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diff --git a/old/3782-h/20090519-3782-h.htm b/old/3782-h/20090519-3782-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ecae48e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/3782-h/20090519-3782-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11750 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of Huntingtower, by John Buchan +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {text-indent: 0%; + font-size: small ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Huntingtower, by John Buchan + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net + + +Title: Huntingtower + +Author: John Buchan + +Posting Date: May 19, 2009 [EBook #3782] +Release Date: February, 2003 +First Posted: June 12, 2001 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUNTINGTOWER *** + + + + +Produced by Edward A. White, Robert F. Jaffe, and Kirsten +Tozer. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +HUNTINGTOWER +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +JOHN BUCHAN +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +To W. P. Ker. +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P> +If the Professor of Poetry in the University of Oxford has not +forgotten the rock whence he was hewn, this simple story may give an +hour of entertainment. I offer it to you because I think you have met +my friend Dickson McCunn, and I dare to hope that you may even in your +many sojournings in the Westlands have encountered one or other of the +Gorbals Die-Hards. If you share my kindly feeling for Dickson, you will +be interested in some facts which I have lately ascertained about his +ancestry. In his veins there flows a portion of the redoubtable blood +of the Nicol Jarvies. When the Bailie, you remember, returned from his +journey to Rob Roy beyond the Highland Line, he espoused his +housekeeper Mattie, "an honest man's daughter and a near cousin o' the +Laird o' Limmerfield." The union was blessed with a son, who succeeded +to the Bailie's business and in due course begat daughters, one of whom +married a certain Ebenezer McCunn, of whom there is record in the +archives of the Hammermen of Glasgow. Ebenezer's grandson, Peter by +name, was Provost of Kirkintilloch, and his second son was the father +of my hero by his marriage with Robina Dickson, oldest daughter of one +Robert Dickson, a tenant-farmer in the Lennox. So there are coloured +threads in Mr. McCunn's pedigree, and, like the Bailie, he can count +kin, should he wish, with Rob Roy himself through "the auld wife ayont +the fire at Stuckavrallachan." +</P> + +<P> +Such as it is, I dedicate to you the story, and ask for no better +verdict on it than that of that profound critic of life and literature, +Mr. Huckleberry Finn, who observed of the Pilgrim's Progress that he +"considered the statements interesting, but tough." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +J.B. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS. +</H2> + +<H4> +<A HREF="#prologue">Prologue</A> +<BR> +1. <A HREF="#chap01">How a Retired Provision Merchant felt the Impulse of Spring.</A> +<BR> +2. <A HREF="#chap02">Of Mr. John Heritage and the Difference in Points of View.</A> +<BR> +3. <A HREF="#chap03">How Childe Roland and Another came to the Dark tower.</A> +<BR> +4. <A HREF="#chap04">Dougal.</A> +<BR> +5. <A HREF="#chap05">Of the Princess in the Tower.</A> +<BR> +6. <A HREF="#chap06">How Mr. McCunn departed with Relief and returned with Resolution.</A> +<BR> +7. <A HREF="#chap07">Sundry Doings in the Mirk.</A> +<BR> +8. <A HREF="#chap08">How a Middle-aged Crusader accepted a Challenge.</A> +<BR> +9. <A HREF="#chap09">The First Battle of the Cruives.</A> +<BR> +10. <A HREF="#chap10">Deals with an Escape and a Journey.</A> +<BR> +11. <A HREF="#chap11">Gravity out of Bed.</A> +<BR> +12. <A HREF="#chap12">How Mr. McCunn committed an Assault upon an Ally.</A> +<BR> +13. <A HREF="#chap13">The Coming of the Danish Brig.</A> +<BR> +14. <A HREF="#chap14">The Second Battle of the Cruives.</A> +<BR> +15. <A HREF="#chap15">The Gorbals Die-Hards go into Action.</A> +<BR> +16. <A HREF="#chap16">In which a Princess leaves a Dark Tower and a Provision Merchant + returns to his Family.</A> +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +HUNTINGTOWER. +</H1> + +<BR> + +<A NAME="prologue"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PROLOGUE. +</H3> + +<P> +The girl came into the room with a darting movement like a swallow, +looked round her with the same birdlike quickness, and then ran across +the polished floor to where a young man sat on a sofa with one leg laid +along it. +</P> + +<P> +"I have saved you this dance, Quentin," she said, pronouncing the name +with a pretty staccato. "You must be lonely not dancing, so I will sit +with you. What shall we talk about?" +</P> + +<P> +The young man did not answer at once, for his gaze was held by her +face. He had never dreamed that the gawky and rather plain little girl +whom he had romped with long ago in Paris would grow into such a being. +The clean delicate lines of her figure, the exquisite pure colouring of +hair and skin, the charming young arrogance of the eyes—this was +beauty, he reflected, a miracle, a revelation. Her virginal fineness +and her dress, which was the tint of pale fire, gave her the air of a +creature of ice and flame. +</P> + +<P> +"About yourself, please, Saskia," he said. "Are you happy now that you +are a grown-up lady?" +</P> + +<P> +"Happy!" Her voice had a thrill in it like music, frosty music. "The +days are far too short. I grudge the hours when I must sleep. They say +it is sad for me to make my debut in a time of war. But the world is +very kind to me, and after all it is a victorious war for our Russia. +And listen to me, Quentin. To-morrow I am to be allowed to begin +nursing at the Alexander Hospital. What do you think of that?" +</P> + +<P> +The time was January 1916, and the place a room in the great Nirski +Palace. No hint of war, no breath from the snowy streets, entered that +curious chamber where Prince Peter Nirski kept some of the chief of his +famous treasures. It was notable for its lack of drapery and +upholstering—only a sofa or two and a few fine rugs on the cedar +floor. The walls were of a green marble veined like malachite, the +ceiling was of darker marble inlaid with white intaglios. Scattered +everywhere were tables and cabinets laden with celadon china, and +carved jade, and ivories, and shimmering Persian and Rhodian vessels. +In all the room there was scarcely anything of metal and no touch of +gilding or bright colour. The light came from green alabaster censers, +and the place swam in a cold green radiance like some cavern below the +sea. The air was warm and scented, and though it was very quiet there, +a hum of voices and the strains of dance music drifted to it from the +pillared corridor in which could be seen the glare of lights from the +great ballroom beyond. +</P> + +<P> +The young man had a thin face with lines of suffering round the mouth +and eyes. The warm room had given him a high colour, which increased +his air of fragility. He felt a little choked by the place, which +seemed to him for both body and mind a hot-house, though he knew very +well that the Nirski Palace on this gala evening was in no way typical +of the land or its masters. Only a week ago he had been eating black +bread with its owner in a hut on the Volhynian front. +</P> + +<P> +"You have become amazing, Saskia," he said. "I won't pay my old +playfellow compliments; besides, you must be tired of them. I wish you +happiness all the day long like a fairy-tale Princess. But a crock +like me can't do much to help you to it. The service seems to be the +wrong way round, for here you are wasting your time talking to me." +</P> + +<P> +She put her hand on his. "Poor Quentin! Is the leg very bad?" +</P> + +<P> +He laughed. "O, no. It's mending famously. I'll be able to get about +without a stick in another month, and then you've got to teach me all +the new dances." +</P> + +<P> +The jigging music of a two-step floated down the corridor. It made the +young man's brow contract, for it brought to him a vision of dead faces +in the gloom of a November dusk. He had once had a friend who used to +whistle that air, and he had seen him die in the Hollebeke mud. There +was something macabre in the tune.... He was surely morbid this +evening, for there seemed something macabre about the house, the room, +the dancing, all Russia.... These last days he had suffered from a +sense of calamity impending, of a dark curtain drawing down upon a +splendid world. They didn't agree with him at the Embassy, but he +could not get rid of the notion. +</P> + +<P> +The girl saw his sudden abstraction. +</P> + +<P> +"What are you thinking about?" she asked. It had been her favourite +question as a child. +</P> + +<P> +"I was thinking that I rather wished you were still in Paris." +</P> + +<P> +"But why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because I think you would be safer." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, what nonsense, Quentin dear! Where should I be safe if not in my +own Russia, where I have friends—oh, so many, and tribes and tribes of +relations? It is France and England that are unsafe with the German +guns grumbling at their doors.... My complaint is that my life is too +cosseted and padded. I am too secure, and I do not want to be secure." +</P> + +<P> +The young man lifted a heavy casket from a table at his elbow. It was +of dark green imperial jade, with a wonderfully carved lid. He took +off the lid and picked up three small oddments of ivory—a priest with +a beard, a tiny soldier, and a draught-ox. Putting the three in a +triangle, he balanced the jade box on them. +</P> + +<P> +"Look, Saskia! If you were living inside that box you would think it +very secure. You would note the thickness of the walls and the +hardness of the stone, and you would dream away in a peaceful green +dusk. But all the time it would be held up by trifles—brittle +trifles." +</P> + +<P> +She shook her head. "You do not understand. You cannot understand. We +are a very old and strong people with roots deep, deep in the earth." +</P> + +<P> +"Please God you are right," he said. "But, Saskia, you know that if I +can ever serve you, you have only to command me. Now I can do no more +for you than the mouse for the lion—at the beginning of the story. But +the story had an end, you remember, and some day it may be in my power +to help you. Promise to send for me." +</P> + +<P> +The girl laughed merrily. "The King of Spain's daughter," she quoted, +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "Came to visit me,<BR> + And all for the love<BR> + Of my little nut-tree."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The other laughed also, as a young man in the uniform of the +Preobrajenski Guards approached to claim the girl. "Even a nut-tree +may be a shelter in a storm," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I promise, Quentin," she said. "Au revoir. Soon I will +come and take you to supper, and we will talk of nothing but nut-trees." +</P> + +<P> +He watched the two leave the room, her gown glowing like a tongue of +fire in that shadowy archway. Then he slowly rose to his feet, for he +thought that for a little he would watch the dancing. Something moved +beside him, and he turned in time to prevent the jade casket from +crashing to the floor. Two of the supports had slipped. +</P> + +<P> +He replaced the thing on its proper table and stood silent for a moment. +</P> + +<P> +"The priest and the soldier gone, and only the beast of burden left. If +I were inclined to be superstitious, I should call that a dashed bad +omen." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +HOW A RETIRED PROVISION MERCHANT FELT THE IMPULSE OF SPRING +</H3> + +<P> +Mr. Dickson McCunn completed the polishing of his smooth cheeks with +the towel, glanced appreciatively at their reflection in the +looking-glass, and then permitted his eyes to stray out of the window. +In the little garden lilacs were budding, and there was a gold line of +daffodils beside the tiny greenhouse. Beyond the sooty wall a birch +flaunted its new tassels, and the jackdaws were circling about the +steeple of the Guthrie Memorial Kirk. A blackbird whistled from a +thorn-bush, and Mr. McCunn was inspired to follow its example. He began +a tolerable version of "Roy's Wife of Aldivalloch." +</P> + +<P> +He felt singularly light-hearted, and the immediate cause was his +safety razor. A week ago he had bought the thing in a sudden fit of +enterprise, and now he shaved in five minutes, where before he had +taken twenty, and no longer confronted his fellows, at least one day in +three, with a countenance ludicrously mottled by sticking-plaster. +Calculation revealed to him the fact that in his fifty-five years, +having begun to shave at eighteen, he had wasted three thousand three +hundred and seventy hours—or one hundred and forty days—or between +four and five months—by his neglect of this admirable invention. Now +he felt that he had stolen a march on Time. He had fallen heir, thus +late, to a fortune in unpurchasable leisure. +</P> + +<P> +He began to dress himself in the sombre clothes in which he had been +accustomed for thirty-five years and more to go down to the shop in +Mearns Street. And then a thought came to him which made him discard +the grey-striped trousers, sit down on the edge of his bed, and muse. +</P> + +<P> +Since Saturday the shop was a thing of the past. On Saturday at +half-past eleven, to the accompaniment of a glass of dubious sherry, he +had completed the arrangements by which the provision shop in Mearns +Street, which had borne so long the legend of D. McCunn, together with +the branches in Crossmyloof and the Shaws, became the property of a +company, yclept the United Supply Stores, Limited. He had received in +payment cash, debentures and preference shares, and his lawyers and his +own acumen had acclaimed the bargain. But all the week-end he had been +a little sad. It was the end of so old a song, and he knew no other +tune to sing. He was comfortably off, healthy, free from any +particular cares in life, but free too from any particular duties. +"Will I be going to turn into a useless old man?" he asked himself. +</P> + +<P> +But he had woke up this Monday to the sound of the blackbird, and the +world, which had seemed rather empty twelve hours before, was now brisk +and alluring. His prowess in quick shaving assured him of his youth. +"I'm no' that dead old," he observed, as he sat on the edge of he bed, +to his reflection in the big looking-glass. +</P> + +<P> +It was not an old face. The sandy hair was a little thin on the top +and a little grey at the temples, the figure was perhaps a little too +full for youthful elegance, and an athlete would have censured the neck +as too fleshy for perfect health. But the cheeks were rosy, the skin +clear, and the pale eyes singularly childlike. They were a little weak, +those eyes, and had some difficulty in looking for long at the same +object, so that Mr. McCunn did not stare people in the face, and had, +in consequence, at one time in his career acquired a perfectly +undeserved reputation for cunning. He shaved clean, and looked +uncommonly like a wise, plump schoolboy. As he gazed at his simulacrum +he stopped whistling "Roy's Wife" and let his countenance harden into a +noble sternness. Then he laughed, and observed in the language of his +youth that there was "life in the auld dowg yet." In that moment the +soul of Mr. McCunn conceived the Great Plan. +</P> + +<P> +The first sign of it was that he swept all his business garments +unceremoniously on to the floor. The next that he rootled at the +bottom of a deep drawer and extracted a most disreputable tweed suit. +It had once been what I believe is called a Lovat mixture, but was now +a nondescript sub-fusc, with bright patches of colour like moss on +whinstone. He regarded it lovingly, for it had been for twenty years +his holiday wear, emerging annually for a hallowed month to be stained +with salt and bleached with sun. He put it on, and stood shrouded in +an odour of camphor. A pair of thick nailed boots and a flannel shirt +and collar completed the equipment of the sportsman. He had another +long look at himself in the glass, and then descended whistling to +breakfast. This time the tune was "Macgregors' Gathering," and the +sound of it stirred the grimy lips of a man outside who was delivering +coals—himself a Macgregor—to follow suit. Mr McCunn was a very +fountain of music that morning. +</P> + +<P> +Tibby, the aged maid, had his newspaper and letters waiting by his +plate, and a dish of ham and eggs frizzling near the fire. He fell to +ravenously but still musingly, and he had reached the stage of scones +and jam before he glanced at his correspondence. There was a letter +from his wife now holidaying at the Neuk Hydropathic. She reported that +her health was improving, and that she had met various people who had +known somebody else whom she had once known herself. Mr. McCunn read +the dutiful pages and smiled. "Mamma's enjoying herself fine," he +observed to the teapot. He knew that for his wife the earthly paradise +was a hydropathic, where she put on her afternoon dress and every jewel +she possessed when she rose in the morning, ate large meals of which +the novelty atoned for the nastiness, and collected an immense casual +acquaintance, with whom she discussed ailments, ministers, sudden +deaths, and the intricate genealogies of her class. For his part he +rancorously hated hydropathics, having once spent a black week under +the roof of one in his wife's company. He detested the food, the +Turkish baths (he had a passionate aversion to baring his body before +strangers), the inability to find anything to do and the compulsion to +endless small talk. A thought flitted over his mind which he was too +loyal to formulate. Once he and his wife had had similar likings, but +they had taken different roads since their child died. Janet! He saw +again—he was never quite free from the sight—the solemn little +white-frocked girl who had died long ago in the Spring. +</P> + +<P> +It may have been the thought of the Neuk Hydropathic, or more likely +the thin clean scent of the daffodils with which Tibby had decked the +table, but long ere breakfast was finished the Great Plan had ceased to +be an airy vision and become a sober well-masoned structure. Mr. +McCunn—I may confess it at the start—was an incurable romantic. +</P> + +<P> +He had had a humdrum life since the day when he had first entered his +uncle's shop with the hope of some day succeeding that honest grocer; +and his feet had never strayed a yard from his sober rut. But his mind, +like the Dying Gladiator's, had been far away. As a boy he had voyaged +among books, and they had given him a world where he could shape his +career according to his whimsical fancy. Not that Mr. McCunn was what +is known as a great reader. He read slowly and fastidiously, and sought +in literature for one thing alone. Sir Walter Scott had been his first +guide, but he read the novels not for their insight into human +character or for their historical pageantry, but because they gave him +material wherewith to construct fantastic journeys. It was the same +with Dickens. A lit tavern, a stage-coach, post-horses, the clack of +hoofs on a frosty road, went to his head like wine. He was a Jacobite +not because he had any views on Divine Right, but because he had always +before his eyes a picture of a knot of adventurers in cloaks, new +landed from France among the western heather. +</P> + +<P> +On this select basis he had built up his small library—Defoe, Hakluyt, +Hazlitt and the essayists, Boswell, some indifferent romances, and a +shelf of spirited poetry. His tastes became known, and he acquired a +reputation for a scholarly habit. He was president of the Literary +Society of the Guthrie Memorial Kirk, and read to its members a variety +of papers full of a gusto which rarely became critical. He had been +three times chairman at Burns Anniversary dinners, and had delivered +orations in eulogy of the national Bard; not because he greatly admired +him—he thought him rather vulgar—but because he took Burns as an +emblem of the un-Burns-like literature which he loved. Mr. McCunn was +no scholar and was sublimely unconscious of background. He grew his +flowers in his small garden-plot oblivious of their origin so long as +they gave him the colour and scent he sought. Scent, I say, for he +appreciated more than the mere picturesque. He had a passion for words +and cadences, and would be haunted for weeks by a cunning phrase, +savouring it as a connoisseur savours a vintage. Wherefore long ago, +when he could ill afford it, he had purchased the Edinburgh Stevenson. +They were the only large books on his shelves, for he had a liking for +small volumes—things he could stuff into his pocket in that sudden +journey which he loved to contemplate. +</P> + +<P> +Only he had never taken it. The shop had tied him up for eleven months +in the year, and the twelfth had always found him settled decorously +with his wife in some seaside villa. He had not fretted, for he was +content with dreams. He was always a little tired, too, when the +holidays came, and his wife told him he was growing old. He consoled +himself with tags from the more philosophic of his authors, but he +scarcely needed consolation. For he had large stores of modest +contentment. +</P> + +<P> +But now something had happened. A spring morning and a safety razor +had convinced him that he was still young. Since yesterday he was a +man of a large leisure. Providence had done for him what he would +never have done for himself. The rut in which he had travelled so long +had given place to open country. He repeated to himself one of the +quotations with which he had been wont to stir the literary young men +at the Guthrie Memorial Kirk: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "What's a man's age? He must hurry more, that's all;<BR> + Cram in a day, what his youth took a year to hold:<BR> + When we mind labour, then only, we're too old—<BR> + What age had Methusalem when he begat Saul?<BR> +</P> + +<P> +He would go journeying—who but he?—pleasantly." +</P> + +<P> +It sounds a trivial resolve, but it quickened Mr. McCunn to the depths +of his being. A holiday, and alone! On foot, of course, for he must +travel light. He would buckle on a pack after the approved fashion. +He had the very thing in a drawer upstairs, which he had bought some +years ago at a sale. That and a waterproof and a stick, and his outfit +was complete. A book, too, and, as he lit his first pipe, he +considered what it should be. Poetry, clearly, for it was the Spring, +and besides poetry could be got in pleasantly small bulk. He stood +before his bookshelves trying to select a volume, rejecting one after +another as inapposite. Browning—Keats, Shelley—they seemed more +suited for the hearth than for the roadside. He did not want anything +Scots, for he was of opinion that Spring came more richly in England +and that English people had a better notion of it. He was tempted by +the Oxford Anthology, but was deterred by its thickness, for he did not +possess the thin-paper edition. Finally he selected Izaak Walton. He +had never fished in his life, but The Compleat Angler seemed to fit his +mood. It was old and curious and learned and fragrant with the youth of +things. He remembered its falling cadences, its country songs and wise +meditations. Decidedly it was the right scrip for his pilgrimage. +</P> + +<P> +Characteristically he thought last of where he was to go. Every bit of +the world beyond his front door had its charms to the seeing eye. There +seemed nothing common or unclean that fresh morning. Even a walk among +coal-pits had its attractions.... But since he had the right to choose, +he lingered over it like an epicure. Not the Highlands, for Spring +came late among their sour mosses. Some place where there were fields +and woods and inns, somewhere, too, within call of the sea. It must +not be too remote, for he had no time to waste on train journeys; nor +too near, for he wanted a countryside untainted. Presently he thought +of Carrick. A good green land, as he remembered it, with purposeful +white roads and public-houses sacred to the memory of Burns; near the +hills but yet lowland, and with a bright sea chafing on its shores. He +decided on Carrick, found a map, and planned his journey. +</P> + +<P> +Then he routed out his knapsack, packed it with a modest change of +raiment, and sent out Tibby to buy chocolate and tobacco and to cash a +cheque at the Strathclyde Bank. Till Tibby returned he occupied +himself with delicious dreams.... He saw himself daily growing browner +and leaner, swinging along broad highways or wandering in bypaths. He +pictured his seasons of ease, when he unslung his pack and smoked in +some clump of lilacs by a burnside—he remembered a phrase of +Stevenson's somewhat like that. He would meet and talk with all sorts +of folk; an exhilarating prospect, for Mr. McCunn loved his kind. +There would be the evening hour before he reached his inn, when, +pleasantly tired, he would top some ridge and see the welcoming lights +of a little town. There would be the lamp-lit after-supper time when +he would read and reflect, and the start in the gay morning, when +tobacco tastes sweetest and even fifty-five seems young. It would be +holiday of the purest, for no business now tugged at his coat-tails. +He was beginning a new life, he told himself, when he could cultivate +the seedling interests which had withered beneath the far-reaching +shade of the shop. Was ever a man more fortunate or more free? +</P> + +<P> +Tibby was told that he was going off for a week or two. No letters +need be forwarded, for he would be constantly moving, but Mrs. McCunn +at the Neuk Hydropathic would be kept informed of his whereabouts. +Presently he stood on his doorstep, a stocky figure in ancient tweeds, +with a bulging pack slung on his arm, and a stout hazel stick in his +hand. A passer-by would have remarked an elderly shopkeeper bent +apparently on a day in the country, a common little man on a prosaic +errand. But the passer-by would have been wrong, for he could not see +into the heart. The plump citizen was the eternal pilgrim; he was +Jason, Ulysses, Eric the Red, Albuquerque, Cortez—starting out to +discover new worlds. +</P> + +<P> +Before he left Mr. McCunn had given Tibby a letter to post. That +morning he had received an epistle from a benevolent acquaintance, one +Mackintosh, regarding a group of urchins who called themselves the +"Gorbals Die-Hards." Behind the premises in Mearns Street lay a tract +of slums, full of mischievous boys, with whom his staff waged truceless +war. But lately there had started among them a kind of unauthorized +and unofficial Boy Scouts, who, without uniform or badge or any kind of +paraphernalia, followed the banner of Sir Robert Baden-Powell and +subjected themselves to a rude discipline. They were far too poor to +join an orthodox troop, but they faithfully copied what they believed +to be the practices of more fortunate boys. Mr. McCunn had witnessed +their pathetic parades, and had even passed the time of day with their +leader, a red-haired savage called Dougal. The philanthropic +Mackintosh had taken an interest in the gang and now desired +subscriptions to send them to camp in the country. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. McCunn, in his new exhilaration, felt that he could not deny to +others what he proposed for himself. His last act before leaving was +to send Mackintosh ten pounds. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +OF MR. JOHN HERITAGE AND THE DIFFERENCE IN POINTS OF VIEW +</H3> + +<P> +Dickson McCunn was never to forget the first stage in that pilgrimage. +A little after midday he descended from a grimy third-class carriage at +a little station whose name I have forgotten. In the village nearby he +purchased some new-baked buns and ginger biscuits, to which he was +partial, and followed by the shouts of urchins, who admired his +pack—"Look at the auld man gaun to the schule"—he emerged into open +country. The late April noon gleamed like a frosty morning, but the +air, though tonic, was kind. The road ran over sweeps of moorland +where curlews wailed, and into lowland pastures dotted with very white, +very vocal lambs. The young grass had the warm fragrance of new milk. +As he went he munched his buns, for he had resolved to have no +plethoric midday meal, and presently he found the burnside nook of his +fancy, and halted to smoke. On a patch of turf close to a grey stone +bridge he had out his Walton and read the chapter on "The Chavender or +Chub." The collocation of words delighted him and inspired him to +verse. "Lavender or Lub"—"Pavender or Pub"-"Gravender or Grub"—but +the monosyllables proved too vulgar for poetry. Regretfully he +desisted. +</P> + +<P> +The rest of the road was as idyllic as the start. He would tramp +steadily for a mile or so and then saunter, leaning over bridges to +watch the trout in the pools, admiring from a dry-stone dyke the +unsteady gambols of new-born lambs, kicking up dust from strips of +moor-burn on the heather. Once by a fir-wood he was privileged to +surprise three lunatic hares waltzing. His cheeks glowed with the sun; +he moved in an atmosphere of pastoral, serene and contented. When the +shadows began to lengthen he arrived at the village of Cloncae, where +he proposed to lie. The inn looked dirty, but he found a decent widow, +above whose door ran the legend in home-made lettering, "Mrs. brockie +tea and Coffee," and who was willing to give him quarters. There he +supped handsomely off ham and eggs, and dipped into a work called +Covenanting Worthies, which garnished a table decorated with +sea-shells. At half-past nine precisely he retired to bed and +unhesitating sleep. +</P> + +<P> +Next morning he awoke to a changed world. The sky was grey and so low +that his outlook was bounded by a cabbage garden, while a surly wind +prophesied rain. It was chilly, too, and he had his breakfast beside +the kitchen fire. Mrs. Brockie could not spare a capital letter for +her surname on the signboard, but she exalted it in her talk. He heard +of a multitude of Brockies, ascendant, descendant, and collateral, who +seemed to be in a fair way to inherit the earth. Dickson listened +sympathetically, and lingered by the fire. He felt stiff from +yesterday's exercise, and the edge was off his spirit. +</P> + +<P> +The start was not quite what he had pictured. His pack seemed heavier, +his boots tighter, and his pipe drew badly. The first miles were all +uphill, with a wind tingling his ears, and no colours in the landscape +but brown and grey. Suddenly he awoke to the fact that he was dismal, +and thrust the notion behind him. He expanded his chest and drew in +long draughts of air. He told himself that this sharp weather was +better than sunshine. He remembered that all travellers in romances +battled with mist and rain. Presently his body recovered comfort and +vigour, and his mind worked itself into cheerfulness. +</P> + +<P> +He overtook a party of tramps and fell into talk with them. He had +always had a fancy for the class, though he had never known anything +nearer it than city beggars. He pictured them as philosophic +vagabonds, full of quaint turns of speech, unconscious Borrovians. With +these samples his disillusionment was speedy. The party was made up of +a ferret-faced man with a red nose, a draggle-tailed woman, and a child +in a crazy perambulator. Their conversation was one-sided, for it +immediately resolved itself into a whining chronicle of misfortunes and +petitions for relief. It cost him half a crown to be rid of them. +</P> + +<P> +The road was alive with tramps that day. The next one did the +accosting. Hailing Mr. McCunn as "Guv'nor," he asked to be told the +way to Manchester. The objective seemed so enterprising that Dickson +was impelled to ask questions, and heard, in what appeared to be in the +accents of the Colonies, the tale of a career of unvarying calamity. +There was nothing merry or philosophic about this adventurer. Nay, +there was something menacing. He eyed his companion's waterproof +covetously, and declared that he had had one like it which had been +stolen from him the day before. Had the place been lonely he might +have contemplated highway robbery, but they were at the entrance to a +village, and the sight of a public-house awoke his thirst. Dickson +parted with him at the cost of sixpence for a drink. +</P> + +<P> +He had no more company that morning except an aged stone-breaker whom +he convoyed for half a mile. The stone-breaker also was soured with +the world. He walked with a limp, which, he said, was due to an +accident years before, when he had been run into by "ane of thae damned +velocipeeds." The word revived in Dickson memories of his youth, and +he was prepared to be friendly. But the ancient would have none of it. +He inquired morosely what he was after, and, on being told remarked +that he might have learned more sense. "It's a daft-like thing for an +auld man like you to be traivellin' the roads. Ye maun be ill-off for +a job." Questioned as to himself, he became, as the newspapers say, +"reticent," and having reached his bing of stones, turned rudely to his +duties. "Awa' hame wi' ye," were his parting words. "It's idle +scoondrels like you that maks wark for honest folk like me." +</P> + +<P> +The morning was not a success, but the strong air had given Dickson +such an appetite that he resolved to break his rule, and, on reaching +the little town of Kilchrist, he sought luncheon at the chief hotel. +There he found that which revived his spirits. A solitary bagman shared +the meal, who revealed the fact that he was in the grocery line. There +followed a well-informed and most technical conversation. He was drawn +to speak of the United Supply Stores, Limited, of their prospects and +of their predecessor, Mr. McCunn, whom he knew well by repute but had +never met. "Yon's the clever one." he observed. "I've always said +there's no longer head in the city of Glasgow than McCunn. An +old-fashioned firm, but it has aye managed to keep up with the times. +He's just retired, they tell me, and in my opinion it's a big loss to +the provision trade...." Dickson's heart glowed within him. Here was +Romance; to be praised incognito; to enter a casual inn and find that +fame had preceded him. He warmed to the bagman, insisted on giving him +a liqueur and a cigar, and finally revealed himself. "I'm Dickson +McCunn," he said, "taking a bit holiday. If there's anything I can do +for you when I get back, just let me know." With mutual esteem they +parted. +</P> + +<P> +He had need of all his good spirits, for he emerged into an unrelenting +drizzle. The environs of Kilchrist are at the best unlovely, and in +the wet they were as melancholy as a graveyard. But the encounter with +the bagman had worked wonders with Dickson, and he strode lustily into +the weather, his waterproof collar buttoned round his chin. The road +climbed to a bare moor, where lagoons had formed in the ruts, and the +mist showed on each side only a yard or two of soaking heather. Soon +he was wet; presently every part of him—boots, body, and pack—was one +vast sponge. The waterproof was not water-proof, and the rain +penetrated to his most intimate garments. Little he cared. He felt +lighter, younger, than on the idyllic previous day. He enjoyed the +buffets of the storm, and one wet mile succeeded another to the +accompaniment of Dickson's shouts and laughter. There was no one +abroad that afternoon, so he could talk aloud to himself and repeat his +favourite poems. About five in the evening there presented himself at +the Black Bull Inn at Kirkmichael a soaked, disreputable, but most +cheerful traveller. +</P> + +<P> +Now the Black Bull at Kirkmichael is one of the few very good inns left +in the world. It is an old place and an hospitable, for it has been +for generations a haunt of anglers, who above all other men understand +comfort. There are always bright fires there, and hot water, and old +soft leather armchairs, and an aroma of good food and good tobacco, and +giant trout in glass cases, and pictures of Captain Barclay of Urie +walking to London and Mr. Ramsay of Barnton winning a horse-race, and +the three-volume edition of the Waverley Novels with many volumes +missing, and indeed all those things which an inn should have. Also +there used to be—there may still be—sound vintage claret in the +cellars. The Black Bull expects its guests to arrive in every stage of +dishevelment, and Dickson was received by a cordial landlord, who +offered dry garments as a matter of course. The pack proved to have +resisted the elements, and a suit of clothes and slippers were provided +by the house. Dickson, after a glass of toddy, wallowed in a hot bath, +which washed all the stiffness out of him. He had a fire in his +bedroom, beside which he wrote the opening passages of that diary he +had vowed to keep, descanting lyrically upon the joys of ill weather. +At seven o'clock, warm and satisfied in soul, and with his body clad in +raiment several sizes too large for it, he descended to dinner. +</P> + +<P> +At one end of the long table in the dining-room sat a group of anglers. +They looked jovial fellows, and Dickson would fain have joined them; +but, having been fishing all day in the Lock o' the Threshes, they were +talking their own talk, and he feared that his admiration for Izaak +Walton did not qualify him to butt into the erudite discussions of +fishermen. The landlord seemed to think likewise, for he drew back a +chair for him at the other end, where sat a young man absorbed in a +book. Dickson gave him good evening, and got an abstracted reply. The +young man supped the Black Bull's excellent broth with one hand, and +with the other turned the pages of his volume. A glance convinced +Dickson that the work was French, a literature which did not interest +him. He knew little of the tongue and suspected it of impropriety. +</P> + +<P> +Another guest entered and took the chair opposite the bookish young +man. He was also young—not more than thirty-three—and to Dickson's +eye was the kind of person he would have liked to resemble. He was tall +and free from any superfluous flesh; his face was lean, fine-drawn, and +deeply sunburnt, so that the hair above showed oddly pale; the hands +were brown and beautifully shaped, but the forearm revealed by the +loose cuffs of his shirt was as brawny as a blacksmith's. He had +rather pale blue eyes, which seemed to have looked much at the sun, and +a small moustache the colour of ripe hay. His voice was low and +pleasant, and he pronounced his words precisely, like a foreigner. +</P> + +<P> +He was very ready to talk, but in defiance of Dr. Johnson's warning, +his talk was all questions. He wanted to know everything about the +neighbourhood—who lived in what houses, what were the distances +between the towns, what harbours would admit what class of vessel. +Smiling agreeably, he put Dickson through a catechism to which he knew +none of the answers. The landlord was called in, and proved more +helpful. But on one matter he was fairly at a loss. The catechist +asked about a house called Darkwater, and was met with a shake of the +head. "I know no sic-like name in this countryside, sir," and the +catechist looked disappointed. +</P> + +<P> +The literary young man said nothing, but ate trout abstractedly, one +eye on his book. The fish had been caught by the anglers in the Loch +o' the Threshes, and phrases describing their capture floated from the +other end of the table. The young man had a second helping, and then +refused the excellent hill mutton that followed, contenting himself +with cheese. Not so Dickson and the catechist. They ate everything +that was set before them, topping up with a glass of port. Then the +latter, who had been talking illuminatingly about Spain, rose, bowed, +and left the table, leaving Dickson, who liked to linger over his +meals, to the society of the ichthyophagous student. +</P> + +<P> +He nodded towards the book. "Interesting?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +The young man shook his head and displayed the name on the cover. +"Anatole France. I used to be crazy about him, but now he seems rather +a back number." Then he glanced towards the just-vacated chair. +"Australian," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"How d'you know?" +</P> + +<P> +"Can't mistake them. There's nothing else so lean and fine produced on +the globe to-day. I was next door to them at Pozieres and saw them +fight. Lord! Such men! Now and then you had a freak, but most looked +like Phoebus Apollo." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson gazed with a new respect at his neighbour, for he had not +associated him with battle-fields. During the war he had been a +fervent patriot, but, though he had never heard a shot himself, so many +of his friends' sons and nephews, not to mention cousins of his own, +had seen service, that he had come to regard the experience as +commonplace. Lions in Africa and bandits in Mexico seemed to him novel +and romantic things, but not trenches and airplanes which were the +whole world's property. But he could scarcely fit his neighbour into +even his haziest picture of war. The young man was tall and a little +round-shouldered; he had short-sighted, rather prominent brown eyes, +untidy black hair and dark eyebrows which came near to meeting. He +wore a knickerbocker suit of bluish-grey tweed, a pale blue shirt, a +pale blue collar, and a dark blue tie—a symphony of colour which +seemed too elaborately considered to be quite natural. Dickson had set +him down as an artist or a newspaper correspondent, objects to him of +lively interest. But now the classification must be reconsidered. +</P> + +<P> +"So you were in the war," he said encouragingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Four blasted years," was the savage reply. "And I never want to hear +the name of the beastly thing again." +</P> + +<P> +"You said he was an Australian," said Dickson, casting back. "But I +thought Australians had a queer accent, like the English." +</P> + +<P> +"They've all kind of accents, but you can never mistake their voice. +It's got the sun in it. Canadians have got grinding ice in theirs, and +Virginians have got butter. So have the Irish. In Britain there are +no voices, only speaking-tubes. It isn't safe to judge men by their +accent only. You yourself I take to be Scotch, but for all I know you +may be a senator from Chicago or a Boer General." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm from Glasgow. My name's Dickson McCunn." He had a faint hope +that the announcement might affect the other as it had affected the +bagman at Kilchrist. +</P> + +<P> +"Golly, what a name!" exclaimed the young man rudely. +</P> + +<P> +Dickson was nettled. "It's very old Highland," he said. "It means the +son of a dog." +</P> + +<P> +"Which—Christian name or surname?" Then the young man appeared to +think he had gone too far, for he smiled pleasantly. "And a very good +name too. Mine is prosaic by comparison. They call me John Heritage." +</P> + +<P> +"That," said Dickson, mollified, "is like a name out of a book. With +that name by rights you should be a poet." +</P> + +<P> +Gloom settled on the young man's countenance. "It's a dashed sight too +poetic. It's like Edwin Arnold and Alfred Austin and Dante Gabriel +Rossetti. Great poets have vulgar monosyllables for names, like Keats. +The new Shakespeare when he comes along will probably be called Grubb +or Jubber, if he isn't Jones. With a name like yours I might have a +chance. You should be the poet." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm very fond of reading," said Dickson modestly. +</P> + +<P> +A slow smile crumpled Mr. Heritage's face. "There's a fire in the +smoking-room," he observed as he rose. "We'd better bag the armchairs +before these fishing louts take them." Dickson followed obediently. +This was the kind of chance acquaintance for whom he had hoped, and he +was prepared to make the most of him. +</P> + +<P> +The fire burned bright in the little dusky smoking-room, lighted by one +oil-lamp. Mr. Heritage flung himself into a chair, stretched his long +legs, and lit a pipe. +</P> + +<P> +"You like reading?" he asked. "What sort? Any use for poetry?" +</P> + +<P> +"Plenty," said Dickson. "I've aye been fond of learning it up and +repeating it to myself when I had nothing to do. In church and waiting +on trains, like. It used to be Tennyson, but now it's more Browning. +I can say a lot of Browning." +</P> + +<P> +The other screwed his face into an expression of disgust. "I know the +stuff. 'Damask cheeks and dewy sister eyelids.' Or else the Ercles +vein—'God's in His Heaven, all's right with the world.' No good, Mr. +McCunn. All back numbers. Poetry's not a thing of pretty round +phrases or noisy invocations. It's life itself, with the tang of the +raw world in it—not a sweetmeat for middle-class women in parlours." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you a poet, Mr. Heritage?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, Dogson, I'm a paper-maker." +</P> + +<P> +This was a new view to Mr. McCunn. "I just once knew a paper-maker," +he observed reflectively, "They called him Tosh. He drank a bit." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I don't drink," said the other. "I'm a paper-maker, but that's +for my bread and butter. Some day for my own sake I may be a poet." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you published anything?" +</P> + +<P> +The eager admiration in Dickson's tone gratified Mr. Heritage. He drew +from his pocket a slim book. "My firstfruits," he said, rather shyly. +</P> + +<P> +Dickson received it with reverence. It was a small volume in grey +paper boards with a white label on the back, and it was lettered: +WHORLS-JOHN HERITAGE'S BOOK. He turned the pages and read a little. +"It's a nice wee book," he observed at length. +</P> + +<P> +"Good God, if you call it nice, I must have failed pretty badly," was +the irritated answer. +</P> + +<P> +Dickson read more deeply and was puzzled. It seemed worse than the +worst of Browning to understand. He found one poem about a garden +entitled "Revue." "Crimson and resonant clangs the dawn," said the +poet. Then he went on to describe noonday: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "Sunflowers, tall Grenadiers, ogle the roses' short-skirted ballet.<BR> + The fumes of dark sweet wine hidden in frail petals<BR> + Madden the drunkard bees."<BR> +</P> + +<P> +This seemed to him an odd way to look at things, and he boggled over a +phrase about an "epicene lily." Then came evening: "The painted gauze +of the stars flutters in a fold of twilight crape," sang Mr. Heritage; +and again, "The moon's pale leprosy sloughs the fields." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson turned to other verses which apparently enshrined the writer's +memory of the trenches. They were largely compounded of oaths, and +rather horrible, lingering lovingly over sights and smells which every +one is aware of, but most people contrive to forget. He did not like +them. Finally he skimmed a poem about a lady who turned into a bird. +The evolution was described with intimate anatomical details which +scared the honest reader. +</P> + +<P> +He kept his eyes on the book, for he did not know what to say. The +trick seemed to be to describe nature in metaphors mostly drawn from +music-halls and haberdashers' shops, and, when at a loss, to fall to +cursing. He thought it frankly very bad, and he laboured to find words +which would combine politeness and honesty. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" said the poet. +</P> + +<P> +"There's a lot of fine things here, but—but the lines don't just seem +to scan very well." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Heritage laughed. "Now I can place you exactly. You like the meek +rhyme and the conventional epithet. Well, I don't. The world has +passed beyond that prettiness. You want the moon described as a +Huntress or a gold disc or a flower—I say it's oftener like a beer +barrel or a cheese. You want a wealth of jolly words and real things +ruled out as unfit for poetry. I say there's nothing unfit for poetry. +Nothing, Dogson! Poetry's everywhere, and the real thing is commoner +among drabs and pot-houses and rubbish-heaps than in your Sunday +parlours. The poet's business is to distil it out of rottenness, and +show that it is all one spirit, the thing that keeps the stars in their +place.... I wanted to call my book 'Drains,' for drains are sheer +poetry carrying off the excess and discards of human life to make the +fields green and the corn ripen. But the publishers kicked. So I +called it 'Whorls,' to express my view of the exquisite involution of +all things. Poetry is the fourth dimension of the soul.... Well, let's +hear about your taste in prose." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. McCunn was much bewildered, and a little inclined to be cross. He +disliked being called Dogson, which seemed to him an abuse of his +etymological confidences. But his habit of politeness held. +</P> + +<P> +He explained rather haltingly his preferences in prose. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Heritage listened with wrinkled brows. +</P> + +<P> +"You're even deeper in the mud than I thought," he remarked. "You live +in a world of painted laths and shadows. All this passion for the +picturesque! Trash, my dear man, like a schoolgirl's novelette heroes. +You make up romances about gipsies and sailors, and the blackguards +they call pioneers, but you know nothing about them. If you did, you +would find they had none of the gilt and gloss you imagine. But the +great things they have got in common with all humanity you ignore. +It's like—it's like sentimentalising about a pancake because it looked +like a buttercup, and all the while not knowing that it was good to +eat." +</P> + +<P> +At that moment the Australian entered the room to get a light for his +pipe. He wore a motor-cyclist's overalls and appeared to be about to +take the road. He bade them good night, and it seemed to Dickson that +his face, seen in the glow of the fire, was drawn and anxious, unlike +that of the agreeable companion at dinner. +</P> + +<P> +"There," said Mr. Heritage, nodding after the departing figure. "I dare +say you have been telling yourself stories about that chap—life in the +bush, stockriding and the rest of it. But probably he's a bank-clerk +from Melbourne.... Your romanticism is one vast self-delusion, and it +blinds your eye to the real thing. We have got to clear it out, and +with it all the damnable humbug of the Kelt." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. McCunn, who spelt the word with a soft "C," was puzzled. "I thought +a kelt was a kind of a no-weel fish," he interposed. +</P> + +<P> +But the other, in the flood-tide of his argument, ignored the +interruption. "That's the value of the war," he went on. "It has burst +up all the old conventions, and we've got to finish the destruction +before we can build. It is the same with literature and religion, and +society and politics. At them with the axe, say I. I have no use for +priests and pedants. I've no use for upper classes and middle classes. +There's only one class that matters, the plain man, the workers, who +live close to life." +</P> + +<P> +"The place for you," said Dickson dryly, "is in Russia among the +Bolsheviks." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Heritage approved. "They are doing a great work in their own +fashion. We needn't imitate all their methods—they're a trifle crude +and have too many Jews among them—but they've got hold of the right +end of the stick. They seek truth and reality." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. McCunn was slowly being roused. +</P> + +<P> +"What brings you wandering hereaways?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Exercise," was the answer. "I've been kept pretty closely tied up all +winter. And I want leisure and quiet to think over things." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, there's one subject you might turn your attention to. You'll +have been educated like a gentleman?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nine wasted years—five at Harrow, four at Cambridge." +</P> + +<P> +"See here, then. You're daft about the working-class and have no use +for any other. But what in the name of goodness do you know about +working-men?... I come out of them myself, and have lived next door to +them all my days. Take them one way and another, they're a decent +sort, good and bad like the rest of us. But there's a wheen daft folk +that would set them up as models—close to truth and reality, says you. +It's sheer ignorance, for you're about as well acquaint with the +working-man as with King Solomon. You say I make up fine stories about +tinklers and sailor-men because I know nothing about them. That's +maybe true. But you're at the same job yourself. You ideelise the +working man, you and your kind, because you're ignorant. You say that +he's seeking for truth, when he's only looking for a drink and a rise +in wages. You tell me he's near reality, but I tell you that his +notion of reality is often just a short working day and looking on at a +footba'-match on Saturday.... And when you run down what you call the +middle-classes that do three-quarters of the world's work and keep the +machine going and the working-man in a job, then I tell you you're +talking havers. Havers!" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. McCunn, having delivered his defence of the bourgeoisie, rose +abruptly and went to bed. He felt jarred and irritated. His innocent +little private domain had been badly trampled by this stray bull of a +poet. But as he lay in bed, before blowing out his candle, he had +recourse to Walton, and found a passage on which, as on a pillow, he +went peacefully to sleep: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"As I left this place, and entered into the next field, a second +pleasure entertained me; 'twas a handsome milkmaid, that had not yet +attained so much age and wisdom as to load her mind with any fears of +many things that will never be, as too many men too often do; but she +cast away all care, and sang like a nightingale; her voice was good, +and the ditty fitted for it; it was the smooth song that was made by +Kit Marlow now at least fifty years ago. And the milkmaid's mother +sung an answer to it, which was made by Sir Walter Raleigh in his +younger days. They were old-fashioned poetry, but choicely good; I +think much better than the strong lines that are now in fashion in this +critical age." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +HOW CHILDE ROLAND AND ANOTHER CAME TO THE DARK TOWER +</H3> + +<P> +Dickson woke with a vague sense of irritation. As his recollections +took form they produced a very unpleasant picture of Mr. John Heritage. +The poet had loosened all his placid idols, so that they shook and +rattled in the niches where they had been erstwhile so secure. Mr. +McCunn had a mind of a singular candour, and was prepared most honestly +at all times to revise his views. But by this iconoclast he had been +only irritated and in no way convinced. "Sich poetry!" he muttered to +himself as he shivered in his bath (a daily cold tub instead of his +customary hot one on Saturday night being part of the discipline of his +holiday). "And yon blethers about the working-man!" he ingeminated as +he shaved. He breakfasted alone, having outstripped even the +fishermen, and as he ate he arrived at conclusions. He had a great +respect for youth, but a line must be drawn somewhere. "The man's a +child," he decided, "and not like to grow up. The way he's besotted on +everything daftlike, if it's only new. And he's no rightly young +either—speaks like an auld dominie, whiles. And he's rather impident," +he concluded, with memories of "Dogson.".... He was very clear that he +never wanted to see him again; that was the reason of his early +breakfast. Having clarified his mind by definitions, Dickson felt +comforted. He paid his bill, took an affectionate farewell of the +landlord, and at 7.30 precisely stepped out into the gleaming morning. +</P> + +<P> +It was such a day as only a Scots April can show. The cobbled streets +of Kirkmichael still shone with the night's rain, but the storm clouds +had fled before a mild south wind, and the whole circumference of the +sky was a delicate translucent blue. Homely breakfast smells came from +the houses and delighted Mr. McCunn's nostrils; a squalling child was a +pleasant reminder of an awakening world, the urban counterpart to the +morning song of birds; even the sanitary cart seemed a picturesque +vehicle. He bought his ration of buns and ginger biscuits at a baker's +shop whence various ragamuffin boys were preparing to distribute the +householders' bread, and took his way up the Gallows Hill to the Burgh +Muir almost with regret at leaving so pleasant a habitation. +</P> + +<P> +A chronicle of ripe vintages must pass lightly over small beer. I will +not dwell on his leisurely progress in the bright weather, or on his +luncheon in a coppice of young firs, or on his thoughts which had +returned to the idyllic. I take up the narrative at about three +o'clock in the afternoon, when he is revealed seated on a milestone +examining his map. For he had come, all unwitting, to a turning of the +ways, and his choice is the cause of this veracious history. +</P> + +<P> +The place was high up on a bare moor, which showed a white lodge among +pines, a white cottage in a green nook by a burnside, and no other +marks of human dwelling. To his left, which was the east, the heather +rose to a low ridge of hill, much scarred with peat-bogs, behind which +appeared the blue shoulder of a considerable mountain. Before him the +road was lost momentarily in the woods of a shooting-box, but +reappeared at a great distance climbing a swell of upland which seemed +to be the glacis of a jumble of bold summits. There was a pass there, +the map told him, which led into Galloway. It was the road he had +meant to follow, but as he sat on the milestone his purpose wavered. +For there seemed greater attractions in the country which lay to the +westward. Mr. McCunn, be it remembered, was not in search of brown +heath and shaggy wood; he wanted greenery and the Spring. +</P> + +<P> +Westward there ran out a peninsula in the shape of an isosceles +triangle, of which his present high-road was the base. At a distance +of a mile or so a railway ran parallel to the road, and he could see +the smoke of a goods train waiting at a tiny station islanded in acres +of bog. Thence the moor swept down to meadows and scattered copses, +above which hung a thin haze of smoke which betokened a village. +Beyond it were further woodlands, not firs but old shady trees, and as +they narrowed to a point the gleam of two tiny estuaries appeared on +either side. He could not see the final cape, but he saw the sea +beyond it, flawed with catspaws, gold in the afternoon sun, and on it a +small herring smack flopping listless sails. +</P> + +<P> +Something in the view caught and held his fancy. He conned his map, +and made out the names. The peninsula was called the Cruives—an old +name apparently, for it was in antique lettering. He vaguely +remembered that "cruives" had something to do with fishing, doubtless +in the two streams which flanked it. One he had already crossed, the +Laver, a clear tumbling water springing from green hills; the other, +the Garple, descended from the rougher mountains to the south. The +hidden village bore the name of Dalquharter, and the uncouth syllables +awoke some vague recollection in his mind. The great house in the trees +beyond—it must be a great house, for the map showed large +policies—was Huntingtower. +</P> + +<P> +The last name fascinated and almost decided him. He pictured an +ancient keep by the sea, defended by converging rivers, which some old +Comyn lord of Galloway had built to command the shore road, and from +which he had sallied to hunt in his wild hills.... He liked the way the +moor dropped down to green meadows, and the mystery of the dark woods +beyond. He wanted to explore the twin waters, and see how they entered +that strange shimmering sea. The odd names, the odd cul-de-sac of a +peninsula, powerfully attracted him. Why should he not spend a night +there, for the map showed clearly that Dalquharter had an inn? He must +decide promptly, for before him a side-road left the highway, and the +signpost bore the legend, "Dalquharter and Huntingtower." