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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.06/12/01*END* +[Portions of this header are copyright (C) 2001 by Michael S. Hart +and may be reprinted only when these Etexts are free of all fees.] +[Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be used in any sales +of Project Gutenberg Etexts or other materials be they hardware or +software or any other related product without express permission.] + + + + + +This etext was produced by Edward White and proofed by +Robert F. Jaffe and Kirsten Tozer. + + + +HUNTINGTOWER + +BY JOHN BUCHAN + + + +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 an +hour of entertainment. I offer it to you because I think you have +met my friend Dickson McCunn, and I dare to hope that you may even +in your many sojournings in the Westlands have encountered one or +other of the Gorbals Die-Hards. If you share my kindly feeling for +Dickson, you will be interested in some facts which I have lately +ascertained about his ancestry. In his veins there flows a portion +of the redoubtable blood of the Nicol Jarvies. When the Bailie, +you remember, returned from his journey to Rob Roy beyond the +Highland Line, he espoused his housekeeper Mattie, "an honest man's +daughter and a near cousin o' the Laird o' Limmerfield." The union +was blessed with a son, who succeeded to the Bailie's business and +in due course begat daughters, one of whom married a certain +Ebenezer McCunn, of whom there is record in the archives of the +Hammermen of Glasgow. Ebenezer's grandson, Peter by name, +was Provost of Kirkintilloch, and his second son was the father of +my hero by his marriage with Robina Dickson, oldest daughter of one +Robert Dickson, a tenant-farmer in the Lennox. So there are +coloured threads in Mr. McCunn's pedigree, and, like the Bailie, +he can count kin, should he wish, with Rob Roy himself through +"the auld wife ayont the fire at Stuckavrallachan." + +Such as it is, I dedicate to you the story, and ask for no better +verdict on it than that of that profound critic of life and +literature, Mr. Huckleberry Finn, who observed of the Pilgrim's +Progress that he "considered the statements interesting, but tough." + J.B. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +Prologue + + +1. How a Retired Provision Merchant felt the Impulse of Spring. + +2. Of Mr. John Heritage and the Difference in Points of View. + +3. How Childe Roland and Another came to the Dark tower. + +4. Dougal. + +5. Of the Princess in the Tower. + +6. How Mr. McCunn departed with Relief and returned with Resolution. + +7. Sundry Doings in the Mirk. + +8. How a Middle-aged Crusader accepted a Challenge. + +9. The First Battle of the Cruives. + +10. Deals with an Escape and a Journey. + +11. Gravity out of Bed. + +12. How Mr. McCunn committed an Assault upon an Ally. + +13. The Coming of the Danish Brig. + +14. The Second Battle of the Cruives. + +15. The Gorbals Die-Hards go into Action. + +16. In which a Princess leaves a Dark Tower and a Provision Merchant + returns to his Family. + + + +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 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 me, 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. "O, no. It's mending famously. I'll be able to get +about without a stick in another month, and then you've got to teach +me all the new dances." + +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 Guards 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 that shadowy archway. Then he slowly rose to his feet, +for he thought that for a little he would watch the dancing. +Something moved beside him, and he turned in time to prevent the jade +casket from crashing to the floor. Two of the supports had slipped. + +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 1 + + +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 he 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 +"Macgregors' Gathering," and the sound of it stirred the grimy lips +of a man outside who was delivering coals--himself a Macgregor--to +follow suit. Mr McCunn was a very fountain of music that morning. + +Tibby, the aged maid, had his newspaper and letters waiting by his +plate, and a dish of ham and eggs frizzling near the fire. He fell +to ravenously but still musingly, and he had reached the stage of +scones and jam before he glanced at his correspondence. There was a +letter from his wife now holidaying at the Neuk Hydropathic. +She reported that her health was improving, and that she had met +various people who had known somebody else whom she had once +known herself. Mr. McCunn read the dutiful pages and smiled. +"Mamma's enjoying herself fine," he observed to the teapot. +He knew that for his wife the earthly paradise was a hydropathic, +where she put on her afternoon dress and every jewel she possessed +when she rose in the morning, ate large meals of which the novelty +atoned for the nastiness, and collected an immense casual +acquaintance, with whom she discussed ailments, ministers, sudden +deaths, and the intricate genealogies of her class. For his part he +rancorously hated hydropathics, having once spent a black week under +the roof of one in his wife's company. He detested the food, the +Turkish baths (he had a passionate aversion to baring his body +before strangers), the inability to find anything to do and the +compulsion to endless small talk. A thought flitted over his mind +which he was too loyal to formulate. Once he and his wife had had +similar likings, but they had taken different roads since their +child died. Janet! He saw again--he was never quite free from +the sight--the solemn little white-frocked girl who had died long +ago in the Spring. + +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 unauthorized and unofficial Boy Scouts, who, +without uniform or badge or any kind of paraphernalia, followed the +banner of Sir Robert Baden-Powell and subjected themselves to a +rude discipline. They were far too poor to join an orthodox troop, +but they faithfully copied what they believed to be the practices of +more fortunate boys. Mr. McCunn had witnessed their pathetic parades, +and had even passed the time of day with their leader, a red-haired savage +called Dougal. The philanthropic Mackintosh had taken an interest +in the gang and now desired subscriptions to send them to camp +in the country. + +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 +nearby he purchased some new-baked buns and ginger biscuits, to which +he was partial, and followed by the shouts of urchins, who admired his +pack--"Look at the auld man gaun to the schule"--he emerged into +open country. The late April noon gleamed like a frosty morning, +but the air, though tonic, was kind. The road ran over sweeps of +moorland where curlews wailed, and into lowland pastures dotted with +very white, very vocal lambs. The young grass had the warm fragrance +of new milk. As he went he munched his buns, for he had resolved +to have no plethoric midday meal, and presently he found the burnside +nook of his fancy, and halted to smoke. On a patch of turf close +to a grey stone bridge he had out his Walton and read the chapter +on "The Chavender or Chub." The collocation of words delighted him +and inspired him to verse. "Lavender or Lub"--"Pavender or Pub"- +"Gravender or Grub"--but the monosyllables proved too vulgar for +poetry. Regretfully he desisted. + +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 of thae +damned velocipeeds." The word revived in Dickson memories of his +youth, and he was prepared to be friendly. But the ancient would +have none of it. He inquired morosely what he was after, and, on +being told remarked that he might have learned more sense. +"It's a daft-like thing for an auld man like you to be traivellin' +the roads. Ye maun be ill-off for a job." Questioned as to +himself, he became, as the newspapers say, "reticent," and having +reached his bing of stones, turned rudely to his duties. "Awa' hame +wi' ye," were his parting words. "It's idle scoondrels like you +that maks wark for honest folk like me." + +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 Lock o' the Threshes, +they were talking their own talk, and he feared that his admiration +for Izaak Walton did not qualify him to butt into the erudite +discussions of fishermen. The landlord seemed to think likewise, +for he drew back a chair for him at the other end, where sat a young +man absorbed in a book. Dickson gave him good evening, and got an +abstracted reply. The young man supped the Black Bull's excellent +broth with one hand, and with the other turned the pages of his volume. +A glance convinced Dickson that the work was French, a literature which +did not interest him. He knew little of the tongue and suspected it of +impropriety. + +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, stockriding and the rest of it. +But probably he's a bank-clerk from Melbourne....Your romanticism is +one vast self-delusion, and it blinds your eye to the real thing. +We have got to clear it out, and with it all the damnable humbug of +the Kelt." + +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 high-road was the base. At a +distance of a mile or so a railway ran parallel to the road, and he +could see the smoke of a goods train waiting at a tiny station +islanded in acres of bog. Thence the moor swept down to meadows and +scattered copses, above which hung a thin haze of smoke which +betokened a village. Beyond it were further woodlands, not firs but +old shady trees, and as they narrowed to a point the gleam of two +tiny estuaries appeared on either side. He could not see the final +cape, but he saw the sea beyond it, flawed with catspaws, gold +in the afternoon sun, and on it a small herring smack flopping +listless sails. + +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 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 apologize. God knows what made me treat you to a +university-extension lecture. I may not agree with you, but every +man's entitled to his own views, and it was dashed poor form for me +to start jawing you." + +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 rowan, smoked the first +houses of a tiny village. The road had become a green "loaning," on +the ample margin of which cattle grazed. The moorland still showed +itself in spits of heather, and some distance off, where a rivulet +ran in a hollow, there were signs of a fire and figures near it. +These last Mr. Heritage regarded with disapproval. + +"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 emphasize 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 pot-house. Now, Dogson, I'm hanged if I'm +going to leave this place. We'll find a corner in the village somehow. +Besides, I'm determined on tea." + +The little street slept in the clear pure light of an early +April evening. Blue shadows lay on the white road, and a delicate +aroma of cooking tantalized hungry nostrils. The near meadows shone +like pale gold against the dark lift of the moor. A light wind had +begun to blow from the west and carried the faintest tang of salt. +The village at that hour was pure Paradise, and Dickson was of the +Poet's opinion. At all costs they must spend the night there. + +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 up with us for the one night? We're quiet +auld-fashioned folk and we'll no' trouble you much. Just our tea and +maybe an egg to it, and a bowl of porridge in the morning." + +The woman seemed to relent. "Whaur's your freend?" she asked, +peering over her spectacles towards the garden gate. The waiting +Mr. Heritage, seeing he eyes moving in his direction, took off his +cap with a brave gesture and advanced. "Glorious weather, madam," +he declared. + +"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 came. What's this they ca' them?