The Miller's Dance (48 page)

By now the three young men had slipped into a routine of replacing the lining and cushions and burying the tools so quickly
that
the interior was set to rights almost before the coachmen got down. Paul lowered the blind and, forgetting his supposed indisposition, lowered the window and looked out
He quickly withdrew. 'Looks like a fallen tree,' he said in relief. He subsided in his corner, hand over eyes; no one else moved.

Stephen now looked out 'Aye. Praise to the Lord it is only a
branch.
Sit still! They're shifting it
...
Damned thing is still attached to the
trunk:
they'll have to twist it out of the way
...
All's well, I believe
...
Fools are tidying up some smaller branches! What do they want to do,
brush
the road? What's the time, Jeremy?'

'Quiet,' Jeremy muttered. 'Collect yourself!'

Through the half-open window they could hear the voices of the coachmen and the passengers; it seemed as if they were arguing about something; but presently it ceased. As Stephen shut the window and then drew up the blind there was a clambering on the coach, a crying to the horses, and the coach lurched into motion once again.

'Now!'
said Jeremy.

Stephen drilled two more holes and Jeremy clawed with his fingernails again, found a hold and pulled. The c
lock face was coming, and silentl
y. At the last it twisted in his grasp and clung by three thin strands of wood. Paul passed up the saw. Now the sawing did not resound so much. The circular piece of wood, indented all the way round its edge like a cog-wheel, came away in Jeremy's hands.

He passed it to Paul, his own fingers not so steady; thrust - his hand into the cavity now exposed and at once grasped one of the boxes.

It was heavy and he had to get his other hand in and lever it towards the edge of the port-hole they had made; then a firmer grasp and a heave, and it was in the coach.

A box about twelve inches square by six deep and made of dun steel, it had a handle for carrying, and the catch was secured by a stout padlock. It was enormously heavy for its size. Jeremy went back to the seat compartment and groped about inside. He soon found the second box and fished that out too. This was somewhat smaller—about twelve by nine by four — and was quite disproportionately lighter. It also had a steel handle for carrying but was locked with an ordinary built-in keyhole. The metal of which it was made looked similar to the first.

If
the
coach stopped now the cushion and lining could be replaced as swiftly as ever, but they could only conceal the two boxes under Paul's skirts as best they could, and the circular wooden face somewhere else.

They screwed together the crowbars and Stephen put one end through the loop of the padlock and bunched his muscles. He applied all his weight and force until the veins in his forehead showed and the sweat ran down his face. He gave up with a grunt. At the end he thought he had felt something begin to give, but perhaps it was the steel of the box that was bending, near the staple. In the meantime Paul had taken out his bunch of keys and was trying each one in the lock of the smaller box.

'Let me try,' said Jeremy. He took the crowbar from Stephen and inserted it from the other side of
the
padlock loop. In spite of his thinness he was muscularly strong; and once again the toughened steel of the crowbar was pitted against the lock. There were two or three curious cracking sounds but the lock held. Jeremy relaxed, slumped back on the seat and let out a breath.

'How long would it take to file it?' Stephen said.

'Too long, I think. And
the
box is too big to carry away.'

Stephen shook it. There was a promising rattle. 'God's .eyes, we got to force it!' He tried again, his wig awry, his hands slippery with sweat. Eventually he sat back, defeated a second time.

'Wait,' said Jeremy. He took up the crowbar and in order to gain greater purchase inserted it into the padlock loop only a couple of inches. It seemed that something was giving at last, but then the crowbar slipped and he caught the knuckles of his left hand a jarring blow on the side of the box. He dropped the bar, sucking his knuckles and cursing. Blood began to well up over three fingers of his hand.

That's fine,' snarled Stephen. 'If that falls in the coach it'll look as if we've committed a murder!'

It was all the sympathy available. While Jeremy tried to wrap his fingers in his handkerchief Stephen went to work again
...

'Holy Mackerel!'
exclaimed Paul.

They stopped and turned and saw the smaller box open. He showed his teeth in a stark grin.

'The seventh key only! I
thought
these locks were often made to a pattern!'

They stared at four thick piles of banknotes, held by red elastic cord. Paul lifted them out, put them on the seat. His hands were shaking too. Under the notes were other papers: deeds and the like.

The coach rattled peaceably on its way.

'Put 'em away - quick,' Jeremy snapped. His hand was still bleeding but he pulled on his black gloves to hide the injury.

Paul began to stuff the notes into an inner pocket sewn into his skirts. He hesitated about the other papers.

'Those too,' Jeremy sa
id. 'Anything that'll cause War
leggan's Bank more trouble.'

The papers disappeared. Jeremy snatched up the box, shut it, thrust it back at once into the driver's compartment. He blew out a breath, glad to see one piece of evidence out of sight.

'There's a tidy pack of money there, by Heaven!' said Paul,
I
wonder now much. If -'

'Forget it. Look, would any of those keys fit this lock?'

I
doubt it. Th
e tumblers are usually differentl
y placed in a padlock
...'

While the other two grimly watched he tried one key after another. There were twenty on the bunch, and some were clearly unsuitable as to size.

The coach was slowing. Jeremy prised open the blind.

‘I
t only looks like a hill, but
...
Is there one round here, Paul?'

I
don't think a bad on
e. There's a fierce one out of
Lostwithiel the other side. What is the time?'

Jeremy pulled out his watch. 'Five and twenty past one. We're due in Lostwithiel in about half an hour.'

'They're no cursed use in this lock,' Paul said, stuffing the keys back in his pocket, it's make or break with this one.'

