Dennis Wheatley - The Shadow of Tyburn Tree

Roger's mind was too occupied with Georgina to give the matter anything but the scantiest thought. He inquired if Droopy Ned was at home and, on learning that he had not yet come in, excused himself and hurried up to his room.

There, he collected one of his pistols, loaded it, thrust it into the inner pocket of his coat, and, running down to the courtyard, told old Tomkins to drive him to Woronzow House in St. John's Wood.

It was now close on a quarter to eight and an unusually warm even­ing for early spring, but dusk was already obscuring the vistas as he drove up the splendid new thoroughfare of Portland Place and out into the country. For the best part of a mile the way lay through farm lands, then they turned off the Hampstead Road and entered the shadows of a woodland glade.

During the drive Roger had had time to think out his plan of cam­paign. He felt certain that if he drove up to the front door of the Embassy, and sent in his name, Vorontzoff would refuse to see him alone, from fear that he meditated an assault. The proposition that he meant to put to the Ambassador was not, as he had led Pitt to suppose, that he should reveal certain facts that he had so far suppressed out of malice, but that he should go into court next morning and tell a lie to save Georgina's life.

Roger had argued to himself that Vorontzoff was as much re­sponsible for Sir Humphrey Etheredge's death as either he or Georgina, in fact, more so; for had the Russian not sent his midnight messenger to Goodwood it would never have occurred. Therefore he must be persuaded that in common decency it was for him to avert the penalty from falling on another. If entreaties, and appeals to any sense of chivalry he might have, were not enough, Roger meant to threaten him and, as he had disclosed to Pitt, in the last extremity, force him to sign a statement at the point of a pistol.

But any such conversation could not possibly be held in the presence of witnesses; and Roger did not wish his visit to the house to be known even to the Embassy servants, if it could possibly be avoided. So when the carriage drew level with the end of the Embassy garden, he told Tomkins to pull up, and wait there until his return.

Leaving the road he walked round the corner of a wall that enclosed the garden from the wood, and along it for some twenty paces until he came to a wrought-iron gate. He had thought that he would have to climb the wall, but he was saved the trouble, as the gate proved to be unlocked. Having peered through it to make certain that no one was about, he slipped inside.

*****

The house, a large, rambling, two-storied building, was about a hundred yards away, and almost concealed from where Roger stood by a belt of trees, beyond which lay an irregularly-shaped lawn with big ornamental trees growing round its edges. In the failing light the young spring green, which was just beginning to sprout from the earlier trees and bushes, was hardly apparent; but it served to thicken a little the cover afforded by the winter foliage.

Moving cautiously from tree to tree Roger made his way round the west side of the lawn towards the main block of the building. As he got nearer he could see that the ground-floor windows, three of which had lights shining from them, were raised a few feet above a low gravel terrace, on which stood two carved stone seats. The main block had two big bow-windows, each of which supported a separate balcony for the room above, and between them was a doorway with a flight of iron steps leading down to the garden.

Having reached the side of the house, which consisted of a slightly lower wing, he began to tiptoe along the terrace. Just before he came to the first of the lighted windows he crouched down, so as to bring his head below the level of the sill; then he lifted it and risked a quick peep inside. It was a dining-room, and two footmen were in there laying the table for supper. Crouching again, he tiptoed on.

Suddenly a bang and a rattle in his rear, caused him to start and quickly flatten himself against the wall; but it was only one of the foot­men in the room he had just passed, closing the windowed drawing the curtains for the night.

Creeping another few steps he arrived at the first of the big bow-windows. This too, had a light coming from it but not so brightly as from the other. Lifting his head again he peeped in through its lower left-hand corner. The room was a handsomely-furnished study and in it, with his back half-turned to Roger, a wigless man was sitting writing at a desk by the light of a solitary two-branched candelabra. It gave the only light in the room, and so accounted for its dimness, but light enough for Roger to identify the writer. That broad, muscular frame and bull-like neck could belong only to Vorontzoff.

Roger saw that of the three windows that formed the bay those at each side were both open at the top; so he had only to ease up the lower sash of the one nearest him to crawl inside. But the noise he would make in doing so was certain to attract Vorontzoff's attention; and the Russian might shout for help, or if he were armed, become master of the situation before his visitor could cover him with a pistol.

To see the Russian sitting there with his back turned, and only some panes of glass in between them, was, for Roger, tantalising in the extreme. At first sight it had seemed such a piece of good fortune that the mildness of the weather had led to several ground-floor win­dows being open; so it was doubly aggravating now to realise that he could not take advantage of that without giving his enemy the advan­tage over him.

It occurred to him that he could smash one of the window panes, thrust his pistol through it pointed at Vorontzoff's back, and threaten to shoot him if he called for help; then make him come to the window, raise its lower sash and admit his visitor himself. But there was a danger attached to such a proceeding. One of the servants might hear the smashing of the glass, and come running to see if his master had met with an accident. On consideration that seemed unlikely, so Roger decided to risk it. But, just as he was about to pull out his pistol, he saw the door of the room opening, and was forced to duck out of sight.

A moment later he stole a cautious glance. A footman stood framed in the doorway and was just ending a sentence in Russian. Vorontzoff replied abruptly in the same language, and stood up.

Roger gave them another thirty seconds, then peeped again. The footman was lighting the candles in the chandelier and Vorontzoff was on the far side of the room putting on his wig in front of a gilt-framed wall-mirror. After a slightly longer interval Roger snatched another look. Vorontzoff was just going out of the door and the footman was walking towards the window. Scared that the man would see him, Roger dropped down on his knees and crouched almost flat, to get below the angle of the man's glance if he looked out.

The shadows were thickening now and the heavy foliage of a big magnolia grandiflora , climbing up the side of the house, helped to obscure the place where Roger was kneeling. The footman shut one of the windows but ignored the other, then pulled the heavy curtains, cutting off any further chance of Roger seeing into the room.

He got to his feet and stood there listening intently for a moment. He could hear the man's footfalls as they crossed the parquet of the floor, then they faded away. Roger had no idea if Vorontzoff had come back into the room or not, but he felt that it was now or never.

Gripping the lower framework of the window which was still open at the top, he eased it up. It ran smoothly on its weights making little noise. When he had it open a couple of feet he put his hands on the sill, kicked himself off the ground and, as quietly as possible, wriggled inside. Between the window and the fall of the curtain there was a space about a foot wide, and ample in which to stand up. Getting cautiously to his feet he listened again.