Mediterranean Nights (36 page)

‘Thanks,' I said, and left him to do as he suggested—wondering rather at this sudden thoughtfulness. Still, it's millionaires' economies that keeps them millionaires, I suppose, and although it wasn't saving his pocket—it's in the blood!

When I got back I found that he had ordered a magnum of the best champagne, at least as far as the label went—but that doesn't mean much on the Continent; and a supper for which I thanked my gods I hadn't got to pay.

The place had begun to fill up a bit, and the floor already seemed as full as it could be, although I knew that twice the number would get on it somehow in an hour or so. Toby was glowering resentfully at the girl.

‘What the devil is she doing on her own in Biarritz—that is what I can't make out,' he said suddenly.

‘Why didn't you ask her when you had the chance?' I inquired.

‘I did—but she wouldn't tell me. She must have money to stay at the Palais, and I thought at first she must be on the stage. Actresses and what we used to call ladies are so much alike these days, you can't tell t'other from which by their dresses or their morals—but I don't think she is. Anyhow, a girl who travels on her own is fair game for any man, and I'll pull it off somehow—you see if I don't!'

I noticed a queer mixture of spoilt child and elderly roué in Sinclair's expression as he spoke—it was not a pleasant look.

He took a big gulp of champagne and then put down his glass with an impatient gesture. ‘Heavens! What muck this
is—why is it that you can never get champagne fit to drink outside England?'

‘I'll show you a trick that will make it drinkable anyhow,' I volunteered. ‘Send for some lump sugar and some Angostura Bitters.'

When the waiter brought them I sprinkled a few drops of Angostura on two lumps of sugar and dropped one into each glass. It's a thing I often do abroad, and it converts the most inferior champagne into a quite palatable champagne cocktail—besides which the Angostura lessens the chance of a bad head in the morning.

Toby had another swig at it and grinned approval. ‘That's better,' he said. ‘Really, Brandon, you're a jolly useful chap to have around.'

‘Thanks,' I said dryly. I don't know if I'm over touchy, but honestly, he is an ill-mannered little brute.

A cabaret of sorts came on at one o'clock, and after that the place got pretty hectic—streamers, paper hats and all the rest of it, while the band worked themselves into a perfect frenzy.

De Sejac did not dance, but sat there with the girl, obviously keeping her well amused with his chatter. Toby had done more than his fair share of the magnum after my intervention with the Angostura, and ordered up another. He was looking pretty flushed, but I had no fears about his driving on the way home; handling a car is second nature to him—drunk or sober.

After the cabaret he began dancing with one of the
filles du Maison
—a little French girl, and brought her back to our table with her friend. They were a cheerful couple, and infinitely more presentable than their counterparts in the dreary London night clubs of Kate Meyrick's day. They made the time pass quickly, and Toby temporarily forgot his jealousy in a fit of boisterous good humour.

It must have been after three when I saw De Sejac and the girl preparing to depart. There had been no sign of the police after all, but they were probably waiting for him at the hotel. I drew Toby's attention, and he nodded.

‘Right oh! We'll follow; you slip out and see if they take the road to Biarritz or along the Lake—I know which it would be if she were with me—and no damned nonsense
either! Still, if he tries any funny business that's different—it would just suit my book to step in as the noble rescuer. I'd give that black-eyed Baron a mouthful of teeth too. Quick! Off you go while I settle the bill.'

I left him, but I didn't hurry, because I felt that his hopes—or fears, whichever you like to call them—were quite unjustified. Of course he himself was just the type to run the girl off into the woods and try a little rough stuff—threaten to leave her to walk home too, if she turned unpleasant. He was quite capable of it—but not the Baron. He might be a crook and was probably a cad as well, but foreigners view these things differently. They like their comforts, and half measures in cars are regarded by them as queer, and barbarous.

When I got outside I found De Sejac's car already on the road. The engine was running and the chauffeur was sitting quietly at the wheel. Immediately behind it stood Toby's long Bentley.