--Robson- +Dobson--aye, Dobson. What far wad they no' tak' ye in? Does the +man think he's a laird to refuse folk that gait?" + +"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' now come in the last three weeks, and there's no' a man +o' the auld stock left. John Blackstocks at the Wast Lodge dee'd o' +pneumony last back-end, and auld Simon Tappie at the Gairdens +flitted to Maybole a year come Mairtinmas. There's naebody at the +Gairdens noo, but there's a man come to the Wast Lodge, a blackavised +body wi' a face like bend-leather. Tam Robison used to bide at the +South Lodge, but Tam got killed about Mesopotamy, and his wife took +the bairns to her guidsire up at the Garpleheid. I seen the man +that's in the South Lodge gaun up the street when I was finishin' +my denner--a shilpit body and a lameter, but he hirples as fast as +ither folk run. He's no' bonny to look at.. I canna think what +the factor's ettlin' at to let sic ill-faured chiels come about +the toun." + +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. + +"Wha 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 father but he maun change +the name, for he was clean daft about what they ca' antickities. +Ye speir whae bides in the Hoose? Naebody, since the young laird dee'd. +It's standin' cauld and lanely and steikit, and it aince the cheeriest +dwallin' in a' Carrick." + +Mrs. Morran's tone grew tragic. "It's a queer warld wi'out the +auld gentry. My faither and my guidsire and his faither afore him +served the Kennedys, and my man Dauvit Morran was gemkeeper to them, +and afore I mairried I was ane o' the table-maids. They were kind +folk, the Kennedys, and, like a' the rale gentry, maist mindfu' o' +them that served them. Sic merry nichts I've seen in the auld +Hoose, at Hallowe'en and Hogmanay, and at the servants' balls and +the waddin's o' the young leddies! But the laird bode to waste his +siller in stane and lime, and hadna that much to leave to his bairns. +And now they're a' scattered or deid." + +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' 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 Loudon in Auchenlochan does the factorin'. He's let +the public an' filled the twae lodges, and he'll be thinkin' nae +doot that he's done eneuch." + +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 farther down the +channel broadened, the slopes fell back a little, and a tongue of +glittering sea ran up to meet the hill waters. The Laver is a +gentle stream after it leaves its cradle heights, a stream of clear +pools and long bright shallows, winding by moorland steadings and +upland meadows; but in its last half-mile it goes mad, and imitates +its childhood when it tumbled over granite shelves. Down in that +green place the crystal water gushed and frolicked as if determined +on one hour of rapturous life before joining the sedater sea. + +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 it, and found to their surprise +that on this side there were no defences of the Huntingtower demesne. +Along the crest ran a path which had once been gravelled and trimmed. +Beyond, through a thicket of laurels and rhododendrons, they came on a +long unkempt aisle of grass, which seemed to be one of those side +avenues often found in connection with old Scots dwellings. +Keeping along this they reached a grove of beech and holly through +which showed a dim shape of masonry. By a common impulse they moved +stealthily, crouching in cover, till at the far side of the wood they +found a sunk fence and looked over an acre or two of what had once been +lawn and flower-beds to the front of the mansion. + +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 along by his side, effectually crushed his effort to +discover humour in the situation. Some exhalation from that +infernal place had driven the Poet mad. And then that voice singing! +A seagull, he had said. More like a nightingale, he reflected--a bird +which in the flesh he had never met. + +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.... "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." + +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 bandanna. His legs and feet were bare, blue, +scratched, and very dirty, and this toes had the prehensile look +common to monkeys and small boys who summer and winter go bootless. +In his hand was a long ash-pole, new cut from some coppice. + +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 had 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 +scandalized 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 hiding a Secret. I knew it as soon as I seen the man +Lean's face. I once seen the same kind o' scoondrel at the Picters. +When he opened his mouth to swear, I kenned he was a foreigner, like +the lads down at the Broomielaw. That looked black, but I hadn't got +at the worst of it. Then he loosed off at me wi' his gun." + +"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 didna' 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 that 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 wouldna' tell me. The auld wife was mortal feared, +and was aye speakin' in a foreign langwidge. I seen at once that +what frightened them was Lean and his friends, and I was just starting +to speir about them when there came a sound like a man walkin' along +the passage. She was for hidin' me in behind a sofy, but I wasn't +going to be trapped like that, so I got out by the other door and down +the kitchen stairs and into the coal-hole. Gosh, it was a near thing!" + + +The boy was on his feet. "I must be off to the camp to give out the +orders for the morn. I'm going back to that Hoose, for it's a fight +atween the Gorbals Die-Hards and the scoondrels that are frightenin' +thae women. The question is, Are ye comin' with me? Mind, ye've sworn. +But if ye're no, I'm going mysel', though I'll no' deny I'd be +glad o' company. You anyway--" he added, nodding at Heritage. +"Maybe auld McCunn wouldn't get through the coal-hole." + +"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 tomorrow," Heritage +answered, "and if he can show me a way so much the better. +He's a spirited youth. Do you breed many like him in Glasgow?" + +"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 goodbye 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 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." + +"Well, 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 young and yauld like you I wad gang into the Hoose, and I +wadna rest till I had riddled oot the truith and jyled every +scoondrel about the place. If ye dinna gang, 'faith I'll kilt my +coats and gang mysel'. I havena served the Kennedys for forty year +no' to hae the honour o' the Hoose at my hert....Ye've speired my +advice, sirs, and ye've gotten it. Now I maun clear awa' your supper." + +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 the next morning, while Mrs. Morran was still cooking +breakfast, Dickson and Heritage might have been observed taking the +air in the village street. It was the Poet who had insisted upon +this walk, and he had his own purpose. They looked at the spires of +smoke piercing the windless air, and studied the daffodils in the +cottage gardens. Dickson was glum, but Heritage seemed in high spirits. +He varied his garrulity with spells of cheerful whistling. + +They strode along the road by the park wall till they reached the inn. +There Heritage's music waxed peculiarly loud. Presently from the yard, +unshaven and looking as if he had slept in this clothes, came Dobson +the innkeeper. + +"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 for 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 right here, and now Dobson and +his friends can get about their day's work with an easy mind. +Their suspicions are temporarily allayed, and that will make +our job easier." + +"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 notecase to his pocket, murmuring darkly the "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 by which they had come yesterday, for by it twice daily +the postcart travelled to the post-town. It ran on the edge of the +moor and on the lip of the Garple glen, till it crossed that stream +and, keeping near the coast, emerged after five miles into the +cultivated flats of the Lochan valley. The morning was fine, +the keen air invited to high spirits, plovers piped entrancingly +over the bent and linnets sang in the whins, there was a solid +breakfast behind him, and the promise of a cheerful road till luncheon. +The stage was set for good humour, but Dickson's heart, which should +have been ascending with the larks, stuck leadenly in his boots. +He was not even relieved at putting Dalquharter behind him. +The atmosphere of that unhallowed place lay still on his soul. +He hated it, but he hated himself more. Here was one, who had hugged +himself all his days as an adventurer waiting his chance, running away +at the first challenge of adventure; a lover of Romance who fled from +the earliest overture of his goddess. He was ashamed and angry, but +what else was there to do? Burglary in the company of a queer poet and +a queerer urchin? It was unthinkable. + +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--aye, 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 maun be open or the lassie maun hae the key, +for she comes there whenever she likes. Now' at each end o' the +place the doors are lockit, but the front that looks on the garden +is open, wi' muckle posts and flower-pots. The trouble is that +that side there' maybe twenty feet o' a wall between the pawrapet +and the ground. It's an auld wall wi' cracks and holes in it, and +it wouldn't be ill to sklim. That's why they let her gang there when +she wants, for a lassie couldn't get away without breakin' her neck." + +"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 maun ford the water, for ye'll no' cross it lower +down where it's deep....Our road is on the Hoose side o' the Dean, +and it's awfu' public if there's onybody on the other side, though +it's hid well enough from folk up in the policies....Ye maun do +exactly what I tell ye. When we get near danger I'll scout on +ahead, and I daur ye to move a hair o' your heid till I give the word." + +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 +Broomielaw. 