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. McCunn, being a cautious and pious man, took the omens. He tossed a +penny—heads go on, tails turn aside. It fell tails. +</P> + +<P> +He knew as soon as he had taken three steps down the side-road that he +was doing something momentous, and the exhilaration of enterprise stole +into his soul. It occurred to him that this was the kind of landscape +that he had always especially hankered after, and had made pictures of +when he had a longing for the country on him—a wooded cape between +streams, with meadows inland and then a long lift of heather. He had +the same feeling of expectancy, of something most interesting and +curious on the eve of happening, that he had had long ago when he +waited on the curtain rising at his first play. His spirits soared +like the lark, and he took to singing. If only the inn at Dalquharter +were snug and empty, this was going to be a day in ten thousand. Thus +mirthfully he swung down the rough grass-grown road, past the railway, +till he came to a point where heath began to merge in pasture, and +dry-stone walls split the moor into fields. Suddenly his pace +slackened and song died on his lips. For, approaching from the right +by a tributary path was the Poet. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Heritage saw him afar off and waved a friendly hand. In spite of +his chagrin Dickson could not but confess that he had misjudged his +critic. Striding with long steps over the heather, his jacket open to +the wind, his face a-glow and his capless head like a whin-bush for +disorder, he cut a more wholesome figure than in the smoking-room the +night before. He seemed to be in a companionable mood, for he +brandished his stick and shouted greetings. +</P> + +<P> +"Well met!" he cried; "I was hoping to fall in with you again. You must +have thought me a pretty fair cub last night." +</P> + +<P> +"I did that," was the dry answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I want to apologize. God knows what made me treat you to a +university-extension lecture. I may not agree with you, but every +man's entitled to his own views, and it was dashed poor form for me to +start jawing you." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. McCunn had no gift of nursing anger, and was very susceptible to +apologies. +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right," he murmured. "Don't mention it. I'm wondering what +brought you down here, for it's off the road." +</P> + +<P> +"Caprice. Pure caprice. I liked the look of this butt-end of nowhere." +</P> + +<P> +"Same here. I've aye thought there was something terrible nice about a +wee cape with a village at the neck of it and a burn each side." +</P> + +<P> +"Now that's interesting," said Mr. Heritage. "You're obsessed by a +particular type of landscape. Ever read Freud?" +</P> + +<P> +Dickson shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you've got an odd complex somewhere. I wonder where the key +lies. Cape—woods—two rivers—moor behind. Ever been in love, Dogson?" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. McCunn was startled. "Love" was a word rarely mentioned in his +circle except on death-beds, "I've been a married man for thirty +years," he said hurriedly. +</P> + +<P> +"That won't do. It should have been a hopeless affair-the last sight +of the lady on a spur of coast with water on three sides—that kind of +thing, you know, or it might have happened to an ancestor.... But you +don't look the kind of breed for hopeless attachments. More likely some +scoundrelly old Dogson long ago found sanctuary in this sort of place. +Do you dream about it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not exactly." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I do. The queer thing is that I've got the same prepossession +as you. As soon as I spotted this Cruives place on the map this +morning, I saw it was what I was after. When I came in sight of it I +almost shouted. I don't very often dream but when I do that's the +place I frequent. Odd, isn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. McCunn was deeply interested at this unexpected revelation of +romance. "Maybe it's being in love," he daringly observed. +</P> + +<P> +The Poet demurred. "No. I'm not a connoisseur of obvious sentiment. +That explanation might fit your case, but not mine. I'm pretty certain +there's something hideous at the back of MY complex—some grim old +business tucked away back in the ages. For though I'm attracted by the +place, I'm frightened too!" +</P> + +<P> +There seemed no room for fear in the delicate landscape now opening +before them. In front, in groves of birch and rowan, smoked the first +houses of a tiny village. The road had become a green "loaning," on +the ample margin of which cattle grazed. The moorland still showed +itself in spits of heather, and some distance off, where a rivulet ran +in a hollow, there were signs of a fire and figures near it. These last +Mr. Heritage regarded with disapproval. +</P> + +<P> +"Some infernal trippers!" he murmured. "Or Boy Scouts. They desecrate +everything. Why can't the TUNICATUS POPELLUS keep away from a paradise +like this!" Dickson, a democrat who felt nothing incongruous in the +presence of other holiday-makers, was meditating a sharp rejoinder, +when Mr. Heritage's tone changed. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye gods! What a village!" he cried, as they turned a corner. There +were not more than a dozen whitewashed houses, all set in little +gardens of wallflower and daffodil and early fruit blossom. A triangle +of green filled the intervening space, and in it stood an ancient +wooden pump. There was no schoolhouse or kirk; not even a +post-office—only a red box in a cottage side. Beyond rose the high +wall and the dark trees of the demesne, and to the right up a by-road +which clung to the park edge stood a two-storeyed building which bore +the legend "The Cruives Inn." +</P> + +<P> +The Poet became lyrical. "At last!" he cried. "The village of my +dreams! Not a sign of commerce! No church or school or beastly +recreation hall! Nothing but these divine little cottages and an +ancient pub! Dogson, I warn you, I'm going to have the devil of a +tea." And he declaimed: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "Thou shalt hear a song<BR> + After a while which Gods may listen to;<BR> + But place the flask upon the board and wait<BR> + Until the stranger hath allayed his thirst,<BR> + For poets, grasshoppers, and nightingales<BR> + Sing cheerily but when the throat is moist."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Dickson, too, longed with sensual gusto for tea. But, as they drew +nearer, the inn lost its hospitable look. The cobbles of the yard were +weedy, as if rarely visited by traffic, a pane in a window was broken, +and the blinds hung tattered. The garden was a wilderness, and the +doorstep had not been scoured for weeks. But the place had a landlord, +for he had seen them approach and was waiting at the door to meet them. +</P> + +<P> +He was a big man in his shirt sleeves, wearing old riding breeches +unbuttoned at the knees, and thick ploughman's boots. He had no +leggings, and his fleshy calves were imperfectly covered with woollen +socks. His face was large and pale, his neck bulged, and he had a +gross unshaven jowl. He was a type familiar to students of society; +not the innkeeper, which is a thing consistent with good breeding and +all the refinements; a type not unknown in the House of Lords, +especially among recent creations, common enough in the House of +Commons and the City of London, and by no means infrequent in the +governing circles of Labour; the type known to the discerning as the +Licensed Victualler. +</P> + +<P> +His face was wrinkled in official smiles, and he gave the travellers a +hearty good afternoon. +</P> + +<P> +"Can we stop here for the night?" Dickson asked. +</P> + +<P> +The landlord looked sharply at him, and then replied to Mr. Heritage. +His expression passed from official bonhomie to official contrition. +</P> + +<P> +"Impossible, gentlemen. Quite impossible.... Ye couldn't have come at +a worse time. I've only been here a fortnight myself, and we haven't +got right shaken down yet. Even then I might have made shift to do +with ye, but the fact is we've illness in the house, and I'm fair at my +wits' end. It breaks my heart to turn gentlemen away and me that keen +to get the business started. But there it is!" He spat vigorously as +if to emphasize the desperation of his quandary. +</P> + +<P> +The man was clearly Scots, but his native speech was overlaid with +something alien, something which might have been acquired in America or +in going down to the sea in ships. He hitched his breeches, too, with +a nautical air. +</P> + +<P> +"Is there nowhere else we can put up?" Dickson asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Not in this one-horse place. Just a wheen auld wives that packed +thegether they haven't room for an extra hen. But it's grand weather, +and it's not above seven miles to Auchenlochan. Say the word and I'll +yoke the horse and drive ye there." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you. We prefer to walk," said Mr. Heritage. Dickson would +have tarried to inquire after the illness in the house, but his +companion hurried him off. Once he looked back, and saw the landlord +still on the doorstep gazing after them. +</P> + +<P> +"That fellow's a swine," said Mr. Heritage sourly. "I wouldn't trust +my neck in his pot-house. Now, Dogson, I'm hanged if I'm going to +leave this place. We'll find a corner in the village somehow. Besides, +I'm determined on tea." +</P> + +<P> +The little street slept in the clear pure light of an early April +evening. Blue shadows lay on the white road, and a delicate aroma of +cooking tantalized hungry nostrils. The near meadows shone like pale +gold against the dark lift of the moor. A light wind had begun to blow +from the west and carried the faintest tang of salt. The village at +that hour was pure Paradise, and Dickson was of the Poet's opinion. At +all costs they must spend the night there. +</P> + +<P> +They selected a cottage whiter and neater than the others, which stood +at a corner, where a narrow lane turned southward. Its thatched roof +had been lately repaired, and starched curtains of a dazzling whiteness +decorated the small, closely-shut windows. Likewise it had a green +door and a polished brass knocker. +</P> + +<P> +Tacitly the duty of envoy was entrusted to Mr. McCunn. Leaving the +other at the gate, he advanced up the little path lined with quartz +stones, and politely but firmly dropped the brass knocker. He must +have been observed, for ere the noise had ceased the door opened, and +an elderly woman stood before him. She had a sharply-cut face, the +rudiments of a beard, big spectacles on her nose, and an old-fashioned +lace cap on her smooth white hair. A little grim she looked at first +sight, because of her thin lips and roman nose, but her mild curious +eyes corrected the impression and gave the envoy confidence. +</P> + +<P> +"Good afternoon, mistress," he said, broadening his voice to something +more rustical than his normal Glasgow speech. "Me and my friend are +paying our first visit here, and we're terrible taken up with the +place. We would like to bide the night, but the inn is no' taking +folk. Is there any chance, think you, of a bed here?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll no tell ye a lee," said the woman. "There's twae guid beds in +the loft. But I dinna tak' lodgers and I dinna want to be bothered wi' +ye. I'm an auld wumman and no' as stoot as I was. Ye'd better try +doun the street. Eppie Home micht tak' ye." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson wore his most ingratiating smile. "But, mistress, Eppie Home's +house is no' yours. We've taken a tremendous fancy to this bit. Can +you no' manage to put up with us for the one night? We're quiet +auld-fashioned folk and we'll no' trouble you much. Just our tea and +maybe an egg to it, and a bowl of porridge in the morning." +</P> + +<P> +The woman seemed to relent. "Whaur's your freend?" she asked, peering +over her spectacles towards the garden gate. The waiting Mr. Heritage, +seeing he eyes moving in his direction, took off his cap with a brave +gesture and advanced. "Glorious weather, madam," he declared. +</P> + +<P> +"English," whispered Dickson to the woman, in explanation. +</P> + +<P> +She examined the Poet's neat clothes and Mr. McCunn's homely garments, +and apparently found them reassuring. "Come in," she said shortly. "I +see ye're wilfu' folk and I'll hae to dae my best for ye." +</P> + +<P> +A quarter of an hour later the two travellers, having been introduced +to two spotless beds in the loft, and having washed luxuriously at the +pump in the back yard, were seated in Mrs. Morran's kitchen before a +meal which fulfilled their wildest dreams. She had been baking that +morning, so there were white scones and barley scones, and oaten +farles, and russet pancakes. There were three boiled eggs for each of +them; there was a segment of an immense currant cake ("a present from +my guid brither last Hogmanay"); there was skim milk cheese; there were +several kinds of jam, and there was a pot of dark-gold heather honey. +"Try hinny and aitcake," said their hostess. "My man used to say he +never fund onything as guid in a' his days." +</P> + +<P> +Presently they heard her story. Her name was Morran, and she had been +a widow these ten years. Of her family her son was in South Africa, +one daughter a lady's-maid in London, and the other married to a +schoolmaster in Kyle. The son had been in France fighting, and had +come safely through. He had spent a month or two with her before his +return, and, she feared, had found it dull. "There's no' a man body in +the place. Naething but auld wives." +</P> + +<P> +That was what the innkeeper had told them. Mr. McCunn inquired +concerning the inn. +</P> + +<P> +"There's new folk just came. What's this they ca' +them?—Robson—Dobson—aye, Dobson. What far wad they no' tak' ye in? +Does the man think he's a laird to refuse folk that gait?" +</P> + +<P> +"He said he had illness in the house." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Morran meditated. "Whae in the world can be lyin' there? The man +bides his lane. He got a lassie frae Auchenlochan to cook, but she and +her box gaed off in the post-cairt yestreen. I doot he tell't ye a +lee, though it's no for me to juidge him. I've never spoken a word to +ane o' thae new folk." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson inquired about the "new folk." +</P> + +<P> +"They're a' now come in the last three weeks, and there's no' a man o' +the auld stock left. John Blackstocks at the Wast Lodge dee'd o' +pneumony last back-end, and auld Simon Tappie at the Gairdens flitted +to Maybole a year come Mairtinmas. There's naebody at the Gairdens +noo, but there's a man come to the Wast Lodge, a blackavised body wi' a +face like bend-leather. Tam Robison used to bide at the South Lodge, +but Tam got killed about Mesopotamy, and his wife took the bairns to +her guidsire up at the Garpleheid. I seen the man that's in the South +Lodge gaun up the street when I was finishin' my denner—a shilpit body +and a lameter, but he hirples as fast as ither folk run. He's no' +bonny to look at.. I canna think what the factor's ettlin' at to let +sic ill-faured chiels come about the toun." +</P> + +<P> +Their hostess was rapidly rising in Dickson's esteem. She sat very +straight in her chair, eating with the careful gentility of a bird, and +primming her thin lips after every mouthful of tea. +</P> + +<P> +"Wha bides in the Big House?" he asked. "Huntingtower is the name, +isn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"When I was a lassie they ca'ed it Dalquharter Hoose, and Huntingtower +was the auld rickle o' stanes at the sea-end. But naething wad serve +the last laird's father but he maun change the name, for he was clean +daft about what they ca' antickities. Ye speir whae bides in the Hoose? +Naebody, since the young laird dee'd. It's standin' cauld and lanely +and steikit, and it aince the cheeriest dwallin' in a' Carrick." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Morran's tone grew tragic. "It's a queer warld wi'out the auld +gentry. My faither and my guidsire and his faither afore him served the +Kennedys, and my man Dauvit Morran was gemkeeper to them, and afore I +mairried I was ane o' the table-maids. They were kind folk, the +Kennedys, and, like a' the rale gentry, maist mindfu' o' them that +served them. Sic merry nichts I've seen in the auld Hoose, at +Hallowe'en and Hogmanay, and at the servants' balls and the waddin's o' +the young leddies! But the laird bode to waste his siller in stane and +lime, and hadna that much to leave to his bairns. And now they're a' +scattered or deid." +</P> + +<P> +Her grave face wore the tenderness which comes from affectionate +reminiscence. +</P> + +<P> +"There was never sic a laddie as young Maister Quentin. No' a week +gaed by but he was in here, cryin', 'Phemie Morran, I've come till my +tea!' Fine he likit my treacle scones, puir man. There wasna ane in +the countryside sae bauld a rider at the hunt, or sic a skeely fisher. +And he was clever at his books tae, a graund scholar, they said, and +ettlin' at bein' what they ca' a dipplemat, But that' a' bye wi'." +</P> + +<P> +"Quentin Kennedy—the fellow in the Tins?" Heritage asked. "I saw him +in Rome when he was with the Mission." +</P> + +<P> +"I dinna ken. He was a brave sodger, but he wasna long fechtin' in +France till he got a bullet in his breist. Syne we heard tell o' him +in far awa' bits like Russia; and syne cam' the end o' the war and we +lookit to see him back, fishin' the waters and ridin' like Jehu as in +the auld days. But wae's me! It wasna permitted. The next news we +got, the puir laddie was deid o' influenzy and buried somewhere about +France. The wanchancy bullet maun have weakened his chest, nae doot. +So that's the end o' the guid stock o' Kennedy o' Huntingtower, whae +hae been great folk sin' the time o' Robert Bruce. And noo the Hoose +is shut up till the lawyers can get somebody sae far left to himsel' as +to tak' it on lease, and in thae dear days it's no' just onybody that +wants a muckle castle." +</P> + +<P> +"Who are the lawyers?" Dickson asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Glendonan and Speirs in Embro. But they never look near the place, +and Maister Loudon in Auchenlochan does the factorin'. He's let the +public an' filled the twae lodges, and he'll be thinkin' nae doot that +he's done eneuch." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Morran had poured some hot water into the big slop-bowl, and had +begun the operation known as "synding out" the cups. It was a hint +that the meal was over, and Dickson and Heritage rose from the table. +Followed by an injunction to be back for supper "on the chap o' nine," +they strolled out into the evening. Two hours of some sort of daylight +remained, and the travellers had that impulse to activity which comes +to all men who, after a day of exercise and emptiness, are stayed with +a satisfying tea. +</P> + +<P> +"You should be happy, Dogson," said the Poet. "Here we have all the +materials for your blessed romance—old mansion, extinct family, +village deserted of men, and an innkeeper whom I suspect of being a +villain. I feel almost a convert to your nonsense myself. We'll have a +look at the House." +</P> + +<P> +They turned down the road which ran north by the park wall, past the +inn, which looked more abandoned than ever, till they came to an +entrance which was clearly the West Lodge. It had once been a pretty, +modish cottage, with a thatched roof and dormer windows, but now it was +badly in need of repair. A window-pane was broken and stuffed with a +sack, the posts of the porch were giving inwards, and the thatch was +crumbling under the attentions of a colony of starlings. The great +iron gates were rusty, and on the coat of arms above them the gilding +was patchy and tarnished. Apparently the gates were locked, and even +the side wicket failed to open to Heritage's vigorous shaking. Inside +a weedy drive disappeared among ragged rhododendrons. +</P> + +<P> +The noise brought a man to the lodge door. He was a sturdy fellow in a +suit of black clothes which had not been made for him. He might have +been a butler EN DESHABILLE, but for the presence of a pair of field +boots into which he had tucked the ends of his trousers. The curious +thing about him was his face, which was decorated with features so tiny +as to give the impression of a monstrous child. Each in itself was well +enough formed, but eyes, nose, mouth, chin were of a smallness +curiously out of proportion to the head and body. Such an anomaly might +have been redeemed by the expression; good-humour would have invested +it with an air of agreeable farce. But there was no friendliness in the +man's face. It was set like a judge's in a stony impassiveness. +</P> + +<P> +"May we walk up to the House?" Heritage asked. "We are here for a +night and should like to have a look at it." +</P> + +<P> +The man advanced a step. He had either a bad cold, or a voice +comparable in size to his features. +</P> + +<P> +"There's no entrance here," he said huskily. "I have strict orders." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, come now," said Heritage. "It can do nobody any harm if you let +us in for half an hour." +</P> + +<P> +The man advanced another step. +</P> + +<P> +"You shall not come in. Go away from here. Go away, I tell you. It is +private." The words spoken by the small mouth in the small voice had a +kind of childish ferocity. +</P> + +<P> +The travellers turned their back on him and continued their way. +</P> + +<P> +"Sich a curmudgeon!" Dickson commented. His face had flushed, for he +was susceptible to rudeness. "Did you notice? That man's a foreigner." +</P> + +<P> +"He's a brute," said Heritage. "But I'm not going to be done in by +that class of lad. There can be no gates on the sea side, so we'll +work round that way, for I won't sleep till I've seen the place." +</P> + +<P> +Presently the trees grew thinner, and the road plunged through thickets +of hazel till it came to a sudden stop in a field. There the cover +ceased wholly, and below them lay the glen of the Laver. Steep green +banks descended to a stream which swept in coils of gold into the eye +of the sunset. A little farther down the channel broadened, the slopes +fell back a little, and a tongue of glittering sea ran up to meet the +hill waters. The Laver is a gentle stream after it leaves its cradle +heights, a stream of clear pools and long bright shallows, winding by +moorland steadings and upland meadows; but in its last half-mile it +goes mad, and imitates its childhood when it tumbled over granite +shelves. Down in that green place the crystal water gushed and +frolicked as if determined on one hour of rapturous life before joining +the sedater sea. +</P> + +<P> +Heritage flung himself on the turf. +</P> + +<P> +"This is a good place! Ye gods, what a good place! Dogson, aren't you +glad you came? I think everything's bewitched to-night. That village +is bewitched, and that old woman's tea. Good white magic! And that +foul innkeeper and that brigand at the gate. Black magic! And now here +is the home of all enchantment—'island valley of Avilion'—'waters +that listen for lovers'—all the rest of it!" +</P> + +<P> +Dickson observed and marvelled. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't make you out, Mr. Heritage. You were saying last night you +were a great democrat, and yet you were objecting to yon laddies +camping on the moor. And you very near bit the neb off me when I said +I liked Tennyson. And now..." Mr. McCunn's command of language was +inadequate to describe the transformation. +</P> + +<P> +"You're a precise, pragmatical Scot," was the answer. "Hang it, man, +don't remind me that I'm inconsistent. I've a poet's licence to play +the fool, and if you don't understand me, I don't in the least +understand myself. All I know is that I'm feeling young and jolly, and +that it's the Spring." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Heritage was assuredly in a strange mood. He began to whistle with +a far-away look in his eye. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know what that is?" he asked suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +Dickson, who could not detect any tune, said "No." +</P> + +<P> +"It's an aria from a Russian opera that came out just before the war. +I've forgotten the name of the fellow who wrote it. Jolly thing, isn't +it? I always remind myself of it when I'm in this mood, for it is +linked with the greatest experience of my life. You said, I think, +that you had never been in love?" +</P> + +<P> +Dickson replied in the native fashion. "Have you?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I have, and I am—been for two years. I was down with my battalion on +the Italian front early in 1918, and because I could speak the language +they hoicked me out and sent me to Rome on a liaison job. It was Easter +time and fine weather, and, being glad to get out of the trenches, I +was pretty well pleased with myself and enjoying life.... In the place +where I stayed there was a girl. She was a Russian, a princess of a +great family, but a refugee, and of course as poor as sin.... I +remember how badly dressed she was among all the well-to-do Romans. +But, my God, what a beauty! There was never anything in the world like +her.... She was little more than a child, and she used to sing that +air in the morning as she went down the stairs.... They sent me back to +the front before I had a chance of getting to know her, but she used to +give me little timid good mornings, and her voice and eyes were like an +angel's.... I'm over my head in love, but it's hopeless, quite +hopeless. I shall never see her again." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure I'm honoured by your confidence," said Dickson reverently. +</P> + +<P> +The Poet, who seemed to draw exhilaration from the memory of his +sorrows, arose and fetched him a clout on the back. "Don't talk of +confidence, as if you were a reporter," he said. "What about that +House? If we're to see it before the dark comes we'd better hustle." +</P> + +<P> +The green slopes on their left, as they ran seaward, were clothed +towards their summit with a tangle of broom and light scrub. The two +forced their way through it, and found to their surprise that on this +side there were no defences of the Huntingtower demesne. Along the +crest ran a path which had once been gravelled and trimmed. Beyond, +through a thicket of laurels and rhododendrons, they came on a long +unkempt aisle of grass, which seemed to be one of those side avenues +often found in connection with old Scots dwellings. Keeping along this +they reached a grove of beech and holly through which showed a dim +shape of masonry. By a common impulse they moved stealthily, crouching +in cover, till at the far side of the wood they found a sunk fence and +looked over an acre or two of what had once been lawn and flower-beds +to the front of the mansion. +</P> + +<P> +The outline of the building was clearly silhouetted against the glowing +west, but since they were looking at the east face the detail was all +in shadow. But, dim as it was, the sight was enough to give Dickson +the surprise of his life. He had expected something old and baronial. +But this was new, raw and new, not twenty years built. Some madness had +prompted its creator to set up a replica of a Tudor house in a +countryside where the thing was unheard of. All the tricks were +there—oriel windows, lozenged panes, high twisted chimney stacks; the +very stone was red, as if to imitate the mellow brick of some ancient +Kentish manor. It was new, but it was also decaying. The creepers had +fallen from the walls, the pilasters on the terrace were tumbling down, +lichen and moss were on the doorsteps. Shuttered, silent, abandoned, +it stood like a harsh memento mori of human hopes. +</P> + +<P> +Dickson had never before been affected by an inanimate thing with so +strong a sense of disquiet. He had pictured an old stone tower on a +bright headland; he found instead this raw thing among trees. The +decadence of the brand-new repels as something against nature, and this +new thing was decadent. But there was a mysterious life in it, for +though not a chimney smoked, it seemed to enshrine a personality and to +wear a sinister aura. He felt a lively distaste, which was almost +fear. He wanted to get far away from it as fast as possible. The sun, +now sinking very low, sent up rays which kindled the crests of a group +of firs to the left of the front door. +</P> + +<P> +He had the absurd fancy that they were torches flaming before a bier. +</P> + +<P> +It was well that the two had moved quietly and kept in shadow. +Footsteps fell on their ears, on the path which threaded the lawn just +beyond the sunk-fence. It was the keeper of the West Lodge and he +carried something on his back, but both that and his face were +indistinct in the half-light. +</P> + +<P> +Other footsteps were heard, coming from the other side of the lawn. A +man's shod feet rang on the stone of a flagged path, and from their +irregular fall it was plain that he was lame. The two men met near the +door, and spoke together. Then they separated, and moved one down each +side of the house. To the two watchers they had the air of a patrol, +or of warders pacing the corridors of a prison. +</P> + +<P> +"Let's get out of this," said Dickson, and turned to go. +</P> + +<P> +The air had the curious stillness which precedes the moment of sunset, +when the birds of day have stopped their noises and the sounds of night +have not begun. But suddenly in the silence fell notes of music. They +seemed to come from the house, a voice singing softly but with great +beauty and clearness. +</P> + +<P> +Dickson halted in his steps. The tune, whatever it was, was like a +fresh wind to blow aside his depression. The house no longer looked +sepulchral. He saw that the two men had hurried back from their patrol, +had met and exchanged some message, and made off again as if alarmed by +the music. Then he noticed his companion.... +</P> + +<P> +Heritage was on one knee with his face rapt and listening. He got to +his feet and appeared to be about to make for the House. Dickson caught +him by the arm and dragged him into the bushes, and he followed +unresistingly, like a man in a dream. They ploughed through the +thicket, recrossed the grass avenue, and scrambled down the hillside to +the banks of the stream. +</P> + +<P> +Then for the first time Dickson observed that his companion's face was +very white, and that sweat stood on his temples. Heritage lay down and +lapped up water like a dog. Then he turned a wild eye on the other. +</P> + +<P> +"I am going back," he said. "That is the voice of the girl I saw in +Rome, and it is singing her song!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +DOUGAL +</H3> + +<P> +"You'll do nothing of the kind," said Dickson. "You're coming home to +your supper. It was to be on the chap of nine." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going back to that place." +</P> + +<P> +The man was clearly demented and must be humoured. "Well, you must +wait till the morn's morning. It's very near dark now, and those are +two ugly customers wandering about yonder. You'd better sleep the +night on it." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Heritage seemed to be persuaded. He suffered himself to be led up +the now dusky slopes to the gate where the road from the village ended. +He walked listlessly like a man engaged in painful reflection. Once +only he broke the silence. +</P> + +<P> +"You heard the singing?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +Dickson was a very poor hand at a lie. "I heard something," he +admitted. +</P> + +<P> +"You heard a girl's voice singing?" +</P> + +<P> +"It sounded like that," was the admission. "But I'm thinking it might +have been a seagull." +</P> + +<P> +"You're a fool," said the Poet rudely. +</P> + +<P> +The return was a melancholy business, compared to the bright speed of +the outward journey. Dickson's mind was a chaos of feelings, all of +them unpleasant. He had run up against something which he violently, +blindly detested, and the trouble was that he could not tell why. It +was all perfectly absurd, for why on earth should an ugly house, some +overgrown trees, and a couple of ill-favoured servants so malignly +affect him? Yet this was the fact; he had strayed out of Arcady into a +sphere that filled him with revolt and a nameless fear. Never in his +experience had he felt like this, this foolish childish panic which +took all the colour and zest out of life. He tried to laugh at himself +but failed. Heritage, stumbling along by his side, effectually crushed +his effort to discover humour in the situation. Some exhalation from +that infernal place had driven the Poet mad. And then that voice +singing! A seagull, he had said. More like a nightingale, he +reflected—a bird which in the flesh he had never met. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Morran had the lamp lit and a fire burning in her cheerful +kitchen. The sight of it somewhat restored Dickson's equanimity, and +to his surprise he found that he had an appetite for supper. There was +new milk, thick with cream, and most of the dainties which had appeared +at tea, supplemented by a noble dish of shimmering "potted-head." The +hostess did not share their meal, being engaged in some duties in the +little cubby-hole known as the back kitchen. +</P> + +<P> +Heritage drank a glass of milk but would not touch food. +</P> + +<P> +"I called this place Paradise four hours ago," he said. "So it is, but +I fancy it is next door to Hell. There is something devilish going on +inside that park wall, and I mean to get to the bottom of it." +</P> + +<P> +"Hoots! Nonsense!" Dickson replied with affected cheerfulness. +"To-morrow you and me will take the road for Auchenlochan. We needn't +trouble ourselves about an ugly old house and a wheen impident +lodge-keepers." +</P> + +<P> +"To-morrow I'm going to get inside the place. Don't come unless you +like, but it's no use arguing with me. My mind is made up." +</P> + +<P> +Heritage cleared a space on the table and spread out a section of a +large-scale Ordnance map. +</P> + +<P> +"I must clear my head about the topography, the same as if this were a +battle-ground. Look here, Dogson.... The road past the inn that we +went by to-night runs north and south." He tore a page from a +note-book and proceeded to make a rough sketch.... "One end we know +abuts on the Laver glen, and the other stops at the South Lodge. Inside +the wall which follows the road is a long belt of plantation—mostly +beeches and ash—then to the west a kind of park, and beyond that the +lawns of the house. Strips of plantation with avenues between follow +the north and south sides of the park. On the sea side of the House +are the stables and what looks like a walled garden, and beyond them +what seems to be open ground with an old dovecot marked, and the ruins +of Huntingtower keep. Beyond that there is more open ground, till you +come to the cliffs of the cape. Have you got that?... It looks possible +from the contouring to get on to the sea cliffs by following the Laver, +for all that side is broken up into ravines.... But look at the other +side—the Garple glen. It's evidently a deep-cut gully, and at the +bottom it opens out into a little harbour. There's deep water there, +you observe. Now the House on the south side—the Garple side—is +built fairly close to the edge of the cliffs. Is that all clear in +your head? We can't reconnoitre unless we've got a working notion of +the lie of the land." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson was about to protest that he had no intention of reconnoitring, +when a hubbub arose in the back kitchen. Mrs. Morran's voice was heard +in shrill protest. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye ill laddie! Eh—ye—ill—laddie! (crescendo) Makin' a hash o' my +back door wi' your dirty feet! What are ye slinkin' roond here for, +when I tell't ye this mornin' that I wad sell ye nae mair scones till +ye paid for the last lot? Ye're a wheen thievin' hungry callants, and +if there were a polisman in the place I'd gie ye in chairge.... What's +that ye say? Ye're no' wantin' meat? Ye want to speak to the +gentlemen that's bidin' here? Ye ken the auld ane, says you? I +believe it's a muckle lee, but there's the gentlemen to answer ye +theirsels." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Morran, brandishing a dishclout dramatically, flung open the door, +and with a vigorous push propelled into the kitchen a singular figure. +</P> + +<P> +It was a stunted boy, who from his face might have been fifteen years +old, but had the stature of a child of twelve. He had a thatch of +fiery red hair above a pale freckled countenance. His nose was snub, +his eyes a sulky grey-green, and his wide mouth disclosed large and +damaged teeth. But remarkable as was his visage, his clothing was +still stranger. On his head was the regulation Boy Scout hat, but it +was several sizes too big, and was squashed down upon his immense red +ears. He wore a very ancient khaki shirt, which had once belonged to a +full-grown soldier, and the spacious sleeves were rolled up at the +shoulders and tied with string, revealing a pair of skinny arms. Round +his middle hung what was meant to be a kilt—a kilt of home +manufacture, which may once have been a tablecloth, for its bold +pattern suggested no known clan tartan. He had a massive belt, in +which was stuck a broken gully-knife, and round his neck was knotted +the remnant of what had once been a silk bandanna. His legs and feet +were bare, blue, scratched, and very dirty, and this toes had the +prehensile look common to monkeys and small boys who summer and winter +go bootless. In his hand was a long ash-pole, new cut from some coppice. +</P> + +<P> +The apparition stood glum and lowering on the kitchen floor. As Dickson +stared at it he recalled Mearns Street and the band of irregular Boy +Scouts who paraded to the roll of tin cans. Before him stood Dougal, +Chieftain of the Gorbals Die-Hards. Suddenly he remembered the +philanthropic Mackintosh, and his own subscription of ten pounds to the +camp fund. It pleased him to find the rascals here, for in the +unpleasant affairs on the verge of which he felt himself they were a +comforting reminder of the peace of home. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad to see you, Dougal," he said pleasantly. "How are you all +getting on?" And then, with a vague reminiscence of the Scouts' +code—"Have you been minding to perform a good deed every day?" +</P> + +<P> +The Chieftain's brow darkened. +</P> + +<P> +"'Good Deeds!'" he repeated bitterly. "I tell ye I'm fair wore out wi' +good deeds. Yon man Mackintosh tell't me this was going to be a grand +holiday. Holiday! Govey Dick! It's been like a Setterday night in +Main Street—a' fechtin', fechtin'." +</P> + +<P> +No collocation of letters could reproduce Dougal's accent, and I will +not attempt it. There was a touch of Irish in it, a spice of +music-hall patter, as well as the odd lilt of the Glasgow vernacular. +He was strong in vowels, but the consonants, especially the letter "t," +were only aspirations. +</P> + +<P> +"Sit down and let's hear about things," said Dickson. +</P> + +<P> +The boy turned his head to the still open back door, where Mrs. Morran +could be heard at her labours. He stepped across and shut it. "I'm no' +wantin' that auld wife to hear," he said. Then he squatted down on the +patchwork rug by the hearth, and warmed his blue-black shins. Looking +into the glow of the fire, he observed, "I seen you two up by the Big +Hoose the night." +</P> + +<P> +"The devil you did," said Heritage, roused to a sudden attention. "And +where were you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Seven feet from your head, up a tree. It's my chief hidy-hole, and +Gosh! I need one, for Lean's after me wi' a gun. He had a shot at me +two days syne." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson exclaimed, and Dougal with morose pride showed a rent in his +kilt. "If I had had on breeks, he'd ha' got me." +</P> + +<P> +"Who's Lean?" Heritage asked. +</P> + +<P> +"The man wi' the black coat. The other—the lame one—they ca' +Spittal." +</P> + +<P> +"How d'you know?" +</P> + +<P> +"I've listened to them crackin' thegither." +</P> + +<P> +"But what for did the man want to shoot at you?" asked the scandalized +Dickson. +</P> + +<P> +"What for? Because they're frightened to death o' onybody going near +their auld Hoose. They're a pair of deevils, worse nor any Red Indian, +but for a' that they're sweatin' wi' fright. What for? says you. +Because they're hiding a Secret. I knew it as soon as I seen the man +Lean's face. I once seen the same kind o' scoondrel at the Picters. +When he opened his mouth to swear, I kenned he was a foreigner, like +the lads down at the Broomielaw. That looked black, but I hadn't got +at the worst of it. Then he loosed off at me wi' his gun." +</P> + +<P> +"Were you not feared?" said Dickson. +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, I was feared. But ye'll no' choke off the Gorbals Die-Hards wi' a +gun. We held a meetin' round the camp fire, and we resolved to get to +the bottom o' the business. Me bein' their Chief, it was my duty to +make what they ca' a reckonissince, for that was the dangerous job. So +a' this day I've been going on my belly about thae policies. I've +found out some queer things." +</P> + +<P> +Heritage had risen and was staring down at the small squatting figure. +</P> + +<P> +"What have you found out? Quick. Tell me at once." His voice was +sharp and excited. +</P> + +<P> +"Bide a wee," said the unwinking Dougal. "I'm no' going to let ye into +this business till I ken that ye'll help. It's a far bigger job than I +thought. There's more in it than Lean and Spittal. There's the big man +that keeps the public—Dobson, they ca' him. He's a Namerican, which +looks bad. And there's two-three tinklers campin' down in the Garple +Dean. They're in it, for Dobson was colloguin' wi' them a' mornin'. +When I seen ye, I thought ye were more o' the gang, till I mindit that +one o' ye was auld McCunn that has the shop in Mearns Street. I seen +that ye didna' like the look o' Lean, and I followed ye here, for I was +thinkin' I needit help." +</P> + +<P> +Heritage plucked Dougal by the shoulder and lifted him to his feet. +</P> + +<P> +"For God's sake, boy," he cried, "tell us what you know!" +</P> + +<P> +"Will ye help?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, you little fool." +</P> + +<P> +"Then swear," said the ritualist. From a grimy wallet he extracted a +limp little volume which proved to be a damaged copy of a work entitled +Sacred Songs and Solos. "Here! Take that in your right hand and put +your left hand on my pole, and say after me. 'I swear no' to blab what +is telled me in secret, and to be swift and sure in obeyin' orders, +s'help me God!' Syne kiss the bookie." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson at first refused, declaring that it was all havers, but +Heritage's docility persuaded him to follow suit. The two were sworn. +</P> + +<P> +"Now," said Heritage. +</P> + +<P> +Dougal squatted again on the hearth-rug, and gathered the eyes of his +audience. He was enjoying himself. +</P> + +<P> +"This day," he said slowly, "I got inside the Hoose." +</P> + +<P> +"Stout fellow," said Heritage; "and what did you find there?" +</P> + +<P> +"I got inside that Hoose, but it wasn't once or twice I tried. I found +a corner where I was out o' sight o' anybody unless they had come there +seekin' me, and I sklimmed up a rone pipe, but a' the windies were +lockit and I verra near broke my neck. Syne I tried the roof, and a +sore sklim I had, but when I got there there were no skylights. At the +end I got in by the coal-hole. That's why ye're maybe thinkin' I'm no' +very clean." +</P> + +<P> +Heritage's patience was nearly exhausted. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want to hear how you got in. What did you find, you little +devil?" +</P> + +<P> +"Inside the Hoose," said Dougal slowly (and there was a melancholy +sense of anti-climax in his voice, as of one who had hoped to speak of +gold and jewels and armed men)—"inside that Hoose there's nothing but +two women." +</P> + +<P> +Heritage sat down before him with a stern face. +</P> + +<P> +"Describe them," he commanded. +</P> + +<P> +"One o' them is dead auld, as auld as the wife here. She didn't look +to me very right in the head." +</P> + +<P> +"And the other?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, just a lassie." +</P> + +<P> +"What was she like?" +</P> + +<P> +Dougal seemed to be searching for adequate words. "She is..." he +began. Then a popular song gave him inspiration. "She's pure as the +lully in the dell!" +</P> + +<P> +In no way discomposed by Heritage's fierce interrogatory air, he +continued: "She's either foreign or English, for she couldn't +understand what I said, and I could make nothing o' her clippit tongue. +But I could see she had been greetin'. She looked feared, yet kind o' +determined. I speired if I could do anything for her, and when she got +my meaning she was terrible anxious to ken if I had seen a man—a big +man, she said, wi' a yellow beard. She didn't seem to ken his name, or +else she wouldna' tell me. The auld wife was mortal feared, and was +aye speakin' in a foreign langwidge. I seen at once that what +frightened them was Lean and his friends, and I was just starting to +speir about them when there came a sound like a man walkin' along the +passage. She was for hidin' me in behind a sofy, but I wasn't going to +be trapped like that, so I got out by the other door and down the +kitchen stairs and into the coal-hole. Gosh, it was a near thing!" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The boy was on his feet. "I must be off to the camp to give out the +orders for the morn. I'm going back to that Hoose, for it's a fight +atween the Gorbals Die-Hards and the scoondrels that are frightenin' +thae women. The question is, Are ye comin' with me? Mind, ye've +sworn. But if ye're no, I'm going mysel', though I'll no' deny I'd be +glad o' company. You anyway—" he added, nodding at Heritage. "Maybe +auld McCunn wouldn't get through the coal-hole." +</P> + +<P> +"You're an impident laddie," said the outraged Dickson. "It's no' +likely we're coming with you. Breaking into other folks' houses! It's +a job for the police!" +</P> + +<P> +"Please yersel'," said the Chieftain, and looked at Heritage. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm on," said that gentleman. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, just you set out the morn as if ye were for a walk up the Garple +glen. I'll be on the road and I'll have orders for ye." +</P> + +<P> +Without more ado Dougal left by way of the back kitchen. There was a +brief denunciation from Mrs. Morran, then the outer door banged and he +was gone. +</P> + +<P> +The Poet sat still with his head in his hands, while Dickson, acutely +uneasy, prowled about the floor. He had forgotten even to light his +pipe. "You'll not be thinking of heeding that ragamuffin boy," he +ventured. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm certainly going to get into the House tomorrow," Heritage +answered, "and if he can show me a way so much the better. He's a +spirited youth. Do you breed many like him in Glasgow?" +</P> + +<P> +"Plenty," said Dickson sourly. "See here, Mr. Heritage. You can't +expect me to be going about burgling houses on the word of a blagyird +laddie. I'm a respectable man—aye been. Besides, I'm here for a +holiday, and I've no call to be mixing myself up in strangers' affairs." +</P> + +<P> +"You haven't. Only you see, I think there's a friend of mine in that +place, and anyhow there are women in trouble. If you like, we'll say +goodbye after breakfast, and you can continue as if you had never +turned aside to this damned peninsula. But I've got to stay." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson groaned. What had become of his dream of idylls, his gentle +bookish romance? Vanished before a reality which smacked horribly of +crude melodrama and possibly of sordid crime. His gorge rose at the +picture, but a thought troubled him. Perhaps all romance in its hour +of happening was rough and ugly like this, and only shone rosy in +retrospect. Was he being false to his deepest faith? +</P> + +<P> +"Let's have Mrs. Morran in," he ventured. "She's a wise old body and +I'd like to hear her opinion of this business. We'll get common sense +from her." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't object," said Heritage. "But no amount of common sense will +change my mind." +</P> + +<P> +Their hostess forestalled them by returning at that moment to the +kitchen. +</P> + +<P> +"We want your advice, mistress," Dickson told her, and accordingly, +like a barrister with a client, she seated herself carefully in the big +easy chair, found and adjusted her spectacles, and waited with hands +folded on her lap to hear the business. Dickson narrated their +pre-supper doings, and gave a sketch of Dougal's evidence. His +exposition was cautious and colourless, and without conviction. He +seemed to expect a robust incredulity in his hearer. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Morran listened with the gravity of one in church. When Dickson +finished she seemed to meditate. "There's no blagyird trick that would +surprise me in thae new folk. What's that ye ca' them—Lean and +Spittal? Eppie Home threepit to me they were furriners, and these are +no furrin names." +</P> + +<P> +"What I want to hear from you, Mrs. Morran," said Dickson impressively, +"is whether you think there's anything in that boy's story?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think it's maist likely true. He's a terrible impident callant, but +he's no' a leear." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you think that a gang of ruffians have got two lone women shut up +in that house for their own purposes?" +</P> + +<P> +"I wadna wonder." +</P> + +<P> +"But it's ridiculous! This is a Christian and law-abiding country. +What would the police say?" +</P> + +<P> +"They never troubled Dalquharter muckle. There's no' a polisman nearer +than Knockraw—yin Johnnie Trummle, and he's as useless as a frostit +tattie." +</P> + +<P> +"The wiselike thing, as I think," said Dickson, "would be to turn the +Procurator-Fiscal on to the job. It's his business, no' ours." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I wadna say but ye're richt,' said the lady. +</P> + +<P> +"What would you do if you were us?" Dickson's tone was subtly +confidential. "My friend here wants to get into the House the morn +with that red-haired laddie to satisfy himself about the facts. I say +no. Let sleeping dogs lie, I say, and if you think the beasts are mad, +report to the authorities. What would you do yourself?" +</P> + +<P> +"If I were you," came the emphatic reply, "I would tak' the first train +hame the morn, and when I got hame I wad bide there. Ye're a dacent +body, but ye're no' the kind to be traivellin' the roads." +</P> + +<P> +"And if you were me?' Heritage asked with his queer crooked smile. +</P> + +<P> +"If I was young and yauld like you I wad gang into the Hoose, and I +wadna rest till I had riddled oot the truith and jyled every scoondrel +about the place. If ye dinna gang, 'faith I'll kilt my coats and gang +mysel'. I havena served the Kennedys for forty year no' to hae the +honour o' the Hoose at my hert.... Ye've speired my advice, sirs, and +ye've gotten it. Now I maun clear awa' your supper." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson asked for a candle, and, as on the previous night, went +abruptly to bed. The oracle of prudence to which he had appealed had +betrayed him and counselled folly. But was it folly? For him, +assuredly, for Dickson McCunn, late of Mearns Street, Glasgow, +wholesale and retail provision merchant, elder in the Guthrie Memorial +Kirk, and fifty-five years of age. Ay, that was the rub. He was +getting old. The woman had seen it and had advised him to go home. +Yet the plea was curiously irksome, though it gave him the excuse he +needed. If you played at being young, you had to take up the +obligations of youth, and he thought derisively of his boyish +exhilaration of the past days. Derisively, but also sadly. What had +become of that innocent joviality he had dreamed of, that happy morning +pilgrimage of Spring enlivened by tags from the poets? His goddess had +played him false. Romance had put upon him too hard a trial. +</P> + +<P> +He lay long awake, torn between common sense and a desire to be loyal +to some vague whimsical standard. Heritage a yard distant appeared +also to be sleepless, for the bed creaked with his turning. Dickson +found himself envying one whose troubles, whatever they might be, were +not those of a divided mind. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +OF THE PRINCESS IN THE TOWER +</H3> + +<P> +Very early the next morning, while Mrs. Morran was still cooking +breakfast, Dickson and Heritage might have been observed taking the air +in the village street. It was the Poet who had insisted upon this +walk, and he had his own purpose. They looked at the spires of smoke +piercing the windless air, and studied the daffodils in the cottage +gardens. Dickson was glum, but Heritage seemed in high spirits. He +varied his garrulity with spells of cheerful whistling. +</P> + +<P> +They strode along the road by the park wall till they reached the inn. +There Heritage's music waxed peculiarly loud. Presently from the yard, +unshaven and looking as if he had slept in this clothes, came Dobson +the innkeeper. +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning," said the poet. "I hope the sickness in your house is +on the mend?" +</P> + +<P> +"Thank ye, it's no worse," was the reply, but in the man's heavy face +there was little civility. His small grey eyes searched their faces. +</P> + +<P> +"We're just waiting for breakfast to get on the road again. I'm jolly +glad we spent the night here. We found quarters after all, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"So I see. Whereabouts, may I ask?