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The Things In The Box · The Three Just Men

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Chapter thirty one of The Three just Men by Edgar Wallace. This LibriVox recording
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is in the public domain. The Things in the Box. He heard the
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soft purr of engines, and looking through the hall windows, saw the dim
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lights of the car approaching the house, and turned out the hall lamp.
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There he waited in the darkness till the door of the limousine opened and Girthr
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jumped out. I respectfully report that it is done, her doctor, he
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said. Aberjean nodded the woman of Newton. Where is she? She is
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inside? Is it your wish that I should bring her? She was very
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troublesome her doctor, and I had to use the needle. Bring her in
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you, he barked at the chauffeur. Help our friend. Together they lifted
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the unconscious girl, but carried her no further than the steps. At this
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point Oberjean decided that she must return to the prison. First. They sent
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the chauffeur away. The car was garaged new Cross. It was one of
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Aberjon's three London depots, where the man also lived. After he had gone,
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they carried Joam between them to the factory, taking what to Girther seemed
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an unnecessarily circuitous route. If it was unnecessary, it was at least expedient,
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for the nearest way to the factory led past the yawning hole that the
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doctor had dug with such labor. There was no mistaking Aberjean's arrival. This
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time. The trap went up with a thud, and Mirabel listened with a
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quick beating heart to the sound defeat. Coming down the stone stairs. There
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were two people, and they were walking heavily. Somehow, she knew before
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she saw their burden that it was Joan. She was in evening dress,
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her face as white as chalk in her eyes closed. The girl thought she
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was dead when she saw them lay her on the bed. You have given
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her too much, Girtherr, said Aberjon girther She had not recognized him.
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It was almost impossible to believe that this was the dapper young man who had
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danced with her at the Art's ball. I had to guess in the dark
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hair, doctor, said Girtherr. They were talking in German, and Mirabel's
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acquaintance with that language was very slight. She saw Girtha produce a small flat
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case from his pocket, take out a little file, and shake into the
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palm of his hand a small brown capsule. This he dissolved in a tiny
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tube, which, with the water he used, was also extracted from the
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case. Half filling a minute syringe. He sent the needle into Jane's arm.
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The pause, and then soon you will wake with your kind permission,
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here, doctor said girth. Mirabel was not looking at him, but she
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knew that his hot eyes were fixed on her. That all the time,
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except the second he was operating, he was looking at her, And now
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she knew that this was the man to be feared. A cold hand seemed
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to grip at her heart. That will do, Girther Oberzan's voice was sharp.
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He too had interpreted the stare. You need not wait. Gertha obediently
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stalked from the room, and the doctor followed. Almost before the trap had
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fastened down, she was by the girl's side with a basin of water and
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a wet towel. The second the water touched her face, Jane opened her
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eyes and gazed wildly up at the vaulted ceiling, then rolling over from the
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bed to her knees. She struggled to her feet, swayed, and would
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have fallen had not Mirabel steadied her. They've got him, they've got my
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boy, killed him like a dog? What mister, mister Newton gasped Mirabel,
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horrified, killed him, Monty Monty, And then she began to scream
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and run up and down the room like a thing. Demented. Mirabel's sick
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at heart, almost physically sick at the sight. Caught her and tried to
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calm her, but she was distracted, half mad. The drug and its
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antidote seemed to have combined to take away the last vestige of her straint.
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It was not until she fell exhausted that Mirabel was able to drag her again
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to the bed and lay her upon it. Montague Newton was dead. Who
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had killed him? Who were the they? Then she thought of Girtha in
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his strange attire, white dressed, front crumpled, even his beard disarranged in
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the struggle he had had with the overwrought woman. In sheer desperation, she
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ran up the steps and tried the trap, but it was fast. She
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must get away from here, must get away. At once. Joan was
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moaning pitiably, and the girl sat by her side, striving to calm her.
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She seemed to have passed into a state of semi consciousness. Except for
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her sob She made no sound and uttered no intelligible word. Half an hour
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passed the longest and most dreadful half hour in Mirabelle Lester's life, and then
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she heard a sound. It had penetrated even to the brain of this half
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mad girl, for she opened her eyes wide and gripping, Mirabel drew herself
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up. He's coming, she said, White said the lips coming. The
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killer is coming. For God's sake, don't talk like that, said Mirabel,
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beside herself with fear. There it was in the outer room, a
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stealthy shuffle of feet. She stared at the closed door, and the strain
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of the suspense almost made her faint. And then she saw the steel door
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move slowly, and first a hand came through the edge of the face.
