Then they got back to the library, after a thorough examination of the secret cellar, it was nearly one o'clock, and Celia had received several callers. Even Mrs. Pennythorne had bicycled over to inquire after the missing couple, and Mrs. Roote, and Mr. Titmarsh had also come to offer their sympathy.
Since Charles had seen the underground passage and the rooms that led out of it he and Peter had had a quiet consultation. As a result of this Peter took Michael Draycott aside just before they all went in to lunch, and tackled him frankly.
"Look here, Draycott," he said, "I'm going to ask you a plain question, and I want you to answer quite honestly: isn't Margaret's and my escape from that cell going to make your job to-night rather ticklish?"
Michael hesitated. "Well, of course, it does complicate things, I admit," he said. "Still, it can't be helped."
"It might be helped," Peter said. "If we went back."
"No, that wouldn't do at all, sporting of you though it is to suggest it. I couldn't allow it."
"Don't you run a risk of failing to bring off your coup if we're discovered to have escaped?"
"I'm hoping for the best," Michael answered lightly. "If it were only you I'd ask you to go back, but to let Miss Fortescue go down again is out of the question."
"Go down where?" Margaret had come up to them, and caught the last words.
Michael turned to her with the special smile he seemed to keep for her. "Nowhere," he said.
She laughed. "What a snub! But do tell me what's out of the question?"
It was Peter who answered. "Margaret, it has occurred to me, and to Chas as well, that us not being in that cell to-night may ruin Draycott's plans. He won't say so, but…'
"You're exaggerating," Michael said. "And in any case what you suggest can't be considered for a moment."
"Inspector Tomlinson doesn't agree with you. He thinks it can." Peter looked down at his sister. "What we've been thinking is this, Margaret: if Wilkes and those others happened to go down to-night before the Monk and found us gone, they'd give the alarm. If the Monk goes first, which is even more likely, Draycott will have to close in on him, and let the rest of the crowd go hang. Do you see?"
Margaret looked from him to Michael. "I hadn't thought of that. You think we ought to go back?"
"No, I don't," Michael said.
"I leave it to you, Sis," Peter told her. "I know it won't be nice for you, but do you think you could screw up your courage enough to do it?"
She seemed to consider. "Could you get hold of an automatic for me, Michael? I could hide it in my dress. If I had a gun I'd do it."
Peter nodded. "She's a pretty good shot, Draycott. You can trust her with a gun."
"I can't manage the double pull of a service revolver, or I'd borrow Charles'," Margaret said.
The inspector, who had come up, and had been listening, said: "If you'll consent to be shut up down there again, miss - and if you do I'd like to say that there's very few ladies who've got your pluck - you'll both be fitted with a couple of Colts. Not that I think you'll have any need to use them. All we want you to do is to sit in that cell, as if you'd been there all day, and keep there till Mr. Draycott gives the word for you to come out. We'll draw the bolts back as we come down the passage, but don't come out, either of you. There may be a bit of shooting, you see. While you're behind that stone wall you're safe enough, but we don't want you mixed up with the scuffle there's bound to be outside."
Margaret smiled at Michael, who was frowning. "At that rate I don't see that we shall be in any danger at all. It'll just be rather boring, having to wait. I'm game."
The inspector turned to Michael. "You're in charge, Draycott, I know, and it's for you to give the orders, but if you'll allow me to make the suggestion, the lady won't come to any harm, and it's taking a big chance if she stays up here."
"I know," Michael said. He hesitated. Then he laughed ruefully: "Oh, Margaret, you are a nuisance!"
"No, I'm not. Peter's quite capable of looking after me - and after all, the last thing the Monk would do would be to waste time in shooting us for no reason at all. Consider it settled. When ought we to go down again?"
"Good girl!" Peter said, and went off to tell Charles.
The inspector saw Michael take Margaret's hand, and opened his eyes very wide indeed. He murmured something about going to speak to the sergeant, and withdrew.
"Margaret - I can't tell you what I think of your pluck, and your sportsmanship," Michael said.
She blushed charmingly. "If you're going down there - do you think I wouldn't want to - to be there too?" she asked.
For a moment he looked at her; then, without quite knowing how she got there, she found herself in his arms.
There was a loud cough in the doorway. "Don't mind me," Charles said. "Of course if I were tactful I should silently away. But I want my lunch, and Celia won't start till you come."
