The Complete Richard Hannay

by John Buchan

  There was nothing to do but wait, and happily I had not to wait long, for I was becoming pretty nervous. The figure reappeared, carrying something in its hand, and as it came towards me I had a glimpse of its face. I recognized it at once as that of the grey melancholy man whom I had seen the first night in Medina’s house, when I was coming out of my stupor. For some reason or another that face had become stamped on my memory, and I had been waiting to see it again. It was sad, forlorn, and yet in a curious way pleasant; anyhow there was nothing repellent in it. But he came from Medina, and at that thought every scrap of hesitation and funk fled from me. I had been right in my instinct; this place was Medina’s, it was the Fields of Eden of the rhyme. A second ago I had felt a futile blunderer; now I was triumphant.

  He passed my door and turned down the passage which ran at right angles. I stepped after him and saw the light halt at the staircase door, and then disappear. My first impulse was to follow, tackle him in the shop, and get the truth out of him, but I at once discarded that notion, which would have given the whole show away. My business was to make further discoveries. I must visit the room which had been the object of his visit.

  I was thankful to be out of that bedroom. In the passage I listened, but could hear no sound anywhere. There was indeed a sound in the air, but it appeared to come from the outer world, a sound like an organ or an orchestra a long way off. I concluded that there must be a church somewhere near where the choir-boys were practising.

  The room I entered was a very queer place. It looked partly like a museum, partly like an office, and partly like a library. The curiosity shop had been full of rubbish, but I could see at a glance that there was no rubbish here. There were some fine Italian plaques – I knew something about these, for Mary collected them – and a set of green Chinese jars which looked the real thing. Also, there was a picture which seemed good enough to be a Hobbema. For the rest there were several safes of a most substantial make; but there were no papers lying about, and every drawer of a big writing-table was locked. I had not the wherewithal to burgle the safes and the table, even if I had wanted to. I was certain that most valuable information lurked somewhere in that place, but I did not see how I could get at it.

  I was just about to leave, when I realized that the sound of music which I had heard in the passage was much louder here. It was no choir-boys’ practising, but strictly secular music, apparently fiddles and drums, and the rhythm suggested a dance. Could this odd building abut on a dance-hall? I looked at my watch and saw that it was scarcely eleven and that I had only been some twenty minutes indoors. I was now in a mood of almost foolhardy confidence, so I determined to do a little more research.

  The music seemed to come from somewhere to the left. The windows of the room, so far as I could judge, must look into Wellesley Street, which showed me how I had misjudged that thoroughfare. There might be a dancing-hall tucked in among the automobile shops. Anyhow I wanted to see what lay beyond this room, for there must be an entrance to it other than by the curiosity shop. Sure enough I found a door between two bookcases covered with a heavy portière, and emerged into still another passage.

  Here the music sounded louder, and I seemed to be in a place like those warrens behind the stage in a theatre, where rooms are of all kinds of shapes and sizes. The door at the end was locked, and another door which I opened gave on a flight of wooden steps. I did not want to descend just yet, so I tried another door, and then shut it softly. For the room it opened upon was lighted, and I had the impression of human beings not very far off. Also the music, as I opened the door, came out in a great swelling volume of sound.

  I stood for a moment hesitating, and then I opened that door again. For I had a notion that the light within did not come from anything in the room. I found myself in a little empty chamber, dusty and cheerless, like one of those cubby-holes you see in the Strand, where the big plate-glass front window reaches higher than the shop, and there is a space between the ceiling and the next floor. All one side was of glass, in which a casement was half open, and through the glass came the glare of a hundred lights from somewhere beyond. Very gingerly I moved forward, till I could look down on what was happening below.

