Chapter 3

"A TERRIBLE ADVENTURE."

In the old-fashioned drama of medi�val complexion, the prisoner--usually the hero of the play--was "haled to the deepest dungeon beneath the castle moat." The Anarchists of Soho having no castle and no moat, and having moreover other uses for their cellar, so far improved upon this bygone fashion as to sky their prisoners--when they had any. In the present instance Mallow was perched in an attic on the top of the house. The window was overhead, set in the slant of the roof, and the door was kept double-locked. A safer or more isolated cell could not well have been devised. It was impossible to reach the skylight even by standing on the bed; and it would have been a difficult task to break down that four-inch door. Had the prisoner even succeeded in boring through the walls, he could scarcely hope to escape by dropping fifty feet on to the pavement; and let him shout and kick as he would, no one--other than his gaoler--was likely to hear him.

He was absolutely powerless; and his sole comfort lay in the thought that Aldean was carrying on the campaign. When Jim returned he would find that Mallow was missing, and would undoubtedly guess that he was in the power of the Anarchists. If these latter did not kill him in the meantime--as they might, in self-preservation--Aldean would surely apply to the police and have the Soho house searched. Then freedom, and Nemesis upon his enemies.

This was one hope, but there was yet another. Monsieur Rouge, who had brought Mallow's food to him several times, had on one occasion thrown off his revolutionary mask so far as to promise to aid the prisoner's escape. And, although Mallow did not well see how he was to do this--seeing that Rouge had not divulged his scheme,--there was comfort in the thought that, if Aldean should fail, he might succeed. So he resigned himself to the inevitable, and waited.

Since his imprisonment Drabble had not appeared, nor indeed had Mrs. Arne; but on the sixth day, when Mallow was wondering what they were thinking of doing with him, the lady herself came into his attic. She re-locked the door, sat down on the one chair--which she placed so that she faced Mallow sitting on the bed--and, with the most amiable composure, signified that she wished to converse. The mere sight of her infuriated Mallow, but the memory of his previous folly taught him to control himself. He was as self-possessed as Madame herself.

"You are no doubt surprised to see me, Mr. Mallow," began Mrs. Arne, in her unemotional tones; "but you will be less so when you hear what I have to say."

"Nothing you could do would surprise me, Madame, after your daring to shut me up in this illegal manner."

"Oh"--Madame shrugged--"everything we do in this house is illegal. The Brotherhood is outside the so-called law, and against it. If there is any one to blame, it is yourself. As a spy, you can hardly expect mercy."

"I am not a spy."

"Then your interpretation of the word differs from mine. You came here under the pretence of joining us, from conscientious motives; but your real errand is to criminate myself and the doctor in the murder of this man Carson. Your intentions were dangerous to our personal safety; ergo, we lock you up! Can you blame us?"

"If the tiger has the tiger's nature who can blame him?" retorted Mallow. "You killed Carson; I dare say you will not hesitate to murder me."

"As to yourself," said Madame, smoothly, "we will speak of that later. But you are wrong about Mr. Carson; I did not kill him, neither did Drabble."

"I find it difficult to believe that. You and Drabble--he under the name of Hain--rented the house in which the man met his death. He was stabbed with a knitting-needle. I have observed that you knit a great deal, Madame."

"True; but I confine my needles to their proper use. The doctor and I left Mr. Carson alone in the house; when we returned he was dead. Who murdered him I know no more than you--or the police," finished Madame, with a sneer.

"Your explanation is too diaphanous to be convincing."

"I did not come here to convince you," said Mrs. Arne, dryly, "but to inform you that we intend to give you a chance to save your life."

"Save my life?" echoed Mallow (he could not repress a slight tremor). "Your meaning has been murder, then?"

"We never use that word; but call it so if you will. In three nights from now there is called a meeting of the Brotherhood in the cellar of this house. You will be brought down to take the oath."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then we--remove you," said Madame, in silky tones. "Take the oath and you go free, for you can break it only at the imminent risk of your life. A hundred eyes will be always on you, a hundred feet will dog your steps. One rash word, one hint to the police about our affairs, and you die."

"You dare not kill me."

