`Get between us; and keep your hands at your sides, or it will be the worse for you.'
The yacht's diesels had been stopped and her only movement now was a gentle rise and fall; so it seemed that she must have entered a port or have anchored in some sheltered bay. John gave a quick glance at his watch. It was a quarter past three. That told him that she might have run between forty to fifty miles along the coast, but in which direction he had no means of guessing. Obviously this was no time to argue; so he slid off the bunk, placed himself between the two sailors, so that the three of them formed an Indian file, and in this manner allowed himself to be escorted up on deck.
He saw then that he had been right in believing the yacht might be anchored in a bay. The moon was almost down, but the stars were bright and there was sufficient light for him to make out a headland on either side, from which the land dropped away. Between them rose an outline of dark hillside, with low down on it several lighted windows which appeared to be in one large, solitary house.
A rigged gangway, slung from davits on the yacht's port side, had been lowered. John was marched on to it, and saw that a motor launch was rocking gently beside the square grating which formed the lowest stage of the ladder. As he walked down to it he began to play with the thought of taking a swift dive; but he was not much good at swimming under water; so he was very doubtful of his ability to get out of sight before he could be spotted and recaptured. The idea was definitely rendered stillborn when they reached the launch by the grey haired sailor producing an ugly sheath knife, showing it to him and saying
`Should Monsieur show any desire to go for a swim, he will enter the water with this in his liver. Those are my orders.'
Evidently the man felt that it was not for a member of the crew to enter the launch's cabin, as he prodded John towards the bow and made him sit down on the fore deck with his back against the cabin's forward end, then sat down beside him. A moment later John heard voices, and among them Christina's, confirming his belief that the Marquis had not taken her off in his car, but detained her on the yacht. By turning his head he caught a glimpse over the low top of the cabin of several people coming down the gangway, and she was among them. The party scrambled on to the launch and, as soon as they had settled themselves in the cabin, it cast off.
John's spirits were now on the upgrade. As long as he had been in his cabin prison he had thought it certain that he would be kept there, perhaps for several days or anyway until Christina had been got safely away, and that it was even possible that he might never see her again. But now it looked as if they were both to be taken to the house with the lights, and that the place was to be used as a staging point in the arrangements for getting her to England. If so, it was at least conceivable that a chance might occur for him to rescue her, or to escape himself and let C. B. know where she was before she was moved on again.
Two thirds of the way to the shore these new hopes were sadly dashed. The launch passed close to a small seaplane that lay rocking gently at its moorings. The sight of it instantly brought into John's mind the tall man with the fair fluffy moustache. He looked a typical pilot and probably this was his aircraft. If so, here were the means by which Christina was to be transported to England, and the odds were that they meant to fly her off at dawn. With so short a time to go, all chance of rescue, or bringing C. B. and Inspector Malouet on the scene, would be ruled out.
John had barely assimilated this new cause for depression when the launch pulled in at the shoreward end of a long curved mole that formed a small private harbour. The party in the cabin landed first, and he could now see that it consisted of Christina, the Marquis, Jules, the pilot type and the little man who looked like a valet. John's escort again showed his knife, then signed to him to follow them.
With the Marquis and Christina leading, they crossed the hard, went through a gate in a low wall and entered a garden. The trees there made it darker than it had been on the water, but there was still enough light to see by. The ground sloped up, but not sufficiently to require a path with hairpin bends, and as soon as they were within a hundred yards of the house John could make out its main features.
Unlike most large properties on the Riviera, it was a flat faced, pedimented eighteenth century chateau with tall windows. It had two floors only of residential accommodation and from the first jutted out a broad terrace. Below the terrace the facade was broken only by a low central door and on either side of it a row of small, square windows protected by iron grilles. As John was aware, it was usual for the ground floor of such buildings to be used solely as cellarage, store rooms and offices; and as no lights showed from any of the small windows it seemed that this chateau was no exception.
The central door opened on to a small, stone flagged hall with a low vaulted ceiling, and a curved stairway having a wrought iron balustrade, which led up to another much loftier hall on the main floor. When they reached it the Marquis opened a pair of tall, white, heavily gilded double doors and bowed Christina through into a brightly lit salon. With its panelled walls, tapestries, Aubusson carpet and delicate furniture, it had all the elegance of a genuine Louis Seize apartment. The others followed, but as John stepped inside Jules said to the sailor who had brought up the rear of the party
`You may go now, Chopin. Monsieur Upson and I will take care of your prisoner.'
The Marquis meanwhile was addressing the little man who on closer inspection was obviously a servant, and John heard him say:
`Frederick, see that all is in order in the du Barry room. Mademoiselle may like to rest there for a while before she sets out on her journey. Then prepare our special accommodation downstairs for Monsieur Fountain. He will be our guest for some days.'
These orders confirmed John's belief that within a few hours they intended to fly Christina off in the seaplane. It was the first chance he had had to get a proper look at her since they had been separated on the yacht, and as Jules closed the door behind him he shot a glance at her.
She was half turned away from him, so he could not catch her eye; but he was given a swift indication of her mood. As the valet left the room by a further door, she asked the Marquis angrily
`Where are you sending me?'
`To England, Mademoiselle.' He waved a hand towards the pilot type, who was now leaning negligently against a large marble topped table. `I have already presented Mr. Reg Upson to you. He was an ace airman in the last war, so you need have no fears for your safety while he flies you home.'
Jules and John were standing within a few feet of the door to the hall. Seeing that everyone's attention was concentrated on Christina, this seemed to John as good an opportunity as he might ever get to make a bolt for it. Taking a swift step back, he seized the door handle.
Quick as his movement had been, Upson's was quicker. Out of the corner of his eye he had seen John brace himself and guessed his intention. Whipping a small automatic from a shoulder holster, he cried in English:
`Halt; or I fire! '
John had not even got the door open. Under the menace of the pointing pistol there was nothing he could do but let go of the handle and give a resigned shrug. Jules then grabbed him by the arm, pulled him into the middle of the room and pushed him into an armchair.
The airman laid his automatic down on the top of the table and said in a lazy drawl, `It's just as well you stopped when you did, or I'd have put one through the calf of your leg.'
Riled by Jules' rough handling of him, but knowing it to be no time to start another fight, John turned and snapped at Upson, `If you are an ex R.A.F. officer you ought to be ashamed of yourself.'
`Got to earn a living somehow,' Upson replied indifferently. `And I'm paid darn' well for taking care of troublesome types like you.'