Read Online Evil in a Mask by Dennis Wheatley - Free Book Online

fall on to the hard floor of the barn? Although it was a twelve-foot drop, it was too much to hope that he would break his neck, as it seemed certain that he would hit the floor feet first. But he might break a leg or, with luck, be temporarily sufficiently disabled for his captives, hurrying down from the loft, to get the better of him before his shouts brought help.
    The day after they had completed the trap, the prisoners waited with almost unbearable suspense for Znamensk to come up and taunt them. But they were disappointed. Again the following day he did not appear while they were eating their midday stew, and they began to fear that he must have tired of baiting them. At last evening came and, with beating hearts, they heard his heavy tread coming up the ladder. Yet, even then, it seemed that some spirit malevolent to them must have warned him of his danger. Instead of taking his usual stance, feet spread wide and hands on hips, alternately grinning and scowling at them, he paced restlessly up and down, mutteringonly a few words now and then. It was evident that he had something on his mind and, after a few minutes, he disclosed it.
    â€˜Listen, you French dogs,’ he snarled in his guttural German. ‘If you hear horsemen riding up to the castle and the sound of many voices, don’t imagine they are those of your own people and start shouting to be rescued. There are Cossacks in the neighbourhood, and that’s who they will be. If they found you here, they’d take you off to a prison camp. But I’m not having that. You’re going to work for me. Work till you drop. So I’m sending Kutzie along with a shot-gun. He’ll spend the night up here. If the Cossacks do chance to turn up, the first one of you to holler will get a stomach full of lead.’
    As he ceased speaking, he came to a halt squarely on the trap. Roger jerked hard on the end of the hidden cord he was holding, and the square of flooring went down with a swish.
    The Baron’s mouth opened wide, his eyes bulged and his mass of light, fair hair seemed to lift from his scalp as he shot downwards. But, by throwing wide his arms, he just succeeded in saving himself from disappearing through the hole.
    The three prisoners had taken the precaution of secretly arming themselves with short lengths of roughly cut branches that would serve as clubs. Knowing that it was now or never, they simultaneously threw themselves upon Znamensk. The Sergeant got in the first blow, Roger the second. Either would have stunned most men, but the Teuton’s skull seemed to be made of iron, and was protected by his thick thatch of hair. He only let out a yell, blinked and then, to save himself from a third blow aimed at him by Vitu, he abruptly ceased supporting himself by his elbows on the floorboards, and dropped from sight.
    â€˜After him!’ shouted Roger and, followed by the others, he shinned down the ladder.
    They found the Baron half kneeling on the ground. He was striving to get up, but had evidently broken a leg. Bellowing with rage and pain, his pale blue eyes glaring hatred, he pulled a big hunting knife from the belt of his kaftan. Clearlyhe was far from finished and any of them who went near enough to knock him out could not escape an upward thrust from the knife which would inflict a very ugly wound.
    It was Corporal Vitu who produced the answer. Grabbing up a twelve-foot larch sapling, he used it as a spear and rushed upon the crouching Znamensk. The jagged point of the larch caught him in the throat. Choking, the blood gushing from his neck, he went over backwards. Fournier lurched in and bashed again and again with his club at their victim’s skull, until he lay still.
    At a limping run, Roger reached the door of the barn and peered cautiously out, fearful that the Baron’s shouts would bring Kutzie or one of the other men on the scene. But no one was in sight.
    â€˜What now, Colonel?’ gasped the Sergeant,