Carter stared at him for a moment, his brain dazed with horror. Then, giving a great cry, he bent down and, gripping Ilyich by the shoulders, hauled him to his feet. Thrusting the Russian against the wall, he grasped him by the throat and, despite the man’s frantic struggles, began to squeeze with all the strength of his fingers, the while he swung his head to and fro. For the time being Carter was crazed by the horror with which Ilyich’s statement had filled him. A firm touch on his shoulder brought him to himself when the Russian was very close to death. With a convulsive shudder he released the fellow, who collapsed unconscious to the floor. Carter turned to find Miles’ deep-set, grey eyes fixed on him.
‘Say, Tommy,’ enquired the American, ‘what’s got you? You’re as white as a sheet, and you look like you had seen a ghost.’
Carter, with a great effort, pulled himself together.
‘If you hadn’t interfered,’ he shot out between his clenched teeth, ‘I’d have killed the swine. He told me Sir Leonard is – is dead.’
‘God!’ ejaculated Miles, and his face became suddenly as white as the other’s. He stood staring down at the prone man, in his eyes unutterable things. ‘Maybe he lied to you,’ he murmured presently.
Carter shook his head wearily.
‘Why should he lie?’ he asked.
‘A guy of his rotten breed would be only too eager to hurt if he saw a chance.’
‘But he was just gloating with evil triumph, I – I’m terribly, horribly, afraid he told me the truth.’
‘If he has,’ ground out the American, ‘I shall regret to my dying day that I interfered when you had almost strangled him. When he recovers we’ll get the truth out of him, if we have to cut it out. At the present moment we must look to the defence of this place. That trapdoor sure is a bit of a snag. It bolts and locks OK, but they could bash it through without much difficulty from above. The roof is flat and there are a couple of mighty tall wireless masts up there. The guy who selected this dump for the headquarters of the gang is sure crooked, but he has his dome screwed on the right way. The house is in a kinder dip surrounded by trees. Nobody outside the estate could possibly see those wireless masts.’ He picked up his rifle. ‘I’m going up to keep watch. I guess they’ll attack that way. There’s a moon, though, and, as we’re right at the extreme end of the house, they can only come from one direction. Things look pretty good to me. If only––’
He did not conclude the sentence, but Carter knew of what he was thinking. Miles stood on the ladder, and arranged the trapdoor in such a manner as to give him just enough space to see along the roof and to move the barrel of his rifle freely.
‘Now, if you’ll switch off the light, Tommy,’ he called down, ‘it’ll be fine.’
Carter promptly did as he was bidden. He then went down on his knees by the side of the unconscious Ilyich, and searched him. There was a revolver, a knife and a crowd of other articles, including what felt like several letters. He did not trouble to examine the latter then, though it would have been possible to have done so, as he had Cousins’ flash lamp with him, but there were other more important matters to be considered at that moment. Ilyich must be trussed up in order that he could not interfere when he recovered consciousness, as he would be likely to do if Miles’ and Carter’s attention was engaged elsewhere. He wore a belt and with this Carter proceeded scientifically and securely to strap his legs. The Englishman then removed the long, flowing necktie he wore and, rolling him over on to his face, tied his wrists tightly together. To make assurance doubly sure he took the laces from his shoes and tied them over the necktie.
‘I guess they’re not in any hurry to attack,’ Miles remarked in regretful tones after some time had passed.
‘Perhaps there’s no other way on to the roof,’ returned Carter.
‘Sure there must be. There’s a room at the other end or what looks like a room. There is bound to be a way up to that anyhow. I’ll start to feel lonesome, if they don’t come soon. My left leg is beginning to—’ He suddenly broke off and fired, the concussion sounding terrific in that confined space. ‘Got him! Right in the bean, too, I think,’ he cried exultantly. ‘Gee! That was a near thing. He was crawling along in the shadows, and I didn’t see him at first.’
‘Any room for me up there?’ asked Carter.
‘House full notice is up, Tommy. There’s not even standing room. You can relieve me when I’ve no ammunition left. Has that guy down there come to his senses yet?’
‘No; but I’ve trussed him up.’
