food for a month,
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  even milk. They will not cut the water because of the girl. For
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  the same reason they will not blow in the door again. They had a
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  hasty consultation and made their decision. Boss will stay, but we want that
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  chair out. Put into writing to my study, said Auberjon promptly. March.
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  He was half way through writing the document when there came a thunderous knock
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  on the door, and he got up, signaling for silence. Tiptoeing along
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  the passage, he came to the door. Yes, who is that,
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  he asked? Open in the name of the law, said a voice,
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  and he recognized Meadows. I have a warrant for your arrest, and if
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  necessary, the door will be broken in. So said Aberjon dropped the muzzle
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  of his pistol until it rested on the edge of the little letter slid in
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  fire twice. End of chapter thirty two,