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 maun bide here," said Dougal, "and no cheep above your breath. +Afore we dare to try that wall, I maun ken where Lean and Spittal +and Dobson are. I'm off to spy the policies.' He glided out of +sight behind a clump of pampas grass. + +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 breathe with a +shocking fervour. + + +One of Dickson's troubles had been that he did not believe Dougal's +story, and the sight of the girl removed one doubt. That bright +exotic thing did not belong to the Cruives or to Scotland at all, +and that she should be in the House removed the place from the +conventional dwelling to which the laws against burglary applied. + +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 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 day," said Dougal, as he helped +Heritage to pull up the ladder and stow it away. "We've got the +place to oursels, now. Forward, men, forward." He tried the handle +of the House door and led the way in. + +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 help you." + +The eyes rested on Dickson's face, and he realized that he was in +the presence of something the like of which he had never met in his +life before. It was a loveliness greater than he had imagined was +permitted by the Almighty to His creatures. The little face was more +square than oval, with a low broad brow and proud exquisite eyebrows. +The eyes were of a colour which he could never decide on; afterwards +he used to allege obscurely that they were the colour of everything +in Spring. There was a delicate pallor in the cheeks, and the face +bore signs of suffering and care, possibly even of hunger; but for +all that there was youth there, eternal and triumphant! Not youth such +as he had known it, but youth with all history behind it, youth with +centuries of command in its blood and the world's treasures of beauty +and pride in its ancestry. Strange, he thought, that a thing so fine +should be so masterful. He felt abashed in every inch of him. + +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 now speak of my house, for it is no more, or how I escaped, +for it is the common tale of all of us. I have seen things more +terrible than any dream and yet lived, but I have paid a price for +such experience. First I went to Italy where there were friends, and +I wished only to have peace among kindly people. About poverty I do +not care, for, to us, who have lost all the great things, the want of +bread is a little matter. But peace was forbidden me, for I learned +that we Russians had to win back our fatherland again, and that the +weakest must work in that cause. So I was set my task, and it was +very hard....There were others still hidden in Russia which must be +brought to a safe place. In that work I was ordered to share." + +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 nets 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 for the help of the law--first in Italy and then in France. +Ah, it was subtly done. Respectable bourgeois, who hated the +Bolsheviki but had bought long ago the bonds of my country, desired +to be repaid their debts out of the property of the Russian crown +which might be found in the West. But behind them were the Jews, +and behind the Jews our unsleeping enemies. Once I was enmeshed in +the law I would be safe for them, and presently they would find the +hiding-place of the treasure, and while the bourgeois were clamouring +in the courts it would be safe in their pockets. So I fled. +For months I have been fleeing and hiding. They have tried to kidnap +me many times, and once they have tried to kill me, but I, too, have +become clever--oh, so clever. And I have learned not to fear." + +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 tomorrow 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 up the wick the odd dusty +room and its strange company were revealed more clearly, and Dickson +saw with a shock how haggard was the beautiful face. A great pity +seized him and almost conquered his timidity. + +"It is very difficult to help you," Heritage was saying. "You won't +leave this place, and you won't claim the protection of the law. +You are very independent, Mademoiselle, but it can't go on for ever. +The man you fear may arrive at any moment. At any moment, too, your +treasure may by discovered." + +"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 on 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-sight 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 door 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 as soon as the post-cart turned the bend of +the road her demeanour changed. She was torn with convulsions of +silent laughter. She retreated to the kitchen, sank into a chair, +wrapped her face in her apron and rocked. Heritage, descending, +found her struggling to regain composure. "D'ye ken his wife's name?" +she gasped. "I ca'ed her Mirren! And maybe the body's no' mairried! +Hech sirs! Hech sirs!" + +Meanwhile Dickson was bumping along the moor-road on the back of +the post-cart. He had worked out a plan, just as he had been used +aforetime to devise a deal in foodstuffs. He had expected one of +the watchers to turn up, and was rather relieved that it should be +Dobson, whom he regarded as "the most natural beast" of the three. +Somehow he did not think that he would be molested before he +reached the station, since his enemies would still be undecided +in their minds. Probably they only wanted to make sure that he had +really departed to forget all about him. But if not, he had +his plan ready. + +"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 being late for trains, +forced his eyes away and regarded again the road behind him. Suddenly the +cyclist had become quite plain--a little more than a mile behind--a man, +and pedalling furiously in spite of the stiff ascent. It could only be +one person--Leon. He must have discovered their visit to the House +yesterday and be on the way to warn Dobson. If he reached the station +before the train, there would be no journey to Glasgow that day for +one respectable citizen. + +Dickson was in a fever of impatience and fright. He dared not abjure +the postman to hurry, lest Dobson should turn his head and descry his +colleague. But that ancient man had begun to realize the shortness +of time and was urging the cart along at a fair pace, since they were +now on the flatter shelf of land which carried the railway. + +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 recognized with 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 +tumble-down 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 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 here still?" + +The attendant glanced at the shelf. "A wee deal box with iron bands. +It was took out ten minutes syne. A man brought the ticket and took +it away on his shoulder." + +"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 here would be no midday dinner for him at home, +his first step was to feed heavily at a restaurant. He had, so far +as he could see, surmounted all his troubles, his one regret being +that he had lost his pack, which contained among other things his +Izaak Walton and his safety razor. He bought another razor and a new +Walton, and mounted an electric tram car en route for home. + +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 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? Ah, I see. +The actual factoring is done by your local agent, Mr. James Loudon, +in Auchenlochan. You think my client had better get into touch with +him at once. Just wait a minute, please." + +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 Spiers 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 license, +I doubt, and there's a lot of new regulations." + +"I can't wait on a license. It's for a cousin of mine who's +off to Mexico at once. You've got to find some way of obliging +an old friend, Mr. McNair." + +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 water-proof a service +revolver and fifty cartridges, and bade his cab take him to the shop +in Mearns Street. For a moment the sight of the familiar place +struck a pang to his breast, but he choked down unavailing regrets. +He ordered a great hamper of foodstuffs--the most delicate kind of +tinned goods, two perfect hams, tongues, Strassburg pies, chocolate, +cakes, biscuits, and, as a last thought, half a dozen bottles of +old liqueur brandy. It was to be carefully packed, addressed to +Mrs. Morran, Dalquharter Station, and delivered in time for him to +take down by the 7.33 train. Then he drove to the terminus and +dined with something like a desperate peace in his heart. + +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. Moralizing 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 few minutes Dickson's mind began to +work upon his problem with a certain briskness. It was all nonsense +that the law of Scotland could not be summoned to the defence. +The jewels had been safely got rid of, and who was to dispute +their possession? Not Dobson and his crew, who had no sort of title, +and were out for naked robbery. The girl had spoken of greater +dangers from new enemies--kidnapping, perhaps. Well, that was +felony, and the police must be brought in. Probably if all were +known the three watchers had criminal records, pages long, filed +at Scotland Yard. The man to deal with that side of the business +was Loudon the factor, and to him he was bound in the first place. +He had made a clear picture in his head of this Loudon--a derelict +old country writer, formal, pedantic, lazy, anxious only to get an +unprofitable business off his hands with the least possible trouble, +never going near the place himself, and ably supported in his lethargy +by conceited Edinburgh Writers to the Signet. "Sich notions of +business!" he murmured. "I wonder that there's a single county family +in Scotland no' in the bankruptcy court!" It was his mission to +wake up Mr. James Loudon. + +Arrived at Auchenlochan he went first to the Salutation Hotel, +a pretentious place sacred to golfers. There he engaged a bedroom +for the night and, having certain scruples, paid for it in advance. +He also had some sandwiches prepared which he stowed in his pack, +and filled his flask with whisky. "I'm going home to Glasgow by the +first train in the to-morrow," he told the landlady, "and now I've got +to see a friend. I'll not be back till late." He was assured that +there would be no difficulty about his admittance at any hour, +and directed how to find Mr. Loudon's dwelling. + +It was an old house fronting direct on the street, with a +fanlight above the door and a neat brass plate bearing the legend +"Mr. James Loudon, Writer." A lane ran up one side leading +apparently to a garden, for the moonlight showed the dusk of trees. +In front was the main street of Auchenlochan, now deserted save for +a single roysterer, and opposite stood the ancient town house, +with arches where the country folk came at the spring and autumn +hiring fairs. Dickson rang the antiquated bell, and was presently +admitted to a dark hall floored with oilcloth, where a single +gas-jet showed that on one side was the business office and on +the other the living-rooms. Mr. Loudon was at supper, he was told, +and he sent in his card. Almost at once the door at the end +on the left side was flung open and a large figure appeared +flourishing a napkin. "Come in, sir, come in," it cried. +"I've just finished a bite of meat. Very glad to see you. +Here, Maggie, what d'you mean by keeping the gentleman standing +in that outer darkness?" + +The room into which Dickson was ushered was small and bright, +with a red paper on the walls, a fire burning, and a big oil lamp +in the centre of a table. Clearly Mr. Loudon had no wife, for it +was a bachelor's den in every line of it. A cloth was laid on +a corner of the table, in which stood the remnants of a meal. +Mr. Loudon seemed to have been about to make a brew of punch, +for a kettle simmered by the fire, and lemons and sugar flanked +a pot-bellied whisky decanter of the type that used to be known as +a "mason's mell." + +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 Glendonans informed me. Well, I'm very glad to hear it. +The place has been standing empty far too long, and that is worse for +a new house than an old house. There's not