‘Bully for you. Whoopee! Here are two of ’em!’ Two shots in rapid succession rang out. ‘One’s bit the dust; the other’s hopping back on one leg. By heck! This is the nearest I’ve come to sniping since the War. They’re congregated up there somewhere. Can you hear them singing their national anthem?’
Faintly to Carter’s ears came cries of rage and exacerbation. After that there was a lull, during which Miles kept up a kind of running commentary concerning the shadowy movements he could perceive at the other end of the roof, punctuated by contemptuous references to the anarchists’ lack of courage. Suddenly the wireless started into life. Carter had not put on the earphones, which he had noticed on the table; nevertheless, he could hear the continuous tap, tap of a station somewhere calling in Morse. He now adjusted the instrument on his head; wondered if the repeated signal was intended for that house. There was a pencil among Ilyich’s belongings, and he picked it up. He did not know, of course, whether there was any private symbol of acceptance but, taking a chance, he sought for and found the keyboard, and he tapped out the usual Morse indication that he was listening in. There was a slight pause; then came a rapid series of letters which he wrote down on a small pad he felt before him. It was awkward writing in the dark, and he was afraid he was mixing the letters up rather hopelessly. However, the message was not a long one. Suddenly it ceased. He indicated that he had received it. As he removed the earphones he heard Miles’ interested voice.
‘Who’s on the air, Tommy? Not your sweetie, is it?’
‘Haven’t one,’ returned Carter shortly.
He took Cousins’ torch from his pocket and, shading the light in order to prevent it shining on Miles, strove to read the jumble of letters on the pad. At first he could not make head or tail of them. Then suddenly a word in Russian became plain to him. After that he quickly made out the whole message. It was not in code, as he had expected it to be, but was a very innocent-sounding communication in straightforward Russian without any indication of the name of the sender. He translated it to read:
Excellent suggestion.
Send him to Moscow by air.
For a few moments he stared at it; then a flood of light burst on him. He shouted out in delight.
‘Oscar!’ he cried – it was the first time he had accepted the American’s invitation to call him by his Christian name – ‘I believe Sir Leonard is alive after all. Listen to this!’
He repeated the message. His shout of joy was almost immediately echoed by the American.
‘Gosh!’ he exclaimed. ‘I think you’re right, Tommy. They’ve notified the Moscow lot that they have Sir Leonard here, and suggested sending him along to be dealt with there. Say! I sure feel like a million dollars again now. I can just confine myself to sheer enjoyment up here. Gee! That’s the best news I’ve heard in years. He’s alive, and that’s all that darn well matters. He’ll go to Moscow like hell. Guess they’ve another think coming.’
‘Don’t be too sure!’ returned Carter somewhat dubiously. ‘We may be wrong.’
‘I don’t think so. It fits in too pat. Sorry I’ll have to break off the little chat, Tommy. There’s something doing, and it looks like I’ll be getting busy.’
A minute or two went by in silence; then he fired twice in rapid succession. Almost immediately came the staccato rat-tat-tat of a machine gun. He ducked his head below the opening. It was as well he did so, for Carter heard several dull thuds suggestive of bullets coming through, and hitting the wall high up. A hush followed which seemed somehow very deadly after that clatter. Carter felt that it presaged another perhaps even more murderous outbreak.
‘Gosh!’ exclaimed Miles. ‘They’re mighty well equipped. But that ought to bring the whole of Dornbach buzzing round wanting to be put wise to all this friendly chatter.’
‘They must think they’re fairly safe,’ commented Carter, ‘otherwise they would hardly risk using a machine gun. Dornbach is a good way away, and this estate is large.’
‘Still the sound of a machine gun would carry a considerable distance on a night like this. Perhaps the good people of Dornbach and neighbourhood think it’s a woodpecker on the job.’
Carter laughed at the conceit.
‘I hope Cousins got through safely,’ he observed.
Miles echoed that hope with great fervour.
‘Maybe we helped,’ he added. ‘It is likely all the men have been withdrawn from the grounds to help in getting us. Say, Tommy, I guess I’d like to know where Sir Leonard is.’