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Morran's. We could always have got in there, but we didn't want +to fuss an old lady, so we thought we'd try the inn first. She's my +friend's aunt." +</P> + +<P> +At this amazing falsehood Dickson started, and the man observed his +surprise. The eyes were turned on him like a searchlight. They roused +antagonism in his peaceful soul, and with that antagonism came an +impulse to back up the Poet. "Ay," he said, "she's my auntie Phemie, +my mother's half-sister." +</P> + +<P> +The man turned on Heritage. +</P> + +<P> +"Where are ye for the day?" +</P> + +<P> +"Auchenlochan," said Dickson hastily. He was still determined to shake +the dust of Dalquharter from his feet. +</P> + +<P> +The innkeeper sensibly brightened. "Well, ye'll have a fine walk. I +must go in and see about my own breakfast. Good day to ye, gentlemen." +</P> + +<P> +"That," said Heritage as they entered the village street again, "is the +first step in camouflage, to put the enemy off his guard." +</P> + +<P> +"It was an abominable lie," said Dickson crossly. +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all. It was a necessary and proper ruse de guerre. It +explained why we spent the right here, and now Dobson and his friends +can get about their day's work with an easy mind. Their suspicions are +temporarily allayed, and that will make our job easier." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not coming with you." +</P> + +<P> +"I never said you were. By 'we' I refer to myself and the red-headed +boy." +</P> + +<P> +"Mistress, you're my auntie," Dickson informed Mrs. Morran as she set +the porridge on the table. "This gentleman has just been telling the +man at the inn that you're my Auntie Phemie." +</P> + +<P> +For a second their hostess looked bewildered. Then the corners of her +prim mouth moved upwards in a slow smile. +</P> + +<P> +"I see," she said. "Weel, maybe it was weel done. But if ye're my +nevoy ye'll hae to keep up my credit, for we're a bauld and siccar lot." +</P> + +<P> +Half an hour later there was a furious dissension when Dickson +attempted to pay for the night's entertainment. Mrs. Morran would have +none of it. "Ye're no' awa' yet," she said tartly, and the matter was +complicated by Heritage's refusal to take part in the debate. He stood +aside and grinned, till Dickson in despair returned his notecase to his +pocket, murmuring darkly the "he would send it from Glasgow." +</P> + +<P> +The road to Auchenlochan left the main village street at right angles +by the side of Mrs. Morran's cottage. It was a better road than that +by which they had come yesterday, for by it twice daily the postcart +travelled to the post-town. It ran on the edge of the moor and on the +lip of the Garple glen, till it crossed that stream and, keeping near +the coast, emerged after five miles into the cultivated flats of the +Lochan valley. The morning was fine, the keen air invited to high +spirits, plovers piped entrancingly over the bent and linnets sang in +the whins, there was a solid breakfast behind him, and the promise of a +cheerful road till luncheon. The stage was set for good humour, but +Dickson's heart, which should have been ascending with the larks, stuck +leadenly in his boots. He was not even relieved at putting Dalquharter +behind him. The atmosphere of that unhallowed place lay still on his +soul. He hated it, but he hated himself more. Here was one, who had +hugged himself all his days as an adventurer waiting his chance, +running away at the first challenge of adventure; a lover of Romance +who fled from the earliest overture of his goddess. He was ashamed and +angry, but what else was there to do? Burglary in the company of a +queer poet and a queerer urchin? It was unthinkable. +</P> + +<P> +Presently, as they tramped silently on, they came to the bridge beneath +which the peaty waters of the Garple ran in porter-coloured pools and +tawny cascades. From a clump of elders on the other side Dougal +emerged. A barefoot boy, dressed in much the same parody of a Boy +Scout's uniform, but with corduroy shorts instead of a kilt, stood +before him at rigid attention. Some command was issued, the child +saluted, and trotted back past the travellers with never a look at +them. Discipline was strong among the Gorbals Die-Hards; no Chief of +Staff ever conversed with his General under a stricter etiquette. +</P> + +<P> +Dougal received the travellers with the condescension of a regular +towards civilians. +</P> + +<P> +"They're off their gawrd," he announced. "Thomas Yownie has been +shadowin' them since skreigh o' day, and he reports that Dobson and +Lean followed ye till ye were out o' sight o' the houses, and syne Lean +got a spy-glass and watched ye till the road turned in among the trees. +That satisfied them, and they're both away back to their jobs. Thomas +Yownie's the fell yin. Ye'll no fickle Thomas Yownie." +</P> + +<P> +Dougal extricated from his pouch the fag of a cigarette, lit it, and +puffed meditatively. "I did a reckonissince mysel' this morning. I was +up at the Hoose afore it was light, and tried the door o' the +coal-hole. I doot they've gotten on our tracks, for it was +lockit—aye, and wedged from the inside." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson brightened. Was the insane venture off? +</P> + +<P> +"For a wee bit I was fair beat. But I mindit that the lassie was +allowed to walk in a kind o' a glass hoose on the side farthest away +from the Garple. That was where she was singin' yest'reen. So I +reckonissinced in that direction, and I fund a queer place." Sacred +Songs and Solos was requisitioned, and on a page of it Dougal proceeded +to make marks with the stump of a carpenter's pencil. "See here," he +commanded. "There's the glass place wi' a door into the Hoose. That +door maun be open or the lassie maun hae the key, for she comes there +whenever she likes. Now' at each end o' the place the doors are +lockit, but the front that looks on the garden is open, wi' muckle +posts and flower-pots. The trouble is that that side there' maybe +twenty feet o' a wall between the pawrapet and the ground. It's an +auld wall wi' cracks and holes in it, and it wouldn't be ill to sklim. +That's why they let her gang there when she wants, for a lassie +couldn't get away without breakin' her neck." +</P> + +<P> +"Could we climb it?" Heritage asked. +</P> + +<P> +The boy wrinkled his brows. "I could manage it mysel'—I think—and +maybe you. I doubt if auld McCunn could get up. Ye'd have to be +mighty carefu' that nobody saw ye, for your hinder end, as ye were +sklimmin', wad be a grand mark for a gun." +</P> + +<P> +"Lead on," said Heritage. "We'll try the verandah." +</P> + +<P> +They both looked at Dickson, and Dickson, scarlet in the face, looked +back at them. He had suddenly found the thought of a solitary march to +Auchenlochan intolerable. Once again he was at the parting of the +ways, and once more caprice determined his decision. That the +coal-hole was out of the question had worked a change in his views, +Somehow it seemed to him less burglarious to enter by a verandah. He +felt very frightened but—for the moment—quite resolute. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm coming with you," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Sportsman," said Heritage, and held out his hand. "Well done, the +auld yin," said the Chieftain of the Gorbals Die-Hards. Dickson's +quaking heart experienced a momentary bound as he followed Heritage +down the track into the Garple Dean. +</P> + +<P> +The track wound through a thick covert of hazels, now close to the +rushing water, now high upon the bank so that clear sky showed through +the fringes of the wood. When they had gone a little way Dougal halted +them. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a ticklish job," he whispered. "There's the tinklers, mind, +that's campin' in the Dean. If they're still in their camp we can get +by easy enough, but they're maybe wanderin' about the wud after +rabbits.... Then we maun ford the water, for ye'll no' cross it lower +down where it's deep.... Our road is on the Hoose side o' the Dean, and +it's awfu' public if there's onybody on the other side, though it's hid +well enough from folk up in the policies.... Ye maun do exactly what I +tell ye. When we get near danger I'll scout on ahead, and I daur ye to +move a hair o' your heid till I give the word." +</P> + +<P> +Presently, when they were at the edge of the water, Dougal announced +his intention of crossing. Three boulders in the stream made a bridge +for an active man, and Heritage hopped lightly over. Not so Dickson, +who stuck fast on the second stone, and would certainly have fallen in +had not Dougal plunged into the current and steadied him with a grimy +hand. The leap was at last successfully taken, and the three scrambled +up a rough scaur, all reddened with iron springs, till they struck a +slender track running down the Dean on its northern side. Here the +undergrowth was very thick, and they had gone the better part of half a +mile before the covert thinned sufficiently to show them the stream +beneath. Then Dougal halted them with a finger on his lips, and crept +forward alone. +</P> + +<P> +He returned in three minutes. "Coast's clear," he whispered. "The +tinklers are eatin' their breakfast. They're late at their meat though +they're up early seekin' it." +</P> + +<P> +Progress was now very slow and secret, and mainly on all fours. At one +point Dougal nodded downward, and the other two saw on a patch of turf, +where the Garple began to widen into its estuary, a group of figures +round a small fire. There were four of them, all men, and Dickson +thought he had never seen such ruffianly-looking customers. After that +they moved high up the slope, in a shallow glade of a tributary burn, +till they came out of the trees and found themselves looking seaward. +</P> + +<P> +On one side was the House, a hundred yards or so back from the edge, +the roof showing above the precipitous scarp. Half-way down the slope +became easier, a jumble of boulders and boiler-plates, till it reached +the waters of the small haven, which lay calm as a mill-pond in the +windless forenoon. The haven broadened out at its foot and revealed a +segment of blue sea. The opposite shore was flatter, and showed what +looked like an old wharf and the ruins of buildings, behind which rose +a bank clad with scrub and surmounted by some gnarled and wind-crooked +firs. +</P> + +<P> +"There's dashed little cover here," said Heritage. +</P> + +<P> +"There's no muckle," Dougal assented. "But they canna see us from the +policies, and it's no' like there's anybody watchin' from the Hoose. +The danger is somebody on the other side, but we'll have to risk it. +Once among thae big stones we're safe. Are ye ready?" +</P> + +<P> +Five minutes later Dickson found himself gasping in the lee of a +boulder, while Dougal was making a cast forward. The scout returned +with a hopeful report. "I think we're safe till we get into the +policies. There's a road that the auld folk made when ships used to +come here. Down there it's deeper than Clyde at the Broomielaw. Has +the auld yin got his wind yet? There's no time to waste." +</P> + +<P> +Up that broken hillside they crawled, well in the cover of the tumbled +stones, till they reached a low wall which was the boundary of the +garden. The House was now behind them on their right rear, and as they +topped the crest they had a glimpse of an ancient dovecot and the ruins +of the old Huntingtower on the short thymy turf which ran seaward to +the cliffs. Dougal led them along a sunk fence which divided the downs +from the lawns behind the house, and, avoiding the stables, brought +them by devious ways to a thicket of rhododendrons and broom. On all +fours they travelled the length of the place, and came to the edge +where some forgotten gardeners had once tended a herbaceous border. +The border was now rank and wild, and, lying flat under the shade of an +azalea, and peering through the young spears of iris, Dickson and +Heritage regarded the north-western facade of the house. +</P> + +<P> +The ground before them had been a sunken garden, from which a steep +wall, once covered with creepers and rock plants, rose to a long +verandah, which was pillared and open on that side; but at each end +built up half-way and glazed for the rest. There was a glass roof, and +inside untended shrubs sprawled in broken plaster vases. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye maun bide here," said Dougal, "and no cheep above your breath. +Afore we dare to try that wall, I maun ken where Lean and Spittal and +Dobson are. I'm off to spy the policies." He glided out of sight +behind a clump of pampas grass. +</P> + +<P> +For hours, so it seemed, Dickson was left to his own unpleasant +reflections. His body, prone on the moist earth, was fairly +comfortable, but his mind was ill at ease. The scramble up the +hillside had convinced him that he was growing old, and there was no +rebound in his soul to counter the conviction. He felt listless, +spiritless—an apathy with fright trembling somewhere at the back of +it. He regarded the verandah wall with foreboding. How on earth could +he climb that? And if he did there would be his exposed hinder-parts +inviting a shot from some malevolent gentleman among the trees. He +reflected that he would give a large sum of money to be out of this +preposterous adventure. +</P> + +<P> +Heritage's hand was stretched towards him, containing two of Mrs. +Morran's jellied scones, of which the Poet had been wise enough to +bring a supply in his pocket. The food cheered him, for he was growing +very hungry, and he began to take an interest in the scene before him +instead of his own thoughts. He observed every detail of the verandah. +There was a door at one end, he noted, giving on a path which wound +down to the sunk garden. As he looked he heard a sound of steps and +saw a man ascending this path. +</P> + +<P> +It was the lame man whom Dougal had called Spittal, the dweller in the +South Lodge. Seen at closer quarters he was an odd-looking being, lean +as a heron, wry-necked, but amazingly quick on his feet. Had not Mrs. +Morran said that he hobbled as fast as other folk ran? He kept his eyes +on the ground and seemed to be talking to himself as he went, but he +was alert enough, for the dropping of a twig from a dying magnolia +transferred him in an instant into a figure of active vigilance. No +risks could be run with that watcher. He took a key from his pocket, +opened the garden door and entered the verandah. For a moment his +shuffle sounded on its tiled floor, and then he entered the door +admitting from the verandah to the House. It was clearly unlocked, for +there came no sound of a turning key. +</P> + +<P> +Dickson had finished the last crumbs of his scones before the man +emerged again. He seemed to be in a greater hurry than ever as he +locked the garden door behind him and hobbled along the west front of +the House till he was lost to sight. After that the time passed +slowly. A pair of yellow wagtails arrived and played at hide-and-seek +among the stuccoed pillars. The little dry scratch of their claws was +heard clearly in the still air. Dickson had almost fallen asleep when +a smothered exclamation from Heritage woke him to attention. A girl +had appeared in the verandah. +</P> + +<P> +Above the parapet he saw only her body from the waist up. She seemed to +be clad in bright colours, for something red was round her shoulders +and her hair was bound with an orange scarf. She was tall—that he +could tell, tall and slim and very young. Her face was turned seaward, +and she stood for a little scanning the broad channel, shading her eyes +as if to search for something on the extreme horizon. The air was very +quiet and he thought that he could hear her sigh. Then she turned and +re-entered the House, while Heritage by his side began to curse under +his breathe with a shocking fervour. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +One of Dickson's troubles had been that he did not believe Dougal's +story, and the sight of the girl removed one doubt. That bright exotic +thing did not belong to the Cruives or to Scotland at all, and that she +should be in the House removed the place from the conventional dwelling +to which the laws against burglary applied. +</P> + +<P> +There was a rustle among the rhododendrons and the fiery face of Dougal +appeared. He lay between the other two, his chin on his hands, and +grunted out his report. +</P> + +<P> +"After they had their dinner Dobson and Lean yokit a horse and went off +to Auchenlochan. I seen them pass the Garple brig, so that's two +accounted for. Has Spittal been round here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Half an hour ago," said Heritage, consulting a wrist watch. +</P> + +<P> +"It was him that keepit me waitin' so long. But he's safe enough now, +for five minutes syne he was splittin' firewood at the back door o' his +hoose.... I've found a ladder, an auld yin in yon lot o' bushes. It'll +help wi' the wall. There! I've gotten my breath again and we can +start." +</P> + +<P> +The ladder was fetched by Heritage and proved to be ancient and wanting +many rungs, but sufficient in length. The three stood silent for a +moment, listening like stags, and then ran across the intervening lawn +to the foot of the verandah wall. Dougal went up first, then Heritage, +and lastly Dickson, stiff and giddy from his long lie under the bushes. +Below the parapet the verandah floor was heaped with old garden litter, +rotten matting, dead or derelict bulbs, fibre, withies, and strawberry +nets. It was Dougal's intention to pull up the ladder and hide it +among the rubbish against the hour of departure. But Dickson had +barely put his foot on the parapet when there was a sound of steps +within the House approaching the verandah door. +</P> + +<P> +The ladder was left alone. Dougal's hand brought Dickson summarily to +the floor, where he was fairly well concealed by a mess of matting. +Unfortunately his head was in the vicinity of some upturned pot-plants, +so that a cactus ticked his brow and a spike of aloe supported +painfully the back of his neck. Heritage was prone behind two old +water-butts, and Dougal was in a hamper which had once contained seed +potatoes. The house door had panels of opaque glass, so the new-comer +could not see the doings of the three till it was opened, and by that +time all were in cover. +</P> + +<P> +The man—it was Spittal—walked rapidly along the verandah and out of +the garden door. He was talking to himself again, and Dickson, who had +a glimpse of his face, thought he looked both evil and furious. Then +came some anxious moments, for had the man glanced back when he was +once outside, he must have seen the tell-tale ladder. But he seemed +immersed in his own reflections, for he hobbled steadily along the +house front till he was lost to sight. +</P> + +<P> +"That'll be the end o' them the day," said Dougal, as he helped +Heritage to pull up the ladder and stow it away. "We've got the place +to oursels, now. Forward, men, forward." He tried the handle of the +House door and led the way in. +</P> + +<P> +A narrow paved passage took them into what had once been the garden +room, where the lady of the house had arranged her flowers, and the +tennis racquets and croquet mallets had been kept. It was very dusty, +and on the cobwebbed walls still hung a few soiled garden overalls. A +door beyond opened into a huge murky hall, murky, for the windows were +shuttered, and the only light came through things like port-holes far +up in the wall. Dougal, who seemed to know his way about, halted them. +"Stop here till I scout a bit. The women bide in a wee room through +that muckle door." Bare feet stole across the oak flooring, there was +the sound of a door swinging on its hinges, and then silence and +darkness. Dickson put out a hand for companionship and clutched +Heritage's; to his surprise it was cold and all a-tremble. They +listened for voices, and thought they could detect a far-away sob. +</P> + +<P> +It was some minutes before Dougal returned. "A bonny kettle o' fish," +he whispered. "They're both greetin'. We're just in time. Come on, +the pair o' ye." +</P> + +<P> +Through a green baize door they entered a passage which led to the +kitchen regions, and turned in at the first door on their right. From +its situation Dickson calculated that the room lay on the seaward side +of the House next to the verandah. The light was bad, for the two +windows were partially shuttered, but it had plainly been a +smoking-room, for there were pipe-racks by the hearth, and on the walls +a number of old school and college photographs, a couple of oars with +emblazoned names, and a variety of stags' and roebucks' heads. There +was no fire in the grate, but a small oil-stove burned inside the +fender. In a stiff-backed chair sat an elderly woman, who seemed to +feel the cold, for she was muffled to the neck in a fur coat. Beside +her, so that the late afternoon light caught her face and head, stood a +girl. +</P> + +<P> +Dickson's first impression was of a tall child. The pose, startled and +wild and yet curiously stiff and self-conscious, was that of a child +striving to remember a forgotten lesson. One hand clutched a +handkerchief, the other was closing and unclosing on a knob of the +chair back. She was staring at Dougal, who stood like a gnome in the +centre of the floor. "Here's the gentlemen I was tellin' ye about," +was his introduction, but her eyes did not move. +</P> + +<P> +Then Heritage stepped forward. "We have met before, Mademoiselle," he +said. "Do you remember Easter in 1918—in the house in the Trinita dei +Monte?" +</P> + +<P> +The girl looked at him. +</P> + +<P> +"I do not remember," she said slowly. +</P> + +<P> +"But I was the English officer who had the apartments on the floor +below you. I saw you every morning. You spoke to me sometimes." +</P> + +<P> +"You are a soldier?" she asked, with a new note in her voice. +</P> + +<P> +"I was then—till the war finished." +</P> + +<P> +"And now? Why have you come here?" +</P> + +<P> +"To offer you help if you need it. If not, to ask your pardon and go +away." +</P> + +<P> +The shrouded figure in the chair burst suddenly into rapid hysterical +talk in some foreign tongue which Dickson suspected of being French. +Heritage replied in the same language, and the girl joined in with +sharp questions. Then the Poet turned to Dickson. +</P> + +<P> +"This is my friend. If you will trust us we will do our best to help +you." +</P> + +<P> +The eyes rested on Dickson's face, and he realized that he was in the +presence of something the like of which he had never met in his life +before. It was a loveliness greater than he had imagined was permitted +by the Almighty to His creatures. The little face was more square than +oval, with a low broad brow and proud exquisite eyebrows. The eyes were +of a colour which he could never decide on; afterwards he used to +allege obscurely that they were the colour of everything in Spring. +There was a delicate pallor in the cheeks, and the face bore signs of +suffering and care, possibly even of hunger; but for all that there was +youth there, eternal and triumphant! Not youth such as he had known +it, but youth with all history behind it, youth with centuries of +command in its blood and the world's treasures of beauty and pride in +its ancestry. Strange, he thought, that a thing so fine should be so +masterful. He felt abashed in every inch of him. +</P> + +<P> +As the eyes rested on him their sorrowfulness seemed to be shot with +humour. A ghost of a smile lurked there, to which Dickson promptly +responded. He grinned and bowed. +</P> + +<P> +"Very pleased to meet you, Mem. I'm Mr. McCunn from Glasgow." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't even know my name," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"We don't," said Heritage. +</P> + +<P> +"They call me Saskia. This," nodding to the chair, "is my cousin +Eugenie.... We are in very great trouble. But why should I tell you? I +do not know you. You cannot help me." +</P> + +<P> +"We can try," said Heritage. "Part of your trouble we know already +through that boy. You are imprisoned in this place by scoundrels. We +are here to help you to get out. We want to ask no questions—only to +do what you bid us." +</P> + +<P> +"You are not strong enough," she said sadly. "A young man—an old +man—and a little boy. There are many against us, and any moment there +may be more." +</P> + +<P> +It was Dougal's turn to break in, "There's Lean and Spittal and Dobson +and four tinklers in the Dean—that's seven; but there's us three and +five more Gorbals Die-hards—that's eight." +</P> + +<P> +There was something in the boy's truculent courage that cheered her. +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder," she said, and her eyes fell on each in turn. +</P> + +<P> +Dickson felt impelled to intervene. +</P> + +<P> +"I think this is a perfectly simple business. Here's a lady shut up in +this house against her will by a wheen blagyirds. This is a free +country and the law doesn't permit that. My advice is for one of us to +inform the police at Auchenlochan and get Dobson and his friends took +up and the lady set free to do what she likes. That is, if these folks +are really molesting her, which is not yet quite clear to my mind." +</P> + +<P> +"Alas! It is not so simple as that," she said. "I dare not invoke your +English law, for perhaps in the eyes of that law I am a thief." +</P> + +<P> +"Deary me, that's a bad business," said the startled Dickson. +</P> + +<P> +The two women talked together in some strange tongue, and the elder +appeared to be pleading and the younger objecting. Then Saskia seemed +to come to a decision. +</P> + +<P> +"I will tell you all," and she looked straight at Heritage. "I do not +think you would be cruel or false, for you have honourable faces.... +Listen, then. I am a Russian, and for two years have been an exile. I +will not now speak of my house, for it is no more, or how I escaped, +for it is the common tale of all of us. I have seen things more +terrible than any dream and yet lived, but I have paid a price for such +experience. First I went to Italy where there were friends, and I +wished only to have peace among kindly people. About poverty I do not +care, for, to us, who have lost all the great things, the want of bread +is a little matter. But peace was forbidden me, for I learned that we +Russians had to win back our fatherland again, and that the weakest +must work in that cause. So I was set my task, and it was very +hard.... There were others still hidden in Russia which must be brought +to a safe place. In that work I was ordered to share." +</P> + +<P> +She spoke in almost perfect English, with a certain foreign precision. +Suddenly she changed to French, and talked rapidly to Heritage. +</P> + +<P> +"She has told me about her family," he said, turning to Dickson. "It is +among the greatest in Russia, the very greatest after the throne." +Dickson could only stare. +</P> + +<P> +"Our enemies soon discovered me," she went on. "Oh, but they are very +clever, these enemies, and they have all the criminals of the world to +aid them. Here you do not understand what they are. You good people in +England think they are well-meaning dreamers who are forced into +violence by the persecution of Western Europe. But you are wrong. Some +honest fools there are among them, but the power—the true power—lies +with madmen and degenerates, and they have for allies the special devil +that dwells in each country. That is why they cast their nets as wide +as mankind." +</P> + +<P> +She shivered, and for a second her face wore a look which Dickson never +forgot, the look of one who has looked over the edge of life into the +outer dark. +</P> + +<P> +"There were certain jewels of great price which were about to be turned +into guns and armies for our enemies. These our people recovered, and +the charge of them was laid on me. Who would suspect, they said, a +foolish girl? But our enemies were very clever, and soon the hunt was +cried against me. They tried to rob me of them, but they failed, for I +too had become clever. Then they asked for the help of the law—first +in Italy and then in France. Ah, it was subtly done. Respectable +bourgeois, who hated the Bolsheviki but had bought long ago the bonds +of my country, desired to be repaid their debts out of the property of +the Russian crown which might be found in the West. But behind them +were the Jews, and behind the Jews our unsleeping enemies. Once I was +enmeshed in the law I would be safe for them, and presently they would +find the hiding-place of the treasure, and while the bourgeois were +clamouring in the courts it would be safe in their pockets. So I fled. +For months I have been fleeing and hiding. They have tried to kidnap +me many times, and once they have tried to kill me, but I, too, have +become clever—oh, so clever. And I have learned not to fear." +</P> + +<P> +This simple recital affected Dickson's honest soul with the liveliest +indignation. "Sich doings!" he exclaimed, and he could not forbear +from whispering to Heritage an extract from that gentleman's +conversation the first night at Kirkmichael. "We needn't imitate all +their methods, but they've got hold of the right end of the stick. +They seek truth and reality." The reply from the Poet was an angry +shrug. +</P> + +<P> +"Why and how did you come here?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I always meant to come to England, for I thought it the sanest place +in a mad world. Also it is a good country to hide in, for it is apart +from Europe, and your police, as I thought, do not permit evil men to +be their own law. But especially I had a friend, a Scottish gentleman, +whom I knew in the days when we Russians were still a nation. I saw +him again in Italy, and since he was kind and brave I told him some +part of my troubles. He was called Quentin Kennedy, and now he is +dead. He told me that in Scotland he had a lonely chateau, where I +could hide secretly and safely, and against the day when I might be +hard-pressed he gave me a letter to his steward, bidding him welcome me +as a guest when I made application. At that time I did not think I +would need such sanctuary, but a month ago the need became urgent, for +the hunt in France was very close on me. So I sent a message to the +steward as Captain Kennedy told me." +</P> + +<P> +"What is his name?" Heritage asked. +</P> + +<P> +She spelt it, "Monsieur Loudon—L-O-U-D-O-N in the town of +Auchenlochan." +</P> + +<P> +"The factor," said Dickson, "And what then?" +</P> + +<P> +"Some spy must have found me out. I had a letter from this Loudon +bidding me come to Auchenlochan. There I found no steward to receive +me, but another letter saying that that night a carriage would be in +waiting to bring me here. It was midnight when we arrived, and we were +brought in by strange ways to this house, with no light but a single +candle. Here we were welcomed indeed, but by an enemy." +</P> + +<P> +"Which?" asked Heritage. "Dobson or Lean or Spittal?" +</P> + +<P> +"Dobson I do not know. Leon was there. He is no Russian, but a +Belgian who was a valet in my father's service till he joined the +Bolsheviki. Next day the Lett Spidel came, and I knew that I was in +very truth entrapped. For of all our enemies he is, save one, the most +subtle and unwearied." +</P> + +<P> +Her voice had trailed off into flat weariness. Again Dickson was +reminded of a child, for her arms hung limp by her side; and her slim +figure in its odd clothes was curiously like that of a boy in a school +blazer. Another resemblance perplexed him. She had a hint of +Janet—about the mouth—Janet, that solemn little girl those twenty +years in her grave. +</P> + +<P> +Heritage was wrinkling his brows. "I don't think I quite understand. +The jewels? You have them with you?" +</P> + +<P> +She nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"These men wanted to rob you. Why didn't they do it between here and +Auchenlochan? You had no chance to hide them on the journey. Why did +they let you come here where you were in a better position to baffle +them?" +</P> + +<P> +She shook her head. "I cannot explain—except, perhaps, that Spidel +had not arrived that night, and Leon may have been waiting +instructions." +</P> + +<P> +The other still looked dissatisfied. "They are either clumsier +villains than I take them to be, or there is something deeper in the +business than we understand. These jewels—are they here?" +</P> + +<P> +His tone was so sharp that she looked startled—almost suspicious. Then +she saw that in his face which reassured her. "I have them hidden +here. I have grown very skilful in hiding things." +</P> + +<P> +"Have they searched for them?" +</P> + +<P> +"The first day they demanded them of me. I denied all knowledge. Then +they ransacked this house—I think they ransack it daily, but I am too +clever for them. I am not allowed to go beyond the verandah, and when +at first I disobeyed there was always one of them in wait to force me +back with a pistol behind my head. Every morning Leon brings us food +for the day—good food, but not enough, so that Cousin Eugenie is +always hungry, and each day he and Spidel question and threaten me. +This afternoon Spidel has told me that their patience is at an end. He +has given me till tomorrow at noon to produce the jewels. If not, he +says I will die." +</P> + +<P> +"Mercy on us!" Dickson exclaimed. +</P> + +<P> +"There will be no mercy for us," she said solemnly. "He and his kind +think as little of shedding blood as of spilling water. But I do not +think he will kill me. I think I will kill him first, but after that I +shall surely die. As for Cousin Eugenie, I do not know." +</P> + +<P> +Her level matter-of-fact tone seemed to Dickson most shocking, for he +could not treat it as mere melodrama. It carried a horrid conviction. +"We must get you out of this at once," he declared. +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot leave. I will tell you why. When I came to this country I +appointed one to meet me here. He is a kinsman who knows England well, +for he fought in your army. With him by my side I have no fear. It is +altogether needful that I wait for him." +</P> + +<P> +"Then there is something more which you haven't told us?" Heritage +asked. +</P> + +<P> +Was there the faintest shadow of a blush on her cheek? "There is +something more," she said. +</P> + +<P> +She spoke to Heritage in French, and Dickson caught the name "Alexis" +and a word which sounded like "prance." The Poet listened eagerly and +nodded. "I have heard of him," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"But have you not seen him? A tall man with a yellow beard, who bears +himself proudly. Being of my mother's race he has eyes like mine." +</P> + +<P> +"That's the man she was askin' me about yesterday," said Dougal, who +had squatted on the floor. +</P> + +<P> +Heritage shook his head. "We only came here last night. When did you +expect Prince—your friend." +</P> + +<P> +"I hoped to find him here before me. Oh, it is his not coming that +terrifies me. I must wait and hope. But if he does not come in time +another may come before him." +</P> + +<P> +"The ones already here are not all the enemies that threaten you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed, no. The worst has still to come, and till I know he is here I +do not greatly fear Spidel or Leon. They receive orders and do not +give them." +</P> + +<P> +Heritage ran a perplexed hand through his hair. The sunset which had +been flaming for some time in the unshuttered panes was now passing +into the dark. The girl lit a lamp after first shuttering the rest of +the windows. As she turned up the wick the odd dusty room and its +strange company were revealed more clearly, and Dickson saw with a +shock how haggard was the beautiful face. A great pity seized him and +almost conquered his timidity. +</P> + +<P> +"It is very difficult to help you," Heritage was saying. "You won't +leave this place, and you won't claim the protection of the law. You +are very independent, Mademoiselle, but it can't go on for ever. The +man you fear may arrive at any moment. At any moment, too, your +treasure may by discovered." +</P> + +<P> +"It is that that weighs on me," she cried. "The jewels! They are my +solemn trust, but they burden me terribly. If I were only rid of them +and knew them to be safe I should face the rest with a braver mind." +</P> + +<P> +"If you'll take my advice," said Dickson slowly, "you'll get them +deposited in a bank and take a receipt for them. A Scotch bank is no' +in a hurry to surrender a deposit without it gets the proper authority." +</P> + +<P> +Heritage brought his hands together with a smack. "That's an idea. +Will you trust us to take these things and deposit them safely?" +</P> + +<P> +For a little she was silent and her eyes were fixed on each of the trio +in turn. "I will trust you," she said at last. "I think you will not +betray me." +</P> + +<P> +"By God, we won't!" said the Poet fervently. "Dogson, it's up to you. +You march off to Glasgow in double quick time and place the stuff in +your own name in your own bank. There's not a moment to lose. D'you +hear?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will that." To his own surprise Dickson spoke without hesitation. +Partly it was because of his merchant's sense of property, which made +him hate the thought that miscreants should acquire that to which they +had no title; but mainly it was the appeal in those haggard childish +eyes. "But I'm not going to be tramping the country in the night +carrying a fortune and seeking for trains that aren't there. I'll go +the first thing in the morning." +</P> + +<P> +"Where are they?" Heritage asked. +</P> + +<P> +"That I do not tell. But I will fetch them." +</P> + +<P> +She left the room, and presently returned with three odd little parcels +wrapped in leather and tied with thongs of raw hide. She gave them to +Heritage, who held them appraisingly in his hand and then passed them +on to Dickson. +</P> + +<P> +"I do not ask about their contents. We take them from you as they are, +and, please God, when the moment comes they will be returned to you as +you gave them. You trust us, Mademoiselle?" +</P> + +<P> +"I trust you, for you are a soldier. Oh, and I thank you from my +heart, my friends." She held out a hand to each, which caused Heritage +to grow suddenly very red. +</P> + +<P> +"I will remain in the neighbourhood to await developments," he said. +"We had better leave you now. Dougal, lead on." +</P> + +<P> +Before going, he took the girl's hand again, and with a sudden movement +bent and kissed it. Dickson shook it heartily. "Cheer up, Mem," he +observed. "There's a better time coming." His last recollection of +her eyes was of a soft mistiness not far from tears. His pouch and pipe +had strange company jostling them in his pocket as he followed the +others down the ladder into the night. +</P> + +<P> +Dougal insisted that they must return by the road of the morning. "We +daren't go by the Laver, for that would bring us by the public-house. +If the worst comes to the worst, and we fall in wi' any of the deevils, +they must think ye've changed your mind and come back from +Auchenlochan." +</P> + +<P> +The night smelt fresh and moist as if a break in the weather were +imminent. As they scrambled along the Garple Dean a pinprick of light +below showed where the tinklers were busy by their fire. Dickson's +spirits suffered a sharp fall and he began to marvel at his temerity. +What in Heaven's name had he undertaken? To carry very precious +things, to which certainly he had no right, through the enemy to +distant Glasgow. How could he escape the notice of the watchers? He +was already suspect, and the sight of him back again in Dalquharter +would double that suspicion. He must brazen it out, but he distrusted +his powers with such tell-tale stuff in his pockets. They might murder +him anywhere on the moor road or in an empty railway carriage. An +unpleasant memory of various novels he had read in which such things +happened haunted his mind.... There was just one consolation. This job +over, he would be quit of the whole business. And honourably quit, +too, for he would have played a manly part in a most unpleasant affair. +He could retire to the idyllic with the knowledge that he had not been +wanting when Romance called. Not a soul should ever hear of it, but he +saw himself in the future tramping green roads or sitting by his winter +fireside pleasantly retelling himself the tale. +</P> + +<P> +Before they came to the Garple bridge Dougal insisted that they should +separate, remarking that "it would never do if we were seen thegither." +Heritage was despatched by a short cut over fields to the left, which +eventually, after one or two plunges into ditches, landed him safely in +Mrs. Morran's back yard. Dickson and Dougal crossed the bridge and +tramped Dalquharter-wards by the highway. There was no sign of human +life in that quiet place with owls hooting and rabbits rustling in the +undergrowth. Beyond the woods they came in sight of the light in the +back kitchen, and both seemed to relax their watchfulness when it was +most needed. Dougal sniffed the air and looked seaward. +</P> + +<P> +"It's coming on to rain," he observed. "There should be a muckle star +there, and when you can't see it it means wet weather wi' this wind." +</P> + +<P> +"What star?" Dickson asked. +</P> + +<P> +"The one wi' the Irish-lukkin' name. What's that they call it? +O'Brien?" And he pointed to where the constellation of the hunter +should have been declining on the western horizon. +</P> + +<P> +There was a bend of the road behind them, and suddenly round it came a +dogcart driven rapidly. Dougal slipped like a weasel into a bush, and +presently Dickson stood revealed in the glare of a lamp. The horse was +pulled up sharply and the driver called out to him. He saw that it was +Dobson the innkeeper with Leon beside him. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is it?" cried the voice. "Oh, you! I thought ye were off the day?" +</P> + +<P> +Dickson rose nobly to the occasion. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought myself I was. But I didn't think much of Auchenlochan, and +I took a fancy to come back and spend the last night of my holiday with +my Auntie. I'm off to Glasgow first thing the morn's morn." +</P> + +<P> +"So!" said the voice. "Queer thing I never saw ye on the Auchenlochan +road, where ye can see three mile before ye." +</P> + +<P> +"I left early and took it easy along the shore." +</P> + +<P> +"Did ye so? Well, good-sight to ye." +</P> + +<P> +Five minutes later Dickson walked into Mrs. Morran's kitchen, where +Heritage was busy making up for a day of short provender. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm for Glasgow to-morrow, Auntie Phemie," he cried. "I want you to +loan me a wee trunk with a key, and steek the door and windows, for +I've a lot to tell you." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +HOW MR. McCUNN DEPARTED WITH RELIEF<BR>AND RETURNED WITH RESOLUTION +</H3> + +<P> +At seven o'clock on the following morning the post-cart, summoned by an +early message from Mrs. Morran, appeared outside the cottage. In it sat +the ancient postman, whose real home was Auchenlochan, but who slept +alternate nights in Dalquharter, and beside him Dobson the innkeeper. +Dickson and his hostess stood at the garden-gate, the former with his +pack on his back, and at his feet a small stout wooden box, of the kind +in which cheeses are transported, garnished with an immense padlock. +Heritage for obvious reasons did not appear; at the moment he was +crouched on the floor of the loft watching the departure through a gap +in the dimity curtains. +</P> + +<P> +The traveller, after making sure that Dobson was looking, furtively +slipped the key of the trunk into his knapsack. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, good-bye, Auntie Phemie," he said. "I'm sure you've been awful +kind to me, and I don't know how to thank you for all you're sending." +</P> + +<P> +"Tuts, Dickson, my man, they're hungry folk about Glesca that'll be +glad o' my scones and jeelie. Tell Mirren I'm rale pleased wi' her +man, and haste ye back soon." +</P> + +<P> +The trunk was deposited on the floor of the cart, and Dickson clambered +into the back seat. He was thankful that he had not to sit next to +Dobson, for he had tell-tale stuff on his person. The morning was wet, +so he wore his waterproof, which concealed his odd tendency to +stoutness about the middle. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Morran played her part well, with all the becoming gravity of an +affectionate aunt, but as soon as the post-cart turned the bend of the +road her demeanour changed. She was torn with convulsions of silent +laughter. She retreated to the kitchen, sank into a chair, wrapped her +face in her apron and rocked. Heritage, descending, found her +struggling to regain composure. "D'ye ken his wife's name?" she +gasped. "I ca'ed her Mirren! And maybe the body's no' mairried! Hech +sirs! Hech sirs!" +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile Dickson was bumping along the moor-road on the back of the +post-cart. He had worked out a plan, just as he had been used +aforetime to devise a deal in foodstuffs. He had expected one of the +watchers to turn up, and was rather relieved that it should be Dobson, +whom he regarded as "the most natural beast" of the three. Somehow he +did not think that he would be molested before he reached the station, +since his enemies would still be undecided in their minds. Probably +they only wanted to make sure that he had really departed to forget all +about him. But if not, he had his plan ready. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you travelling to-day?" he asked the innkeeper. +</P> + +<P> +"Just as far as the station to see about some oil-cake I'm expectin'. +What's in your wee kist? Ye came here wi' nothing but the bag on your +back." +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, the kist is no' mine. It's my auntie's. She's a kind body, and +nothing would serve but she must pack a box for me to take back. Let me +see. There's a baking of scones; three pots of honey and one of +rhubarb jam—she was aye famous for her rhubarb jam; a mutton ham, +which you can't get for love or money in Glasgow; some home-made black +puddings, and a wee skim-milk cheese. I doubt I'll have to take a cab +from the station." +</P> + +<P> +Dobson appeared satisfied, lit a short pipe, and relapsed into +meditation. The long uphill road, ever climbing to where far off +showed the tiny whitewashed buildings which were the railway station, +seemed interminable this morning. The aged postman addressed strange +objurgations to his aged horse and muttered reflections to himself, the +innkeeper smoked, and Dickson stared back into the misty hollow where +lay Dalquharter. The south-west wind had brought up a screen of rain +clouds and washed all the countryside in a soft wet grey. But the eye +could still travel a fair distance, and Dickson thought he had a +glimpse of a figure on a bicycle leaving the village two miles back. +He wondered who it could be. Not Heritage, who had no bicycle. +Perhaps some woman who was conspicuously late for the train. Women +were the chief cyclists nowadays in country places. +</P> + +<P> +Then he forgot about the bicycle and twisted his neck to watch the +station. It was less than a mile off now, and they had no time to +spare, for away to the south among the hummocks of the bog he saw the +smoke of the train coming from Auchenlochan. The postman also saw it +and whipped up his beast into a clumsy canter. Dickson, always nervous +being late for trains, forced his eyes away and regarded again the road +behind him. Suddenly the cyclist had become quite plain—a little more +than a mile behind—a man, and pedalling furiously in spite of the +stiff ascent. It could only be one person—Leon. He must have +discovered their visit to the House yesterday and be on the way to warn +Dobson. If he reached the station before the train, there would be no +journey to Glasgow that day for one respectable citizen. +</P> + +<P> +Dickson was in a fever of impatience and fright. He dared not abjure +the postman to hurry, lest Dobson should turn his head and descry his +colleague. But that ancient man had begun to realize the shortness of +time and was urging the cart along at a fair pace, since they were now +on the flatter shelf of land which carried the railway. +</P> + +<P> +Dickson kept his eyes fixed on the bicycle and his teeth shut tight on +his lower lip. Now it was hidden by the last dip of hill; now it +emerged into view not a quarter of a mile behind, and its rider gave +vent to a shrill call. Luckily the innkeeper did not hear, for at that +moment with a jolt the cart pulled up at the station door, accompanied +by the roar of the incoming train. +</P> + +<P> +Dickson whipped down from the back seat and seized the solitary porter. +"Label the box for Glasgow and into the van with it, Quick, man, and +there'll be a shilling for you." He had been doing some rapid thinking +these last minutes and had made up his mind. If Dobson and he were +alone in a carriage he could not have the box there; that must be +elsewhere, so that Dobson could not examine it if he were set on +violence, somewhere in which it could still be a focus of suspicion and +attract attention from his person, He took his ticket, and rushed on +to the platform, to find the porter and the box at the door of the +guard's van. Dobson was not there. With the vigour of a fussy +traveller he shouted directions to the guard to take good care of his +luggage, hurled a shilling at the porter, and ran for a carriage. At +that moment he became aware of Dobson hurrying through the entrance. He +must have met Leon and heard news from him, for his face was red and +his ugly brows darkening. +</P> + +<P> +The train was in motion. "Here, you" Dobson's voice shouted. "Stop! I +want a word wi' ye." Dickson plunged at a third-class carriage, for he +saw faces behind the misty panes, and above all things then he feared +an empty compartment. He clambered on to the step, but the handle +would not turn, and with a sharp pang of fear he felt the innkeeper's +grip on his arm. Then some Samaritan from within let down the window, +opened the door, and pulled him up. He fell on a seat, and a second +later Dobson staggered in beside him. +</P> + +<P> +Thank Heaven, the dirty little carriage was nearly full. There were +two herds, each with a dog and a long hazel crook, and an elderly woman +who looked like a ploughman's wife out for a day's marketing. And there +was one other whom Dickson recognized with peculiar joy—the bagman in +the provision line of business whom he had met three days before at +Kilchrist. +</P> + +<P> +The recognition was mutual. "Mr. McCunn!" the bagman exclaimed. "My, +but that was running it fine! I hope you've had a pleasant holiday, +sir?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very pleasant. I've been spending two nights with friends down +hereaways. I've been very fortunate in the weather, for it has broke +just when I'm leaving." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson sank back on the hard cushions. It had been a near thing, but +so far he had won. He wished his heart did not beat so fast, and he +hoped he did not betray his disorder in his face. Very deliberately he +hunted for his pipe and filled it slowly. Then he turned to Dobson, "I +didn't know you were travelling the day. What about your oil-cake?" +</P> + +<P> +"I've changed my mind," was the gruff answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Was that you I heard crying on me when we were running for the train?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ay. I thought ye had forgot about your kist." +</P> + +<P> +"No fear," said Dickson. "I'm no' likely to forget my auntie's scones." +</P> + +<P> +He laughed pleasantly and then turned to the bagman. Thereafter the +compartment hummed with the technicalities of the grocery trade. He +exerted himself to draw out his companion, to have him refer to the +great firm of D. McCunn, so that the innkeeper might be ashamed of his +suspicions. What nonsense to imagine that a noted and wealthy Glasgow +merchant—the bagman's tone was almost reverential—would concern +himself with the affairs of a forgotten village and a tumble-down house! +</P> + +<P> +Presently the train drew up at Kirkmichael station. The woman +descended, and Dobson, after making sure that no one else meant to +follow her example, also left the carriage. A porter was shouting: +"Fast train to Glasgow—Glasgow next stop." Dickson watched the +innkeeper shoulder his way through the crowd in the direction of the +booking office. "He's off to send a telegram," he decided. "There'll +be trouble waiting for me at the other end." +</P> + +<P> +When the train moved on he found himself disinclined for further talk. +He had suddenly become meditative, and curled up in a corner with his +head hard against the window pane, watching the wet fields and +glistening roads as they slipped past. He had his plans made for his +conduct at Glasgow, but, Lord! how he loathed the whole business! Last +night he had had a kind of gusto in his desire to circumvent villainy; +at Dalquharter station he had enjoyed a momentary sense of triumph; now +he felt very small, lonely, and forlorn. Only one thought far at the +back of his mind cropped up now and then to give him comfort. He was +entering on the last lap. Once get this detestable errand done and he +would be a free man, free to go back to the kindly humdrum life from +which he should never have strayed. Never again, he vowed, never again. +Rather would he spend the rest of his days in hydropathics than come +within the pale of such horrible adventures. Romance, forsooth! This +was not the mild goddess he had sought, but an awful harpy who battened +on the souls of men. +</P> + +<P> +He had some bad minutes as the train passed through the suburbs and +along the grimy embankment by which the southern lines enter the city. +But as it rumbled over the river bridge and slowed down before the +terminus his vitality suddenly revived. He was a business man, and +there was now something for him to do. +</P> + +<P> +After a rapid farewell to the bagman, he found a porter and hustled his +box out of the van in the direction of the left-luggage office. Spies, +summoned by Dobson's telegram, were, he was convinced, watching his +every movement, and he meant to see that they missed nothing. He +received his ticket for the box, and slowly and ostentatiously stowed +it away in his pack. Swinging the said pack on his arm, he sauntered +through the entrance hall to the row of waiting taxi-cabs, and selected +the oldest and most doddering driver. He deposited the pack inside on +the seat, and then stood still as if struck with a sudden thought. +</P> + +<P> +"I breakfasted terrible early," he told the driver. "I think I'll have +a bite to eat. Will you wait?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ay," said the man, who was reading a grubby sheet of newspaper. "I'll +wait as long as ye like, for it's you that pays." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson left his pack in the cab and, oddly enough for a careful man, +he did not shut the door. He re-entered the station, strolled to the +bookstall, and bought a Glasgow Herald. His steps then tended to the +refreshment-room, where he ordered a cup of coffee and two Bath buns, +and seated himself at a small table. There he was soon immersed in the +financial news, and though he sipped his coffee he left the buns +untasted. He took out a penknife and cut various extracts from the +Herald, bestowing them carefully in his pocket. An observer would have +seen an elderly gentleman absorbed in market quotations. +</P> + +<P> +After a quarter of an hour had been spent in this performance he +happened to glance at the clock and rose with an exclamation. He +bustled out to his taxi and found the driver still intent upon his +reading. "Here I am at last," he said cheerily, and had a foot on the +step, when he stopped suddenly with a cry. It was a cry of alarm, but +also of satisfaction. +</P> + +<P> +"What's become of my pack? I left it on the seat, and now it's gone! +There's been a thief here." +</P> + +<P> +The driver, roused from his lethargy, protested in the name of his gods +that no one had been near it. "Ye took it into the station wi' ye," he +urged. +</P> + +<P> +"I did nothing of the kind. Just you wait here till I see the +inspector. A bonny watch YOU keep on a gentleman's things." +</P> + +<P> +But Dickson did not interview the railway authorities. Instead he +hurried to the left-luggage office. "I deposited a small box here a +short time ago. I mind the number. Is it here still?" +</P> + +<P> +The attendant glanced at the shelf. "A wee deal box with iron bands. +It was took out ten minutes syne. A man brought the ticket and took it +away on his shoulder." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you. There's been a mistake, but the blame's mine. My man +mistook my orders." +</P> + +<P> +Then he returned to the now nervous taxi-driver. "I've taken it up +with the station-master and he's putting the police on. You'll likely +be wanted, so I gave him your number. It's a fair disgrace that there +should be so many thieves about this station. It's not the first time +I've lost things. Drive me to West George Street and look sharp." And +he slammed the door with the violence of an angry man. +</P> + +<P> +But his reflections were not violent, for he smiled to himself. "That +was pretty neat. They'll take some time to get the kist open, for I +dropped the key out of the train after we left Kirkmichael. That gives +me a fair start. If I hadn't thought of that, they'd have found some +way to grip me and ripe me long before I got to the Bank." He shuddered +as he thought of the dangers he had escaped. "As it is, they're off +the track for half an hour at least, while they're rummaging among +Auntie Phemie's scones." At the thought he laughed heartily, and when +he brought the taxi-cab to a standstill by rapping on the front window, +he left it with a temper apparently restored. Obviously he had no +grudge against the driver, who to his immense surprise was rewarded +with ten shillings. +</P> + +<P> +Three minutes later Mr. McCunn might have been seen entering the head +office of the Strathclyde Bank and inquiring for the manager. There was +no hesitation about him now, for his foot was on his native heath. The +chief cashier received him with deference in spite of his unorthodox +garb, for he was not the least honoured of the bank's customers. As it +chanced he had been talking about him that very morning to a gentleman +from London. "The strength of this city," he had said, tapping his +eyeglasses on his knuckles, "does not lie in its dozen very rich men, +but in the hundred or two homely folk who make no parade of wealth. +Men like Dickson McCunn, for example, who live all their life in a +semi-detached villa and die worth half a million." And the Londoner +had cordially assented. +</P> + +<P> +So Dickson was ushered promptly into an inner room, and was warmly +greeted by Mr. Mackintosh, the patron of the Gorbals Die-Hards. +</P> + +<P> +"I must thank you for your generous donation, McCunn. Those boys will +get a little fresh air and quiet after the smoke and din of Glasgow. A +little country peace to smooth out the creases in their poor little +souls." +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe," said Dickson, with a vivid recollection of Dougal as he had +last seen him. Somehow he did not think that peace was likely to be +the portion of that devoted band. "But I've not come here to speak +about that." +</P> + +<P> +He took off his waterproof; then his coat and waistcoat; and showed +himself a strange figure with sundry bulges about the middle. The +manager's eyes grew very round. Presently these excrescences were +revealed as linen bags sewn on to his shirt, and fitting into the +hollow between ribs and hip. With some difficulty he slit the bags and +extracted three hide-bound packages. +</P> + +<P> +"See here, Mackintosh," he said solemnly. "I hand you over these +parcels, and you're to put them in the innermost corner of your strong +room. You needn't open them. Just put them away as they are, and +write me a receipt for them. Write it now." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Mackintosh obediently took pen in hand. +</P> + +<P> +"What'll I call them?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Just the three leather parcels handed to you by Dickson McCunn, Esq., +naming the date." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Mackintosh wrote. He signed his name with his usual flourish and +handed the slip to his client. +</P> + +<P> +"Now," said Dickson, "you'll put that receipt in the strong box where +you keep my securities and you'll give it up to nobody but me in person +and you'll surrender the parcels only on presentation of the receipt. +D'you understand?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perfectly. May I ask any questions?" +</P> + +<P> +"You'd better not if you don't want to hear lees.' +</P> + +<P> +"What's in the packages?" Mr. Mackintosh weighed them in his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"That's asking," said Dickson. "But I'll tell ye this much. It's +jools." +</P> + +<P> +"Your own?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, but I'm their trustee." +</P> + +<P> +"Valuable?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was hearing they were worth more than a million pounds." +</P> + +<P> +"God bless my soul," said the startled manager. "I don't like this +kind of business, McCunn." +</P> + +<P> +"No more do I. But you'll do it to oblige an old friend and a good +customer. If you don't know much about the packages you know all about +me. Now, mind, I trust you." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Mackintosh forced himself to a joke. "Did you maybe steal them?" +</P> + +<P> +Dickson grinned. "Just what I did. And that being so, I want you to +let me out by the back door." +</P> + +<P> +When he found himself in the street he felt the huge relief of a boy +who had emerged with credit from the dentist's chair. Remembering that +here would be no midday dinner for him at home, his first step was to +feed heavily at a restaurant. He had, so far as he could see, +surmounted all his troubles, his one regret being that he had lost his +pack, which contained among other things his Izaak Walton and his +safety razor. He bought another razor and a new Walton, and mounted an +electric tram car en route for home. +</P> + +<P> +Very contented with himself he felt as the car swung across the Clyde +bridge. He had done well—but of that he did not want to think, for +the whole beastly thing was over. He was going to bury that memory, to +be resurrected perhaps on a later day when the unpleasantness had been +forgotten. Heritage had his address, and knew where to come when it +was time to claim the jewels. As for the watchers, they must have +ceased to suspect him, when they discovered the innocent contents of +his knapsack and Mrs. Morran's box. Home for him, and a luxurious tea +by his own fireside; and then an evening with his books, for Heritage's +nonsense had stimulated his literary fervour. He would dip into his +old favourites again to confirm his faith. To-morrow he would go for a +jaunt somewhere—perhaps down the Clyde, or to the South of England, +which he had heard was a pleasant, thickly peopled country. No more +lonely inns and deserted villages for him; henceforth he would make +certain of comfort and peace. +</P> + +<P> +The rain had stopped, and, as the car moved down the dreary vista of +Eglinton street, the sky opened into fields of blue and the April sun +silvered the puddles. It was in such place and under such weather that +Dickson suffered an overwhelming experience. +</P> + +<P> +It is beyond my skill, being all unlearned in the game of +psycho-analysis, to explain how this thing happened. I concern myself +only with facts. Suddenly the pretty veil of self-satisfaction was rent +from top to bottom, and Dickson saw a figure of himself within, a smug +leaden little figure which simpered and preened itself and was hollow +as a rotten nut. And he hated it. +</P> + +<P> +The horrid truth burst on him that Heritage had been right. He only +played with life. That imbecile image was a mere spectator, content to +applaud, but shrinking from the contact of reality. It had been all +right as a provision merchant, but when it fancied itself capable of +higher things it had deceived itself. Foolish little image with its +brave dreams and its swelling words from Browning! All make-believe of +the feeblest. He was a coward, running away at the first threat of +danger. It was as if he were watching a tall stranger with a wand +pointing to the embarrassed phantom that was himself, and ruthlessly +exposing its frailties! And yet the pitiless showman was himself +too—himself as he wanted to be, cheerful, brave, resourceful, +indomitable. +</P> + +<P> +Dickson suffered a spasm of mortal agony. "Oh, I'm surely not so bad +as all that," he groaned. But the hurt was not only in his pride. He +saw himself being forced to new decisions, and each alternative was of +the blackest. He fairly shivered with the horror of it. The car +slipped past a suburban station from which passengers were +emerging—comfortable black-coated men such as he had once been. He was +bitterly angry with Providence for picking him out of the great crowd +of sedentary folk for this sore ordeal. "Why was I tethered to sich a +conscience?" was his moan. But there was that stern inquisitor with +his pointer exploring his soul. "You flatter yourself you have done +your share," he was saying. "You will make pretty stories about it to +yourself, and some day you may tell your friends, modestly disclaiming +any special credit. But you will be a liar, for you know you are +afraid. You are running away when the work is scarcely begun, and +leaving it to a few boys and a poet whom you had the impudence the +other day to despise. I think you are worse than a coward. I think +you are a cad." +</P> + +<P> +His fellow-passengers on the top of the car saw an absorbed middle-aged +gentleman who seemed to have something the matter with his bronchial +tubes. They could not guess at the tortured soul. The decision was +coming nearer, the alternatives loomed up dark and inevitable. On one +side was submission to ignominy, on the other a return to that place +which he detested, and yet loathed himself for detesting. "It seems +I'm not likely to have much peace either way," he reflected dismally. +</P> + +<P> +How the conflict would have ended had it continued on these lines I +cannot say. The soul of Mr. McCunn was being assailed by moral and +metaphysical adversaries with which he had not been trained to deal. +But suddenly it leapt from negatives to positives. He saw the face of +the girl in the shuttered House, so fair and young and yet so haggard. +It seemed to be appealing to him to rescue it from a great loneliness +and fear. Yes, he had been right, it had a strange look of his +Janet—the wide-open eyes, the solemn mouth. What was to become of +that child if he failed her in her need? +</P> + +<P> +Now Dickson was a practical man, and this view of the case brought him +into a world which he understood. "It's fair ridiculous," he +reflected. "Nobody there to take a grip of things. Just a wheen +Gorbals keelies and the lad Heritage. Not a business man among the +lot." +</P> + +<P> +The alternatives, which hove before him like two great banks of cloud, +were altering their appearance. One was becoming faint and tenuous; +the other, solid as ever, was just a shade less black. He lifted his +eyes and saw in the near distance the corner of the road which led to +his home. "I must decide before I reach that corner," he told himself. +</P> + +<P> +Then his mind became apathetic. He began to whistle dismally through +his teeth, watching the corner as it came nearer. The car stopped with +a jerk. "I'll go back," he said aloud, clambering down the steps. The +truth was he had decided five minutes before when he first saw Janet's +face. +</P> + +<P> +He walked briskly to his house, entirely refusing to waste any more +energy on reflection. "This is a business proposition," he told +himself, "and I'm going to handle it as sich." Tibby was surprised to +see him and offered him tea in vain. "I'm just back for a few minutes. +Let's see the letters." +</P> + +<P> +There was one from his wife. She proposed to stay another week at the +Neuk Hydropathic and suggested that he might join her and bring her +home. He sat down and wrote a long affectionate reply, declining, but +expressing his delight that she was soon returning. "That's very likely +the last time Mamma will hear from me," he reflected, but—oddly +enough—without any great fluttering of the heart. +</P> + +<P> +Then he proceeded to be furiously busy. He sent out Tibby to buy +another knapsack and to order a cab and to cash a considerable cheque. +In the knapsack he packed a fresh change of clothing and the new safety +razor, but no books, for he was past the need of them. That done, he +drove to his solicitors. +</P> + +<P> +"What like a firm are Glendonan and Speirs in Edinburgh?" he asked the +senior partner. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, very respectable. Very respectable indeed. Regular Edinburgh +W.S. Lot. Do a lot of factoring." +</P> + +<P> +"I want you to telephone through to them and inquire about a place in +Carrick called Huntingtower, near the village of Dalquharter. I +understand it's to let, and I'm thinking of taking a lease of it." +</P> + +<P> +The senior partner after some delay got through to Edinburgh, and was +presently engaged in the feverish dialectic which the long-distance +telephone involves. "I want to speak to Mr. Glendonan himself.... Yes, +yes, Mr. Caw of Paton and Linklater.... Good afternoon.... +Huntingtower. Yes, in Carrick. Not to let? But I understand it's +been in the market for some months. You say you've an idea it has just +been let. But my client is positive that you're mistaken, unless the +agreement was made this morning.... You'll inquire? Ah, I see. The +actual factoring is done by your local agent, Mr. James Loudon, in +Auchenlochan. You think my client had better get into touch with him +at once. Just wait a minute, please." +</P> + +<P> +He put his hand over the receiver. "Usual Edinburgh way of doing +business," he observed caustically. "What do you want done?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll run down and see this Loudon. Tell Glendonan and Spiers to +advise him to expect me, for I'll go this very day." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Caw resumed his conversation. "My client would like a telegram +sent at once to Mr. Loudon introducing him. He's Mr. Dickson McCunn of +Mearns Street—the great provision merchant, you know. Oh, yes! Good +for any rent. Refer if you like to the Strathclyde Bank, but you can +take my word for it. Thank you. Then that's settled. Good-bye." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson's next visit was to a gunmaker who was a fellow-elder with him +in the Guthrie Memorial Kirk. +</P> + +<P> +"I want a pistol and a lot of cartridges," he announced. "I'm not +caring what kind it is, so long as it is a good one and not too big." +</P> + +<P> +"For yourself?" the gunmaker asked. "You must have a license, I doubt, +and there's a lot of new regulations." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't wait on a license. It's for a cousin of mine who's off to +Mexico at once. You've got to find some way of obliging an old friend, +Mr. McNair." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. McNair scratched his head. "I don't see how I can sell you one. +But I'll tell you what I'll do—I'll lend you one. It belongs to my +nephew, Peter Tait, and has been lying in a drawer ever since he came +back from the front. He has no use for it now that he's a placed +minister." +</P> + +<P> +So Dickson bestowed in the pockets of his water-proof a service +revolver and fifty cartridges, and bade his cab take him to the shop in +Mearns Street. For a moment the sight of the familiar place struck a +pang to his breast, but he choked down unavailing regrets. He ordered a +great hamper of foodstuffs—the most delicate kind of tinned goods, two +perfect hams, tongues, Strassburg pies, chocolate, cakes, biscuits, +and, as a last thought, half a dozen bottles of old liqueur brandy. It +was to be carefully packed, addressed to Mrs. Morran, Dalquharter +Station, and delivered in time for him to take down by the 7.33 train. +Then he drove to the terminus and dined with something like a desperate +peace in his heart. +</P> + +<P> +On this occasion he took a first-class ticket, for he wanted to be +alone. As the lights began to be lit in the wayside stations and the +clear April dusk darkened into night, his thoughts were sombre yet +resigned. He opened the window and let the sharp air of the +Renfrewshire uplands fill the carriage. It was fine weather again +after the rain, and a bright constellation—perhaps Dougal's friend +O'Brien—hung in the western sky. How happy he would have been a week +ago had he been starting thus for a country holiday! He could sniff +the faint scent of moor-burn and ploughed earth which had always been +his first reminder of Spring. But he had been pitchforked out of that +old happy world and could never enter it again. Alas! for the roadside +fire, the cosy inn, the Compleat Angler, the Chavender or Chub! +</P> + +<P> +And yet—and yet! He had done the right thing, though the Lord alone +knew how it would end. He began to pluck courage from his very +melancholy, and hope from his reflections upon the transitoriness of +life. He was austerely following Romance as he conceived it, and if +that capricious lady had taken one dream from him she might yet reward +him with a better. Tags of poetry came into his head which seemed to +favour this philosophy—particularly some lines of Browning on which he +used to discourse to his Kirk Literary Society. Uncommon silly, he +considered, these homilies of his must have been, mere twitterings of +the unfledged. But now he saw more in the lines, a deeper +interpretation which he had earned the right to make. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "Oh world, where all things change and nought abides,<BR> + Oh life, the long mutation—is it so?<BR> + Is it with life as with the body's change?—<BR> + Where, e'en tho' better follow, good must pass."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +That was as far as he could get, though he cudgelled his memory to +continue. Moralizing thus, he became drowsy, and was almost asleep +when the train drew up at the station of Kirkmichael. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SUNDRY DOINGS IN THE MIRK +</H3> + +<P> +From Kirkmichael on the train stopped at every station, but no +passenger seemed to leave or arrive at the little platforms white in +the moon. At Dalquharter the case of provisions was safely transferred +to the porter with instructions to take charge of it till it was sent +for. During the next few minutes Dickson's mind began to work upon his +problem with a certain briskness. It was all nonsense that the law of +Scotland could not be summoned to the defence. The jewels had been +safely got rid of, and who was to dispute their possession? Not Dobson +and his crew, who had no sort of title, and were out for naked robbery. +The girl had spoken of greater dangers from new enemies—kidnapping, +perhaps. Well, that was felony, and the police must be brought in. +Probably if all were known the three watchers had criminal records, +pages long, filed at Scotland Yard. The man to deal with that side of +the business was Loudon the factor, and to him he was bound in the +first place. He had made a clear picture in his head of this Loudon—a +derelict old country writer, formal, pedantic, lazy, anxious only to +get an unprofitable business off his hands with the least possible +trouble, never going near the place himself, and ably supported in his +lethargy by conceited Edinburgh Writers to the Signet. "Sich notions +of business!" he murmured. "I wonder that there's a single county +family in Scotland no' in the bankruptcy court!" It was his mission to +wake up Mr. James Loudon. +</P> + +<P> +Arrived at Auchenlochan he went first to the Salutation Hotel, a +pretentious place sacred to golfers. There he engaged a bedroom for +the night and, having certain scruples, paid for it in advance. He also +had some sandwiches prepared which he stowed in his pack, and filled +his flask with whisky. "I'm going home to Glasgow by the first train +in the to-morrow," he told the landlady, "and now I've got to see a +friend. I'll not be back till late." He was assured that there would +be no difficulty about his admittance at any hour, and directed how to +find Mr. Loudon's dwelling. +</P> + +<P> +It was an old house fronting direct on the street, with a fanlight +above the door and a neat brass plate bearing the legend "Mr. James +Loudon, Writer." A lane ran up one side leading apparently to a +garden, for the moonlight showed the dusk of trees. In front was the +main street of Auchenlochan, now deserted save for a single roysterer, +and opposite stood the ancient town house, with arches where the +country folk came at the spring and autumn hiring fairs. Dickson rang +the antiquated bell, and was presently admitted to a dark hall floored +with oilcloth, where a single gas-jet showed that on one side was the +business office and on the other the living-rooms. Mr. Loudon was at +supper, he was told, and he sent in his card. Almost at once the door +at the end on the left side was flung open and a large figure appeared +flourishing a napkin. "Come in, sir, come in," it cried. "I've just +finished a bite of meat. Very glad to see you. Here, Maggie, what +d'you mean by keeping the gentleman standing in that outer darkness?" +</P> + +<P> +The room into which Dickson was ushered was small and bright, with a +red paper on the walls, a fire burning, and a big oil lamp in the +centre of a table. Clearly Mr. Loudon had no wife, for it was a +bachelor's den in every line of it. A cloth was laid on a corner of +the table, in which stood the remnants of a meal. Mr. Loudon seemed to +have been about to make a brew of punch, for a kettle simmered by the +fire, and lemons and sugar flanked a pot-bellied whisky decanter of the +type that used to be known as a "mason's mell." +</P> + +<P> +The sight of the lawyer was a surprise to Dickson and dissipated his +notions of an aged and lethargic incompetent. Mr. Loudon was a +strongly built man who could not be a year over fifty. He had a ruddy +face, clean shaven except for a grizzled moustache; his grizzled hair +was thinning round the temples; but his skin was unwrinkled and his +eyes had all the vigour of youth. His tweed suit was well cut, and the +buff waistcoat with flaps and pockets and the plain leather watchguard +hinted at the sportsman, as did the half-dozen racing prints on the +wall. A pleasant high-coloured figure he made; his voice had the frank +ring due to much use out of doors; and his expression had the singular +candour which comes from grey eyes with large pupils and a narrow iris. +</P> + +<P> +"Sit down, Mr. McCunn. Take the arm-chair by the fire. I've had a +wire from Glendonan and Speirs about you. I was just going to have a +glass of toddy—a grand thing for these uncertain April nights. You'll +join me? No? Well, you'll smoke anyway. There's cigars at your +elbow. Certainly, a pipe if you like. This is Liberty Hall." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson found some difficulty in the part for which he had cast +himself. He had expected to condescend upon an elderly inept and give +him sharp instructions; instead he found himself faced with a jovial, +virile figure which certainly did not suggest incompetence. It has +been mentioned already that he had always great difficulty in looking +any one in the face, and this difficulty was intensified when he found +himself confronted with bold and candid eyes. He felt abashed and a +little nervous. +</P> + +<P> +"I've come to see you about Huntingtower House," he began. +</P> + +<P> +"I know, so Glendonans informed me. Well, I'm very glad to hear it. +The place has been standing empty far too long, and that is worse for a +new house than an old house. There's not much money to spend on it +either, unless we can make sure of a good tenant. How did you hear +about it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was taking a bit holiday and I spent a night at Dalquharter with an +old auntie of mine. You must understand I've just retired from +business, and I'm thinking of finding a country place. I used to have +the provision shop in Mearns Street—now the United Supply Stores, +Limited. You've maybe heard of it?" +</P> + +<P> +The other bowed and smiled. "Who hasn't? The name of Dickson McCunn +is known far beyond the city of Glasgow." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson was not insensible of the flattery, and he continued with more +freedom. "I took a walk and got a glisk of the House, and I liked the +look of it. You see, I want a quiet bit a good long way from a town, +and at the same time a house with all modern conveniences. I suppose +Huntingtower has that?" +</P> + +<P> +"When it was built fifteen years ago it was considered a model—six +bathrooms, its own electric light plant, steam heating, and independent +boiler for hot water, the whole bag of tricks. I won't say but what +some of these contrivances will want looking to, for the place has been +some time empty, but there can be nothing very far wrong, and I can +guarantee that the bones of the house are good." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that's all right," said Dickson. "I don't mind spending a +little money myself if the place suits me. But of that, of course, I'm +not yet certain, for I've only had a glimpse of the outside. I wanted +to get into the policies, but a man at the lodge wouldn't let me. +They're a mighty uncivil lot down there." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm very sorry to hear that," said Mr. Loudon in a tone of concern. +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, and if I take the place I'll stipulate that you get rid of the +lodgekeepers." +</P> + +<P> +"There won't be the slightest difficulty about that, for they are only +weekly tenants. But I'm vexed to hear they were uncivil. I was glad to +get any tenant that offered, and they were well recommended to me." +</P> + +<P> +"They're foreigners." +</P> + +<P> +"One of them is—a Belgian refugee that Lady Morewood took an interest +in. But the other—Spittal, they call him—I thought he was Scotch." +</P> + +<P> +"He's not that. And I don't like the innkeeper either. I would want +him shifted." +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Loudon laughed. "I dare say Dobson is a rough diamond. There's +worse folk in the world all the same, but I don't think he will want to +stay. He only went there to pass the time till he heard from his +brother in Vancouver. He's a roving spirit, and will be off overseas +again." +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right!" said Dickson, who was beginning to have horrid +suspicions that he might be on a wild-goose chase after all. "Well, the +next thing is for me to see over the House." +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly. I'd like to go with you myself. What day would suit you? +Let me see. This is Friday. What about this day week?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was thinking of to-morrow. Since I'm down in these parts I may as +well get the job done." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Loudon looked puzzled. "I quite see that. But I don't think it's +possible. You see, I have to consult the owners and get their consent +to a lease. Of course they have the general purpose of letting, +but—well, they're queer folk the Kennedys," and his face wore the +half-embarrassed smile of an honest man preparing to make confidences. +"When poor Mr. Quentin died, the place went to his two sisters in joint +ownership. A very bad arrangement, as you can imagine. It isn't +entailed, and I've always been pressing them to sell, but so far they +won't hear of it. They both married Englishmen, so it will take a day +or two to get in touch with them. One, Mrs. Stukely, lives in +Devonshire. The other—Miss Katie that was—married Sir Frances +Morewood, the general, and I hear that she's expected back in London +next Monday from the Riviera. I'll wire and write first thing +to-morrow morning. But you must give me a day or two." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson felt himself waking up. His doubts about his own sanity were +dissolving, for, as his mind reasoned, the factor was prepared to do +anything he asked—but only after a week had gone. What he was +concerned with was the next few days. +</P> + +<P> +"All the same I would like to have a look at the place to-morrow, even +if nothing comes of it." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Loudon looked seriously perplexed. "You will think me absurdly +fussy, Mr. McCunn, but I must really beg of you to give up the idea. +The Kennedys, as I have said, are—well, not exactly like other people, +and I have the strictest orders not to let any one visit the house +without their express leave. It sounds a ridiculous rule, but I assure +you it's as much as my job is worth to disregard it." +</P> + +<P> +"D'you mean to say not a soul is allowed inside the House?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not a soul." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Mr. Loudon, I'm going to tell you a queer thing, which I think +you ought to know. When I was taking a walk the other night—your +Belgian wouldn't let me into the policies, but I went down the +glen—what's that they call it? the Garple Dean—I got round the back +where the old ruin stands and I had a good look at the House. I tell +you there was somebody in it." +</P> + +<P> +"It would be Spittal, who acts as caretaker." +</P> + +<P> +"It was not. It was a woman. I saw her on the verandah." +</P> + +<P> +The candid grey eyes were looking straight at Dickson, who managed to +bring his own shy orbs to meet them. He thought that he detected a +shade of hesitation. Then Mr. Loudon got up from his chair and stood +on the hearthrug looking down at his visitor. He laughed, with some +embarrassment, but ever so pleasantly. +</P> + +<P> +"I really don't know what you will think of me, Mr. McCunn. Here are +you, coming to do us all a kindness, and lease that infernal white +elephant, and here have I been steadily hoaxing you for the last five +minutes. I humbly ask your pardon. Set it down to the loyalty of an +old family lawyer. Now, I am going to tell you the truth and take you +into our confidence, for I know we are safe with you. The Kennedys +are—always have been—just a wee bit queer. Old inbred stock, you +know. They will produce somebody like poor Mr. Quentin, who was as +sane as you or me, but as a rule in every generation there is one +member of the family—or more—who is just a little bit—-" and he +tapped his forehead. "Nothing violent, you understand, but just not +quite 'wise and world-like,' as the old folk say. Well, there's a +certain old lady, an aunt of Mr. Quentin and his sisters, who has +always been about tenpence in the shilling. Usually she lives at +Bournemouth, but one of her crazes is a passion for Huntingtower, and +the Kennedys have always humoured her and had her to stay every spring. +When the House was shut up that became impossible, but this year she +took such a craving to come back, that Lady Morewood asked me to +arrange it. It had to be kept very quiet, but the poor old thing is +perfectly harmless, and just sits and knits with her maid and looks out +of the seaward windows. Now you see why I can't take you there +to-morrow. I have to get rid of the old lady, who in any case was +travelling south early next week. Do you understand?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perfectly," said Dickson with some fervour. He had learned exactly +what he wanted. The factor was telling him lies. Now he knew where to +place Mr. Loudon. +</P> + +<P> +He always looked back upon what followed as a very creditable piece of +play-acting for a man who had small experience in that line. +</P> + +<P> +"Is the old lady a wee wizened body, with a black cap and something +like a white cashmere shawl round her shoulders?" +</P> + +<P> +"You describe her exactly," Mr. Loudon replied eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +"That would explain the foreigners." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course. We couldn't have natives who would make the thing the +clash of the countryside." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course not. But it must be a difficult job to keep a business like +that quiet. Any wandering policeman might start inquiries. And +supposing the lady became violent?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, there's no fear of that. Besides, I've a position in this +country—Deputy Fiscal and so forth—and a friend of the Chief +Constable. I think I may be trusted to do a little private explaining +if the need arose." +</P> + +<P> +"I see," said Dickson. He saw, indeed, a great deal which would give +him food for furious thought. "Well, I must possess my soul in +patience. Here's my Glasgow address, and I look to you to send me a +telegram whenever you're ready for me. I'm at the Salutation to-night, +and go home to-morrow with the first train. Wait a minute"—and he +pulled out his watch—"there's a train stops at Auchenlochan at 10.17. +I think I'll catch that.... Well Mr. Loudon, I'm very much obliged to +you, and I'm glad to think that it'll no' be long till we renew our +acquaintance." +</P> + +<P> +The factor accompanied him to the door, diffusing geniality. "Very +pleased indeed to have met you. A pleasant journey and a quick return." +</P> + +<P> +The street was still empty. Into a corner of the arches opposite the +moon was shining, and Dickson retired thither to consult his map of the +neighbourhood. He found what he wanted, and, as he lifted his eyes, +caught sight of a man coming down the causeway. Promptly he retired +into the shadow and watched the new-comer. There could be no mistake +about the figure; the bulk, the walk, the carriage of the head marked +it for Dobson. The innkeeper went slowly past the factor's house; then +halted and retraced his steps; then, making sure that the street was +empty, turned into the side lane which led to the garden. +</P> + +<P> +This was what sailors call a cross-bearing, and strengthened Dickson's +conviction. He delayed no longer, but hurried down the side street by +which the north road leaves the town. +</P> + +<P> +He had crossed the bridge of Lochan and was climbing the steep ascent +which led to the heathy plateau separating that stream from the Garple +before he had got his mind quite clear on the case. FIRST, Loudon was +in the plot, whatever it was; responsible for the details of the girl's +imprisonment, but not the main author. That must be the Unknown who was +still to come, from whom Spidel took his orders. Dobson was probably +Loudon's special henchman, working directly under him. SECONDLY, the +immediate object had been the jewels, and they were happily safe in the +vaults of the incorruptible Mackintosh. But, THIRD—and this only on +Saskia's evidences—the worst danger to her began with the arrival of +the Unknown. What could that be? Probably, kidnapping. He was +prepared to believe anything of people like Bolsheviks. And, FOURTH, +this danger was due within the next day or two. Loudon had been quite +willing to let him into the house and to sack all the watchers within a +week from that date. The natural and right thing was to summon the aid +of the law, but, FIFTH, that would be a slow business with Loudon able +to put spokes in the wheels and befog the authorities, and the mischief +would be done before a single policeman showed his face in Dalquharter. +Therefore, SIXTH, he and Heritage must hold the fort in the meantime, +and he would send a wire to his lawyer, Mr. Caw, to get to work with +the constabulary. SEVENTH, he himself was probably free from suspicion +in both Loudon's and Dobson's minds as a harmless fool. But that +freedom would not survive his reappearance in Dalquharter. He could +say, to be sure, that he had come back to see his auntie, but that +would not satisfy the watchers, since, so far as they knew, he was the +only man outside the gang who was aware that people were dwelling in +the House. They would not tolerate his presence in the neighbourhood. +</P> + +<P> +He formulated his conclusions as if it were an ordinary business deal, +and rather to his surprise was not conscious of any fear. As he pulled +together the belt of his waterproof he felt the reassuring bulges in +its pockets which were his pistol and cartridges. He reflected that it +must be very difficult to miss with a pistol if you fired it at, say, +three yards, and if there was to be shooting that would be his range. +Mr. McCunn had stumbled on the precious truth that the best way to be +rid of quaking knees is to keep a busy mind. +</P> + +<P> +He crossed the ridge of the plateau and looked down on the Garple glen. +There were the lights of Dalquharter—or rather a single light, for the +inhabitants went early to bed. His intention was to seek quarters with +Mrs. Morran, when his eye caught a gleam in a hollow of the moor a +little to the east. He knew it for the camp-fire around which Dougal's +warriors bivouacked. The notion came to him to go there instead, and +hear the news of the day before entering the cottage. So he crossed the +bridge, skirted a plantation of firs, and scrambled through the broom +and heather in what he took to be the right direction. +</P> + +<P> +The moon had gone down, and the quest was not easy. Dickson had come +to the conclusion that he was on the wrong road, when he was summoned +by a voice which seemed to arise out of the ground. +</P> + +<P> +"Who goes there?" +</P> + +<P> +"What's that you say?" +</P> + +<P> +"Who goes there?" The point of a pole was held firmly against his +chest. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm Mr. McCunn, a friend of Dougal's." +</P> + +<P> +"Stand, friend." The shadow before him whistled and another shadow +appeared. "Report to the Chief that there's a man here, name o' +McCunn, seekin' for him." +</P> + +<P> +Presently the messenger returned with Dougal and a cheap lantern which +he flashed in Dickson's face. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, it's you," said that leader, who had his jaw bound up as if he had +the toothache. "What are ye doing back here?" +</P> + +<P> +"To tell the truth, Dougal," was the answer, "I couldn't stay away. I +was fair miserable when I thought of Mr. Heritage and you laddies left +to yourselves. My conscience simply wouldn't let me stop at home, so +here I am." +</P> + +<P> +Dougal grunted, but clearly he approved, for from that moment he +treated Dickson with a new respect. Formerly when he had referred to +him at all it had been as "auld McCunn." Now it was "Mister McCunn." +He was given rank as a worthy civilian ally. The bivouac was a +cheerful place in the wet night. A great fire of pine roots and old +paling posts hissed in the fine rain, and around it crouched several +urchins busy making oatmeal cakes in the embers. On one side a +respectable lean-to had been constructed by nailing a plank to two +fir-trees, running sloping poles thence to the ground, and thatching +the whole with spruce branches and heather. On the other side two +small dilapidated home-made tents were pitched. Dougal motioned his +companion into the lean-to, where they had some privacy from the rest +of the band. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what's your news?" Dickson asked. He noticed that the +Chieftain seemed to have been comprehensively in the wars, for apart +from the bandage on his jaw, he had numerous small cuts on his brow, +and a great rent in one of his shirt sleeves. Also he appeared to be +going lame, and when he spoke a new gap was revealed in his large teeth. +</P> + +<P> +"Things," said Dougal solemnly, "has come to a bonny cripus. This very +night we've been in a battle." +</P> + +<P> +He spat fiercely, and the light of war burned in his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"It was the tinklers from the Garple Dean. They yokit on us about +seven o'clock, just at the darkenin'. First they tried to bounce us. +We weren't wanted here, they said, so we'd better clear. I telled them +that it was them that wasn't wanted. 'Awa' to Finnick,' says I. 'D'ye +think we take our orders from dirty ne'er-do-weels like you?' 'By God,' +says they, 'we'll cut your lights out,' and then the battle started." +</P> + +<P> +"What happened?' Dickson asked excitedly. +</P> + +<P> +"They were four muckle men against six laddies, and they thought they +had an easy job! Little they kenned the Gorbals Die-Hards! I had been +expectin' something of the kind, and had made my plans. They first +tried to pu' down our tents and burn them. I let them get within five +yards, reservin' my fire. The first volley—stones from our hands and +our catties—halted them, and before they could recover three of us had +got hold o' burnin' sticks frae the fire and were lammin' into them. +We kinnled their claes, and they fell back swearin' and stampin' to get +the fire out. Then I gave the word and we were on them wi' our pales, +usin' the points accordin' to instructions. My orders was to keep a +good distance, for if they had grippit one o' us he'd ha' been done +for. They were roarin' mad by now, and twae had out their knives, but +they couldn't do muckle, for it was gettin' dark, and they didn't ken +the ground like us, and were aye trippin' and tumblin'. But they +pressed us hard, and one o' them landed me an awful clype on the jaw. +They were still aiming at our tents, and I saw that if they got near +the fire again it would be the end o' us. So I blew my whistle for +Thomas Yownie, who was in command o' the other half of us, with +instructions to fall upon their rear. That brought Thomas up, and the +tinklers had to face round about and fight a battle on two fronts. We +charged them and they broke, and the last seen o' them they were +coolin' their burns in the Garple." +</P> + +<P> +"Well done, man. Had you many casualties?" +</P> + +<P> +"We're a' a wee thing battered, but nothing to hurt. I'm the worst, +for one o' them had a grip o' me for about three seconds, and Gosh! he +was fierce." +</P> + +<P> +"They're beaten off for the night, anyway?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, for the night. But they'll come back, never fear. That's why I +said that things had come to a cripus." +</P> + +<P> +"What's the news from the House?" +</P> + +<P> +"A quiet day, and no word o' Lean or Dobson." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson nodded. "They were hunting me." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Heritage has gone to bide in the Hoose. They were watchin' the +Garple Dean, so I took him round by the Laver foot and up the rocks. +He's a souple yin, yon. We fund a road up the rocks and got in by the +verandy. Did ye ken that the lassie had a pistol? Well, she has, and +it seems that Mr. Heritage is a good shot wi' a pistol, so there's some +hope thereaways.... Are the jools safe?" +</P> + +<P> +"Safe in the bank. But the jools were not the main thing." +</P> + +<P> +Dougal nodded. "So I was thinkin'. The lassie wasn't muckle the +easier for gettin' rid o' them. I didn't just quite understand what +she said to Mr. Heritage, for they were aye wanderin' into foreign +langwidges, but it seems she's terrible feared o' somebody that may +turn up any moment. What's the reason I can't say. She's maybe got a +secret, or maybe it's just that she's ower bonny." +</P> + +<P> +"That's the trouble," said Dickson, and proceeded to recount his +interview with the factor, to which Dougal gave close attention. "Now +the way I read the thing is this. There's a plot to kidnap that lady +for some infernal purpose, and it depends on the arrival of some person +or persons, and it's due to happen in the next day or two. If we try to +work it through the police alone, they'll beat us, for Loudon will +manage to hang the business up until it's too late. So we must take on +the job ourselves. We must stand a siege, Mr. Heritage and me and you +laddies, and for that purpose we'd better all keep together. It won't +be extra easy to carry her off from all of us, and if they do manage it +we'll stick to their heels.... Man, Dougal, isn't it a queer thing +that whiles law-abiding folk have to make their own laws?... So my +plan is that the lot of us get into the House and form a garrison. If +you don't, the tinklers will come back and you'll no' beat them in the +daylight." +</P> + +<P> +"I doubt no'," said Dougal. "But what about our meat?" +</P> + +<P> +"We must lay in provisions. We'll get what we can from Mrs. Morran, +and I've left a big box of fancy things at Dalquharter station. Can you +laddies manage to get it down here?" +</P> + +<P> +Dougal reflected. "Ay, we can hire Mrs. Sempill's powny, the same that +fetched our kit." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that's your job to-morrow. See, I'll write you a line to the +station-master. And will you undertake to get it some way into the +House?" +</P> + +<P> +"There's just the one road open—by the rocks. It'll have to be done. +It CAN be done." +</P> + +<P> +"And I've another job. I'm writing this telegram to a friend in +Glasgow who will put a spoke in Mr. Loudon's wheel. I want one of you +to go to Kirkmichael to send it from the telegraph office there." +</P> + +<P> +Dougal placed the wire to Mr. Caw in his bosom. "What about yourself? +We want somebody outside to keep his eyes open. It's bad strawtegy to +cut off your communications." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson thought for a moment. "I believe you're right. I believe the +best plan for me is to go back to Mrs. Morran's as soon as the old +body's like to be awake. You can always get at me there, for it's easy +to slip into her back kitchen without anybody in the village seeing +you.... Yes, I'll do that, and you'll come and report developments to +me. And now I'm for a bite and a pipe. It's hungry work travelling the +country in the small hours." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to introjuice ye to the rest o' us," said Dougal. "Here, +men!" he called, and four figures rose from the side of the fire. As +Dickson munched a sandwich he passed in review the whole company of the +Gorbals Die-Hards, for the pickets were also brought in, two others +taking their places. There was Thomas Yownie, the Chief of Staff, with +a wrist wound up in the handkerchief which he had borrowed from his +neck. There was a burly lad who wore trousers much too large for him, +and who was known as Peer Pairson, a contraction presumably for Peter +Paterson. After him came a lean tall boy who answered to the name of +Napoleon. There was a midget of a child, desperately sooty in the face +either from battle or from fire-tending, who was presented as Wee +Jaikie. Last came the picket who had held his pole at Dickson's chest, +a sandy-haired warrior with a snub nose and the mouth and jaw of a +pug-dog. He was Old Bill, or, in Dougal's parlance, "Auld Bull." +</P> + +<P> +The Chieftain viewed his scarred following with a grim content. "That's +a tough lot for ye, Mr. McCunn. Used a' their days wi' sleepin' in +coal-rees and dunnies and dodgin' the polis. Ye'll no beat the Gorbals +Die-Hards." +</P> + +<P> +"You're right, Dougal," said Dickson. "There's just the six of you. If +there were a dozen, I think this country would be needing some new kind +of a government." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +HOW A MIDDLE-AGED CRUSADER ACCEPTED A CHALLENGE +</H3> + +<P> +The first cocks had just begun to crow and clocks had not yet struck +five when Dickson presented himself at Mrs. Morran's back door. That +active woman had already been half an hour out of bed, and was drinking +her morning cup of tea in the kitchen. She received him with +cordiality, nay, with relief. +</P> + +<P> +"Eh, sir, but I'm glad to see ye back. Guid kens what's gaun on at the +Hoose thae days. Mr. Heritage left here yestreen, creepin' round by +dyke-sides and berry-busses like a wheasel. It's a mercy to get a +responsible man in the place. I aye had a notion ye wad come back, +for, thinks I, nevoy Dickson is no the yin to desert folk in +trouble.... Whaur's my wee kist?.... Lost, ye say. That's a peety, for +it's been my cheesebox thae thirty year." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson ascended to the loft, having announced his need of at least +three hours' sleep. As he rolled into bed his mind was curiously at +ease. He felt equipped for any call that might be made on him. That +Mrs. Morran should welcome him back as a resource in need gave him a +new assurance of manhood. +</P> + +<P> +He woke between nine and ten to the sound of rain lashing against the +garret window. As he picked his way out of the mazes of sleep and +recovered the skein of his immediate past, he found to his disgust that +he had lost his composure. All the flock of fears, that had left him +when on the top of the Glasgow tram-car he had made the great decision, +had flown back again and settled like black crows on his spirit. He was +running a horrible risk and all for a whim. What business had he to be +mixing himself up in things he did not understand? It might be a huge +mistake, and then he would be a laughing stock; for a moment he +repented his telegram to Mr. Caw. Then he recanted that suspicion; +there could be no mistake, except the fatal one that he had taken on a +job too big for him. He sat on the edge of the bed and shivered with +his eyes on the grey drift of rain. He would have felt more +stout-hearted had the sun been shining. +</P> + +<P> +He shuffled to the window and looked out. There in the village street +was Dobson, and Dobson saw him. That was a bad blunder, for his reason +told him that he should have kept his presence in Dalquharter hid as +long as possible. There was a knock at the cottage door, and presently +Mrs. Morran appeared. +</P> + +<P> +"It's the man frae the inn," she announced. "He's wantin' a word wi' +ye. Speakin' verra ceevil, too." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell him to come up," said Dickson. He might as well get the +interview over. Dobson had seen Loudon and must know of their +conversation. The sight of himself back again when he had pretended to +be off to Glasgow would remove him effectually from the class of the +unsuspected. He wondered just what line Dobson would take. +</P> + +<P> +The innkeeper obtruded his bulk through the low door. His face was +wrinkled into a smile, which nevertheless left the small eyes ungenial. +His voice had a loud vulgar cordiality. Suddenly Dickson was conscious +of a resemblance, a resemblance to somebody whom he had recently seen. +It was Loudon. There was the same thrusting of the chin forward, the +same odd cheek-bones, the same unctuous heartiness of speech. The +innkeeper, well washed and polished and dressed, would be no bad copy +of the factor. They must be near kin, perhaps brothers. +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning to you, Mr. McCunn. Man, it's pitifu' weather, and just +when the farmers are wanting a dry seed-bed. What brings ye back here? +Ye travel the country like a drover." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I'm a free man now and I took a fancy to this place. An idle body +has nothing to do but please himself." +</P> + +<P> +"I hear ye're taking a lease of Huntingtower?" +</P> + +<P> +"Now who told you that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Just the clash of the place. Is it true?" +</P> + +<P> +Dickson looked sly and a little annoyed. +</P> + +<P> +"I had maybe had half a thought of it, but I'll thank you not to repeat +the story. It's a big house for a plain man like me, and I haven't +properly inspected it." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I'll keep mum, never fear. But if ye've that sort of notion, I +can understand you not being able to keep away from the place." +</P> + +<P> +"That's maybe the fact," Dickson admitted. +</P> + +<P> +"Well! It's just on that point I want a word with you." The innkeeper +seated himself unbidden on the chair which held Dickson's modest +raiment. He leaned forward and with a coarse forefinger tapped +Dickson's pyjama-clad knees. "I can't have ye wandering about the +place. I'm very sorry, but I've got my orders from Mr. Loudon. So if +you think that by bidin' here you can see more of the House and the +policies, ye're wrong, Mr. McCunn. It can't be allowed, for we're no' +ready for ye yet. D'ye understand? That's Mr. Loudon's orders.... +Now, would it not be a far better plan if ye went back to Glasgow and +came back in a week's time? I'm thinking of your own comfort, Mr. +McCunn." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson was cogitating hard. This man was clearly instructed to get +rid of him at all costs for the next few days. The neighbourhood had +to be cleared for some black business. The tinklers had been deputed +to drive out the Gorbals Die-Hards, and as for Heritage they seemed to +have lost track of him. He, Dickson, was now the chief object of their +care. But what could Dobson do if he refused? He dared not show his +true hand. Yet he might, if sufficiently irritated. It became +Dickson's immediate object to get the innkeeper to reveal himself by +rousing his temper. He did not stop to consider the policy of this +course; he imperatively wanted things cleared up and the issue made +plain. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure I'm much obliged to you for thinking so much about my +comfort," he said in a voice into which he hoped he had insinuated a +sneer. "But I'm bound to say you're awful suspicious folk about here. +You needn't be feared for your old policies. There's plenty of nice +walks about the roads, and I want to explore the sea-coast." +</P> + +<P> +The last words seemed to annoy the innkeeper. "That's no' allowed +either," he said. "The shore's as private as the policies.... Well, I +wish ye joy tramping the roads in the glaur." +</P> + +<P> +"It's a queer thing," said Dickson meditatively, "that you should keep +a hotel and yet be set on discouraging people from visiting this +neighbourhood. I tell you what, I believe that hotel of yours is all +sham. You've some other business, you and these lodgekeepers, and in +my opinion it's not a very creditable one." +</P> + +<P> +"What d'ye mean?" asked Dobson sharply. +</P> + +<P> +"Just what I say. You must expect a body to be suspicious, if you +treat him as you're treating me." Loudon must have told this man the +story with which he had been fobbed off about the half-witted Kennedy +relative. Would Dobson refer to that? +</P> + +<P> +The innkeeper had an ugly look on his face, but he controlled his +temper with an effort. +</P> + +<P> +"There's no cause for suspicion," he said. "As far as I'm concerned +it's all honest and above-board." +</P> + +<P> +"It doesn't look like it. It looks as if you were hiding something up +in the House which you don't want me to see." +</P> + +<P> +Dobson jumped from his chair, his face pale with anger. A man in +pyjamas on a raw morning does not feel at this bravest, and Dickson +quailed under the expectation of assault. But even in his fright he +realized that Loudon could not have told Dobson the tale of the +half-witted lady. The last remark had cut clean through all camouflage +and reached the quick. +</P> + +<P> +"What the hell d'ye mean?" he cried. "Ye're a spy, are ye? Ye fat +little fool, for two cents I'd wring your neck." +</P> + +<P> +Now it is an odd trait of certain mild people that a suspicion of +threat, a hint of bullying, will rouse some unsuspected obstinacy deep +down in their souls. The insolence of the man's speech woke a quiet +but efficient little devil in Dickson. +</P> + +<P> +"That's a bonny tone to adopt in addressing a gentleman. If you've +nothing to hide what way are you so touchy? I can't be a spy unless +there's something to spy on." +</P> + +<P> +The innkeeper pulled himself together. He was apparently acting on +instructions, and had not yet come to the end of them. He made an +attempt at a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure I beg your pardon if I spoke too hot. But it nettled me to +hear ye say that.... I'll be quite frank with ye, Mr. McCunn, and, +believe me, I'm speaking in your best interests. I give ye my word +there's nothing wrong up at the House. I'm on the side of the law, and +when I tell ye the whole story ye'll admit it. But I can't tell it ye +yet.... This is a wild, lonely bit, and very few folk bide in it. And +these are wild times, when a lot of queer things happen that never get +into the papers. I tell ye it's for your own good to leave Dalquharter +for the present. More I can't say, but I ask ye to look at it as a +sensible man. Ye're one that's accustomed to a quiet life and no' +meant for rough work. Ye'll do no good if you stay, and, maybe, ye'll +land yourself in bad trouble." +</P> + +<P> +"Mercy on us!" Dickson exclaimed. "What is it you're expecting? Sinn +Fein?" +</P> + +<P> +The innkeeper nodded. "Something like that." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you ever hear the like? I never did think much of the Irish." +</P> + +<P> +"Then ye'll take my advice and go home? Tell ye what, I'll drive ye to +the station." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson got up from the bed, found his new safety-razor and began to +strop it. "No, I think I'll bide. If you're right there'll be more to +see than glaury roads." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm warning ye, fair and honest. Ye... can't... be... allowed... +to... stay... here!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well I never!" said Dickson. "Is there any law in Scotland, think +you, that forbids a man to stop a day or two with his auntie?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ye'll stay?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, I'll stay." +</P> + +<P> +"By God, we'll see about that." +</P> + +<P> +For a moment Dickson thought that he would be attacked, and he measured +the distance that separated him from the peg whence hung his waterproof +with the pistol in its pocket. But the man restrained himself and +moved to the door. There he stood and cursed him with a violence and a +venom which Dickson had not believed possible. The full hand was on the +table now. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye wee pot-bellied, pig-heided Glasgow grocer" (I paraphrase), "would +you set up to defy me? I tell ye, I'll make ye rue the day ye were +born." His parting words were a brilliant sketch of the maltreatment in +store for the body of the defiant one. +</P> + +<P> +"Impident dog," said Dickson without heat. He noted with pleasure that +the innkeeper hit his head violently against the low lintel, and, +missing a step, fell down the loft stairs into the kitchen, where Mrs. +Morran's tongue could be heard speeding him trenchantly from the +premises. +</P> + +<P> +Left to himself, Dickson dressed leisurely, and by and by went down to +the kitchen and watched his hostess making broth. The fracas with +Dobson had done him all the good in the world, for it had cleared the +problem of dubieties and had put an edge on his temper. But he +realized that it made his continued stay in the cottage undesirable. +He was now the focus of all suspicion, and the innkeeper would be as +good as his word and try to drive him out of the place by force. +Kidnapping, most likely, and that would be highly unpleasant, besides +putting an end to his usefulness. Clearly he must join the others. The +soul of Dickson hungered at the moment for human companionship. He +felt that his courage would be sufficient for any team-work, but might +waver again if he were left to play a lone hand. +</P> + +<P> +He lunched nobly off three plates of Mrs. Morran's kail—an early +lunch, for that lady, having breakfasted at five, partook of the midday +meal about eleven. Then he explored her library, and settled himself +by the fire with a volume of Covenanting tales, entitled GLEANINGS +AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. It was a most practical work for one in his +position, for it told how various eminent saints of that era escaped +the attention of Claverhouse's dragoons. Dickson stored up in his +memory several of the incidents in case they should come in handy. He +wondered if any of his forbears had been Covenanters; it comforted him +to think that some old progenitor might have hunkered behind turf walls +and been chased for his life in the heather. "Just like me," he +reflected. "But the dragoons weren't foreigners, and there was a kind +of decency about Claverhouse too." +</P> + +<P> +About four o'clock Dougal presented himself in the back kitchen. He was +an even wilder figure than usual, for his bare legs were mud to the +knees, his kilt and shirt clung sopping to his body, and, having lost +his hat, his wet hair was plastered over his eyes. Mrs. Morran said, +not unkindly, that he looked "like a wull-cat glowerin' through a whin +buss." +</P> + +<P> +"How are you, Dougal?" Dickson asked genially. "Is the peace of nature +smoothing out the creases in your poor little soul?" +</P> + +<P> +"What's that ye say?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, just what I heard a man say in Glasgow. How have you got on?" +</P> + +<P> +"No' so bad. Your telegram was sent this mornin'. Auld Bill took it +in to Kirkmichael. That's the first thing. Second, Thomas Yownie has +took a party to get down the box from the station. He got Mrs. +Sempills' powny, and he took the box ayont the Laver by the ford at the +herd's hoose and got it on to the shore maybe a mile ayont Laverfoot. +He managed to get the machine up as far as the water, but he could get +no farther, for ye'll no' get a machine over the wee waterfa' just +before the Laver ends in the sea. So he sent one o' the men back with +it to Mrs. Sempill, and, since the box was ower heavy to carry, he +opened it and took the stuff across in bits. It's a' safe in the hole +at the foot o' the Huntingtower rocks, and he reports that the rain has +done it no harm. Thomas has made a good job of it. Ye'll no' fickle +Thomas Yownie." +</P> + +<P> +"And what about your camp on the moor?" +</P> + +<P> +"It was broke up afore daylight. Some of our things we've got with us, +but most is hid near at hand. The tents are in the auld wife's +hen-hoose." and he jerked his disreputable head in the direction of the +back door. +</P> + +<P> +"Have the tinklers been back?" +</P> + +<P> +"Aye. They turned up about ten o'clock, no doubt intendin' murder. I +left Wee Jaikie to watch developments. They fund him sittin' on a +stone, greetin' sore. When he saw them, he up and started to run, and +they cried on him to stop, but he wouldn't listen. Then they cried out +where were the rest, and he telled them they were feared for their +lives and had run away. After that they offered to catch him, but +ye'll no' catch Jaikie in a hurry. When he had run round about them +till they were wappit, he out wi' his catty and got one o' them on the +lug. Syne he made for the Laverfoot and reported." +</P> + +<P> +"Man, Dougal, you've managed fine. Now I've something to tell you," +and Dickson recounted his interview with the innkeeper. "I don't think +it's safe for me to bide here, and if I did, I wouldn't be any use, +hiding in cellars and such like, and not daring to stir a foot. I'm +coming with you to the House. Now tell me how to get there." +</P> + +<P> +Dougal agreed to this view. "There's been nothing doing at the Hoose +the day, but they're keepin' a close watch on the policies. The cripus +may come any moment. There's no doubt, Mr. McCunn, that ye're in +danger, for they'll serve you as the tinklers tried to serve us. +Listen to me. Ye'll walk up the station road, and take the second turn +on your left, a wee grass road that'll bring ye to the ford at the +herd's hoose. Cross the Laver—there's a plank bridge—and take +straight across the moor in the direction of the peakit hill they call +Grey Carrick. Ye'll come to a big burn, which ye must follow till ye +get to the shore. Then turn south, keepin' the water's edge till ye +reach the Laver, where you'll find one o' us to show ye the rest of the +road.... I must be off now, and I advise ye not to be slow of startin', +for wi' this rain the water's risin' quick. It's a mercy it's such +coarse weather, for it spoils the veesibility." +</P> + +<P> +"Auntie Phemie," said Dickson a few minutes later, "will you oblige me +by coming for a short walk?" +</P> + +<P> +"The man's daft," was the answer. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not. I'll explain if you'll listen.... You see," he concluded, +"the dangerous bit for me is just the mile out of the village. They'll +no' be so likely to try violence if there's somebody with me that could +be a witness. Besides, they'll maybe suspect less if they just see a +decent body out for a breath of air with his auntie." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Morran said nothing, but retired, and returned presently equipped +for the road. She had indued her feet with goloshes and pinned up her +skirts till they looked like some demented Paris mode. An ancient +bonnet was tied under her chin with strings, and her equipment was +completed by an exceedingly smart tortoise-shell-handled umbrella, +which, she explained, had been a Christmas present from her son. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll convoy ye as far as the Laverfoot herd's," she announced. "The +wife's a freend o' mine and will set me a bit on the road back. Ye +needna fash for me. I'm used to a' weathers." +</P> + +<P> +The rain had declined to a fine drizzle, but a tearing wind from the +south-west scoured the land. Beyond the shelter of the trees the moor +was a battle-ground of gusts which swept the puddles into spindrift and +gave to the stagnant bog-pools the appearance of running water. The +wind was behind the travellers, and Mrs. Morran, like a full-rigged +ship, was hustled before it, so that Dickson, who had linked arms with +her, was sometimes compelled to trot. +</P> + +<P> +"However will you get home, mistress?" he murmured anxiously. +</P> + +<P> +"Fine. The wind will fa' at the darkenin'. This'll be a sair time for +ships at sea." +</P> + +<P> +Not a soul was about, so they breasted the ascent of the station road +and turned down the grassy bypath to the Laverfoot herd's. The herd's +wife saw them from afar and was at the door to receive them. +</P> + +<P> +"Megsty! Phemie Morran!" she shrilled. "Wha wad ettle to see ye on a +day like this? John's awa' at Dumfries, buyin' tups. Come in, the +baith o' ye. The kettle's on the boil." +</P> + +<P> +"This is my nevoy Dickson," said Mrs. Morran. "He's gaun to stretch +his legs ayont the burn, and come back by the Ayr road. But I'll be +blithe to tak' my tea wi' ye, Elspeth.... Now, Dickson, I'll expect ye +hame on the chap o' seeven." +</P> + +<P> +He crossed the rising stream on a swaying plank and struck into the +moorland, as Dougal had ordered, keeping the bald top of Grey Carrick +before him. In that wild place with the tempest battling overhead he +had no fear of human enemies. Steadily he covered the ground, till he +reached the west-flowing burn, that was to lead him to the shore. He +found it an entertaining companion, swirling into black pools, foaming +over little falls, and lying in dark canal-like stretches in the flats. +Presently it began to descend steeply in a narrow green gully, where +the going was bad, and Dickson, weighted with pack and waterproof, had +much ado to keep his feet on the sodden slopes. Then, as he rounded a +crook of hill, the ground fell away from his feet, the burn swept in a +water-slide to the boulders of the shore, and the storm-tossed sea lay +before him. +</P> + +<P> +It was now that he began to feel nervous. Being on the coast again +seemed to bring him inside his enemies' territory, and had not Dobson +specifically forbidden the shore? It was here that they might be +looking for him. He felt himself out of condition, very wet and very +warm, but he attained a creditable pace, for he struck a road which had +been used by manure-carts collecting seaweed. There were faint marks +on it, which he took to be the wheels of Dougal's "machine" carrying +the provision-box. Yes. On a patch of gravel there was a double set +of tracks, which showed how it had returned to Mrs. Sempill. He was +exposed to the full force of the wind, and the strenuousness of his +bodily exertions kept his fears quiescent, till the cliffs on his left +sunk suddenly and the valley of the Laver lay before him. +</P> + +<P> +A small figure rose from the shelter of a boulder, the warrior who bore +the name of Old Bill. He saluted gravely. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye're just in time. The water has rose three inches since I've been +here. Ye'd better strip." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson removed his boots and socks. "Breeks too," commanded the boy; +"there's deep holes ayont thae stanes." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson obeyed, feeling very chilly, and rather improper. "Now follow +me," said the guide. The next moment he was stepping delicately on +very sharp pebbles, holding on to the end of the scout's pole, while an +icy stream ran to his knees. +</P> + +<P> +The Laver as it reaches the sea broadens out to the width of fifty or +sixty yards and tumbles over little shelves of rock to meet the waves. +Usually it is shallow, but now it was swollen to an average depth of a +foot or more, and there were deeper pockets. Dickson made the passage +slowly and miserably, sometimes crying out with pain as his toes struck +a sharper flint, once or twice sitting down on a boulder to blow like a +whale, once slipping on his knees and wetting the strange excrescence +about his middle, which was his tucked-up waterproof. But the crossing +was at length achieved, and on a patch of sea-pinks he dried himself +perfunctorily and hastily put on his garments. Old Bill, who seemed to +be regardless of wind or water, squatted beside him and whistled +through his teeth. +</P> + +<P> +Above them hung the sheer cliffs of the Huntingtower cape, so sheer +that a man below was completely hidden from any watcher on the top. +Dickson's heart fell, for he did not profess to be a cragsman and had +indeed a horror of precipitous places. But as the two scrambled along +the foot, they passed deep-cut gullies and fissures, most of them +unclimbable, but offering something more hopeful than the face. At one +of these Old Bill halted, and led the way up and over a chaos of fallen +rock and loose sand. The grey weather had brought on the dark +prematurely, and in the half-light it seemed that this ravine was +blocked by an unscalable nose of rock. Here Old Bill whistled, and +there was a reply from above. Round the corner of the nose came Dougal. +</P> + +<P> +"Up here," he commanded. "It was Mr. Heritage that fund this road." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson and his guide squeezed themselves between the nose and the +cliff up a spout of stones, and found themselves in an upper storey of +the gulley, very steep, but practicable even for one who was no +cragsman. This in turn ran out against a wall up which there led only +a narrow chimney. At the foot of this were two of the Die-Hards, and +there were others above, for a rope hung down, by the aid of which a +package was even now ascending. +</P> + +<P> +"That's the top," said Dougal, pointing to the rim of sky, "and that's +the last o' the supplies." Dickson noticed that he spoke in a whisper, +and that all the movements of the Die-Hards were judicious and +stealthy. "Now, it's your turn. Take a good grip o' the rope, and +ye'll find plenty holes for your feet. It's no more than ten yards and +ye're well held above." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson made the attempt and found it easier than he expected. The only +trouble was his pack and waterproof, which had a tendency to catch on +jags of rock. A hand was reached out to him, he was pulled over the +edge, and then pushed down on his face. When he lifted his head Dougal +and the others had joined him, and the whole company of the Die-Hards +was assembled on a patch of grass which was concealed from the landward +view by a thicket of hazels. Another, whom he recognized as Heritage, +was coiling up the rope. +</P> + +<P> +"We'd better get all the stuff into the old Tower for the present," +Heritage was saying. "It's too risky to move it into the House now. +We'll need the thickest darkness for that, after the moon is down. +Quick, for the beastly thing will be rising soon, and before that we +must all be indoors." +</P> + +<P> +Then he turned to Dickson and gripped his hand. "You're a high class +of sportsman, Dogson. And I think you're just in time." +</P> + +<P> +"Are they due to-night?" Dickson asked in an excited whisper, faint +against the wind. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know about They. But I've got a notion that some devilish +queer things will happen before to-morrow morning." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE FIRST BATTLE OF THE CRUIVES +</H3> + +<P> +The old keep of Huntingtower stood some three hundred yards from the +edge of the cliffs, a gnarled wood of hazels and oaks protecting it +from the sea-winds. It was still in fair preservation, having till +twenty years before been an adjunct of the house of Dalquharter, and +used as kitchen, buttery, and servants' quarters. There had been +residential wings attached, dating from the mid-eighteenth century, but +these had been pulled down and used for the foundations of the new +mansion. Now it stood a lonely shell, its three storeys, each a single +great room connected by a spiral stone staircase, being dedicated to +lumber and the storage of produce. But it was dry and intact, its +massive oak doors defied any weapon short of artillery, its narrow +unglazed windows would scarcely have admitted a cat—a place +portentously strong, gloomy, but yet habitable. +</P> + +<P> +Dougal opened the main door with a massy key. "The lassie fund it," he +whispered to Dickson, "somewhere about the kitchen—and I guessed it +was the key o' this castle. I was thinkin' that if things got ower hot +it would be a good plan to flit here. Change our base, like." The +Chieftain's occasional studies in war had trained his tongue to a +military jargon. +</P> + +<P> +In the ground room lay a fine assortment of oddments, including old +bedsteads and servants' furniture, and what looked like ancient +discarded deerskin rugs. Dust lay thick over everything, and they +heard the scurry of rats. A dismal place, indeed, but Dickson felt +only its strangeness. The comfort of being back again among allies had +quickened his spirit to an adventurous mood. The old lords of +Huntingtower had once quarrelled and revelled and plotted here, and now +here he was at the same game. Present and past joined hands over the +gulf of years. The saga of Huntingtower was not ended. +</P> + +<P> +The Die-Hards had brought with them their scanty bedding, their +lanterns and camp-kettles. These and the provisions from Mearns Street +were stowed away in a corner. +</P> + +<P> +"Now for the Hoose, men," said Dougal. They stole over the downs to +the shrubbery, and Dickson found himself almost in the same place as he +had lain in three days before, watching a dusky lawn, while the wet +earth soaked through his trouser knees and the drip from the azaleas +trickled over his spine. Two of the boys fetched the ladder and placed +it against the verandah wall. Heritage first, then Dickson, darted +across the lawn and made the ascent. The six scouts followed, and the +ladder was pulled up and hidden among the verandah litter. For a second +the whole eight stood still and listened. There was no sound except +the murmur of the now falling wind and the melancholy hooting of owls. +The garrison had entered the Dark Tower. +</P> + +<P> +A council in whispers was held in the garden-room. +</P> + +<P> +"Nobody must show a light," Heritage observed. "It mustn't be known +that we're here. Only the Princess will have a lamp. Yes"—this in +answer to Dickson—"she knows that we're coming—you too. We'll hunt +for quarters later upstairs. You scouts, you must picket every +possible entrance. The windows are safe, I think, for they are locked +from the inside. So is the main door. But there's the verandah door, +of which they have a key, and the back door beside the kitchen, and I'm +not at all sure that there's not a way in by the boiler-house. You +understand. We're holding his place against all comers. We must +barricade the danger points. The headquarters of the garrison will be +in the hall, where a scout must be always on duty. You've all got +whistles? Well, if there's an attempt on the verandah door the picket +will whistle once, if at the back door twice, if anywhere else three +times, and it's everybody's duty, except the picket who whistles, to +get back to the hall for orders." +</P> + +<P> +"That's so," assented Dougal. +</P> + +<P> +"If the enemy forces an entrance we must overpower him. Any means you +like. Sticks or fists, and remember if it's a scrap in the dark to +make for the man's throat. I expect you little devils have eyes like +cats. The scoundrels must be kept away from the ladies at all costs. +If the worst comes to the worst, the Princess has a revolver." +</P> + +<P> +"So have I," said Dickson. "I got it in Glasgow." +</P> + +<P> +"The deuce you have! Can you use it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you can hand it over to me, if you like. But it oughtn't to +come to shooting, if it's only the three of them. The eight of us +should be able to manage three and one of them lame. If the others +turn up—well, God help us all! But we've got to make sure of one +thing, that no one lays hands on the Princess so long as there's one of +us left alive to hit out." +</P> + +<P> +"Ye needn't be feared for that," said Dougal. There was no light in +the room, but Dickson was certain that the morose face of the Chieftain +was lit with unholy joy. +</P> + +<P> +"Then off with you. Mr. McCunn and I will explain matters to the +ladies." +</P> + +<P> +When they were alone, Heritage's voice took a different key. "We're in +for it, Dogson, old man. There's no doubt these three scoundrels +expect reinforcements at any moment, and with them will be one who is +the devil incarnate. He's the only thing on earth that that brave girl +fears. It seems he is in love with her and has pestered her for years. +She hated the sight of him, but he wouldn't take no, and being a +powerful man—rich and well-born and all the rest of it—she had a +desperate time. I gather he was pretty high in favour with the old +Court. Then when the Bolsheviks started he went over to them, like +plenty of other grandees, and now he's one of their chief brains—none +of your callow revolutionaries, but a man of the world, a kind of +genius, she says, who can hold his own anywhere. She believes him to +be in this country, and only waiting the right moment to turn up. Oh, +it sounds ridiculous, I know, in Britain in the twentieth century, but +I learned in the war that civilization anywhere is a very thin crust. +There are a hundred ways by which that kind of fellow could bamboozle +all our law and police and spirit her away. That's the kind of crowd +we have to face." +</P> + +<P> +"Did she say what he was like in appearance?" +</P> + +<P> +"A face like an angel—a lost angel, she says." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson suddenly had an inspiration. +</P> + +<P> +"D'you mind the man you said was an Australian—at Kirkmichael? I +thought myself he was a foreigner. Well, he was asking for a place he +called Darkwater, and there's no sich place in the countryside. I +believe he meant Dalquharter. I believe he's the man she's feared of." +</P> + +<P> +A gasped "By Jove!" came from the darkness. "Dogson, you've hit it. +That was five days ago, and he must have got on the right trail by this +time. He'll be here to-night. That's why the three have been lying so +quiet to-day. Well, we'll go through with it, even if we haven't a +dog's chance! Only I'm sorry that you should be mixed up in such a +hopeless business." +</P> + +<P> +"Why me more than you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because it's all pure pride and joy for me to be here. Good God, I +wouldn't be elsewhere for worlds. It's the great hour of my life. I +would gladly die for her." +</P> + +<P> +"Tuts, that's no' the way to talk, man. Time enough to speak about +dying when there's no other way out. I'm looking at this thing in a +business way. We'd better be seeing the ladies." +</P> + +<P> +They groped into the pitchy hall, somewhere in which a Die-Hard was on +picket, and down the passage to the smoking-room. Dickson blinked in +the light of a very feeble lamp and Heritage saw that his hands were +cumbered with packages. He deposited them on a sofa and made a ducking +bow. +</P> + +<P> +"I've come back, Mem, and glad to be back. Your jools are in safe +keeping, and not all the blagyirds in creation could get at them. I've +come to tell you to cheer up—a stout heart to a stey brae, as the old +folk say. I'm handling this affair as a business proposition, so don't +be feared, Mem. If there are enemies seeking you, there's friends on +the road too.... Now, you'll have had your dinner, but you'd maybe like +a little dessert." +</P> + +<P> +He spread before them a huge box of chocolates, the best that Mearns +Street could produce, a box of candied fruits, and another of salted +almonds. Then from his hideously overcrowded pockets he took another +box, which he offered rather shyly. "That's some powder for your +complexion. They tell me that ladies find it useful whiles." +</P> + +<P> +The girl's strained face watched him at first in mystification, and +then broke slowly into a smile. Youth came back into it, the smile +changed to a laugh, a low rippling laugh like far-away bells. She took +both his hands. +</P> + +<P> +"You are kind," she said, "you are kind and brave. You are a de-ar." +</P> + +<P> +And then she kissed him. +</P> + +<P> +Now, as far as Dickson could remember, no one had ever kissed him +except his wife. The light touch of her lips on his forehead was like +the pressing of an electric button which explodes some powerful charge +and alters the face of a countryside. He blushed scarlet; then he +wanted to cry; then he wanted to sing. An immense exhilaration seized +him, and I am certain that if at that moment the serried ranks of +Bolshevy had appeared in the doorway, Dickson would have hurled himself +upon them with a joyful shout. +</P> + +<P> +Cousin Eugenie was earnestly eating chocolates, but Saskia had other +business. +</P> + +<P> +"You will hold the house?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Please God, yes," said Heritage. "I look at it this way. The time is +very near when your three gaolers expect the others, their masters. +They have not troubled you in the past two days as they threatened, +because it was not worth while. But they won't want to let you out of +their sight in the final hours, so they will almost certainly come here +to be on the spot. Our object is to keep them out and confuse their +plans. Somewhere in this neighbourhood, probably very near, is the man +you fear most. If we nonplus the three watchers, they'll have to +revise their policy, and that means a delay, and every hour's delay is +a gain. Mr. McCunn has found out that the factor Loudon is in the +plot, and he has purchase enough, it seems, to blanket for a time any +appeal to the law. But Mr. McCunn has taken steps to circumvent him, +and in twenty-four hours we should have help here." +</P> + +<P> +"I do not want the help of your law," the girl interrupted. "It will +entangle me.' +</P> + +<P> +"Not a bit of it," said Dickson cheerfully. "You see, Mem, they've +clean lost track of the jools, and nobody knows where they are but me. +I'm a truthful man, but I'll lie like a packman if I'm asked questions. +For the rest, it's a question of kidnapping, I understand, and that's a +thing that's not to be allowed. My advice is to go to our beds and get +a little sleep while there's a chance of it. The Gorbals Die-Hards are +grand watch-dogs." +</P> + +<P> +This view sounded so reasonable that it was at once acted upon. The +ladies' chamber was next door to the smoking-room—what had been the +old schoolroom. Heritage arranged with Saskia that the lamp was to be +kept burning low, and that on no account were they to move unless +summoned by him. Then he and Dickson made their way to the hall, where +there was a faint glimmer from the moon in the upper unshuttered +windows—enough to reveal the figure of Wee Jaikie on duty at the foot +of the staircase. They ascended to the second floor, where, in a large +room above the hall, Heritage had bestowed his pack. He had managed to +open a fold of the shutters, and there was sufficient light to see two +big mahogany bedsteads without mattresses or bedclothes, and wardrobes +and chests of drawers sheeted in holland. Outside the wind was rising +again, but the rain had stopped. Angry watery clouds scurried across +the heavens. +</P> + +<P> +Dickson made a pillow of his waterproof, stretched himself on one of +the bedsteads, and, so quiet was his conscience and so weary his body +from the buffetings of the past days, was almost instantly asleep. It +seemed to him that he had scarcely closed his eyes when he was awakened +by Dougal's hand pinching his shoulder. He gathered that the moon was +setting, for the room was pitchy dark. +</P> + +<P> +"The three o' them is approachin' the kitchen door," whispered the +Chieftain. "I seen them from a spy-hole I made out o' a ventilator." +</P> + +<P> +"Is it barricaded?" asked Heritage, who had apparently not been asleep. +</P> + +<P> +"Aye, but I've thought o' a far better plan. Why should we keep them +out? They'll be safer inside. Listen! We might manage to get them in +one at a time. If they can't get in at the kitchen door, they'll send +one o' them round to get in by another door and open to them. That +gives us a chance to get them separated, and lock them up. There's +walth o' closets and hidy-holes all over the place, each with good +doors and good keys to them. Supposin' we get the three o' them shut +up—the others, when they come, will have nobody to guide them. Of +course some time or other the three will break out, but it may be ower +late for them. At present we're besieged and they're roamin' the +country. Would it no' be far better if they were the ones lockit up +and we were goin' loose?" +</P> + +<P> +"Supposing they don't come in one at a time?" Dickson objected. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll make them," said Dougal firmly. "There's no time to waste. Are +ye for it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Heritage. "Who's at the kitchen door?" +</P> + +<P> +"Peter Paterson. I told him no' to whistle, but to wait on me.... Keep +your boots off. Ye're better in your stockin' feet. Wait you in the +hall and see ye're well hidden, for likely whoever comes in will have a +lantern. Just you keep quiet unless I give ye a cry. I've planned it +a' out, and we're ready for them." +</P> + +<P> +Dougal disappeared, and Dickson and Heritage, with their boots tied +round their necks by their laces, crept out to the upper landing. The +hall was impenetrably dark, but full of voices, for the wind was +talking in the ceiling beams, and murmuring through the long passages. +The walls creaked and muttered and little bits of plaster fluttered +down. The noise was an advantage for the game of hide-and-seek they +proposed to play, but it made it hard to detect the enemy's approach. +Dickson, in order to get properly wakened, adventured as far as the +smoking-room. It was black with night, but below the door of the +adjacent room a faint line of light showed where the Princess's lamp +was burning. He advanced to the window, and heard distinctly a foot on +the grovel path that led to the verandah. This sent him back to the +hall in search of Dougal, whom he encountered in the passage. That boy +could certainly see in the dark, for he caught Dickson's wrist without +hesitation. +</P> + +<P> +"We've got Spittal in the wine-cellar," he whispered triumphantly. "The +kitchen door was barricaded, and when they tried it, it wouldn't open. +'Bide here,' says Dobson to Spittal, 'and we'll go round by another +door and come back and open to ye.' So off they went, and by that time +Peter Paterson and me had the barricade down. As we expected, Spittal +tries the key again and it opens quite easy. He comes in and locks it +behind him, and, Dobson having took away the lantern, he gropes his way +very carefu' towards the kitchen. There's a point where the +wine-cellar door and the scullery door are aside each other. He should +have taken the second, but I had it shut so he takes the first. Peter +Paterson gave him a wee shove and he fell down the two-three steps into +the cellar, and we turned the key on him. Yon cellar has a grand door +and no windies." +</P> + +<P> +"And Dobson and Leon are at the verandah door? With a light?" +</P> + +<P> +"Thomas Yownie's on duty there. Ye can trust him. Ye'll no fickle +Thomas Yownie." +</P> + +<P> +The next minutes were for Dickson a delirium of excitement not +unpleasantly shot with flashes of doubt and fear. As a child he had +played hide-and-seek, and his memory had always cherished the delights +of the game. But how marvellous to play it thus in a great empty +house, at dark of night, with the heaven filled with tempest, and with +death or wounds as the stakes! +</P> + +<P> +He took refuge in a corner where a tapestry curtain and the side of a +Dutch awmry gave him shelter, and from where he stood he could see the +garden-room and the beginning of the tiled passage which led to the +verandah door. That is to say, he could have seen these things if +there had been any light, which there was not. He heard the soft +flitting of bare feet, for a delicate sound is often audible in a din +when a loud noise is obscured. Then a gale of wind blew towards him, +as from an open door, and far away gleamed the flickering light of a +lantern. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly the light disappeared and there was a clatter on the floor and +a breaking of glass. Either the wind or Thomas Yownie. +</P> + +<P> +The verandah door was shut, a match spluttered and the lantern was +relit. Dobson and Leon came into the hall, both clad in long +mackintoshes which glistened from the weather. Dobson halted and +listened to the wind howling in the upper spaces. He cursed it +bitterly, looked at his watch, and then made an observation which woke +the liveliest interest in Dickson lurking beside the awmry and Heritage +ensconced in the shadow of a window-seat. +</P> + +<P> +"He's late. He should have been here five minutes syne. It would be a +dirty road for his car." +</P> + +<P> +So the Unknown was coming that night. The news made Dickson the more +resolved to get the watchers under lock and key before reinforcements +arrived, and so put grit in their wheels. Then his party must +escape—flee anywhere so long as it was far from Dalquharter. +</P> + +<P> +"You stop here," said Dobson, "I'll go down and let Spidel in. We want +another lamp. Get the one that the women use, and for God's sake get a +move on." +</P> + +<P> +The sound of his feet died in the kitchen passage and then rung again +on the stone stairs. Dickson's ear of faith heard also the soft patter +of naked feet as the Die-Hards preceded and followed him. He was +delivering himself blind and bound into their hands. +</P> + +<P> +For a minute or two there was no sound but the wind, which had found a +loose chimney cowl on the roof and screwed out of it an odd sound like +the drone of a bagpipe. Dickson, unable to remain any longer in one +place, moved into the centre of the hall, believing that Leon had gone +to the smoking-room. It was a dangerous thing to do, for suddenly a +match was lit a yard from him. He had the sense to drop low, and so +was out of the main glare of the light. The man with the match +apparently had no more, judging by his execrations. Dickson stood stock +still, longing for the wind to fall so that he might hear the sound of +the fellow's boots on the stone floor. He gathered that they were +moving towards the smoking-room. +</P> + +<P> +"Heritage," he whispered as loud as he dared, bet there was no answer. +</P> + +<P> +Then suddenly a moving body collided with him. He jumped a step back +and then stood at attention. "Is that you, Dobson?" a voice asked. +</P> + +<P> +Now behold the occasional advantage of a nick-name. Dickson thought he +was being addressed as "Dogson" after the Poet's fashion. Had he +dreamed it was Leon he would not have replied, but fluttered off into +the shadows, and so missed a piece of vital news. +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, it's me." he whispered. +</P> + +<P> +His voice and accent were Scotch, like Dobson's, and Leon suspected +nothing. +</P> + +<P> +"I do not like this wind," he grumbled. "The Captain's letter said at +dawn, but there is no chance of the Danish brig making your little +harbour in this weather. She must lie off and land the men by boats. +That I do not like. It is too public." +</P> + +<P> +The news—tremendous news, for it told that the new-comers would come +by sea, which had never before entered Dickson's head—so interested +him that he stood dumb and ruminating. The silence made the Belgian +suspect; he put out a hand and felt a waterproofed arm which might have +been Dobson's. But the height of the shoulder proved that it was not +the burly innkeeper. There was an oath, a quick movement, and Dickson +went down with a knee on his chest and two hands at his throat. +</P> + +<P> +"Heritage," he gasped. "Help!" +</P> + +<P> +There was a sound of furniture scraped violently on the floor. A gurgle +from Dickson served as a guide, and the Poet suddenly cascaded over the +combatants. He felt for a head, found Leon's and gripped the neck so +savagely that the owner loosened his hold on Dickson. The last-named +found himself being buffeted violently by heavy-shod feet which seemed +to be manoeuvring before an unseen enemy. He rolled out of the road +and encountered another pair of feet, this time unshod. Then came the +sound of a concussion, as if metal or wood had struck some part of a +human frame, and then a stumble and fall. +</P> + +<P> +After that a good many things all seemed to happen at once. There was a +sudden light, which showed Leon blinking with a short loaded +life-preserver in his hand, and Heritage prone in front of him on the +floor. It also showed Dickson the figure of Dougal, and more than one +Die-Hard in the background. The light went out as suddenly as it had +appeared. There was a whistle and a hoarse "Come on, men," and then +for two seconds there was a desperate silent combat. It ended with +Leon's head meeting the floor so violently that its possessor became +oblivious of further proceedings. He was dragged into a cubby-hole, +which had once been used for coats and rugs, and the door locked on +him. Then the light sprang forth again. It revealed Dougal and five +Die-Hards, somewhat the worse for wear; it revealed also Dickson +squatted with outspread waterproof very like a sitting hen. +</P> + +<P> +"Where's Dobson?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"In the boiler-house," and for once Dougal's gravity had laughter in +it. "Govey Dick! but yon was a fecht! Me and Peter Paterson and Wee +Jaikie started it, but it was the whole company afore the end. Are ye +better, Jaikie?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, I'm better," said a pallid midget. +</P> + +<P> +"He kickit Jaikie in the stomach and Jaikie was seeck," Dougal +explained. "That's the three accounted for. I think mysel' that Dobson +will be the first to get out, but he'll have his work letting out the +others. Now, I'm for flittin' to the old Tower. They'll no ken where +we are for a long time, and anyway yon place will be far easier to +defend. Without they kindle a fire and smoke us out, I don't see how +they'll beat us. Our provisions are a' there, and there's a grand well +o' water inside. Forbye there's the road down the rocks that'll keep +our communications open.... But what's come to Mr. Heritage?" +</P> + +<P> +Dickson to his shame had forgotten all about his friend. The Poet lay +very quiet with his head on one side and his legs crooked limply. Blood +trickled over his eyes from an ugly scar on his forehead. Dickson felt +his heart and pulse and found them faint but regular. The man had got a +swinging blow and might have a slight concussion; for the present he +was unconscious. +</P> + +<P> +"All the more reason why we should flit," said Dougal. "What d'ye say, +Mr. McCunn?" +</P> + +<P> +"Flit, of course, but further than the old Tower. What's the time?" He +lifted Heritage's wrist and saw from his watch that it was half-past +three. "Mercy. It's nearly morning. Afore we put these blagyirds +away, they were conversing, at least Leon and Dobson were. They said +that they expected somebody every moment, but that the car would be +late. We've still got that Somebody to tackle. Then Leon spoke to me +in the dark, thinking I was Dobson, and cursed the wind, saying it +would keep the Danish brig from getting in at dawn as had been +intended. D'you see what that means? The worst of the lot, the ones +the ladies are in terror of, are coming by sea. Ay, and they can +return by sea. We thought that the attack would be by land, and that +even if they succeeded we could hang on to their heels and follow them, +till we got them stopped. But that's impossible! If they come in from +the water, they can go out by the water, and there'll never be more +heard tell of the ladies or of you or me." +</P> + +<P> +Dougal's face was once again sunk in gloom. "What's your plan, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"We must get the ladies away from here—away inland, far from the sea. +The rest of us must stand a siege in the old Tower, so that the enemy +will think we're all there. Please God we'll hold out long enough for +help to arrive. But we mustn't hang about here. There's the man +Dobson mentioned—he may come any second, and we want to be away first. +Get the ladder, Dougal.... Four of you take Mr. Heritage, and two come +with me and carry the ladies' things. It's no' raining, but the wind's +enough to take the wings off a seagull." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson roused Saskia and her cousin, bidding them be ready in ten +minutes. Then with the help of the Die-Hards he proceeded to transport +the necessary supplies—the stove, oil, dishes, clothes and wraps; more +than one journey was needed of small boys, hidden under clouds of +baggage. When everything had gone he collected the keys, behind which, +in various quarters of the house, three gaolers fumed impotently, and +gave them to Wee Jaikie to dispose of in some secret nook. Then he led +the two ladies to the verandah, the elder cross and sleepy, the younger +alert at the prospect of movement. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me again," she said. "You have locked all the three up, and they +are now the imprisoned?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it was the boys that, properly speaking, did the locking up." +</P> + +<P> +"It is a great—how do you say?—a turning of the tables. Ah—what is +that?" +</P> + +<P> +At the end of the verandah there was a clattering down of pots which +could not be due to the wind, since the place was sheltered. There was +as yet only the faintest hint of light, and black night still lurked in +the crannies. Followed another fall of pots, as from a clumsy +intruder, and then a man appeared, clear against the glass door by +which the path descended to the rock garden. It was the fourth man, +whom the three prisoners had awaited. Dickson had no doubt at all about +his identity. He was that villain from whom all the others took their +orders, the man whom the Princess shuddered at. Before starting he had +loaded his pistol. Now he tugged it from his waterproof pocket, pointed +it at the other and fired. +</P> + +<P> +The man seemed to be hit, for he spun round and clapped a hand to his +left arm. Then he fled through the door, which he left open. +</P> + +<P> +Dickson was after him like a hound. At the door he saw him running and +raised his pistol for another shot. Then he dropped it, for he saw +something in the crouching, dodging figure which was familiar. +</P> + +<P> +"A mistake," he explained to Jaikie when he returned. "But the shot +wasn't wasted. I've just had a good try at killing the factor!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +DEALS WITH AN ESCAPE AND A JOURNEY +</H3> + +<P> +Five scouts' lanterns burned smokily in the ground room of the keep +when Dickson ushered his charges through its cavernous door. The lights +flickered in the gusts that swept after them and whistled through the +slits of the windows, so that the place was full of monstrous shadows, +and its accustomed odour of mould and disuse was changed to a salty +freshness. Upstairs on the first floor Thomas Yownie had deposited the +ladies' baggage, and was busy making beds out of derelict iron +bedsteads and the wraps brought from their room. On the ground floor +on a heap of litter covered by an old scout's blanket lay Heritage, +with Dougal in attendance. +</P> + +<P> +The Chieftain had washed the blood from the Poet's brow, and the touch +of cold water was bringing him back his senses. Saskia with a cry flew +to him, and waved off Dickson who had fetched one of the bottles of +liqueur brandy. She slipped a hand inside his shirt and felt the +beating of his heart. Then her slim fingers ran over his forehead. +</P> + +<P> +"A bad blow," she muttered, "but I do not think he is ill. There is no +fracture. When I nursed in the Alexander Hospital I learnt much about +head wounds. Do not give him cognac if you value his life." +</P> + +<P> +Heritage was talking now and with strange tongues. Phrases like "lined +Digesters" and "free sulphurous acid" came from his lips. He implored +some one to tell him if "the first cook" was finished, and he upbraided +some one else for "cooling off" too fast. +</P> + +<P> +The girl raised her head. "But I fear he has become mad," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Wheesht, Mem," said Dickson, who recognized the jargon. "He's a +papermaker." +</P> + +<P> +Saskia sat down on the litter and lifted his head so that it rested on +her breast. Dougal at her bidding brought a certain case from her +baggage, and with swift, capable hands she made a bandage and rubbed +the wound with ointment before tying it up. Then her fingers seemed to +play about his temples and along his cheeks and neck. She was the +professional nurse now, absorbed, sexless. Heritage ceased to babble, +his eyes shut and he was asleep. +</P> + +<P> +She remained where she was, so that the Poet, when a few minutes later +he woke, found himself lying with his head in her lap. She spoke first, +in an imperative tone: "You are well now. Your head does not ache. You +are strong again." +</P> + +<P> +"No. Yes," he murmured. Then more clearly: "Where am I? Oh, I +remember, I caught a lick on the head. What's become of the brutes?" +</P> + +<P> +Dickson, who had extracted food from the Mearns Street box and was +pressing it on the others, replied through a mouthful of Biscuit: +"We're in the old Tower. The three are lockit up in the House. Are you +feeling better, Mr. Heritage?" +</P> + +<P> +The Poet suddenly realized Saskia's position and the blood came to his +pale face. He got to his feet with an effort and held out a hand to +the girl. "I'm all right now, I think. Only a little dicky on my +legs. A thousand thanks, Princess. I've given you a lot of trouble." +</P> + +<P> +She smiled at him tenderly. "You say that when you have risked your +life for me." +</P> + +<P> +"There's no time to waste," the relentless Dougal broke in. "Comin' +over here, I heard a shot. What was it?" +</P> + +<P> +"It was me," said Dickson. "I was shootin' at the factor." +</P> + +<P> +"Did ye hit him?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think so, but I'm sorry to say not badly. When I last saw him he +was running too quick for a sore hurt man. When I fired I thought it +was the other man—the one they were expecting." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson marvelled at himself, yet his speech was not bravado, but the +honest expression of his mind. He was keyed up to a mood in which he +feared nothing very much, certainly not the laws of his country. If he +fell in with the Unknown, he was entirely resolved, if his Maker +permitted him, to do murder as being the simplest and justest solution. +And if in the pursuit of this laudable intention he happened to wing +lesser game it was no fault of his. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it's a pity ye didn't get him," said Dougal, "him being what we +ken him to be.... I'm for holding a council o' war, and considerin' the +whole position. So far we haven't done that badly. We've shifted our +base without serious casualties. We've got a far better position to +hold, for there's too many ways into yon Hoose, and here there's just +one. Besides, we've fickled the enemy. They'll take some time to find +out where we've gone. But, mind you, we can't count on their staying +long shut up. Dobson's no safe in the boiler-house, for there's a +skylight far up and he'll see it when the light comes and maybe before. +So we'd better get our plans ready. A word with ye, Mr. McCunn," and he +led Dickson aside. +</P> + +<P> +"D'ye ken what these blagyirds were up to?" he whispered fiercely in +Dickson's ear. "They were goin' to pushion the lassie. How do I ken, +says you? Because Thomas Yownie heard Dobson say to Lean at the +scullery door, 'Have ye got the dope?' he says, and Lean says, 'Aye.' +Thomas mindit the word for he had heard about it at the Picters." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson exclaimed in horror. +</P> + +<P> +"What d'ye make o' that? I'll tell ye. They wanted to make sure of +her, but they wouldn't have thought o' dope unless the men they +expectit were due to arrive at any moment. As I see it, we've to face +a siege not by the three but by a dozen or more, and it'll no' be long +till it starts. Now, isn't it a mercy we're safe in here?" +</P> + +<P> +Dickson returned to the others with a grave face. +</P> + +<P> +"Where d'you think the new folk are coming from?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +Heritage answered, "From Auchenlochan, I suppose? Or perhaps down from +the hills?" +</P> + +<P> +"You're wrong." And he told of Leon's mistaken confidences to him in +the darkness. "They are coming from the sea, just like the old +pirates." +</P> + +<P> +"The sea," Heritage repeated in a dazed voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, the sea. Think what that means. If they had been coming by the +roads, we could have kept track of them, even if they beat us, and some +of these laddies could have stuck to them and followed them up till +help came. It can't be such an easy job to carry a young lady against +her will along Scotch roads. But the sea's a different matter. If +they've got a fast boat they could be out of the Firth and away beyond +the law before we could wake up a single policeman. Ay, and even if +the Government took it up and warned all the ports and ships at sea, +what's to hinder them to find a hidy-hole about Ireland—or Norway? I +tell you, it's a far more desperate business than I thought, and it'll +no' do to wait on and trust that the Chief Constable will turn up afore +the mischief's done." +</P> + +<P> +"The moral," said Heritage, "is that there can be no surrender. We've +got to stick it out in this old place at all costs." +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Dickson emphatically. "The moral is that we must shift the +ladies. We've got the chance while Dobson and his friends are locked +up. Let's get them as far away as we can from the sea. They're far +safer tramping the moors, and it's no' likely the new folk will dare to +follow us." +</P> + +<P> +"But I cannot go." Saskia, who had been listening intently, shook her +head. "I promised to wait here till my friend came. If I leave I shall +never find him." +</P> + +<P> +"If you stay you certainly never will, for you'll be away with the +ruffians. Take a sensible view, Mem. You'll be no good to your friend +or your friend to you if before night you're rocking in a ship." +</P> + +<P> +The girl shook her head again, gently but decisively. "It was our +arrangement. I cannot break it. Besides, I am sure that he will come +in time, for he has never failed—-" +</P> + +<P> +There was a desperate finality about the quiet tones and the weary face +with the shadow of a smile on it. +</P> + +<P> +Then Heritage spoke. "I don't think your plan will quite do, Dogson. +Supposing we all break for the hinterland and the Danish brig finds the +birds flown, that won't end the trouble. They will get on the +Princess's trail, and the whole persecution will start again. I want to +see things brought to a head here and now. If we can stick it out here +long enough, we may trap the whole push and rid the world of a pretty +gang of miscreants. Let them show their hand, and then, if the police +are here by that time, we can jug the lot for piracy or something +worse." +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right," said Dougal, "but we'd put up a better fight if we +had the women off our mind. I've aye read that when a castle was going +to be besieged the first thing was to get rid of the civilians." +</P> + +<P> +"Sensible to the last, Dougal," said Dickson approvingly. "That's just +what I'm saying. I'm strong for a fight, but put the ladies in a safe +bit first, for they're our weak point." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think that if you were fighting my enemies I would consent to +be absent?" came Saskia's reproachful question. +</P> + +<P> +"'Deed no, Mem," said Dickson heartily. His martial spirit was with +Heritage, but his prudence did not sleep, and he suddenly saw a way of +placating both. "Just you listen to what I propose. What do we amount +to? Mr. Heritage, six laddies, and myself—and I'm no more used to +fighting than an old wife. We've seven desperate villains against us, +and afore night they may be seventy. We've a fine old castle here, but +for defence we want more than stone walls—we want a garrison. I tell +you we must get help somewhere. Ay, but how, says you? Well, coming +here I noticed a gentleman's house away up ayont the railway and close +to the hills. The laird's maybe not at home, but there will be men +there of some kind—gamekeepers and woodmen and such like. My plan is +to go there at once and ask for help. Now, it's useless me going alone, +for nobody would listen to me. They'd tell me to go back to the shop or +they'd think me demented. But with you, Mem, it would be a different +matter. They wouldn't disbelieve you. So I want you to come with me, +and to come at once, for God knows how soon our need will be sore. +We'll leave your cousin with Mrs. Morran in the village, for bed's the +place for her, and then you and me will be off on our business." +</P> + +<P> +The girl looked at Heritage, who nodded. "It's the only way," he said. +"Get every man jack you can raise, and if it's humanly possible get a +gun or two. I believe there's time enough, for I don't see the brig +arriving in broad daylight." +</P> + +<P> +"D'you not?" Dickson asked rudely. "Have you considered what day this +is? It's the Sabbath, the best of days for an ill deed. There's no +kirk hereaways, and everybody in the parish will be sitting indoors by +the fire." He looked at his watch. "In half an hour it'll be light. +Haste you, Mem, and get ready. Dougal, what's the weather?" +</P> + +<P> +The Chieftain swung open the door, and sniffed the air. The wind had +fallen for the time being, and the surge of the tides below the rocks +rose like the clamour of a mob. With the lull, mist and a thin drizzle +had cloaked the world again. +</P> + +<P> +To Dickson's surprise Dougal seemed to be in good spirits. He began to +sing to a hymn tune a strange ditty. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Class-conscious we are, and class-conscious wull be Till our fit's on +the neck o' the Boorjoyzee." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"What on earth are you singing?" Dickson inquired. +</P> + +<P> +Dougal grinned. "Wee Jaikie went to a Socialist Sunday School last +winter because he heard they were for fechtin' battles. Ay, and they +telled him he was to join a thing called an International, and Jaikie +thought it was a fitba' club. But when he fund out there was no magic +lantern or swaree at Christmas he gie'd it the chuck. They learned him +a heap o' queer songs. That's one." +</P> + +<P> +"What does the last word mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't ken. Jaikie thought it was some kind of a draigon." +</P> + +<P> +"It's a daft-like thing anyway.... When's high water?" +</P> + +<P> +Dougal answered that to the best of his knowledge it fell between four +and five in the afternoon. +</P> + +<P> +"Then that's when we may expect the foreign gentry if they think to +bring their boat in to the Garplefoot.... Dougal, lad, I trust you to +keep a most careful and prayerful watch. You had better get the +Die-Hards out of the Tower and all round the place afore Dobson and Co. +get loose, or you'll no' get a chance later. Don't lose your mobility, +as the sodgers say. Mr. Heritage can hold the fort, but you laddies +should be spread out like a screen." +</P> + +<P> +"That was my notion," said Dougal. "I'll detail two Die-Hards—Thomas +Yownie and Wee Jaikie—to keep in touch with ye and watch for you +comin' back. Thomas ye ken already; ye'll no fickle Thomas Yownie. +But don't be mistook about Wee Jaikie. He's terrible fond of greetin', +but it's no fright with him but excitement. It's just a habit he's +gotten. When ye see Jaikie begin to greet, you may be sure that +Jaikie's gettin' dangerous." +</P> + +<P> +The door shut behind them and Dickson found himself with his two +charges in a world dim with fog and rain and the still lingering +darkness. The air was raw, and had the sour smell which comes from +soaked earth and wet boughs when the leaves are not yet fledged. Both +the women were miserably equipped for such an expedition. Cousin +Eugenie trailed heavy furs, Saskia's only wrap was a bright-coloured +shawl about her shoulders, and both wore thin foreign shoes. Dickson +insisted on stripping off his trusty waterproof and forcing it on the +Princess, on whose slim body it hung very loose and very short. The +elder woman stumbled and whimpered and needed the constant support of +his arm, walking like a townswoman from the knees. But Saskia swung +from the hips like a free woman, and Dickson had much ado to keep up +with her. She seemed to delight in the bitter freshness of the dawn, +inhaling deep breaths of it, and humming fragments of a tune. +</P> + +<P> +Guided by Thomas Yownie they took the road which Dickson and Heritage +had travelled the first evening, through the shrubberies on the north +side of the House and the side avenue beyond which the ground fell to +the Laver glen. On their right the House rose like a dark cloud, but +Dickson had lost his terror of it. There were three angry men inside +it, he remembered: long let them stay there. He marvelled at his mood, +and also rejoiced, for his worst fear had always been that he might +prove a coward. Now he was puzzled to think how he could ever be +frightened again, for his one object was to succeed, and in that +absorption fear seemed to him merely a waste of time. "It all comes of +treating the thing as a business proposition," he told himself. +</P> + +<P> +But there was far more in his heart than this sober resolution. He was +intoxicated with the resurgence of youth and felt a rapture of audacity +which he never remembered in his decorous boyhood. "I haven't been +doing badly for an old man," he reflected with glee. What, oh what had +become of the pillar of commerce, the man who might have been a bailie +had he sought municipal honours, the elder in the Guthrie Memorial +Kirk, the instructor of literary young men? In the past three days he +had levanted with jewels which had once been an Emperor's and certainly +were not his; he had burglariously entered and made free of a strange +house; he had played hide-and-seek at the risk of his neck and had +wrestled in the dark with a foreign miscreant; he had shot at an +eminent solicitor with intent to kill; and he was now engaged in +tramping the world with a fairytale Princess. I blush to confess that +of each of his doings he was unashamedly proud, and thirsted for many +more in the same line. "Gosh, but I'm seeing life," was his +unregenerate conclusion. +</P> + +<P> +Without sight or sound of a human being, they descended to the Laver, +climbed again by the cart track, and passed the deserted West Lodge and +inn to the village. It was almost full dawn when the three stood in +Mrs. Morran's kitchen. +</P> + +<P> +"I've brought you two ladies, Auntie Phemie," said Dickson. +</P> + +<P> +They made an odd group in that cheerful place, where the new-lit fire +was crackling in the big grate—the wet undignified form of Dickson, +unshaven of cheek and chin and disreputable in garb; the shrouded +figure of Cousin Eugenie, who had sunk into the arm-chair and closed +her eyes; the slim girl, into whose face the weather had whipped a glow +like blossom; and the hostess, with her petticoats kilted and an +ancient mutch on her head. