Chapter Sixteen. I Lie on a Hard Bed

Mr. Standfast

by John Buchan

The journalist from Kansas City was a man of action. He wasted no
words in introducing himself or unfolding his plan of campaign.
'You've got to follow me, mister, and not deviate one inch from my
tracks. The explaining part will come later. There's big business
in this shack tonight.' He unlocked the little door with scarcely a
sound, slid the crust of snow from his boots, and preceded me into a
passage as black as a cellar. The door swung smoothly behind us, and
after the sharp out-of-doors the air smelt stuffy as the inside of a
safe.

A hand reached back to make sure that I followed. We appeared
to be in a flagged passage under the main level of the house. My
hobnailed boots slipped on the floor, and I steadied myself on the
wall, which seemed to be of undressed stone. Mr Donne moved softly
and assuredly, for he was better shod for the job than me, and his
guiding hand came back constantly to make sure of my whereabouts.

I remember that I felt just as I had felt when on that August
night I had explored the crevice of the Coolin - the same sense that
something queer was going to happen, the same recklessness and
contentment. Moving a foot at a time with immense care, we came to a
right-hand turning. Two shallow steps led us to another passage,
and then my groping hands struck a blind wall. The American was
beside me, and his mouth was close to my ear.

'Got to crawl now,' he whispered. 'You lead, mister, while I
shed this coat of mine. Eight feet on your stomach and then
upright.'

I wriggled through a low tunnel, broad enough to take three men
abreast, but not two feet high. Half-way through I felt suffocated,
for I never liked holes, and I had a momentary anxiety as to what we
were after in this cellar pilgrimage. Presently I smelt free air and
got on to my knees.

'Right, mister?' came a whisper from behind. My companion
seemed to be waiting till I was through before he followed.

'Right,' I answered, and very carefully rose to my feet.

Then something happened behind me. There was a jar and a bump
as if the roof of the tunnel had subsided. I turned sharply and
groped at the mouth. I stuck my leg down and found a block.

'Donne,' I said, as loud as I dared, 'are you hurt? Where are
you?'

But no answer came.

Even then I thought only of an accident. Something had
miscarried, and I was cut off in the cellars of an unfriendly house
away from the man who knew the road and had a plan in his head. I
was not so much frightened as exasperated. I turned from the tunnel-
mouth and groped into the darkness before me. I might as well
prospect the kind of prison into which I had blundered.

I took three steps - no more. My feet seemed suddenly to go
from me and fly upward. So sudden was it that I fell heavy and dead
like a log, and my head struck the floor with a crash that for a
moment knocked me senseless. I was conscious of something falling on
me and of an intolerable pressure on my chest. I struggled for
breath, and found my arms and legs pinned and my whole body in a kind
of wooden vice. I was sick with concussion, and could do nothing but
gasp and choke down my nausea. The cut in the back of my head was
bleeding freely and that helped to clear my wits, but I lay for a
minute or two incapable of thought. I shut my eyes tight, as a man
does when he is fighting with a swoon.

When I opened them there was light. It came from the left side
of the room, the broad glare of a strong electric torch. I watched
it stupidly, but it gave me the fillip needed to pick up the threads.
I remembered the tunnel now and the Kansas journalist. Then behind
the light I saw a face which pulled my flickering senses out of the
mire.

I saw the heavy ulster and the cap, which I had realized, though
I had not seen, outside in the dark laurels. They belonged to the
journalist, Clarence Donne, the trusted emissary of Blenkiron. But I
saw his face now, and it was that face which I had boasted to
Bullivant I could never mistake again upon earth. I did not mistake
it now, and I remember I had a faint satisfaction that I had made
good my word. I had not mistaken it, for I had not had the chance to
look at it till this moment. I saw with acid clearness the common
denominator of all its disguises - the young man who lisped in the
seaside villa, the stout philanthropist of Biggleswick, the pulpy
panic-stricken creature of the Tube station, the trim French staff
officer of the Picardy chateau ... I saw more, for I saw it beyond
the need of disguise. I was looking at von Schwabing, the exile, who
had done more for Germany than any army commander ... Mary's words
came back to me - 'the most dangerous man in the world' ... I was
not afraid, or broken-hearted at failure, or angry - not yet, for I
was too dazed and awestruck. I looked at him as one might look at
some cataclysm of nature which had destroyed a continent.

The face was smiling.

'I am happy to offer you hospitality at last,' it said.