  For the last few seconds I think I had known what I was going to see. It was the dancing-club which I had visited some weeks before with Archie Roylance. There were the sham Chinese decorations, the blaze of lights, the nigger band, the whole garish spectacle. Only the place was far more crowded than on my previous visit. The babble of laughter and talk which rose from it added a further discord to the ugly music, but there was a fierce raucous gaiety about it all, an overpowering sense of something which might be vulgar but was also alive and ardent. Round the skirts of the hall was the usual rastaquouère crowd of men and women drinking liqueurs and champagne, and mixed with fat Jews and blue-black dagos the flushed faces of boys from barracks or college who imagined they were seeing life. I thought for a moment that I saw Archie, but it was only one of Archie’s kind, whose lean red visage made a queer contrast with the dead white of the woman he sat by.

  The dancing was madder and livelier than on the last occasion. There was more vigour in the marionettes and I was bound to confess that they knew their trade, little as I valued it. All the couples were expert, and when now and then a bungler barged in he did not stay long. I saw no sign of the girl in green whom Archie had admired, but there were plenty like her. It was the men I most disliked, pallid skeletons or puffy Latins, whose clothes fitted them too well, and who were sometimes as heavily made-up as the women.

  One especially I singled out for violent disapproval. He was a tall young man, with a waist like a wasp, a white face, and hollow drugged eyes. His lips were red like a chorus-girl’s and I would have sworn that his cheeks were rouged. Anyhow he was a loathsome sight. But ye gods! he could dance. There was no sign of animation in him, so that he might have been a corpse, galvanized by some infernal power and compelled to move through an everlasting dance of death. I noticed that his heavy eyelids were never raised.

  Suddenly I got a bad shock. For I realized that this mannequin was no other than my ancient friend, the Marquis de la Tour du Pin.

  I hadn’t recovered from that when I got a worse. He was dancing with a woman whose hair seemed too bright to be natural. At first I could not see her face clearly, for it was flattened against his chest, but she seemed to be hideously and sparsely dressed. She too knew how to dance, and the slim grace of her body was conspicuous even in her vulgar clothes. Then she turned her face to me, and I could see the vivid lips and the weary old pink and white enamel of her class. Pretty, too…

  And then I had a shock which nearly sent me through the window. For in this painted dancer I recognized the wife of my bosom and the mother of Peter John.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Sir Archibald Roylance Puts His Foot In It

  Three minutes minutes later I was back in the curiosity shop. I switched off my light, and very gently opened the street door. There was a sound of footsteps on the pavement, so I drew back till they had passed. Then I emerged into the quiet street, with Abel’s little brazier glowing in front of me, and Abel’s little sharp face poked out of his pent-house.

  ‘All right, sir?’ he asked cheerfully.

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘I have found what I wanted.’

  ‘There was a party turned up not long after you had gone in. Lucky I had locked the door after you. He wasn’t inside more than five minutes. A party with a black topcoat turned up at the collar – respectable party he looked – oldish – might have been a curate. Funny thing, sir, but I guessed correctly when you were coming back and had the door unlocked ready for you… If you’ve done with me I’ll clear off.’

  ‘Can you manage alone?’ I asked. ‘There’s a good deal to tidy up.’

  He winked solemnly. ‘In an hour there won’t be a sign of anything. I have my little ways of doing things. Good night, sir, and thank you.’ He was like a boots seeing a guest off
from an hotel.

  I found that the time was just after half-past eleven, so I walked to Tottenham Court Road and picked up a taxi, telling the man to drive to Great Charles Street in Westminster. Mary was in London, and I must see her at once. She had chosen to take a hand in the game, probably at Sandy’s instigation, and I must find out what exactly she was doing. The business was difficult enough already with Sandy following his own trail and me forbidden to get in touch with him, but if Mary was also on the job it would be naked chaos unless I knew her plans. I own I felt miserably nervous. There was nobody in the world whose wisdom I put higher than hers, and I would have trusted her to the other side of Tophet, but I hated to think of a woman mixed up in something so ugly and perilous. She was far too young and lovely to be safe on the back-stairs. And yet I remembered that she had been in uglier affairs before this and I recalled old Blenkiron’s words: ‘She can’t scare and she can’t soil’. And then I began to get a sort of comfort from the feeling that she was along with me in the game; it made me feel less lonely. But it was pretty rough luck on Peter John. Anyhow I must see her, and I argued that she would probably be staying with her Wymondham aunts, and that in any case I could get news of her there.

