Chapter Twelve.
Kidnapping.
Percy Rimbolt, despite his unusual literary labours of the past evening, rose promptly when Walker knocked at his door at six o’clock, and arrayed himself once more in his flannels.
The storm of the night, which had disturbed Jeffreys and his dog five miles away, had not spread as far as Wildtree, and the early summer sun was already hot as he sallied forth with his waterproof over one arm, and his dozen ash sticks under the other in the direction of the river. Kennedy, at the lodge, was considerably astonished to be awakened by a shower of gravel against his window, and to perceive, on looking out, the young master in full fishing order standing below, “Kennedy, Appleby’s going to leave some things here for me about twelve o’clock. Mind you’re in, and wait till I come for them. And if Raby comes, tell her I’ll be up about then; tell her not to go away.”
“Do you want me down at the river, sir?” asked the old keeper.
“No, keep away; and don’t let any one else come below Rodnet Bridge.” With which injunction the youthful man of science went on his way, leaving Kennedy to shake his head and wonder what little game the young master was up to now.
Percy plodded on a couple of miles down the stream, considerably beyond the park boundaries, till he reached Rodnet Bridge, under which the mountain torrent slipped in a swift, deep stream. Just below the bridge, among the trees which crowded down to the water’s edge, was a little hut, used by the Wildtree keepers for depositing their baskets and nets, but now appropriated by the young heir of Wildtree for far more important purposes.
It was here, in fact, that during the last two days he had conceived, and begun to put into practice, the never-before-heard-of invention of a machine for enabling a swimmer to swim up-stream at the rate of eight to ten miles an hour!
Percy’s recent career had been made up of a large number of magnificent projects, admirable in every respect but one—they never quite came off. Just as they neared perfection they “gave out,” and something new took their place. It would be treason, however, to hint that the “anti-current swimmer” was ever likely to give out. There certainly seemed no signs of it in the manner in which the inventor set about his task that morning. He had been provident enough to bring some sandwiches in his pockets (provided at the last moment by the much-enduring Walker), and on the strength of these he laboured half the morning. It would puzzle me to explain on what scientific principle the wonderful apparatus was laid down, what mixture between the wing of a bird, the tail of a fish, and the screw of a steamer it embodied. I never was good at mechanics, and certainly Percy Rimbolt’s mechanics were such as it is given but to few to follow. Suffice it to say that by eleven o’clock the structure had reached a critical stage, and stood still for want of the cork which Appleby had been charged to procure.
The day was hot, and an hour at least must elapse before the messenger could return from Overstone. Percy, therefore, improved the shining hour by a bathe in the clear stream, with whose depths he was evidently familiar. He made no attempt, pending the completion of the machine, to oppose the swift current, but diving into it from the bridge, allowed himself luxuriously to be carried down into the shallows a hundred yards below, and without even the trouble of swimming. This refreshing performance ended, he returned to the hut and dressed. He was in the act of locking the door, preparatory to his journey up to Kennedy’s lodge, when a sack was suddenly thrown over his head from behind, and next moment he found himself pinned to the ground in the clutches of two men. Before he was well aware of what had happened, his feet were tied together, and his arms firmly lashed to his sides. The sack was lifted from his mouth, but not long enough to enable him to shout, for a gag was roughly forced between his teeth; and then, while one of his captors held his head, the other bandaged his eyes so completely that, had he not known it, he could not have told whether it was mid-day or midnight. Thus, in almost less time than it takes to narrate it, in broad daylight, and on the borders of his own father’s estate, the unfortunate Percy was made captive, without so much as being able to give an alarm or to see the faces of his assailants.
He was deposited comfortably on the floor of his own hut, by the side, oh, cruel fate! of his own machine, and there left to work out any number of problems which might occur to him during the next six hours; while his custodians, having carefully padlocked the door, retired to a respectful distance among the trees, where they could smoke their pipes in peace, and at the same time keep an eye on the approaches to their young ward’s dungeon.
It did not take Percy many minutes to convince himself that any attempt to struggle or extricate himself from his bonds would be labour thrown away. His captors were evidently well up to their business, and there was no wriggling out of their neatly-tied bonds. Nor did the onslaught which the boy made with his teeth on the gag result in anything but disaster. It loosened at least two of his teeth, and gave him during the remainder of the day considerable pain in some of the others. As to his eyes, he rubbed his forehead and the side of his head on the floor, in the hopes of shifting the bandage, but all in vain. He got it over his ears as well as his eyes for his pains, and could scarcely hear a sound.
As the afternoon went on, the sun slanted its rays cruelly through the little skylight on to the spot where he lay, and the flies, attracted by the rare chance, swarmed in under the door and through the cracks to make merry with their defenceless victim. Had the sun been seven times as hot, or the flies venomous and deadly, he would have preferred it, for it would have shortened his misery considerably. When at last the sun got across the window, and left him at peace, he was scarcely in a position to appreciate his mercies.
