diff options
Diffstat (limited to '3782.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 3782.txt | 8877 |
1 files changed, 8877 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/3782.txt b/3782.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..eb096bf --- /dev/null +++ b/3782.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8877 @@ +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.org + + +Title: Huntingtower + +Author: John Buchan + +Release Date: December 6, 2011 [EBook #3782] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUNTINGTOWER *** + + + + +Produced by Edward A. White, Robert F. Jaffe, Kirsten +Tozer, Charlene Taylor, Cathy Maxam and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +book was produced from scanned images of public domain +material from the Google Print project.) + + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: + +In footnote number 1 (page 72) the author refers to +a sketch on the frontispiece of the book. At the time of posting this +book to Project Gutenberg, it was verified by the content provider that +there is no frontispiece in this particular edition of Huntingtower. + +In the plain-text version of this ebook italics are indicated by +_underscores_. + +Obvious typographical errors have been corrected without comment. One +example of an obvious typographical error is on page 237 where the word +"shamefaceedly" was changed to "shamefacedly". Other than obvious +typographical errors, the author's original spelling has been left +intact. This includes the use of unconventional spelling and dialect. + +Inconsistencies in the author's use of hyphens and accent marks have +been left unchanged, as in the original text. + +The following four changes were made to punctuation and spelling: + + 1. Page 96: An apostrophe was removed from the word "an'" in the + phrase "I've found a ladder, an auld yin" (an old one). + + 2. Page 100: A question mark was changed to a period in the phrase + "... he realised that he was in the presence of something the like + of which he had never met in his life before." + + 4. Page 187: An apostrophe was removed from the word "wing's" in + the phrase "... take the wings off a seagull." + + + + + + + HUNTINGTOWER + + JOHN BUCHAN + + + + +_By_ JOHN BUCHAN + + + HUNTINGTOWER + THE PATH OF THE KING + MR. STANDFAST + GREENMANTLE + THE WATCHERS BY THE THRESHOLD + SALUTE TO ADVENTURES + PRESTER JOHN + THE POWER HOUSE + THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS + THE BATTLE OF THE SOMME + + +NEW YORK: GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY + + + + + HUNTINGTOWER + + BY + JOHN BUCHAN + + NEW [Illustration] YORK + GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1922, + BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY + + [Illustration] + + HUNTINGTOWER. II + + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + + + + +TO + +W. P. KER + + +_If the Professor of Poetry in the University of Oxford has not +forgotten the rock whence he was hewn, this simple story may give him 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, eldest 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."_ + +_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 steep."_ + +J. B. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + + PROLOGUE 11 + + CHAPTER + + I HOW A RETIRED PROVISION MERCHANT FELT + THE IMPULSE OF SPRING 17 + + II OF MR. JOHN HERITAGE AND THE DIFFERENCE + IN POINTS OF VIEW 28 + + III HOW CHILDE ROLAND AND ANOTHER CAME TO + THE DARK TOWER 46 + + IV DOUGAL 70 + + V OF THE PRINCESS IN THE TOWER 85 + + VI HOW MR. McCUNN DEPARTED WITH RELIEF AND + RETURNED WITH RESOLUTION 114 + + VII SUNDRY DOINGS IN THE MIRK 135 + + VIII HOW A MIDDLE-AGED CRUSADER ACCEPTED A + CHALLENGE 154 + + IX THE FIRST BATTLE OF THE CRUIVES 171 + + X DEALS WITH AN ESCAPE AND A JOURNEY 189 + + XI GRAVITY OUT OF BED 209 + + XII HOW MR. McCUNN COMMITTED AN ASSAULT + UPON AN ALLY 225 + + XIII THE COMING OF THE DANISH BRIG 244 + + XIV THE SECOND BATTLE OF THE CRUIVES 257 + + XV THE GORBALS DIE-HARDS GO INTO ACTION 286 + + XVI IN WHICH A PRINCESS LEAVES A DARK TOWER + AND A PROVISION MERCHANT RETURNS TO + HIS FAMILY 306 + + + + +HUNTINGTOWER + + + + +PROLOGUE + + +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. + +"I have saved you this dance, Quentin," she said, pronouncing the name +with a pretty staccato. "You must be so lonely not dancing, so I will +sit with you. What shall we talk about?" + +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. + +"About yourself, please, Saskia," he said. "Are you happy now that you +are a grown-up lady?" + +"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 this, Quentin. To-morrow I am to be allowed to begin +nursing at the Alexander Hospital. What do you think of that?" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +She put her hand on his. "Poor Quentin! Is the leg very bad?" + +He laughed. "Oh, 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." + +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. + +The girl saw his sudden abstraction. + +"What are you thinking about?" she asked. It had been her favourite +question as a child. + +"I was thinking that I rather wished you were still in Paris." + +"But why?" + +"Because I think you would be safer." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +"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." + +The girl laughed merrily. "The King of Spain's daughter," she quoted, + + "Came to visit me, + And all for the love + Of my little nut-tree." + +The other laughed also, as a young man in the uniform of the +Preobrajenski Guard approached to claim the girl. "Even a nut-tree may +be a shelter in a storm," he said. + +"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." + +He watched the two leave the room, her gown glowing like a tongue of +fire in the 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. + +He replaced the thing on its proper table and stood silent for a +moment. + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER I + +HOW A RETIRED PROVISION MERCHANT FELT THE IMPULSE OF SPRING + + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 the bed, +to his reflection in the big looking-glass. + +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. + +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 "Macgregor's 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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + + "What's a man's age? He must hurry more, that's all; + Cram in a day, what his youth took a year to hold: + When we mind labour, then only, we're too old-- + What age had Methusalem when he begat Saul?" + +He would go journeying--who but he?--pleasantly. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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 unauthorised 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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +OF MR. JOHN HERITAGE AND THE DIFFERENCE IN POINTS OF VIEW + + +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 near-by 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 o' 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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 Loch 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He nodded towards the book. "Interesting?" he asked. + +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. + +"How d'you know?" + +"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." + +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. + +"So you were in the war," he said encouragingly. + +"Four blasted years," was the savage reply. "And I never want to hear +the name of the beastly thing again." + +"You said he was an Australian," said Dickson, casting back. "But I +thought Australians had a queer accent, like the English." + +"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." + +"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. + +"Golly, what a name!" exclaimed the young man rudely. + +Dickson was nettled. "It's very old Highland," he said. "It means the +son of a dog." + +"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." + +"That," said Dickson, mollified, "is like a name out of a book. With +that name by rights you should be a poet." + +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." + +"I'm very fond of reading," said Dickson modestly. + +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. + +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. + +"You like reading?" he asked. "What sort? Any use for poetry?" + +"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." + +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." + +"Are you a poet, Mr. Heritage?" + +"No, Dogson, I'm a paper-maker." + +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." + +"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." + +"Have you published anything?" + +The eager admiration in Dickson's tone gratified Mr. Heritage. He drew +from his pocket a slim book. "My firstfruits," he said, rather shyly. + +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. + +"Good God, if you call it nice, I must have failed pretty badly," was +the irritated answer. + +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: + + "Sunflowers, tall Grenadiers, ogle the roses' short-skirted ballet. + The fumes of dark sweet wine hidden in frail petals + Madden the drunkard bees." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"Well?" said the poet. + +"There's a lot of fine things here, but--but the lines don't just seem +to scan very well." + +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." + +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. + +He explained rather haltingly his preferences in prose. + +Mr. Heritage listened with wrinkled brows. + +"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." + +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. + +"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, stock-riding 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." + +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. + +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." + +"The place for you," said Dickson dryly, "is in Russia among the +Bolsheviks." + +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." + +Mr. McCunn was slowly being roused. + +"What brings you wandering hereaways?" he asked. + +"Exercise," was the answer. "I've been kept pretty closely tied up all +winter. And I want leisure and quiet to think over things." + +"Well, there's one subject you might turn your attention to. You'll have +been educated like a gentleman?" + +"Nine wasted years--five at Harrow, four at Cambridge." + +"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!" + +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: + + "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." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +HOW CHILDE ROLAND AND ANOTHER CAME TO THE DARK TOWER + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Westward there ran out a peninsula in the shape of an isosceles +triangle, of which his present highroad 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 flapping listless sails. + +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. + +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." + +Mr. McCunn, being a cautious and pious man, took the omens. He tossed a +penny--heads go on, tails turn aside. It fell tails. + +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. + +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 and picturesque 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. + +"Well met!" he cried; "I was hoping to fall in with you again. You must +have thought me a pretty fair cub last night." + +"I did that," was the dry answer. + +"Well, I want to apologise. 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." + +Mr. McCunn had no gift of nursing anger, and was very susceptible to +apologies. + +"That's all right," he murmured. "Don't mention it. I'm wondering what +brought you down here, for it's off the road." + +"Caprice. Pure caprice. I liked the look of this butt-end of nowhere." + +"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." + +"Now that's interesting," said Mr. Heritage. "You're obsessed by a +particular type of landscape. Ever read Freud?" + +Dickson shook his head. