The Complete Richard Hannay

by John Buchan

  ‘I’m not,’ I said stoutly, ‘and I see him at closer quarters than most people.’ The measure of success we had attained was beginning to make me confident.

  ‘Colonel Arbuthnot is afraid for you,’ she said. ‘The two times I have seen him in London he kept harping on the need of your keeping very near to him. I think he meant me to warn you. He says that when you are fighting a man with a long-range weapon the only chance is to hug him. Dick, didn’t you tell me that Mr Medina suggested that you should stay in his house? I have been thinking a lot about that, and I believe it would be the safest plan. Once he saw you secure in his pocket he might forget about you.’

  ‘It would be most infernally awkward, for I should have no freedom of movement. But all the same I believe you are right. Things may grow very hectic as we get near the day.’

  ‘Besides, you might find out something about Number Three. Oh, it is the little boy that breaks my heart. The others might escape on their own account – some day, but unless we find him he is lost for ever. And Colonel Arbuthnot says that, even if we found him, it might be hard to restore the child’s mind. Unless – unless –’

  Mary’s face had become grim, if one could use the word of a thing so soft and gentle. Her hands were tightly clasped, and her eyes had a strained far-away look.

  ‘I am going to find him,’ she cried. ‘Listen, Dick. That man despises women and rules them out of his life, except in so far as he can make tools of them. But there is one woman who is going to stop at nothing to beat him… When I think of that little David I grow mad and desperate. I am afraid of myself. Have you no hope to give me?’

  ‘I haven’t the shadow of a clue,’ I said dolefully. ‘Has Sandy none?’

  She shook her head. ‘He is so small, the little fellow, and so easy to hide.’

  ‘If I were in Central Africa, I would get Medina by the throat, and peg him down and torture him till he disgorged.’

  Again she shook her head. ‘Those methods are useless here. He would laugh at you, for he isn’t a coward – at least I think not. Besides, he is certain to be magnificently guarded. And for the rest he has the entrenchments of his reputation and popularity, and a quicker brain than any of us. He can put a spell of blindness on the world – on all men and nearly all women.’

  The arrival of Miss Wymondham made me get up to leave. She was still the same odd-looking creature, with a mass of tow-coloured hair piled above her long white face. She had been dancing somewhere, and looked at once dog-tired and excited. ‘Mary has been having such a good time,’ she told me. ‘Even I can scarcely keep pace with her ardent youth. Can’t you persuade her to do her hair differently? The present arrangement is so démodé and puts her whole figure out of drawing. Nancy Travers was speaking about it only tonight. Properly turned out, she said, Mary would be the most ravishing thing in London. By the way, I saw your friend Sir Archie Roylance at the Parminters’. He is lunching here on Thursday. Will you come, Richard?’

  I told her that my plans were vague and that I thought I might be out of town. But I arranged with Mary before I left to keep me informed at the Club of any news that came from Sandy. As I walked back I was infected by her distress over little David Warcliff. That was the most grievous business of all, and I saw no light in it, for though everything else happened according to plan, we should never be able to bring Medina to book. The more I thought of it the more hopeless our case against him seemed to be. We might free the hostages, but we could never prove that he had had anything to do with them. I could give damning evidence, to be sure, but who would take my word against his? And I had no one to confirm me. Supposing I indicted him for kidnapping and told the story of what I knew about the Blind Spinner and Newhover and Odell? He and the world would simply laugh at me, and I should probably have to pay heavy damages for libel. None of his satellites, I was certain, would ever give him away; they couldn’t, even if they wanted to, for they didn’t know anything. No, Sandy was right. We might have a measure of success, but there would be no victory. And yet only victory would give us full success, for only to get him on his knees, gibbering with terror, would restore the poor little boy. I strode through the empty streets with a sort of hopeless fury in my heart.