Not long after the distant Overstone chimes had sounded four, his heart (about the only unfettered portion of him) leapt to his mouth as he heard his name called in Raby’s voice outside. Nor was his the only heart whom that cheery sound caused to palpitate. The two watchers in the wood above heard it, and prepared to decamp at a moment’s notice, should the girl display any undue curiosity as to the contents of the hut.
But she did not. She was used to seeing it padlocked, and to listen in vain for an answer to her call. Percy was evidently abroad, probably waiting for her up at Kennedy’s lodge. So she hurried back. As soon as she had disappeared beyond the bridge, the two men put their pipes into their pockets.
“If they’ve begun looking for him we’d best sheer off, Corporal.”
“That’s right,” replied Corporal—“at once.”
Whereupon they descended from their perches, and having looked carefully up and down, unlocked the dungeon door.
Their prisoner was lying so still and motionless, that for an instant they had their misgivings as to whether the gag had not been a trifle too much for his respiration. But a moment’s examination satisfied them the boy was alive—much to their relief.
The sack was once more brought into requisition, and turned out to be a great deal larger than it looked, for it was found quite roomy enough to accommodate the whole of the person of Percy Rimbolt, who in this dignified retreat quitted the scene of his labours on the back of one of his captors. The hut having been once more carefully padlocked, the party travelled at least a mile into the depths of the lonely woods, where at least there was no lack of shade and seclusion.
Percy was deposited somewhat unceremoniously on the ground, and left in the sack (with just sufficient aperture in the region of his nose to allow of respiration) for some hours more, unheeded by his custodians except when he attempted to move or roll over, on which occasions he was sharply reminded of his duty to his company by an unceremonious kick.
Some time later—it may have been an hour or two, or only five minutes—he was aware of a conversation taking place outside his sack.
“Risky,” said one voice.
“More risky not to do it,” said the other. “What use would he be if he was a dead ’un? Besides, how are we to carry him all that way?”
“All right, have it your way,” said the other surlily.
Then Percy was conscious of some one uncording the mouth of the sack and uncovering his head.
“Young feller,” said the gruffer of the two voices, “do you want your throat cut?”
Percy shook his head in mild deprecation of such a desire.
“Do you want your tongue cut out?”
Once more Percy disclaimed any consuming anxiety in that direction.
“Then you won’t move a step or speak a word unless you’re told. Do you mark that?”
The boy nodded; he did mark it.
Thereupon, much to his relief, the gag was taken from his mouth, and he felt himself hauled out of the ignominious sack.
“A drink!” he gasped.
“There he goes; I said he’d do it. Clap the gag on again.”
Poor blindfolded Percy could only wave his head appealingly. He would sooner have his throat cut than feel that gag back between his teeth. His captors let him off this once, and one of them untied the cords from his legs. He was too cramped to attempt to make any use of this partial liberty, even had he been so minded, and sank down, half fainting, to the ground.
“Give him a drink,” said one of the voices; and in a moment or two he felt a cup of delicious water held to his parched lips, reviving him as if by magic. A few coarse pieces of bread were also thrust between his lips; these he swallowed painfully, for his jaws were stiff and aching, and his teeth had almost forgotten their cunning. However, when the meal was over he felt better, and would gladly have slept upon it for an hour or two, had he been allowed.
But this was no part of his captors’ programme. They had not relaxed his bonds to indulge any such luxurious craving. Overstone Church had already sounded eleven, and they were due in an hour at the mountain shed.
“Get up and step out,” said one of them, pulling the boy roughly to his feet.
“All very well,” said Percy to himself, as he stumbled forward on his cramped limbs; “they’ll have to give me a leg up if they want me to go the pace. Where are we going to next, I’d like to know?”
“Come, stir yourself,” said the man again, accompanying his words by a rough shake.
Percy responded by toppling over on his face. He who knew the way to swim against stream ten miles an hour, was just now unable to walk half a dozen paces on solid ground.
“Best shove him in the sack again,” growled the other man.
The bare mention of that sack startled poor Percy to his feet. If he might only have spoken he could easily have explained the trifling difficulty which prevented his “stepping out.” As it was, all he could do was to struggle forward bravely for a few more paces, and then again fall. The men seemed to perceive that there was something more than mere playfulness in this twice-repeated performance, and solved the difficulty by clutching him one under each arm, and materially assisting his progress by dragging him.
Any of Percy’s acquaintances would have been greatly shocked had they been privileged to witness this triumphal midnight progress across the moors; his dragging legs feebly trying to imitate the motions of walking, but looking much more like kneeling, his head dropped forward on his chest, his shoulders elevated by the grip of his conductors under his pinioned arms, and his eyes bandaged as never a blind-man’s-buff could bind them.