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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?" + +"Not exactly." + +"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?" + +Mr. McCunn was deeply interested at this unexpected revelation of +romance. "Maybe it's being in love," he daringly observed. + +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!" + +There seemed no room for fear in the delicate landscape now opening +before them. In front in groves of birch and rowans 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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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: + + "Thou shalt hear a song + After a while which Gods may listen to; + But place the flask upon the board and wait + Until the stranger hath allayed his thirst, + For poets, grasshoppers and nightingales + Sing cheerily but when the throat is moist." + +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. + +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. + +His face was wrinkled in official smiles, and he gave the travellers a +hearty good afternoon. + +"Can we stop here for the night?" Dickson asked. + +The landlord looked sharply at him, and then replied to Mr. Heritage. +His expression passed from official bonhomie to official contrition. + +"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 +emphasise the desperation of his quandary. + +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. + +"Is there nowhere else we can put up?" Dickson asked. + +"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." + +"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. + +"That fellow's a swine," said Mr. Heritage sourly. "I wouldn't trust my +neck in his pothouse. 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." + +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 tantalised 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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +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 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." + +The woman seemed to relent. "Whaur's your freend?" she asked, peering +over her spectacles towards the garden gate. The waiting Mr. Heritage, +seeing her eyes moving in his direction, took off his cap with a brave +gesture and advanced. "Glorious weather, Madam," he declared. + +"English," whispered Dickson to the woman, in explanation. + +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." + +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." + +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." + +That was what the innkeeper had told them. Mr. McCunn inquired +concerning the inn. + +"There's new folk just come. What's this they ca' +them?--Robson--Dobson--aye, Dobson. What for wad they no' tak' ye in? +Does the man think he's a laird to refuse folk that gait?" + +"He said he had illness in the house." + +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." + +Dickson inquired about the "new folk." + +"They're a' new 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." + +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. + +"Who bides in the Big House?" he asked. "Huntingtower is the name, isn't +it?" + +"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 faither 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." + +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've a' +scattered or deid." + +Her grave face wore the tenderness which comes from affectionate +reminiscence. + +"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's a' bye wi'." + +"Quentin Kennedy--the fellow in the Tins?" Heritage asked. "I saw him in +Rome when he was with the Mission." + +"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." + +"Who are the lawyers?" Dickson asked. + +"Glendonan and Speirs in Embro. But they never look near the place, and +Maister Loudoun 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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"May we walk up to the House?" Heritage asked. "We are here for a night +and should like to have a look at it." + +The man advanced a step. He had either a bad cold, or a voice comparable +in size to his features. + +"There's no entrance here," he said huskily. "I have strict orders." + +"Oh, come now," said Heritage. "It can do nobody any harm if you let us +in for half an hour." + +The man advanced another step. + +"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. + +The travellers turned their back on him and continued their way. + +"Sich a curmudgeon!" Dickson commented. His face had flushed, for he was +susceptible to rudeness. "Did you notice? That man's a foreigner." + +"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." + +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 further 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. + +Heritage flung himself on the turf. + +"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!" + +Dickson observed and marvelled. + +"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. + +"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." + +Mr. Heritage was assuredly in a strange mood. He began to whistle with a +far-away look in his eye. + +"Do you know what that is?" he asked suddenly. + +Dickson, who could not detect any tune, said No. + +"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?" + +Dickson replied in the native fashion. "Have you?" he asked. + +"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." + +"I'm sure I'm honoured by your confidence," said Dickson reverently. + +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." + +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 this, 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. + +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. + +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. He had the absurd fancy that they +were torches flaming before a bier. + +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. + +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. + +"Let's get out of this," said Dickson, and turned to go. + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +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. + +"I am going back," he said. "That is the voice of the girl I saw in +Rome, and it is singing her song!" + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +DOUGAL + + +"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." + +"I'm going back to that place." + +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." + +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. + +"You heard the singing?" he asked. + +Dickson was a very poor hand at a lie. "I heard something," he admitted. + +"You heard a girl's voice singing?" + +"It sounded like that," was the admission. "But I'm thinking it might +have been a seagull." + +"You're a fool," said the Poet rudely. + +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 alone 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. + +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. + +Heritage drank a glass of milk but would not touch food. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +Heritage cleared a space on the table and spread out a section of a +large-scale Ordnance map. + +"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.[1]... "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." + +[Footnote 1: The reader is referred to the improved version of Mr. +Heritage's sketch reproduced as a frontispiece.] + +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. + +"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." + +Mrs. Morran, brandishing a dishclout dramatically, flung open the door, +and with a vigorous push propelled into the kitchen a singular figure. + +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 bandana. His legs and feet were bare, blue, scratched, and +very dirty, and his 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. + +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. + +"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?" + +The Chieftain's brow darkened. + +"'_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'." + +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. + +"Sit down and let's hear about things," said Dickson. + +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." + +"The devil you did," said Heritage, roused to a sudden attention. "And +where were you?" + +"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 got a shot at me +two days syne." + +Dickson exclaimed, and Dougal with morose pride showed a rent in his +kilt. "If I had had on breeks, he'd ha' got me." + +"Who's Lean?" Heritage asked. + +"The man wi' the black coat. The other--the lame one--they ca' Spittal." + +"How d'you know?" + +"I've listened to them crackin' thegither." + +"But what for did the man want to shoot at you?" asked the scandalised +Dickson. + +"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 hidin' 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." + +"Were you not feared?" said Dickson. + +"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." + +Heritage had risen and was staring down at the small squatting figure. + +"What have you found out? Quick. Tell me at once." His voice was sharp +and excited. + +"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 +didn't like the look o' Lean, and I followed ye here, for I was thinkin' +I needit help." + +Heritage plucked Dougal by the shoulder and lifted him to his feet. + +"For God's sake, boy," he cried, "tell us what you know!" + +"Will ye help?" + +"Of course, you little fool." + +"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." + +Dickson at first refused, declaring it was all havers, but Heritage's +docility persuaded him to follow suit. The two were sworn. + +"Now," said Heritage. + +Dougal squatted again on the hearth-rug, and gathered the eyes of his +audience. He was enjoying himself. + +"This day," he said slowly, "I got inside the Hoose." + +"Stout fellow," said Heritage; "and what did you find there?" + +"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." + +Heritage's patience was nearly exhausted. + +"I don't want to hear how you got in. What did you find, you little +devil?" + +"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." + +Heritage sat down before him with a stern face. + +"Describe them," he commanded. + +"One o' them is dead auld, as auld as the wife here. She didn't look to +me very right in the head." + +"And the other?" + +"Oh, just a lassie." + +"What was she like?" + +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!" + +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 +wouldn't 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!" + +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 scoundrels 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." + +"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!" + +"Please yersel'," said the Chieftain and looked at Heritage. + +"I'm on," said that gentleman. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"I'm certainly going to get into the House to-morrow," 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?" + +"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." + +"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 +good-bye after breakfast, and you can continue as if you had never +turned aside to this damned peninsula. But I've got to stay." + +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 the +retrospect. Was he being false to his deepest faith? + +"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." + +"I don't object," said Heritage. "But no amount of common sense will +change my mind." + +Their hostess forestalled them by returning at that moment to the +kitchen. + +"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. + +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." + +"What I want to hear from you, Mrs. Morran," said Dickson impressively, +"is whether you think there's anything in that boy's story?" + +"I think it's maist likely true. He's a terrible impident callant, but +he's no' a leear." + +"Then you think that a gang of ruffians have got two lone women shut up +in that House for their own purposes?" + +"I wadna wonder." + +"But it's ridiculous! This is a Christian and law-abiding country. What +would the police say?