Thirty-Five
The Lord Purceville leaned back heavily against the cold stone wall, eyes wide with a fear that was altogether new to him. His own breathing as they reached the upper stories had become tight and irregular; and now, though nearly twenty minutes had elapsed, his chest had still not relented its angry rebellion at such use.
For he was no longer young, and his body’s weight had begun to overmatch the inherent strength of his limbs and heart. And this same heart, which had served him so long and so well as to be all but forgotten, now labored heavily to compensate. And while he was probably in no danger of a seizure, what he had seen in Arthur, and the long suppressed fear that his physical hardihood would one day desert him, combined to race dark imaginings through his mind.
And where the hell was Ballard? That they must kill the orderly was clear, but it must be done in such a way..... Damn him! His sudden appearance had undone a scheme so perfect it would have solved everything. “Everything!”
But his wrath was wasted here, and he knew it. He let his great body slide down to the hard, unyielding floor. And for all the anguish it cost him, he knew he must remain there until the furor of his body had lessened, and his thoughts become more tenable. Then he would act with swift resolution. Or so he imagined.
For Ballard, in his ponderous and short-sighted way, had reached a very different conclusion. Though unable to weigh the full consequences of such a choice, he had decided that the days of his master’s dominance were numbered, and that it was time to abandon him.
“I’m me own master now,” he said aloud. “Now I decide who lives, and who don’t.”
So rising slowly, with plans of his own passing through him in the dark, he descended the remaining steps, and approached at last the final landing---the broad level space before the massive door.
He heard a sudden start in the gloom, and strained his eyes to see. The single lamp was now smoking so badly, and cast such a wavering glow..... He saw the orderly, crouched like a frightened child at the foot of the impenetrable door. The Lieutenant took a breath, then chose his course.
“Peace, Master Cummings,” he said to him. “I haven’t come to kill you. Stand against the far wall if it will make your mind easier. I’m going to let you out.”
“But you. . .you murdered him.” Almost a sob.
“Not I, my friend. It was that bastard, Purceville, who done it before I could stop him. And that’ll be an end to my faithful service, I promise you. After all these years’ blind obedience, I see him now in his true colors. I tell you, I’ve had enough.”
He came forward with the ring of keys in his hand, as the other moved distrustfully away. He inserted the iron shaft, turned it in the lock, and pulled open the door with a seditious crack like the unsealing of a coffin. Then stood away.
The orderly eyed the opening, torn between desire and fear. Then began to inch toward it with his back against the stone, arms spread plaintively behind him.
“Be cautioned,” said Ballard as he drew closer. “You must walk past the guards at the end of the corridor as if nothing has happened, then lie low till I’ve had time to deal with the Master. His men are ruthless, and the Lord only knows what they’ll do if they suspect.....”
The young man looked back at him, confused, then suddenly burst through the opening and out into the corridor beyond.
Ballard sealed and locked the barrier once more. And thinking of the girl, so utterly helpless in the cold dark cell, he smiled.