It was a long weary march that; but to Percy it was luxury compared with the morning among the flies on the hut floor. His conductors settled into a jog-trot, which the light weight of the boy did not much impede; and Percy, finding the motion not difficult, and on the whole soothing, dropped off into a half-doze, which greatly assisted in passing the time.
At length, however, he became aware of a halt and a hurried consultation between his captors.
“Is he there? Whistle?”
Corporal gave a low whistle, which after a second or two was answered from the hill-side.
“That’s all right!” said the other, in tones of relief. “See anything of the cart?”
Corporal peered round in the darkness.
“Yes—all right down there.”
“Come on, then. Keep your eye on Jim, though, he’s a mighty hand at going more than his share.”
“Trust me,” growled Corporal.
Then Percy felt himself seized again and dragged forward.
In about five minutes they halted again, and the whistle was repeated.
The answer came from close at hand this time.
“All square?” whispered Corporal.
“Yes!” replied a new indistinct voice—“come on.”
“Jim’s screwed again,” said the other man; “I can tell it by his voice; there’s no trusting him. Come on.”
They had moved forward half a dozen steps more, when Corporal suddenly found his head enveloped in a sack—a counterpart of his own—while at the same moment the other man was borne to the ground with a great dog’s fangs buried in his neckcloth.
“Hold him!” called Jeffreys to the dog, as he himself applied his energies to the subjugation of the struggling Corporal.
It was no easy task. But Jeffreys, lad as he was, was a young Samson, and had his man at a disadvantage. For Corporal, entangled with the sack and unprepared for the sudden onslaught, staggered back and fell; and before he could struggle to his feet Jeffreys was on him, almost throttling him. It was no time for polite fighting. If Jeffreys did not throttle his man, his man, as he perfectly well knew, would do more than throttle him. So he held on like grim death, till Corporal, half smothered by the sack and half-choked by his assailant’s clutch, howled for quarter.
Then for the first time Jeffreys felt decidedly perplexed. If he let Corporal go, Corporal, not being a man of honour, might turn on him and make mincemeat of him. If, on the other hand, he called the dog off the other man to hold Corporal while he bound him captive, the other man might abuse his opportunity in a like manner. The boy was evidently too exhausted to take any part in the encounter? What could he do?
After turning the matter over, he decided that Julius was the most competent individual to settle the business. The dog was having a very easy time with the abject villain over whom he was mounting guard, and could well undertake a little more than he had at present on his hands.
“Fetch him here, Julius,” called Jeffreys, giving Corporal an additional grip; “come here, you fellow, along with the dog.”
The fellow had nothing for it but to obey; and in a couple of minutes he was lying across the body of Corporal, while Julius stood fiercely over them both.
“Come here, boy,” called Jeffreys next to Percy; “let me take off those cords.” Percy groped his way to him.
“What are you going to do with me?” he gasped.
“Loose you; and if you’re half a man you’ll help me tie up these brutes. Come on—watch them there, Julius. Why, you’re blindfolded, too, and how frightfully tight you’re corded!”
“I’ve been like that since twelve o’clock.”
A few moments sufficed to unfasten the captive’s arms and clear his eyes.
“Now you,” said Jeffreys, indicating the topmost of Julius’s captives with his toe, “put your hands behind your back!”
The fellow obeyed hurriedly; he had had quite enough of Julius’s attentions already to need more.
Jeffreys and Percy between them lashed first his wrists together, and then his elbows tightly to his sides. Then they secured his feet and knees in the same manner.
“He’ll do—let him go, Julius,” and prisoner Number 1 was rolled over, to make room for Number 2 to undergo a similar process of pinioning.
It was fortunate that the hay-cart below, of which and its owner Jeffreys and Julius had already taken possession at their leisure, had been liberally provided with cord, or their supply would have been inadequate to the strain put upon it.
At last, however, Corporal and his friend were as securely tied up as they themselves could have done it, and dragged into the shed. It was pitch dark, and they neither of them at first perceived a third occupant of the tenement in the person of their fellow-conspirator, who was lying, bound like themselves, on the floor, where for an hour at least he had been enjoying the sweets of solitary meditation.
“Now, Julius,” said Jeffreys, when his three guests were duly deposited, “you’ll have to watch them here till I come back. Hold your tongues, all of you, or Julius will trouble you. Watch them, good dog, and stay here.”
“Now,” said he to the boy, when they found themselves outside, “what’s your name?”
“Percy Rimbolt.”
“Where do you live?”
“Wildtree Towers, five miles away.”
“We can be there in an hour. We may as well use this cart, which was meant to drive you in another direction. Can you walk to it, or shall I carry you?”
Percy, as one in a dream, walked the short distance leaning on his rescuer’s arm. Then, deposited on the soft hay, too weary to trouble himself how he got there, or who this new guardian might be, he dropped off into an exhausted sleep, from which he was only aroused by the sound of his parents’ voices as the cart pulled up at the door of Wildtree Towers.