I pulled my wits farther out of the mud to attend to him. The
cross-bar on my chest pressed less hard and I breathed better. But
when I tried to speak, the words would not come.

'We are old friends,' he went on. 'We have known each other
quite intimately for four years, which is a long time in war. I have
been interested in you, for you have a kind of crude intelligence,
and you have compelled me to take you seriously. If you were
cleverer you would appreciate the compliment. But you were fool
enough to think you could beat me, and for that you must be punished.
Oh no, don't flatter yourself you were ever dangerous. You were only
troublesome and presumptuous like a mosquito one flicks off one's
sleeve.'

He was leaning against the side of a heavy closed door. He lit
a cigar from a little gold tinder box and regarded me with amused
eyes.

'You will have time for reflection, so I propose to enlighten
you a little. You are an observer of little things. So? Did you
ever see a cat with a mouse? The mouse runs about and hides and
manoeuvres and thinks it is playing its own game. But at any moment
the cat can stretch out its paw and put an end to it. You are the
mouse, my poor General - for I believe you are one of those funny
amateurs that the English call Generals. At any moment during the
last nine months I could have put an end to you with a nod.'

My nausea had stopped and I could understand what he said,
though I had still no power to reply.

'Let me explain,' he went on. 'I watched with amusement your
gambols at Biggleswick. My eyes followed you when you went to the
Clyde and in your stupid twistings in Scotland. I gave you rope,
because you were futile, and I had graver things to attend to. I
allowed you to amuse yourself at your British Front with childish
investigations and to play the fool in Paris. I have followed every
step of your course in Switzerland, and I have helped your idiotic
Yankee friend to plot against myself. While you thought you were
drawing your net around me, I was drawing mine around you. I assure
you, it has been a charming relaxation from serious business.'

I knew the man was lying. Some part was true, for he had
clearly fooled Blenkiron; but I remembered the hurried flight from
Biggleswick and Eaucourt Sainte-Anne when the game was certainly
against him. He had me at his mercy, and was wreaking his vanity on
me. That made him smaller in my eyes, and my first awe began to
pass.

'I never cherish rancour, you know,' he said. 'In my business
it is silly to be angry, for it wastes energy. But I do not tolerate
insolence, my dear General. And my country has the habit of doing
justice on her enemies. It may interest you to know that the end is
not far off. Germany has faced a jealous world in arms and she is
about to be justified of her great courage. She has broken up bit by
bit the clumsy organization of her opponents. Where is Russia today,
the steam-roller that was to crush us? Where is the poor dupe
Rumania? Where is the strength of Italy, who was once to do wonders
for what she called Liberty? Broken, all of them. I have played my
part in that work and now the need is past. My country with free
hands is about to turn upon your armed rabble in the West and drive
it into the Atlantic. Then we shall deal with the ragged remains of
France and the handful of noisy Americans. By midsummer there will
be peace dictated by triumphant Germany.'

'By God, there won't!' I had found my voice at last.

'By God, there will,' he said pleasantly. 'It is what you call
a mathematical certainty. You will no doubt die bravely, like the
savage tribes that your Empire used to conquer. But we have the
greater discipline and the stronger spirit and the bigger brain.
Stupidity is always punished in the end, and you are a stupid race.
Do not think that your kinsmen across the Atlantic will save you.
They are a commercial people and by no means sure of themselves. When
they have blustered a little they will see reason and find some means
of saving their faces. Their comic President will make a speech or
two and write us a solemn Note, and we will reply with the serious
rhetoric which he loves, and then we shall kiss and be friends. You
know in your heart that it will be so.'

A great apathy seemed to settle on me. This bragging did not
make me angry, and I had no longer any wish to contradict him. It
may have been the result of the fall, but my mind had stopped
working. I heard his voice as one listens casually to the ticking of
a clock.

'I will tell you more,' he was saying. 'This is the evening of
the 18th day of March. Your generals in France expect an attack, but
they are not sure where it will come. Some think it may be in
Champagne or on the Aisne, some at Ypres, some at St Quentin. Well,
my dear General, you alone will I take into our confidence. On the
morning of the 21st, three days from now, we attack the right wing of
the British Army. In two days we shall be in Amiens. On the third we
shall have driven a wedge as far as the sea. Then in a week or so we
shall have rolled up your army from the right, and presently we shall
be in Boulogne and Calais. After that Paris falls, and then
Peace.'