Both scarlet in the face, they fell apart. "Oh oh is it ready?" Margaret asked. "We're just coming. And — er - Chas!"
"Yes?"
"We - Michael and I - we're going to be married."
"What a surprise!" Charles said. "I ought to have had warning of this." He grasped Michael's hand. "Congratulations! And do you mind coming in to lunch?"
Over lunch they discussed their plans, and it was decided that Peter and Margaret should descend into their prison again not later than eight o'clock, to be on the safe side. Michael, Tomlinson, Charles, and three of the Flying Squad from Norchester would take up their positions in the house. It would be Charles' duty, aided by the ubiquitous Flinders, to stand by the panel in the library, in case the Monk managed to reach it. Sergeant Matthews had already blocked up the entrance into Mrs. Bosanquet's room, since they were too short of men to spare a couple to stand guard there. The sergeant and one other man were to lie in wait in the chapel, concealed amongst the ruins, and when they saw the Monk go down through the tomb they were to signal with a torch to the house, where a man would be on the look-out from one of the upper windows. Their task was then to stand by the tomb, and hold the stone slab down in case the Monk doubled back to make an escape that way. There was no hiding place in the crypt, and Michael had judged that it would be safer not to attempt to post any men inside the secret entrance. At the Inn, Fripp was to keep a lookout, and as soon as he had seen Wilkes and the two other men descend into the cellars he was to signal from his window to the police lying in wait outside. One of them would speed off at once to the Priory on his motorbicycle to tell Michael that all was well; the other three would enter the Inn, arrest Spindle before he could give the alarm, and bottle up the second entrance.
"Do you still suspect anyone in particular?" Margaret asked Michael when he returned to the Priory shortly after six.
"I'm sure of it," he answered. "I found out one thing that settles it - or so I think."
"I do think you're a tantalising person!" complained Celia.
"I don't like him," Charles announced. "Don't marry him, Margaret. We can't have a policeman in the family. What about our wireless licence? He's bound to find out that it's expired."
They dined early, and as soon as the meal was over Margaret went up to change into the frock she had worn on the previous evening. With a praiseworthy attention to detail she made her hair look tousled, and wiped all the powder off her face. As Charles remarked, in a newly engaged girl this deed almost amounted to heroism.
At eight o'clock they opened the panel and went down those cold, damp stairs, Michael leading the way. It was nervous work, for the Monk might already have entered, unlikely though this was. However, Margaret felt the butt of the Colt she carried in the pocket of Peter's coat, which she had put on, and took heart. If there was going to be any shooting, she thought, someone would get a surprise.
They climbed through the moving stone, and made their way cautiously through the two vaults to the passage. The place was eerily silent, and it was evident that no one had yet come down into it. The light was still on in their cell, and they entered. Then Michael shut them in, and bolted the door, and returned to the library.
"Ugh!" said Margaret cheerfully. "Well, who says the age of adventure is dead? I hope we don't have to wait long."
"Careful!" Peter said. "The Monk moves pretty softly, and we don't want to be overheard. We'd better talk of something else."
This they did while the slow hours dragged past. In spite of the gun in her pocket the long wait began to get on Margaret's nerves, and by eleven o'clock she had no need to assume an expression of anxiety. Her eyes had begun to look a little strained, and she was very pale.
Then they heard that padding footstep, and Margaret instinctively grasped Peter's arm. It came nearer, and then stopped. The shutter slid back, and once more they saw the cowled face at the grille. For perhaps fifteen tense seconds the eyes they could see through the slits observed them. Then, just as Peter had thumbed down the safety catch of the pistol behind him, the shutter closed again, and the footsteps passed on.
Margaret was shaking. "I don't think I can bear it for much longer," she whispered.
They heard the grate of a key, and knew that the Monk had unlocked the door into the printing-room. There was a long, long pause. Once they thought they heard the soft footfall again, but they could not be certain.
Another hour crept by. Margaret felt cold, and rather sick. "It's - it's like waiting at the dentist's when you're going to have a tooth out," she whispered, trying to smile.
Even as she said it they heard footsteps approaching, and the murmur of voices.
"The rest of the gang," Peter said. "Feeling all right, Sis?"
She grimaced, but nodded.
The voices drew closer: they heard the same man who had brought the water on the night previous, say: "Well, this is my last night, and I don't care who hears me say it. Things are getting a sight too hot for me."
