The Cheyne mystery

by Freeman Wills Crofts

He had seen the ladder! Cheyne realized that his retreat was cut off!

A sudden tumult arose downstairs. Hasty feet ran towards the garden and voices spoke low and hurriedly beneath the window. Cheyne saw that his only hope lay in instant action. He silently hurried across the room, tore the door open and ran to the head of the stairs. His hope was that he might slip down and out of the door while the others were still at the back of the house.

But he was just too late. As he reached the stairs he heard steps approaching the hall below. His retreat was cut off in this direction also.

There remained only one thing to do and he did it almost without thought. Opening the next door to that of the sitting room, he stepped noiselessly inside, closing the door save for a narrow chink through which he could hear and see what was happening.

Two of the men had raced up to the sitting room, and peeping out, Cheyne saw that they were Blessington and Sime. In a moment they were out again and running down, shouting: “It’s gone, James! The tracing’s gone!” Sounds indicative of surprise and consternation arose from below, but Cheyne could no longer hear the words. Then through the window, which also looked out over the garden, he heard Dangle’s voice: “Keep guard of the house, Susan and Blessington. Come with me, Sime,” and the sound of two pairs of feet rushing away towards the lane.

Instinctively Cheyne realized that his chance had come. It was now or never. If he could not escape while two of the conspirators were away, he would have no chance when all four were present.

He came out of his hiding-place and peeped through the well down into the hall. The electric light had been turned on and the hall was brilliantly illuminated. In it stood Blessington, glancing alternately up the stairs and out through a door to the back. In his hand he held an automatic pistol, and from the look of fury and desperation on his face Cheyne had no doubt that he would not hesitate to use it if he saw him.

“They must have only just gone!” Blessington cried through the door with a lurid oath, and Susan’s voice answered with another equally vivid string of blasphemy.

Cheyne stood tense, scarcely daring to breathe and on the qui vive to take advantage of any chance that might offer. But Blessington wasn’t going to give chances. He stood there with his pistol raised, and unarmed as Cheyne was, he recognized the hopelessness of trying to rush him.

He thought there might be a chance of escape from some of the other rooms, and silently crept about in the hope of finding a window or skylight from which he might perhaps obtain access to a downspout. But so far as he could ascertain in the dark there was nothing of the kind, and after a few minutes had passed he retraced his steps and set himself to watch Blessington.