much money to spend on it +either, unless we can make sure of a good tenant. How did you hear +about it?" + +"I was taking a bit holiday and I spent a night at Dalquharter with +an old auntie of mine. You must understand I've just retired from +business, and I'm thinking of finding a country place. I used to +have the provision shop in Mearns Street--now the United Supply Stores, +Limited. You've maybe heard of it?" + +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, and independent +boiler for hot water, the whole bag of tricks. I won't say but what +some of these contrivances will want looking to, for the place has been +some time empty, but there can be nothing very far wrong, and I can +guarantee that the bones of the house are good." + +"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." + +Dr. Loudon laughed. "I dare say Dobson is a rough diamond. +There's worse folk in the world all the same, but I don't think +he will want to stay. He only went there to pass the time till +he heard from his brother in Vancouver. He's a roving spirit, +and will be off overseas again." + +"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 Frances Morewood, the general, and I hear that she's +expected back in London next Monday from the Riviera. I'll wire +and write first thing to-morrow morning. But you must give me +a day or two." + +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 +country--Deputy Fiscal and so forth--and a friend of the Chief Constable. +I think I may be trusted to do a little private explaining if +the need arose." + +"I see," said Dickson. He saw, indeed, a great deal which would +give him food for furious thought. "Well, I must possess my soul +in patience. Here's my Glasgow address, and I look to you to send me +a telegram whenever you're ready for me. I'm at the Salutation to-night, +and go home to-morrow with the first train. Wait a minute"--and he +pulled out his watch--"there's a train stops at Auchenlochan at 10.17. +I think I'll catch that....Well Mr. Loudon, I'm very much obliged to you, +and I'm glad to think that it'll no' be long till we renew +our acquaintance." + +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 innkeeper went +slowly past the factor's house; then halted and retraced his steps; +then, making sure that the street was empty, turned into the side +lane which led to the garden. + +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 evidences--the worst danger to +her began with the arrival of the Unknown. What could that be? +Probably, kidnapping. He was prepared to believe anything of people +like Bolsheviks. And, FOURTH, this danger was due within the next +day or two. Loudon had been quite willing to let him into the +house and to sack all the watchers within a week from that date. +The natural and right thing was to summon the aid of the law, but, +FIFTH, that would be a slow business with Loudon able to put spokes +in the wheels and befog the authorities, and the mischief would be +done before a single policeman showed his face in Dalquharter. +Therefore, SIXTH, he and Heritage must hold the fort in the meantime, +and he would send a wire to his lawyer, Mr. Caw, to get to work +with the constabulary. SEVENTH, he himself was probably free from +suspicion in both Loudon's and Dobson's minds as a harmless fool. +But that freedom would not survive his reappearance in Dalquharter. +He could say, to be sure, that he had come back to see his auntie, +but that would not satisfy the watchers, since, so far as they knew, +he was the only man outside the gang who was aware that people +were dwelling in the House. They would not tolerate his presence +in the neighbourhood. + +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 pales, usin' the points accordin' to instructions. +My orders was to keep a good distance, for if they had grippit one o' us +he'd ha' been done for. They were roarin' mad by now, and twae had out +their knives, but they couldn't do muckle, for it was gettin' dark, and +they didn't ken the ground like us, and were aye trippin' and tumblin'. +But they pressed us hard, and one o' them landed me an awful clype +on the jaw. They were still aiming at our tents, and I saw that +if they got near the fire again it would be the end o' us. +So I blew my whistle for Thomas Yownie, who was in command o' +the other half of us, with instructions to fall upon their rear. +That brought Thomas up, and the tinklers had to face round about and +fight a battle on two fronts. We charged them and they broke, and the +last seen o' them they were coolin' their burns in the Garple." + +"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 souple yin, yon. We fund a road up the rocks and got +in by the verandy. Did ye ken that the lassie had a pistol? +Well, she has, and it seems that Mr. Heritage is a good shot wi' +a pistol, so there's some hope thereaways....Are the jools safe?" + +"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 until it's too late. +So we must take on the job ourselves. We must stand a siege, +Mr. Heritage and me and you laddies, and for that purpose we'd +better all keep together. It won't be extra easy to carry her off +from all of us, and if they do manage it we'll stick to their +heels.... Man, Dougal, isn't it a queer thing that whiles law-abiding +folk have to make their own laws?... So my plan is that the lot of us +get into the House and form a garrison. If you don't, the tinklers +will come back and you'll no' beat them in the daylight." + +"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 coal-rees 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 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, sir, but I'm glad to see ye back. Guid kens what's gaun on at +the Hoose thae days. Mr. Heritage left here yestreen, creepin' round +by dyke-sides and berry-busses like a wheasel. It's a mercy to get +a responsible man in the place. I aye had a notion ye wad come back, +for, thinks I, nevoy Dickson is no the yin to desert folk in trouble.... +Whaur's my wee kist?....Lost, ye say. That's a peety, for it's +been my cheesebox thae thirty year." + +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 the bed and shivered +with his eyes on the grey drift of rain. He would have felt more +stout-hearted had the sun been shining. + +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 had maybe had half a thought of it, but I'll thank you not to +repeat the story. It's a big house for a plain man like me, and +I haven't properly inspected it." + +"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 you can see more of the House and the +policies, ye're wrong, Mr. McCunn. It can't be allowed, for we're no' +ready for ye yet. D'ye understand? That's Mr. Loudon's orders.. +..Now, would it not be a far better plan if ye went back to Glasgow and +came back in a week's time? I'm thinking of your own comfort, Mr. McCunn." + +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 a hotel and yet be set on discouraging people from visiting +this neighbourhood. I tell you what, I believe that hotel of +yours is all sham. You've some other business, you and these +lodgekeepers, and in my opinion it's not a very creditable one." + +"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 above-board." + +"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 this bravest, and Dickson quailed +under the expectation of assault. But even in his fright he realized +that Loudon could not have told Dobson the tale of the half-witted lady. +The last remark had cut clean through all camouflage and reached the quick. + +"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 realized that it made his continued stay in +the cottage undesirable. He was now the focus of all suspicion, +and the innkeeper would be as good as his word and try to drive him +out of the place by force. Kidnapping, most likely, and that would +be highly unpleasant, besides putting an end to his usefulness. +Clearly he must join the others. The soul of Dickson hungered at +the moment for human companionship. He felt that his courage would +be sufficient for any team-work, but might waver again if he were +left to play a lone hand. + +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?" + +"No' so bad. Your telegram was sent this mornin'. Auld Bill +took it in to Kirkmichael. That's the first thing. Second, +Thomas Yownie has took a party to get down the box from the station. +He got Mrs. Sempills' powny, and he took the box ayont the Laver by +the ford at the herd's hoose and got it on to the shore maybe a +mile ayont Laverfoot. He managed to get the machine up as far +as the water, but he could get no farther, for ye'll no' get a +machine over the wee waterfa' just before the Laver ends in the sea. +So he sent one o' the men back with it to Mrs. Sempill, and, since +the box was ower heavy to carry, he opened it and took the stuff +across in bits. It's a' safe in the hole at the foot o' the +Huntingtower rocks, and he reports that the rain has done it no harm. +Thomas has made a good job of it. Ye'll no' fickle Thomas Yownie." + +"And what about your camp on the moor?" + +"It was broke up afore daylight. Some of our things we've got with us, +but most is hid near at hand. The tents are in the auld wife's hen-hoose." +and he jerked his disreputable head in the direction of the back door. + +"Have the tinklers been back?" + +"Aye. They turned up about ten o'clock, no doubt intendin' murder. +I left Wee Jaikie to watch developments. They fund him sittin' on a +stone, greetin' sore. When he saw them, he up and started to run, +and they cried on him to stop, but he wouldn't listen. Then they +cried out where were the rest, and he telled them they were feared +for their lives and had run away. After that they offered to catch +him, but ye'll no' catch Jaikie in a hurry. When he had run round +about them till they were wappit, he out wi' his catty and got one +o' them on the lug. Syne he made for the Laverfoot and reported." + +"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, so they breasted the ascent of the station road +and turned down the grassy bypath to the Laverfoot herd's. +The herd's wife saw them from afar and was at the door to receive them. + +"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 hame 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 nose of rock. Here Old Bill whistled, +and there was a reply from above. Round the corner of the nose +came Dougal. + +"Up here," he commanded. "It was Mr. Heritage that fund this road." + +Dickson and his guide squeezed themselves between the nose and +the cliff up a spout of stones, and found themselves in an upper +storey of the gulley, very steep, but practicable even for one +who was no cragsman. This in turn ran out against a wall up which +there led only a narrow chimney. At the foot of this were two of +the Die-Hards, and there were others above, for a rope hung down, +by the aid of which a package was even now ascending. + +"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 recognized 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 deerskin rugs. Dust lay thick over everything, and they +heard the scurry of rats. A dismal place, indeed, but Dickson felt +only its strangeness. The comfort of being back again among allies +had quickened his spirit to an adventurous mood. The old lords of +Huntingtower had once quarrelled and revelled and plotted here, and +now here he was at the same game. Present and past joined hands over +the gulf of years. The saga of Huntingtower was