  One thing puzzled me. What was Sandy doing in that house behind the curiosity shop, if indeed it was Sandy? Whoever had been there had been in league with the sad grey man whom I watched from behind the bedroom door. Now the man was part of Medina’s entourage: I had no doubt about the accuracy of my recollection. Had Sandy dealings with someone inside the enemy’s citadel? I didn’t see how that was possible, for he had told me he was in deadly danger from Medina, and that his only chance was to make him believe that he was out of Europe… As I went to bed, one thing was very clear in my mind. If Medina asked me to stay with him, I would accept. It would probably be safer, though I wasn’t so much concerned about that, and it would possibly be more fruitful. I might find out something about the grey man.

  Next day I went to see Medina, for I wanted him to believe that I couldn’t keep away from him. He was in tremendous spirits about something or other, and announced that he was going off to the country for a couple of days. He made me stay to luncheon, when I had another look at Odell, who seemed to be getting fat. ‘Your wind, my lad,’ I said to myself, ‘can’t be as good as it should be. You wouldn’t have my money in a scrap.’ I hoped that Medina was going to have a holiday, for he had been doing a good deal lately in the way of speaking, but he said ‘No such luck.’ He was going down to the country on business – an estate of which he was a trustee wanted looking into. I asked in what part of England, and he said Shropshire. He liked that neighbourhood and had an idea of buying a place there when he had more leisure.

  Somehow that led me to speak of his poetry. He was surprised to learn that I had been studying the little books, and I could see took it as a proof of my devotion. I made a few fulsome observations on their merits, and said that even an ignorant fellow like me could see how dashed good they were. I also remarked that they seemed to me a trifle melancholy.

  ‘Melancholy!’ he said. ‘It’s a foolish world, Hannay, and a wise man must have his moods of contempt. Victory loses some of its salt when it is won over fools.’

  And then he said what I had been waiting for. ‘I told you weeks ago that I wanted you to take up your quarters with me. Well, I repeat the offer and will take no refusal.’

  ‘It is most awfully kind of you,’ I stammered. ‘But wouldn’t I be in the way?’

  ‘Not in the least. You see the house – it’s as large as a barracks. I’ll be back from Shropshire by Friday, and I expect you to move in here on Friday evening. We might dine together.’

  I was content, for it gave me a day or two to look about me. Medina went off that afternoon, and I spent a restless evening. I wanted to be with Mary, but it seemed to me that the less I saw her the better. She was going her own way, and if I showed myself in her neighbourhood it might ruin all. Next day was no better; I actually longed for Medina to return so that I might feel I was doing something, for there was nothing I could turn my hand to, and when I was idle the thought of David Warcliff was always present to torment me. I went out to Hampton Court and had a long row on the river; then I dined at the Club and sat in the little back smoking-room, avoiding anyone I knew, and trying to read a book of travels in Arabia. I fell asleep in my chair, and, waking about half-past eleven, was staggering off to bed, when a servant came to tell me that I was wanted on the telephone.

  It was Mary; she was speaking from Great Charles Street and her voice was sharp with alarm.

  ‘There’s been an awful mishap, Dick,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Are you alone? You’re sure there’s no one there?… Archie Roylance has made a dreadful mess of things… He came to that dancing-place tonight, and Adela Victor was there, and Odell with her. Archie had seen her before, you know, and apparently was much attracted. No! He didn’t recognize me, for when I saw him I kept out of range. But of
course he recognized the Marquis. He danced with Adela, and I suppose he talked nonsense to her – anyhow he made himself conspicuous. The result was that Odell proposed to take her away – I suppose he was suspicious of anybody of Archie’s world – and, well, there was a row. The place was very empty – only about a dozen, and mostly a rather bad lot. Archie asked what right he had to carry off the girl, and lost his temper, and the manager was called in – the man with the black beard. He backed up Odell, and then Archie did a very silly thing. He said he was Sir Archibald Roylance and wasn’t going to be dictated to by any Jew, and, worse, he said his friend was the Marquis de la Tour du Pin, and that between them they would burst up this show, and that he wouldn’t have a poor girl ordered about by a third-rate American bully… I don’t know what happened afterwards. The women were hustled out, and I had to go with the rest… But, Dick, it’s bad trouble. I’m not afraid so much for Archie, though he has probably had a bad mauling, but the Marquis. They’re sure to know who he is and all about him and remember his connection with Adela. They’re almost certain to make certain in some horrible way that he can’t endanger them again.’