I made no answer. The word 'Amiens' recalled Mary, and I was
trying to remember the day in January when she and I had motored
south from that pleasant city.

'Why do I tell you these things? Your intelligence, for you are
not altogether foolish, will have supplied the answer. It is because
your life is over. As your Shakespeare says, the rest is silence ...
No, I am not going to kill you. That would be crude, and I hate
crudities. I am going now on a little journey, and when I return in
twenty-four hours' time you will be my companion. You are going to
visit Germany, my dear General.'

That woke me to attention, and he noticed it, for he went on
with gusto.

'You have heard of the Untergrundbahn? No? And you boast of an
Intelligence service! Yet your ignorance is shared by the whole of
your General Staff. It is a little organization of my own. By it we
can take unwilling and dangerous people inside our frontier to be
dealt with as we please. Some have gone from England and many from
France. Officially I believe they are recorded as "missing", but
they did not go astray on any battle-field. They have been gathered
from their homes or from hotels or offices or even the busy streets.
I will not conceal from you that the service of our Underground
Railway is a little irregular from England and France. But from
Switzerland it is smooth as a trunk line. There are unwatched spots
on the frontier, and we have our agents among the frontier guards,
and we have no difficulty about passes. It is a pretty device, and
you will soon be privileged to observe its working ... In Germany I
cannot promise you comfort, but I do not think your life will be
dull.'

As he spoke these words, his urbane smile changed to a grin of
impish malevolence. Even through my torpor I felt the venom and I
shivered. 'When I return I shall have another companion.' His voice
was honeyed again. 'There is a certain pretty lady who was to be the
bait to entice me into Italy. It was so? Well, I have fallen to the
bait. I have arranged that she shall meet me this very night at a
mountain inn on the Italian side. I have arranged, too, that she
shall be alone. She is an innocent child, and I do not think that she
has been more than a tool in the clumsy hands of your friends. She
will come with me when I ask her, and we shall be a merry party in
the Underground Express.'

My apathy vanished, and every nerve in me was alive at the
words.

'You cur!' I cried. 'She loathes the sight of you. She
wouldn't touch you with the end of a barge-pole.'

He flicked the ash from his cigar. 'I think you are mistaken.
I am very persuasive, and I do not like to use compulsion with a
woman. But, willing or not, she will come with me. I have worked
hard and I am entitled to my pleasure, and I have set my heart on
that little lady.'

There was something in his tone, gross, leering, assured, half
contemptuous, that made my blood boil. He had fairly got me on the
raw, and the hammer beat violently in my forehead. I could have wept
with sheer rage, and it took all my fortitude to keep my mouth shut.
But I was determined not to add to his triumph.

He looked at his watch. 'Time passes,' he said. 'I must depart
to my charming assignation. I will give your remembrances to the
lady. Forgive me for making no arrangements for your comfort till I
return. Your constitution is so sound that it will not suffer from a
day's fasting. To set your mind at rest I may tell you that escape
is impossible. This mechanism has been proved too often, and if you
did break loose from it my servants would deal with you. But I must
speak a word of caution. If you tamper with it or struggle too much
it will act in a curious way. The floor beneath you covers a shaft
which runs to the lake below. Set a certain spring at work and you
may find yourself shot down into the water far below the ice, where
your body will rot till the spring ... That, of course, is an
alternative open to you, if you do not care to wait for my
return.'

He lit a fresh cigar, waved his hand, and vanished through the
doorway. As it shut behind him, the sound of his footsteps instantly
died away. The walls must have been as thick as a prison's.

I suppose I was what people in books call 'stunned'. The
illumination during the past few minutes had been so dazzling that
my brain could not master it. I remember very clearly that I did not
think about the ghastly failure of our scheme, or the German plans
which had been insolently unfolded to me as to one dead to the world.
I saw a single picture - an inn in a snowy valley (I saw it as a
small place like Peter's cottage), a solitary girl, that smiling
devil who had left me, and then the unknown terror of the Underground
Railway. I think my courage went for a bit, and I cried with
feebleness and rage. The hammer in my forehead had stopped for it
only beat when I was angry in action. Now that I lay trapped, the
manhood had slipped out of my joints, and if Ivery had still been in
the doorway, I think I would have whined for mercy. I would have
offered him all the knowledge I had in the world if he had promised
to leave Mary alone.

