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Jeanne Of The Marshes, a novel by E. Phillips Oppenheim |
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Book 1 - Chapter 8 |
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_ BOOK I CHAPTER VIII "Not another step!" the Princess declared. "I am going back at once." "I too," Forrest declared. "Your smuggling ancestors, my dear De la Borne, must indeed have loved adventure, if they spent much of their time crawling about here like rats." "As you will," Cecil answered. "The expedition is Miss Jeanne's, not mine." "And I am going on," Jeanne declared. "I want to see where we come out on the beach." "This way, then," Cecil said. "You need not be afraid to walk upright. The roof is six feet high all the way. You must tread carefully, though. There are plenty of holes and stones about." The Princess and Forrest disappeared. Jeanne, with her skirts held high in one hand, and an electric torch in the other, followed Cecil slowly along the gloomy way. The walls were oozing with damp, glistening patches, like illuminated salt stains, and queer fungi started out from unexpected places. Sometimes their footsteps fell on the rock, awaking strange echoes down the gallery. Sometimes they sank deep into the sand. Cecil looked often behind, and once held out his hand to help his companion over a difficult place. At last he paused, and she heard him struggling to turn a key in a great worm-eaten door on their right. "This is the room," he explained, "where they held their meetings, and where the stuff was hidden. It was used for more than twenty years, and the Customs' people never seemed to have had even an inkling of its existence." He pushed the door open with difficulty. They found themselves in a gloomy chamber, with vaulted roof and stone floor. A faint streak of daylight from an opening somewhere in the roof, partially lit the place. Here, too, the walls were damp and the odour appalling. There were some fragments of broken barrels at one end, and an oak table in the middle of the floor. Jeanne looked round and shivered. "Let us go on to the end," she said. Cecil nodded, and they made their way on down the passage. "The roof is getting lower now," he said. "You had better stoop a little." She stopped short. "What is that?" she asked fearfully. A sound like rolling thunder, faint at first, but growing more distinct at every step, broke the chill silence of the place. "The sea," Cecil answered. "We are getting near to the beach." Jeanne nodded and crept on. Louder and louder the sound seemed to become, until at last she paused, half terrified. "Where are we?" she gasped. "It sounds as though the sea were right over our heads." Cecil shook his head. "It is an illusion," he said. "The sound comes from the air-hole there. We are forty yards from the cliff still." They crept on, until at last, after a turn in the gallery, they saw a faint glimmering of light. A few more yards and they came to a standstill. "The entrance is boarded up, you see," Cecil said, "but you can see through the chinks. There is the sea just below, and the rope ladder used to hang from these staples." She looked out. Sheer below was the sea, breaking upon the rocks and sending a torrent of spray into the air with every wave. "We can't get out this way, then?" she asked. He shook his head. "No, we should want a rope ladder," he said, "and a boat. Have you seen enough?" "More than enough," Jeanne answered. "Let us get back." * * * Jeanne sank into a garden seat a few minutes later with a little exclamation of relief. "Never," she declared, "have I appreciated fresh air so much. I think, Mr. De la Borne, that smuggling, though it was a very romantic profession, must have had its unpleasant side." Cecil nodded. "There were more air-holes in those days," he said, "but our ancestors were a tougher race than we. Coarse brutes, most of them, I imagine," he added, lighting a cigarette. "Drank beer for breakfast, and smoked clay pipes before meals. Fancy if one had their constitutions and our tastes!" "The two would scarcely go together," Jeanne remarked. "But after all I should think that absinthe and cigarettes are more destructive. I am dying for some tea. Let us go in and find the others." Tea was set out in the hall, but only Engleton was there. Forrest and the Princess were walking slowly up and down the avenue. "I imagine," the latter was saying drily, "that we are fairly free from eavesdroppers here. Now tell me what it is that you have to say, Nigel." "I am bothered about Engleton," Forrest said. "I didn't like his insisting upon cutting last night. What do you think he meant by it?" The Princess shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing at all," she answered. "He may have thought that we were lucky together, and of course he knows that you are the best player. There is no reason why he should be willing to play with Cecil de la Borne, when by cutting with you he would be more likely to win." "You think that that is all?" Forrest asked. "I think so," the Princess answered. "What had you in your mind?" "I wondered," Forrest said thoughtfully, "whether he had heard any of the gossip at the club." The Princess frowned impatiently. "For Heaven's sake, don't be imaginative, Nigel!" she declared. "If you give way like this you will lose your nerve in no time." "Very well," Forrest said. "Let us take it for granted, then, that he did it only because he preferred to play with me to playing against me. What is to become of our little scheme if we cut as we did last night all the time?" The Princess smiled. "You ought to be able to manage that," she said carelessly. "You are so good at card tricks that you should be able to get an ace when you want it. I always cut third from the end, as you know." "That's all very well," Forrest answered, "but we can't go on cutting two aces all the time. I ran it pretty fine last night, when for the second time I gave you a three or a four, and drew a two myself. But he seems to have the devil's own luck. They cut under us, as you know." The Princess looked up toward the house. She had seen Jeanne and Cecil appear. "Those people are back from their underground pilgrimage," she remarked. "Have you anything definite to suggest? If not, we had better go in." "There is only one way, Ena," Forrest said, "in which we could improve matters." "And what is that?" she asked quickly. "Don't you think we could get our host in?" The Princess was silent for several moments. "It is a little dangerous, I am afraid," she said. "I don't see why," Forrest answered. "If he were once in he'd have to hold his tongue, and you can do just what you like with him. He seems to me to be just one of those pulpy sort of persons whom you could persuade into a thing before he had had time to think about it." "I will drop him a hint if you like," the Princess said thoughtfully, "and see how he takes it. Are you sure that the game is worth the candle?" "Absolutely," Forrest answered eagerly. "I saw Engleton drop two thousand playing baccarat one night, and he never turned a hair. I wasn't playing, worse luck." "If I can get Cecil alone before dinner," the Princess said, "I will sound him. I think we had better go back now. We are a little old for romantic wanderings, and the wind is beginning to disarrange my hair." "See what you can do with him, then," Forrest said, as they retraced their steps. "I'll call in and hear if you've anything to tell me on my way down for dinner." The Princess nodded. They entered the hall, and Cecil at once drew an easy-chair to the tea-table. "My good people," the Princess declared, "I am famished. Your sea air, Cecil, is the most wonderful thing in the world. For years I have not known what it was like to be hungry. Hot cakes, please! And, Jeanne, please make my tea. Jeanne knows just how I like it. Tell us about the smuggler's cave, Jeanne. Was it really so wonderful?" Jeanne laughed. "It was very, very weird and very smelly," she said. "I think that you were wise to turn back." _ |
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