Someone, probably Wilkes, Peter guessed, said something in a low voice. "Let 'em hear!" the other replied. "They won't hear much after to-night." Then the voices ceased, and in a few minutes the roar of the engine started.
It seemed to the two who waited in their cell that hours passed. Margaret looked at Peter with a scared question in her eyes. He put his lips to her ear. "Don't forget they had to wait for the signal. "Tisn't as long as we think, Sis. Don't fuss!"
They relapsed into listening silence again. "Difficult to hear above the row of the engine," Peter said.
But he too was beginning to wonder whether any hitch had occurred. Then the shutter slid back, and they saw Michael's face for a moment. Peter went to the door, and Michael whispered: "I'm going to draw back the bolts, but whatever you do, don't come out till you're given the word." He disappeared as he spoke; they heard the bolts drawn cautiously back, and then Peter beckoned Margaret to come and stand out of range of the grille.
Outside in the passage, the four other men had halted behind Michael. A stream of light came from the room beyond Peter and Margaret's cell, and they knew that the men were working with the door open, probably for the sake of air.
Michael gave the signal, and they crept forward.
Michael and Tomlinson reached the door together. "Hands up!" Michael said. "The first man who moves I shoot!"
Even as the words left his mouth there was a report, and the light went out; someone had fired at the electric bulb, and the place was plunged into sudden darkness.
But in that brief moment Michael had had time to see the whole room in one lightning glance. Wilkes was there, working the central machine; the two other men were there, but there was no sign of the Monk.
In a moment there was turmoil. A gun cracked, and the inspector's revolver answered it. Someone's torch lit up a corner of the room for a brief instant, then there was a scuffle in the doorway, another shot, and a wild struggle in the passage. Above the noise of the engine and the fight, Michael shouted: "He's not here! Collar those men!" He felt a shot whistle past his head, ducked, and ran back down the passage, a gun in one hand, his torch in the other.
Behind him the noise grew fainter and fainter; he could safely leave Inspector Tomlinson to deal with the three others but something far more important remained to be done. The Monk had not been in the printingroom. Michael had a sickening fear that there was some other entrance he had failed to discover, but the first thing to do was to race for the crypt, in case the Monk had gone that way. As he ran he cursed himself for not having taken the precaution to go up the stairs past the library before he led the police down. The Monk must have been on the stairs when they came through the panel; he might have been listening to what had been said in the library, waited for them to get through the moving stone, and then gone on down to the crypt. Well, he couldn't get out through the tomb, in any case, Michael reflected.
He reached the stone, and set his shoulders to it. It was dangerous work, for the Monk might even then be lying in wait to shoot down his pursuers. He stayed for a moment, with a leg over the barrier, and his torch lighting up the stairs. He could see nothing, but below him he thought he heard a rustle. He sprang through and went on down. There was no sign of life in the low passage that led at the foot of the stairs to the crypt, and no glimmer of light shone in the crypt itself. He reached it, and his torch flashed round, searching every corner.
The crypt was empty. He sprang for the iron ladder, scrambled up, and shouted: "All right there? No one tried to get out?"
The men outside answered: "All right here, sir."
He climbed down again. There must be another way out, and like a blundering fool he had allowed the Monk to escape.
He heard Sergeant Matthews' voice echoing down the passage: "Where are you, sir? Mr. Draycott! Where are you?"
"Here!" Michael called, and in a few minutes the sergeant came hurrying into the crypt.
"Has he got away, sir? We got the others. The inspector's gorn up to be sure he hasn't forced that panel at the top of the stairs. Lord, this is bad luck, ain't it, sir?"
Michael was searching the crypt for any sign of an entrance. Suddenly he stopped, his torch-light turned full on to one of the coffins. It was the coffin they had looked into that morning. Then the lid had lain beside it. But now the lid covered it.
The light swept on. Michael said: "He's not here. We'd better get back to the library. Just a moment though: I'll make sure there's nothing behind these stairs."
To the sergeant's astonishment instead of going to the block staircase he pulled a note-book and a pencil from his pocket, scrawled rapidly, and then said: "Come over here and look, sergeant."
The sergeant opened his mouth, saw Michael scowl at him, and shut it again. He went to him, and Michael thrust the open book into his hands. Just sound this wall," he said, proceeding to do so.
The sergeant's puzzled eyes read: "He's in the coffin. If we lift the lid one of us'll get shot. Pretend to go away; take shoes off in passage, creep back, crouch down at head and foot of coffin, and wait for lid to lift. Then collar him as he gets out."