not ended. + +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 his place against +all comers. We must barricade the danger points. The headquarters +of the garrison will be in the hall, where a scout must be always +on duty. You've all got whistles? Well, if there's an attempt on the +verandah door the picket will whistle once, if at the back door twice, +if anywhere else three times, and it's everybody's duty, except +the picket who whistles, to get back to the hall for orders." + +"That's so," assented Dougal. + +"If the enemy forces an entrance we must overpower him. Any means +you like. Sticks or fists, and remember if it's a scrap in the +dark to make for the man's throat. I expect you little devils have +eyes like cats. The scoundrels must be kept away from the ladies +at all costs. If the worst comes to the worst, the Princess +has a revolver." + +"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 civilization anywhere is a very thin crust. There are a hundred +ways by which that kind of fellow could bamboozle all our law and +police and spirit her away. That's the kind of crowd we have to face." + +"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 into 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 Bolshevy 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. + +"Aye, but I've thought o' a far better plan. Why should we +keep them out? They'll be safer inside. Listen! We might manage +to get them in one at a time. If they can't get in at the kitchen +door, they'll send one o' them round to get in by another door and +open to them. That gives us a chance to get them separated, and +lock them up. There's walth o' closets and hidy-holes all over the +place, each with good doors and good keys to them. Supposin' we get +the three o' them shut up--the others, when they come, will have +nobody to guide them. Of course some time or other the three will +break out, but it may be ower late for them. At present we're +besieged and they're roamin' the country. Would it no' be far +better if they were the ones lockit up and we were goin' loose?" + +"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 grovel path that led to the verandah. This sent him back +to the hall in search of Dougal, whom he encountered in the passage. +That boy could certainly see in the dark, for he caught Dickson's +wrist without hesitation. + +"We've got Spittal in the wine-cellar," he whispered triumphantly. +"The kitchen door was barricaded, and when they tried it, it wouldn't open. +'Bide here,' says Dobson to Spittal, 'and we'll go round by another door +and come back and open to ye.' So off they went, and by that time +Peter Paterson and me had the barricade down. As we expected, +Spittal tries the key again and it opens quite easy. He comes in +and locks it behind him, and, Dobson having took away the lantern, +he gropes his way very carefu' towards the kitchen. There's a point +where the wine-cellar door and the scullery door are aside each other. +He should have taken the second, but I had it shut so he takes the first. +Peter Paterson gave him a wee shove and he fell down the two-three +steps into the cellar, and we turned the key on him. Yon cellar has a +grand door and no windies." + +"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, bet 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 nick-name. Dickson thought +he was being addressed as "Dogson" after the Poet's fashion. Had he +dreamed it was Leon he would not have replied, but fluttered off +into the shadows, and so missed a piece of vital news. + +"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 the 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. 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 as yet only the faintest hint of light, and black night +still lurked in the crannies. Followed another fall of pots, +as from a clumsy intruder, and then a man appeared, clear against +the glass door by which the path descended to the rock garden. +It was the fourth man, whom the three prisoners had awaited. +Dickson had no doubt at all about his identity. He was that villain +from whom all the others took their orders, the man whom the +Princess shuddered at. Before starting he had loaded his pistol. +Now he tugged it from his waterproof pocket, pointed it at the +other and fired. + +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 the windows, so that the place was full +of monstrous shadows, and its accustomed odour of mould and disuse +was changed to a salty freshness. Upstairs on the first floor +Thomas Yownie had deposited the ladies' baggage, and was busy +making beds out of derelict iron bedsteads and the wraps brought +from their room. On the ground floor on a heap of litter covered +by an old scout's blanket lay Heritage, with Dougal in attendance. + +The Chieftain had washed the blood from the Poet's brow, and the +touch of cold water was bringing him back his senses. Saskia with a +cry flew to him, and waved off Dickson who had fetched one of +the bottles of liqueur brandy. She slipped a hand inside his shirt +and felt the beating of his heart. Then her slim fingers ran +over his forehead. + +"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 recognized the jargon. +"He's a papermaker." + +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 realized Saskia's position and the blood came +to his pale face. He got to his feet with an effort and held +out a hand to the girl. "I'm all right now, I think. Only a little +dicky on my legs. A thousand thanks, Princess. I've given you +a lot of trouble." + +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, 'Aye.' +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 at any moment. As I see it, we've to +face a siege not by the three but by a dozen or more, and it'll no' +be long till it starts. Now, isn't it a mercy we're safe in here?" + +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. 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 get rid 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 join a thing called an International, +and Jaikie thought it was a fitba' club. But when he fund out there +was no magic lantern or swaree at Christmas he gie'd it the chuck. +They learned him a heap o' queer songs. That's one." + +"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 Garplefoot.....Dougal, lad, I trust +you to keep a most careful and prayerful watch. You had better +get the Die-Hards out of the Tower and all round the place afore +Dobson and Co. get loose, or you'll no' get a chance later. +Don't lose your mobility, as the sodgers say. Mr. Heritage can hold +the fort, but you laddies should be spread out like a screen." + +"That was my notion," said Dougal. "I'll detail two Die-Hards-- +Thomas Yownie and Wee Jaikie--to keep in touch with ye and watch +for you comin' back. Thomas ye ken already; ye'll no fickle +Thomas Yownie. But don't be mistook about Wee Jaikie. He's terrible +fond of greetin', but it's no fright with him but excitement. +It's just a habit he's gotten. When ye see Jaikie begin to greet, +you may be sure that Jaikie's gettin' dangerous." + +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 fairytale Princess. +I blush to confess that of each of his doings he was unashamedly proud, +and thirsted for many more in the same line. "Gosh, but I'm seeing life," +was his unregenerate conclusion. + +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 jiffey. And syne ye'll +have breakfast--ye'll hae a cup o' tea wi' me now, for the kettle's +just on the boil. Awa' wi' ye. Dickson," and she stamped her foot. + +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 callont, +a freend o' puir Maister Quentin, and up to ony deevilry. +But they tell me he's a quieter lad since the war, as sair +lamed by fa'in oot o' an airyplane." + +"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 April for birds. +He's clean daft about birds. He'll be out a' day at the craig watchin' +solans, or lyin' a' mornin' i' the moss lookin' at bog-blitters." + +"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 realized, 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 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. "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 he eyes were as grave and candid as a boy's. +Here was one who had gone through waters so deep that she had +lost the foibles of sex. Love to her was only a word of ill omen, +a threat on the lips of brutes, an extra battalion of peril in +an army of perplexities. He felt like some homely rustic who +finds himself swept unwittingly into the moonlight hunt of +Artemis and her maidens. + +"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 +realized 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 walls, +and books and maps were mixed with decanters and cigar-boxes on +the long sideboard. After the wild out of doors the place seemed +the very shrine of comfort. A young man sat in an arm-chair by the +fire with a leg on a stool; he was smoking a pipe, and reading the +Field, and on another stool at his elbow was a pile of new novels. +He was a pleasant brown-faced young man, with remarkably smooth +hair and a roving humorous eye. + +"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'tutors, 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 mobilizing +everywhere of wicked men. Once you boasted that law was international +and that the police in one land worked with the police of all others. +To-day that is true about criminals. After a war evil passions +are loosed, and, since Russia is broken, in her they can make +their headquarters....It is not Bolshevism, the theory, you need fear, +for that is a weak and dying thing. It is crime, which to-day finds its +seat in my country, but is not only Russian. It has no fatherland. +It is as old as human nature and as wide as the earth." + +"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 used to bring his pals to shoot over Dalquharter +and he didn't quite play the game by me. But I know dashed +little about him, for I've been a lot away. Bit hairy about the +heels, of course. A great figure at local race-meetin's, and used to +toady old Carforth and the huntin' crowd. He has a pretty big +reputation as a sharp lawyer and some of the thick-headed lairds +swear by him, but Quentin never could stick him. It's quite likely +he's been gettin' into Queer Street, for he was always speculatin' +in horseflesh, and I fancy he plunged a bit on the Turf. +But I can't think how he got mixed up in this show." + +"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 wall arrive with reinforcements, and then there will +be a hefty fight. Well, the first thing to be done it to get rid of +Loudon's stymie with the authorities. Princess, I'm going to carry +you off in my car to the Chief Constable. The second thing is for +you after that to stay on here. It's a deadly place on a wet day, +but it's safe enough." + +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 here'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 realize 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 recognized that the two belonged to different +circles of being, which nowhere intersected. That mysterious lady, +whose eyes had looked through life to the other side, was no mate +for the Poet. His faithful soul was agitated, for he had developed +for Heritage a sincere affection. It would break his heart, poor man. +There was he holding the fort alone and cheering himself with delightful +fancies about one remoter than the