Madame laughed.

"Put that to the test if you will by refusing the oath," said she, indifferently. "For myself, I think you better dead. It is the doctor's wish that you have this chance."

"I suppose you know the risk you run? My friends will search diligently for me."

"No doubt. But they will not come here. No one saw you enter this house. If your friends are clever enough to trace you to this place they will find nothing. We have chemists who can convert your dead body into nothing more tangible than gas. You will vanish into thin air. We have arranged all that."

"You are a fiend."

"I am Madame Death-in-Life. You know why I am called so? No? Because those in authority live on my sufferance. I have but to lift a finger and they die. Monsieur Rouge, whom you have seen, is something more than a chemist. He invents explosives. He designs bombs."

Mallow thought of the explosion in Paris, when the wife and child of Emile Durand were killed by the lifting of Madame's finger, and he drew comfort from the recollection. A man with such wrongs would surely rescue him, even at the eleventh hour.

The thought gave him courage to listen to the woman.

"Well, whether you kill me or not the fifty thousand pounds are gone," said he, rather spitefully. "All your schemes have come to nothing."

"All our schemes are not ended," said Mrs. Arne, rising. "I see your friend Lord Aldean has not yet got back the money."

"How do you know that?"

"I know that he is in Florence trying to force my nephew into giving back the money which is ours."

"Your nephew! The false Carson!"

"Yes. Carlo Boldini is his real name. He is a fool if he thinks to escape with that money from me. But that reptile, his wife, is to blame for all that."

"How dare you use such language towards Mrs. Carson?" cried Mallow, indignantly.

"I am speaking of Clara Trall, my nephew's real wife. Miss Bellairs is not that."

"What--what do you----"

"I should advise you to take the oath, Mr. Mallow, and you may yet live to marry Miss Bellairs. Otherwise----" She shrugged, and opened the door.

Mallow tried to detain her, but she drew her dress gently from his grasp, and with a sudden dart was outside. Before he could fling himself after her the door was slammed to and locked.

The last communication of Madame was skilfully made. It left Mallow in a storm of mingled joy and grief.

For the next two days he thought and thought over his terrible position, and contrived a hundred ways to escape without having the resolution to attempt one. On the third day, at five o'clock, Rouge brought up his food. Mallow--who had almost given up hope of seeing him again--sprang forward with an exclamation of delight. Rouge laid a lean finger on his lips.

"Hush!" he whispered, glancing at the door, "we may be overheard. To-night you will be brought to the meeting at ten o'clock. Is it not so?"

"Yes, yes!" said Mallow. "Madame told me. But you will help----"

"Hush! No word, Monsieur. To-night at eight I will throw a stone at the window above. It will fall inside here, and a cord will be tied to it. Fasten the cord to your bed, and climb up it. Get through the window, and climb on the cord, round the corner of the roof; then slide down the slope. The cord will lead you to my window. I shall be there."

"Thank you! Thank you! But the noise--the falling stone--is it not dangerous?"

"No! no! We shall all be down in the cellar. The meeting begins at eight o'clock. They expect me to bring you at nine. But then, Monsieur, you will be free. Milord will await you in the street."

"Lord Aldean! Does he know, then?" +++233/247 "He knows all. Hush, Monsieur, be careful to fasten the rope well. If it slips, and you roll off the roof into the street, you are dead."

"I will be careful. How can I thank you----"

"Hush! no word!" Monsieur Rouge again laid his finger on his lips, and slipped silently out of the room.

Mallow was in darkness, for, lest he should fire the house, he was not permitted a light. But he cared little for that. His heart beat high at the prospect of escape, even in so perilous a way. He shook his bed, and found that the feet were clamped to the floor. All the better; it would hold the rope fast. Overhead the skylight was black in the night, and Mallow heard the raindrops rattle like small shot on the pane. Up through that black square was his sole way of escape, with the risk of death if he made a false step. But his courage was high, and his nerve did not fail him.