‘So should I,’ returned the Englishman ruefully. ‘If we could only find him and get him in here, I shouldn’t have a worry in the world. I wonder—’
‘You wonder what?’ queried Miles suspiciously.
‘I was wondering if I could get out of this room, without being spotted, and go on the prowl. There doesn’t seem to be anyone outside the door as far as I can tell. They’re probably all on the roof.’
At that moment came another terrific outburst of machine-gun fire. Miles slid to the bottom of the ladder.
‘I guess I’ll be more comfortable down here while that goes on,’ he remarked. ‘I don’t kinder fancy being hit by a ricochet.’
The fusillade stopped. Miles promptly and quickly returned to his post. Almost at once he was firing regularly and methodically. The anarchists were making a determined attack. At his shout Carter squeezed up beside him. Quite a number of forms were silhouetted in the moonlight, some having approached very close. The Englishman, armed with the automatic, fired rapidly into them. Two or three fell; the rest hesitated; then broke, and dashed back into safety.
‘That was warm while it lasted,’ murmured Miles. ‘They expected that we’d have been driven below by the machine-gun fire and that they would have been able to rush us before we got into position again, but they weren’t quick enough.’
‘You mean you were too quick for them.’
‘Well, I guess it’s all the same thing. Matters are getting serious though, Tommy. I’ve used nearly all my ammunition. How many rounds have you?’
‘Twelve for the rifle – nothing extra for the automatic; there are about four rounds left in it now. Ilyich’s revolver is fully loaded.’
‘H’m! We can’t hold out for ever on that.’
‘All the more reason why I should go on the prowl. I might not only find Sir Leonard, but obtain an additional supply of ammunition as well.’
‘You might also, and probably would, lose your life,’ returned Miles dryly.
‘I suppose there would be no chance of that if you went?’ observed Carter sarcastically.
The American chuckled.
‘OK,’ he agreed. ‘Go to it! But for the love of Mike don’t take unnecessary risks. I kinder like you, Tommy, and I should hate like hell to be present at your funeral later on. Hand me that other rifle and the doings.’
Carter did as he was directed, giving him also the automatic.
‘I’ll retain the revolver,’ he decided. ‘What are they up to now? Can you see anything?’
‘Nope. They seem to have gone to earth like a lot of bunnies. You’d better wait until they get busy again before you start exploring; they may be back in the corridor.’
A long period laden with anxiety went by, and the anarchists showed no signs of resuming hostilities.
Carter relieved Miles on the ladder after some time.
‘By Jove!’ he exclaimed in tones of admiration. ‘You’ve certainly done some execution, my bloodthirsty comrade. Ten dead – at least I presume they’ve departed this life; they look extremely dead to me and, in addition, I suppose we can calculate that half a dozen have been wounded.’
‘Did you say ten?’ demanded Miles.
‘Yes. I’ve just counted them.’
‘Gosh! Let me have a peep!’ He squeezed himself alongside Carter and glanced along the roof. ‘Tommy,’ he declared after a couple of seconds’ silence, ‘those aren’t all casualties. I only counted six bodies. The other four are playing possum for some reason or other. Watch carefully! They’re probably crawling towards us.’
They stood straining their eyes, but it was some time before they were able to distinguish between the dead bodies and the live men, so gradually did the latter move.
‘It’s a cute idea,’ commented Carter when they had satisfied themselves. ‘There are so many shadows, and it’s so difficult to see with any degree of accuracy that we might have been deceived.’
‘We should have been if you hadn’t counted them. I’d already done my counting and wouldn’t have noticed that the bag had been added to. I reckon it’s time we notified them that we’re wise to their little scheme. You take that one on the right, Tommy; I’ll get the guy near the edge.’
They looked along the sights of their rifles.
‘Ugh!’ shuddered Carter. ‘It’s like deliberate murder, shooting a crawling man who’s presenting his cranium as a target. Even a child couldn’t miss.’
‘It isn’t nice!’ agreed Miles. ‘Still I guess, if we come all over kind-hearted and let them approach they’ll kill us, and I’d sure hate to be dead.’