moon. Dickson wanted happy endings, +and here there was no hope of such. He hated to admit that life could +be crooked, but the optimist in him was now fairly dashed. + +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 recognized as the smallest of the Die- +Hards. Between bites he was singing dolefully to the tune of "Annie +Laurie" one of the ditties of his quondam Sunday School: + + +"The Boorjoys' brays are bonnie, +Too-roo-ra-roo-raloo, +But the Workers of the World +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 stomach. +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 realized that she had come a certain distance. "Losh, I maun +be gettin' back or the hen will be spiled," she cried, and was on +the verge of turning. + +But something caught her eye a hundred yards farther on the road. +It was something which moved with the wind like a wounded bird, +fluttering from the roadside to a puddle and then back to the rushes. +She advanced to it, missed it, and caught it. + +It was an old dingy green felt hat, and she recognized 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 misel' but my legs are ower auld. Ah, laddie, dinna stop +to speir questions. They'll hae him murdered or awa' to sea. And maybe +the leddy was wi' him and they've got them baith. Wae's me! Wae's me!" + +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 see +only 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 encrustation of it beginning on his cheeks. +There was a tremendous noise all around him, and he traced +this to the swaying of tree-tops in the gale. But there was +an undercurrent of deeper sound--water surely, water churning +among rocks. It was a stream--the Garple of course--and then he +remembered where he was and what had happened. + +I do not wish to portray Dickson as a hero, for nothing would +annoy him more; but I am bound to say that his first clear thought +was not of his own danger. It was intense exasperation at the +miscarriage of his plans. Long ago he should have been with Dougal +arranging operations, giving him news of Sir Archie, finding out how +Heritage was faring, deciding how to use the coming reinforcements. +Instead he was trussed up in a wood, a prisoner of the enemy, and +utterly useless to his side. He tugged at his bonds, and nearly +throttled himself. But they were of good tarry cord and did not give +a fraction of an inch. Tears of bitter rage filled his eyes and made +furrows on his encrusted cheek. Idiot that he had been, he had +wrecked everything! What would Saskia and Dougal and Sir Archie do +without a business man by their side? There would be a muddle, and +the little party would walk into a trap. He saw it all very clearly. +The men from the sea would overpower them, there would be murder done, +and an easy capture of the Princess; and the police would turn up at +long last to find an empty headland. + +He had also most comprehensively wrecked himself, and at the thought +genuine panic seized him. There was no earthly chance of escape, +for he was tucked away in this infernal jungle till such time as his +enemies had time to deal with him. As to what that dealing would be like +he had no doubts, for they knew that he had been their chief opponent. +Those desperate ruffians would not scruple to put an end to him. +His mind dwelt with horrible fascination upon throat-cutting, +no doubt because of the presence of the cord below his chin. +He had heard it was not a painful death; at any rate he remembered +a clerk he had once had, a feeble, timid creature, who had twice +attempted suicide that way. Surely it could not be very bad, +and it would soon be over. + +But another thought came to him. They would carry him off in the ship +and settle with him at their leisure. No swift merciful death for him. +He had read dreadful tales of the Bolsheviks' skill in torture, +and now they all came back to him--stories of Chinese mercenaries, +and men buried alive, and death by agonizing inches. He felt suddenly +very cold and sick, and hung in his bonds, for he had no strength +in his limbs. Then the pressure on this throat braced him, and also +quickened his numb mind. The liveliest terror ran like quicksilver +through his veins. + +He endured some moments of this anguish, till after many despairing +clutches at his wits he managed to attain a measure of self-control. +He certainly wasn't going to allow himself to become mad. Death was +death whatever form it took, and he had to face death as many better +men had done before him. He had often thought about it and wondered +how he should behave if the thing came to him. Respectably, he had hoped; +heroically, he had sworn in his moments of confidence. But he had +never for an instant dreamed of this cold, lonely, dreadful business. +Last Sunday, he remembered, he had basking in the afternoon sun in +his little garden and reading about the end of Fergus MacIvor in +WAVERLEY and thrilling to the romance of it; and Tibby had come out +and summoned him in to tea. Then he had rather wanted to be a +Jacobite in the '45 and in peril of his neck, and now Providence +had taken him most terribly at his word. + +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 grow 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 realized 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 bield frae the wund and deep water. +They'll be landit in half an 'oor. Awa' you up to the Hoose and tell +Dobson, and me and Sim and Hob will meet the boats at the Garplefit." + +The other cast a glance towards Dickson. + +"What about him?" he asked. + +The two scrutinized their prisoner from a distance of a few paces. +Dickson, well aware of his peril, held himself as stiff as if +every bond had been in place. The thought flashed on him that +if he were too immobile they might think he was dying or dead, +and come close to examine him. If they only kept their distance, the +dusk of the wood would prevent them detecting Jaikie's handiwork. + +"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 it 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 realized that the afternoon was far advanced. It must be well on +for five o'clock. The wind still blew furiously, and the oaks on the +fringes of the wood were whipped like saplings. Ruefully he admitted +that the gale would not defeat the enemy. If the brig found a +sheltered anchorage on the south side of the headland beyond the +Garple, it would be easy enough for boats to make the Garple mouth, +though it might be a difficult job to get out again. The thought +quickened his steps, and he came out of cover on to the public +road without a prior reconnaissance. Just in front of him stood +a motor-bicycle. Something had gone wrong with it for its owner +was tinkering at it, on the side farthest from Dickson. A wild hope +seized him that this might be the vanguard of the police, and he went +boldly towards it. The owner, who was kneeling, raised his face at +the sound of footsteps and Dickson looked into his eyes. + +He recognized them only too well. They belonged to the man he had +seen in the inn at Kirkmichael, the man whom Heritage had decided to +be an Australian, but whom they now know to be their arch-enemy--the +man called Paul who had persecuted the Princess for years and whom +alone of all beings on earth she feared. He had been expected before, +but had arrived now in the nick of time while the brig was casting anchor. +Saskia had said that he had a devil's brain, and Dickson, as he stared +at him, saw a fiendish cleverness in his straight brows and a +remorseless cruelty in his stiff jaw and his pale eyes. + +He achieved the bravest act of his life. Shaky and dizzy as he was, +with freedom newly opened to him and the mental torments of his +captivity still an awful recollection, he did not hesitate. +He saw before him the villain of the drama, the one man that +stood between the Princess and peace of mind. He regarded +no consequences, gave no heed to his own fate, and thought +only how to put his enemy out of action. There was a by spanner +lying on the ground. He seized it and with all his strength +smote at the man's face. + +The motor-cyclist, kneeling and working hard at his machine, +had raised his head at Dickson's approach and beheld a wild apparition- +-a short man in ragged tweeds, with a bloody brow and long smears of +blood on his cheeks. The next second he observed the threat of attack, +and ducked his head so that the spanner only grazed his scalp. +The motor-bicycle toppled over, its owner sprang to his feet, and found +the short man, very pale and gasping, about to renew the assault. +In such a crisis there was no time for inquiry, and the cyclist was +well trained in self-defence. He leaped the prostrate bicycle, +and before his assailant could get in a blow brought his left fist +into violent contact with his chin. Dickson tottered a step or two +and then subsided among the bracken. + +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 +woefully shaken. Saskia had said her enemy was a beautiful as +a devil--he remembered the phrase, for he had thought it ridiculous. +This man was magnificent, but there was nothing devilish in his +lean grave face. + +"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 your 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 what you mean." + +"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 me no more use +than a tattie-bogle....That's the situation, and the question is +what's our plan to be? We must keep the blagyirds in play till +the police come, and at the same time we must keep the Princess +out of danger. That's why I'm wanting back, for they've sore need +of a business head. Yon Sir Archibald's a fine fellow, but I +doubt he'll be a bit rash, and the Princess is no' to hold or bind. +Our first job is to find Dougal and get a grip of the facts." + +"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 today." + +"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 gamekeepers wi' guns. I stoppit their cawr up the road and +tell't them the lie o' the land. Yon Sir Erchibald has poor notions +o' strawtegy. He was for bangin' into the auld Tower straight away +and shootin' Dobson if he tried to stop them. 