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Girthr was leering at her. His beard was gone and his wig. He
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was colorless and had over his white shirt the stained jacket that was as every
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day ware, I want you. He was talking to Mirabel, her tongue
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clave to the roof of her mouth, but she did not speak. My
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pretty little lady, he began, and then with a shriek, Joan leaped
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at him. Murder, murder, beast, she cried, striking wildly at
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his face with a curse. He tried to throw her off, but she
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was clinging to him, a beastial, lunatic thing, hardly human. He
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flung her aside at last, and then he put up his hand to guard
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his face as she leaped at him again. This time she went under his
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arm and was through the door in a flash. He heard the swift patter
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of her feet on the stairs and turned in pursuit. The trap was open.
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He stumbled and tripped in the dark across the floor of the Gaunt factory.
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Just as she reached the open he grabbed at her and missed like a
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deer. She sped, but he was fleet footed behind her, and suddenly
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his hand closed about her throat. You had better go out, my friend,
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he said, and tightened his grip. As she twisted to avoid him,
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he put out his foot. There was a grating snap. Something gripped
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his legs, and the excruciating pain of it was agonizing. He loosened his
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hold of her throat, but held her arm tightly. With all his strength.
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He threw her against the wall and she fell in a heap. Then,
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leaning down, he forced apart the cruel, jagged teeth of the man
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trap on to which he had put his foot and drew his leg clear.
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He was bleeding. His trouser leg was torn to ribbons. He stopped only
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long enough to drag the girl to her feet, and throwing her across the
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shoulder as though she were a sack. He went back into the factory,
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down the stairs and threw her on to the bed with such violence that the
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spring supports broke. It had a strange effect upon the dazed woman, But
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this he did not see, for he had turned to Mirabelle, my little
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lady. I want you, he breathed. Blood was trickling down from his
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wounded calf, but he did not feel the pain anymore, felt nothing save
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the desire to hurt those who hunted him. Wanted nothing but the materialization of
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crude and horrid dreams. She stood frozen, paralyzed, incapable of movement.
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And then his hand came under her chin, and he lifted her face,
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and she saw the bright, hungry eyes devouring her, saw the thin lips
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come closer and closer. Could not move, had lost all scentietm ppressions,
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and could only stare into the eyes of this man's snake, hypnotized by the
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horror of the moment, and then a raging fury descended upon him, narrow
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fingers toward his face, almost blinding him. He turned with a howl of
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rage, but the white face Joan had flung to the furnace and taken up
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a short iron bar that had been used to rake the burning coals together.
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She struck at him and missed. He dodged past her, and she flung
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the bar at him and again missed him. The iron struck the green box
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behind the furnace. There was a sound of smashing glass. He did not
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notice this, intent only upon the girl, and Mirabel closed her eyes and
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heard only the blow as he struck her. When she looked again, Joan
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was lying on the bed, and he was tying one of her hands to
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the bed rail with the strap which he had taken from his waist. Then
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Mirabel saw sight that released her pen speech. He heard her scream and grinned
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round at her, saw where she was looking, and looked too. Something
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was coming from the broken green box, a black spade shaped head with bright,
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hard eyes that seemed to survey the scene in a malignant stare, and
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then inch by inch, a thick, shining thing like a rubber rope wiggled
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slowly to the floor, coiled upon itself, and raised its flat head.
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Oh God, look, he turned about at the sight. That immovable grin
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of his upon his face had said something in a guttural tongue. The snake
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was motionless, its baleful gaze first upon the sinking girl, then upon the
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man. Girthur's surprise was tragic. It was as though he had been confronted
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with some apparition from another world. And then his hand went to his hip
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pocket. There was a flash of light and a deafening explosion that stunned her.
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The pistol dropped from his hand and fill with the clatter to the floor,
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and she saw his arm was stiffly extended and protruding from the cuff of
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his coat, a black tail that wound round and round his wrist. It
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had struck up his sleeve. The cloth about his biceps was bumping up and
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down erratically. He stood streatly erect grinning the arm still out, flung his
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astonished eyes upon the coil about his wrist, and then slowly his other hand
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came round gripped the tail and pulled it savagely forth. The snake turned with
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an angry hissed, and tried to bite back at him, But raising his
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hand, he brought the head crashing down against the furnace. There was a
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convulsive wriggle as the reptile fell among the ashes. Gott In Himmel whispered Girther,
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and his free hand went up to his arm and felt gingerly. He
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is dead, gracious lady, Perhaps there was another. He went swaying as
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he walked to the green box and put in his hand without hesitation. There
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was another. A bigger snake roused from its sleep, and angry, he
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bit twice at the man's wrist. But girtherur laughed, a gurgling laugh of
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pure enjoyment, for already he was a dead man. That he knew,
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and it had come to him at the moment and second of his dissolution,
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when the dread gaze of judgment were already Ajar that he should go to his
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maker with this clean space and the smudge of his life. Go, little
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one, he said, grinning into the spade face. You have no more
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poison. That is finished. He put the writhing head under his heel,
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and Mirabel shut her eyes and put her hands to her ears. When she
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looked again, the man was standing by the door, clinging to the post
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and slipping with every frantic effort to keep himself erect. He grinned at her
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again, this man of murder, who had made his last kill. Pardon,
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gracious lady, he said thickly, and went down on his knees,
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his head against the door, his body swaying slowly from side to side,
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and finally tumbled over. She heard Aberjhn's harsh voice from the floor above.
