here we go.'
Canning sat down and lowered himself into the water, kneedeep. He waded forward, Birr followed him and found the American crouched beside the lion's head in the darkness.
'You can feel the grille here, half under the water,' Canning whispered. 'If we can get that off we're straight into the main drainage system. One tunnel after the other all the way down to the river.'
'And if not?' Birr inquired.
'Short rations again and a stone cell, but that, as they say, is problematical. Right now we've got about ten minutes before Schneider and that damned Alsatian of his come by on garden patrol.'
He produced a short length of steel bar from his pocket, inserted it in one side of the bronze grille and levered. There was an audible crack, the metal, corroded by the years, snapping instantly. He pulled hard and the entire grille came away in his hands.
'You see how it is, Justin. All you have to do is live right. After you.'
Birr crouched down on his hands and knees in the water and switching on his torch crawled through into a narrow brick tunnel. Canning moved in behind him, pulling the grille back into place.
'Don't you think you're getting a little old for Boy Scouts, Hamilton?' Birr whispered over his shoulder.
'Shut up and get moving,' Canning told him. 'If we can reach the river and find a boat by midnight, we'll have six or seven hours to play with before they find we're gone.'
Birr moved on, crawling on hands and knees through a couple of feet of water, the torch in his teeth. He emerged after a few yards into a tunnel that was a good five feet in diameter so that he could actually walk if he crouched a little.
The water was only about a foot deep here, for the tunnel sloped downwards steeply, and the smell was not unpleasant, like old leaves and autumn on the river in a punt.
'Keep going,' Canning said. 'From what I found out from that gardener, we emerge into the main sewer pretty quickly. From there, it's a straight run down to the Inn.'
'I can smell it already,' Birr told him.
A few minutes later the tunnel did indeed empty into the main sewer in a miniature waterfall. Birr flashed his torch at the brown foam-flecked waters which rushed by several feet below.
'My God, just smell it, Hamilton. This really is beyond a joke.'
'Oh, get in there, for Christ's sake.' Canning gave him a shove and Birr dropped down, losing his balance and disappeared beneath the surface. He was on his feet in an instant and stood there cursing, still clutching his torch. 'It's liquid shit, Hamilton. Liquid shit.'
'You can have a wash when we get to the river,' Canning said and he lowered himself down to join him. 'Now let's make time.'
He started down the tunnel, torch extended before him, and Birr followed for perhaps sixty or seventy yards and then the tunnel petered out in a blank wall.
'That's it then,' Birr said. 'And a bloody good job too as far as I'm concerned. We'll have to go back.'
'Not on your sweet life. The water's got to go somewhere.' Canning slipped his torch into his pocket, took a deep breath and crouched. He surfaced at once. 'As I thought. The tunnel continues on a lower level. I'm going through.'
Birr said, 'And what if it's twenty or thirty yards long, you idiot - or longer? You'll not have time to turn and come back. You'll drown.'
'So I'll take that chance, Justin.' Canning was tying one end of the rope about his waist now. 'I want out - you understand? I've no intention of sitting on my ass up there in the castle waiting for the Reichsfuhrer's hired assassins to come and finish me off.' He held out the other end of the rope. 'Fasten that round your waist if you want to come too. If I get through, I'll give it a pull.'
'And if not?'
'Winter roses on my grave. Scarlet ones like those Claire cultivated in the conservatory.' He grinned once, took a deep breath and disappeared beneath the surface of the water.
Justin Birr waited. The electric torch gave only a minimal light, barely
Canning sat down and lowered himself into the water, kneedeep. He waded forward, Birr followed him and found the American crouched beside the lion's head in the darkness.
'You can feel the grille here, half under the water,' Canning whispered. 'If we can get that off we're straight into the main drainage system. One tunnel after the other all the way down to the river.'
'And if not?' Birr inquired.
'Short rations again and a stone cell, but that, as they say, is problematical. Right now we've got about ten minutes before Schneider and that damned Alsatian of his come by on garden patrol.'
He produced a short length of steel bar from his pocket, inserted it in one side of the bronze grille and levered. There was an audible crack, the metal, corroded by the years, snapping instantly. He pulled hard and the entire grille came away in his hands.
'You see how it is, Justin. All you have to do is live right. After you.'
Birr crouched down on his hands and knees in the water and switching on his torch crawled through into a narrow brick tunnel. Canning moved in behind him, pulling the grille back into place.
'Don't you think you're getting a little old for Boy Scouts, Hamilton?' Birr whispered over his shoulder.
'Shut up and get moving,' Canning told him. 'If we can reach the river and find a boat by midnight, we'll have six or seven hours to play with before they find we're gone.'
Birr moved on, crawling on hands and knees through a couple of feet of water, the torch in his teeth. He emerged after a few yards into a tunnel that was a good five feet in diameter so that he could actually walk if he crouched a little.
The water was only about a foot deep here, for the tunnel sloped downwards steeply, and the smell was not unpleasant, like old leaves and autumn on the river in a punt.
'Keep going,' Canning said. 'From what I found out from that gardener, we emerge into the main sewer pretty quickly. From there, it's a straight run down to the Inn.'
'I can smell it already,' Birr told him.
A few minutes later the tunnel did indeed empty into the main sewer in a miniature waterfall. Birr flashed his torch at the brown foam-flecked waters which rushed by several feet below.
'My God, just smell it, Hamilton. This really is beyond a joke.'
'Oh, get in there, for Christ's sake.' Canning gave him a shove and Birr dropped down, losing his balance and disappeared beneath the surface. He was on his feet in an instant and stood there cursing, still clutching his torch. 'It's liquid shit, Hamilton. Liquid shit.'
'You can have a wash when we get to the river,' Canning said and he lowered himself down to join him. 'Now let's make time.'
He started down the tunnel, torch extended before him, and Birr followed for perhaps sixty or seventy yards and then the tunnel petered out in a blank wall.
'That's it then,' Birr said. 'And a bloody good job too as far as I'm concerned. We'll have to go back.'
'Not on your sweet life. The water's got to go somewhere.' Canning slipped his torch into his pocket, took a deep breath and crouched. He surfaced at once. 'As I thought. The tunnel continues on a lower level. I'm going through.'
Birr said, 'And what if it's twenty or thirty yards long, you idiot - or longer? You'll not have time to turn and come back. You'll drown.'
'So I'll take that chance, Justin.' Canning was tying one end of the rope about his waist now. 'I want out - you understand? I've no intention of sitting on my ass up there in the castle waiting for the Reichsfuhrer's hired assassins to come and finish me off.' He held out the other end of the rope. 'Fasten that round your waist if you want to come too. If I get through, I'll give it a pull.'
'And if not?'
'Winter roses on my grave. Scarlet ones like those Claire cultivated in the conservatory.' He grinned once, took a deep breath and disappeared beneath the surface of the water.
Justin Birr waited. The electric torch gave only a minimal light, barely
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