  The Misses Wymondham were silly ladies, but their butler would have made Montmartre respectable. He and I had always got on well, and I think the only thing that consoled him when Fosse was sold was that Mary and I were to have it. The house in Great Charles Street was one of those tremendously artistic new dwellings with which the intellectual plutocracy have adorned the Westminster slums.

  ‘Is her ladyship home yet?’ I asked.

  ‘No, Sir Richard, but she said she wouldn’t be late. I expect her any moment.’

  ‘Then I think I’ll come in and wait. How are you, Barnard? Found your city legs yet?’

  ‘I am improving, Sir Richard, I thank you. Very pleased to have Miss Mary here, if I may take the liberty of so speaking of her. Miss Claire is in Paris still, and Miss Wymondham is dancing tonight, and won’t be back till very late. How are things at Fosse, sir, if I may make so bold? And how is the young gentleman? Miss Mary has shown me his photograph. A very handsome young gentleman, sir, and favours yourself.’

  ‘Nonsense, Barnard. He’s the living image of his mother. Get me a drink, like a good fellow. A tankard of beer, if you have it, for I’ve a throat like a grindstone.’

  I drank the beer and waited in a little room which would have been charming but for the garish colour scheme which Mary’s aunts had on the brain. I was feeling quite cheerful again, for Peter John’s photograph was on the mantelpiece and I reckoned that any minute Mary might be at the doorway.

  She came in just before midnight. I heard her speak to Barnard in the hall, and then her quick step outside the door. She was preposterously dressed, but she must have done something to her face in the taxi, for the paint was mostly rubbed from it, leaving it very pale.

  ‘Oh, Dick, my darling,’ she cried, tearing off her cloak and running to my arms. ‘I never expected you. There’s nothing wrong at home?’

  ‘Not that I know of, except that it’s deserted. Mary, what on earth brought you here?’

  ‘You’re not angry, Dick?’

  ‘Not a bit – only curious.’

  ‘How did you know I was here?’

  ‘Guessed. I thought it was the likeliest cover to draw. You see I’ve been watching you dancing tonight. Look here, my dear, if you put so much paint and powder on your face and jam it so close to old Turpin’s chest, it won’t be easy for the poor fellow to keep his shirt-front clean.’

  ‘You – watched – me – dancing! Were you in that place?’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t say in it. But I had a prospect of the show from the gallery. And it struck me that the sooner we met and had a talk the better.’

  ‘The gallery! Were you in the house? I don’t understand.’

  ‘No more do I. I burgled a certain house in a back street for very particular reasons of my own. In the process I may mention that I got one of the worst frights of my life. After various adventures I came to a place where I heard the dickens of a row which I made out to be dance music. Eventually I found a dirty little room with a window and to my surprise looked down on a dancing-hall. I knew it, for I had once been there with Archie Roylance. That was queer enough, but imagine my surprise when I saw my wedded wife, raddled like a geisha, dancing with an old friend who seemed to have got himself up to imitate a wax-work.’

  She seemed scarcely to be listening. ‘But in the house! Did you see no one?’

  ‘I saw one man and I heard another. The fellow I saw was a man I once met in the small hours with Medina.’

  ‘But the other? You didn’t see him? You didn’t hear him go out?’

  ‘No.’ I was puzzled at her excitement. ‘Why are you so keen about the other?’

  ‘Because I think – I’m sure – it was Sandy – Colonel Arbuthnot.’

  This was altogether beyond me. ‘Impossible!’ I cried. ‘The place is a lair of Medina’s. The man I saw was Medina’s servant or satellite. Do you mean to say that Sandy has been exploring that house?’

  She nodded. ‘You see it is the Fields of Eden.’

  ‘Oh, I know. I found that out for myself. Do you tell me that Sandy discovered it too?’

  ‘Yes. That is why I was there. That is why I have been living a perfectly loathsome life and am now dressed like a chorus girl.’

