Complete works of peter.., p.466
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 466
"Salvatori's turn was next. Brandon knew that Zweitt and Salvatori had agreed to make a clean breast of things to Relph and ask his assistance. Under those circumstances Brandon had to get Salvatori quickly, before he could talk. Directly the coast was clear on that night Salvatori was killed either by Brandon or one of his gang, and the killer was in such a hurry that he left before the unfortunate Italian was actually dead. Next day Brandon or Missal, or some other members of the Brandon gang, packed up Zweitt's body and sent it down to Frimley, probably by car, leaving it in one of the outer vaults of the Abbey in a place where Stahlhaube must find it, as a polite intimation that they knew what his game was.
"And what was Stahlhaube's game? He had come over to England to get something from Brandon, or to get Brandon—which I don't know. He starts off with Salvatori and Zweitt, who he knows are distributing Brandon's drugs, and makes Salvatori water his stock with a special kind of Sour Milk drug which Stahlhaube is manufacturing with the help of Varney. This serves a double purpose. It kills Brandon's drug business, for the Sour Milk drug simply makes people ill, as it did me, and it also shows Brandon that someone is after him. Stahlhaube realises that Salvatori and Zweitt are between the devil and the deep sea. If they tell Brandon, Stahlhaube will get them. If Brandon finds out that they are double-crossing him, he will get them. That is why they wanted Relph's help.
"The next point of interest is the return of Zweitt's body to the Cannon Street offices, and the explanation of the slip of cardboard in the fingers of the corpse. Everything pointed to Hop Fi and Co., and, if this surmise was correct, what was their motive? Might it not be that Ling, or some other satellite of Hop Fi's, had cut off the head of Zweitt in the Frimley vault before its discovery by Stahlhaube, and after Stahlhaube had had time to see it and accept it as a warning, not from Brandon, but from the Chinese, that punishment was being meted out to the old firm of Moreatte and Co., the same hands which executed Zweitt sent back the body to Brandon as a polite reminder to him. This seems a correct idea, for it is only after this packing case reaches Brandon that he makes up his mind to close down at Cannon Street, and, after settling his account with Stahlhaube, clear out altogether."
Jaffray paused, and proceeded to fill his pipe. As he did so a plain-clothes man entered the room.
"Crown Inn on the wire, sir," said the man. "Brandon and Missal have just arrived."
Jaffray put down his pipe. "The last act, I think," he said.
TWENTY minutes afterwards our car, followed by another containing half a dozen plain-clothes men, pulled up in front of the Gat Inn. We had stopped en route at the Crown Inn for a few moments to speak with Marion Varney and Conway, who had accompanied her down to Frimley. Once in the Gat Inn we went quickly to room No. 23. Jaffray knocked at the door, but there was no reply, and it took three minutes' work on the part of Waddy and a crowbar to force the door.
The room was empty, and the reason obvious. One half of the massive fireplace had been swung back, leaving an opening—a five foot square of blackness in which we could discern the beginning of some stone steps. Jaffray, the Onlooker, Jevons, and myself entered, leaving the rest of our party behind. At the bottom of the stone staircase the light from Jaffray's torch showed us that we stood in a passage just over six feet in height, shored up by rotting timbers. A white tape ran along the earthen floor, evidently intended as a guide. We moved on.
After fifty yards the passage divided, the white tape leading off to the right. Presently we entered a small chamber or vault showing some traces of original stonework, and I guessed that we were now actually in the vaults beneath the ruined Frimley Abbey.
Suddenly the Onlooker gave a whistle of surprise. We turned and looked in the direction in which he was pointing. Behind us the opening through which we had entered the vault was closed—a thick wooden door of oak, coming from the sides or above, had cut off the passage. We were trapped!
"Say, Jaffray," said the Onlooker quietly, "I guess that tape was a smart bit of work. Some guy knew that we would follow it, an' look where it landed us! What are we going to do?"
Before Jaffray had time to speak, another voice answered him—a voice I knew quite well—Brandon's.
"What you are going to do, gentlemen, is a matter for you to decide for yourselves!"
