‘Which way?’ I whispered.
‘Don’t know. Try right.’
His hand groped out. If he was reaching for my hand, he missed by a mile. I slapped his fingers.
‘Naughty, naughty,’ I said softly.
‘Pure accident.’ His voice was equally soft, but he sounded as jaunty as I felt.
Success had gone to our heads, but the euphoria didn’t last long. We stumbled along the dark passageway, hands clasped, our free hands trailing along the wall on either side, dragging our feet for fear of stumbling. I wouldn’t have been surprised to find a gaping hole in the floor, or a mantrap; it was that kind of a place. I suggested lighting another match, but John vetoed the idea. We only had a few of them, and we might find ourselves in a situation where we would have greater need of them.
Finally we came to a dead end. There was a door at the end of the passageway, but it was locked. There was nothing to do but retrace our steps and try the other direction. We went faster now, not only because we knew the way, but because we were both conscious of the passage of time. Even if Bruno managed to free himself, his shouts wouldn’t be heard upstairs, but John’s theory had impressed me as being only too plausible. There was no reason why the gang should wait until morning to dispose of us. They might come at any moment.
We got back to the cell – I felt the door as we passed – and went on more slowly. Despite my care I tripped over a chair – the one where Bruno had been sitting, I suppose. No reason why he shouldn’t be comfortable.
This end of the passageway opened into another corridor. Here for the first time I saw a glimmer of light. We moved in that direction and discovered that it came from a barred window high in the wall. My eyes were adjusted to total darkness, so this radiance seemed almost brilliant, though it was only moonlight diffused by three-foot-thick walls and a screen of shrubs. We were in a room lined with shelves holding a miscellaneous assortment of objects, a storeroom, obviously. A dark opening on the other side of the room marked the exit. A flight of stairs led up to a door. John pushed it ajar and peered through the crack.
‘Another storeroom,’ he said, after a moment. ‘All clear.’
This room, on a slightly higher level, had several windows, and rows and rows of bins.
‘Wine cellar,’ I whispered. ‘I know where we are now. I didn’t realize this door was here. I never reached the part of the cellars where we were.’
‘Never mind the travelogue, just lead the way,’ John muttered.
It was easier said than done. The room was like a maze, with one row of bins looking just like the next. We had traversed one row without finding the door, and had started on the next, when John’s hand clenched painfully over mine.
I heard the sound almost as soon as he did. They weren’t bothering to move quietly. Why should they? One of them was whistling. There was at least one other man, from the sound of the footsteps. A few seconds ticked past, while we stood frozen. Then we saw a light, broken into grotesque shadows by the surrounding wine racks, but growing steadily brighter.
John dropped to the floor, dragging me with him. They passed not five feet from us. If they had looked to one side, they would have seen us. There were two of them. I recognized two of the men I had seen working near the garage. The light from the electric torch was so bright I hid my eyes.
Oh, well, I may as well be honest. I hid my eyes in the style of an ostrich, hoping they wouldn’t see me if I couldn’t see them. I have never felt more exposed and helpless.
But they went by without breaking stride, and turned into the next aisle. The light receded along with the sound of their footsteps.
John yanked me to my feet. He didn’t need to tell me to hurry. We had about a minute and a half before the alarm would be raised.
I was ready to run, I didn’t care where to. As soon as we got out of the wine cellar, John pulled me to a stop.
‘Wait, let’s not go riding off in all directions. Give me some idea of our options from here.’
‘The main stairs are that way,’ I said, pointing. ‘They come up in the service wing, near the butler’s pantry.’
‘That’s the way our friends came, most probably. They will be returning that way. There must be some other exit. Preferably out into the great out-of-doors.’
I tried to remember. It was hard; my heart was making so much noise I couldn’t hear myself think.
‘Wait. Yes, there is another door. This way.’
You never realize that time is subjective until you are in a spot like the one we were in. At every second I expected to hear howls and shouts and the sounds of pursuit, but actually we had covered quite a bit of ground before my ears caught the echo of thundering footsteps. They were muffled by distance and by the walls we had put between ourselves and our pursuers, but I heard them. I was listening for them.
I went even faster after that. It was a wonder we didn’t brain ourselves against a wall, but there was some light, from windows, since we were now on the upper level of the cellars. It is even more of a wonder that I remembered the way. However, I have an excellent sense of direction, and one’s senses work amazingly well when the alternative to failure is imminent execution. We ended up right where I hoped we would, at the bottom of a flight of rough stone stairs that ended in a heavy door.
We had to risk lighting a match or we would never have gotten that door open. The old lock wasn’t very formidable, but it was reinforced by the usual bars, bolts, and chains. When we had disengaged the extra impediments, the door still refused to budge.
I could have picked the lock if I had had time, steady hands, and the necessary tools. I had none of the above. So I lighted another match and looked around; and sure enough, there was the key hanging on a nail. My grandmother always did that with her keys. It was an unexpectedly homey touch.
The door creaked hideously, but fortunately there was nobody around to hear. It opened onto a weedy patch of ground enclosed by plastered walls. There was a gate in the wall directly opposite.
John closed the door behind us.
‘Not that it matters,’ he muttered. ‘They will know we came this way if they see the chains unfastened. Where are we?’
‘Damned if I know.’
The courtyard was about ten feet by fifteen. John walked out into the middle of it, put his hands on his hips, threw his head back, and contemplated the heavens. The moonlight silvered his hair and cast dramatic shadows across his body; he looked like one of the younger, more ineffectual saints addressing the Almighty. I stayed in the shelter of the house. I felt safer there.
‘Well?’ I said, after a while.
‘Sssh.’ He came back to me. ‘We’re behind the villa – ’
‘I could have told you that.’
‘It faces west,’ John went on imperturbably. ‘We want the road to Rome, which is that way.’ He pointed.
‘That may be what we want, but what we need is to put some distance between us and the villa. There can’t be many ways out of those cellars, and it won’t take long to check them. Bruno could come bursting through that door any second. Let’s get out of here.’
‘You have a point. Excelsior!’
The gate led into another courtyard. Every acre of ground seemed to be walled, and I began to get an acute sense of claustrophobia. Finally, however, we came upon a familiar building – the garage.
‘Hey,’ I said, catching John’s arm. ‘What about – ’
He wasn’t actually reading my mind; we were both thinking the obvious things at the same time.
‘No use, I don’t have the keys to any of the cars. Antonio sleeps upstairs; by the time I could get one of them started he’d hear me. Besides, if we steal a car, all they have to do is call the local constable in Tivoli and tell him – ’