"No, there's nothing here," Michael said loudly. "He's gone the other way. No use keeping those two up there by the tomb. I'll send them off to search the grounds."
The sergeant's wits worked slowly but surely. "Right, sir: I'll give the word to them." He stepped under the hollow tomb, and setting his hands to his mouth shouted: "He's got away. Search the grounds!"
"Come on then!" Michael said. "We've no time to lose."
Together they went back into the passage, and along it for some yards. At a sign from Michael the sergeant stopped and began to take off his boots. In another moment they stood up in their stockinged feet, and began to creep back to the crypt.
Michael had to take the risk of a light being seen inside the coffin; he turned his torch on for just long enough to locate the coffin. Then the light disappeared again, and in the dense darkness they went up to the coffin, and crouched down at each end.
Not a sound broke the stillness. Michael set his teeth, and tried to think what he would do if no one were in this coffin.
A creak almost made him start. The coffin lid was lifting. He stayed, ready to spring. The sound of a scrape and a thud told him that the lid had been lowered to the floor of the crypt. He heard a noise as of a body moving in the coffin; he rose stealthily. He was so near the coffin that he felt some rough material brush his cheek as he got up. It gave him the position of the Monk, and he made his spring. "Light, sergeant!" he shouted.
A pistol shot sounded; Michael had his arms clamped round a struggling form. The sergeant's torch flashed on, and the sergeant came dashing to help.
"The gun! The gun!" Michael cried. The sergeant seized the Monk's pistol arm, and wrenched it round. The gun fell clattering to the ground and the sergeant quickly picked it up.
To and fro the struggling men swayed, and before the sergeant had time to reach them they were down on the floor, Michael uppermost.
The sergeant called: "All right, sir!" and launched his bulk into the fray.
"Got him!" Michael panted, and there was a click as the handcuffs snapped together. "Take him, sergeant, and be careful; he's damned strong."
The sergeant had blown long and loud on his whistle, and they could hear men hurrying down the passage. The Monk, once the handcuffs were on, had ceased to struggle, but stood passive in the sergeant's grip. From first to last he had not uttered a word.
The inspector dashed in, followed by a sturdy constable. "You've got him?" he cried. "Well done, sir! Well done! Hullo, are you hurt?"
"Only a scratch," Michael said. "Flesh wound. Couldn't grab his pistol hand in time. Take him up to the house."
In the library were by this time not only Charles and Flinders, but Celia and Mrs. Bosanquet as well, and the two prisoners from below, who had been escorted up, after the capture of the gang, by a solicitous policeman.
When the Monk came through the open panel Mrs. Bosanquet gave a small shriek of dismay, and not even the sight of the guard about the cowled figure reassured her. She got behind a table, and commanded Charles not to take his gun off the Monk for one moment.
Michael came through the panel. "Now then!" he said. "Let us have a look at you." He went up to the still figure, and pulled the cowl back from the Monk's head.
There was a gasp of utter astonishment from Celia. For the man who stood revealed was none other than Colonel Ackerley.
He made no movement to resist, and the expression on his face as he looked at the assembled company was one of sardonic scorn.
"But - but I don't understand!" Mrs. Bosanquet said in a voice of complete bewilderment. "That's the Colonel!"
Michael had taken the handcuffed wrists and jerked them up to look at the gloves the Colonel wore. As Margaret had described, they were buttoned gloves of some cotton fabric, and one button was missing. "That was a little mistake of yours, Colonel," he said. "I shouldn't have expected you to slip up on a detail like that."
It was plain the Colonel, not in the habit of buttoning his gloves, had not until now noticed the loss of one significant button. His eyes searched Michael's face for a moment, and a shade of uneasiness crept into his own.
None of this was betrayed by his voice, however. "Well, Mr. Strange," he said, quite in his own manner. "I congratulate you. You are cleverer than the others who have tried to find me out." He looked at Charles, and his sneer returned. "Your efforts were not quite so brilliant." His glance went back to Michael; it was as though he felt everyone else in the room to be beneath contempt. "As a matter of interest, how did you guess my identity?"
"When a man of your stamp is seen to be on terms of apparent intimacy with the local publican," Michael answered, "one is apt to draw unwelcome conclusions."
The Colonel raised his brows. "Indeed, Mr. Strange? Or to leap to conclusions, shall we say? If you had no other reason than that for suspecting me you made a lucky guess."