The voice came from somewhere above us. Jaffray's light flashed round the walls and eventually stopped on Brandon's face, which, framed in a little opening a good twelve feet up in the opposite wall, grinned down on us.
"Let me explain the situation, gentlemen," he continued. "I have important affairs of state taking place to-night, a little settling of accounts with my old friend and quondam partner, von Eisen, otherwise and somewhat dramatically known as Stahlhaube. But the question at the moment is what I am going to do with you... by simply closing this trap through which I am speaking I cut off the air supply, and I should think that, in four hours, you will all be dead. This door, a contrivance of the old monks, descends from above, and no one knows how to get it up again. Quite an ideal trap... don't you think? However, should you wish to prolong your lives for an hour or so, you can do so, in which case I shall send a small assistant of mine down to you and you will hand all weapons over to him. You will then be pulled up through this trap, and you will, at least, have time to say your prayers—if you want to—before taking your departure from this life with my friend von Eisen, for whom I have arranged a little death party. Well what is it to be?"
The Onlooker spoke. "You win, Brandon," he said, "get on with the search party stunt."
A minute later a small youth of some foreign persuasion was let down through the opening, and searched us, taking all weapons from our party. This done he ascended the rope once more, and a wire ladder being let down from the opening we ascended one by one and were pulled through.
CHAPTER XXIV
WE found ourselves in another of the earthen vaults with which the place seemed honeycombed. A dozen villainous-looking men were standing about grinning at our discomfiture, amongst whom I recognised the Englishman who had been one of the party to call on Brandon at the Cannon Street offices, and who appeared to be Brandon's second in command—Missal.
Our hands were tied securely behind us, and we were seated on a wooden bench which ran along the earthen wall. Brandon's eyes flashed over our dejected little party.
"Now, gentlemen," said he with fiendish relish, "let me explain to you the situation as it stands at the moment. As you have probably guessed, matters have come to a head between myself and my friend, von Eisen—this Steelhelmet whose brain works with such German precision that one can always be certain what he is going to do before he does it.
"Commencing some months ago with threatening and suborning my employees, and spoiling my drug stock, he knew well that eventually I should be forced to take measures for my own protection, and he took the precaution of having myself and known members of my organisation watched night and day. He also put these vaults into a peculiar state of defence, knowing that I should come here to demand my reckoning. We, ourselves, constructed certain new passages and entrances into these vaults, but this work was impossible without the knowledge of Stahlhaube, and, indeed, we rather liked him knowing about it. He had arranged that at a given signal certain galleries and passages which I had constructed should be destroyed—a very simple matter, with the assistance of a little T.N.T. This has been done, and Stahlhaube imagines that, our retreat having been cut off and the air inlets closed, we shall be forced by lack of air to take the main passage leading to the centre vault, where, weakened by lack off oxygen, we shall be easy prey for him and his men.
"But I have gone one better. My own arrangements are as follows: I am, for the moment, supplying these passages with oxygen which I have had brought in here, besides which I hold a trump card. Long before Stahlhaube arrived here I had discovered that the old pipe-lines used by the monks in the olden days for running the wines they manufactured in the different branches of the Abbey to the casks in the centre vault were still in existence and in very good condition.
"Now, gentlemen, observe the retribution of justice. This Stahlhaube discovered, through the work of a clever chemist, that certain chemicals mixed with my wonderful Sour Milk drug caused the drug to produce illness and sometimes death, instead of its usual blissful sleep; indeed, several unfortunate clients of mine met their deaths after taking the drug before this came to my knowledge.
"When I did discover it I collected all the spurious bottles of Soul Milk and saved them for this occasion. The poisoned Sour Milk is a liquid which is easily vaporised, and this vaporisation process is now taking place in the next vault, and when it is complete the vapour will be driven by compressed air through the old pipe-lines to the centre vault, where it will effectively gas my friend Stahlhaube and his colleagues. When, in twenty minutes' time, the gas has had time to take effect we shall enter the centre vault wearing gas-masks in order to protect ourselves from the poisonous fumes. I have no doubt that the sight will be an interesting one. When we arrive I shall arrange that your gas masks will be removed so that you may breathe a sufficient quantity of Stahlhaube's poisoned Soul Milk to ensure your own deaths. I shall then shake the dust of this country from my feet, and in some quiet South American Republic pass the remainder of my days considering your unpleasant and untimely end." He grinned maliciously. "Missal, see how the process is working," he added.