  ‘Lord,’ I groaned, ‘what a catastrophe! And what on earth can I do? I daren’t take any part!’

  ‘No,’ came a hesitating voice. ‘I suppose not. But you can warn the Marquis – if nothing has happened to him already.’

  ‘Precious poor chance. These fellows don’t waste time. But go to bed and sleep, my dear. I’ll do my best.’

  My best at that time of night was pretty feeble. I rang up Victor’s house and found, as I expected, that Turpin had not returned. Then I rang up Archie’s house in Grosvenor Street and got the same answer about him. It was no good my going off to the back streets of Marylebone, so I went to bed and spent a wretched night.

  Very early next morning I was in Grosvenor Street, and there I had news. Archie’s man had just had a telephone message from a hospital to say that his master had had an accident, and would he come round and bring clothes. He packed a bag and he and I drove there at once, and found the miserable Archie in bed, the victim officially of a motor accident. He did not seem to be very bad, but it was a rueful face, much battered about the eyes and bandaged as to the jaw, which was turned on me when the nurse left us.

  ‘You remember what I said about the pug with the diamond studs,’ he whistled through damaged teeth. ‘Well, I took him on last night and got tidily laid out. I’m not up to professional standards, and my game leg made me slow.’

  ‘You’ve put your foot into it most nobly,’ I said. ‘What do you mean by brawling in a dance-club? You’ve embarrassed me horribly in the job I’m on.’

  ‘But how?’ he asked, and but for the bandage his jaw would have dropped.

  ‘Never mind how at present. I want to know exactly what happened. It’s more important than you think.’

  He told me the same story that I had heard from Mary, but much garlanded with objurgations. He denied that he had dined too well – ‘nothing but a small whisky-and-soda and one glass of port.’ He had been looking for a girl in green for some time, and having found her, was not going to miss the chance of making her acquaintance. ‘A melancholy little being with nothin’ to say for herself. She’s had hard usage from some swine – you could see it by her eyes – and I expect the pug’s the villain. Anyway, I wasn’t goin’ to stand his orderin’ her about like a slave. So I told him so, and a fellow with a black beard chipped in and they began to hustle me. Then I did a dam’ silly thing. I tried to solemnize ’em by sayin’ who I was, and old Turpin was there, so I dragged his name in. Dashed caddish thing to do, but I thought a Marquis would put the wind up that crowd.’

  ‘Did he join in?’

  ‘I don’t know – I rather fancy he got scragged at the start. Anyhow I found myself facin’ the pug, seein’ bright red, and inclined to fight a dozen. I didn’t last for more than one round – my game leg cramped me, I suppose. I got in one or two on his ugly face, and then I suppose I took a knock-out. After that I don’t remember anything till I woke up in this bed feelin’ as if I had been through a mangle. The people here say I was brought in by two bobbies and a fellow with a motor-car, who said I had walked slap into his bonnet at a street corner and hurt my face. He was very concerned about me, but omitted to leave his name and address. Very thoughtful of the sweeps to make sure there would be no scandal… I say, Dick, you don’t suppose this will get into the newspapers? I don’t want to be placarded as havin’ been in such a vulgar shindy just as I’m thinkin’ of goin’ in for Parliament.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s the remotest chance of your hearing another word about it, unless you talk too much yourself. Look here, Archie, you’ve got to promise me never to go near that place again, and never on any account whatever to go hunting for that girl in green. I’ll tell you my reasons some day, but you can take it that they’re good ones. Another thing. You’ve got to keep out of Turpin’s way. I only hope you haven’t done him irreparable damage because of your idiocy last night.’

