'That's so,' Wells affirmed, glaring with feigned indignation at the Limper. 'You may be the boss of this gang of railway workers, employed on special night construction that's being kept dark by the Government for some purpose, but that doesn't give you the right to manhandle people. If you don't let us go at once I'll report this matter to the police.'
It was a gallant attempt to persuade the Limper that they had no idea of his real business; but at the sound of Wells's voice Corot took a few mincing steps forward, peered into the Inspector's face, and then began to laugh; a low unpleasant chuckle.
'What's bitten you?' the Limper asked him.
He shrugged. 'Tiens! C'est ce scelerat de Scotland Yard avec qui nous nous sommes brouille a Trouville.' Then he turned, stared at Gregory for a moment and added: 'Et voila! Iautre.'
His knife slid out again. With a vicious snarl he raised it remembering how Gregory's intervention had prevented his attack on Wells succeeding the last time they had been face to face.
As the blade flashed high above Corot's head Gregory jerked himself backwards but, before the knife came down, the Limper grabbed the Frenchman's arm.
'Not here,' he said sharply. 'Your planes are leaving. Get back to them and see them home. I'll handle this and I'll see these two never worry us again. I'll croak the two of them before morning but it's got to be done in the proper way; so there's no trouble for us afterwards.'
Corot's handsome face went sullen, like that of a greedy child who has been robbed of an entertainment, but he shrugged, spat on the floor at Gregory's feet and, turning, slouched out of the inn.
'Search them,' snapped the Limper, raising his automatic a little, as an indication that he meant to shoot if they tried to break away, while his four henchmen ran through their pockets.
Pistols, night glasses, torches, letters and money were piled upon the drink puddled bar. When they were held firm again the Limper glanced through the papers; then stuffed them in his jacket.
'Quick march now,' he ordered. 'Take them to my plane.'
The prisoners were hustled out into the night and across the grass. The smuggler fleet was leaving; only four planes remained now upon the landing ground. The men were busily transporting the cargo from the railway embankment to the fleet of lorries beyond the inn; the train had gone.
A four seater monoplane stood a little apart from the big de Havillands. The Limper scrambled into it, dived down to a locker near the floor, and pulled out some lengths of cord. 'Truss them up,' he said, 'then push them into the back of the plane.'
Gregory and Wells were securely tied hand and foot; then bundled in behind. One of the men got into the plane with them and the Limper went off to supervise the departure of the convoy. At short intervals the other planes roared away into the air. The landing ground was now in darkness and the lorries began to rumble down the road; the smugglers had disappeared when the Limper returned and climbed into the pilot's seat.
He slammed the door and pressed home the self-starter. The plane ran forward, bumped a little and lifted, then with a steady hum it sailed away lightless into the night.
Gregory was hunched on his side in a back seat but his face was turned towards one of the windows of the enclosed plane and he could see a good section of the sky. After they had been flying for a few moments he managed to pick up one of the major constellations, and knew, from its position, that they were flying in a north-westerly direction, towards Quex Park. His agile mind began to conjure frantically with the possibilities of drawing Mrs. Bird's attention to their wretched plight so that she could secure help.
Mrs. Bird and Milly would be in bed by now though, he remembered, as it was well after midnight, probably somewhere near one o'clock. The Limper would certainly do nothing to rouse them from their slumbers and he had spoken of seeing to it that his prisoners were both dead before the morning.
Gregory had faced death many times, but on those previous occasions his hands had been free and generally there had been a handy weapon in one of them. This was a different business altogether. They were trussed like Christmas turkeys for the slaughter and must depend upon their wits alone to save them.
As they were not gagged, they could, of course, scream in the hope of rousing Mrs. Bird but, whereas a few nights before she might have telephoned the police at once upon hearing shouts for help, she would now more probably wait to investigate the matter or see what happened next, knowing that Wells and his men had the Park under observation.
What about Wells's men who would be watching the place? They would be certain to appear on the scene if they thought murder was being done, but unfortunately both of them were stationed outside the Park gates, and it was nearly a mile in width. Would the most lusty shouts carry half that distance? Gregory doubted it; moreover, it seemed certain the Limper would shoot them out of hand if they bellowed for help. They would be dead long before anyone arrived upon the scene.
The situation began to assume a far grimmer aspect in his mind. From the moment when he had gone down under the rush of men, every second had been occupied until now, so he had not had a chance to realise the full danger in which they stood. No one except Wells and himself knew of the secret landing ground at Romney Marshes, or what their intentions had been when they left Quex Park, so no one would worry about them if they failed to turn up until a day or two, at least, had elapsed without news of them. Then the police would begin to wonder where Wells had got to; but that was little comfort if they were to be killed before morning.
The plane banked steeply and began to descend. Beads of perspiration broke out on Gregory's forehead. 'We're there already,' he thought, 'this plane must be a mighty fast one, or else it's just that time rushes by when you need it most. And I've thought of nothing. We may be for it now any moment once we land. By Jove! this is tougher than anything I can remember.'
They scarcely felt the bump as the Limper landed’ the plane and it flashed through Gregory's mind that the fellow was a first-class pilot. The engine ceased to hum and for a moment there was dead silence then the Limper opened the door of the cockpit and wriggled out. The beam of a torch showed from near by and a new voice came out of the darkness.
'He's on his way over.'
'Good,' replied the Limper. 'I've got them both here. Get 'em out and bring 'em inside.'
The Limper's assistant pilot leaned over and grabbed Wells by the shoulders, hoisted him up and pushed him head foremost through the door, where two other fellows seized him and pulled him to the ground. A minute later Gregory was bundled out beside him.
He wriggled his head and looked around. A gentle wind was blowing which brought with it the salt tang of the sea. No lights were to be seen anywhere, and no dark groups of trees, such as he had expected, broke the starry sky line in any direction. Perhaps he had been wrong about their course being to the north-eastward; at all events it did not seem as though they had landed in Quex Park.
Before he had further time for speculation the cords about their feet were undone and they were jerked upright. Limper's assistant pilot and the two new men pushed them forward, while he brought up the rear, lighting their way now and again with flashes from a torch.
After a few moments they came to a wire fence, through which the prisoners were pulled, and then to a steep embankment. On its flat summit they tripped and stumbled across a double railway line, slid down the further bank across another fence, and so into a field. They tramped on for two hundred yards, slightly down hill, then came to a wooden paling. One of the men unlatched a gate and the party tramped up a brick pathway, through a kitchen garden, to a small dark cottage.