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He was calling girthr And presently he appeared in the doorway, and there was
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a pistol in his hand, so he said, looking down at the dying
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man, And then he saw the snake, and his face wrinkled. He
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looked from Mirabel to the girl on the bed, went over and examined her,
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but did not attempt to release the strap. It was Mirabel who did
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that, Mirabel who sponged the bruised face and loosened the dress. So doing
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she felt a hand on her shoulder come said, Oberjan, I'm staying here
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with Joan until you come at once, or I will give you to my
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pretty little friends. He pointed to the two snakes on the floor, who
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still moved spasmodically. She had to step past girth, but that seemed easier
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than passing those wriggling, shining black ropes. And her hand in his,
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she stumbled up the dark steps and eventually into the clean, sweet air of
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the night. He was dressed for a journey. She had noticed that when
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he appeared, a heavy cloth cap was on his curious shaped head, and
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he looked less repulsive with so much of his forehead hidden. Though the night
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was warm, he or an overcoat. They were passing between the wall and
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the factory when he stopped and put his hand before her mouth. He had
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heard voices, low voices on the other side of the wall, and presently
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the scrape of something. Without removing his hand from her face, he half
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dragged, half pushed her until they were clear of the factory. She thought
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they were going back to the house, which was in darkness, but instead
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he led her straight along the wall, and presently she saw the bulk of
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the barge. Stay and do not speak, he said, and began to
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turn a rusty wheel with a squeak and a groan, the water gates opened
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inwards. What did he intend doing? There was no sign of a boat,
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only this old, dilapidated barge. She was presently to know. Come,
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he said again. She was on the deck of the barge, moving
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forward to its bow, which pointed towards the open gate and the canal beyond.
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She heard him puffing groan as he strained at a rope he had found,
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and then looking down, she saw the front of the barge open like
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the two water gates of a lock. Displaying remarkable agility, he lowered himself
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over the edge. He seemed to be standing on something solid for again he
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ordered her to join him. I will not go, she said, breathlessly,
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and turning would have fled, but his hand caught addressed and dragged at
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her. I will drown you here, woman, he said, and she
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knew that the threat would have a sequel. Tremblingly, she lowered herself over
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the edge until her foot touched something hard and yet yielding. He was pushing
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at the barge with all his might, and the platform beneath her grew in
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space, first the sharp nose and then covered half deck of the fastest motor
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boat that mister Aberjon's money could buy, or the ingenuity of builders could devise.
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The old barge was a boat house, and this means of escape had
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always been to his hand. It was for this reason that he lived in
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a seemingly inaccessible spot. The men who had been on the canal bank were
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gone, the propellers revolving slowly, the boat stole down the dark waters.
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After a short time, slipped under a bridge over which street cars were passing,
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and headed for Deptford in the river. Doctor Oberjon took off his overcoat
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and laid it tenderly inside the shelter of the open cabin. Tenderly because every
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pocket was packed tight with money. To Mirabelle Lester, crouching in the darkness
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of that sheltered space, the time that past had no dimension. Once an
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authoritative voice hailed them from the bank. It was a policeman. She saw
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him. After the boat had passed. A gas lamp showed the glitter of
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his metal buttons, but soon he was far behind. Deptford was near When
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they reached a barrier which neither ingenuity nor money could pass. A ragged night
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bird peered down curiously at the motor boat. You can't get through here,
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guv'nor, he said, simply. The lock doesn't open until high tide.
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When is this high tide, asked Oberjon breathlessly, Six o'clock tomorrow morning,
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said the voy. For a long time he saw, stricken to inactivity by
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the news, and then he sent his engines into reverse and began circling round.
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There was one refuge for us, young missy said, soon we shall
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see it. Now, I will tell you something I desire so much to
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live. Do you also, She did not answer. If you cry out,
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if you will make noises, I will kill you. That is all
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he said. And the very simplicity of his words, the lack of all
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emphasis behind the deadly earnestness, told her that he would keep his word,
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and to chapter thirty one,