Michael smiled. "Oh, not quite!" he said. "When a man gives out that he is going to play bridge at the County Club in Manfield, and I discover his car to be still in the locked garage, I feel that requires a little explanation. I'm sorry I can't give you a more detailed account of all the things that led me to be sure you were the man I was after, but time is getting on. You will no doubt hear all you want to know at your trial." He made a sign to Inspector Tomlinson, and the two attendant policemen grasped the Colonel's arms again to march him away.
He resisted, but it was only to bow to Gelia. "Au revoir, my dear Mrs. Malcolm," he said. He turned to Margaret, who had been standing like a statue, listening. "As for you, Miss Fortescue, I am sure that you will be relieved to know that in spite of your damnably annoying behaviour, I had very little intention of leaving you to starve as you so palpably feared. And may I give you a word of advice? When next you escape from prison, and return to it with the idea of bluffing your captor, drink some of the water you have been supplied with. Had you thought of that you would have given your clever Mr. Strange less trouble, for I might then have been in the printing-room when he surprised my staff."
She did not answer him; he laughed shortly, and turned to Mrs. Bosanquet. "I was amused at your efforts to conjure up my wraith, madam," he said. "I was behind the panel at the time, and really I was almost tempted to appear. I always hate to disoblige the ladies." He bowed again, and without so much as glancing at the men of the party, went out under escort.
There was a long silence. Then Charles sat down weakly. "Let no one speak to me," he said. "I shall no doubt recover in time."
"But Ackerley!" Peter stammered. "Draycott, how the devil did you arrive at it?"
"Well, you heard some of my reasons," Michael said. "But the first clue I had was Time. You see these forgeries have been going on for five years, and it seemed probable that they were from the beginning carried out from this place. That ruled out Titmarsh: he only came here three years ago. Roote has been here an even shorter time; various other inhabitants round about have been here too long a time. It was only Ackerley who came to live at the White House five years ago, and I thought it significant that his arrival was shortly followed by the arrival not only of Duval, but of Wilkes also to take over the Bell Inn. Now Wilkes paid a very large sum for the Bell: too large a sum for an inn so little frequented. And by lying up in odd corners I found that a pretty close intimacy seemed to exist between the two men. Wilkes was the only one who knew who the Monk was; you might call him the Monk's chief of staff. That set me on to Ackerley, and that's where Fripp came in handy. After the murder of Duval I let Fripp break into the Colonel's house one night when the servants had gone to bed. You know that they slept over the garage. And of course the Colonel was out on his secret business. I told you Fripp was clever with locks. And he's not burdened with any scruples. He found a bottle of chloroform, which is now in my possession…"
"But didn't the Colonel miss it?" Charles demanded.
"No; for the very good reason that Fripp exchanged it for one almost identical. He also found the missing book. I'll let you have that when the trial's over; those two pages cut from the copy at the British Museum are most interesting."
"House-breaking!" Charles said, casting up his eyes. "Our incorruptible police!"
"Oh no!" Michael grinned. Jimmy's not a policeman. He would be insulted to hear you say so."
Peter struck in: "But an officer in the army - I suppose he wasn't, though?"
"On the contrary, he was. But he left the army under rather odd circumstances. It was hushed up, but I discovered on inquiry that his reputation was not exactly savoury. I wondered when he seemed loth to tell me where exactly he had been stationed."
"I can't get over it!" Celia burst out. "That cheery, sporting Colonel! He must be a monster!" She got up. "I'm going to bed. My head's in a positive whirl. And Charles! All these horrible secret passages have got to be blocked up.
"Leave it to Draycott," said Charles. "I'm going away for a rest-cure. And I suppose he's going to be as much an owner as I am. Not that I approve, but there! when are my wishes ever considered?" He rose and prepared to follow his wife out. Over his shoulder he said: "And don't be more than half an hour saying good night, you two."
But they were almost as long as that over it. Safe in Michael's arms Margaret said: "But why did you say I'cl never look at anyone in your "line of business"?"
"Well, I was afraid you wouldn't," he explained. "After all, I'm only what Jimmy calls a "beastly busy." How could I dream you'd ever even think of marrying me?"
She buried her face in his shoulder. "I said I shouldn't care as long as it was honest," she said, muffled.
He laughed softly as he bent to kiss her, "Or a butcher's shop!" he reminded her.