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Weel, I wadna say but ye're richt," said the lady. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"And if you were me?" Heritage asked with his queer crooked smile. + +"If I was a 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 speired my advice, sirs, and ye've +gotten it. Now I maun clear awa' your supper." + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +OF THE PRINCESS IN THE TOWER + + +Very early 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. + +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 his clothes, came Dobson the +innkeeper. + +"Good morning," said the Poet. "I hope the sickness in your house is on +the mend?" + +"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. + +"We're just waiting on breakfast to get on the road again. I'm jolly +glad we spent the night here. We found quarters after all, you know." + +"So I see. Whereabouts, may I ask?" + +"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." + +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." + +The man turned on Heritage. + +"Where are ye for the day?" + +"Auchenlochan," said Dickson hastily. He was still determined to shake +the dust of Dalquharter from his feet. + +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." + +"That," said Heritage as they entered the village street again, "is the +first step in camouflage, to put the enemy off his guard." + +"It was an abominable lie," said Dickson crossly. + +"Not at all. It was a necessary and proper _ruse de guerre_. It +explained why we spent the night 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." + +"I'm not coming with you." + +"I never said you were. By 'we' I refer to myself and the red-headed +boy." + +"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." + +For a second their hostess looked bewildered. Then the corners of her +prim mouth moved upwards in a slow smile. + +"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." + +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 note-case to his pocket, +murmuring darkly that "he would send it from Glasgow." + +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 which +they had come yesterday, for by it twice daily the post-cart 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. + +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. + +Dougal received the travellers with the condescension of a regular +towards civilians. + +"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." + +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--ay, and wedged +from the inside." + +Dickson brightened. Was the insane venture off? + +"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 must be open or the +lassie must have 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's 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." + +"Could we climb it?" Heritage asked. + +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." + +"Lead on," said Heritage. "We'll try the verandah." + +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. + +"I'm coming with you," he said. + +"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. + +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. + +"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 must 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 must 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 head till I give the word." + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"There's dashed little cover here," said Heritage. + +"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?" + +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 Broomilaw. Has the auld yin got +his wind yet? There's no time to waste." + +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. + +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. + +"Ye must bide here," said Dougal, "and no cheep above your breath. Afore +we dare to try that wall, I must 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 breath with a shocking fervour. + +One of Dickson's troubles had been that he did not really 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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"Half an hour ago," said Heritage, consulting a wrist watch. + +"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 ahint yon lot o' bushes. +It'll help wi' the wall. There! I've gotten my breath again and we can +start." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"That'll be the end o' them the night," 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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +The girl looked at him. + +"I do not remember," she said slowly. + +"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." + +"You are a soldier?" she asked, with a new note in her voice. + +"I was then--till the war finished." + +"And now? Why have you come here?" + +"To offer you help if you need it. If not, to ask your pardon and go +away." + +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. + +"This is my friend. If you will trust us we will do our best to save +you." + +The eyes rested on Dickson's face, and he realised 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. + +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. + +"Very pleased to meet you, Mem. I'm Mr. McCunn from Glasgow." + +"You don't even know my name," she said. + +"We don't," said Heritage. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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." + +There was something in the boy's truculent courage that cheered her. + +"I wonder," she said, and her eyes fell on each in turn. + +Dickson felt impelled to intervene. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Deary me, that's a bad business," said the startled Dickson. + +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. + +"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 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 jewels +which once belonged to my Emperor--they had been stolen by the brigands +and must be recovered. There were others still hidden in Russia which +must be brought to a safe place. In that work I was ordered to share." + +She spoke in almost perfect English, with a certain foreign precision. +Suddenly she changed to French, and talked rapidly to Heritage. + +"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. + +"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 net as wide as +mankind." + +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. + +"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 the help of the law--first in Italy and +then in France. Oh, 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 very clever--oh, +very clever. And I have learned not to fear." + +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. + +"Why and how did you come here?" he asked. + +"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." + +"What is his name?" Heritage asked. + +She spelt it, "Monsieur Loudon--L-O-U-D-O-N in the town of +Auchenlochan." + +"The factor," said Dickson. "And what then?" + +"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." + +"Which?" asked Heritage. "Dobson or Lean or Spittal?" + +"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." + +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. + +Heritage was wrinkling his brows. "I don't think I quite understand. The +jewels? You have them with you?" + +She nodded. + +"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?" + +She shook her head. "I cannot explain--except perhaps, that Spidel had +not arrived that night, and Leon may have been waiting instructions." + +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?" + +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." + +"Have they searched for them?" + +"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 to-morrow at noon to produce the jewels. If not, he says I will +die." + +"Mercy on us!" Dickson exclaimed. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Then there is something more which you haven't told us?" Heritage +asked. + +Was there the faintest shadow of a blush on her cheek? "There is +something more," she said. + +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. + +"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." + +"That's the man she was askin' me about yesterday," said Dougal, who had +squatted on the floor. + +Heritage shook his head. "We only came here last night. When did you +expect Prince--your friend?" + +"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." + +"The ones already here are not all the enemies that threaten you?" + +"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." + +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 it up 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. + +"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 be +discovered." + +"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." + +"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." + +Heritage brought his hands together with a smack. "That's an idea. Will +you trust us to take these things and deposit them safely?" + +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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Where are they?" Heritage asked. + +"That I do not tell. But I will fetch them." + +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 to +Dickson. + +"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?" + +"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. + +"I will remain in the neighbourhood to await developments," he said. +"We had better leave you now. Dougal, lead on." + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"What star?" Dickson asked. + +"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. + +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. + +"Who is it?" cried the voice. "Oh, you! I thought ye were off the day?" + +Dickson rose nobly to the occasion. + +"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." + +"So!" said the voice. "Queer thing I never saw ye on the Auchenlochan +road, where ye can see three mile before ye." + +"I left early and took it easy along the shore." + +"Did ye so? Well, good-night to ye." + +Five minutes later Dickson walked into Mrs. Morran's kitchen, where +Heritage was busy making up for a day of short provender. + +"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 doors and windows, for +I've a lot to tell you." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +HOW MR. McCUNN DEPARTED WITH RELIEF AND RETURNED WITH RESOLUTION + + +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. + +The traveller, after making sure that Dobson was looking, furtively +slipped the key of the trunk into his knapsack. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +Mrs. Morran played her part well, with all the becoming gravity of an +affectionate aunt, but so 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!" + +Meantime 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. + +"Are you travelling to-day?" he asked the innkeeper. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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 about +being late for trains, forced his eyes away and regarded again the road +behind them. 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. + +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 realise 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. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 recognised with a peculiar joy--the bagman in the +provision line of business whom he had met three days before at +Kilchrist. + +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?" + +"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." + +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?" + +"I've changed my mind," was the gruff answer. + +"Was that you I heard crying on me, when we were running for the train?" + +"Ay. I thought ye had forgot about your kist." + +"No fear," said Dickson. "I'm no' likely to forget my auntie's scones." + +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 tumbledown house! + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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 that one +which seemed to him to have 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. + +"I breakfasted terrible early," he told the driver. "I think I'll have a +bite to eat. Will you wait?