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Morran looked once at Saskia, and then did a thing which she had +not done since her girlhood. She curtseyed. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm proud to see ye here, Mem. Off wi' your things, and I'll get ye +dry claes, Losh, ye're fair soppin' And your shoon! Ye maun change +your feet.... Dickson! Awa' up to the loft, and dinna you stir till I +give ye a cry. The leddies will change by the fire. And You, +Mem"—this to Cousin Eugenie—"the place for you's your bed. I'll +kinnle a fire ben the hoose in a jiffey. And syne ye'll have +breakfast—ye'll hae a cup o' tea wi' me now, for the kettle's just on +the boil. Awa' wi' ye. Dickson," and she stamped her foot. +</P> + +<P> +Dickson departed, and in the loft washed his face, and smoked a pipe on +the edge of the bed, watching the mist eddying up the village street. +From below rose the sounds of hospitable bustle, and when after some +twenty minutes' vigil he descended, he found Saskia toasting stockinged +toes by the fire in the great arm-chair, and Mrs. Morran setting the +table. +</P> + +<P> +"Auntie Phemie, hearken to me. We've taken on too big a job for two +men and six laddies, and help we've got to get, and that this very +morning. D'you mind the big white house away up near the hills ayont +the station and east of the Ayr road? It looked like a gentleman's +shooting lodge. I was thinking of trying there. Mercy!" +</P> + +<P> +The exclamation was wrung from him by his eyes settling on Saskia and +noting her apparel. Gone were her thin foreign clothes, and in their +place she wore a heavy tweed skirt cut very short, and thick homespun +stockings, which had been made for some one with larger feet than hers. +A pair of the coarse low-heeled shoes which country folk wear in the +farmyard stood warming by the hearth. She still had her russet jumper, +but round her neck hung a grey wool scarf, of the kind known as a +"Comforter." Amazingly pretty she looked in Dickson's eyes, but with a +different kind of prettiness. The sense of fragility had fled, and he +saw how nobly built she was for all her exquisiteness. She looked like +a queen, he thought, but a queen to go gipsying through the world with. +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, they're some o' Elspeth's things, rale guid furthy claes," said +Mrs. Morran complacently. "And the shoon are what she used to gang +about the byres wi' when she was in the Castlewham dairy. The leddy was +tellin' me she was for trampin' the hills, and thae things will keep +her dry and warm.... I ken the hoose ye mean. They ca' it the Mains of +Garple. And I ken the man that bides in it. He's yin Sir Erchibald +Roylance. English, but his mither was a Dalziel. I'm no weel acquaint +wi' his forbears, but I'm weel eneuch acquaint wi' Sir Erchie, and +'better a guid coo than a coo o' a guid kind,' as my mither used to +say. He used to be an awfu' wild callont, a freend o' puir Maister +Quentin, and up to ony deevilry. But they tell me he's a quieter lad +since the war, as sair lamed by fa'in oot o' an airyplane." +</P> + +<P> +"Will he be at the Mains just now?" Dickson asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I wadna wonder. He has a muckle place in England, but he aye used to +come here in the back-end for the shootin' and in April for birds. He's +clean daft about birds. He'll be out a' day at the craig watchin' +solans, or lyin' a' mornin' i' the moss lookin' at bog-blitters." +</P> + +<P> +"Will he help, think you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll wager he'll help. Onyway it's your best chance, and better a wee +bush than nae beild. Now, sit in to your breakfast." +</P> + +<P> +It was a merry meal. Mrs. Morran dispensed tea and gnomic wisdom. +Saskia ate heartily, speaking little, but once or twice laying her hand +softly on her hostess's gnarled fingers. Dickson was in such spirits +that he gobbled shamelessly, being both hungry and hurried, and he +spoke of the still unconquered enemy with ease and disrespect, so that +Mrs. Morran was moved to observe that there was "naething sae bauld as +a blind mear." But when in a sudden return of modesty he belittled his +usefulness and talked sombrely of his mature years he was told that he +"wad never be auld wi' sae muckle honesty." Indeed it was very clear +that Mrs. Morran approved of her nephew. They did not linger over +breakfast, for both were impatient to be on the road. Mrs. Morran +assisted Saskia to put on Elspeth's shoes. "'Even a young fit finds +comfort in an auld bauchle,' as my mother, honest woman, used to say." +Dickson's waterproof was restored to him, and for Saskia an old +raincoat belonging to the son in South Africa was discovered, which +fitted her better. "Siccan weather," said the hostess, as she opened +the door to let in a swirl of wind. "The deil's aye kind to his ain. +Haste ye back, Mem, and be sure I'll tak' guid care o' your leddy +cousin." +</P> + +<P> +The proper way to the Mains of Garple was either by the station and the +Ayr road, or by the Auchenlochan highway, branching off half a mile +beyond the Garple bridge. But Dickson, who had been studying the map +and fancied himself as a pathfinder, chose the direct route across the +Long Muir as being at once shorter and more sequestered. With the dawn +the wind had risen again, but it had shifted towards the north-west and +was many degrees colder. The mist was furling on the hills like sails, +the rain had ceased, and out at sea the eye covered a mile or two of +wild water. The moor was drenching wet, and the peat bogs were +brimming with inky pools, so that soon the travellers were soaked to +the knees. Dickson had no fear of pursuit, for he calculated that +Dobson and his friends, even if they had got out, would be busy looking +for the truants in the vicinity of the House and would presently be +engaged with the old Tower. But he realized, too, that speed on his +errand was vital, for at any moment the Unknown might arrive from the +sea. +</P> + +<P> +So he kept up a good pace, half-running, half-striding, till they had +passed the railway, and he found himself gasping with a stitch in his +side, and compelled to rest in the lee of what had once been a +sheepfold. Saskia amazed him. She moved over the rough heather like a +deer, and it was her hand that helped him across the deeper hags. +Before such youth and vigour he felt clumsy and old. She stood looking +down at him as he recovered his breath, cool, unruffled, alert as +Diana. His mind fled to Heritage, and it occurred to him suddenly that +the Poet had set his affections very high. Loyalty drove him to speak +for his friend. +</P> + +<P> +"I've got the easy job," he said. "Mr. Heritage will have the whole +pack on him in that old Tower, and him with such a sore clout on his +head. I've left him my pistol. He's a terrible brave man!" +</P> + +<P> +She smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, and he's a poet too." +</P> + +<P> +"So?" she said. "I did not know. He is very young." +</P> + +<P> +"He's a man of very high ideels." +</P> + +<P> +She puzzled at the word, and then smiled. "He is like many of our +young men in Russia, the students—his mind is in a ferment and he does +not know what he wants. But he is brave." +</P> + +<P> +This seemed to Dickson's loyal soul but a chilly tribute. +</P> + +<P> +"I think he is in love with me," she continued. +</P> + +<P> +He looked up startled, and saw in her face that which gave him a view +into a strange new world. He had thought that women blushed when they +talked of love, but he eyes were as grave and candid as a boy's. Here +was one who had gone through waters so deep that she had lost the +foibles of sex. Love to her was only a word of ill omen, a threat on +the lips of brutes, an extra battalion of peril in an army of +perplexities. He felt like some homely rustic who finds himself swept +unwittingly into the moonlight hunt of Artemis and her maidens. +</P> + +<P> +"He is a romantic," she said. "I have known so many like him." +</P> + +<P> +"He's no that," said Dickson shortly. "Why he used to be aye laughing +at me for being romantic. He's one that's looking for truth and +reality, he says, and he's terrible down on the kind of poetry I like +myself." +</P> + +<P> +She smiled. "They all talk so. But you, my friend Dickson" (she +pronounced the name in two staccato syllables ever so prettily), "you +are different. Tell me about yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm just what you see—a middle-aged retired grocer." +</P> + +<P> +"Grocer?" she queried. "Ah, yes, epicier. But you are a very +remarkable epicier. Mr. Heritage I understand, but you and those +little boys—no. I am sure of one thing—you are not a romantic. You +are too humorous and—and—I think you are like Ulysses, for it would +not be easy to defeat you." +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes were kind, nay affectionate, and Dickson experienced a +preposterous rapture in his soul, followed by a sinking, as he realized +how far the job was still from being completed. +</P> + +<P> +"We must be getting on, Mem," he said hastily, and the two plunged +again into the heather. +</P> + +<P> +The Ayr road was crossed, and the fir wood around the Mains became +visible, and presently the white gates of the entrance. A wind-blown +spire of smoke beyond the trees proclaimed that the house was not +untenanted. As they entered the drive the Scots firs were tossing in +the gale, which blew fiercely at this altitude, but, the dwelling +itself being more in the hollow, the daffodil clumps on the lawn were +but mildly fluttered. +</P> + +<P> +The door was opened by a one-armed butler who bore all the marks of the +old regular soldier. Dickson produced a card and asked to see his +master on urgent business. Sir Archibald was at home, he was told, and +had just finished breakfast. The two were led into a large bare +chamber which had all the chill and mustiness of a bachelor's +drawing-room. The butler returned, and said Sir Archibald would see +him. "I'd better go myself first and prepare the way, Mem," Dickson +whispered, and followed the man across the hall. +</P> + +<P> +He found himself ushered into a fair-sized room where a bright fire was +burning. On a table lay the remains of breakfast, and the odour of +food mingled pleasantly with the scent of peat. The horns and heads of +big game, foxes' masks, the model of a gigantic salmon, and several +bookcases adorned the walls, and books and maps were mixed with +decanters and cigar-boxes on the long sideboard. After the wild out of +doors the place seemed the very shrine of comfort. A young man sat in +an arm-chair by the fire with a leg on a stool; he was smoking a pipe, +and reading the Field, and on another stool at his elbow was a pile of +new novels. He was a pleasant brown-faced young man, with remarkably +smooth hair and a roving humorous eye. +</P> + +<P> +"Come in, Mr. McCunn. Very glad to see you. If, as I take it, you're +the grocer, you're a household name in these parts. I get all my +supplies from you, and I've just been makin' inroads on one of your +divine hams. Now, what can I do for you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm very proud to hear what you say, Sir Archibald. But I've not come +on business. I've come with the queerest story you ever heard in your +life and I've come to ask your help." +</P> + +<P> +"Go ahead. A good story is just what I want this vile mornin'." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not here alone. I've a lady with me." +</P> + +<P> +"God bless my soul! A lady!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, a princess. She's in the next room." +</P> + +<P> +The young man looked wildly at him and waved the book he had been +reading. +</P> + +<P> +"Excuse me, Mr. McCunn, but are you quite sober? I beg your pardon. I +see you are. But you know, it isn't done. Princesses don't as a rule +come here after breakfast to pass the time of day. It's more absurd +than this shocker I've been readin'." +</P> + +<P> +"All the same it's a fact. She'll tell you the story herself, and +you'll believe her quick enough. But to prepare your mind I'll just +give you a sketch of the events of the last few days." +</P> + +<P> +Before the sketch was concluded the young man had violently rung the +bell. "Sime," he shouted to the servant, "clear away this mess and lay +the table again. Order more breakfast, all the breakfast you can get. +Open the windows and get the tobacco smoke out of the air. Tidy up the +place for there's a lady comin'. Quick, you juggins!" +</P> + +<P> +He was on his feet now, and, with his arm in Dickson's, was heading for +the door. +</P> + +<P> +"My sainted aunt! And you topped off with pottin' at the factor. I've +seen a few things in my day, but I'm blessed if I ever met a bird like +you!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +GRAVITY OUT OF BED +</H3> + +<P> +It is probable that Sir Archibald Roylance did not altogether believe +Dickson's tale; it may be that he considered him an agreeable romancer, +or a little mad, or no more than a relief to the tedium of a wet Sunday +morning. But his incredulity did not survive one glance at Saskia as +she stood in that bleak drawing-room among Victorian water-colours and +faded chintzes. The young man's boyishness deserted him. He stopped +short in his tracks, and made a profound and awkward bow. "I am at +your service, Mademoiselle," he said, amazed at himself. The words +seemed to have come out of a confused memory of plays and novels. +</P> + +<P> +She inclined her head—a little on one side, and looked towards Dickson. +</P> + +<P> +"Sir Archibald's going to do his best for us," said that squire of +dames. "I was telling him that we had had our breakfast." +</P> + +<P> +"Let's get out of this sepulchre," said their host, who was recovering +himself. "There's a roasting fire in my den. Of course you'll have +something to eat—hot coffee, anyhow—I've trained my cook to make +coffee like a Frenchwoman. The housekeeper will take charge of you, if +you want to tidy up, and you must excuse our ramshackle ways, please. I +don't believe there's ever been a lady in this house before, you know." +</P> + +<P> +He led her to the smoking-room and ensconced her in the great chair by +the fire. Smilingly she refused a series of offers which ranged from a +sheepskin mantle which he had got in the Pamirs and which he thought +might fit her, to hot whisky and water as a specific against a chill. +But she accepted a pair of slippers and deftly kicked off the brogues +provided by Mrs. Morran. Also, while Dickson started rapaciously on a +second breakfast, she allowed him to pour her out a cup of coffee. +</P> + +<P> +"You are a soldier?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Two years infantry—5th Battalion Lennox Highlanders, and then Flying +Corps. Top-hole time I had too till the day before the Armistice, when +my luck gave out and I took a nasty toss. Consequently I'm not as fast +on my legs now as I'd like to be." +</P> + +<P> +"You were a friend of Captain Kennedy?" +</P> + +<P> +"His oldest. We were at the same private school, and he was at +m'tutors, and we were never much separated till he went abroad to cram +for the Diplomatic and I started east to shoot things." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I will tell you what I told Captain Kennedy." Saskia, looking +into the heart of the peats, began the story of which we have already +heard a version, but she told it differently, for she was telling it to +one who more or less belonged to her own world. She mentioned names at +which the other nodded. She spoke of a certain Paul Abreskov. "I heard +of him at Bokhara in 1912," said Sir Archie, and his face grew solemn. +Sometimes she lapsed into French, and her hearer's brow wrinkled, but +he appeared to follow. When she had finished he drew a long breath. +</P> + +<P> +"My aunt! What a time you've been through! I've seen pluck in my day, +but yours! It's not thinkable. D'you mind if I ask a question, +Princess? Bolshevism we know all about, and I admit Trotsky and his +friends are a pretty effective push; but how on earth have they got a +world-wide graft going in the time so that they can stretch their net +to an out-of-the-way spot like this? It looks as if they had struck a +Napoleon somewhere." +</P> + +<P> +"You do not understand," she said. "I cannot make any one +understand—except a Russian. My country has been broken to pieces, +and there is no law in it; therefore it is a nursery of crime. So +would England be, or France, if you had suffered the same misfortunes. +My people are not wickeder than others, but for the moment they are +sick and have no strength. As for the government of the Bolsheviki it +matters little, for it will pass. Some parts of it may remain, but it +is a government of the sick and fevered, and cannot endure in health. +Lenin may be a good man—I do not think so, but I do not know—but if +he were an archangel he could not alter things. Russia is mortally +sick and therefore all evil is unchained, and the criminals have no one +to check them. There is crime everywhere in the world, and the +unfettered crime in Russia is so powerful that it stretches its hand to +crime throughout the globe and there is a great mobilizing everywhere +of wicked men. Once you boasted that law was international and that +the police in one land worked with the police of all others. To-day +that is true about criminals. After a war evil passions are loosed, +and, since Russia is broken, in her they can make their +headquarters.... It is not Bolshevism, the theory, you need fear, for +that is a weak and dying thing. It is crime, which to-day finds its +seat in my country, but is not only Russian. It has no fatherland. It +is as old as human nature and as wide as the earth." +</P> + +<P> +"I see," said Sir Archie. "Gad, here have I been vegetatin' and +thinkin' that all excitement had gone out of life with the war, and +sometimes even regrettin' that the beastly old thing was over, and all +the while the world fairly hummin' with interest. And Loudon too!" +</P> + +<P> +"I would like your candid opinion on yon factor, Sir Archibald," said +Dickson. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't say I ever liked him, and I've once or twice had a row with +him, for used to bring his pals to shoot over Dalquharter and he didn't +quite play the game by me. But I know dashed little about him, for +I've been a lot away. Bit hairy about the heels, of course. A great +figure at local race-meetin's, and used to toady old Carforth and the +huntin' crowd. He has a pretty big reputation as a sharp lawyer and +some of the thick-headed lairds swear by him, but Quentin never could +stick him. It's quite likely he's been gettin' into Queer Street, for +he was always speculatin' in horseflesh, and I fancy he plunged a bit +on the Turf. But I can't think how he got mixed up in this show." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm positive Dobson's his brother." +</P> + +<P> +"And put this business in his way. That would explain it all right.... +He must be runnin' for pretty big stakes, for that kind of lad don't +dabble in crime for six-and-eightpence.... Now for the layout. You've +got three men shut up in Dalquharter House, who by this time have +probably escaped. One of you—what's his name?—Heritage?—is in the +old Tower, and you think that they think the Princess is still there +and will sit round the place like terriers. Sometime to-day the Danish +brig wall arrive with reinforcements, and then there will be a hefty +fight. Well, the first thing to be done it to get rid of Loudon's +stymie with the authorities. Princess, I'm going to carry you off in +my car to the Chief Constable. The second thing is for you after that +to stay on here. It's a deadly place on a wet day, but it's safe +enough." +</P> + +<P> +Saskia shook her head and Dickson spoke for her. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll no' get her to stop here. I've done my best, but she's +determined to be back at Dalquharter. You see she's expecting a +friend, and besides, if here's going to be a battle she'd like to be in +it. Is that so, Mem?" +</P> + +<P> +Sir Archie looked helplessly around him, and the sight of the girl's +face convinced him that argument would be fruitless. "Anyhow she must +come with me to the Chief Constable. Lethington's a slow bird on the +wing, and I don't see myself convincin' him that he must get busy +unless I can produce the Princess. Even then it may be a tough job, +for it's Sunday, and in these parts people go to sleep till Monday +mornin'." +</P> + +<P> +"That's just what I'm trying to get at," said Dickson. "By all means +go to the Chief Constable, and tell him it's life or death. My lawyer +in Glasgow, Mr. Caw, will have been stirring him up yesterday, and you +two should complete the job... But what I'm feared is that he'll not be +in time. As you say, it's the Sabbath day, and the police are terrible +slow. Now any moment that brig may be here, and the trouble will +start. I'm wanting to save the Princess, but I'm wanting too to give +these blagyirds the roughest handling they ever got in their lives. +Therefore I say there's no time to lose. We're far ower few to put up a +fight, and we want every man you've got about this place to hold the +fort till the police come." +</P> + +<P> +Sir Archibald looked upon the earnest flushed face of Dickson with +admiration. "I'm blessed if you're not the most whole-hearted brigand +I've ever struck." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not. I'm just a business man." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you realize that you're levying a private war and breaking every +law of the land?" +</P> + +<P> +"Hoots!" said Dickson. "I don't care a docken about the law. I'm for +seeing this job through. What force can you produce?" +</P> + +<P> +"Only cripples, I'm afraid. There's Sime, my butler. He was a +Fusilier Jock and, as you saw, has lost an arm. Then McGuffog the +keeper is a good man, but he's still got a Turkish bullet in his thigh. +The chauffeur, Carfrae, was in the Yeomanry, and lost half a foot; and +there's myself, as lame as a duck. The herds on the home farm are no +good, for one's seventy and the other is in bed with jaundice. The +Mains can produce four men, but they're rather a job lot." +</P> + +<P> +"They'll do fine," said Dickson heartily. "All sodgers, and no doubt +all good shots. Have you plenty guns?" +</P> + +<P> +Sir Archie burst into uproarious laughter. "Mr. McCunn, you're a man +after my own heart. I'm under your orders. If I had a boy I'd put him +into the provision trade, for it's the place to see fightin'. Yes, +we've no end of guns. I advise shot-guns, for they've more stoppin' +power in a rush than a rifle, and I take it it's a rough-and-tumble +we're lookin' for." +</P> + +<P> +"Right," said Dickson. "I saw a bicycle in the hall. I want you to +lend it me, for I must be getting back. You'll take the Princess and +do the best you can with the Chief Constable." +</P> + +<P> +"And then?" +</P> + +<P> +"Then you'll load up your car with your folk, and come down the hill to +Dalquharter. There'll be a laddie, or maybe more than one, waiting for +you on this side the village to give you instructions. Take your orders +from them. If it's a red-haired ruffian called Dougal you'll be wise +to heed what he says, for he has a grand head for battles." +</P> + +<P> +Five minutes later Dickson was pursuing a quavering course like a snipe +down the avenue. He was a miserable performer on a bicycle. Not for +twenty years had he bestridden one, and he did not understand such new +devices as free-wheels and change of gears. The mounting had been the +worst part, and it had only been achieved by the help of a rockery. He +had begun by cutting into two flower-beds, and missing a birch tree by +inches. But he clung on desperately, well knowing that if he fell off +it would be hard to remount, and at length he gained the avenue. When +he passed the lodge gates he was riding fairly straight, and when he +turned off the Ayr highway to the side road that led to Dalquharter he +was more or less master of his machine. +</P> + +<P> +He crossed the Garple by an ancient hunch-backed bridge, observing even +in his absorption with the handle-bars that the stream was in roaring +spate. He wrestled up the further hill with aching calf-muscles, and +got to the top just before his strength gave out. Then as the road +turned seaward he had the slope with him, and enjoyed some respite. It +was no case for putting up his feet, for the gale was blowing hard on +his right cheek, but the downward grade enabled him to keep his course +with little exertion. His anxiety to get back to the scene of action +was for the moment appeased, since he knew he was making as good speed +as the weather allowed, so he had leisure for thought. +</P> + +<P> +But the mind of this preposterous being was not on the business before +him. He dallied with irrelevant things—with the problems of youth and +love. He was beginning to be very nervous about Heritage, not as the +solitary garrison of the old Tower, but as the lover of Saskia. That +everybody should be in love with her appeared to him only proper, for +he had never met her like, and assumed that it did not exist. The +desire of the moth for the star seemed to him a reasonable thing, since +hopeless loyalty and unrequited passion were the eternal stock-in-trade +of romance. He wished he were twenty-five himself to have the chance +of indulging in such sentimentality for such a lady. But Heritage was +not like him and would never be content with a romantic folly.... He +had been in love with her for two years—a long time. He spoke about +wanting to die for her, which was a flight beyond Dickson himself. "I +doubt it will be what they call a 'grand passion,'" he reflected with +reverence. But it was hopeless; he saw quite clearly that it was +hopeless. +</P> + +<P> +Why, he could not have explained, for Dickson's instincts were subtler +than his intelligence. He recognized that the two belonged to +different circles of being, which nowhere intersected. That mysterious +lady, whose eyes had looked through life to the other side, was no mate +for the Poet. His faithful soul was agitated, for he had developed for +Heritage a sincere affection. It would break his heart, poor man. +There was he holding the fort alone and cheering himself with +delightful fancies about one remoter than the moon. Dickson wanted +happy endings, and here there was no hope of such. He hated to admit +that life could be crooked, but the optimist in him was now fairly +dashed. +</P> + +<P> +Sir Archie might be the fortunate man, for of course he would soon be +in love with her, if he were not so already. Dickson like all his +class had a profound regard for the country gentry. The business Scot +does not usually revere wealth, though he may pursue it earnestly, nor +does he specially admire rank in the common sense. But for ancient +race he has respect in his bones, though it may happen that in public +he denies it, and the laird has for him a secular association with good +family.... Sir Archie might do. He was young, good-looking, obviously +gallant... But no! He was not quite right either. Just a trifle too +light in weight, too boyish and callow. The Princess must have youth, +but it should be mighty youth, the youth of a Napoleon or a Caesar. He +reflected that the Great Montrose, for whom he had a special +veneration, might have filled the bill. Or young Harry with his beaver +up? Or Claverhouse in the picture with the flush of temper on his +cheek? +</P> + +<P> +The meditations of the match-making Dickson came to an abrupt end. He +had been riding negligently, his head bent against the wind, and his +eyes vaguely fixed on the wet hill-gravel of the road. Of his +immediate environs he was pretty well unconscious. Suddenly he was +aware of figures on each side of him who advanced menacingly. Stung to +activity he attempted to increase his pace, which was already good, for +the road at this point descended steeply. Then, before he could +prevent it, a stick was thrust into his front wheel, and the next +second he was describing a curve through the air. His head took the +ground, he felt a spasm of blinding pain, and then a sense of horrible +suffocation before his wits left him. +</P> + +<P> +"Are ye sure it's the richt man, Ecky?" said a voice which he did not +hear. +</P> + +<P> +"Sure. It's the Glesca body Dobson telled us to look for yesterday. +It's a pund note atween us for this job. We'll tie him up in the wud +till we've time to attend to him." +</P> + +<P> +"Is he bad?" +</P> + +<P> +"It doesna maitter," said the one called Ecky. "He'll be deid onyway +long afore the morn." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Mrs. Morran all forenoon was in a state of un-Sabbatical disquiet. +After she had seen Saskia and Dickson start she finished her +housewifely duties, took Cousin Eugenie her breakfast, and made +preparation for the midday dinner. The invalid in the bed in the +parlour was not a repaying subject. Cousin Eugenie belonged to that +type of elderly women who, having been spoiled in youth, find the rest +of life fall far short of their expectations. Her voice had acquired a +perpetual wail, and the corners of what had once been a pretty mouth +drooped in an eternal peevishness. She found herself in a morass of +misery and shabby discomfort, but had her days continued in an even +tenor she would still have lamented. "A dingy body," was Mrs. Morran's +comment, but she laboured in kindness. Unhappily they had no common +language, and it was only by signs that the hostess could discover her +wants and show her goodwill. She fed her and bathed her face, saw to +the fire and left her to sleep. "I'm boilin' a hen to mak' broth for +your denner, Mem. Try and get a bit sleep now." The purport of the +advice was clear, and Cousin Eugenie turned obediently on her pillow. +</P> + +<P> +It was Mrs. Morran's custom of a Sunday to spend the morning in devout +meditation. Some years before she had given up tramping the five miles +to kirk, on the ground that having been a regular attendant for fifty +years she had got all the good out of it that was probable. Instead she +read slowly aloud to herself the sermon printed in a certain religious +weekly which reached her every Saturday, and concluded with a chapter +or two of the Bible. But to-day something had gone wrong with her +mind. She could not follow the thread of the Reverend Doctor +MacMichael's discourse. She could not fix her attention on the +wanderings and misdeeds of Israel as recorded in the Book of Exodus. +She must always be getting up to look at the pot on the fire, or to +open the back door and study the weather. For a little she fought +against her unrest, and then she gave up the attempt at concentration. +She took the big pot off the fire and allowed it to simmer, and +presently she fetched her boots and umbrella, and kilted her +petticoats. "I'll be none the waur o' a breath o' caller air," she +decided. +</P> + +<P> +The wind was blowing great guns but there was only the thinnest +sprinkle of rain. Sitting on the hen-house roof and munching a raw +turnip was a figure which she recognized as the smallest of the +Die-Hards. Between bites he was singing dolefully to the tune of +"Annie Laurie" one of the ditties of his quondam Sunday School: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "The Boorjoys' brays are bonnie,<BR> + Too-roo-ra-roo-raloo,<BR> + But the Workers of the World<BR> + Wull gar them a' look blue,<BR> + And droon them in the sea,<BR> + And—for bonnie Annie Laurie<BR> + I'll lay me down and dee."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Losh, laddie," she cried, "that's cauld food for the stomach. Come +indoors about midday and I'll gie ye a plate o' broth!" The Die-Hard +saluted and continued on the turnip. +</P> + +<P> +She took the Auchenlochan road across the Garple bridge, for that was +the best road to the Mains, and by it Dickson and the others might be +returning. Her equanimity at all seasons was like a Turk's, and she +would not have admitted that anything mortal had power to upset or +excite her: nevertheless it was a fast-beating heart that she now bore +beneath her Sunday jacket. Great events, she felt, were on the eve of +happening, and of them she was a part. Dickson's anxiety was hers, to +bring things to a business-like conclusion. The honour of Huntingtower +was at stake and of the old Kennedys. She was carrying out Mr. +Quentin's commands, the dead boy who used to clamour for her treacle +scones. And there was more than duty in it, for youth was not dead in +her old heart, and adventure had still power to quicken it. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Morran walked well, with the steady long paces of the Scots +countrywoman. She left the Auchenlochan road and took the side path +along the tableland to the Mains. But for the surge of the gale and +the far-borne boom of the furious sea there was little noise; not a +bird cried in the uneasy air. With the wind behind her Mrs. Morran +breasted the ascent till she had on her right the moorland running +south to the Lochan valley and on her left Garple chafing in its deep +forested gorges. Her eyes were quick and she noted with interest a +weasel creeping from a fern-clad cairn. A little way on she passed an +old ewe in difficulties and assisted it to rise. "But for me, my +wumman, ye'd hae been braxy ere nicht," she told it as it departed +bleating. Then she realized that she had come a certain distance. +"Losh, I maun be gettin' back or the hen will be spiled," she cried, +and was on the verge of turning. +</P> + +<P> +But something caught her eye a hundred yards farther on the road. It +was something which moved with the wind like a wounded bird, fluttering +from the roadside to a puddle and then back to the rushes. She advanced +to it, missed it, and caught it. +</P> + +<P> +It was an old dingy green felt hat, and she recognized it as Dickson's. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Morran's brain, after a second of confusion, worked fast and +clearly. She examined the road and saw that a little way on the gravel +had been violently agitated. She detected several prints of hobnailed +boots. There were prints, too, on a patch of peat on the south side +behind a tall bank of sods. "That's where they were hidin'," she +concluded. Then she explored on the other side in a thicket of hazels +and wild raspberries, and presently her perseverance was rewarded. The +scrub was all crushed and pressed as if several persons had been +forcing a passage. In a hollow was a gleam of something white. She +moved towards it with a quaking heart, and was relieved to find that it +was only a new and expensive bicycle with the front wheel badly buckled. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Morran delayed no longer. If she had walked well on her out +journey, she beat all records on the return. Sometimes she would run +till her breath failed; then she would slow down till anxiety once more +quickened her pace. To her joy, on the Dalquharter side of the Garple +bridge she observed the figure of a Die-Hard. Breathless, flushed, +with her bonnet awry and her umbrella held like a scimitar, she seized +on the boy. +</P> + +<P> +"Awfu' doin's! They've grippit Maister McCunn up the Mains road just +afore the second milestone and forenent the auld bucht. I fund his +hat, and a bicycle's lyin' broken in the wud. Haste ye, man, and get +the rest and awa' and seek him. It'll be the tinklers frae the Dean. +I'd gang misel' but my legs are ower auld. Ah, laddie, dinna stop to +speir questions. They'll hae him murdered or awa' to sea. And maybe +the leddy was wi' him and they've got them baith. Wae's me! Wae's me!" +</P> + +<P> +The Die-Hard, who was Wee Jaikie, did not delay. His eyes had filled +with tears at her news, which we know to have been his habit. When Mrs. +Morran, after indulging in a moment of barbaric keening, looked back +the road she had come, she saw a small figure trotting up the hill like +a terrier who has been left behind. As he trotted he wept bitterly. +Jaikie was getting dangerous. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +HOW MR. McCUNN COMMITTED AN ASSAULT UPON AN ALLY +</H3> + +<P> +Dickson always maintained that his senses did not leave him for more +than a second or two, but he admitted that he did not remember very +clearly the events of the next few hours. He was conscious of a bad +pain above his eyes, and something wet trickling down his cheek. There +was a perpetual sound of water in his ears and of men's voices. He +found himself dropped roughly on the ground and forced to walk, and was +aware that his legs were inclined to wobble. Somebody had a grip on +each arm, so that he could not defend his face from the brambles, and +that worried him, for his whole head seemed one aching bruise and he +dreaded anything touching it. But all the time he did not open his +mouth, for silence was the one duty that his muddled wits enforced. He +felt that he was not the master of his mind, and he dreaded what he +might disclose if he began to babble. +</P> + +<P> +Presently there came a blank space of which he had no recollection at +all. The movement had stopped, and he was allowed to sprawl on the +ground. He thought that his head had got another whack from a bough, +and that the pain put him into a stupor. When he awoke he was alone. +</P> + +<P> +He discovered that he was strapped very tightly to a young Scotch fir. +His arms were bent behind him and his wrists tied together with cords +knotted at the back of the tree; his legs were shackled, and further +cords fastened them to the bole. Also there was a halter round the +trunk and just under his chin, so that while he breathed freely enough, +he could not move his head. Before him was a tangle of bracken and +scrub, and beyond that the gloom of dense pines; but as he could see +only directly in front his prospect was strictly circumscribed. +</P> + +<P> +Very slowly he began to take his bearings. The pain in his head was +now dulled and quite bearable, and the flow of blood had stopped, for +he felt the encrustation of it beginning on his cheeks. There was a +tremendous noise all around him, and he traced this to the swaying of +tree-tops in the gale. But there was an undercurrent of deeper +sound—water surely, water churning among rocks. It was a stream—the +Garple of course—and then he remembered where he was and what had +happened. +</P> + +<P> +I do not wish to portray Dickson as a hero, for nothing would annoy him +more; but I am bound to say that his first clear thought was not of his +own danger. It was intense exasperation at the miscarriage of his +plans. Long ago he should have been with Dougal arranging operations, +giving him news of Sir Archie, finding out how Heritage was faring, +deciding how to use the coming reinforcements. Instead he was trussed +up in a wood, a prisoner of the enemy, and utterly useless to his side. +He tugged at his bonds, and nearly throttled himself. But they were of +good tarry cord and did not give a fraction of an inch. Tears of +bitter rage filled his eyes and made furrows on his encrusted cheek. +Idiot that he had been, he had wrecked everything! What would Saskia +and Dougal and Sir Archie do without a business man by their side? +There would be a muddle, and the little party would walk into a trap. +He saw it all very clearly. The men from the sea would overpower them, +there would be murder done, and an easy capture of the Princess; and +the police would turn up at long last to find an empty headland. +</P> + +<P> +He had also most comprehensively wrecked himself, and at the thought +genuine panic seized him. There was no earthly chance of escape, for +he was tucked away in this infernal jungle till such time as his +enemies had time to deal with him. As to what that dealing would be +like he had no doubts, for they knew that he had been their chief +opponent. Those desperate ruffians would not scruple to put an end to +him. His mind dwelt with horrible fascination upon throat-cutting, no +doubt because of the presence of the cord below his chin. He had heard +it was not a painful death; at any rate he remembered a clerk he had +once had, a feeble, timid creature, who had twice attempted suicide +that way. Surely it could not be very bad, and it would soon be over. +</P> + +<P> +But another thought came to him. They would carry him off in the ship +and settle with him at their leisure. No swift merciful death for him. +He had read dreadful tales of the Bolsheviks' skill in torture, and now +they all came back to him—stories of Chinese mercenaries, and men +buried alive, and death by agonizing inches. He felt suddenly very +cold and sick, and hung in his bonds, for he had no strength in his +limbs. Then the pressure on this throat braced him, and also quickened +his numb mind. The liveliest terror ran like quicksilver through his +veins. +</P> + +<P> +He endured some moments of this anguish, till after many despairing +clutches at his wits he managed to attain a measure of self-control. He +certainly wasn't going to allow himself to become mad. Death was death +whatever form it took, and he had to face death as many better men had +done before him. He had often thought about it and wondered how he +should behave if the thing came to him. Respectably, he had hoped; +heroically, he had sworn in his moments of confidence. But he had +never for an instant dreamed of this cold, lonely, dreadful business. +Last Sunday, he remembered, he had basking in the afternoon sun in his +little garden and reading about the end of Fergus MacIvor in WAVERLEY +and thrilling to the romance of it; and Tibby had come out and summoned +him in to tea. Then he had rather wanted to be a Jacobite in the '45 +and in peril of his neck, and now Providence had taken him most +terribly at his word. +</P> + +<P> +A week ago—-! He groaned at the remembrance of that sunny garden. In +seven days he had found a new world and tried a new life, and had come +now to the end of it. He did not want to die, less now than ever with +such wide horizons opening before him. But that was the worst of it, he +reflected, for to have a great life great hazards must be taken, and +there was always the risk of this sudden extinguisher.... Had he to +choose again, far better the smooth sheltered bypath than this accursed +romantic highway on to which he had blundered.... No, by Heaven, no! +Confound it, if he had to choose he would do it all again. Something +stiff and indomitable in his soul was bracing him to a manlier humour. +There was no one to see the figure strapped to the fir, but had there +been a witness he would have noted that at this stage Dickson shut his +teeth and that his troubled eyes looked very steadily before him. +</P> + +<P> +His business, he felt, was to keep from thinking, for if he thought at +all there would be a flow of memories—of his wife, his home, his +books, his friends—to unman him. So he steeled himself to blankness, +like a sleepless man imagining white sheep in a gate.... He noted a +robin below the hazels, strutting impudently. And there was a tit on a +bracken frond, which made the thing sway like one of the see-saws he +used to play with as a boy. There was no wind in that undergrowth, and +any movement must be due to bird or beast. The tit flew off, and the +oscillations of the bracken slowly died away. Then they began again, +but more violently, and Dickson could not see the bird that caused +them. It must be something down at the roots of the covert, a rabbit, +perhaps, or a fox, or a weasel. +</P> + +<P> +He watched for the first sign of the beast, and thought he caught a +glimpse of tawny fur. Yes, there it was—pale dirty yellow, a weasel +clearly. Then suddenly the patch grow larger, and to his amazement he +looked at a human face—the face of a pallid small boy. +</P> + +<P> +A head disentangled itself, followed by thin shoulders, and then by a +pair of very dirty bare legs. The figure raised itself and looked +sharply round to make certain that the coast was clear. Then it stood +up and saluted, revealing the well-known lineaments of Wee Jaikie. +</P> + +<P> +At the sight Dickson knew that he was safe by that certainty of +instinct which is independent of proof, like the man who prays for a +sign and has his prayer answered. He observed that the boy was quietly +sobbing. Jaikie surveyed the position for an instant with red-rimmed +eyes and then unclasped a knife, feeling the edge of the blade on his +thumb. He darted behind the fir, and a second later Dickson's wrists +were free. Then he sawed at the legs, and cut the shackles which tied +them together, and then—most circumspectly—assaulted the cord which +bound Dickson's neck to the trunk. There now remained only the two +bonds which fastened the legs and the body to the tree. +</P> + +<P> +There was a sound in the wood different from the wind and stream. +Jaikie listened like a startled hind. +</P> + +<P> +"They're comin' back," he gasped. "Just you bide where ye are and let +on ye're still tied up." +</P> + +<P> +He disappeared in the scrub as inconspicuously as a rat, while two of +the tinklers came up the slope from the waterside. Dickson in a fever +of impatience cursed Wee Jaikie for not cutting his remaining bonds so +that he could at least have made a dash for freedom. And then he +realized that the boy had been right. Feeble and cramped as he was, he +would have stood no chance in a race. +</P> + +<P> +One of the tinklers was the man called Ecky. He had been running hard, +and was mopping his brow. +</P> + +<P> +"Hob's seen the brig," he said. "It's droppin' anchor ayont the +Dookits whaur there's a bield frae the wund and deep water. They'll be +landit in half an 'oor. Awa' you up to the Hoose and tell Dobson, and +me and Sim and Hob will meet the boats at the Garplefit." +</P> + +<P> +The other cast a glance towards Dickson. +</P> + +<P> +"What about him?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +The two scrutinized their prisoner from a distance of a few paces. +Dickson, well aware of his peril, held himself as stiff as if every +bond had been in place. The thought flashed on him that if he were too +immobile they might think he was dying or dead, and come close to +examine him. If they only kept their distance, the dusk of the wood +would prevent them detecting Jaikie's handiwork. +</P> + +<P> +"What'll you take to let me go?" he asked plaintively. +</P> + +<P> +"Naething that you could offer, my mannie," said Ecky. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll give you a five-pound note apiece." +</P> + +<P> +"Produce the siller," said the other. +</P> + +<P> +"It's in my pocket." +</P> + +<P> +"It's no' that. We riped your pooches lang syne." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll take you to Glasgow with me and pay you there. Honour bright." +</P> + +<P> +Ecky spat. "D'ye think we're gowks? Man, there's no siller ye could +pay wad mak' it worth our while to lowse ye. Bide quiet there and +ye'll see some queer things ere nicht. C'way, Davie." +</P> + +<P> +The two set off at a good pace down the stream, while Dickson's pulsing +heart returned to its normal rhythm. As the sound of their feet died +away Wee Jaikie crawled out from cover, dry-eyed now and very +business-like. He slit the last thongs, and Dickson fell limply on his +face. +</P> + +<P> +"Losh, laddie, I'm awful stiff," he groaned. "Now, listen. Away all +your pith to Dougal, and tell him that the brig's in and the men will +be landing inside the hour. Tell him I'm coming as fast as my legs +will let me. The Princess will likely be there already and Sir +Archibald and his men, but if they're no', tell Dougal they're coming. +Haste you, Jaikie. And see here, I'll never forget what you've done +for me the day. You're a fine wee laddie!" +</P> + +<P> +The obedient Die-Hard disappeared, and Dickson painfully and +laboriously set himself to climb the slope. He decided that his +quickest and safest route lay by the highroad, and he had also some +hopes of recovering his bicycle. On examining his body he seemed to +have sustained no very great damage, except a painful cramping of legs +and arms and a certain dizziness in the head. His pockets had been +thoroughly rifled, and he reflected with amusement that he, the +well-to-do Mr. McCunn, did not possess at the moment a single copper. +</P> + +<P> +But his spirits were soaring, for somehow his escape had given him an +assurance of ultimate success. Providence had directly interfered on +his behalf by the hand of Wee Jaikie, and that surely meant that it +would see him through. But his chief emotion was an ardour of +impatience to get to the scene of action. He must be at Dalquharter +before the men from the sea; he must find Dougal and discover his +dispositions. Heritage would be on guard in the Tower, and in a very +little the enemy would be round it. It would be just like the Princess +to try and enter there, but at all costs that must be hindered. She +and Sir Archie must not be cornered in stone walls, but must keep their +communications open and fall on the enemy's flank. Oh, if the police +would only come it time, what a rounding up of miscreants that day +would see! +</P> + +<P> +As the trees thinned on the brow of the slope and he saw the sky, he +realized that the afternoon was far advanced. It must be well on for +five o'clock. The wind still blew furiously, and the oaks on the +fringes of the wood were whipped like saplings. Ruefully he admitted +that the gale would not defeat the enemy. If the brig found a +sheltered anchorage on the south side of the headland beyond the +Garple, it would be easy enough for boats to make the Garple mouth, +though it might be a difficult job to get out again. The thought +quickened his steps, and he came out of cover on to the public road +without a prior reconnaissance. Just in front of him stood a +motor-bicycle. Something had gone wrong with it for its owner was +tinkering at it, on the side farthest from Dickson. A wild hope seized +him that this might be the vanguard of the police, and he went boldly +towards it. The owner, who was kneeling, raised his face at the sound +of footsteps and Dickson looked into his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +He recognized them only too well. They belonged to the man he had seen +in the inn at Kirkmichael, the man whom Heritage had decided to be an +Australian, but whom they now know to be their arch-enemy—the man +called Paul who had persecuted the Princess for years and whom alone of +all beings on earth she feared. He had been expected before, but had +arrived now in the nick of time while the brig was casting anchor. +Saskia had said that he had a devil's brain, and Dickson, as he stared +at him, saw a fiendish cleverness in his straight brows and a +remorseless cruelty in his stiff jaw and his pale eyes. +</P> + +<P> +He achieved the bravest act of his life. Shaky and dizzy as he was, +with freedom newly opened to him and the mental torments of his +captivity still an awful recollection, he did not hesitate. He saw +before him the villain of the drama, the one man that stood between the +Princess and peace of mind. He regarded no consequences, gave no heed +to his own fate, and thought only how to put his enemy out of action. +There was a by spanner lying on the ground. He seized it and with all +his strength smote at the man's face. +</P> + +<P> +The motor-cyclist, kneeling and working hard at his machine, had raised +his head at Dickson's approach and beheld a wild apparition—a short +man in ragged tweeds, with a bloody brow and long smears of blood on +his cheeks. The next second he observed the threat of attack, and +ducked his head so that the spanner only grazed his scalp. The +motor-bicycle toppled over, its owner sprang to his feet, and found the +short man, very pale and gasping, about to renew the assault. In such a +crisis there was no time for inquiry, and the cyclist was well trained +in self-defence. He leaped the prostrate bicycle, and before his +assailant could get in a blow brought his left fist into violent +contact with his chin. Dickson tottered a step or two and then +subsided among the bracken. +</P> + +<P> +He did not lose his senses, but he had no more strength in him. He felt +horribly ill, and struggled in vain to get up. The cyclist, a gigantic +figure, towered above him. "Who the devil are you?" he was asking. +"What do you mean by it?" +</P> + +<P> +Dickson had no breath for words, and knew that if he tried to speak he +would be very sick. He could only stare up like a dog at the angry +eyes. Angry beyond question they were, but surely not malevolent. +Indeed, as they looked at the shameful figure on the ground, amusement +filled them. The face relaxed into a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Who on earth are you?" the voice repeated. And then into it came +recognition. "I've seen you before. I believe you're the little man I +saw last week at the Black Bull. Be so good as to explain why you want +to murder me." +</P> + +<P> +Explanation was beyond Dickson, but his conviction was being woefully +shaken. Saskia had said her enemy was a beautiful as a devil—he +remembered the phrase, for he had thought it ridiculous. This man was +magnificent, but there was nothing devilish in his lean grave face. +</P> + +<P> +"What's your name?" the voice was asking. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me yours first," Dickson essayed to stutter between spasms of +nausea. +</P> + +<P> +"My name is Alexander Nicholson," was the answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you're no' the man." It was a cry of wrath and despair. +</P> + +<P> +"You're a very desperate little chap. For whom had I the honour to be +mistaken?" +</P> + +<P> +Dickson had now wriggled into a sitting position and had clasped his +hands above his aching head. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you were a Russian, name of Paul," he groaned. +</P> + +<P> +"Paul! Paul who?" +</P> + +<P> +"Just Paul. A Bolshevik and an awful bad lot." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson could not see the change which his words wrought in the other's +face. He found himself picked up in strong arms and carried to a +bog-pool where his battered face was carefully washed, his throbbing +brows laved, and a wet handkerchief bound over them. Then he was given +brandy in the socket of a flask, which eased his nausea. The cyclist +ran his bicycle to the roadside, and found a seat for Dickson behind +the turf-dyke of the old bucht. +</P> + +<P> +"Now you are going to tell me everything," he said. "If the Paul who +is your enemy is the Paul I think him, then we are allies." +</P> + +<P> +But Dickson did not need this assurance. His mind had suddenly +received a revelation. The Princess had expected an enemy, but also a +friend. Might not this be the long-awaited friend, for whose sake she +was rooted to Huntingtower with all its terrors? +</P> + +<P> +"Are you sure your name's no' Alexis?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"In my own country I was called Alexis Nicolaevitch, for I am a +Russian. But for some years I have made my home with your folk, and I +call myself Alexander Nicholson, which is the English form. Who told +you about Alexis? +</P> + +<P> +"Give me your hand," said Dickson shamefacedly. "Man, she's been +looking for you for weeks. You're terribly behind the fair." +</P> + +<P> +"She!" he cried. "For God's sake, tell me what you mean." +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, she—the Princess. But what are we havering here for? I tell you +at this moment she's somewhere down about the old Tower, and there's +boatloads of blagyirds landing from the sea. Help me up, man, for I +must be off. The story will keep. Losh, it's very near the darkening. +If you're Alexis, you're just about in time for a battle." +</P> + +<P> +But Dickson on his feet was but a frail creature. He was still +deplorably giddy, and his legs showed an unpleasing tendency to +crumple. "I'm fair done," he moaned. "You see, I've been tied up all +day to a tree and had two sore bashes on my head. Get you on that +bicycle and hurry on, and I'll hirple after you the best I can. I'll +direct you the road, and if you're lucky you'll find a Die-Hard about +the village. Away with you, man, and never mind me." +</P> + +<P> +"We go together," said the other quietly. "You can sit behind me and +hang on to my waist. Before you turned up I had pretty well got the +thing in order." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson in a fever of impatience sat by while the Russian put the +finishing touches to the machine, and as well as his anxiety allowed +put him in possession of the main facts of the story. He told of how he +and Heritage had come to Dalquharter, of the first meeting with Saskia, +of the trip to Glasgow with the jewels, of the exposure of Loudon the +factor, of last night's doings in the House, and of the journey that +morning to the Mains of Garple. He sketched the figures on the +scene—Heritage and Sir Archie, Dobson and his gang, the Gorbals +Die-Hards. He told of the enemy's plans so far as he knew them. +</P> + +<P> +"Looked at from a business point of view," he said, "the situation's +like this. There's Heritage in the Tower, with Dobson, Leon, and +Spidel sitting round him. Somewhere about the place there's the +Princess and Sir Archibald and three men with guns from the Mains. +Dougal and his five laddies are running loose in the policies. And +there's four tinklers and God knows how many foreign ruffians pushing +up from the Garplefoot, and a brig lying waiting to carry off the +ladies. Likewise there's the police, somewhere on the road, though the +dear kens when they'll turn up. It's awful the incompetence of our +Government, and the rates and taxes that high!... And there's you and +me by this roadside, and me no more use than a tattie-bogle.... That's +the situation, and the question is what's our plan to be? We must keep +the blagyirds in play till the police come, and at the same time we +must keep the Princess out of danger. That's why I'm wanting back, for +they've sore need of a business head. Yon Sir Archibald's a fine +fellow, but I doubt he'll be a bit rash, and the Princess is no' to +hold or bind. Our first job is to find Dougal and get a grip of the +facts." +</P> + +<P> +"I am going to the Princess," said the Russian. +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, that'll be best. You'll be maybe able to manage her, for you'll +be well acquaint." +</P> + +<P> +"She is my kinswoman. She is also my affianced wife." +</P> + +<P> +"Keep us!" Dickson exclaimed, with a doleful thought of Heritage. "What +ailed you then no' to look after her better?" +</P> + +<P> +"We have been long separated, because it was her will. She had work to +do and disappeared from me, though I searched all Europe for her. Then +she sent me word, when the danger became extreme, and summoned me to +her aid. But she gave me poor directions, for she did not know her own +plans very clearly. She spoke of a place called Darkwater, and I have +been hunting half Scotland for it. It was only last night that I heard +of Dalquharter and guessed that that might be the name. But I was far +down in Galloway, and have ridden fifty miles today." +</P> + +<P> +"It's a queer thing, but I wouldn't take you for a Russian." +</P> + +<P> +Alexis finished his work and put away his tools. +</P> + +<P> +"For the present," he said, "I am an Englishman, till my country comes +again to her senses. Ten years ago I left Russia, for I was sick of +the foolishness of my class and wanted a free life in a new world. I +went to Australia and made good as an engineer. I am a partner in a +firm which is pretty well known even in Britain. When war broke out I +returned to fight for my people, and when Russia fell out of the war, I +joined the Australians in France and fought with them till the +Armistice. And now I have only one duty left, to save the Princess and +take her with me to my new home till Russia is a nation once more." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson whistled joyfully. "So Mr. Heritage was right. He aye said +you were an Australian.... And you're a business man! That's grand +hearing and puts my mind at rest. You must take charge of the party at +the House, for Sir Archibald's a daft young lad and Mr. Heritage is a +poet. I thought I would have to go myself, but I doubt I would just be +a hindrance with my dwaibly legs. I'd be better outside, watching for +the police.... Are you ready, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +Dickson not without difficulty perched himself astride the luggage +carrier, firmly grasping the rider round the middle. The machine +started, but it was evidently in a bad way, for it made poor going till +the descent towards the main Auchenlochan road. On the slope it warmed +up and they crossed the Garple bridge at a fair pace. There was to be +no pleasant April twilight, for the stormy sky had already made dusk, +and in a very little the dark would fall. So sombre was the evening +that Dickson did not notice a figure in the shadow of the roadside +pines till it whistled shrilly on its fingers. He cried on Alexis to +stop, and, this being accomplished with some suddenness, fell off at +Dougal's feet. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the news?" he demanded. +</P> + +<P> +Dougal glanced at Alexis and seemed to approve his looks. +</P> + +<P> +"Napoleon has just reported that three boatloads, making either +twenty-three or twenty-four men—they were gey ill to count—has landed +at Garplefit and is makin' their way to the auld Tower. The tinklers +warned Dobson and soon it'll be a' bye wi' Heritage." +</P> + +<P> +"The Princess is not there?" was Dickson's anxious inquiry. +</P> + +<P> +"Na, na. Heritage is there his lone. They were for joinin' him, but I +wouldn't let them. She came wi' a man they call Sir Erchibald and +three gamekeepers wi' guns. I stoppit their cawr up the road and +tell't them the lie o' the land. Yon Sir Erchibald has poor notions o' +strawtegy. He was for bangin' into the auld Tower straight away and +shootin' Dobson if he tried to stop them. 'Havers,' say I, 'let them +break their teeth on the Tower, thinkin' the leddy's inside, and +that'll give us time, for Heritage is no' the lad to surrender in a +hurry.'" +</P> + +<P> +"Where are they now?" +</P> + +<P> +"In the Hoose o' Dalquharter, and a sore job I had gettin' them in. +We've shifted our base again, without the enemy suspectin'." +</P> + +<P> +"Any word of the police?" +</P> + +<P> +"The polis!" and Dougal spat cynically. "It seems they're a dour crop +to shift. Sir Erchibald was sayin' that him and the lassie had been to +the Chief Constable, but the man was terrible auld and slow. They +persuadit him, but he threepit that it would take a long time to +collect his men and that there was no danger o' the brig landin' before +night. He's wrong there onyway, for they're landit." +</P> + +<P> +"Dougal," said Dickson, "you've heard the Princess speak of a friend +she was expecting here called Alexis. This is him. You can address him +as Mr. Nicholson. Just arrived in the nick of time. You must get him +into the House, for he's the best right to be beside the lady... Jaikie +would tell you that I've been sore mishandled the day, and am no' very +fit for a battle. But Mr. Nicholson's a business man and he'll do as +well. You're keeping the Die-Hards outside, I hope?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ay. Thomas Yownie's in charge, and Jaikie will be in and out with +orders. They've instructions to watch for the polis, and keep an eye on +the Garplefit. It's a mortal long front to hold, but there's no other +way. I must be in the hoose mysel'. Thomas Yownie's headquarters is +the auld wife's hen-hoose." +</P> + +<P> +At that moment in a pause of the gale came the far-borne echo of a shot. +</P> + +<P> +"Pistol," said Alexis. +</P> + +<P> +"Heritage," said Dougal. "Trade will be gettin' brisk with him. Start +your machine and I'll hang on ahint. We'll try the road by the West +Lodge." +</P> + +<P> +Presently the pair disappeared in the dusk, the noise of the engine was +swallowed up in the wild orchestra of the wind, and Dickson hobbled +towards the village in a state of excitement which made him oblivious +of his wounds. That lonely pistol shot was, he felt, the bell to ring +up the curtain on the last act of the play. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE COMING OF THE DANISH BRIG +</H3> + +<P> +Mr. John Heritage, solitary in the old Tower, found much to occupy his +mind. His giddiness was passing, though the dregs of a headache +remained, and his spirits rose with his responsibilities. At daybreak +he breakfasted out of the Mearns Street provision box, and made tea in +one of the Die-Hard's camp kettles. Next he gave some attention to his +toilet, necessary after the rough-and-tumble of the night. He made +shift to bathe in icy water from the Tower well, shaved, tidied up his +clothes and found a clean shirt from his pack. He carefully brushed his +hair, reminding himself that thus had the Spartans done before +Thermopylae. The neat and somewhat pallid young man that emerged from +these rites then ascended to the first floor to reconnoitre the +landscape from the narrow unglazed windows. +</P> + +<P> +If any one had told him a week ago that he would be in so strange a +world he would have quarrelled violently with his informant. A week ago +he was a cynical clear-sighted modern, a contemner of illusions, a +swallower of formulas, a breaker of shams—one who had seen through the +heroical and found it silly. Romance and such-like toys were +playthings for fatted middle-age, not for strenuous and cold-eyed +youth. But the truth was that now he was altogether spellbound by +these toys. To think that he was serving his lady was rapture-ecstasy, +that for her he was single-handed venturing all. He rejoiced to be +alone with his private fancies. His one fear was that the part he had +cast himself for might be needless, that the men from the sea would not +come, or that reinforcements would arrive before he should be called +upon. He hoped alone to make a stand against thousands. What the +upshot might be he did not trouble to inquire. Of course the Princess +would be saved, but first he must glut his appetite for the heroic. +</P> + +<P> +He made a diary of events that day, just as he used to do at the front. +At twenty minutes past eight he saw the first figure coming from the +House. It was Spidel, who limped round the Tower, tried the door, and +came to a halt below the window. Heritage stuck out his head and +wished him good morning, getting in reply an amazed stare. The man was +not disposed to talk, though Heritage made some interesting +observations on the weather, but departed quicker than he came, in the +direction of the West Lodge. +</P> + +<P> +Just before nine o'clock he returned with Dobson and Leon. They made a +very complete reconnaissance of the Tower, and for a moment Heritage +thought that they were about to try to force an entrance. They tugged +and hammered at the great oak door, which he had further strengthened +by erecting behind it a pile of the heaviest lumber he could find in +the place. It was imperative that they should not get in, and he got +Dickson's pistol ready with the firm intention of shooting them if +necessary. But they did nothing, except to hold a conference in the +hazel clump a hundred yards to the north, when Dobson seemed to be +laying down the law, and Leon spoke rapidly with a great fluttering of +hands. They were obviously puzzled by the sight of Heritage, whom they +believed to have left the neighbourhood. Then Dobson went off, leaving +Leon and Spidel on guard, one at the edge of the shrubberies between +the Tower and the House, the other on the side nearest the Laver glen. +These were their posts, but they did sentry-go around the building, and +passed so close to Heritage's window that he could have tossed a +cigarette on their heads. +</P> + +<P> +It occurred to him that he ought to get busy with camouflage. They must +be convinced that the Princess was in the place, for he wanted their +whole mind to be devoted to the siege. He rummaged among the ladies' +baggage, and extracted a skirt and a coloured scarf. The latter he +managed to flutter so that it could be seen at the window the next time +one of the watchers came within sight. He also fixed up the skirt so +that the fringe of it could be seen, and, when Leon appeared below, he +was in the shadow talking rapid French in a very fair imitation of the +tones of Cousin Eugenie. The ruse had its effect, for Leon promptly +went off to tell Spidel, and when Dobson appeared he too was given the +news. This seemed to settle their plans, for all three remained on +guard, Dobson nearest to the Tower, seated on an outcrop of rock with +his mackintosh collar turned up, and his eyes usually on the misty sea. +</P> + +<P> +By this time it was eleven o'clock, and the next three hours passed +slowly with Heritage. He fell to picturing the fortunes of his +friends. Dickson and the Princess should by this time be far inland, +out of danger and in the way of finding succour. He was confident that +they would return, but he trusted not too soon, for he hoped for a run +for his money as Horatius in the Gate. After that he was a little torn +in his mind. He wanted the Princess to come back and to be somewhere +near if there was a fight going, so that she might be a witness of his +devotion. But she must not herself run any risk, and he became anxious +when he remembered her terrible sangfroid. Dickson could no more +restrain her than a child could hold a greyhound.... But of course it +would never come to that. The police would turn up long before the +brig appeared—Dougal had thought that would not be till high tide, +between four and five—and the only danger would be to the pirates. The +three watchers would be put in the bag, and the men from the sea would +walk into a neat trap. This reflection seemed to take all the colour +out of Heritage's prospect. Peril and heroism were not to be his +lot—only boredom. +</P> + +<P> +A little after twelve two of the tinklers appeared with some news which +made Dobson laugh and pat them on the shoulder. He seemed to be giving +them directions, pointing seaward and southward. He nodded to the +Tower, where Heritage took the opportunity of again fluttering Saskia's +scarf athwart the window. The tinklers departed at a trot, and Dobson +lit his pipe as if well pleased. He had some trouble with it in the +wind, which had risen to an uncanny violence. Even the solid Tower +rocked with it, and the sea was a waste of spindrift and low scurrying +cloud. Heritage discovered a new anxiety—this time about the +possibility of the brig landing at all. He wanted a complete bag, and +it would be tragic if they got only the three seedy ruffians now +circumambulating his fortress. +</P> + +<P> +About one o'clock he was greatly cheered by the sight of Dougal. At the +moment Dobson was lunching off a hunk of bread and cheese directly +between the Tower and the House, just short of the crest of the ridge +on the other side of which lay the stables and the shrubberies; Leon +was on the north side opposite the Tower door, and Spidel was at the +south end near the edge of the Garple glen. Heritage, watching the +ridge behind Dobson and the upper windows of the House which appeared +over it, saw on the very crest something like a tuft of rusty bracken +which he had not noticed before. Presently the tuft moved, and a hand +shot up from it waving a rag of some sort. Dobson at the moment was +engaged with a bottle of porter, and Heritage could safely wave a hand +in reply. He could now make out clearly the red head of Dougal. +</P> + +<P> +The Chieftain, having located the three watchers, proceeded to give an +exhibition of his prowess for the benefit of the lonely inmate of the +Tower. Using as cover a drift of bracken, he wormed his way down till +he was not six yards from Dobson, and Heritage had the privilege of +seeing his grinning countenance a very little way above the innkeeper's +head. Then he crawled back and reached the neighbourhood of Leon, who +was sitting on a fallen Scotch fir. At that moment it occurred to the +Belgian to visit Dobson. Heritage's breath stopped, but Dougal was +ready, and froze into a motionless blur in the shadow of a hazel bush. +Then he crawled very fast into the hollow where Leon had been sitting, +seized something which looked like a bottle, and scrambled back to the +ridge. At the top he waved the object, whatever it was, but Heritage +could not reply, for Dobson happened to be looking towards the window. +That was the last he saw of the Chieftain, but presently he realized +what was the booty he had annexed. It must be Leon's life-preserver, +which the night before had broken Heritage's head. +</P> + +<P> +After that cheering episode boredom again set in. He collected some +food from the Mearns Street box, and indulged himself with a glass of +liqueur brandy. He was beginning to feel miserably cold, so he carried +up some broken wood and made a fire on the immense hearth in the upper +chamber. Anxiety was clouding his mind again, for it was now two +o'clock, and there was no sign of the reinforcements which Dickson and +the Princess had gone to find. The minutes passed, and soon it was +three o'clock, and from the window he saw only the top of the gaunt +shuttered House, now and then hidden by squalls of sleet, and Dobson +squatted like an Eskimo, and trees dancing like a witch-wood in the +gale. All the vigour of the morning seemed to have gone out of his +blood; he felt lonely and apprehensive and puzzled. He wished he had +Dickson beside him, for that little man's cheerful voice and complacent +triviality would be a comfort.... Also, he was abominably cold. He put +on his waterproof, and turned his attention to the fire. It needed +re-kindling, and he hunted in his pockets for paper, finding only the +slim volume lettered WHORLS. +</P> + +<P> +I set it down as the most significant commentary on his state of mind. +He regarded the book with intense disfavour, tore it in two, and used a +handful of its fine deckle-edged leaves to get the fire going. They +burned well, and presently the rest followed. Well for Dickson's peace +of soul that he was not a witness of such vandalism. +</P> + +<P> +A little warmer but in no way more cheerful, he resumed his watch near +the window. The day was getting darker, and promised an early dusk. +His watch told him that it was after four, and still nothing had +happened. Where on earth were Dickson and the Princess? Where in the +name of all that was holy were the police? Any minute now the brig +might arrive and land its men, and he would be left there as a +burnt-offering to their wrath. There must have been an infernal muddle +somewhere.... Anyhow the Princess was out of the trouble, but where the +Lord alone knew.... Perhaps the reinforcements were lying in wait for +the boats at the Garplefoot. That struck him as a likely explanation, +and comforted him. Very soon he might hear the sound of an engagement +to the south, and the next thing would be Dobson and his crew in +flight. He was determined to be in the show somehow and would be very +close on their heels. He felt a peculiar dislike to all three, but +especially to Leon. The Belgian's small baby features had for four +days set him clenching his fists when he thought of them. +</P> + +<P> +The next thing he saw was one of the tinklers running hard towards the +Tower. He cried something to Dobson, which woke the latter to +activity. The innkeeper shouted to Leon and Spidel, and the tinkler was +excitedly questioned. Dobson laughed and slapped his thigh. He gave +orders to the others, and himself joined the tinkler and hurried off in +the direction of the Garplefoot. Something was happening there, +something of ill omen, for the man's face and manner had been +triumphant. Were the boats landing? +</P> + +<P> +As Heritage puzzled over this event, another figure appeared on the +scene. It was a big man in knickerbockers and mackintosh, who came +round the end of the House from the direction of the South Lodge. At +first he thought it was the advance-guard from his own side, the help +which Dickson had gone to find, and he only restrained himself in time +from shouting a welcome. But surely their supports would not advance so +confidently in enemy country. The man strode over the slopes as if +looking for somebody; then he caught sight of Leon and waved to him to +come. Leon must have known him, for he hastened to obey. +</P> + +<P> +The two were about thirty yards from Heritage's window. Leon was +telling some story volubly, pointing now to the Tower and now towards +the sea. The big man nodded as if satisfied. Heritage noted that his +right arm was tied up, and that the mackintosh sleeve was empty, and +that brought him enlightenment. It was Loudon the factor, whom Dickson +had winged the night before. The two of them passed out of view in the +direction of Spidel. +</P> + +<P> +The sight awoke Heritage to the supreme unpleasantness of his position. +He was utterly alone on the headland, and his allies had vanished into +space, while the enemy plans, moving like clockwork, were approaching +their consummation. For a second he thought of leaving the Tower and +hiding somewhere in the cliffs. He dismissed the notion unwillingly, +for he remembered the task that had been set him. He was there to hold +the fort to the last—to gain time, though he could not for the life of +him see what use time was to be when all the strategy of his own side +seemed to have miscarried. Anyhow, the blackguards would be sold, for +they would not find the Princess. But he felt a horrid void in the pit +of his stomach, and a looseness about his knees. +</P> + +<P> +The moments passed more quickly as he wrestled with his fears. The next +he knew the empty space below his window was filling with figures. +There was a great crowd of them, rough fellows with seamen's coats, +still dripping as if they had had a wet landing. Dobson was with them, +but for the rest they were strange figures. +</P> + +<P> +Now that the expected had come at last Heritage's nerves grew calmer. +He made out that the newcomers were trying the door, and he waited to +hear it fall, for such a mob could soon force it. But instead a voice +called from beneath. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you please open to us?" it called. +</P> + +<P> +He stuck his head out and saw a little group with one man at the head +of it, a young man clad in oilskins whose face was dim in the murky +evening. The voice was that of a gentleman. +</P> + +<P> +"I have orders to open to no one," Heritage replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I fear we must force an entrance," said the voice. +</P> + +<P> +"You can go to the devil," said Heritage. +</P> + +<P> +That defiance was the screw which his nerves needed. His temper had +risen, he had forgotten all about the Princess, he did not even +remember his isolation. His job was to make a fight for it. He ran up +the staircase which led to the attics of the Tower, for he recollected +that there was a window there which looked over the space before the +door. The place was ruinous, the floor filled with holes, and a part +of the roof sagged down in a corner. The stones around the window were +loose and crumbling, and he managed to pull several out so that the +slit was enlarged. He found himself looking down on a crowd of men, +who had lifted the fallen tree on which Leon had perched, and were +about to use it as a battering ram. +</P> + +<P> +"The first fellow who comes within six yards of the door I shoot," he +shouted. +</P> + +<P> +There was a white wave below as every face was turned to him. He ducked +back his head in time as a bullet chipped the side of the window. +</P> + +<P> +But his position was a good one, for he had a hole in the broken wall +through which he could see, and could shoot with his hand at the edge +of the window while keeping his body in cover. The battering party +resumed their task, and as the tree swung nearer, he fired at the +foremost of them. He missed, but the shot for a moment suspended +operations. +</P> + +<P> +Again they came on, and again he fired. This time he damaged somebody, +for the trunk was dropped. +</P> + +<P> +A voice gave orders, a sharp authoritative voice. The battering squad +dissolved, and there was a general withdrawal out of the line of fire +from the window. Was it possible that he had intimidated them? He +could hear the sound of voices, and then a single figure came into +sight again, holding something in its hand. +</P> + +<P> +He did not fire for he recognized the futility of his efforts. The +baseball swing of the figure below could not be mistaken. There was a +roar beneath, and a flash of fire, as the bomb exploded on the door. +Then came a rush of men, and the Tower had fallen. Heritage clambered +through a hole in the roof and gained the topmost parapet. He had +still a pocketful of cartridges, and there in a coign of the old +battlements he would prove an ugly customer to the pursuit. Only one +at a time could reach that siege perilous.... They would not take long +to search the lower rooms, and then would be hot on the trail of the +man who had fooled them. He had not a scrap of fear left or even of +anger—only triumph at the thought of how properly those ruffians had +been sold. "Like schoolboys they who unaware"—instead of two women +they had found a man with a gun. And the Princess was miles off and +forever beyond their reach. When they had settled with him they would +no doubt burn the House down, but that would serve them little. From +his airy pinnacle he could see the whole sea-front of Huntingtower, a +blur in the dusk but for the ghostly eyes of its white-shuttered +windows. +</P> + +<P> +Something was coming from it, running lightly over the lawns, lost for +an instant in the trees, and then appearing clear on the crest of the +ridge where some hours earlier Dougal had lain. With horror he saw that +it was a girl. She stood with the wind plucking at her skirts and +hair, and she cried in a high, clear voice which pierced even the +confusion of the gale. What she cried he could not tell, for it was in +a strange tongue.... +</P> + +<P> +But it reached the besiegers. There was a sudden silence in the din +below him and then a confusion of shouting. The men seemed to be +pouring out of the gap which had been the doorway, and as he peered +over the parapet first one and then another entered his area of vision. +The girl on the ridge, as soon as she saw that she had attracted +attention, turned and ran back, and after her up the slopes went the +pursuit bunched like hounds on a good scent. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. John Heritage, swearing terribly, started to retrace his steps. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE SECOND BATTLE OF THE CRUIVES +</H3> + +<P> +The military historian must often make shift to write of battles with +slender data, but he can pad out his deficiencies by learned parallels. +If his were the talented pen describing this, the latest action fought +on British soil against a foreign foe, he would no doubt be crippled by +the absence of written orders and war diaries. But how eloquently he +would descant on the resemblance between Dougal and Gouraud—how the +plan of leaving the enemy to waste his strength upon a deserted +position was that which on the 15th of July 1918 the French general had +used with decisive effect in Champagne! But Dougal had never heard of +Gouraud, and I cannot claim that, like the Happy Warrior, he +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "through the heat of conflict kept the law<BR> + In calmness made, and saw what he foresaw."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +I have had the benefit of discussing the affair with him and his +colleagues, but I should offend against historic truth if I represented +the main action as anything but a scrimmage—a "soldiers' battle," the +historian would say, a Malplaquet, an Albuera. +</P> + +<P> +Just after half-past three that afternoon the Commander-in-Chief was +revealed in a very bad temper. He had intercepted Sir Archie's car, +and, since Leon was known to be fully occupied, had brought it in by +the West Lodge, and hidden it behind a clump of laurels. There he had +held a hoarse council of war. He had cast an appraising eye over Sime +the butler, Carfrae the chauffeur, and McGuffog the gamekeeper, and his +brows had lightened when he beheld Sir Archie with an armful of guns +and two big cartridge-magazines. But they had darkened again at the +first words of the leader of the reinforcements. +</P> + +<P> +"Now for the Tower," Sir Archie had observed cheerfully. "We should be +a match for the three watchers, my lad, and it's time that poor devil +What's-his-name was relieved." +</P> + +<P> +"A bonny-like plan that would be," said Dougal. "Man, ye would be +walkin' into the very trap they want. In an hour, or maybe two, the +rest will turn up from the sea and they'd have ye tight by the neck. +Na, na! It's time we're wantin', and the longer they think we're a' in +the auld Tower the better for us. What news o' the polis?" +</P> + +<P> +He listened to Sir Archie's report with a gloomy face. +</P> + +<P> +"Not afore the darkenin'? They'll be ower late—the polis are aye ower +late. It looks as if we had the job to do oursels. What's your notion?" +</P> + +<P> +"God knows," said the baronet, whose eyes were on Saskia. "What's +yours?" +</P> + +<P> +The deference conciliated Dougal. "There's just the one plan that's +worth a docken. There's five o' us here, and there's plenty weapons. +Besides there's five Die-Hards somewhere about, and though they've +never tried it afore they can be trusted to loose off a gun. My advice +is to hide at the Garplefoot and stop the boats landin'. We'd have the +tinklers on our flank, no doubt, but I'm not muckle feared o' them. It +wouldn't be easy for the boats to get in wi' this tearin' wind and us +firin' volleys from the shore." +</P> + +<P> +Sir Archie stared at him with admiration. "You're a hearty young +fire-eater. But, Great Scott! we can't go pottin' at strangers before +we find out their business. This is a law-abidin' country, and we're +not entitled to start shootin' except in self-defence. You can wash +that plan out, for it ain't feasible." +</P> + +<P> +Dougal spat cynically. "For all that it's the right strawtegy. Man, we +might sink the lot, and then turn and settle wi' Dobson, and all afore +the first polisman showed his neb. It would be a grand performance. +But I was feared ye wouldn't be for it.... Well, there's just the one +other thing to do. We must get inside the Hoose and put it in a state +of defence. Heritage has McCunn's pistol, and he'll keep them busy for +a bit. When they've finished wi' him and find the place is empty, +they'll try the Hoose and we'll give them a warm reception. That +should keep us goin' till the polis arrive, unless they're comin' wi' +the blind carrier." +</P> + +<P> +Sir Archie nodded. "But why put ourselves in their power at all? +They're at present barking up the wrong tree. Let them bark up another +wrong 'un. Why shouldn't the House remain empty? I take it we're here +to protect the Princess. Well, we'll have done that if they go off +empty-handed." +</P> + +<P> +Dougal looked up to the heavens. "I wish McCunn was here," he sighed. +"Ay, we've got to protect the Princess, and there's just the one way to +do it, and that's to put an end to this crowd o' blagyirds. If they +gang empty-handed, they'll come again another day, either here or +somewhere else, and it won't be long afore they get the lassie. But if +we finish with them now she can sit down wi' an easy mind. That's why +we've got to hang on to them till the polis comes. There's no way out +o' this business but a battle." +</P> + +<P> +He found an ally. "Dougal is right," said Saskia. "If I am to have +peace, by some way or other the fangs of my enemies must be drawn for +ever." +</P> + +<P> +He swung round and addressed her formally. "Mem, I'm askin' ye for the +last time. Will ye keep out of this business? Will ye gang back and +sit doun aside Mrs. Morran's fire and have your teas and wait till we +come for ye. Ye can do no good, and ye're puttin' yourself terrible in +the enemy's power. If we're beat and ye're no' there, they get very +little satisfaction, but if they get you they get what they've come +seekin'. I tell ye straight—ye're an encumbrance." +</P> + +<P> +She laughed mischievously. "I can shoot better than you," she said. +</P> + +<P> +He ignored the taunt. "Will ye listen to sense and fall to the rear?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will not," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Then gang your own gait. I'm ower wise to argy-bargy wi' women. The +Hoose be it!" +</P> + +<P> +It was a journey which sorely tried Dougal's temper. The only way in +was by the verandah, but the door at the west end had been locked, and +the ladder had disappeared. Now, of his party three were lame, one +lacked an arm, and one was a girl; besides, there were the guns and +cartridges to transport. Moreover, at more than one point before the +verandah was reached the route was commanded by a point on the ridge +near the old Tower, and that had been Spidel's position when Dougal +made his last reconnaissance. It behoved to pass these points swiftly +and unobtrusively, and his company was neither swift nor unobtrusive. +McGuffog had a genius for tripping over obstacles, and Sir Archie was +for ever proffering his aid to Saskia, who was in a position to give +rather than to receive, being far the most active of the party. Once +Dougal had to take the gamekeeper's head and force it down, a +performance which would have led to an immediate assault but for Sir +Archie's presence. Nor did the latter escape. "Will ye stop heedin' +the lassie, and attend to your own job," the Chieftain growled. "Ye're +makin' as much noise as a roadroller." +</P> + +<P> +Arrived at the foot of the verandah wall there remained the problem of +the escalade. Dougal clambered up like a squirrel by the help of +cracks in the stones, and he could be heard trying the handle of the +door into the House. He was absent for about five minutes, and then +his head peeped over the edge accompanied by the hooks of an iron +ladder. "From the boiler-house," he informed them as they stood clear +for the thing to drop. It proved to be little more than half the +height of the wall. +</P> + +<P> +Saskia ascended first, and had no difficulty in pulling herself over +the parapet. Then came the guns and ammunition, and then the one-armed +Sime, who turned out to be an athlete. But it was no easy matter +getting up the last three. Sir Archie anathematized his frailties. +"Nice old crock to go tiger—shootin' with," he told the Princess. "But +set me to something where my confounded leg don't get in the way, and +I'm still pretty useful!" Dougal, mopping his brow with the rag he +called his handkerchief, observed sourly that he objected to going +scouting with a herd of elephants. +</P> + +<P> +Once indoors his spirits rose. The party from the Mains had brought +several electric torches, and the one lamp was presently found and lit. +"We can't count on the polis," Dougal announced, "and when the +foreigners is finished wi' the Tower they'll come on here. If no', we +must make them. What is it the sodgers call it? Forcin' a battle? Now +see here! There's the two roads into this place, the back door and the +verandy, leavin' out the front door which is chained and lockit. +They'll try those two roads first, and we must get them well barricaded +in time. But mind, if there's a good few o' them, it'll be an easy job +to batter in the front door or the windies, so we maun be ready for +that." +</P> + +<P> +He told off a fatigue party—the Princess, Sir Archie, and McGuffog—to +help in moving furniture to the several doors. Sime and Carfrae +attended to the kitchen entrance, while he himself made a tour of the +ground-floor windows. For half an hour the empty house was loud with +strange sounds. McGuffog, who was a giant in strength, filled the +passage at the verandah end with an assortment of furniture ranging +from a grand piano to a vast mahogany sofa, while Saskia and Sir Archie +pillaged the bedrooms and packed up the interstices with mattresses in +lieu of sandbags. Dougal on his turn saw fit to approve the work. +</P> + +<P> +"That'll fickle the blagyirds. Down at the kitchen door we've got a +mangle, five wash-tubs, and the best part of a ton o' coal. It's the +windies I'm anxious about, for they're ower big to fill up. But I've +gotten tubs of water below them and a lot o' wire-nettin' I fund in the +cellar." +</P> + +<P> +Sir Archie morosely wiped his brow. "I can't say I ever hated a job +more," he told Saskia. "It seems pretty cool to march into somebody +else's house and make free with his furniture. I hope to goodness our +friends from the sea do turn up, or we'll look pretty foolish. Loudon +will have a score against me he won't forget." +</P> + +<P> +"Ye're no' weakenin'?" asked Dougal fiercely. +</P> + +<P> +"Not a bit. Only hopin' somebody hasn't made a mighty big mistake." +</P> + +<P> +"Ye needn't be feared for that. Now you listen to your instructions. +We're terrible few for such a big place, but we maun make up for +shortness o' numbers by extra mobility. The gemkeeper will keep the +windy that looks on the verandy, and fell any man that gets through. +You'll hold the verandy door, and the ither lame man—is't Carfrae ye +call him?—will keep the back door. I've telled the one-armed man, who +has some kind of a head on him, that he maun keep on the move, watchin' +to see if they try the front door or any o' the other windies. If they +do, he takes his station there. D'ye follow?" +</P> + +<P> +Sir Archie nodded gloomily. +</P> + +<P> +"What is my post?" Saskia asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I've appointed ye my Chief of Staff," was the answer. "Ye see we've +no reserves. If this door's the dangerous bit, it maun be reinforced +from elsewhere; and that'll want savage thinkin'. Ye'll have to be aye +on the move, Mem, and keep me informed. If they break in at two bits, +we're beat, and there'll be nothing for it but to retire to our last +position. Ye ken the room ayont the hall where they keep the coats. +That's our last trench, and at the worst we fall back there and stick +it out. It has a strong door and a wee windy, so they'll no' be able +to get in on our rear. We should be able to put up a good defence +there, unless they fire the place over our heads.... Now, we'd better +give out the guns." +</P> + +<P> +"We don't want any shootin' if we can avoid it," said Sir Archie, who +found his distaste for Dougal growing, though he was under the spell of +the one being there who knew precisely his own mind. +</P> + +<P> +"Just what I was goin' to say. My instructions is, reserve your fire, +and don't loose off till you have a man up against the end o' your +barrel." +</P> + +<P> +"Good Lord, we'll get into a horrible row. The whole thing may be a +mistake, and we'll be had up for wholesale homicide. No man shall fire +unless I give the word." +</P> + +<P> +The Commander-in-Chief looked at him darkly. Some bitter retort was on +his tongue, but he restrained himself. +</P> + +<P> +"It appears," he said, "that ye think I'm doin' all this for fun. I'll +no' argy wi' ye. There can be just the one general in a battle, but +I'll give ye permission to say the word when to fire.... Macgreegor!" +he muttered, a strange expletive only used in moments of deep emotion. +"I'll wager ye'll be for sayin' the word afore I'd say it mysel'." +</P> + +<P> +He turned to the Princess. "I hand over to you, till I am back, for I +maun be off and see to the Die-Hards. I wish I could bring them in +here, but I daren't lose my communications. I'll likely get in by the +boiler-house skylight when I come back, but it might be as well to keep +a road open here unless ye're actually attacked." +</P> + +<P> +Dougal clambered over the mattresses and the grand piano; a flicker of +waning daylight appeared for a second as he squeezed through the door, +and Sir Archie was left staring at the wrathful countenance of +McGuffog. He laughed ruefully. +</P> + +<P> +"I've been in about forty battles, and here's that little devil rather +worried about my pluck and talkin' to me like a corps commander to a +newly joined second-lieutenant. All the same he's a remarkable child, +and we'd better behave as if we were in for a real shindy. What do you +think, Princess?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think we are in for what you call a shindy. I am in command, +remember. I order you to serve out the guns." +</P> + +<P> +This was done, a shot-gun and a hundred cartridges to each, while +McGuffog, who was a marksman, was also given a sporting Mannlicher, and +two other rifles, a .303 and a small-bore Holland, were kept in reserve +in the hall. Sir Archie, free from Dougal's compelling presence, gave +the gamekeeper peremptory orders not to shoot till he was bidden, and +Carfrae at the kitchen door was warned to the same effect. The +shuttered house, where the only light apart from the garden-room was +the feeble spark of the electric torches, had the most disastrous +effect upon his spirits. The gale which roared in the chimney and +eddied among the rafters of the hall seemed an infernal commotion in a +tomb. +</P> + +<P> +"Let's go upstairs," he told Saskia; "there must be a view from the +upper windows." +</P> + +<P> +"You can see the top of the old Tower, and part of the sea," she said. +"I know it well, for it was my only amusement to look at it. On clear +days, too, one could see high mountains far in the west." His +depression seemed to have affected her, for she spoke listlessly, +unlike the vivid creature who had led the way in. +</P> + +<P> +In a gaunt west-looking bedroom, the one in which Heritage and Dickson +had camped the night before, they opened a fold of the shutters and +looked out into a world of grey wrack and driving rain. The Tower roof +showed mistily beyond the ridge of down, but its environs were not in +their prospect. The lower regions of the House had been gloomy enough, +but this bleak place with its drab outlook struck a chill to Sir +Archie's soul. He dolefully lit a cigarette. +</P> + +<P> +"This is a pretty rotten show for you," he told her. "It strikes me as +a rather unpleasant brand of nightmare." +</P> + +<P> +"I have been living with nightmares for three years," she said wearily. +</P> + +<P> +He cast his eyes round the room. "I think the Kennedys were mad to +build this confounded barrack. I've always disliked it, and old +Quentin hadn't any use for it either. Cold, cheerless, raw +monstrosity! It hasn't been a very giddy place for you, Princess." +</P> + +<P> +"It has been my prison, when I hoped it would be a sanctuary. But it +may yet be my salvation." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure I hope so. I say, you must be jolly hungry. I don't suppose +there's any chance of tea for you." +</P> + +<P> +She shook her head. She was looking fixedly at the Tower, as if she +expected something to appear there, and he followed her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Rum old shell, that. Quentin used to keep all kinds of live stock +there, and when we were boys it was our castle where we played at bein' +robber chiefs. It'll be dashed queer if the real thing should turn up +this time. I suppose McCunn's Poet is roostin' there all by his lone. +Can't say I envy him his job." +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly she caught his arm. "I see a man," she whispered. "There! He +is behind those far bushes. There is his head again!" +</P> + +<P> +It was clearly a man, but he presently disappeared, for he had come +round by the south end of the House, past the stables, and had now gone +over the ridge. +</P> + +<P> +"The cut of his jib us uncommonly like Loudon, the factor. I thought +McCunn had stretched him on a bed of pain. Lord, if this thing should +turn out a farce, I simply can't face Loudon.... I say, Princess, you +don't suppose by any chance that McCunn's a little bit wrong in the +head?" +</P> + +<P> +She turned her candid eyes on him. "You are in a very doubting mood." +</P> + +<P> +"My feet are cold and I don't mind admittin' it. Hanged if I know what +it is, but I don't feel this show a bit real. If it isn't, we're in a +fair way to make howlin' idiots of ourselves, and get pretty well +embroiled with the law. It's all right for the red-haired boy, for he +can take everything seriously, even play. I could do the same thing +myself when I was a kid. I don't mind runnin' some kind of risk—I've +had a few in my time—but this is so infernally outlandish, and I—I +don't quite believe in it. That is to say, I believe in it right +enough when I look at you or listen to McCunn, but as soon as my eyes +are off you I begin to doubt again. I'm gettin' old and I've a stake +in the country, and I daresay I'm gettin' a bit of a prig—anyway I +don't want to make a jackass of myself. Besides, there's this foul +weather and this beastly house to ice my feet." +</P> + +<P> +He broke off with an exclamation, for on the grey cloud-bounded stage +in which the roof of the Tower was the central feature, actors had +appeared. Dim hurrying shapes showed through the mist, dipping over +the ridge, as if coming from the Garplefoot. +</P> + +<P> +She seized his arm and he saw that her listlessness was gone. Her eyes +were shining. +</P> + +<P> +"It is they," she cried. "The nightmare is real at last. Do you doubt +now?" +</P> + +<P> +He could only stare, for these shapes arriving and vanishing like wisps +of fog still seemed to him phantasmal. The girl held his arm tightly +clutched, and craned towards the window space. He tried to open the +frame, and succeeded in smashing the glass. A swirl of wind drove +inwards and blew a loose lock of Saskia's hair across his brow. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish Dougal were back," he muttered, and then came the crack of a +shot. +</P> + +<P> +The pressure on his arm slackened, and a pale face was turned to him. +"He is alone—Mr. Heritage. He has no chance. They will kill him like +a dog." +</P> + +<P> +"They'll never get in," he assured her. "Dougal said the place could +hold out for hours." +</P> + +<P> +Another shot followed and presently a third. She twined her hands and +her eyes were wild. +</P> + +<P> +"We can't leave him to be killed," she gasped. +</P> + +<P> +"It's the only game. We're playin' for time, remember. Besides, he +won't be killed. Great Scott!" +</P> + +<P> +As he spoke, a sudden explosion cleft the drone of the wind and a patch +of gloom flashed into yellow light. +</P> + +<P> +"Bomb!" he cried. "Lord, I might have thought of that." +</P> + +<P> +The girl had sprung back from the window. "I cannot bear it. I will +not see him murdered in sight of his friends. I am going to show +myself, and when they see me they will leave him.... No, you must stay +here. Presently they will be round this house. Don't be afraid for +me—I am very quick of foot." +</P> + +<P> +"For God's sake, don't! Here, Princess, stop," and he clutched at her +skirt. "Look here, I'll go." +</P> + +<P> +"You can't. You have been wounded. I am in command, you know. Keep +the door open till I come back." +</P> + +<P> +He hobbled after her, but she easily eluded him. She was smiling now, +and blew a kiss to him. "La, la, la," she trilled, as she ran down the +stairs. He heard her voice below, admonishing McGuffog. Then he pulled +himself together and went back to the window. He had brought the little +Holland with him, and he poked its barrel through the hole in the glass. +</P> + +<P> +"Curse my game leg," he said, almost cheerfully, for the situation was +now becoming one with which he could cope. "I ought to be able to hold +up the pursuit a bit. My aunt! What a girl!" +</P> + +<P> +With the rifle cuddled to his shoulder he watched a slim figure come +into sight on the lawn, running towards the ridge. He reflected that +she must have dropped from the high verandah wall. That reminded him +that something must be done to make the wall climbable for her return, +so he went down to McGuffog, and the two squeezed through the +barricaded door to the verandah. The boilerhouse ladder was still in +position, but it did not reach half the height, so McGuffog was adjured +to stand by to help, and in the meantime to wait on duty by the wall. +Then he hurried upstairs to his watch-tower. +</P> + +<P> +The girl was in sight, almost on the crest of the high ground. There +she stood for a moment, one hand clutching at her errant hair, the +other shielding her eyes from the sting of the rain. He heard her cry, +as Heritage had heard her, but since the wind was blowing towards him +the sound came louder and fuller. Again she cried, and then stood +motionless with her hands above her head. It was only for an instant, +for the next he saw she had turned and was racing down the slope, +jumping the little scrogs of hazel like a deer. On the ridge appeared +faces, and then over it swept a mob of men. +</P> + +<P> +She had a start of some fifty yards, and laboured to increase it, +having doubtless the verandah wall in mind. Sir Archie, sick with +anxiety, nevertheless spared time to admire her prowess. "Gad! she's a +miler," he ejaculated. "She'll do it. I'm hanged if she don't do it." +</P> + +<P> +Against men in seamen's boots and heavy clothing she had a clear +advantage. But two shook themselves loose from the pack and began to +gain on her. At the main shrubbery they were not thirty yards behind, +and in her passage through it her skirts must have delayed her, for +when she emerged the pursuit had halved the distance. He got the +sights of the rifle on the first man, but the lawns sloped up towards +the house, and to his consternation he found that the girl was in the +line of fire. Madly he ran to the other window of the room, tore back +the shutters, shivered the glass, and flung his rifle to his shoulder. +The fellow was within three yards of her, but, thank God! he had now a +clear field. He fired low and just ahead of him, and had the +satisfaction to see him drop like a rabbit, shot in the leg. His +companion stumbled over him, and for a moment the girl was safe. +</P> + +<P> +But her speed was failing. She passed out of sight on the verandah +side of the house, and the rest of the pack had gained ominously over +the easier ground of the lawn. He thought for a moment of trying to +stop them by his fire, but realized that if every shot told there would +still be enough of them left to make sure of her capture. The only +chance was at the verandah, and he went downstairs at a pace undreamed +of since the days when he had two whole legs. +</P> + +<P> +McGuffog, Mannlicher in hand, was poking his neck over the wall. The +pursuit had turned the corner and were about twenty yards off; the girl +was at the foot of the ladder, breathless, drooping with fatigue. She +tried to climb, limply and feebly, and very slowly, as if she were too +giddy to see clear. Above were two cripples, and at her back the van +of the now triumphant pack. +</P> + +<P> +Sir Archie, game leg or no, was on the parapet preparing to drop down +and hold off the pursuit were it only for seconds. But at that moment +he was aware that the situation had changed. +</P> + +<P> +At the foot of the ladder a tall man seemed to have sprung out of the +ground. He caught the girl in his arms, climbed the ladder, and +McGuffog's great hands reached down and seized her and swung her into +safety. Up the wall, by means of cracks and tufts, was shinning a +small boy. +</P> + +<P> +The stranger coolly faced the pursuers, and at the sight of him they +checked, those behind stumbling against those in front. He was speaking +to them in a foreign tongue, and to Sir Archie's ear the words were +like the crack of a lash. The hesitation was only for a moment, for a +voice among them cried out, and the whole pack gave tongue shrilly and +surged on again. But that instant of check had given the stranger his +chance. He was up the ladder, and, gripping the parapet, found rest +for his feet in a fissure. Then he bent down, drew up the ladder, +handed it to McGuffog, and with a mighty heave pulled himself over the +top. +</P> + +<P> +He seemed to hope to defend the verandah, but the door at the west end +was being assailed by a contingent of the enemy, and he saw that its +thin woodwork was yielding. +</P> + +<P> +"Into the House," he cried, as he picked up the ladder and tossed it +over the wall on the pack surging below. He was only just in time, for +the west door yielded. In two steps he had followed McGuffog through +the chink into the passage, and the concussion of the grand piano +pushed hard against the verandah door from within coincided with the +first battering on the said door from without. +</P> + +<P> +In the garden-room the feeble lamp showed a strange grouping. Saskia +had sunk into a chair to get her breath, and seemed too dazed to be +aware of her surroundings. Dougal was manfully striving to appear at +his ease, but his lip was quivering. +</P> + +<P> +"A near thing that time," he observed. "It was the blame of that man's +auld motor-bicycle." +</P> + +<P> +The stranger cast sharp eyes around the place and company. +</P> + +<P> +"An awkward corner, gentlemen," he said. "How many are there of you? +Four men and a boy? And you have placed guards at all the entrances?" +</P> + +<P> +"They have bombs," Sir Archie reminded him. +</P> + +<P> +"No doubt. But I do not think they will use them here—or their guns, +unless there is no other way. Their purpose is kidnapping, and they +hope to do it secretly and slip off without leaving a trace. If they +slaughter us, as they easily can, the cry will be out against them, and +their vessel will be unpleasantly hunted. Half their purpose is already +spoiled, for it's no longer secret.... They may break us by sheer +weight, and I fancy the first shooting will be done by us. It's the +windows I'm afraid of." +</P> + +<P> +Some tone in his quiet voice reached the girl in the wicker chair. She +looked up wildly, saw him, and with a cry of "Alesha" ran to his arms. +There she hung, while his hand fondled her hair, like a mother with a +scared child. Sir Archie, watching the whole thing in some +stupefaction, thought he had never in his days seen more nobly matched +human creatures. +</P> + +<P> +"It is my friend," she cried triumphantly, "the friend whom I appointed +to meet me here. Oh, I did well to trust him. Now we need not fear +anything." +</P> + +<P> +As if in ironical answer came a great crashing at the verandah door, +and the twanging of chords cruelly mishandled. The grand piano was +suffering internally from the assaults of the boiler-house ladder. +</P> + +<P> +"Wull I gie them a shot?" was McGuffog's hoarse inquiry. +</P> + +<P> +"Action stations," Alexis ordered, for the command seemed to have +shifted to him from Dougal. "The windows are the danger. The boy will +patrol the ground floor, and give us warning, and I and this man," +pointing to Sime, "will be ready at the threatened point. And, for +God's sake, no shooting, unless I give the word. If we take them on at +that game we haven't a chance." +</P> + +<P> +He said something to Saskia in Russian and she smiled assent and went +to Sir Archie's side. "You and I must keep this door," she said. +</P> + +<P> +Sir Archie was never very clear afterwards about the events of the next +hour. The Princess was in the maddest spirits, as if the burden of +three years had slipped from her and she was back in her first +girlhood. She sang as she carried more lumber to the pile—perhaps the +song which had once entranced Heritage, but Sir Archie had no ear for +music. She mocked at the furious blows which rained at the other end, +for the door had gone now, and in the windy gap could be seen a blur of +dark faces. Oddly enough, he found his own spirits mounting to meet +hers. It was real business at last, the qualms of the civilian had +been forgotten, and there was rising in him that joy in a scrap which +had once made him one of the most daring airmen on the Western Front. +The only thing that worried him now was the coyness about shooting. +What on earth were his rifles and shot-guns for unless to be used? He +had seen the enemy from the verandah wall, and a more ruffianly crew he +had never dreamed of. They meant the uttermost business, and against +such it was surely the duty of good citizens to wage whole-hearted war. +</P> + +<P> +The Princess was humming to herself a nursery rhyme. "THE KING OF +SPAIN'S DAUGHTER," she crooned, "CAME TO VISIT ME, AND ALL FOR THE +SAKE——Oh, that poor piano!" In her clear voice she cried something +in Russian, and the wind carried a laugh from the verandah. At the +sound of it she stopped. "I had forgotten," she said. "Paul is there. +I had forgotten." After that she was very quiet, but she redoubled her +labours at the barricade. +</P> + +<P> +To the man it seemed that the pressure from without was slackening. He +called to McGuffog to ask about the garden-room window, and the reply +was reassuring. The gamekeeper was gloomily contemplating Dougal's +tubs of water and wire-netting, as he might have contemplated a vermin +trap. +</P> + +<P> +Sir Archie was growing acutely anxious—the anxiety of the defender of +a straggling fortress which is vulnerable at a dozen points. It seemed +to him that strange noises were coming from the rooms beyond the hall. +Did the back door lie that way? And was not there a smell of smoke in +the air? If they tried fire in such a gale the place would burn like +matchwood. +</P> + +<P> +He left his post and in the hall found Dougal. +</P> + +<P> +"All quiet," the Chieftain reported. "Far ower quiet. I don't like +it. The enemy's no' puttin' out his strength yet. The Russian says a' +the west windies are terrible dangerous. Him and the chauffeur's doin' +their best, but ye can't block thae muckle glass panes." +</P> + +<P> +He returned to the Princess, and found that the attack had indeed +languished on that particular barricade. The withers of the grand +piano were left unwrung, and only a faint scuffling informed him that +the verandah was not empty. "They're gathering for an attack +elsewhere," he told himself. But what if that attack were a feint? He +and McGuffog must stick to their post, for in his belief the verandah +door and the garden-room window were the easiest places where an entry +in mass could be forced. Suddenly Dougal's whistle blew, and with it +came a most almighty crash somewhere towards the west side. With a +shout of "Hold Tight, McGuffog," Sir Archie bolted into the hall, and, +led by the sound, reached what had once been the ladies' bedroom. A +strange sight met his eyes, for the whole framework of one window +seemed to have been thrust inward, and in the gap Alexis was swinging a +fender. Three of the enemy were in the room—one senseless on the +floor, one in the grip of Sime, whose single hand was tightly clenched +on his throat, and one engaged with Dougal in a corner. The Die-Hard +leader was sore pressed, and to his help Sir Archie went. The fresh +assault made the seaman duck his head, and Dougal seized the occasion +to smite him hard with something which caused him to roll over. It was +Leon's life-preserver which he had annexed that afternoon. +</P> + +<P> +Alexis at the window seemed to have for a moment daunted the attack. +"Bring that table," he cried, and the thing was jammed into the gap. +"Now you"—this to Sime—"get the man from the back door to hold this +place with his gun. There's no attack there. It's about time for +shooting now, or we'll have them in our rear. What in heaven is that?" +</P> + +<P> +It was McGuffog whose great bellow resounded down the corridor. Sir +Archie turned and shuffled back, to be met by a distressing spectacle. +The lamp, burning as peacefully as it might have burned on an old +lady's tea-table, revealed the window of the garden-room driven bodily +inward, shutters and all, and now forming an inclined bridge over +Dougal's ineffectual tubs. In front of it stood McGuffog, swinging his +gun by the barrel and yelling curses, which, being mainly couched in +the vernacular, were happily meaningless to Saskia. She herself stood +at the hall door, plucking at something hidden in her breast. He saw +that it was a little ivory-handled pistol. +</P> + +<P> +The enemy's feint had succeeded, for even as Sir Archie looked three +men leaped into the room. On the neck of one the butt of McGuffog's +gun crashed, but two scrambled to their feet and made for the girl. Sir +Archie met the first with his fist, a clean drive on the jaw, followed +by a damaging hook with his left that put him out of action. The other +hesitated for an instant and was lost, for McGuffog caught him by the +waist from behind and sent him through the broken frame to join his +comrades without. +</P> + +<P> +"Up the stairs," Dougal was shouting, for the little room beyond the +hall was clearly impossible. "Our flank's turned. They're pourin' +through the other windy." Out of a corner of his eye Sir Archie caught +sight of Alexis, with Sime and Carfrae in support, being slowly forced +towards them along the corridor. "Upstairs," he shouted. "Come on, +McGuffog. Lead on, Princess." He dashed out the lamp, and the place +was in darkness. +</P> + +<P> +With this retreat from the forward trench line ended the opening phase +of the battle. It was achieved in good order, and position was taken +up on the first floor landing, dominating the main staircase and the +passage that led to the back stairs. At their back was a short +corridor ending in a window which gave on the north side of the House +above the verandah, and from which an active man might descend to the +verandah roof. It had been carefully reconnoitred beforehand by +Dougal, and his were the dispositions. +</P> + +<P> +The odd thing was that the retreating force were in good heart. The +three men from the Mains were warming to their work, and McGuffog wore +an air of genial ferocity. "Dashed fine position I call this," said +Sir Archie. Only Alexis was silent and preoccupied. "We are still at +their mercy," he said. "Pray God your police come soon." He forbade +shooting yet awhile. "The lady is our strong card," he said. "They +won't use their guns while she is with us, but if it ever comes to +shooting they can wipe us out in a couple of minutes. One of you watch +that window, for Paul Abreskov is no fool." +</P> + +<P> +Their exhilaration was short-lived. Below in the hall it was black +darkness save for a greyness at the entrance of the verandah passage; +but the defence was soon aware that the place was thick with men. +Presently there came a scuffling from Carfrae's post towards the back +stairs, and a cry as of some one choking. And at the same moment a +flare was lit below which brought the whole hall from floor to rafters +into blinding light. +</P> + +<P> +It revealed a crowd of figures, some still in the hall and some +half-way up the stairs, and it revealed, too, more figures at the end +of the upper landing where Carfrae had been stationed. The shapes were +motionless like mannequins in a shop window. +</P> + +<P> +"They've got us treed all right," Sir Archie groaned. "What the devil +are they waiting for?" +</P> + +<P> +"They wait for their leader," said Alexis. +</P> + +<P> +No one of the party will ever forget the ensuing minutes. After the +hubbub of the barricades the ominous silence was like icy water, +chilling and petrifying with an indefinable fear. There was no sound +but the wind, but presently mingled with it came odd wild voices. +</P> + +<P> +"Hear to the whaups," McGuffog whispered. +</P> + +<P> +Sir Archie, who found the tension unbearable, sought relief in +contradiction. "You're an unscientific brute, McGuffog," he told his +henchman. "It's a disgrace that a gamekeeper should be such a rotten +naturalist. What would whaups be doin' on the shore at this time of +year?" +</P> + +<P> +"A' the same, I could swear it's whaups, Sir Erchibald." +</P> + +<P> +Then Dougal broke in and his voice was excited. It's no' whaups. +That's our patrol signal. Man, there's hope for us yet. I believe +it's the polis.' His words were unheeded, for the figures below drew +apart and a young man came through them. His beautifully-shaped dark +head was bare, and as he moved he unbuttoned his oilskins and showed +the trim dark-blue garb of the yachtsman. He walked confidently up the +stairs, an odd elegant figure among his heavy companions. +</P> + +<P> +"Good afternoon, Alexis," he said in English. "I think we may now +regard this interesting episode as closed. I take it that you +surrender. Saskia, dear, you are coming with me on a little journey. +Will you tell my men where to find your baggage?" +</P> + +<P> +The reply was in Russian. Alexis' voice was as cool as the other's, +and it seemed to wake him to anger. He replied in a rapid torrent of +words, and appealed to the men below, who shouted back. The flare was +dying down, and shadows again hid most of the hall. +</P> + +<P> +Dougal crept up behind Sir Archie. "Here, I think it's the polis. +They're whistlin' outbye, and I hear folk cryin' to each other—no' the +foreigners." +</P> + +<P> +Again Alexis spoke, and then Saskia joined in. What she said rang +sharp with contempt, and her fingers played with her little pistol. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly before the young man could answer Dobson bustled toward him. +The innkeeper was labouring under some strong emotion, for he seemed to +be pleading and pointing urgently towards the door. +</P> + +<P> +"I tell ye it's the polis," whispered Dougal. "They're nickit." +</P> + +<P> +There was a swaying in the crowd and anxious faces. Men surged in, +whispered, and went out, and a clamour arose which the leader stilled +with a fierce gesture. +</P> + +<P> +"You there," he cried, looking up, "you English. We mean you no ill, +but I require you to hand over to me the lady and the Russian who is +with her. I give you a minute by my watch to decide. If you refuse, +my men are behind you and around you, and you go with me to be punished +at my leisure." +</P> + +<P> +"I warn you," cried Sir Archie. "We are armed, and will shoot down any +one who dares to lay a hand on us." +</P> + +<P> +"You fool," came the answer. "I can send you all to eternity before +you touch a trigger." +</P> + +<P> +Leon was by his side now—Leon and Spidel, imploring him to do +something which he angrily refused. Outside there was a new clamour, +faces showing at the door and then vanishing, and an anxious hum filled +the hall.... Dobson appeared again and this time he was a figure of +fury. +</P> + +<P> +"Are ye daft, man?" he cried. "I tell ye the polis are closin' round +us, and there's no' a moment to lose if we would get back to the boats. +If ye'll no' think o' your own neck, I'm thinkin' o' mine. The whole +things a bloody misfire. Come on, lads, if ye're no besotted on +destruction." +</P> + +<P> +Leon laid a hand on the leader's arm and was roughly shaken off. Spidel +fared no better, and the little group on the upper landing saw the two +shrug their shoulders and make for the door. The hall was emptying +fast and the watchers had gone from the back stairs. The young man's +voice rose to a scream; he commanded, threatened, cursed; but panic was +in the air and he had lost his mastery. +</P> + +<P> +"Quick," croaked Dougal, "now's the time for the counter-attack." +</P> + +<P> +But the figure on the stairs held them motionless. They could not see +his face, but by instinct they knew that it was distraught with fury +and defeat. The flare blazed up again as the flame caught a knot of +fresh powder, and once more the place was bright with the uncanny +light.... The hall was empty save for the pale man who was in the act +of turning. +</P> + +<P> +He looked back. "If I go now, I will return. The world is not wide +enough to hide you from me, Saskia." +</P> + +<P> +"You will never get her," said Alexis. +</P> + +<P> +A sudden devil flamed into his eyes, the devil of some ancestral +savagery, which would destroy what is desired but unattainable. He +swung round, his hand went to his pocket, something clacked, and his +arm shot out like a baseball pitcher's. +</P> + +<P> +So intent was the gaze of the others on him, that they did not see a +second figure ascending the stairs. Just as Alexis flung himself +before the Princess, the new-comer caught the young man's outstretched +arm and wrenched something from his hand. The next second he had hurled +it into a far corner where stood the great fireplace. There was a +blinding sheet of flame, a dull roar, and then billow upon billow of +acrid smoke. As it cleared they saw that the fine Italian +chimneypiece, the pride of the builder of the House, was a mass of +splinters, and that a great hole had been blown through the wall into +what had been the dining-room.... A figure was sitting on the bottom +step feeling its bruises. The last enemy had gone. +</P> + +<P> +When Mr. John Heritage raised his eyes he saw the Princess with a very +pale face in the arms of a tall man whom he had never seen before. If +he was surprised at the sight, he did not show it. "Nasty little bomb +that. I remember we struck the brand first in July '18." +</P> + +<P> +"Are they rounded up?" Sir Archie asked. +</P> + +<P> +"They've bolted. Whether they'll get away is another matter. I left +half the mounted police a minute ago at the top of the West Lodge +avenue. The other lot went to the Garplefoot to cut off the boats." +</P> + +<P> +"Good Lord, man," Sir Archie cried, "the police have been here for the +last ten minutes." +</P> + +<P> +"You're wrong. They came with me." +</P> + +<P> +"Then what on earth—-" began the astonished baronet. He stopped +short, for he suddenly got his answer. Into the hall limped a boy. +Never was there seen so ruinous a child. He was dripping wet, his +shirt was all but torn off his back, his bleeding nose was poorly +staunched by a wisp of handkerchief, his breeches were in ribbons, and +his poor bare legs looked as if they had been comprehensively kicked +and scratched. Limpingly he entered, yet with a kind of pride, like +some small cock-sparrow who has lost most of his plumage but has +vanquished his adversary. +</P> + +<P> +With a yell Dougal went down the stairs. The boy saluted him, and they +gravely shook hands. It was the meeting of Wellington and Blucher. +</P> + +<P> +The Chieftain's voice shrilled in triumph, but there was a break in it. +The glory was almost too great to be borne. +</P> + +<P> +"I kenned it," he cried. "It was the Gorbals Die-Hards. There stands +the man that done it.... Ye'll no' fickle Thomas Yownie." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE GORBALS DIE-HARDS GO INTO ACTION +</H3> + +<P> +We left Mr. McCunn, full of aches but desperately resolute in spirit, +hobbling by the Auchenlochan road into the village of Dalquharter. His +goal was Mrs. Morran's hen-house, which was Thomas Yownie's POSTE DE +COMMANDEMENT. The rain had come on again, and, though in other weather +there would have been a slow twilight, already the shadow of night had +the world in its grip. The sea even from the high ground was +invisible, and all to westward and windward was a ragged screen of dark +cloud. It was foul weather for foul deeds. Thomas Yownie was not in +the hen-house, but in Mrs. Morran's kitchen, and with him were the +pug-faced boy know as Old Bill, and the sturdy figure of Peter +Paterson. But the floor was held by the hostess. She still wore her +big boots, her petticoats were still kilted, and round her venerable +head in lieu of a bonnet was drawn a tartan shawl. +</P> + +<P> +"Eh, Dickson, but I'm blithe to see ye. And puir man, ye've been sair +mishandled. This is the awfu'est Sabbath day that ever you and me pit +in. I hope it'll be forgiven us.... Whaur's the young leddy?" +</P> + +<P> +"Dougal was saying she was in the House with Sir Archibald and the men +from the Mains." +</P> + +<P> +"Wae's me!" Mrs. Morran keened. "And what kind o' place is yon for +her? Thae laddies tell me there's boatfu's o' scoondrels landit at the +Garplefit. They'll try the auld Tower, but they'll no' wait there when +they find it toom, and they'll be inside the Hoose in a jiffy and awa' +wi' the puir lassie. Sirs, it maunna be. Ye're lippenin' to the +polis, but in a' my days I never kenned the polis in time. We maun be +up and daein' oorsels. Oh, if I could get a haud o' that red-heided +Dougal..." +</P> + +<P> +As she spoke there came on the wind the dull reverberation of an +explosion. +</P> + +<P> +"Keep us, what's that?" she cried. +</P> + +<P> +"It's dinnymite," said Peter Paterson. +</P> + +<P> +"That's the end o' the auld Tower," observed Thomas Yownie in his +quiet, even voice. "And it's likely the end o' the man Heritage." +</P> + +<P> +"Lord peety us!" the old woman wailed. "And us standin' here like +stookies and no' liftin' a hand. Awa' wi ye, laddies, and dae +something. Awa' you too, Dickson, or I'll tak' the road mysel'." +</P> + +<P> +"I've got orders," said the Chief of Staff, "no' to move till the +sityation's clear. Napoleon's up at the Tower and Jaikie's in the +policies. I maun wait on their reports." +</P> + +<P> +For a moment Mrs. Morran's attention was distracted by Dickson, who +suddenly felt very faint and sat down heavily on a kitchen chair. "Man, +ye're as white as a dish-clout," she exclaimed with compunction. "Ye're +fair wore out, and ye'll have had nae meat sin' your breakfast. See, +and I'll get ye a cup o' tea." +</P> + +<P> +She proved to be in the right, for as soon as Dickson had swallowed +some mouthfuls of her strong scalding brew the colour came back to his +cheeks, and he announced that he felt better. "Ye'll fortify it wi' a +dram," she told him, and produced a black bottle from her cupboard. "My +father aye said that guid whisky and het tea keepit the doctor's gig +oot o' the close." +</P> + +<P> +The back door opened and Napoleon entered, his thin shanks blue with +cold. He saluted and made his report in a voice shrill with excitement. +</P> + +<P> +"The Tower has fallen. They've blown in the big door, and the feck o' +them's inside." +</P> + +<P> +"And Mr. Heritage?" was Dickson's anxious inquiry. +</P> + +<P> +"When I last saw him he was up at a windy, shootin'. I think he's +gotten on to the roof. I wouldna wonder but the place is on fire." +</P> + +<P> +"Here, this is awful," Dickson groaned. "We can't let Mr. Heritage be +killed that way. What strength is the enemy?" +</P> + +<P> +"I counted twenty-seven, and there's stragglers comin' up from the +boats." +</P> + +<P> +"And there's me and you five laddies here, and Dougal and the others +shut up in the House." +</P> + +<P> +He stopped in sheer despair. It was a fix from which the most +enlightened business mind showed no escape. Prudence, inventiveness, +were no longer in question; only some desperate course of violence. +</P> + +<P> +"We must create a diversion," he said. "I'm for the Tower, and you +laddies must come with me. We'll maybe see a chance. Oh, but I wish I +had my wee pistol." +</P> + +<P> +"If ye're gaun there, Dickson, I'm comin' wi' ye," Mrs Morran announced. +</P> + +<P> +Her words revealed to Dickson the preposterousness of the whole +situation, and for all his anxiety he laughed. "Five laddies, a +middle-aged man, and an auld wife," he cried. "Dod, it's pretty +hopeless. It's like the thing in the Bible about the weak things of +the world trying to confound the strong." +</P> + +<P> +"The Bible's whiles richt," Mrs. Morran answered drily. "Come on, for +there's no time to lose." +</P> + +<P> +The door opened again to admit the figure of Wee Jaikie. There were no +tears in his eyes, and his face was very white. +</P> + +<P> +"They're a' round the Hoose," he croaked. "I was up a tree forenent +the verandy and seen them. The lassie ran oot and cried on them from +the top o' the brae, and they a' turned and hunted her back. Gosh, but +it was a near thing. I seen the Captain sklimmin' the wall, and a +muckle man took the lassie and flung her up the ladder. They got inside +just in time and steekit the door, and now the whole pack is roarin' +round the Hoose seekin' a road in. They'll no' be long over the job, +neither." +</P> + +<P> +"What about Mr. Heritage?" +</P> + +<P> +"They're no' heedin' about him any more. The auld Tower's bleezin'." +</P> + +<P> +"Worse and worse," said Dickson. "If the police don't come in the next +ten minutes, they'll be away with the Princess. They've beaten all +Dougal's plans, and it's a straight fight with odds of six to one. It's +not possible." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Morran for the first time seemed to lose hope. "Eh, the puir +lassie!" she wailed, and sinking on a chair covered her face with her +shawl. +</P> + +<P> +"Laddies, can you no' think of a plan?" asked Dickson, his voice flat +with despair. +</P> + +<P> +Then Thomas Yownie spoke. So far he had been silent, but under his +tangled thatch of hair his mind had been busy. Jaikie's report seemed +to bring him to a decision. +</P> + +<P> +"It's gey dark," he said, "and it's gettin' darker." +</P> + +<P> +There was that in his voice which promised something, and Dickson +listened. +</P> + +<P> +"The enemy's mostly foreigners, but Dobson's there and I think he's a +kind of guide to them. Dobson's feared of the polis, and if we can +terrify Dobson he'll terrify the rest." +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, but where are the police?" +</P> + +<P> +"They're no' here yet, but they're comin'. The fear o' them is aye in +Dobson's mind. If he thinks the polis has arrived, he'll put the wind +up the lot.... WE maun be the polis." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson could only stare while the Chief of Staff unfolded his scheme. +I do not know to whom the Muse of History will give the credit of the +tactics of "Infiltration," whether to Ludendorff or von Hutier or some +other proud captain of Germany, or to Foch, who revised and perfected +them. But I know that the same notion was at this moment of crisis +conceived by Thomas Yownie, whom no parents acknowledged, who slept +usually in a coal cellar, and who had picked up his education among +Gorbals closes and along the wharves of Clyde. +</P> + +<P> +"It's gettin' dark," he said, "and the enemy are that busy tryin' to +break into the Hoose that they'll no' be thinkin' o' their rear. The +five o' us Die-Hards is grand at dodgin' and keepin' out of sight, and +what hinders us to get in among them, so that they'll hear us but never +see us. We're used to the ways o' the polis, and can imitate them +fine. Forbye we've all got our whistles, which are the same as a +bobbie's birl, and Old Bill and Peter are grand at copyin' a man's +voice. Since the Captain is shut up in the Hoose, the command falls to +me, and that's my plan." +</P> + +<P> +With a piece of chalk he drew on the kitchen floor a rough sketch of +the environs of Huntingtower. Peter Paterson was to move from the +shrubberies beyond the verandah, Napoleon from the stables, Old Bill +from the Tower, while Wee Jaikie and Thomas himself were to advance as +if from the Garplefoot, so that the enemy might fear for his +communications. "As soon as one o' ye gets into position he's to gie +the patrol cry, and when each o' ye has heard five cries, he's to +advance. Begin birlin' and roarin' afore ye get among them, and keep +it up till ye're at the Hoose wall. If they've gotten inside, in ye go +after them. I trust each Die-Hard to use his judgment, and above all +to keep out o' sight and no' let himsel' be grippit." +</P> + +<P> +The plan, like all great tactics, was simple, and no sooner was it +expounded than it was put into action. The Die-Hards faded out of the +kitchen like fog-wreaths, and Dickson and Mrs. Morran were left looking +at each other. They did not look long. The bare feet of Wee Jaikie +had not crossed the threshold fifty seconds, before they were followed +by Mrs. Morran's out-of-doors boots and Dickson's tackets. Arm in arm +the two hobbled down the back path behind the village which led to the +South Lodge. The gate was unlocked, for the warder was busy elsewhere, +and they hastened up the avenue. Far off Dickson thought he saw shapes +fleeting across the park, which he took to be the shock-troops of his +own side, and he seemed to hear snatches of song. Jaikie was giving +tongue, and this was what he sang: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "Proley Tarians, arise!<BR> + Wave the Red Flag to the skies,<BR> + Heed no more the Fat Man's lees,<BR> + Stap them doun his throat!<BR> + Nocht to lose except our chains——"<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +But he tripped over a rabbit wire and thereafter conserved his breath. +</P> + +<P> +The wind was so loud that no sound reached them from the House, which, +blank and immense, now loomed before them. Dickson's ears were alert +for the noise of shots or the dull crash of bombs; hearing nothing, he +feared the worst, and hurried Mrs. Morran at a pace which endangered +her life. He had no fear for himself, arguing that his foes were +seeking higher game, and judging, too, that the main battle must be +round the verandah at the other end. The two passed the shrubbery +where the road forked, one path running to the back door and one to the +stables. They took the latter and presently came out on the downs, +with the ravine of the Garple on their left, the stables in front, and +on the right the hollow of a formal garden running along the west side +of the House. +</P> + +<P> +The gale was so fierce, now that they had no wind-break between them +and the ocean, that Mrs. Morran could wrestle with it no longer, and +found shelter in the lee of a clump of rhododendrons. Darkness had all +but fallen, and the House was a black shadow against the dusky sky, +while a confused greyness marked the sea. The old Tower showed a tooth +of masonry; there was no glow from it, so the fire, which Jaikie had +reported, must have died down. A whaup cried loudly, and very eerily: +then another. +</P> + +<P> +The birds stirred up Mrs. Morran. "That's the laddies' patrol." she +gasped. "Count the cries, Dickson." +</P> + +<P> +Another bird wailed, this time very near. Then there was perhaps three +minutes' silence till a fainter wheeple came from the direction of the +Tower. "Four," said Dickson, but he waited in vain on the fifth. He +had not the acute hearing of the boys, and could not catch the faint +echo of Peter Paterson's signal beyond the verandah. The next he heard +was a shrill whistle cutting into the wind, and then others in rapid +succession from different quarters, and something which might have been +the hoarse shouting of angry men. +</P> + +<P> +The Gorbals Die-Hards had gone into action. +</P> + +<P> +Dull prose is no medium to tell of that wild adventure. The sober +sequence of the military historian is out of place in recording deeds +that knew not sequence or sobriety. Were I a bard, I would cast this +tale in excited verse, with a lilt which would catch the speed of the +reality. I would sing of Napoleon, not unworthy of his great namesake, +who penetrated to the very window of the ladies' bedroom, where the +framework had been driven in and men were pouring through; of how there +he made such pandemonium with his whistle that men tumbled back and ran +about blindly seeking for guidance; of how in the long run his +pugnacity mastered him, so that he engaged in combat with an unknown +figure and the two rolled into what had once been a fountain. I would +hymn Peter Paterson, who across tracts of darkness engaged Old Bill in +a conversation which would have done no discredit to a Gallowgate +policeman. He pretended to be making reports and seeking orders. +"We've gotten three o' the deevils, sir. What'll we dae wi' them?" he +shouted; and back would come the reply in a slightly more genteel +voice: "Fall them to the rear. Tamson has charge of the prisoners." +Or it would be: "They've gotten pistols, sir. What's the orders?" and +the answer would be: "Stick to your batons. The guns are posted on the +knowe, so we needn't hurry." And over all the din there would be a +perpetual whistling and a yelling of "Hands up!" +</P> + +<P> +I would sing, too, of Wee Jaikie, who was having the red-letter hour of +his life. His fragile form moved like a lizard in places where no +mortal could be expected, and he varied his duties with impish assaults +upon the persons of such as came in his way. His whistle blew in a +man's ear one second and the next yards away. Sometimes he was moved to +song, and unearthly fragments of "Class-conscious we are" or "Proley +Tarians, arise!" mingled with the din, like the cry of seagulls in a +storm. He saw a bright light flare up within the House which warned +him not to enter, but he got as far as the garden-room, in whose dark +corners he made havoc. Indeed he was almost too successful, for he +created panic where he went, and one or two fired blindly at the +quarter where he had last been heard. These shots were followed by +frenzied prohibitions from Spidel and were not repeated. Presently he +felt that aimless surge of men that is the prelude to flight, and heard +Dobson's great voice roaring in the hall. Convinced that the crisis had +come, he made his way outside, prepared to harrass the rear of any +retirement. Tears now flowed down his face, and he could not have +spoken for sobs, but he had never been so happy. +</P> + +<P> +But chiefly would I celebrate Thomas Yownie, for it was he who brought +fear into the heart of Dobson. He had a voice of singular compass, and +from the verandah he made it echo round the House. The efforts of Old +Bill and Peter Paterson had been skilful indeed, but those of Thomas +Yownie were deadly. To some leader beyond he shouted news: "Robison's +just about finished wi' his lot, and then he'll get the boats." A +furious charge upset him, and for a moment he thought he had been +discovered. But it was only Dobson rushing to Leon, who was leading +the men in the doorway. Thomas fled to the far end of the verandah, +and again lifted up his voice. "All foreigners," he shouted, "except +the man Dobson. Ay. Ay. Ye've got Loudon? Well done!" +</P> + +<P> +It must have been this last performance which broke Dobson's nerve and +convinced him that the one hope lay in a rapid retreat to the +Garplefoot. There was a tumbling of men in the doorway, a muttering of +strange tongues, and the vision of the innkeeper shouting to Leon and +Spidel. For a second he was seen in the faint reflection that the +light in the hall cast as far as the verandah, a wild figure urging the +retreat with a pistol clapped to the head of those who were too +confused by the hurricane of events to grasp the situation. Some of +them dropped over the wall, but most huddled like sheep through the +door on the west side, a jumble of struggling, blasphemous mortality. +Thomas Yownie, staggered at the success of his tactics, yet kept his +head and did his utmost to confuse the retreat, and the triumphant +shouts and whistles of the other Die-Hards showed that they were not +unmindful of this final duty.... +</P> + +<P> +The verandah was empty, and he was just about to enter the House, when +through the west door came a figure, breathing hard and bent apparently +on the same errand. Thomas prepared for battle, determined that no +straggler of the enemy should now wrest from him victory, but, as the +figure came into the faint glow at the doorway, he recognized it as +Heritage. And at the same moment he heard something which made his +tense nerves relax. Away on the right came sounds, a thud of galloping +horses on grass and the jingle of bridle reins and the voices of men. +It was the real thing at last. It is a sad commentary on his career, +but now for the first time in his brief existence Thomas Yownie felt +charitably disposed towards the police. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The Poet, since we left him blaspheming on the roof of the Tower, had +been having a crowded hour of most inglorious life. He had started to +descend at a furious pace, and his first misadventure was that he +stumbled and dropped Dickson's pistol over the parapet. He tried to +mark where it might have fallen in the gloom below, and this lost him +precious minutes. When he slithered through the trap into the attic +room, where he had tried to hold up the attack, he discovered that it +was full of smoke which sought in vain to escape by the narrow window. +Volumes of it were pouring up the stairs, and when he attempted to +descend he found himself choked and blinded. He rushed gasping to the +window, filled his lungs with fresh air, and tried again, but he got no +farther than the first turn, from which he could see through the cloud +red tongues of flame in the ground room. This was solemn indeed, so he +sought another way out. He got on the roof, for he remembered a +chimney-stack, cloaked with ivy, which was built straight from the +ground, and he thought he might climb down it. +</P> + +<P> +He found the chimney and began the descent confidently, for he had once +borne a good reputation at the Montanvert and Cortina. At first all +went well, for stones stuck out at decent intervals like the rungs of a +ladder, and roots of ivy supplemented their deficiencies. But presently +he came to a place where the masonry had crumbled into a cave, and left +a gap some twenty feet high. Below it he could dimly see a thick mass +of ivy which would enable him to cover the further forty feet to the +ground, but at that cave he stuck most finally. All around the lime and +stone had lapsed into debris, and he could find no safe foothold. +Worse still, the block on which he relied proved loose, and only by a +dangerous traverse did he avert disaster. +</P> + +<P> +There he hung for a minute or two, with a cold void in his stomach. He +had always distrusted the handiwork of man as a place to scramble on, +and now he was planted in the dark on a decomposing wall, with an +excellent chance of breaking his neck, and with the most urgent need +for haste. He could see the windows of the House, and, since he was +sheltered from the gale, he could hear the faint sound of blows on +woodwork. There was clearly the devil to pay there, and yet here he +was helplessly stuck.... Setting his teeth, he started to ascend again. +Better the fire than this cold breakneck emptiness. +</P> + +<P> +It took him the better part of half an hour to get back, and he passed +through many moments of acute fear. Footholds which had seemed secure +enough in the descent now proved impossible, and more than once he had +his heart in his mouth when a rotten ivy stump or a wedge of stone gave +in his hands, and dropped dully into the pit of night, leaving him +crazily spread-eagled. When at last he reached the top he rolled on +his back and felt very sick. Then, as he realized his safety, his +impatience revived. At all costs he would force his way out though he +should be grilled like a herring. +</P> + +<P> +The smoke was less thick in the attic, and with his handkerchief wet +with the rain and bound across his mouth he made a dash for the ground +room. It was as hot as a furnace, for everything inflammable in it +seemed to have caught fire, and the lumber glowed in piles of hot +ashes. But the floor and walls were stone, and only the blazing jambs +of the door stood between him and the outer air. He had burned himself +considerably as he stumbled downwards, and the pain drove him to a wild +leap through the broken arch, where he miscalculated the distance, +charred his shins, and brought down a red-hot fragment of the lintel on +his head. But the thing was done, and a minute later he was rolling +like a dog in the wet bracken to cool his burns and put out various +smouldering patches on his raiment. +</P> + +<P> +Then he started running for the House, but, confused by the darkness, +he bore too much to the north, and came out in the side avenue from +which he and Dickson had reconnoitred on the first evening. He saw on +the right a glow in the verandah, which, as we know, was the reflection +of the flare in the hall, and he heard a babble of voices. But he +heard something more, for away on his left was the sound which Thomas +Yownie was soon to hear—the trampling of horses. It was the police at +last, and his task was to guide them at once to the critical point of +action.... Three minutes later a figure like a scarecrow was +admonishing a bewildered sergeant, while his hands plucked feverishly +at a horse's bridle. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +It is time to return to Dickson in his clump of rhododendrons. +Tragically aware of his impotence he listened to the tumult of the +Die-Hards, hopeful when it was loud, despairing when there came a +moment's lull, while Mrs. Morran like a Greek chorus drew loudly upon +her store of proverbial philosophy and her memory of Scripture texts. +Twice he tried to reconnoitre towards the scene of battle, but only +blundered into sunken plots and pits in the Dutch garden. Finally he +squatted beside Mrs. Morran, lit his pipe, and took a firm hold on his +patience. +</P> + +<P> +It was not tested for long. Presently he was aware that a change had +come over the scene—that the Die-Hards' whistles and shouts were being +drowned in another sound, the cries of panicky men. Dobson's bellow was +wafted to him. "Auntie Phemie," he shouted, "the innkeeper's getting +rattled. Dod, I believe they're running." For at that moment twenty +paces on his left the van of the retreat crashed through the creepers +on the garden's edge and leaped the wall that separated it from the +cliffs of the Garplefoot. +</P> + +<P> +The old woman was on her feet. +</P> + +<P> +"God be thankit, is't the polis?" +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe. Maybe no'. But they're running." +</P> + +<P> +Another bunch of men raced past, and he heard Dobson's voice. +</P> + +<P> +"I tell you, they're broke. Listen, it's horses. Ay, it's the police, +but it was the Die-Hards that did the job.... Here! They mustn't +escape. Have the police had the sense to send men to the Garplefoot?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Morran, a figure like an ancient prophetess, with her tartan shawl +lashing in the gale, clutched him by the shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Doun to the waterside and stop them. Ye'll no' be beat by wee +laddies! On wi' ye and I'll follow! There's gaun to be a juidgment on +evil-doers this night." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson needed no urging. His heart was hot within him, and the +weariness and stiffness had gone from his limbs. He, too, tumbled over +the wall, and made for what he thought was the route by which he had +originally ascended from the stream. As he ran he made ridiculous +efforts to cry like a whaup in the hope of summoning the Die-Hards. +One, indeed, he found—Napoleon, who had suffered a grievous pounding +in the fountain, and had only escaped by an eel-like agility which had +aforetime served him in good stead with the law of his native city. +Lucky for Dickson was the meeting, for he had forgotten the road and +would certainly have broken his neck. Led by the Die-Hard he slid forty +feet over screes and boiler-plates, with the gale plucking at him, +found a path, lost it, and then tumbled down a raw bank of earth to the +flat ground beside the harbour. During all this performance, he has +told me, he had no thought of fear, nor any clear notion what he meant +to do. He just wanted to be in at the finish of the job. +</P> + +<P> +Through the narrow entrance the gale blew as through a funnel, and the +usually placid waters of the harbour were a froth of angry waves. Two +boats had been launched and were plunging furiously, and on one of them +a lantern dipped and fell. By its light he could see men holding a +further boat by the shore. There was no sign of the police; he +reflected that probably they had become entangled in the Garple Dean. +The third boat was waiting for some one. +</P> + +<P> +Dickson—a new Ajax by the ships—divined who this someone must be and +realized his duty. It was the leader, the arch-enemy, the man whose +escape must at all costs be stopped. Perhaps he had the Princess with +him, thus snatching victory from apparent defeat. In any case he must +be tackled, and a fierce anxiety gripped his heart. "Aye finish a +job," he told himself, and peered up into the darkness of the cliffs, +wondering just how he should set about it, for except in the last few +days he had never engaged in combat with a fellow-creature. +</P> + +<P> +"When he comes, you grip his legs," he told Napoleon, "and get him +down. He'll have a pistol, and we're done if he's on his feet." +</P> + +<P> +There was a cry from the boats, a shout of guidance, and the light on +the water was waved madly. "They must have good eyesight," thought +Dickson, for he could see nothing. And then suddenly he was aware of +steps in front of him, and a shape like a man rising out of the void at +his left hand. +</P> + +<P> +In the darkness Napoleon missed his tackle, and the full shock came on +Dickson. He aimed at what he thought was the enemy's throat, found +only an arm, and was shaken off as a mastiff might shake off a toy +terrier. He made another clutch, fell, and in falling caught his +opponent's leg so that he brought him down. The man was immensely +agile, for he was up in a second and something hot and bright blew into +Dickson's face. The pistol bullet had passed through the collar of his +faithful waterproof, slightly singeing his neck. But it served its +purpose, for Dickson paused, gasping, to consider where he had been +hit, and before he could resume the chase the last boat had pushed off +into deep water. +</P> + +<P> +To be shot at from close quarters is always irritating, and the novelty +of the experience increased Dickson's natural wrath. He fumed on the +shore like a deerhound when the stag has taken to the sea. So hot was +his blood that he would have cheerfully assaulted the whole crew had +they been within his reach. Napoleon, who had been incapacitated for +speed by having his stomach and bare shanks savagely trampled upon, +joined him, and together they watched the bobbing black specks as they +crawled out of the estuary into the grey spindrift which marked the +harbour mouth. +</P> + +<P> +But as he looked the wrath died out of Dickson's soul. For he saw that +the boats had indeed sailed on a desperate venture, and that a pursuer +was on their track more potent than his breathless middle-age. The tide +was on the ebb, and the gale was driving the Atlantic breakers +shoreward, and in the jaws of the entrance the two waters met in an +unearthly turmoil. Above the noise of the wind came the roar of the +flooded Garple and the fret of the harbour, and far beyond all the +crashing thunder of the conflict at the harbour mouth. Even in the +darkness, against the still faintly grey western sky, the spume could +be seen rising like waterspouts. But it was the ear rather than the +eye which made certain presage of disaster. No boat could face the +challenge of that loud portal. +</P> + +<P> +As Dickson struggled against the wind and stared, his heart melted and +a great awe fell upon him. He may have wept; it is certain that he +prayed. "Poor souls, poor souls!" he repeated. "I doubt the last hour +has been a poor preparation for eternity." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The tide the next day brought the dead ashore. Among them was a young +man, different in dress and appearance from the rest—a young man with +a noble head and a finely-cut classic face, which was not marred like +the others from pounding among the Garple rocks. His dark hair was +washed back from his brow, and the mouth, which had been hard in life, +was now relaxed in the strange innocence of death. +</P> + +<P> +Dickson gazed at the body and observed that there was a slight +deformation between the shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor fellow," he said. "That explains a lot.... As my father used to +say, cripples have a right to be cankered." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +IN WHICH A PRINCESS LEAVES A DARK TOWER AND <BR> +A PROVISION MERCHANT RETURNS TO HIS FAMILY +</H3> + +<P> +The three days of storm ended in the night, and with the wild weather +there departed from the Cruives something which had weighed on +Dickson's spirits since he first saw the place. Monday—only a week +from the morning when he had conceived his plan of holiday—saw the +return of the sun and the bland airs of spring. Beyond the blue of the +yet restless waters rose dim mountains tipped with snow, like some +Mediterranean seascape. Nesting birds were busy on the Laver banks and +in the Huntingtower thickets; the village smoked peacefully to the +clear skies; even the House looked cheerful if dishevelled. The Garple +Dean was a garden of swaying larches, linnets, and wild anemones. +Assuredly, thought Dickson, there had come a mighty change in the +countryside, and he meditated a future discourse to the Literary +Society of the Guthrie Memorial Kirk on "Natural Beauty in Relation to +the Mind of Man." +</P> + +<P> +It remains for the chronicler to gather up the loose ends of his tale. +There was no newspaper story with bold headlines of this the most +recent assault on the shores of Britain. Alexis Nicholaevitch, once a +Prince of Muscovy and now Mr. Alexander Nicholson of the rising firm of +Sprot and Nicholson of Melbourne, had interest enough to prevent it. +For it was clear that if Saskia was to be saved from persecution, her +enemies must disappear without trace from the world, and no story be +told of the wild venture which was their undoing. The constabulary of +Carrick and Scotland Yard were indisposed to ask questions, under a +hint from their superiors, the more so as no serious damage had been +done to the persons of His Majesty's lieges, and no lives had been lost +except by the violence of Nature. The Procurator-Fiscal investigated +the case of the drowned men, and reported that so many foreign sailors, +names and origins unknown, had perished in attempting to return to +their ship at the Garplefoot. The Danish brig had vanished into the +mist of the northern seas. But one signal calamity the +Procurator-Fiscal had to record. The body of Loudon the factor was +found on the Monday morning below the cliffs, his neck broken by a +fall. In the darkness and confusion he must have tried to escape in +that direction, and he had chosen an impracticable road or had slipped +on the edge. It was returned as "death by misadventure," and the +CARRICK HERALD and the AUCHENLOCHAN ADVERTISER excelled themselves in +eulogy. Mr. Loudon, they said, had been widely known in the south-west +of Scotland as an able and trusted lawyer, an assiduous public servant, +and not least as a good sportsman. It was the last trait which had led +to his death, for, in his enthusiasm for wild nature, he had been +studying bird life on the cliffs of the Cruives during the storm, and +had made that fatal slip which had deprived the shire of a wise +counsellor and the best of good fellows. +</P> + +<P> +The tinklers of the Garplefoot took themselves off, and where they may +now be pursuing their devious courses is unknown to the chronicler. +Dobson, too, disappeared, for he was not among the dead from the boats. +He knew the neighbourhood, and probably made his way to some port from +which he took passage to one or other of those foreign lands which had +formerly been honoured by his patronage. Nor did all the Russians +perish. Three were found skulking next morning in the woods, starving +and ignorant of any tongue but their own, and five more came ashore +much battered but alive. Alexis took charge of the eight survivors, +and arranged to pay their passage to one of the British Dominions and +to give them a start in a new life. They were broken creatures, with +the dazed look of lost animals, and four of them had been peasants in +Saskia's estates. Alexis spoke to them in their own language. "In my +grandfather's time," he said, "you were serfs. Then there came a +change, and for some time you were free men. Now you have slipped back +into being slaves again—the worst of slaveries, for you have been the +serfs of fools and scoundrels and the black passion of your own hearts. +I give you a chance of becoming free men once more. You have the task +before you of working out your own salvation. Go, and God be with you." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Before we take leave of these companions of a single week I would +present them to you again as they appeared on a certain sunny afternoon +when the episode of Huntingtower was on the eve of closing. First we +see Saskia and Alexis walking on the thymy sward of the cliff-top, +looking out to the fretted blue of the sea. It is a fitting place for +lovers—above all for lovers who have turned the page on a dark +preface, and have before them still the long bright volume of life. +The girl has her arm linked in the man's, but as they walk she breaks +often away from him, to dart into copses, to gather flowers, or to peer +over the brink where the gulls wheel and oyster-catchers pipe among the +shingle. She is no more the tragic muse of the past week, but a +laughing child again, full of snatches of song, her eyes bright with +expectation. They talk of the new world which lies before them, and her +voice is happy. Then her brows contract, and, as she flings herself +down on a patch of young heather, her air is thoughtful. +</P> + +<P> +"I have been back among fairy tales," she says. "I do not quite +understand, Alesha. Those gallant little boys! They are youth, and +youth is always full of strangeness. Mr. Heritage! He is youth, too, +and poetry, perhaps, and a soldier's tradition. I think I know him.... +But what about Dickson? He is the PETIT BOURGEOIS, the EPICIER, the +class which the world ridicules. He is unbelievable. The others with +good fortune I might find elsewhere—in Russia perhaps. But not +Dickson." +</P> + +<P> +"No," is the answer. "You will not find him in Russia. He is what +they call the middle-class, which we who were foolish used to laugh at. +But he is the stuff which above all others makes a great people. He +will endure when aristocracies crack and proletariats crumble. In our +own land we have never known him, but till we create him our land will +not be a nation." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Half a mile away on the edge of the Laver glen Dickson and Heritage are +together, Dickson placidly smoking on a tree-stump and Heritage walking +excitedly about and cutting with his stick at the bracken. Sundry +bandages and strips of sticking plaster still adorn the Poet, but his +clothes have been tidied up by Mrs. Morran, and he has recovered +something of his old precision of garb. The eyes of both are fixed on +the two figures on the cliff-top. Dickson feels acutely uneasy. It is +the first time that he has been alone with Heritage since the arrival +of Alexis shivered the Poet's dream. He looks to see a tragic grief; +to his amazement he beholds something very like exultation. +</P> + +<P> +"The trouble with you, Dogson," says Heritage, "is that you're a bit of +an anarchist. All you false romantics are. You don't see the +extraordinary beauty of the conventions which time has consecrated. You +always want novelty, you know, and the novel is usually the ugly and +rarely the true. I am for romance, but upon the old, noble classic +line." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson is scarcely listening. His eyes are on the distant lovers, and +he longs to say something which will gently and graciously express his +sympathy with his friend. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid," he begins hesitatingly, "I'm afraid you've had a bad +blow, Mr. Heritage. You're taking it awful well, and I honour you for +it." +</P> + +<P> +The Poet flings back his head. "I am reconciled," he says. "After all +'tis better to have loved and lost, you know. It has been a great +experience and has shown me my own heart. I love her, I shall always +love her, but I realize that she was never meant for me. Thank God +I've been able to serve her—that is all a moth can ask of a star. I'm +a better man for it, Dogson. She will be a glorious memory, and Lord! +what poetry I shall write! I give her up joyfully, for she has found +her mate. 'Let us not to the marriage of true minds admit +impediments!' The thing's too perfect to grieve about.... Look! There +is romance incarnate." +</P> + +<P> +He points to the figures now silhouetted against the further sea. "How +does it go, Dogson?" he cries. "'And on her lover's arm she +leant'—what next? You know the thing." +</P> + +<P> +Dickson assists and Heritage declaims: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "And on her lover's arm she leant,<BR> + And round her waist she felt it fold,<BR> + And far across the hills they went<BR> + In that new world which is the old:<BR> + Across the hills, and far away<BR> + Beyond their utmost purple rim,<BR> + And deep into the dying day<BR> + The happy princess followed him."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +He repeats the last two lines twice and draws a deep breath. "How +right!" he cries. "How absolutely right! Lord! It's astonishing how +that old bird Tennyson got the goods!" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +After that Dickson leaves him and wanders among the thickets on the +edge of the Huntingtower policies above the Laver glen. He feels +childishly happy, wonderfully young, and at the same time +supernaturally wise. Sometimes he thinks the past week has been a +dream, till he touches the sticking-plaster on his brow, and finds that +his left thigh is still a mass of bruises and that his right leg is +woefully stiff. With that the past becomes very real again, and he +sees the Garple Dean in that stormy afternoon, he wrestles again at +midnight in the dark House, he stands with quaking heart by the boats +to cut off the retreat. He sees it all, but without terror in the +recollection, rather with gusto and a modest pride. "I've surely had a +remarkable time," he tells himself, and then Romance, the goddess whom +he has worshipped so long, marries that furious week with the idyllic. +He is supremely content, for he knows that in his humble way he has not +been found wanting. Once more for him the Chavender or Chub, and long +dreams among summer hills. His mind flies to the days ahead of him, +when he will go wandering with his pack in many green places. Happy +days they will be, the prospect with which he has always charmed his +mind. Yes, but they will be different from what he had fancied, for he +is another man than the complacent little fellow who set out a week ago +on his travels. He has now assurance of himself, assurance of his +faith. Romance, he sees, is one and indivisible.... +</P> + +<P> +Below him by the edge of the stream he sees the encampment of the +Gorbals Die-Hards. He calls and waves a hand, and his signal is +answered. It seems to be washing day, for some scanty and tattered +raiment is drying on the sward. The band is evidently in session, for +it is sitting in a circle, deep in talk. +</P> + +<P> +As he looks at the ancient tents, the humble equipment, the ring of +small shockheads, a great tenderness comes over him. The Die-Hards are +so tiny, so poor, so pitifully handicapped, and yet so bold in their +meagreness. Not one of them has had anything that might be called a +chance. Their few years have been spent in kennels and closes, always +hungry and hunted, with none to care for them; their childish ears have +been habituated to every coarseness, their small minds filled with the +desperate shifts of living.... And yet, what a heavenly spark was in +them! He had always thought nobly of the soul; now he wants to get on +his knees before the queer greatness of humanity. +</P> + +<P> +A figure disengages itself from the group, and Dougal makes his way up +the hill towards him. The Chieftain is not more reputable in garb than +when we first saw him, nor is he more cheerful of countenance. He has +one arm in a sling made out of his neckerchief, and his scraggy little +throat rises bare from his voluminous shirt. All that can be said for +him is that he is appreciably cleaner. He comes to a standstill and +salutes with a special formality. +</P> + +<P> +"Dougal," says Dickson, "I've been thinking. You're the grandest lot +of wee laddies I ever heard tell of, and, forbye, you've saved my life. +Now, I'm getting on in years, though you'll admit that I'm not that +dead old, and I'm not a poor man, and I haven't chick or child to look +after. None of you has ever had a proper chance or been right fed or +educated or taken care of. I've just the one thing to say to you. +From now on you're my bairns, every one of you. You're fine laddies, +and I'm going to see that you turn into fine men. There's the stuff in +you to make Generals and Provosts—ay, and Prime Ministers, and Dod! +it'll not be my blame if it doesn't get out." +</P> + +<P> +Dougal listens gravely and again salutes. +</P> + +<P> +"I've brought ye a message," he says. "We've just had a meetin' and +I've to report that ye've been unanimously eleckit Chief Die-Hard. +We're a' hopin' ye'll accept." +</P> + +<P> +"I accept," Dickson replies. "Proudly and gratefully I accept." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The last scene is some days later, in a certain southern suburb of +Glasgow. Ulysses has come back to Ithaca, and is sitting by his +fireside, waiting for the return of Penelope from the Neuk Hydropathic. +There is a chill in the air, so a fire is burning in the grate, but the +laden tea-table is bright with the first blooms of lilac. Dickson, in a +new suit with a flower in his buttonhole, looks none the worse for his +travels, save that there is still sticking-plaster on his deeply +sunburnt brow. He waits impatiently with his eye on the black marble +timepiece, and he fingers something in his pocket. +</P> + +<P> +Presently the sound of wheels is heard, and the pea-hen voice of Tibby +announces the arrival of Penelope. Dickson rushes to the door, and at +the threshold welcomes his wife with a resounding kiss. He leads her +into the parlour and settles her in her own chair. +</P> + +<P> +"My! but it's nice to be home again!" she says. "And everything that +comfortable. I've had a fine time, but there's no place like your own +fireside. You're looking awful well, Dickson. But losh! What have you +been doing to your head?" +</P> + +<P> +"Just a small tumble. It's very near mended already. Ay, I've had a +grand walking tour, but the weather was a wee bit thrawn. It's nice to +see you back again, Mamma. Now that I'm an idle man you and me must +take a lot of jaunts together." +</P> + +<P> +She beams on him as she stays herself with Tibby's scones, and when the +meal is ended, Dickson draws from his pocket a slim case. The jewels +have been restored to Saskia, but this is one of her own which she has +bestowed upon Dickson as a parting memento. He opens the case and +reveals a necklet of emeralds, any one of which is worth half the +street. +</P> + +<P> +"This is a present for you," he says bashfully. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. McCunn's eyes open wide. "You're far too kind," she gasps. "It +must have cost an awful lot of money." +</P> + +<P> +"It didn't cost me that much," is the truthful answer. +</P> + +<P> +She fingers the trinket and then clasps it round her neck, where the +green depths of the stones glow against the black satin of her bodice. +Her eyes are moist as she looks at him. "You've been a kind man to +me," she says, and she kisses him as she has not done since Janet's +death. +</P> + +<P> +She stands up and admires the necklet in the mirror. Romance once +more, thinks Dickson. That which has graced the slim throats of +princesses in far-away Courts now adorns an elderly matron in a +semi-detached villa; the jewels of the wild Nausicaa have fallen to the +housewife Penelope. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. McCunn preens herself before the glass. "I call it very genteel," +she says. "Real stylish. It might be worn by a queen." +</P> + +<P> +"I wouldn't say but it has," says Dickson. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Huntingtower, by John Buchan + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUNTINGTOWER *** + +***** This file should be named 3782-h.htm or 3782-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/8/3782/ + +Produced by Edward A. 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