Happily he wasn't there, and there was no witness of my
cowardice. Happily, too, it is just as difficult to be a coward for
long as to be a hero. It was Blenkiron's phrase about Mary that
pulled me together - 'She can't scare and she can't soil'. No, by
heavens, she couldn't. I could trust my lady far better than I could
trust myself. I was still sick with anxiety, but I was getting a
pull on myself. I was done in, but Ivery would get no triumph out of
me. Either I would go under the ice, or I would find a chance of
putting a bullet through my head before I crossed the frontier. If I
could do nothing else I could perish decently ... And then I
laughed, and I knew I was past the worst. What made me laugh was the
thought of Peter. I had been pitying him an hour ago for having only
one leg, but now he was abroad in the living, breathing world with
years before him, and I lay in the depths, limbless and lifeless,
with my number up.

I began to muse on the cold water under the ice where I could go
if I wanted. I did not think that I would take that road, for a
man's chances are not gone till he is stone dead, but I was glad the
way existed ... And then I looked at the wall in front of me, and,
very far up, I saw a small square window.

The stars had been clouded when I entered that accursed house,
but the mist must have cleared. I saw my old friend Orion, the
hunter's star, looking through the bars. And that suddenly made me
think.

Peter and I had watched them by night, and I knew the place of
all the chief constellations in relation to the St Anton valley. I
believed that I was in a room on the lake side of the Pink Chalet: I
must be, if Ivery had spoken the truth. But if so, I could not
conceivably see Orion from its window ... There was no other
possible conclusion, I must be in a room on the east side of the
house, and Ivery had been lying. He had already lied in his boasting
of how he had outwitted me in England and at the Front. He might be
lying about Mary ... No, I dismissed that hope. Those words of his
had rung true enough.

I thought for a minute and concluded that he had lied to
terrorize me and keep me quiet; therefore this infernal contraption
had probably its weak point. I reflected, too, that I was pretty
strong, far stronger probably than Ivery imagined, for he had never
seen me stripped. Since the place was pitch dark I could not guess
how the thing worked, but I could feel the cross-bars rigid on my
chest and legs and the side-bars which pinned my arms to my sides ...
I drew a long breath and tried to force my elbows apart. Nothing
moved, nor could I raise the bars on my legs the smallest
fraction.

Again I tried, and again. The side-bar on my right seemed to be
less rigid than the others. I managed to get my right hand raised
above the level of my thigh, and then with a struggle I got a grip
with it on the cross-bar, which gave me a small leverage. With a
mighty effort I drove my right elbow and shoulder against the
side-bar. It seemed to give slightly ... I summoned all my strength
and tried again. There was a crack and then a splintering, the
massive bar shuffled limply back, and my right arm was free to move
laterally, though the cross-bar prevented me from raising it.

With some difficulty I got at my coat pocket where reposed my
electric torch and my pistol. With immense labour and no little pain
I pulled the former out and switched it on by drawing the catch
against the cross-bar. Then I saw my prison house.

It was a little square chamber, very high, with on my left the
massive door by which Ivery had departed. The dark baulks of my rack
were plain, and I could roughly make out how the thing had been
managed. Some spring had tilted up the flooring, and dropped the
framework from its place in the right-hand wall. It was clamped, I
observed, by an arrangement in the floor just in front of the door.
If I could get rid of that catch it would be easy to free myself, for
to a man of my strength the weight would not be impossibly heavy.

My fortitude had come back to me, and I was living only in the
moment, choking down any hope of escape. My first job was to destroy
the catch that clamped down the rack, and for that my only weapon was
my pistol. I managed to get the little electric torch jammed in the
corner of the cross-bar, where it lit up the floor towards the door.
Then it was hell's own business extricating the pistol from my
pocket. Wrist and fingers were always cramping, and I was in terror
that I might drop it where I could not retrieve it.

I forced myself to think out calmly the question of the clamp,
for a pistol bullet is a small thing, and I could not afford to miss.
I reasoned it out from my knowledge of mechanics, and came to the
conclusion that the centre of gravity was a certain bright spot of
metal which I could just see under the cross-bars. It was bright and
so must have been recently repaired, and that was another reason for
thinking it important. The question was how to hit it, for I could
not get the pistol in line with my eye. Let anyone try that kind of
shooting, with a bent arm over a bar, when you are lying flat and
looking at the mark from under the bar, and he will understand its
difficulties. I had six shots in my revolver, and I must fire two or
three ranging shots in any case. I must not exhaust all my
cartridges, for I must have a bullet left for any servant who came to
pry, and I wanted one in reserve for myself. But I did not think
shots would be heard outside the room; the walls were too thick.