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"What's become of my pack? I left it on the seat, and now it's gone! +There's been a thief here." + +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. + +"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." + +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 there still?" + +The attendant glanced at a 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." + +"Thank you. There's been a mistake, but the blame's mine. My man mistook +my orders." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +So Dickson was ushered promptly into an inner room, and was warmly +greeted by Mr. Mackintosh, the patron of the Gorbals Die-Hards. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Mr. Mackintosh obediently took pen in hand. + +"What'll I call them?" he asked. + +"Just the three leather parcels handed to you by Dickson McCunn, Esq., +naming the date." + +Mr. Mackintosh wrote. He signed his name with his usual flourish and +handed the slip to his client. + +"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?" + +"Perfectly. May I ask any questions?" + +"You'd better not if you don't want to hear lees." + +"What's in the packages?" Mr. Mackintosh weighed them in his hand. + +"That's asking," said Dickson. "But I'll tell ye this much. It's jools." + +"Your own?" + +"No, but I'm their trustee." + +"Valuable?" + +"I was hearing they were worth more than a million pounds." + +"God bless my soul," said the startled manager. "I don't like this kind +of business, McCunn." + +"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." + +Mr. Mackintosh forced himself to a joke. "Did you maybe steal them?" + +Dickson grinned. "Just what I did. And that being so, I want you to let +me out by the back door." + +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 there +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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 great need? + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"What like a firm are Glendonan and Speirs in Edinburgh?" he asked the +senior partner. + +"Oh, very respectable. Very respectable indeed. Regular Edinburgh W.S. +lot. Do a lot of factoring." + +"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." + +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? Oh, 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." + +He put his hand over the receiver. "Usual Edinburgh way of doing +business," he observed caustically. "What do you want done?" + +"I'll run down and see this Loudon. Tell Glendonan and Speirs to advise +him to expect me, for I'll go this very day." + +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." + +Dickson's next visit was to a gunmaker who was a fellow-elder with him +in the Guthrie Memorial Kirk. + +"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." + +"For yourself?" the gunmaker asked. "You must have a licence, I doubt, +and there's a lot of new regulations." + +"I can't wait on a licence. 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." + +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." + +So Dickson bestowed in the pockets of his waterproof 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. + +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! + +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. + + "Oh, world, where all things change and nought abides, + Oh, life, the long mutation--is it so? + Is it with life as with the body's change?-- + Where, e'en tho' better follow, good must pass." + +That was as far as he could get, though he cudgelled his memory to +continue. Moralising thus, he became drowsy, and was almost asleep when +the train drew up at the station of Kirkmichael. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +SUNDRY DOINGS IN THE MIRK + + +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 ten 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. + +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 +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. + +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 oil-cloth, 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?" + +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, on 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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"I've come to see you about Huntingtower House," he began. + +"I know. So Glendonan's 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?" + +"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 big +provision shop in Mearns Street--now the United Supply Stores, Limited. +You've maybe heard of it?" + +The other bowed and smiled. "Who hasn't? The name of Dickson McCunn is +known far beyond the city of Glasgow." + +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?" + +"When it was built fifteen years ago it was considered a model--six +bathrooms, its own electric light plant, steam heating, an 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." + +"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." + +"I'm very sorry to hear that," said Mr. Loudon in a tone of concern. + +"Ay, and if I take the place I'll stipulate that you get rid of the +lodgekeepers." + +"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." + +"They're foreigners." + +"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." + +"He's not that. And I don't like the innkeeper either. I would want him +shifted." + +Mr. 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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"I was thinking of to-morrow. Since I'm down in these parts I may as +well get the job done." + +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 Francis 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." + +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. + +"All the same I would like to have a look at the place to-morrow, even +if nothing comes of it." + +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." + +"D'you mean to say not a soul is allowed inside the House?" + +"Not a soul." + +"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." + +"It would be Spittal, who acts as caretaker." + +"It was not. It was a woman. I saw her on the verandah." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +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. + +"Is the old lady a wee wizened body, with a black cap and something like +a white cashmere shawl round her shoulders?" + +"You describe her exactly," Mr. Loudon replied eagerly. + +"That would explain the foreigners." + +"Of course. We couldn't have natives who would make the thing the clash +of the countryside." + +"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?" + +"Oh, there's no fear of that. Besides, I've a position in this +county--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." + +"I see," said Dickson. He saw, indeed, a great deal which would give him +food for furious thought. "Well, I must just 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." + +The factor accompanied him to the door, diffusing geniality. "Very +pleased indeed to have met you. A pleasant journey and a quick return." + +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 inn-keeper 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. + +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. + +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 evidence--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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Who goes there?" + +"What's that you say?" + +"Who goes there?" The point of a pole was held firmly against his chest. + +"I'm Mr. McCunn, a friend of Dougal's." + +"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." + +Presently the messenger returned with Dougal and a cheap lantern which +he flashed in Dickson's face. + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"Things," said Dougal solemnly, "has come to a bonny cripus. This very +night we've been in a battle." + +He spat fiercely, and the light of war burned in his eyes. + +"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." + +"What happened?" Dickson asked excitedly. + +"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 poles, 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." + +"Well done, man. Had you many casualties?" + +"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." + +"They're beaten off for the night, anyway?" + +"Ay, for the night. But they'll come back, never fear. That's why I said +that things had come to a cripus." + +"What's the news from the House?" + +"A quiet day, and no word o' Lean or Dobson." + +Dickson nodded. "They were hunting me." + +"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 grand climber, 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?" + +"Safe in the bank. But the jools were not the main thing." + +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." + +"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 till it's too late. So we must take up +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." + +"I doubt no'," said Dougal. "But what about our meat?" + +"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?" + +Dougal reflected. "Ay, we can hire Mrs. Sempill's powny, the same that +fetched our kit." + +"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?" + +"There's just the one road open--by the rocks. It'll have to be done. It +_can_ be done." + +"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." + +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." + +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." + +"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." + +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 +coalrees and dunnies and dodgin' the polis. Ye'll no beat the Gorbals +Die-Hards." + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +HOW A MIDDLE-AGED CRUSADER ACCEPTED A CHALLENGE + + +The first cocks had just begun to crow and the 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. + +"Eh, sirs, 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 +cheese-box thae thirty year." + +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. + +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 his bed and shivered, with his eyes on the +grey drift of rain. He would have felt more stout-hearted had the sun +been shining. + +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. + +"It's the man frae the inn," she announced. "He's wantin' a word wi' ye. +Speakin' verra ceevil, too." + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"I hear ye're taking a lease of Huntingtower?" + +"Now who told you that?" + +"Just the clash of the place. Is it true?" + +Dickson looked sly and a little annoyed. + +"I 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." + +"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." + +"That's maybe the fact," Dickson admitted. + +"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 ye 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." + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +"It's a queer thing," said Dickson meditatively, "that you should keep +an 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." + +"What d'ye mean?" asked Dobson sharply. + +"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? + +The innkeeper had an ugly look on his face, but he controlled his temper +with an effort. "There's no cause for suspicion," he said. "As far as +I'm concerned it's all honest and aboveboard." + +"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." + +Dobson jumped from his chair, his face pale with anger. A man in pyjamas +on a raw morning does not feel at his bravest, and Dickson quailed under +the expectation of assault. But even in his fright he realised 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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Mercy on us!" Dickson exclaimed. "What is it you're expecting? Sinn +Fein?" + +The innkeeper nodded. "Something like that." + +"Did you ever hear the like? I never did think much of the Irish." + +"Then ye'll take my advice and go home? Tell ye what, I'll drive ye to +the station." + +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." + +"I'm warning ye, fair and honest. Ye ... can't ... be ... allowed ... to +... stay ... here!" + +"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?" + +"Ye'll stay?" + +"Ay, I'll stay." + +"By God, we'll see about that." + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +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 realised 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. + +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." + +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." + +"How are you, Dougal?" Dickson asked genially. "Is the peace of nature +smoothing out the creases in your poor little soul?" + +"What's that ye say?" + +"Oh, just what I heard a man say in Glasgow. How have you got on?" + +"Not so bad. Your telegram was sent this mornin'. Old 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. Sempill's 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." + +"And what about your camp on the moor?" + +"It was broke up afore daylight. Some of our things we've got with us, +and most is hid near at hand. The tents are in the auld wife's +henhoose," and he jerked his disreputable head in the direction of the +back door. + +"Have the tinklers been back?" + +"Ay. 