Tom Tiddler's Island, стр. 65
On the Wester Voe side of the pit nearest the house his preparations were even more elaborate, for with the trowel he spread a layer of motor-grease over the floor of the passage between the trip-barrier and the lip of the chasm, thus ensuring that a sprawling man would find no purchase to save himself. Between that point and the stairway Northfleet refrained from putting any hindrance in the path of possible pursuers. He left the rope and grapnel in position, so that he could retreat across the pit immediately if necessary; and at this point he ridded himself of all unnecessary burdens. Then, going with the utmost caution, he made his way to the stair and climbed to the secret door.
Crouching behind it, he listened intently; but the panel was too thick and well-fitting to permit sounds to penetrate to his hiding-place. With infinite care he operated the catch on his side of the door and slid the panel very slightly in its grooves. Putting his eye to the crack, he could see that the hall was empty. The sound of voices reached him, so clearly that the door of the lounge was evidently open. Northfleet inferred that it had been left so purposely, as through it the foot of the stair could be seen and any attempt of the girls to escape could be detected. The occasioned clink of glasses confirmed Hazel’s surmise that the gang was passing its time in drinking. Snatches of conversation made it clear that one of the men was already drunk and that some of the others were not altogether sober. An intermittent rattle puzzled Northfleet at first, but he quickly identified it as the throws of dice—poker dice to judge by the accompanying comments. Another group seemed to be playing cards.
If they would only remain as they were Northfleet saw that his task was easy. The lower part of the staircase jutted out into the hall. The door of the lounge was on one side of this projection, the opening into the secret passage on the other; so that it would be possible to reach the rocket-case without coming within sight of the ruffians in the lounge.
Very cautiously he slid back the panel and crept out into the hall, keeping his ears strained for any sign of interruption from the lounge. He reached the rocket-case and removed from it the code book and seven or eight rockets, congratulating himself that enough remained to conceal the lacunas caused by his depredation. He rearranged the remaining rockets to make the case seem as full as before. Then, still unsuspected, he retreated behind the panel, which he drew close again.
So far, so good. The whole thing had been so easy that Northfleet wondered at his success. He had expected something much more difficult when he set out. Obviously the first thing to do was sparry the rockets into a place of safety. That was all he had planned originally; but now a fresh scheme took form in his mind. Once the rockets were safely stowed away, it might be well worth while to come back again to the panel and do some eavesdropping. There would be no harm in listening to the gunmen’s talk and trying to get some inkling of what they were thinking about. He could always close the panel, 5 anyone showed himself.
He picked up the bundle of rockets, descended the steps, and plunged once more into the underground maze. If anything did go wrong, he reflected, he could not afford to burden himself with these things; and he finally carried them to the old Chiefs hiding-place, where he deposited them in a corner. If he could not shake off a possible pursuer at that stage in a retreat, luck would be very much against him, after his careful study of the labyrinth.
It was some time before he came back again to the secret panel and slipped it ajar. As he did so, he recognised a change in the talk within the lounge, which he could now hear more plainly since the general babble of voices had been hushed and only one man spoke at a time. The speaker had a high, harsh voice, with something parrot-like in its quality; and he appeared to be making a report.
“. . . gone. I’ve been an’ hunted every-w’ere. Cripes! w’at a night too.’T ain’t there, I tell yer.”
“It mus’ be there,” a drunken voice declared in a monotone.
“Shut your jaw, Scarry! You’re soused.” This was the voice of Hawes’s colleague in the deputation to Wester Voe. “If Cockatoo says he can’t find it, then it ain’t there.”
“It mus’ be there,” Scarry repeated, with muzzy obstinacy.
“If I set about you, Scarry——” the gunman leader warned.
“No, no,” protested Zelensky’s voice in soothing tones. “All goot friendts here, nicht wahr? No trobble amongst ourselfs till ze work is finished. Ant, after all, zere is no harm donne, really. Zey haff sent somevon off in ze row-boat to get help? Zat is dopple-faced of zem, after our arranchements. Bot I know ze seas here. Zat little skiff——”
Evidently a gesture filled out the meaning.
“Mebbe so,” Cockatoo’s harsh voice objected; “but now ’ow are we goin’ to make a getaway with no boat?”
“Zat vill be all right,” Zelensky explained. “Zere is ze Vester Foe motor-boat vich ze Dinnets vill bring back in a day or so. Zat vill be ready for us. Old Dinnet vill giff no trobble.”
“Sounds well,” Cockatoo agreed, rather grudgingly.
“Now I haff a little proposition to make,” Zelensky continued blandly. “It is dull for us all here. Pleasant company,