Missal nodded, and going to a basket which stood in the corner of the vault extracted a gas-helmet. He adjusted it carefully and disappeared. We sat silent until a few minutes later he re-appeared.
"It's a lovely sight, Brandon," he said, grinning. "It looks like the chamber of horrors. The gas worked more quietly than we thought. Stahlhaube and his crowd are all bunched up on the floor against the wall furthest from the pipe opening. What's the next move?"
"I think," said Brandon, "that we will now proceed to look after these gentlemen. See that their gas-masks are properly fitted, Missal."
Missal obeyed, and gas-masks were fastened over our heads as we sat on the bench. They were the improved type used by the German infantry in the war. The smell of the chemicals brought vivid recollections of the old days to my mind... I wished that I had finished then... decently.
Missal, his gas mask hanging round his neck, spoke to us. He had drawn an automatic pistol from his pocket.
"No nonsense from any of you," he said, "otherwise I shall present you with a few ounces of lead. Walk straight in front of you, and don't be too slow, either!"
We were pushed in the direction of the door. Behind us came Missal, his pistol in his hand, and after him Brandon and the rest. As we turned into the darkness of the passage I saw the Onlooker shrug his shoulders. It seemed a last gesture.
Now we were in complete darkness. The smell of the chemicals in the gas-mask was beastly, and added to my feelings of despair. At last, ahead of us, I saw a light which, as we approached, became the entrance to the centre vault. It was a fairly large opening, and was, I saw as we got nearer, opposite the small door which I had entered on the night when I surprised Stahlhaube's men.
Missal pushed me through the doorway, and, rubbing at the mica eyepieces of the gas mask, I saw a gruesome sight. Huddled up against the wall on the left-hand side of the fireplace was a group of about fifteen men. Some were stretched on the floor, others twisted into different grotesque positions. Seated on the table, which still stood in front of the fireplace, was Stahlhaube. His body was twisted over the table, and his head turned from us. The arm nearest us was lying rigid on the table, and the fist was clenched. Stahlhaube, I thought, had died game. I looked behind me.
Brandon stood, his legs apart, his hands clasped behind his back, nodding his heed slowly. I could imagine his blue eyes gleaming behind the gas-mask... imagine him gloating....
A great wave of hate swept over me—a wave of hatred for this inhuman fiend, who, through the days that had passed, had waited, patiently, laughing at us, plotting and scheming for this end. Salvatori's last words rang in my ears—"the end of de story...."
And this was the end of our story. To die in an earthen vault lit by a few dim lights, far away from the sky and the air. A picture of Marion flashed across my mind... the woman I loved, and who I should never see again. An intense desire to have a last fling at Brandon came to me. My hands were tied, but my feet were free. I think that Jaffray and the Onlooker were thinking the same thing, for, at this moment, they half turned. Then I saw the Onlooker, his head bent forward, looking fixedly towards Stahlhaube. Then a funny thing happened. Stahlhaube's rigid body slowly relaxed. Then raised itself slowly.
Stahlhaube got to his feet! I thought I must be dreaming. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Brandon stiffen, whilst Missal was casually taking off his gas mask Then I realised. As Stahlhaube moved, I realised. Zweitt and Salvatori were not the only members of Brandon's gang who had been got at. Missal had sold Brandon to Stahlhaube!
I worked my hands free from the rope which bound them, and tore the gas-mask from my face. Missal, grinning was covering Brandon with the automatic... The huddled figures against the wall were getting to their feet....
Stahlhaube's deep voice broke the silence.
"My friend," he said, gutturally, "my friend, Brandon, there is an old proverb, 'Put not your trust in princes.' I will give you a better—'put not your trust in Missal.' The pumping apparatus did not work properly, hein? But it is too late, my Brandon. This is what you call the anti-climax." He shook with laughter.