'Havers,' say I, +'let them break their teeth on the Tower, thinkin' the leddy's +inside, and that'll give us time, for Heritage is no' the lad to +surrender in a hurry.'" + +"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 persuadit him, but he threepit that it would take a long time +to collect his men and that there was no danger o' the brig landin' +before night. He's wrong there onyway, for they're landit." + +"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-Hard's camp kettles. Next he gave +some attention to his toilet, necessary after the rough-and-tumble +of the night. He made shift to bathe in icy water from the Tower well, +shaved, tidied up his clothes and found a clean shirt from his pack. +He carefully brushed his hair, reminding himself that thus had the +Spartans done before Thermopylae. The neat and somewhat pallid young +man that emerged from these rites then ascended to the first floor +to reconnoitre the landscape from the narrow unglazed windows. + +If any one had told him a week ago that he would be in so strange +a world he would have quarrelled violently with his informant. +A week ago he was a cynical clear-sighted modern, a contemner of +illusions, a swallower of formulas, a breaker of shams--one who had +seen through the heroical and found it silly. Romance and such-like +toys were playthings for fatted middle-age, not for strenuous and +cold-eyed youth. But the truth was that now he was altogether +spellbound by these toys. To think that he was serving his lady was +rapture-ecstasy, that for her he was single-handed venturing all. +He rejoiced to be alone with his private fancies. His one fear was +that the part he had cast himself for might be needless, that the +men from the sea would not come, or that reinforcements would +arrive before he should be called upon. He hoped alone to make +a stand against thousands. What the upshot might be he did not +trouble to inquire. Of course the Princess would be saved, +but first he must glut his appetite for the heroic. + +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 on 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 realized +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 soul 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 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 to 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 clockwork, were approaching +their consummation. For a second he thought of leaving the Tower and +hiding somewhere in the cliffs. He dismissed the notion unwillingly, +for he remembered the task that had been set him. He was there to hold +the fort to the last--to gain time, though he could not for the life of +him see what use time was to be when all the strategy of his own side +seemed to have miscarried. Anyhow, the blackguards would be sold, +for they would not find the Princess. But he felt a horrid void +in the pit of his stomach, and a looseness about his knees. + +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 called. + +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 space +before the door. The place was ruinous, the floor filled with holes, +and a part of the roof sagged down in a corner. The stones around +the window were loose and crumbling, and he managed to pull several +out so that the slit was enlarged. He found himself looking down +on a crowd of men, who had lifted the fallen tree on which Leon +had perched, and were about to use it as a battering ram. + +"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 recognized the futility of his efforts. +The baseball swing of the figure below could not be mistaken. +There was a roar beneath, and a flash of fire, as the bomb exploded +on the door. Then came a rush of men, and the Tower had fallen. +Heritage clambered through a hole in the roof and gained the +topmost parapet. He had still a pocketful of cartridges, and +there in a coign of the old battlements he would prove an ugly +customer to the pursuit. Only one at a time could reach that +siege perilous....They would not take long to search the lower rooms, +and then would be hot on the trail of the man who had fooled them. +He had not a scrap of fear left or even of anger--only triumph +at the thought of how properly those ruffians had been sold. +"Like schoolboys they who unaware"--instead of two women they had +found a man with a gun. And the Princess was miles off and forever +beyond their reach. When they had settled with him they would +no doubt burn the House down, but that would serve them little. +From his airy pinnacle he could see the whole sea-front of +Huntingtower, a blur in the dusk but for the ghostly eyes of its +white-shuttered windows. + +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 descant on the resemblance between +Dougal and Gouraud--how the plan of leaving the enemy to waste his +strength upon a deserted position was that which on the 15th of July +1918 the French general had used with decisive effect in Champagne! +But Dougal had never heard of Gouraud, and I cannot claim that, +like the Happy Warrior, he + + "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 teas and wait +till we come for ye. Ye can do no good, and ye're puttin' yourself +terrible in the enemy's power. If we're beat and ye're no' there, +they get very little satisfaction, but if they get you they get what +they've come seekin'. I tell ye straight--ye're an encumbrance." + +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 roadroller." + +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 anathematized his frailties. +"Nice old crock to go tiger--shootin' with," he told the Princess. +"But set me to something where my confounded leg don't get in the way, +and I'm still pretty useful!" Dougal, mopping his brow with the rag +he called his handkerchief, observed sourly that he objected to going +scouting with a herd of elephants. + +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 turn saw fit to +approve the 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 of 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 aye on the move, Mem, and keep me informed. +If they break in at two bits, we're beat, and there'll be nothing +for it but to retire to our last position. Ye ken the room ayont +the hall where they keep the coats. That's our last trench, and at +the worst we fall back there and stick it out. It has a strong door +and a wee windy, so they'll no' be able to get in on our rear. +We should be able to put up a good defence there, unless they fire +the place over our heads....Now, we'd better give out the guns." + +"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 us uncommonly like Loudon, the factor. +I thought McCunn had stretched him on a bed of pain. Lord, if this +thing should turn out a farce, I simply can't face Loudon....I say, +Princess, you don't suppose by any chance that McCunn's a little bit +wrong in the head?" + +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 kind of +risk--I've had a few in my time--but this is so infernally outlandish, +and I--I don't quite believe in it. That is to say, I believe in it +right enough when I look at you or listen to McCunn, but as soon as my +eyes are off you I begin to doubt again. I'm gettin' old and I've a +stake in the country, and I daresay I'm gettin' a bit of a prig--anyway +I don't want to make a jackass of myself. Besides, there's this foul +weather and this beastly house to ice my feet." + +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 boilerhouse ladder was still in position, +but it did not reach half the height, so McGuffog was adjured to +stand by to help, and in the meantime to wait on duty by the wall. +Then he hurried upstairs to his watch-tower. + +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 seamen's boots and heavy clothing she had a clear advantage. +But two shook themselves loose from the pack and began to gain on her. +At the main shrubbery they were not thirty yards behind, and in her +passage through it her skirts must have delayed her, for when she +emerged the pursuit had halved the distance. He got the sights of the +rifle on the first man, but the lawns sloped up towards the house, and +to his consternation he found that the girl was in the line of fire. +Madly he ran to the other window of the room, tore back the shutters, +shivered the glass, and flung his rifle to his shoulder. The fellow was +within three yards of her, but, thank God! he had now a clear field. +He fired low and just ahead of him, and had the satisfaction to see him +drop like a rabbit, shot in the leg. His companion stumbled over him, +and for a moment the girl was safe. + +But her speed was failing. She passed out of sight on the verandah +side of the house, and the rest of the pack had gained ominously over +the easier ground of the lawn. He thought for a moment of trying to +stop them by his fire, but realized that if every shot told there +would still be enough of them left to make sure of her capture. +The only chance was at the verandah, and he went downstairs at a +pace undreamed of since the days when he had two whole legs. + +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's no longer secret.... +They may break us by sheer weight, and I fancy the first shooting +will be done by us. It's the windows I'm afraid of." + +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 Leon'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' on the +shore 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 toward 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 things 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 clacked, +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. 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 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 Blucher. + +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 know as Old Bill, and the sturdy +figure of Peter Paterson. But the floor was held by the hostess. +She still wore her big boots, her petticoats were still kilted, and +round her venerable head in lieu of a bonnet was drawn a tartan shawl. + +"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's +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 whisky 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 no more the Fat Man's lees, +Stap them doun his throat! +Nocht to lose except our chains----" + + + +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 +Gallowgate policeman. He pretended to be making reports and +seeking orders. "We've gotten three o' the deevils, sir. +What'll we dae wi' them?" he shouted; and back would come the +reply in a slightly more genteel voice: "Fall them to the rear. +Tamson has charge of the prisoners." Or it would be: "They've gotten +pistols, sir. What's the orders?" and the answer would be: "Stick to +your batons. The guns are posted on the knowe, so we needn't hurry." +And over all the din there would be a perpetual whistling and a +yelling of "Hands up!" + +I would sing, too, of Wee Jaikie, who was having the red-letter +hour of his life. His fragile form moved like a lizard in places +where no mortal could be expected, and he varied his duties with +impish assaults upon the persons of such as came in his way. +His whistle blew in a man's ear one second and the next yards away. +Sometimes he was moved to song, and unearthly fragments of +"Class-conscious we are" or "Proley Tarians, arise!" mingled +with the din, like the cry of seagulls in a storm. He saw a bright +light flare up within the House which warned him not to enter, +but he got as far as the garden-room, in whose dark corners +he made havoc. Indeed he was almost too successful, for he +created panic where he went, and one or two fired blindly at +the quarter where he had last been heard. These shots were followed +by frenzied prohibitions from Spidel and were not repeated. +Presently he felt that aimless surge of men that is the prelude to +flight, and heard Dobson's great voice roaring in the hall. +Convinced that the crisis had come, he made his way outside, +prepared to harrass the rear of any retirement. Tears now flowed +down his face, and he could not have spoken for sobs, but he had +never been so happy. + +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, blasphemous mortality. Thomas Yownie, +staggered at the success of his tactics, yet kept his head and did +his utmost to confuse the retreat, and the triumphant shouts and +whistles of the other Die-Hards showed that they were not unmindful +of this final duty.... + +The verandah was empty, and he was just about to enter the House, +when through the west door came a figure, breathing hard and +bent apparently on the same errand. Thomas prepared for battle, +determined that no straggler of the enemy should now wrest from him +victory, but, as the figure came into the faint glow at the doorway, +he recognized