I held my wrist rigid above the cross-bar and fired. The bullet
was an inch to the right of the piece of bright steel. Moving a
fraction I fired again. I had grazed it on the left. With aching
eyes glued on the mark, I tried a third time. I saw something leap
apart, and suddenly the whole framework under which I lay fell loose
and mobile ... I was very cool and restored the pistol to my pocket
and took the torch in my hand before I moved ... Fortune had been
kind, for I was free. I turned on my face, humped my back, and
without much trouble crawled out from under the contraption.

I did not allow myself to think of ultimate escape, for that
would only flurry me, and one step at a time was enough. I remember
that I dusted my clothes, and found that the cut in the back of my
head had stopped bleeding. I retrieved my hat, which had rolled into
a corner when I fell ... Then I turned my attention to the next
step.

The tunnel was impossible, and the only way was the door. If I
had stopped to think I would have known that the chances against
getting out of such a house were a thousand to one. The pistol shots
had been muffled by the cavernous walls, but the place, as I knew,
was full of servants and, even if I passed the immediate door, I
would be collared in some passage. But I had myself so well in hand
that I tackled the door as if I had been prospecting to sink a new
shaft in Rhodesia.

It had no handle nor, so far as I could see, a keyhole ... But
I noticed, as I turned my torch on the ground, that from the clamp
which I had shattered a brass rod sunk in the floor led to one of the
door-posts. Obviously the thing worked by a spring and was connected
with the mechanism of the rack.

A wild thought entered my mind and brought me to my feet. I
pushed the door and it swung slowly open. The bullet which freed me
had released the spring which controlled it.

Then for the first time, against all my maxims of discretion, I
began to hope. I took off my hat and felt my forehead burning, so
that I rested it for a moment on the cool wall ... Perhaps my luck
still held. With a rush came thoughts of Mary and Blenkiron and
Peter and everything we had laboured for, and I was mad to win.

I had no notion of the interior of the house or where lay the
main door to the outer world. My torch showed me a long passage with
something like a door at the far end, but I clicked it off, for I did
not dare to use it now. The place was deadly quiet. As I listened I
seemed to hear a door open far away, and then silence fell again.

I groped my way down the passage till I had my hands on the far
door. I hoped it might open on the hall, where I could escape by a
window or a balcony, for I judged the outer door would be locked. I
listened, and there came no sound from within. It was no use
lingering, so very stealthily I turned the handle and opened it a
crack.

It creaked and I waited with beating heart on discovery, for
inside I saw the glow of light. But there was no movement, so it
must be empty. I poked my head in and then followed with my body.

It was a large room, with logs burning in a stove, and the floor
thick with rugs. It was lined with books, and on a table in the
centre a reading-lamp was burning. Several dispatch-boxes stood on
the table, and there was a little pile of papers. A man had been
here a minute before, for a half-smoked cigar was burning on the edge
of the inkstand.

At that moment I recovered complete use of my wits and all my
self-possession. More, there returned to me some of the old devil-
may-careness which before had served me well. Ivery had gone, but
this was his sanctum. just as on the roofs of Erzerum I had burned
to get at Stumm's papers, so now it was borne in on me that at all
costs I must look at that pile.

I advanced to the table and picked up the topmost paper. It was
a little typewritten blue slip with the lettering in italics, and in
a corner a curious, involved stamp in red ink. On it I read:

'Die Wildvogel missen beimkehren.'

At the same moment I heard steps and the door opened on the far
side, I stepped back towards the stove, and fingered the pistol in my
pocket.

A man entered, a man with a scholar's stoop, an unkempt beard,
and large sleepy dark eyes. At the sight of me he pulled up and his
whole body grew taut. It was the Portuguese Jew, whose back I had
last seen at the smithy door in Skye, and who by the mercy of God had
never seen my face.

I stopped fingering my pistol, for I had an inspiration. Before
he could utter a word I got in first.

'Die Vogelein schwei igem im Walde,' I said.

His face broke into a pleasant smile, and he replied:

'Warte nur, balde rubest du auch.'

'Ach,' he said in German, holding out his hand, 'you have come
this way, when we thought you would go by Modane. I welcome you, for
I know your exploits. You are Conradi, who did so nobly in
Italy?'

I bowed. 'Yes, I am Conradi,' I said.