He fired as he finished speaking, Carter pulling his trigger immediately afterwards. They knew they had not, could not have missed, but there was nothing to indicate that they had done other than shoot two bodies already dead. Carter thought he noticed his man twitch, but could not be certain. The other two had not risen to their feet in terror or dismay at the fate of their companions and made a dash for safety. Probably they were hoping they had not been seen and were lying still.
‘Oh! Lord!’ grunted Carter. ‘Shall we have to shoot them too? I thought that, as soon as their comrades had been spotted and killed, they would have sought safety.’
‘Queer that you and I should feel like this about croaking these guys,’ commented Miles. ‘When you come to think that they are assassins bent on—Look out!’ he shouted.
At the same time he pushed Carter so sharply that he fell down the ladder, landing rather forcibly on the floor at the bottom. Miles followed as there came a terrific concussion that literally shook the place. Directly afterwards there was another not quite so violent, but equally awesome. The American rose to his feet as soon as the effects of the second had worn off and darted back up the steps. The shock had shaken the trapdoor into place, but he forced it up and looked out. He saw the two men running towards the other end of the roof, but did not fire. It occurred to him that perhaps it would be as well to let the enemy think they had killed him and Carter for the present. A few yards in front of him was a gaping hole in the roof, another a little farther away. Debris and dust in a fine shower were still falling. The ladder shook and he felt Carter climbing to his side.
‘What on earth happened?’ demanded the latter.
‘Bombs!’ was the terse rejoinder. ‘I saw one of the guys swinging his arm. Sorry I had to be so rough.’
Carter whistled softly. He surveyed the two cavities and whistled again.
‘They seem determined to get us, even if they wreck the house,’ he observed. ‘I wonder why.’
‘I guess they think we’re highly dangerous customers to be at large.’
‘Even so, why go to all this trouble? If they guarded the roof and the door they would know we couldn’t get away. Throwing bombs seems to me to be a trifle unnecessary.’
‘It’s a darn good job those two hadn’t the courage to stand up and throw their toys. Lying down cramped their style I guess, which was lucky for us. If one of those cute little balls had come down here, we’d be looking a bit of a mess now.’
‘I wonder if they’ve forgotten Ilyich is here.’
‘Maybe, or perhaps they reckon he’s dead. They’ll be right along presently to find out if we’re in the same condition.’
His surmise proved correct. A few minutes passed by; then they made out the forms of three men approaching cautiously along the roof.
‘There seem to be a lot of men,’ mused Carter. ‘Far more than I thought. What are we to do with these three? Shoot them?’
‘I guess we’ll let them get close; then hold them up. Maybe we’ll be able to make terms with them for the return of Sir Leonard in exchange for Ilyich.’
‘I can’t see them agreeing to that.’
‘Why not? They’ll still think they have us in their power.’
‘Supposing they have bombs!’
‘That will be a darn shame – for them,’ declared Miles grimly. ‘Which reminds me: those two guys lying along there with bullets in their beans probably have bombs in their pockets. I sure would like to get hold of them. We might give our friends a little of their own medicine then.’
They watched the cautious approach of the three with a certain amount of amusement. They were taking advantage of every vestige of cover, lingering sometimes behind chimney pots as though most reluctant to advance. When they reached the last between themselves and the trapdoor, they paused for a very long time. The American was about to comment sarcastically upon their tardiness when suddenly a blinding light was focused full on him and his companion. They ducked quickly, but felt they had been seen, especially when they heard angry voices, though the sight of the devastation caused by the misdirected bombs may have been the cause of the outcry. However, Miles decided to parley. Taking care to keep his head below the level of the roof, he called out in German.
‘Your comrade Ilyich is here alive and well,’ he announced. ‘He does not like the position at all, and wants to know why the heck you are playing the fool with bombs, or words to that effect.’
Apparently the others were surprised at the news that Ilyich was alive. Excited and dismayed conversation could be heard; then a voice responded to Miles.
‘You should give yourselves up at once to prevent further bloodshed,’ it declared in English. Considering that all the blood that had been shed was that of anarchists, the demand struck Carter and Miles as amusing. They laughed aloud.
‘Who is that speaking?’ asked the American.
‘What matters who is speaking?’ came the reply.
‘I guess I want to know if you are anyone in authority.’