The Baron and the girl stood talking beside his limousine, and as I approached I could see him casting furtive glances over his shoulder towards the restaurant.

The cars were a little outside the angle of the arc lamps, and directly De Sejac caught sight of my white shirt-front through the trees he looked away. I passed behind a little hedge, then, just as I came out beside Toby's car, I heard a smothered scream. There were the girl and De Sejac struggling in the roadway. There was no one else about and it was all over in a second. He had one arm round her waist, and his other hand clasped firmly over her mouth.

With a sudden lurch he threw her face downwards on the floor at the back of the car and jumped in. Before I even had a chance to run forward the car was screaming up the hill towards Biarritz.

V

I didn't waste a second on Toby, but fairly leapt into his car. I had the brakes off like a flash, and put the Bentley into action. A moment later I was roaring up the hill after De Sejac at breakneck speed.

At the top I was just in time to see him turn to the northward and I swung the car hard on his heels. Then we settled down to a really thrilling chase.

As I drove I couldn't help wondering what the devil had possessed the man. Had he gone mad—or what? Of course the girl had asked for trouble coming out alone with a chap like that, but if he wanted to be tiresome why not wait until she was safely in the car? It seemed such a stupid thing to go and attack her in the road like that. He must have known that I couldn't help seeing the struggle. The whole thing was so unlike a Frenchman's methods with a woman—it was more like an undergraduate who had got tight and lost his head—no finesse about the thing at all!

De Sejac's chauffeur evidently knew his business, and he knew the country too. They fairly hurtled round the bends, and despite the fact that I had the better car I found myself dropping behind after a mile or two. I dared not take too many chances on the corners although I made it up a bit on a long straight stretch, and catching a glimpse of the sea with the moon sinking into it miles away on my left, I knew that we were still heading northward.

When the car ahead entered the woods again I was still a good half mile behind. We raced round another succession of hairpin bends, at one of which I near as nothing wrecked the car and broke my neck. It was a nightmare journey, and when I came out on to the other side of the wooded spur I knew that I had lost him.

There had been no fork or turning in the woods I felt certain, but I could see the country for miles in the half-light, with the road winding away below me, and not a sign of his lights were to be seen. I pulled the car in to the side of the road and switched off the engine, hoping that I might hear him—but not a sound broke the stillness.

I knew that he must have slipped me in those beastly woods somewhere, and I was furious. It seemed that the only thing to do was to drive slowly bade, and see if I could spot any turning which I had missed before. It was no easy job to reverse the Bentley on that hill road, but I did it, and set off again into the darkness of the woods. I hadn't gone more than half a mile before I found a likely spot. It was hardly more than an opening in the trees leading towards the sea,
but when I switched Toby's spotlight on to it there were fresh car-tracks on the mould.

That was the way he'd gone all right, so I turned the Bentley into the woods and drove slowly along on his trail.

After a few hundred yards the track ended at a pair of wrought-iron gates set in a high wall, so I switched off my engine and got out. The gates were secured by a rusty chain and padlock, but I could tell that the latter had been used quite recently from the dark stains of oil, and the mess that came off on my fingers. It was no use trying to get in that way, so I turned off the lights of the car and started to follow the right-hand side of the wall. The coping was badly broken in places and I soon found a gap where a big lump of stone-work had fallen down, so I scrambled up into it and slid down the other side.

I don't mind telling you, I was pretty worried by then as to what might be happening to that lovely girl—but I was stupid enough to grin, as the thought flashed into my mind how strange it was that Fate should have chosen me for the part of heroic rescuer, instead of Toby. Ten minutes later I wasn't so almighty pleased with myself, but I'll tell you about that in due course.