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." + +"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." + +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." + +"Auntie Phemie," said Dickson a few minutes later, "will you oblige me +by coming for a short walk?" + +"The man's daft," was the answer. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"However will you get home, mistress?" he murmured anxiously. + +"Fine. The wind will fa' at the darkenin'. This'll be a sair time for +ships at sea." + +Not a soul was about, as 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. + +"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." + +"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 back on +the chap o' seeven." + +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. + +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. + +A small figure rose from the shelter of a boulder, the warrior who bore +the name of Old Bill. He saluted gravely. + +"Ye're just in time. The water has rose three inches since I've been +here. Ye'd better strip." + +Dickson removed his boots and socks. "Breeks, too," commanded the boy; +"there's deep holes ayont thae stanes." + +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. + +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. + +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 mass +of rock. Here Old Bill whistled, and there was a reply from above. Round +the corner of the mass came Dougal. + +"Up here," he commanded. "It was Mr. Heritage that fund this road." + +Dickson and his guide squeezed themselves between the mass 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. + +"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." + +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 recognised as Heritage, was coiling up the rope. + +"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." + +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." + +"Are they due to-night?" Dickson asked in an excited whisper, faint +against the wind. + +"I don't know about They. But I've got a notion that some devilish queer +things will happen before to-morrow morning." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE FIRST BATTLE OF THE CRUIVES + + +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. + +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. + +In the ground room lay a fine assortment of oddments, including old +bedsteads and servants' furniture, and what looked like ancient +discarded deer-skin 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. + +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. + +"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. + +A council in whispers was held in the garden room. + +"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 +this 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." + +"That's so," assented Dougal. + +"If the enemy forces an entrance we must overpower him. Any means you +like. Sticks or fists, and remember that if it's a scrap in the dark +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." + +"So have I," said Dickson. "I got it in Glasgow." + +"The deuce you have! Can you use it?" + +"I don't know." + +"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." + +"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. + +"Then off with you. Mr. McCunn and I will explain matters to the +ladies." + +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 +civilisation 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." + +"Did she say what he was like in appearance?" + +"A face like an angel--a lost angel, she says." + +Dickson suddenly had an inspiration. + +"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." + +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." + +"Why me more than you?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +The girl's strained face watched him at first in mystification, and then +broke slowly into a smile. Youth came back to it, the smile changed to a +laugh, a low rippling laugh like far-away bells. She took both his +hands. + +"You are kind," she said, "you are kind and brave. You are a de-ar." + +And then she kissed him. + +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 Bolshevism had +appeared in the doorway, Dickson would have hurled himself upon them +with a joyful shout. + +Cousin Eugenie was earnestly eating chocolates, but Saskia had other +business. + +"You will hold the house?" she asked. + +"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." + +"I do not want the help of your law," the girl interrupted. "It will +entangle me." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Is it barricaded?" asked Heritage, who had apparently not been asleep. + +"Ay, 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?" + +"Supposing they don't come in one at a time?" Dickson objected. + +"We'll make them," said Dougal firmly. "There's no time to waste. Are ye +for it?" + +"Yes," said Heritage. "Who's at the kitchen door?" + +"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." + +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 gravel 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. + +"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 tried +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." + +"And Dobson and Leon are at the verandah door? With a light?" + +"Thomas Yownie's on duty there. Ye can trust him. Ye'll no fickle Thomas +Yownie." + +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! + +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. + +Suddenly the light disappeared and there was a clatter on the floor and +a breaking of glass. Either the wind or Thomas Yownie. + +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. + +"He's late. He should have been here five minutes syne. It would be a +dirty road for his car." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Heritage," he whispered as loud as he dared, but there was no answer. + +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. + +Now behold the occasional advantage of a nickname. 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. + +"Ay, it's me," he whispered. + +His voice and accent were Scotch, like Dobson's, and Leon suspected +nothing. + +"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." + +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. + +"Heritage," he gasped. "Help!" + +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 a sound of +a concussion, as if metal or wood had struck some part of a human frame, +and then a stumble and fall. + +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. + +"Where's Dobson?" he asked. + +"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?" + +"Ay, I'm better," said a pallid midget. + +"He kickit Jaikie in the stomach and Jaikie was seeck," Dougal +explained. "That's the three accounted for. Now they're safe for five +hours at the least. 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?" + +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. + +"All the more reason why we should flit," said Dougal. "What d'ye say, +Mr. McCunn?" + +"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." + +Dougal's face was once again sunk in gloom. "What's your plan, then?" + +"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." + +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. + +"Tell me again," she said. "You have locked all the three up, and they +are now the imprisoned?" + +"Well, it was the boys that, properly speaking, did the locking up." + +"It is a great--how do you say?--a turning of the tables. Ah--what is +that?" + +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 +still 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. + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + + + + +CHAPTER X + +DEALS WITH AN ESCAPE AND A JOURNEY + + +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 window, 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. + +The Chieftain had washed the blood from the Poet's brow and the touch of +cold water was bringing 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. + +"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." + +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. + +The girl raised her head. "But I fear he has become mad," she said. + +"Wheesht, Mem," said Dickson, who recognised the jargon. "He's a paper +maker." + +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. + +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." + +"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?" + +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?" + +The Poet suddenly realised 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." + +She smiled at him tenderly. "You say that when you have risked your life +for me." + +"There's no time to waste," the relentless Dougal broke in. "Comin' over +here, I heard a shot. What was it?" + +"It was me," said Dickson. "I was shootin' at the factor." + +"Did ye hit him?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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, 'Ay.' Thomas +mindit the word for he had heard about it at the Picters." + +Dickson exclaimed in horror. + +"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 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?" + +Dickson returned to the others with a grave face. + +"Where d'you think the new folk are coming from?" he asked. + +Heritage answered, "From Auchenlochan, I suppose? Or perhaps down from +the hills?" + +"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." + +"The sea," Heritage repeated in a dazed voice. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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----" + +There was a desperate finality about the quiet tones and the weary face +with the shadow of a smile on it. + +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. Once 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." + +"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 rid get of the civilians." + +"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." + +"Do you think that if you were fighting my enemies, I would consent to +be absent?" came Saskia's reproachful question. + +"'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." + +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." + +"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?" + +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. + +To Dickson's surprise Dougal seemed to be in good spirits. He began to +sing to a hymn tune a strange ditty. + + "Class-conscious we are, and class-conscious wull be + Till our fit's on the neck o' the Boorjoyzee." + +"What on earth are you singing?" Dickson inquired. + +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 jine 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." + +"What does the last word mean?" + +"I don't ken. Jaikie thought it was some kind of a draigon." + +"It's a daft-like thing anyway.... When's high water?" + +Dougal answered that to the best of his knowledge it fell between four +and five in the afternoon. + +"Then that's when we may expect the foreign gentry if they think to +bring their boat in to the Garple foot.... 