As he spoke he led them down the stone passage-way, out of the door under the stairs, and down the corridor to the side door, through which Abbershaw had gone to visit the garage on the fateful night of the Dagger Ritual.
‘Now,’ he said, as with extraordinarily silent fingers he manoeuvred the ponderous bars and locks on the great door, ‘this is where the orchestra begins to play soft music and the circle shuffles for its hats as we fall into one another’s arms – that’s done it!’
On the last word the hinges creaked faintly as the heavy door swung inwards. The night was pitch dark but warm and pleasant, and they went out eagerly on the gravel, each conscious of an unspeakable relief as the realization of freedom came to them.
‘My God!’ The words were uttered in a sob as Campion started forward.
At the same moment the others caught a shadowy glimpse of the radiator of a great car not two yards ahead of them. Then they were enveloped in the glare of enormous head-lights, which completely blinded them.
They stood dazed and helpless for an instant, caught mercilessly and held by the glare.
A quiet German voice spoke out of the brightness, cold, and inexplicably horrible in its tonelessness.
‘I have covered the girl with red hair with my revolver; my assistant has the woman on the left as his aim. If there is any movement from anybody other than those I shall command, we shall both fire. Put your hands over your heads. Everybody! . . . So.’
CHAPTER XXI
The Point of View of Benjamin Dawlish
It was all over very quickly.