THE SECRET OF THE TEN BALES by Anthony Parsons

Author:Anthony Parsons
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

BLAKE IS TRAPPED

THEY found a narrow passage running between the silversmith’s house and the house next door, and at the top of that passage they encountered a ten-foot mud wall which appeared to enclose the whole of the silversmith’s premises. There was no sign anywhere of the man who had fired that shot.

“One of Bir Beg’s men?” Tinker whispered as they looked about them.

“Bir Beg would have shot at us-not the candle!” Blake said in a puzzled voice. “But it was Bir Beg who wrecked that train, and Bir Beg who looted the bales-I saw the name shaped on Verislov’s lips when the candle was shot away!” He spoke sharply, as though chagrined that the explanation had not occurred to him before. “Over you go, Tinker!” he commanded a moment later. “There’s no other way. Get through the house and open that other door for me-and shoot if you have to. Watch your step!”

He stooped, and Tinker mounted his shoulders. Blake straightened up, and with a heave and a jump Tinker got his hands to the top of the wall and swung himself astride. One glance was enough to show that the courtyard was empty. He dropped softly to the ground on the other side.

By the time Blake got back to that bolted door, Tinker had already opened it for him.

“He’s gone, guv’nor!” he reported. “There isn’t a soul in the place.”

Blake followed him through, flashing his torch round the inner room as he went. Save for a charpoy and a few odds and ends it was empty. There was no exit from that room save through the door into the courtyard and the courtyard, too, was empty.

“What about the well?” Blake asked, as he looked round.

The courtyard was perhaps twenty feet square. In the centre of it stood the household well.

The detectives approached that carefully, for its sides -of sun-baked brick stood three feet or so above the level of the courtyard. It was equipped with a rough windlass from which dangled a chain. Blake peeped over the edge carefully, in case the Russian should be crouching just inside. And to make doubly sure, he shone his light vertically down the dangling chain.

“Guv’nor!” gasped Tinker suddenly. Blake steadied his torch. There was a wicked smile about the corners of his mouth-for he, too, had seen that cavity as quickly as Tinker, and as quickly guessed its import. There was a passage or tunnel of some kind hollowed out in the side of the well some fifteen to twenty feet down.

“That’s where he’s gone!” Tinker whispered.

“And that’s where Bir Beg has hidden what he took from those bales!” Blake said tensely.

He switched off his torch, and listened. The night was very still. Not a sound was to be heard from anywhere, neither from the bazaar nor the well. Not even a pariah dog was barking.

Blake thought rapidly, rearranging his facts in the light of what he now knew to be truth. Curiously enough, he had never once thought of that solution.

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