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." + +"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 ye 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, ye may be sure that Jaikie's gettin' +dangerous." + +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. + +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. + +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 +fairy-tale 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. + +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. + +"I've brought you two ladies, Auntie Phemie," said Dickson. + +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. + +Mrs. Morran looked once at Saskia, and then did a thing which she had +not done since her girlhood. She curtseyed. + +"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 jiffy. 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. + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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 callant, a freend o' puir Maister Quentin, +and up to ony deevilry. But they tell me he's a quieter lad since the +war, and sair lamed by fa'in oot o' an airyplane." + +"Will he be at the Mains just now?" Dickson asked. + +"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 Aprile 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." + +"Will he help, think you?" + +"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." + +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." + +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 realised, too, that speed on his errand was vital, for at +any moment the Unknown might arrive from the sea. + +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 a word for his +friend. + +"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!" + +She smiled. + +"Ay, and he's a poet too." + +"So?" she said. "I did not know. He is very young." + +"He's a man of very high ideels." + +She puzzled at the word, and then smiled. "I know him. 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." + +This seemed to Dickson's loyal soul but a chilly tribute. + +"I think he is in love with me," she continued. + +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 her 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. + +"He is a romantic," she said. "I have known so many like him." + +"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." + +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." + +"I'm just what you see--a middle-aged retired grocer." + +"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." + +Her eyes were kind, nay affectionate, and Dickson experienced a +preposterous rapture in his soul, followed by a sinking, as he realised +how far the job was still from being completed. + +"We must be getting on, Mem," he said hastily, and the two plunged again +into the heather. + +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. + +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. + +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 wall, 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 armchair +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Go ahead. A good story is just what I want this vile mornin'." + +"I'm not here alone. I've a lady with me." + +"God bless my soul! A lady!" + +"Ay, a princess. She's in the next room." + +The young man looked wildly at him and waved the book he had been +reading. + +"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'." + +"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." + +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!" + +He was on his feet now, and, with his arm in Dickson's, was heading for +the door. + +"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!" + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +GRAVITY OUT OF BED + + +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. + +She inclined her head--a little on one side, and looked towards Dickson. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"You are a soldier?" she asked. + +"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." + +"You were a friend of Captain Kennedy?" + +"His oldest. We were at the same private school, and he was at m' +tutor's, and we were never much separated till he went abroad to cram +for the Diplomatic and I started east to shoot things." + +"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. + +"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." + +"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 mobilising 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." + +"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!" + +"I would like your candid opinion on yon factor, Sir Archibald," said +Dickson. + +"I can't say I ever liked him, and I've once or twice had a row with +him, for he 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 horse-flesh, and I fancy he plunged a bit on the +Turf. But I can't think how he got mixed up in this show." + +"I'm positive Dobson's his brother." + +"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 +will arrive with reinforcements, and then there will be a hefty fight. +Well, the first thing to be done is 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." + +Saskia shook her head and Dickson spoke for her. + +"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 there's going to be a battle she'd like to be in it. Is +that so, Mem?" + +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'." + +"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." + +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." + +"I'm not. I'm just a business man." + +"Do you realise that you're levying a private war and breaking every law +of the land?" + +"Hoots!" said Dickson. "I don't care a docken about the law. I'm for +seeing this job through. What force can you produce?" + +"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." + +"They'll do fine," said Dickson heartily. "All sodgers, and no doubt all +good shots. Have you plenty guns?" + +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." + +"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." + +"And then?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Why, he could not have explained, for Dickson's instincts were subtler +than his intelligence. He recognised 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. + +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? + +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. + +"Are ye sure it's the richt man, Ecky?" said a voice which he did not +hear. + +"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." + +"Is he bad?" + +"It doesna maitter," said the one called Ecky. "He'll be deid onyway +long afore the morn." + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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 recognised 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: + + "The Boorjoys' brays are bonny, + Too-roo-ra-roo-raloo, + But the Worrkers o' the Worrld + Wull gar them a' look blue, + Wull gar them a' look blue, + And droon them in the sea, + And--for bonnie Annie Laurie + I'll lay me down and dee." + +"Losh, laddie," she cried, "that's cauld food for the stamach. Come +indoors about midday and I'll gie ye a plate o' broth!" The Die-Hard +saluted and continued on the turnip. + +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. + +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 +realised 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. + +But something caught her eye a hundred yards further 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. + +It was an old dingy green felt hat, and she recognised it as Dickson's. + +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. + +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. + +"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 +mysel', but my legs are ower auld. Oh, 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!" + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +HOW MR. McCUNN COMMITTED AN ASSAULT UPON AN ALLY + + +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. + +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. + +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 only see +directly in front his prospect was strictly circumscribed. + +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 incrustation 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. + +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 cheeks. 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. + +He had also most comprehensively wrecked himself, and at the thought the +most 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. + +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 agonising 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 his throat braced him, and also quickened his numb +mind. The liveliest terror ran like quicksilver through his veins. + +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 been 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 then 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 grew larger, and to his amazement he +looked at a human face--the face of a pallid small boy. + +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. + +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. + +There was a sound in the wood different from the wind and stream. Jaikie +listened like a startled hind. + +"They're comin' back," he gasped. "Just you bide where ye are and let on +ye're still tied up." + +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 realised +that the boy had been right. Feeble and cramped as he was, he would have +stood no chance in a race. + +One of the tinklers was the man called Ecky. He had been running hard, +and was mopping his brow. + +"Hob's seen the brig," he said. "It's droppin' anchor ayont the Dookits +whaur there's a beild 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." + +The other cast a glance towards Dickson. + +"What about him?" he asked. + +The two scrutinised 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. + +"What'll you take to let me go?" he asked plaintively. + +"Naething that you could offer, my mannie," said Ecky. + +"I'll give you a five-pound note apiece." + +"Produce the siller," said the other. + +"It's in my pocket." + +"It's no' that. We riped your pooches lang syne." + +"I'll take you to Glasgow with me and pay you there. Honour bright." + +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." + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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 in +time, what a rounding-up of miscreants that day would see! + +As the trees thinned on the brow of the slope and he saw the sky, he +realised 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. + +He recognised them only too well. They belonged to the man he had seen +in the inn at Kirkmichael, the man whom Heritage had decided was an +Australian, but whom they now knew 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. + +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 +big spanner lying on the ground. He seized it and with all his strength +smote at the man's face. + +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 back a step or two and then subsided among the +bracken. + +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?" + +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. + +"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?" + +Explanation was beyond Dickson, but his conviction was being wofully +shaken. Saskia had said her enemy was as 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. + +"What's your name?" the