  ‘Mary,’ I said solemnly, ‘my fine brain won’t support any more violent shocks. Will you please to sit down beside me, and give me the plain tale of all you have been doing since I said goodbye to you at Fosse?’

  ‘First,’ she said, ‘I had a visit from a dramatic critic on holiday, Mr Alexander Thomson. He said he knew you and that you had suggested that he should call. He came three times to Fosse, but only once to the house. Twice I met him in the woods. He told me a good many things, and one was that he couldn’t succeed and you couldn’t succeed, unless I helped. He thought that if a woman was lost only a woman could find her. In the end he persuaded me. You said yourself, Dick, that Nanny was quite competent to take charge of Peter John, with Dr Greenslade so close at hand. And I hear from her every day, and he is very well and happy.’

  ‘You came to London. But when?’

  ‘The day you came back from Norway.’

  ‘But I’ve been having letters regularly from you since then.’

  ‘That is my little arrangement with Paddock. I took him into my confidence. I send him the letters in batches and he posts one daily.’

  ‘Then you’ve been here more than a fortnight. Have you seen Sandy?’

  ‘Twice. He has arranged my life for me, and has introduced me to my dancing partner, the Marquis de la Tour du Pin, whom you call Turpin. I think I have had the most horrible, the most wearing time that any woman ever had. I have moved in raffish circles and have had to be the most raffish of the lot. Do you know, Dick, I believe I’m really a good actress? I have acquired a metallic voice, and a high silly laugh, and hard eyes, and when I lie in bed at night I blush all over for my shamelessness. I know you hate it, but you can’t hate it more than I do. But it had to be done. I couldn’t be a “piker”, as Mr Blenkiron used to say.’

  ‘Any luck?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said wearily. ‘I have found Miss Victor. It wasn’t very difficult, really. When I had made friends with the funny people that frequent these places it wasn’t hard to see who was different from the others. They’re all mannequins, but the one I was looking for was bound to be the most mannequinish of the lot. I wanted someone without mind or soul, and I found her. Besides, I had a clue to start with. Odell, you know.’

  ‘It was the green girl.’

  She nodded. ‘I couldn’t be certain, of course, till I had her lover to help me. He is a good man, your French Marquis. He has played his part splendidly. You see, it would never do to try to awake Adela Victor now. We couldn’t count on her being able to keep up appear
ances without arousing suspicion, till the day of release arrived. But something had to be done, and that is my business especially. I have made friends with her, and I talk to her and I have attached her to me just a little, like a dog. That will give me the chance to do the rest quickly when the moment comes. You cannot bring back a vanished soul all at once unless you have laid some foundation. We have to be very, very careful, for she is keenly watched, but I think – yes, I am sure – it is going well.’

  ‘Oh, bravo!’ I cried. ‘That makes Number Two. I may tell you that I have got Number One.’ I gave her a short account of my doings in Norway. ‘Two of the poor devils will get out of the cage anyhow. I wonder if it wouldn’t be possible to pass the word to Victor and the Duke. It would relieve their anxiety.’

  ‘I thought of that,’ she replied, ‘but Colonel Arbuthnot says No, on no account. He says it might ruin everything. He takes a very solemn view of the affair, you know. And so do I. I have seen Mr Medina.’

  ‘Where?’ I asked in astonishment.

  ‘I got Aunt Doria to take me to a party where he was to be present. Don’t be worried. I wasn’t introduced to him, and he never heard my name. But I watched him, and knowing what I did I was more afraid than I have ever been in my life. He is extraordinarily attractive – no, not attractive – seductive, and he is as cold and hard as chilled steel. You know these impressions I get of people which I can’t explain – you say they are always right. Well, I felt him almost super-human. He exhales ease and power like a god, but it is a god from a lost world. I can see that, like a god too, it is souls that he covets. Ordinary human badness seems decent in comparison with that Lucifer’s pride of his. I think if I ever could commit murder it would be his life I would take. I should feel like Charlotte Corday. Oh, I’m dismally afraid of him.’