  Archie was desperately penitent. ‘I know I behaved like a cad. I’ll go and grovel to old Turpin as soon as they let me up. But he’s all right – sure to be. He wasn’t lookin’ for a fight like me. I expect he only got shoved into the street and couldn’t get back again.’

  I did not share Archie’s optimism, and very soon my fear was a certainty. I went straight from the hospital to Carlton House Terrace, and found Mr Victor at breakfast. I learned that the Marquis de la Tour du Pin had been dining out on the previous evening and had not returned.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  How a French Nobleman Discovered Fear

  I have twice heard from Turpin the story I am going to set down – once before he understood much of it, a second time when he had got some enlightenment – but I doubt whether to his dying day he will ever be perfectly clear about what happened to him.

  I have not had time to introduce Turpin properly, and in any case I am not sure that the job is not beyond me. My liking for the French is profound, but I believe there is no race on earth which the average Briton is less qualified to comprehend. For myself, I could far more easily get inside the skin of a Boche. I knew he was as full of courage as a Berserker, pretty mad, but with that queer core of prudence which your Latin possesses and which in the long run makes his madness less dangerous than an Englishman’s. He was high-strung, excitable, imaginative, and I should have said in a general way very sensitive to influences such as Medina wielded. But he was forewarned. Mary had told him the main lines of the business, and he was playing the part she had set him as dutifully as a good child. I had not done justice to his power of self-control. He saw his sweetheart leading that blind unearthly life, and it must have been torture to him to do nothing except look on. But he never attempted to wake her memory, but waited obediently till Mary gave orders, and played the part to perfection of the ordinary half-witted dancing mountebank.

  When the row with Archie started, and the scurry began, he had the sense to see that he must keep out of it. Then he heard Archie speak his real name, and saw the mischief involved in that, for nobody knew him except Mary, and he had passed as a Monsieur Claud Simond from Buenos Aires. When he saw his friend stand up to the bruiser, he started off instinctively to his help, but stopped in time and turned to the door. The man with the black beard was looking at him, but said nothing.

  There seemed to be a good deal of racket at the foot of the stairs. One of the girls caught his arm. ‘No good that way,’ she whispered. ‘It’s a raid all right. There’s another road out. You don’t want your name in tomorrow’s papers.’

  He followed her into a little side passage, which was almost empty and very dark, and there he lost her. He was just starting to prospect, when he saw a little dago whom he recognized as one of the bar-tenders. ‘Up the stairs, monsieur,’ the man said. ‘Then first to the left and down again. You come out in the yard of the Apollo Garage. Quick, monsieur, or les flics will be here.�
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  Turpin sped up the steep wooden stairs, and found himself in another passage fairly well lit, with a door at each end. He took the one to the left, and dashed through, wondering how he was to recover his hat and coat, and also what had become of Mary. The door opened easily enough, and in his haste he took two steps forward. It swung behind him, so that he was in complete darkness, and he turned back to open it again to give him light. But it would not open. With the shutting of that door he walked clean out of the world.

  At first he was angry, and presently, when he realized his situation, a little alarmed. The place seemed to be small, it was utterly dark, and as stuffy as the inside of a safe. His chief thought at the moment was that it would never do for him to be caught in a raid on a dance-club, for his true name might come out and the harm which Archie’s foolish tongue had wrought might be thereby aggravated. But soon he saw that he had stepped out of one kind of danger into what was probably a worse. He was locked in an infernal cupboard in a house which he knew to have the most unholy connections.

  He started to grope around, and found that the place was larger than he thought. The walls were bare, the floor seemed to be of naked boards, and there was not a stick of furniture anywhere, nor, so far as he could see, any window. He could not discover the door he had entered by, which on the inside must have been finished dead level with the walls. Presently he found that his breathing was difficult, and that almost put him in a panic, for the dread of suffocation had always been for him the private funk from which the bravest man is not free. To breathe was like having his face tightly jammed against a pillow. He made an effort and controlled himself, for he realized that if he let himself become hysterical he would only suffocate the faster…