voice was asking. + +"Tell me yours first," Dickson essayed to stutter between spasms of +nausea. + +"My name is Alexander Nicholson," was the answer. + +"Then you're no' the man." It was a cry of wrath and despair. + +"You're a very desperate little chap. For whom had I the honour to be +mistaken?" + +Dickson had now wriggled into a sitting position and had clasped his +hands above his aching head. + +"I thought you were a Russian, name of Paul," he groaned. + +"Paul! Paul who?" + +"Just Paul. A Bolshevik and an awful bad lot." + +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. + +"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." + +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? + +"Are you sure you name's no' Alexis?" he asked. + +"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?" + +"Give me your hand," said Dickson shamefacedly. "Man, she's been looking +for you for weeks. You're terribly behind the fair." + +"She!" he cried. "For God's sake tell me all you know." + +"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." + +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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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 I'm 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." + +"I am going to the Princess," said the Russian. + +"Ay, that'll be best. You'll be maybe able to manage her, for you'll be +well acquaint." + +"She is my kinswoman. She is also my affianced wife." + +"Keep us!" Dickson exclaimed, with a doleful thought of Heritage. "What +ailed you then no' to look after her better?" + +"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 to-day." + +"It's a queer thing, but I wouldn't take you for a Russian." + +Alexis finished his work and put away his tools. "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." + +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?" + +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. + +"What's the news?" he demanded. + +Dougal glanced at Alexis and seemed to approve his looks. + +"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." + +"The Princess is not there?" was Dickson's anxious inquiry. + +"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 +gemkeepers 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.'" + +"Where are they now?" + +"In the Hoose o' Dalquharter, and a sore job I had gettin' them in. +We've shifted our base again, without the enemy suspectin'." + +"Any word of the police?" + +"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 convertit +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' afore night. He's wrong +there onyway, for they're landit." + +"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?" + +"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." + +At that moment in a pause of the gale came the far-borne echo of a shot. + +"Pistol," said Alexis. + +"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." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE COMING OF THE DANISH BRIG + + +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-Hards' 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. + +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 should +be needless, that the men from the sea should 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 turned to the misty +sea. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 realised +what was the booty he had annexed. It must be Leon's life-preserver, +which the night before had broken Heritage's head. + +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_. + +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 mind that he was not a witness of such vandalism. + +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. + +The next thing he saw was one of the tinklers running hard towards the +Tower. He cried something to Dobson, which Heritage could not catch, but +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? + +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 him to +come. Leon must have known him, for he hastened to obey. + +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. + +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 clock-work, 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. + +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. + +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. + +"Will you please open to us?" it said. + +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. + +"I have orders to open to no one," Heritage replied. + +"Then I fear we must force an entrance," said the voice. + +"You can go to the devil," said Heritage. + +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 ground 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. + +"The first fellow who comes within six yards of the door I shoot," he +shouted. + +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. + +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. + +Again they came on, and again he fired. This time he damaged somebody, +for the trunk was dropped. + +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. + +He did not fire, for he recognised 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. + +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.... + +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. + +Mr. John Heritage, swearing terribly, started to retrace his steps. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE SECOND BATTLE OF THE CRUIVES + + +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 discant 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 + + "through the heat of conflict kept the law + In calmness made, and saw what he foresaw." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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?" + +He listened to Sir Archie's report with a gloomy face. + +"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?" + +"God knows," said the baronet whose eyes were on Saskia. "What's yours?" + +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." + +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." + +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." + +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." + +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." + +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." + +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 tea 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." + +She laughed mischievously. "I can shoot better than you," she said. + +He ignored the taunt. "Will ye listen to sense and fall to the rear?" + +"I will not," she said. + +"Then gang your own gait. I'm ower wise to argy-bargy wi' women. The +Hoose be it!" + +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 road-roller." + +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. + +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 anathematised 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. + +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." + +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 return saw fit to approve their work. + +"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 o' water below them and a lot o' wire-nettin' I fund in the +cellar." + +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." + +"Ye're no' weakenin'?" asked Dougal fiercely. + +"Not a bit. Only hopin' somebody hasn't made a mighty big mistake." + +"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?" + +Sir Archie nodded gloomily. "What is my post?" Saskia asked. + +"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 ay on the +move, Mem, and keep me informed. If they break in at two bits, we're +beat, and there'll be nothin' 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." + +"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. + +"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." + +"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." + +The Commander-in-Chief looked at him darkly. Some bitter retort was on +his tongue, but he restrained himself. + +"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'." + +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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"I think we are in for what you call a shindy. I am in command, +remember. I order you to serve out the guns." + +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. + +"Let's go upstairs," he told Saskia; "there must be a view from the +upper windows." + +"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. + +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. + +"This is a pretty rotten show for you," he told her. "It strikes me as a +rather unpleasant brand of nightmare." + +"I have been living with nightmares for three years," she said wearily. + +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." + +"It has been my prison, when I hoped it would be a sanctuary. But it may +yet be my salvation." + +"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." + +She shook her head. She was looking fixedly at the Tower, as if she +expected something to appear there, and he followed her eyes. + +"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." + +Suddenly she caught his arm. "I see a man," she whispered. "There! He is +behind those far bushes. There is his head again!" + +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. + +"The cut of his jib is 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?" + +She turned her candid eyes on him. "You are in a very doubting mood." + +"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 kinds 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." + +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. + +She seized his arm and he saw that her listlessness was gone. Her eyes +were shining. + +"It is they," she cried. "The nightmare is real at last. Do you doubt +now?" + +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. + +"I wish Dougal were back," he muttered, and then came the crack of a +shot. + +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." + +"They'll never get in," he assured her. "Dougal said the place could +hold out for hours." + +Another shot followed and presently a third. She twined her hands and +her eyes were wild. + +"We can't leave him to be killed," she gasped. + +"It's the only game. We're playin' for time, remember. Besides he won't +be killed. Great Scott!" + +As he spoke, a sudden explosion cleft the drone of the wind and a patch +of gloom flashed into yellow light. + +"Bomb!" he cried. "Lord, I might have thought of that." + +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." + +"For God's sake, don't! Here, Princess, stop," and he clutched at her +skirt. "Look here, I'll go." + +"You can't. You have been wounded. I am in command, you know. Keep the +door open till I come back." + +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. + +"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!" + +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 boiler-house 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. + +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. + +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." + +Against men in seaman'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. + +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 realised 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"A near thing that time," he observed. "It was the blame of that man's +auld motor-bicycle." + +The stranger cast sharp eyes around the place and company. + +"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?" + +"They have bombs," Sir Archie reminded him. + +"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 is 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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Wull I gie them a shot?" was McGuffog's hoarse inquiry. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He left his post and in the hall found Dougal. + +"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." + +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 Spidel's life-preserver which he +had annexed that afternoon. + +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?" + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"They've got us treed all right," Sir Archie groaned. "What the devil +are they waiting for?" + +"They wait for their leader," said Alexis. + +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. + +"Hear to the whaups," McGuffog whispered. + +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' here at this time of year?" + +"A' the same, I could swear it's whaups, Sir Erchibald." + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +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." + +Again Alexis spoke, and then Saskia joined in. What she said rang sharp +with contempt, and her fingers played with her little pistol. + +Suddenly before the young man could answer Dobson bustled towards him. +The innkeeper was labouring under some strong emotion, for he seemed to +be pleading and pointing urgently towards the door. + +"I tell ye it's the polis," whispered Dougal. "They're nickit." + +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. + +"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." + +"I warn you," cried Sir Archie. "We are armed, and will shoot down any +one who dares to lay a hand on us." + +"You fool," came the answer. "I can send you all to eternity before you +touch a trigger." + +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. + +"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 +thing's a bloody misfire. Come on, lads, if ye're no' besotted on +destruction." + +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. + +"Quick," croaked Dougal, "now's the time for the counter-attack." + +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. + +He looked back. "If I go now, I will return. The world is not wide +enough to hide you from me, Saskia." + +"You will never get her," said Alexis. + +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 clicked, and his arm shot +out like a baseball pitcher's. + +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. + +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. Time fuse. I remember we struck the brand first in July '18." + +"Are they rounded up?" Sir Archie asked. + +"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." + +"Good Lord, man," Sir Archie cried, "the police have been here for the +last ten minutes." + +"You're wrong. They came with me." + +"Then what on earth----?" began the astonished baronet. He stopped +short, for he suddenly got his answer. Into the hall from the verandah +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. + +With a yell Dougal went down the stairs. The boy saluted him, and they +gravely shook hands. It was the meeting of Wellington and Bluecher. + +The Chieftain's voice shrilled in triumph, but there was a break in it. +The glory was almost too great to be borne. + +"I kenned it," he cried. "It was the Gorbals Die-Hards. There stands the +man that done it.... Ye'll no' fickle Thomas Yownie." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE GORBALS DIE-HARDS GO INTO ACTION + + +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 known 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. + +"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?" + +"Dougal was saying she was in the House with Sir Archibald and the men +from the Mains." + +"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...." + +As she spoke, there came on the wind the dull reverberation of an +explosion. + +"Keep us, what's that?" she cried. + +"It's dinnymite," said Peter Paterson. + +"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." + +"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'." + +"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 in the +policies. I maun wait on their reports." + +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." + +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 whiskey and het tea keepit the doctor's gig +oot o' the close." + +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. + +"The Tower has fallen. They've blown in the big door, and the feck o' +them's inside." + +"And Mr. Heritage?" was Dickson's anxious inquiry. + +"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." + +"Here, this is awful," Dickson groaned. "We can't let Mr. Heritage be +killed that way. What strength is the enemy?" + +"I counted twenty-seven, and there's stragglers comin' up from the +boats." + +"And there's me and you five laddies here, and Dougal and the others +shut up in the House." 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. + +"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." + +"If ye're gaun there, Dickson, I'm comin' wi' ye," Mrs. Morran +announced. + +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." + +"The Bible's whiles richt," Mrs. Morran answered drily. "Come on, for +there's no time to lose." + +The door opened again to admit the figure of Wee Jaikie. There were no +tears in his eyes, and his face was very white. + +"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." + +"What about Mr. Heritage?" + +"They're no' heedin' about him any more. The auld Tower's bleezin'." + +"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." + +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. + +"Laddies, can you no' think of a plan?" asked Dickson, his voice flat +with despair. + +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. + +"It's gey dark," he said, "and it's gettin' darker." + +There was that in his voice which promised something, and Dickson +listened. + +"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." + +"Ay, but where are the police?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +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: + + "Proley Tarians, arise! + Wave the Red Flag to the skies, + Heed nae mair the Fat Man's lees, + Stap them doun his throat! + Nocht to loss except our chains, + We maun drain oor dearest veins-- + A' the worrld shall be our gains----" + +But he tripped over a rabbit wire and thereafter conserved his breath. + +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. + +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. + +The birds stirred up Mrs. Morran. "That's the laddies' patrol," she +gasped. "Count the cries, Dickson." + +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. + +The Gorbals Die-Hards had gone into action. + +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 Gallogate +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!" + +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 harass 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. + +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!" + +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, panic-stricken 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.... + +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 recognised 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. + + * * * * * + +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 +further 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. + +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 round 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. + +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. + +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 realised his safety, his impatience +revived. At all costs he would force his way out though he should be +grilled like a herring. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +The old woman was on her feet. + +"God be thankit, is't the polis?" + +"Maybe. Maybe no'. But they're running." + +Another bunch of men raced past, and he heard Dobson's voice. + +"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?" + +Mrs. Morran, a figure like an ancient prophetess, with her tartan shawl +lashing in the gale, clutched him by the shoulder. + +"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 nicht." + +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. + +Through the narrow entrance the gale blew as through a funnel, and the +usually placid waters of the harbour were a mass 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 tangled in the Garple Dean. The third boat +was waiting for some one. + +Dickson--a new Ajax by the ships--divined who this some one must be and +realised 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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 or two has +been a poor preparation for eternity." + + * * * * * + +The tide 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. + +Dickson gazed at the body and observed that there was a slight +deformation between the shoulders. + +"Poor fellow," he said. "That explains a lot.... As my father used to +say, cripples have a right to be cankered." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +IN WHICH A PRINCESS LEAVES A DARK TOWER AND A PROVISION MERCHANT RETURNS +TO HIS FAMILY + + +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." + +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 Nicolaevitch, 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. + +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 on +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." + + * * * * * + +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 with 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. + +"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." + +"No," is the answer. "You will not find him in Russia. He is what we +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." + + * * * * * + +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. + +"The trouble about 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 +lines." + +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. + +"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." + +The Poet flings back his head. "I am reconciled," he says. "After all +''tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.' +It has been a great experience and has shown me my own heart. I love +her, I shall always love her, but I realise 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 true 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." + +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." + +Dickson assists and Heritage declaims: + + "And on her lover's arm she leant, + And round her waist she felt it fold, + And far across the hills they went + In that new world which is the old: + Across the hills, and far away + Beyond their utmost purple rim, + And deep into the dying day + The happy princess followed him." + +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!" + + * * * * * + +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 wofully 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.... + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Dougal listens gravely and again salutes. + +"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." + +"I accept," Dickson replies. "Proudly and gratefully I accept." + + * * * * * + +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 on 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. + +Presently the sound of wheels is heard, and the peahen 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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"This is a present for you," he says bashfully. + +Mrs. McCunn's eyes open wide. "You're far too kind," she gasps. "It +must have cost an awful lot of money." + +"It didn't cost me that much," is the truthful answer. + +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. + +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. + +Mrs. McCunn preens herself before the glass. "I call it very genteel," +she says. "Real stylish. It might be worn by a queen." + +"I wouldn't say but it has," says Dickson. + + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Huntingtower, by John Buchan + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUNTINGTOWER *** + +***** This file should be named 3782.txt or 3782.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/8/3782/ + +Produced by Edward A. White, Robert F. Jaffe, Kirsten +Tozer, Charlene Taylor, Cathy Maxam and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +book was produced from scanned images of public domain +material from the Google Print project.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |