I stood over Michael Feddon’s body, completely stunned.
I felt nothing for the man I had just killed. I had simply saved him from being hanged. That was all.
But even though Danjuro and I had been almost certain that our suspicions were correct, the truth had hit me with such force that, for a moment, I could hardly think.
Constance was here.
And she was alive and unharmed.
I had actually broken into the heart of the air-wolves’ lair. I already had enough evidence to send every one of them to the gallows.
The happiness and relief were so overwhelming that I could barely take them in.
Mr. Vargus’s brandy bottle was still sitting on the side table. I stepped over Feddon’s body. The leather belt Vargus had planned to use on Constance was lying there in plain sight.
I poured myself a small drink.
Almost at once, my mind cleared.
I listened carefully.
The two shots from my automatic had apparently alarmed nobody. The sinister house remained completely silent.
It seemed certain that only Feddon and Vargus had been left behind to guard the place. Even the two Tibetan mastiffs I had heard so much about were nowhere to be seen.
To my right, a tall mirror stood on hinges. Behind it was a lift, illuminated by a small electric globe in the ceiling.
I had no idea where it went.
Probably to some underground room where Constance and her maid were being held. Why they needed a lift for that, I could not imagine.
Still, Vargus was down there, and he was the next man I had to deal with.
I examined the lift carefully.
It was electrically operated, and I knew the mechanism well. It had an automatic magnetic brake.
The lift moved from its hidden compartment behind the mirror to only one other place. It did not stop anywhere in between.
A pull on the rope started it, and it stopped automatically at the other end.
There was no point in waiting.
Once again, I had to step into the unknown.
Connie was waiting for me.
I wondered how Danjuro was getting along. I was willing to bet that he was not having nearly as exciting a night as I was.
I could almost picture his face if he returned to the Miners’ Arms a few hours later and found me there with Connie, while the artistic Mr. Vargus cooled his heels in Danjuro’s Japanese papier-mâché handcuffs.
Mr. Trewhella, the innkeeper, had shown me a large pig named Gladys, which he was very fond of. There was an empty, solidly built pigsty beside hers.
It would make an excellent prison for the interpreter of Chopin.
Yes, I was thinking such things even then.
I was wildly exhilarated.
Everything had gone far more easily than I could have hoped.
I stepped into the lift, humming to myself.
It was the old sailors’ song the pirates had roared at the inn only two hours earlier.
“Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest.”
There was a mirror inside the lift.
I caught sight of myself in it.
My singing stopped.
What was that terrible face staring back at me?
Deep lines had been carved into it. My eyes seemed to burn with a red, almost savage light.
Was that really me?
I had described before how Danjuro sometimes looked when the bloodhound inside him briefly broke through his calm Oriental mask.
There was almost nothing to choose between us now.
The lift began to descend.
Slowly.
Every second, I expected to feel the gentle jerk that would tell me we had reached the bottom.
But the seconds passed.
Down we went.
And down.
What kind of cellar was this?
Were we descending into the very centre of the earth?
It seemed an eternity before the lift finally began to slow.
By then, I had already begun to understand.
A dark archway appeared ahead.
The lift stopped.
This was no cellar.
I was deep beneath Tregeraint, inside the old mine that must have extended directly beneath the house.
I forced myself not to think about the implications.
Not yet.
But somewhere deep in my mind, I believe I was already beginning to understand the whole mystery.
I stepped out into a mine passage.
The walls had been cut directly through the rock, and heavy wooden supports held up the roof at intervals.
The passage was wide enough for two men to walk side by side and about eight feet high.
Rough electric lamps hung every fifteen yards or so.
The floor was hard and smooth from the constant passage of people.
The air was hot and stale.
I moved silently down the passage with my pistol in my hand, ready to shoot the instant anyone appeared.
For what seemed like an endless time, I saw no one.
There was nothing but damp rock walls, glittering here and there with yellow pyrites and patches of green copper.
At last I came to a rough wooden door.
It opened easily.
Beyond it was a much narrower passage, but it was higher than the first.
This seemed more like a natural crack in the ancient rock than something made by human hands.
Water dripped from the ceiling.
Until now, I had been walking on level ground.
Now the passage sloped steadily downward.
It also stopped running straight. It twisted and turned in strange directions.
The farther I went, the cooler the air became.
At the same time, I began to hear a deep, muffled sound.
It reminded me of distant drums.
With every step, it grew louder.
The electric lights were now hanging from a thick, tar-covered cable, and they were much farther apart.
The darkness between them was deep.
But I knew what the mysterious sound was.
The Atlantic.
I must be approaching the sea through one of the old mine tunnels, probably an ancient ventilation passage built long before anyone had thought of electric fans.
The narrow passage ended at another door.
It was latched but not locked.
I pushed it open very slowly.
At once, I felt the presence of a vast open space.
It was not completely dark, but it was gloomy.
Dim yellow lights glowed here and there in the distance.
I took two steps forward onto hard earth and sand.
Then I realized I was standing inside a gigantic cavern.
It seemed almost as large as the inside of a cathedral.
The sound of the sea echoed through it like the music of a great organ.
The waves were coming from my right, and a pleasant breeze carrying the smell of saltwater flowed past me.
I stared into the darkness.
Far away, I could make out a faint, ghostly light.
By then, I had almost lost the ability to be surprised.
But I had not lost the ability to think quickly.
In a flash, I understood.
I had found the centre of Helzephron’s secret.
Before I could put all the pieces together, someone shouted.
Someone had seen me.
The voice came from the opposite side of the huge cavern.
At the same instant, a light suddenly came on about thirty feet above the floor.