The coach was at a walking pace, but no one was getting down.

'Keep your eyes open, Paul,' Jeremy said. 'We may be coming to some halt unknown to you. We don't - can't take a risk now
...'

In turn they once again attacked the padlock. It cracked, and the steel of the box bent, but the lock and the staple still held.

‘
What it needs,' said Stephen, 'is a pickaxe. I could burst it open in no time with one of those.'

'So we could with gu
npowder,' Jeremy said angrily;
'we could as well use one as the other here.'

Paul said: if we keep to the rest of the plan we haven't more than twenty minutes. We could, of course, settle for
the
one box.'

Stephen paused to wipe the sweat from his face. 'Any notion how much you have?'

'Five-pound notes, twenty-pound Bank of England notes, some Bank Post Bills - a tidy sum.'

'This,' said Stephen, 'might be full of copper and small silver pieces. The banks are always short of change.'

Jeremy took the crowbar from him and weighed it in his hands. In fact his gloves gave him a better grip. 'We don't know how many of those notes will be negotiable. And I'll be disappointed and surprised if there is only copper in here.'

'If we ever find out.'

Paul said: 'Why not all stop on until St Austell ? We could well file it through in another hour.' 'Or maybe brazen it out and carry it off,' said Stephen.

'You
could
cover it with your scarf. Who is to recollect exactly what we all brought on with us?'

I
shall have enough to carry, for God's sake,' snarled Paul.
'Tools and the rest.'

Jeremy stopped. 'We
have
to avoid panic At present no one suspects in the smallest measure. Let it stay so! Even if it
means
taking only what was in the small box.'

'After we're gone,' said Paul, 'let Stephen try. There's a good chance of him being in here alone. We could leave him just the crowbar and the file
...'

The horses were trotting again. ' There was a sudden sharp snap. 'By
the
Lord!' said Jeremy,
I
believe it is giving!' He withdrew the bar and looked at
the
padlock.

'Here, let me try now,' said Stephen, but Jeremy would not move out of the way. He thrust the bar in from the other side and tugged and strained. Nothing gave. He returned the bar to where it had originally been. The coach wheels suddenly took on a deeper, more resonant sound.

'What's that?'

'A bridge,' said Paul; 'over a valley, not a river. I recognize it: we're about twelve minutes from Lostwithiel.'

The lock cracked again. Jeremy put the crowbar on the seat beside him, fumbled with the steel loop of the lock. It came out of its socket
...

They pass through a hamlet: dogs barking, children shouting and running alongside, shawled women in doorways. Put the lock on the seat, open the safe-box. In it are four heavy bags of coin, a bunch of keys, a large ruby tie-pin, a double ring with diamonds, two gold signet rings, and a seal stamp with the scorpion sign of Warleggan's Bank.

It had been agreed that, as Stephen would be on the coach for another stage, no incriminating evidence should be carried by him; so the bags of coin Jeremy thrust into the inner pockets of his long black coat. The smaller pieces of jewellery he put in his waistcoat pockets. The keys went in his trouser pocket.

Another hamlet.

'This is Sandylake,' Paul whispered. 'We're almost there.'

Shut the safe-box, carefully transfer it through
the
hole into the driver's compartment. The great clock face gaped.

Jeremy picked up
the
circle, tried to edge it back into the driver's compartment as the coach again slowed to a walk. The circle of wood stuck. It was smaller than the
hole, but the circle was slightl
y oval and the two ends got wedged.

A shrill blast on the horn; Paul was busy on the tools, wrapping them in their soft linen container, slipping them into his skirt.

They were almost in
. Jeremy shoved the wood violentl
y and it went through so sharply that he dropped it. It clattered on one of the safe-boxes.

'Out of the way,' snarled Stephen. Jeremy fell back in the small space almost on top of Paul: Stephen pushed up the thick felt, fumbled one screw between his fingers, put it in its hole but it dropped out. With oaths he scrabbled among the, cushions, found it again, put it back, carefully, his fingers trembling as with ague, screwed it tight. Now the other.

'We're here,' said Paul. The coach was going over cobbles, the horn brayed again, the horses were flicked into a last-minute trot to give a smart impression.

Stephen got the second screw fixed, passed
the
screwdriver to Paul, who pocketed it. They were all feverishly taking stock of the interior. One thing definitely to show was a
pro
nounced crease, amoun
ting almost to a crack, in the li
ing where the felt material had been persistently bent back throughout the journey. Part of it could be covered by the cushions and the seat, but the rest of the crease must show. So long as Stephen occupied that corner his bulk would almost hide it. But the coachman would have to be very alert to notice it and draw an inference. He was most likely to see it when he came in to light the lantern, but by then they would all be gone.

The coach lurched like a ship at sea as it turned into the yard of the Talbot Inn. Now again all the clatter and busde of
the
Liskeard stage. Horses whinnying, osders shouting, outside passengers being handed down, two men stamping their feet with the cold, a ma
rket woman selling oranges, a
twisted idiot boy trying to help with the cases, the smell of horse dung and coffee and dried hay and wood smoke.

It was Stevens, the second coachman, who came to the door. Lieutenant Morgan Lean was the first to get down.

He said:
I
think the lady is serious unwell.' He stretched
his
big frame and walked slowly into the inn. . The Reverend Arthur May came next. He looked very serious and frowned at Stevens with his lop-sided shortsighted stare,
I
much regret. My wife is feeling very poorly. I think we shall have to complete our journey tomorrow.'