The Onlooker, his gas mask off, looked at me and smiled. "Say, Relph," he said. "Ain't we having a time to-day?"
CHAPTER XXV
BRANDON stood swaying backwards and forwards like a man who is about to faint. Then, with a hand that shook, he removed his gas-mask. For a minute he stared at Missal and all the messages of hell flashed from his eyes. Stahlhaube, his usual phlegmatic smile on his face, lit a cigar, and sat back in his chair, regarding Brandon and Missal with obvious enjoyment.
Missal grinned back at Brandon, his face distorted in a grin.
"Well, you fool, what did you expect?" He said; "I play with the winning side. Did you think you had a chance? Did you think that we were all fools like Zweitt and Salvatori, who couldn't disguise the fact that they were double-crossing you? What's the good of staring like that? Staring won't help you. There's something coming to you all right..."
Suddenly, with an agility which belied his years, Brandon leapt at the sneering face which confronted him. Missal sidestepped and sent a smashing blow to Brandon's jaw. Brandon picked himself up and leaned, gasping, against the table. Stahlhaube appeared to be interested in the manner in which his cigar was burning.
"My Brandon," he said eventually, the cigar lit to his satisfaction, "I think that you are much too old to go in for these exercises. You are not so strong as on the day when you tried to brain me in the offices in Milan, are you, my friend? There is a chair beside you. Sit down and collect your wits, if you have any left!"
Brandon sank down into the chair. He was trembling in every limb, but his eyes still blazed fiercely.
"So!" said Stahlhaube, philosophically, "this, my Brandon, is the result of dishonesty. Honesty amongst people of our profession is even more essential than in commerce."
He flicked the ash from his cigar.
"You fool," he continued; "so you thought that you could delude me; you thought that you could put Stahlhaube out of the way and crawl to England with the formula which I risked my life to obtain."
"And which you stole," hissed Brandon.
"Exactly," said Stahlhaube. His huge face brightened for a moment with a smile.... "which I stole. Do not tell me, my friend, that you are going to give me a lecture on stealing. What brain it took to steal that Sour Milk formula! And then, when I had got it, you... you English pig-dog, you steal it from me. Pah! Did you think that Stahlhaube would not be revenged? I suppose in your little mind you thought that the war would make me forget... me, Stahlhaube.
"Whilst serving the Fatherland"—Stahlhaube very nearly clicked his heels from force of habit—"all the time I was thinking, plotting, how to get back my wonderful formula. There was a fortune in Sour Milk, a fortune for both of us. But no! You, pig, must have the lot and Stahlhaube is to be content with nothing, and put out of the way into the bargain. What good have you done for yourself? I have ruined you, for there is nothing more for you in England—or for me, either, for that matter. You with your mad brains, and your clumsy murders that bring about our ears all these fool police, who are so stupid that I mistook them for people of yours...."
He grunted with sheer disgust. Then he threw away his cigar butt with a sweeping gesture.
"Like that I sweep away the lot of you," he went on. "Stahlhaube has no mercy! And there is yet room for me in Germany—or in Russia, where extraditions are things which are laughed at. Listen!"
From the other side of the room—from the passage which led to Brandon's vault—came a shriek of agony.
"That is my people amusing themselves," said Stahlhaube. "Making a little sport for themselves with those fools of yours. Just as I shall make a little sport with you. For not one of your swine-dogs shall live, except this thing" (he indicated Missal), "this cheap traitor... who gets his life for selling you."
The Onlooker made a grimace. "Say," he murmured, "it looks as if we've jumped out of the frying-pan into the fire. This business is no joy-ride, Relph."
Stahlhaube turned to him.
"You are a fool," he said, "but you have courage. You can at least laugh," he stretched his immense chest. "I, Stahlhaube, am brave," he said, "and I admire people who have courage... therefore, you and your friends shall die quickly; that is the best I can do for you. You can deal with Brandon in heaven or hell, when you get there."