I saw a broad platform built into the rock wall, protected by a railing.
A staircase led down from it.
A small black figure leaned over the railing.
He was the one shouting.
I did not need to hear his exact words to understand what the place was.
It was a wireless station.
I could clearly see the wireless equipment and the shelf holding the batteries.
“A signal!” the man shouted.
He had mistaken me for Feddon.
“They’re coming back! The sky is full of armed patrols and warships. They had to turn back, but the Chief thinks he’s shaken them off. I must switch on the guide lights!”
I shouted back.
I lowered my voice until it sounded like Feddon’s deep growl.
“C.Q.D.! C.Q.D.!”
A shrill cry of alarm followed.
Mr. Vargus came racing down the ladder like an ape.
C.Q.D.
The international distress signal for extreme danger.
Well, I thought, that certainly seemed appropriate.
I remained deep in the shadows, where my face could not possibly be seen.
I was almost exactly Feddon’s height and build, and Vargus ran toward me without the slightest suspicion.
He went to his left, which was my right, toward the pale light I had noticed earlier.
I followed him slowly, keeping about ten yards behind.
My instinct was simple.
Silence him.
Find Constance.
Get out of this horrible place.
I had no idea that I was making a fatal mistake.
I was about to understand everything.
The great cavern curved slightly to the right.
With every step, it grew wider.
Then suddenly I saw the opening.
It was enormous, almost as wide as the largest aircraft hangar.
Moonlight poured through it.
Across the opening, about sixty yards away, stood a sheer wall of black rock.
Between that wall and the cave mouth was a terrifying chasm that dropped straight down to the sea.
Everything became clear.
High above us, on top of the cliffs, was the fenced-off area with the warning signs.
I remembered lying beside that fence and looking down.
I had been staring into the very same gulf, only from much higher up.
The overhanging rock above the cave was so enormous that from the cliff top there had been no way to see the opening below.
There was another trick, too.
The cave did not run straight toward the sea.
It turned inward and ran parallel with the cliff.
From the sea as well as from the land, the entrance was completely hidden.
Vargus was now standing at a switchboard.
He pulled down a vulcanite handle.
A green spark flashed.
Then lights at the top, bottom, and sides of the entrance suddenly came alive.
The enormous hidden cavern now looked like a gigantic illuminated rabbit hole cut into the side of a railway embankment.
It reminded me of the entrance to a bat’s cave, with lights guiding the creatures home.
Vargus pressed another, smaller switch.
I watched him almost emotionlessly.
I knew exactly what he was doing.
He was switching on guide lights somewhere on the two headlands that guarded the cave entrance from the sea.
I felt no fear.
I was too fascinated by what I had discovered.
The ingenuity of the whole system was almost unbelievable.
“They could be here at any moment, Feddon,” Vargus said nervously.
“I don’t like it at all. I told the Chief we should stay hidden for a while.”
“But you know what he’s like.”
“The Government has somehow got wind of us. The whole Cornish coast is crawling with enemies.”
“That fellow Custance is as clever as they come.”
He was walking toward me as he spoke.
Then he saw my face.
He stopped in the middle of his sentence.
It was my moment.
“How do you do, Mr. Vargus?” I said.
“You mentioned my name. Thank you for the compliment.”
“I thought I would drop in for a little chat.”
“I’m sorry to find Major Helzephron out.”
I have never seen a man more terrified.
His face turned the colour of old cheese.
A terrible choking sound came from his throat.
He stumbled backward until he was only a yard from the edge.
One more step and he would have fallen into the abyss.
“You—you—you!”
The final word came out as a horrible whisper.
“The Oxford professor,” I said.
“Yes, Mr. Vargus. I am very fond of music, and you have entertained me wonderfully tonight.”
“But you have played Chopin for the last time in this world.”
I raised my pistol and aimed it directly at his heart.
The yellow mask of his face trembled.
Then he became still.
“Quickly, please,” he said.
There was even a faint smile of relief on his pale lips.
He was ready to die.
And I understood why.
If I had shot him there and thrown his body into the abyss, I would have been doing him a kindness.
But I had other plans for Mr. Vargus.
My pistol hand remained perfectly steady.
With my left hand, I took out Danjuro’s handcuffs and walked toward him.
“Not yet,” I said when I was only a foot away.
He understood immediately.
His eyes widened.
He tried to step backward.
He almost succeeded.
But I was faster.
I hooked his ankle with my right foot.
He crashed onto his back, his head and shoulders hanging over the edge of the chasm.
Before he could recover, I seized his legs and dragged him backward.
Then I snapped the handcuffs onto his wrists.
I hauled him to his feet by his collar.
He was no longer a dangerous criminal.
He was simply a bundle of clothes in my hands.
“Now,” I said, “you are going to take me immediately to the place where Miss Shepherd is being held.”
“I make no promises about what happens afterward.”
“But if you cooperate, things may go less badly for you than they will for the others.”
He twisted his head and tried to look at me.
“If I tell you, will you shoot me?” he whispered.
“Please.”
“Shoot me, or give me a chance to kill myself.”
“The hangman will save you the trouble,” I said coldly.
“Now march!”
He let out a terrible cry of despair.
“Ah, you don’t know what I once was!” he cried.
There was such deep remorse in his voice, such complete horror at what he had become, that even a devil might have felt pity.
“I heard you play the Third Ballade,” I said.
My voice was no longer steady.
“Death,” he whispered.
“Please.”
“Death.”
“Take me quickly to Miss Shepherd.”
“Then perhaps…”
“I cannot kill you myself, but…”
It was as if my words had suddenly put new life into him.
His knees were still shaking uncontrollably, but he forced himself to move forward.