The garden was overgrown and thick with weeds. The house, too, when I reached it a few minutes later, seemed to be completely deserted. It was a good-sized villa and the proper entrance was on the other side, where there must have been a fine view of the sea in the daytime. I could just make out the drive, which was sprouting every kind of vegetation. All the windows of the villa were closely shuttered, and it was obvious that the place had not been lived in for some years. I began to wonder if I'd gone off the track again, but the car marks in the wood had been so plain I felt pretty certain that the villa was De Sejac's secret hang-out.

I prowled round the place looking for some sign of life, and on the far side I found it; little chinks of light coming from the jalousies of one of the lower rooms at the south-west corner.

The window was about six feet above my head, and I noticed that one of the slats was broken, so that if only I could reach it I could see straight into the room.

Not being Douglas Fairbanks I had to look round for
something to put against the wall, but I was lucky enough to find an old garden table on the terrace and a couple of garden chairs.

It was a bit of a job getting them along without giving the alarm to the people in the villa, but I managed it, and formed a precarious sort of pyramid. It rocked a little beneath my weight, but I balanced myself carefully, and hung on by the iron hooks in the wall that kept the shutters back when they were open.

I found that I could see most of the room—it was only half-furnished and there was no carpet on the floor—but the girl was there. Her face was turned away from me and she was sitting quietly in an arm-chair. De Sejac did not seem to be anywhere about and I was just going to tap on the window to attract her attention when the chauffeur came in. He said something to her—what, of course, I couldn't hear—but he leaned against the mantelpiece in a casual sort of way, and for all the animation she showed they might have been talking about the weather.

I had hoped that I might get her out through the window, but I suddenly realised that there were heavy iron bars behind the shutters. If I was going to do any good I should have to find some way of getting in, so I climbed down again and began a thorough inspection of all the ground-floor entrances, testing each door and window as I went.

They were all securely fastened on the inside, and I didn't want to use force if I could avoid it because of the noise I was bound to make. You see, De Sejac and his man would easily have overpowered me between them, and for all I knew there might have been others in the house. My only chance lay in getting the girl away without their knowledge—or taking them by surprise one at a time.

I had almost made up my mind to take a chance and break in when I came across a partly open window at the back, almost opposite the gates where I had left the car. I eased it open gently, and then I must confess—I paused.

De Sejac must be a pretty desperate character, and if I ran up against him and his man I might land myself in real trouble. Perhaps it would be better to go back to Biarritz and fetch the police—but then there was the girl! Anything
might happen to her in the meantime, so I screwed up my courage and slipped inside.

It was dark as pitch, and I couldn't see a single thing, but from the stone flags beneath my feet I guessed that I was in a passage, and with one hand on the outer wall to guide me, I began to creep in the direction of the south-west room, which I reckoned to be somewhere on the floor above at the far end of the house.

I had hardly taken two steps when I thought I heard the scrape of a boot behind me. Then, even before I had a chance to whip round, I felt my teeth snap together with a click—every nerve in my head leapt into an agony of pain as I was struck from behind. For a second my eyeballs seemed to be starting out of their sockets—I saw red wheels of light whirling at tremendous speed and the floor rocked beneath me. Then I felt myself falling—down—down—into the darkness of a bottomless pit.

VI

I have no idea how long I remained unconscious, although I don't think it can have been very long. When I came to I was lying on a truckle bed with my feet bound, my hands tied behind me, and a gag in my mouth. It was dark but not quite pitch; there was enough light to show me that I was lying with my face to the wall, and when I rolled over I discovered where the faint light came from.

There were tiny lines of brightness across the ceiling. At first I thought they came from the effects of the knock-out I had had, but after a bit I realised that the room above was brightly lighted and the lines were the cracks between the floorboards.

My head was fairly splitting, and I was almost sick from a beastly pain behind my eyes, so I lay very still for a little, and didn't even try to think about my wretched situation.

Very slowly it came to me that there were people in the room above, and they were talking. I could even make out what they were saying when I concentrated my attention. As the pain eased a little I shifted my position and struggled into a sitting posture with my back against the wall.