In half an hour they were unloaded, and the small casks were neatly stacked on an old shelf in the stone cellar. "This should keep 'em cool," the wine merchant told the butler. "I think your master will find that the vintage exceeds his expectations. Just let 'em settle for a day or so before you broach the first one."
"It's good quality, then?" the butler asked.
"Heavenly," the merchant assured him. "Ta, now. I must be on my way."
TWENTY-SEVEN — RESCUE
Here lovely boys; what death forbids my life,
That let your lives command in spite
of
death.
— Christopher Marlowe
The rain began again in late afternoon, a cold rain falling through the gusts of a chill spring wind. By sunset it had fallen steadily for several hours, and promised to continue indefinitely. The overhanging clouds shut out what remained of the twilight, prematurely darkening the sky. The bay cob, for whom the rain was but one more indignity, plodded stolidly through the puddled streets, and the four-wheeler bounced and lurched behind. Barnett hunched forward in his damp leather-covered seat and stared through the mist-covered window at the shifting murky shadows of the passing scene: buildings, pavement, lamp poles, pillar boxes, occasional people scurrying to get out of the rain. It all had an unreal quality, as though it possessed no separate existence, but had been placed there, as a stage set might be, at the whim of some godlike director.
Barnett felt himself caught up in this world of unreality; for some reason he could not understand, he felt curiously divorced from himself, from where he was and what he was doing. He shook his head sharply to try to drive away the mental fog and turned to Professor Moriarty. "How much longer?" he asked.
Moriarty glanced outside for a moment, getting his bearings. "Ten more minutes should see us there," he said. "A bit early for our needs, I'm afraid. We may have to skulk in some doorway for a bit."
"I don't know if I can tolerate waiting once we're in sight of the house," Barnett said. "I feel as though I've already been waiting for centuries. Besides, I don't like to think of what might be happening inside that house while we are outside waiting."
"Practice patience," Moriarty instructed. "It is the one virtue that will stand you in good stead in almost any circumstance. In this case, it is essential. If we burst in before the time is ready, we will most assuredly do more harm than good. God only knows what these good citizens and accomplished clubmen we are planning to visit might do in a panic."
"I thought you were an atheist," Barnett commented.
"I am also a pragmatist," Moriarty said. "Therefore, what we must do is insinuate ourselves amongst them, and, at the propitious moment, effect a rescue of Miss Perrine."
"If she's there," Barnett said. He suddenly found that he was biting his lower lip, and consciously restrained himself.
"If she is not there," said Moriarty grimly, "we shall cause one of the gentlemen who is there to desire very strongly to tell us just where she is! You have my word, Barnett, before this night is out we shall have located and repatriated your lady."
"I pray that is so," Barnett said. "This is the fourth day she's been in their hands. It is not pleasant to contemplate what might have happened to her by now."
Moriarty looked at him. "That is self-defeating," he said. "Whatever has happened to Miss Perrine has already happened; there is nothing you can do to change it. And whatever it is, you must not blame her or yourself for it. You must accept it and go on."
"Are you saying one should do nothing about what is past?" Barnett asked.
"One can learn from the past," Moriarty said. Then, after a pause, he added softly, "Vengeance, occasionally, is acceptable."
A few minutes later the four-wheeler pulled to a stop, and the jarvey opened the tiny communicating hatch on the roof, cascading a small puddle of water onto the seat next to Barnett. "We're 'ere, Professor, just like you said," he yelled down. "Right around the corner from the 'ouse in question."
"Very good, Dermot," the professor replied. "Are any of our people in evidence?"
The jarvey put his ear to the small hole in order to hear the professor's question over the wind. "There's a couple of individuals what are loitering in doorways on the next block," he replied. "But as to 'oo they are, I can't rightly say from this distance, what with the inclement weather and all."
"Well, let's go see what we can see," Moriarty said, nodding to Barnett. "Wait here, Dermot. You might as well get inside the carriage and keep warm and dry until you are needed."
"Too late," Dermot yelled down, and he slid the hatch closed.
Barnett followed Moriarty across the street in front of them, which he noted from the corner sign was Upper Pondbury Crescent. The street, bordered by orderly rows of well-spaced houses, set comfortably back from the pavement, went off in either direction with only the slightest hint of a curve. "What do you suppose," Barnett asked the professor, "makes this a crescent?"
Moriarty glanced at his associate. "The vagaries of Lord Pondbury's business manager," he suggested. "A fondness for the term 'crescent' when he turned his lordship's private game preserve into sixty-five unattached town houses."
Mummer Tolliver appeared from behind a hedge and came trotting over. "Morning, chum," he said, nodding at Barnett. "Morning, Professor. That's the house over there." He pointed across the street at a house about halfway up the block. "The one with the chest-high stone wall running along the walk to the front door."
"Chest-high?" Barnett asked, peering through the gloom at the house Tolliver indicated.
The Mummer glared at him. "My chest," he explained. "Your arse."
Barnett looked down at the little man. "Don't be coarse," he said. "And what do you mean, 'morning'? It happens to be eight in the evening. Ten after, as a matter of fact."
"I 'ere tell as 'ow it's morning somewhere," the Mummer said coldly, dropping his aitches for emphasis. "Don't you know no science whatsoever?"
"Save your horological repartee for another time, Mummer," Moriarty said, staring suspiciously at the house across the street. "Are you certain that's the right place?"
"That is the place, Professor, no mistake," the Mummer said.
"Did you find a green cross?" Moriarty demanded. "That is the identification in this month's advertisement — a green cross," he explained to Barnett.
"There's a Maltese cross done in green glass set into the front window to the right of the door," the Mummer said. "You know, like them windows in a church."
"Stained glass?" Barnett suggested.
"You've got it," the Mummer agreed. "It shows up real good when you're right in front of it, 'cause of the light behind it; but you can't hardly see it from either side 'cause the window's inset quite a bit."
"Very good," Moriarty said. "This must, indeed, be the right place. Has there been much traffic while you've been watching?"
"Very little in-and-out," Tolliver said. "A cluster of gents went in shortly after I set myself and the other lads up here — that would be about six o'clock. Shortly after it started raining. Six in since then, and two out. They left together in a trap. And, o'course, one strange event."
"What's that?"
Tolliver led Moriarty and Barnett a few houses down from where they were standing and pointed out a bicycle which had been well concealed in the shrubbery to the side of the house. "A gent came pedaling up on this contraption and discarded it here, carefully out-of-sight like. Then he went over to the house what we're watching and immediately snuck off around the corner of the house. I can't say whether he went inside or not, but he didn't use the front door. That were about ten or fifteen minutes ago."