‘Ah! It is terms you wish to make. Then I will tell you. I am Vladimir Dimitrinhov.’
Miles clicked his tongue.
‘Now isn’t that just too bad? I thought I shot you in the corridor. It isn’t often I miss. You’re a lucky man, Dimitrinhov.’ It seemed to him that words of a distinctly profane nature rose from behind the chimney pot at that. ‘Where is Comrade Ulyanov?’ he asked.
‘What business is that of yours?’
‘I wish to speak to him.’
‘I will do all the speaking that is necessary. What is it you wish to say?’
‘You can have Ilyich back on condition that you hand over Sir Leonard Wallace to us.’ Surprised exclamations rent the air. That somewhat puzzled Miles. He would have understood laughter and scorn, but surprise rather suggested that the Russians had no more idea where Sir Leonard Wallace was than he had himself. ‘That sounds mighty strange,’ he confided to Carter. ‘Anyone would think that they believed Sir Leonard was with us. There’s no mistaking the fact that they are wonderstruck at my request.’
‘They’re astonished at your nerve in offering to exchange Ilyich for Sir Leonard, I suppose.’
‘It isn’t that sort of astonishment, Tommy. Now where can Sir Leonard be?’
They heard Dimitrinhov’s voice again.
‘If you will let Comrade Ilyich come out, we will consider about your request for Sir Wallace.’
‘Oh, yeah!’ cried Miles with a depth of sarcasm that caused Carter to chuckle. ‘Nothing doing, Vladimir Dimitrinhov. You will have Ilyich with you safe and sound only when Sir Leonard Wallace is with us safe and sound. And, see here! If you keep on throwing bombs about in the inconsequent way your men just illustrated, Ilyich will get it in the neck. Put that under your hat and keep it there. Now switch off that darn light and beat it. I’ll count ten; then my friend and I will start shooting.’
‘It will be better for you if you deliver up Comrade Ilyich, and yourselves come out.’
‘One – two—’ commenced Miles in a loud voice.
The lights went out. The two cautiously raised their heads, and saw the three men hurrying away from them. Miles grunted something about ‘darn cowards’ to himself. They were left in peace for some time after that; the fact that Ilyich was being held more or less as a hostage was apparently a problem which took a considerable amount of solving. When they had thought him dead, it had not mattered what they did. ‘Once a body is dead,’ as Miles put it, ‘it cannot get any deader.’ But now they had reason to believe that their colleague was alive, it behoved them to behave a little more circumspectly unless they cared to risk the chance of his being killed after all. There is no doubt they were distinctly surprised to hear that he was actually still in the land of the living. Being anarchists, with the mentalities of anarchists, they could think of no reason why their antagonists should burden themselves with a prisoner except as a hostage. That to their minds was a poor reason, because, rather than that Carter and Miles should escape, they would sacrifice their comrade Ilyich. Comrades often must be sacrificed for the good of the cause. Ilyich knew that, which is probably why he gave vent to groans every few minutes.
But if Dimitrinhov and his companions were puzzled, so also were Carter and Miles, but for a different reason. Miles particularly was convinced that the whereabouts of Sir Leonard Wallace was unknown to the anarchists. That being the case, the Chief of the British Secret Service must have escaped. The thought gave the two a tremendous amount of pleasure. They felt that it did not matter what risks they themselves ran so long as Sir Leonard was free from danger.
‘But if he has escaped,’ persisted Carter, who was not quite so convinced as the American, ‘how is it they have not dispersed? They would realise that the first thing he would do would be to go to the Minister of the Interior.’
‘For some reason they thought he was with us,’ was the reply, ‘but now they know he isn’t, you can bet your last dollar they’ll beat it. Anyhow, I guess there’s no point in your going out to look for him now. It’s twenty past ten. It begins to look as though we’ll survive till Jerry and company arrive.’
Miles was wrong, as was very quickly proved, in his conjecture that the anarchists would vanish. Suddenly a determined attack was made on the door. From the clamour that deafened the ears of the defenders they judged that hatchets, hammers and other powerful instruments were being used.
‘I don’t think they’ll succeed in breaking in,’ shouted Miles encouragingly. ‘Their idea of having it steel-lined will be their undoing.’