it as Heritage. And at the same moment he heard +something which made his tense nerves relax. Away on the right +came sounds, a thud of galloping horses on grass and the jingle of +bridle reins and the voices of men. It was the real thing at last. +It is a sad commentary on his career, but now for the first time +in his brief existence Thomas Yownie felt charitably disposed +towards the police. + + + + +The Poet, since we left him blaspheming on the roof of the Tower, +had been having a crowded hour of most inglorious life. He had +started to descend at a furious pace, and his first misadventure was +that he stumbled and dropped Dickson's pistol over the parapet. +He tried to mark where it might have fallen in the gloom below, +and this lost him precious minutes. When he slithered through the +trap into the attic room, where he had tried to hold up the attack, +he discovered that it was full of smoke which sought in vain to +escape by the narrow window. Volumes of it were pouring up the stairs, +and when he attempted to descend he found himself choked and blinded. +He rushed gasping to the window, filled his lungs with fresh air, +and tried again, but he got no farther than the first turn, from which +he could see through the cloud red tongues of flame in the ground room. +This was solemn indeed, so he sought another way out. He got on the +roof, for he remembered a chimney-stack, cloaked with ivy, which was +built straight from the ground, and he thought he might climb down it. + +He found the chimney and began the descent confidently, for he +had once borne a good reputation at the Montanvert and Cortina. +At first all went well, for stones stuck out at decent intervals like +the rungs of a ladder, and roots of ivy supplemented their deficiencies. +But presently he came to a place where the masonry had crumbled into a +cave, and left a gap some twenty feet high. Below it he could dimly +see a thick mass of ivy which would enable him to cover the further +forty feet to the ground, but at that cave he stuck most finally. +All around the lime and stone had lapsed into debris, and he could +find no safe foothold. Worse still, the block on which he relied +proved loose, and only by a dangerous traverse did he avert disaster. + +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 +realized 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 Hrs. 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 night." + +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 froth of angry waves. +Two boats had been launched and were plunging furiously, and on one +of them a lantern dipped and fell. By its light he could see men +holding a further boat by the shore. There was no sign of the police; +he reflected that probably they had become entangled in the Garple Dean. +The third boat was waiting for some one. + +Dickson--a new Ajax by the ships--divined who this someone must be +and realized his duty. It was the leader, the arch-enemy, the man +whose escape must at all costs be stopped. Perhaps he had the +Princess with him, thus snatching victory from apparent defeat. +In any case he must be tackled, and a fierce anxiety gripped +his heart. "Aye finish a job," he told himself, and peered up +into the darkness of the cliffs, wondering just how he should set +about it, for except in the last few days he had never engaged in +combat with a fellow-creature. + +"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 has been a poor preparation for eternity." + + +The tide the next day brought the dead ashore. Among them was a young +man, different in dress and appearance from the rest--a young man with +a noble head and a finely-cut classic face, which was not marred like +the others from pounding among the Garple rocks. His dark hair was +washed back from his brow, and the mouth, which had been hard in life, +was now relaxed in the strange innocence of death. + +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 Nicholaevitch, once +a Prince of Muscovy and now Mr. Alexander Nicholson of the rising firm +of Sprot and Nicholson of Melbourne, had interest enough to prevent it. +For it was clear that if Saskia was to be saved from persecution, +her enemies must disappear without trace from the world, and no story +be told of the wild venture which was their undoing. The constabulary +of Carrick and Scotland Yard were indisposed to ask questions, +under a hint from their superiors, the more so as no serious damage +had been done to the persons of His Majesty's lieges, and no lives +had been lost except by the violence of Nature. The Procurator-Fiscal +investigated the case of the drowned men, and reported that so many +foreign sailors, names and origins unknown, had perished in attempting +to return to their ship at the Garplefoot. The Danish brig had +vanished into the mist of the northern seas. But one signal calamity +the Procurator-Fiscal had to record. The body of Loudon the factor was +found on the Monday morning below the cliffs, his neck broken by a fall. +In the darkness and confusion he must have tried to escape in that +direction, and he had chosen an impracticable road or had slipped +on the edge. It was returned as "death by misadventure," and the +CARRICK HERALD and the AUCHENLOCHAN ADVERTISER excelled themselves +in eulogy. Mr. Loudon, they said, had been widely known in the +south-west of Scotland as an able and trusted lawyer, an assiduous +public servant, and not least as a good sportsman. It was the last +trait which had led to his death, for, in his enthusiasm for wild +nature, he had been studying bird life on the cliffs of the Cruives +during the storm, and had made that fatal slip which had deprived +the shire of a wise counsellor and the best of good fellows. + +The tinklers of the Garplefoot took themselves off, and where they may +now be pursuing their devious courses is unknown to the chronicler. +Dobson, too, disappeared, for he was not among the dead from the boats. +He knew the neighbourhood, and probably made his way to some port +from which he took passage to one or other of those foreign lands +which had formerly been honoured by his patronage. Nor did all the +Russians perish. Three were found skulking next morning in the +woods, starving and ignorant of any tongue but their own, and five +more came ashore much battered but alive. Alexis took charge +of the eight survivors, and arranged to pay their passage to one +of the British Dominions and to give them a start in a new life. +They were broken creatures, with the dazed look of lost animals, +and four of them had been peasants in Saskia's estates. Alexis spoke +to them in their own language. "In my grandfather's time," he said, +"you were serfs. Then there came a change, and for some time +you were free men. Now you have slipped back into being slaves +again--the worst of slaveries, for you have been the serfs of fools +and scoundrels and the black passion of your own hearts. I give you +a chance of becoming free men once more. You have the task before +you of working out your own salvation. Go, and God be with you." + + + +Before we take leave of these companions of a single week I would +present them to you again as they appeared on a certain sunny +afternoon when the episode of Huntingtower was on the eve of closing. +First we see Saskia and Alexis walking on the thymy sward of +the cliff-top, looking out to the fretted blue of the sea. +It is a fitting place for lovers--above all for lovers who have +turned the page on a dark preface, and have before them still +the long bright volume of life. The girl has her arm linked +in the man's, but as they walk she breaks often away from him, +to dart into copses, to gather flowers, or to peer over the brink +where the gulls wheel and oyster-catchers pipe among the shingle. +She is no more the tragic muse of the past week, but a laughing child +again, full of snatches of song, her eyes bright with expectation. +They talk of the new world which lies before them, and her voice is happy. +Then her brows contract, and, as she flings herself down on +a patch of young heather, her air is thoughtful. + +"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 +they call the middle-class, which we who were foolish used to laugh at. +But he is the stuff which above all others makes a great people. +He will endure when aristocracies crack and proletariats crumble. +In our own land we have never known him, but till we create him +our land will not be a nation." + + + + +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 with you, Dogson," says Heritage, "is that you're a bit +of an anarchist. All you false romantics are. You don't see the +extraordinary beauty of the conventions which time has consecrated. +You always want novelty, you know, and the novel is usually the ugly and +rarely the true. I am for romance, but upon the old, noble classic line." + +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,' you know. +It has been a great experience and has shown me my own heart. +I love her, I shall always love her, but I realize that she was +never meant for me. Thank God I've been able to serve her--that is all +a moth can ask of a star. I'm a better man for it, Dogson. +She will be a glorious memory, and Lord! what poetry I shall write! +I give her up joyfully, for she has found her mate. 'Let us not +to the marriage of true minds admit impediments!' The thing's too +perfect to grieve about....Look! There is romance incarnate." + +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 woefully stiff. With that the past becomes very +real again, and he sees the Garple Dean in that stormy afternoon, +he wrestles again at midnight in the dark House, he stands with +quaking heart by the boats to cut off the retreat. He sees it all, +but without terror in the recollection, rather with gusto and a +modest pride. "I've surely had a remarkable time," he tells himself, +and then Romance, the goddess whom he has worshipped so long, +marries that furious week with the idyllic. He is supremely content, +for he knows that in his humble way he has not been found wanting. +Once more for him the Chavender or Chub, and long dreams among +summer hills. His mind flies to the days ahead of him, when +he will go wandering with his pack in many green places. Happy days +they will be, the prospect with which he has always charmed his mind. +Yes, but they will be different from what he had fancied, for he is +another man than the complacent little fellow who set out a week ago +on his travels. He has now assurance of himself, assurance of his faith. +Romance, he sees, is one and indivisible.... + +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 for the return of Penelope from the Neuk Hydropathic. +There is a chill in the air, so a fire is burning in the grate, +but the laden tea-table is bright with the first blooms of lilac. +Dickson, in a new suit with a flower in his buttonhole, looks none +the worse for his travels, save that there is still sticking-plaster +on his deeply sunburnt brow. He waits impatiently with his eye +on the black marble timepiece, and he fingers something in his pocket. + +Presently the sound of wheels is heard, and the pea-hen voice of +Tibby announces the arrival of Penelope. Dickson rushes to the door, +and at the threshold welcomes his wife with a resounding kiss. +He leads her into the parlour and settles her in her own chair. + +"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. + + +End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of Huntingtower by John Buchan. |