He was in darkness and his body was in some peculiar and excruciating state of tension. Through a kind of singing in his ears he could hear faint fluttering sounds. He opened his eyes and there were thin parallel strips of light like white rulings on a sheet of black paper. He stirred and then gasped as he was shaken by a wave of pain.
“Andrew.”
The voice came very softly from the darkness somewhere near him.
“Andrew. Are you all right? Andrew.”
Consciousness was making its way back slowly and uncertainly, like an insect seeking a way of escape through a window.
“Andrew.”
He was beginning to remember now. She was somewhere near him. He tried to speak but the sound he made was a kind of gasp.
“Andrew.”
Suddenly he began to cough; and even as the throbbing agony of it tore through his head he came to his senses. He was lying on a bare wood floor and his hands and feet were bound, the hands behind him and tied to the rope round his ankles.
“Andrew. Are you all right?”
For a moment he lay there gasping for breath. Then he licked his lips.
“I think so. Are you?”
“Yes, but I can’t move.”
“Where are we?”
“In the cottage by the mill.”
“Where are our friends?”
“I heard them arguing over the boat. They couldn’t get the engine to start. I caught odd words. I think they’ve gone to the garage at Britsea for something. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I don’t think there’s anything broken. How long have they been gone?”
“About five minutes.”
“Did they take the car?”
“No.”
There was a pause. A kind of numb lethargy was stealing over his body, abating the cramp in his legs and arms. Soon, perhaps, it would soothe the pain in his head and he would sink back into a blessed unconsciousness. Then, in the silence, he heard her catch her breath in a sob.
The sound acted like an alarm signal, jolting him back into an awareness of their predicament. Unconsciousness now could mean death-for them both. He opened his eyes again to the strips of light showing between the boards nailed over the window. Then he tried to move his hands. The rope was round his wrists and his fingers were nowhere near the knots. It was good rope too, thin but as hard as whipcord.
“Ruth.”
He heard the effort at self-control she made before she answered.
“Yes?”
“Whereabouts are the knots?”
“There aren’t any. They used ropes from the boat with metal eyes and tied the ends with wire.”
His heart sank but he persisted. “Could I untie the wire with my fingers?”
“I don’t think so. It’s thick wire. It took the two of them to twist it.”
It would have to be the rope then. A faint hope suddenly flickered. “Did they search me?”
“Yes. They wanted to see if you had a pistol.”
“Did they empty all my pockets?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did they take my lighter?”
“I don’t know.” “If they didn’t, it’s in a ticket pocket inside the right-hand pocket of my jacket. Can you move far enough to see if it’s there?”
“I’ll try.”
He heard her feet scraping along the floor seeking a hold. A moment or two later she rolled over against him. Her hands were by his chest.
“Hold on.”
With an effort he edged backwards and then rolled over on his face. He felt her hands against his hip.
“It’s there. Keep still.”
There was a sudden movement and then he heard the lighter clatter on the floor.
“I’ve got it.”
He rolled over again. A moment later the lighter clicked and he could see her lying with her back towards him, the lighter held up between her fingers.
The first glance told him that it would be impossible either to untwist the wire with his hands or to burn through the rope about her wrists; the wire was of stranded steel, rusty but still tough; the rope was too near her wrists at every point to be burnt without also burning the flesh. He had another idea.
“Can you stand the lighter on the floor without putting the flame out?”
“I think so.”
It was difficult for her and she burned her hands doing it, but she managed in the end. He remembered thankfully that he had filled the lighter the previous day. It burned steadily as he rolled on to his back and manoeuvred the rope about his ankles into the flame.
The rope began to char almost at once but so did the material of his trouser legs and he had to keep pausing in his efforts and hold his legs away from the flame. By the time the rope parted and his ankles were free he was almost too exhausted to stand up.
The next thing was to free his hands. The lighter flame was low now and he knew that he had to move quickly to find something against which he could abrade the rope between his wrists.
The only thing that presented itself was the rusty bracket of an old shelf. He found that he could just reach the curved brace of the bracket before the light went. He began to saw at the rope.
There was no doubt about its being good rope. He worked away in an exhausted silence. The girl spoke only once.
“Can you do it?”
“I think so.”
It took nearly half an hour and his wrists were bleeding when it was done but, although he was aware of pain, it seemed to him now that his nerves no longer responded to it.
Steady movement of the bracket had loosened the screws that fastened it to the wall. He wrenched it off and with it prised open one of the windows sufficiently to admit a working light. Then, using the bracket as a lever, he tackled the wire cable that secured the girl’s hands.
At first he scratched his hands and tore his fingernails, but once he could use the leverage of the bracket his task became easier. She was almost free when suddenly he felt her stiffen.
“What is it?”
“Listen. Didn’t you hear it?”
“Hear what?”
“They’re back! They’re at the car! I heard the door close.”
The blood was thumping so in his head that he could hear little else. He said, “They’ll make for the yawl. We’ll hear them talking.”
They listened. There were sea gulls and silence.
Andrew went to the window again. No one was visible. The craft swam high, but the tide was past the full.
“You could have been mistaken,” he said.
“I tell you I heard the car door.”
“All right. Hold still now.” The last knot came free and he helped her to her feet. She sat down again with a groan as the circulation began to return to her limbs. Andrew went back to the window. Yawl and landing stage were still deserted. It might still be possible to reach the car and drive off, but caution was imperative, for by now Kretchmann and Haller must be on their way back. The essential thing was to reach the car and start it up; then a couple of encumbered cyclists would have no chance against them, especially if they were taken by surprise just outside the yard.
The bracket had one more job to do. Andrew tried the door and found that, although there was only a simple latch on it, it had been jammed in some way from the outside. There was, however, a crack in one of the door panels and he set to work with the bracket. It bent and finally broke but he had done enough damage to the panel to enable him to get his arm through and remove the piece of wood wedged in the latch. They went out on to the landing. Then they stood still for a moment, listening anxiously, but there was no sound. Even the gulls were silent now.