Never had the hours seemed so long. The chimes of a near church marked them at century distances, as it seemed, to the strained ears of the prisoner. He ate heartily of the food Rouge had brought, but the wine he left untouched. He would need a cool head and a clear brain. Down below the wild beasts were, no doubt, creeping into their jungle. He pictured them slinking through alley and by-street in the rainy, stormy night: unclean prowlers menacing humanity. In the depths of the earth they would scheme the destruction of the dwellers thereon--innocent men and women, little children, even the kindly beasts of the earth. All! all would be gloated over by those now stealing to their wicked hole. Mallow was as brave as a lion, and he burned with rage as he thought of those demons below.

At last eight o'clock clanged loudly in the night air. Then a dead silence. Mallow could hear his heart thump furiously. Still no stone fell, and he clasped his hands in nervous dread lest, after all, Rouge might have deceived him. What if the man were in truth an Anarchist? what if his promised deliverance were not fulfilled? suppose--crash! smash! and a heavy body shot like a meteor through the window amid a rain of splintered glass.

"The rope! Thank God!"

With feverish hands he felt in the darkness for the stone, and found it. As he gripped, the rope shook away more glass. He listened for a moment to hear if the noise had attracted attention. All was quiet. Joyfully and hopefully he groped for the bed and drew in the rope until it was taut. At this end of it was prison, at the other liberty and Olive. Mallow bound it in tight knots to the iron framework of the bed. He felt these over and over again to make sure they would not slip. His life depended upon his care; and he anxiously tugged and strained until he poured with perspiration.

At last the task was complete. He ran his hand along the rope. It was taut as a bobstay--but at best it was but a frail bridge to safety. Yet it was his only one. Going to the door, he listened. Again silence. Taking off his shoes and socks, so that his bare feet might cling to the slates, Mallow sprang on the rope and swung himself upward. The rain, spurting in through the window, splattered on his upturned face; a piece of glass, loosened by the swing of the rope, fell and cut him; but the man set his teeth and climbed hand over hand to freedom. At last his head emerged through the skylight. He saw the dark and stormy sky spitting rain, and the light of the city glimmering through the mist. Luckily the skylight was large enough. Clinging tightly to the rope, Mallow thrust his shoulders against the glass. It smashed, splintered, broke in a hundred fragments. He was through in the fresh air, on the roof of a house fifty and more feet from the pavement. With desperate courage he clung to the frail rope, and lay flat on the wet slates, his toes digging into them to relieve the strain on the cord. The blood surged and gushed in his head, and he feared he would roll off insensible. Below was the abyss of the street, above the sloping wet slates at an acute angle, and, over all, the tearing, sweeping drench of the rain driven before the gusts of wind.

Then a new terror gripped his heart. The edge of the rope lay amongst the sharp angles of the glass. It might fray through, and he would be dashed over the parapet of the house to swing like a spider at the end of a thread. For a moment or so he lay flat in his soaked clothes, prone on the slant. Then, with a violent effort, he drew up his knees, and clawed his way along the rope. His trousers were cut to ribbons; his nails torn, hand and foot; and a piece of glass had cut one of his feet severely. But he was too excited to feel any pain. Slowly, but surely, he drew himself along the slates, ever ascending to the summit of the roof. There was no moon to help him; only a flurry of flying clouds and the steady thresh of the rain. It seemed a century, until he put out one hand and felt the ledge. With renewed courage he lifted himself over this, cutting his knees with the rough slates as he did so. The next moment he was safe from the abyss, and sliding carefully down the slant to a leaden gutter between two houses.

"Hush!" whispered a voice. "Hold to the rope, Monsieur; give me your hand."

Mallow gave a gasp of joy and relief as Rouge hauled him, wet and exhausted, through the window. He would have fallen, but that the man kept him upright by main force, and carried him through the candle-lighted room out on to the landing. How he got down the stairs he never knew. In the grip of Rouge he seemed to be falling, falling, falling into eternal darkness. Then he must have fainted for the moment. When he came to he was in a hansom, his head lying on Aldean's shoulder, and Aldean holding him with a grip of iron.

"Thank God! Oh, thank God!" he heard Aldean say as in a dream. "And you, Rouge--how can I thank you?"

"Adieu, Monsieur!" said a far-away voice. "Forget not the prayer for Sophie and the little Ther�se."