‘They’re attacking the part where the lock and bolts are,’ yelled Carter. ‘They might force them.’
The American shook his head, quite forgetful that his companion would not be able to see him in the dark. He stiffened somewhat convulsively a moment later, however, when Carter suggested that they might bomb the door.
‘By heck!’ he exclaimed. ‘You and I had better not stop for that performance, Tommy. I sure have no wish to be top of the bill in a bombing act. Directly they drop the racket they’re making now, we’d better beat it out on to the roof and trust to luck.’
‘What about Ilyich?’
‘Guess he can stay where he is. If they’ve no consideration for him, why should we?’
Carter, however, stepped from the ladder and, searching for the Russian’s feet, unstrapped them. The fellow was trembling violently; seemed to be in a regular paroxysm of terror. The Englishman helped him to his feet, and stood by gripping him by the arm. The din went on for some considerable time until both Carter’s and Miles’ heads were throbbing painfully with the sound. The door shook violently; the wireless instruments rattled continuously with the vibration. At last the clatter ceased; was succeeded by a deadly silence.
‘Come on!’ cried Miles. ‘I have a feeling we’ll be a darn sight safer on the roof.’ He pushed back the trapdoor. ‘Make a beeline for the nearest chimney stack.’
‘Go on! I’m coming with Ilyich,’ returned Carter. ‘If you do not want to be blown direct to hell,’ he added tensely to the Russian in his own language, ‘get out on to the roof. If you try to escape, I’ll shoot you down.’
The fellow was eager enough to go. Carter pushed him up, for he had not unbound his arms. Miles had already gone. Ilyich was stepping out on to the roof when suddenly came the terrible rat-tat-tat of the machine gun. Carter, who was directly behind the Russian, heard a choking cry, saw him stagger, sway drunkenly for a moment, and topple over. All round him seemed to be a swarm of angry bees; he felt the air disturbed on both sides as bullets sped past his head; then he threw himself flat on his face, wriggling desperately towards cover. Something seemed to tear with red-hot fingers at his shoulder, a similar feeling came in his leg, as frantically he swung sideways in an effort to get out of the line of fire. Then came a tremendous crash, an extraordinary upheaval seemed to be taking place, the whole world was, he felt, collapsing round him. At first he seemed to be soaring upward; then falling down into a bottomless pit. His last conscious recollection was of a pair of hands gripping him until he wondered why he did not cry out with the pain. After that the universe went utterly, devastatingly, horribly black.
White and shaken, Miles sat behind the chimney stack, holding on to the unconscious form of Carter. He had reached safety before the machine gun had commenced to rattle out its deadly hail of bullets. He had seen Ilyich collapse; observed Carter dive to the roof and start desperately to wriggle towards him. Without hesitation he had commenced to crawl out to the help of the Englishman. Then had come the explosion. Carter had been literally tossed into the air; was being hurled past him. Somehow the American had caught hold of him; had clung on desperately and had saved him from being flung over the parapet. He could never remember afterwards how he had done it.
Dazed and quivering in every limb, he yet recollected that the anarchists would be coming to administer the coup de grâce. The cloud of debris had settled; he heard triumphant shouts, the patter of feet. Grimly he clutched one of the rifles he had brought with him in his shaking hands. Rolling Carter gently aside, he raised himself to his knees, lifted his weapon, and glanced round the brickwork. Yes; they were coming, several of them. He could not last long, of course, but he intended accounting for a few more before going under. He sighted the rifle and as he fired, whispered the name – ‘Joan!’ A grunt of satisfaction issued from his lips as he observed his object stagger and fall. The others stopped dead, as though taken completely by surprise. Then rose a cry of consternation, of utter dismay; abruptly they turned and fled, as though Satan himself were after them.
‘What the—?’ began Miles, but he, too, now saw the reason for the stampede. From his position he had a view of the grounds in the front of the house. The whole place was lit up, for coming up the avenue was car after car, from which men were jumping almost before they stopped. ‘Good old Jerry!’ chuckled Miles weakly. ‘Bully for you, boy!’
He sank back against the chimney stack. Oscar J. Miles had fainted.