Complete Fictional Works of John Buchan (Illustrated)

by John Buchan

  ‘But it’s madness,’ broke in General Winstanley. ‘Do you mean to tell me that that man came here and sat beside me for the best part of half an hour and that I didn’t detect the imposture? Alloa must be out of his mind.’ ‘Don’t you see the cleverness of it?’ I said. ‘You were too interested in other things to have any eyes. You took Lord Alloa for granted. If it had been anybody else you might have looked more closely, but it was natural for him to be here, and that put you all to sleep.’

  Then the Frenchman spoke, very slowly and in good English.

  ‘The young man is right. His psychology is good. Our enemies have not been foolish!’

  He bent his wise brows on the assembly.

  ‘I will tell you a tale,’ he said. ‘It happened many years ago in Senegal. I was quartered in a remote station, and to pass the time used to go fishing for big barbel in the river. A little Arab mare used to carry my luncheon basket — one of the salted dun breed you got at Timbuktu in the old days. Well, one morning I had good sport, and the mare was unaccountably restless. I could hear her whinnying and squealing and stamping her feet, and I kept soothing her with my voice while my mind was intent on fish. I could see her all the time, as I thought, out of a corner of my eye, tethered to a tree twenty yards away. After a couple of hours I began to think of food. I collected my fish in a tarpaulin bag, and moved down the stream towards the mare, trolling my line. When I got up to her I flung the tarpaulin on her back—’ He paused and looked round.

  ‘It was the smell that gave me warning. I turned my head and found myself looking at a lion three feet off... An old man-eater, that was the terror of the village... What was left of the mare, a mass of blood and bones and hide, was behind him.’

  ‘What happened?’ I asked. I was enough of a hunter to know a true yarn when I heard it.

  ‘I stuffed my fishing-rod into his jaws, and I had a pistol. Also my servants came presently with rifles. But he left his mark on me.’ He held up a hand which lacked three fingers.

  ‘Consider,’ he said. ‘The mare had been dead more than an hour, and the brute had been patiently watching me ever since. I never saw the kill, for I was accustomed to the mare’s fretting, and I never marked her absence, for my consciousness of her was only of something tawny, and the lion filled that part. If I could blunder thus, gentlemen, in a land where men’s senses are keen, why should we busy preoccupied urban folk not err also?’

  Sir Walter nodded. No one was ready to gainsay him.

  ‘But I don’t see,’ went on Winstanley. ‘Their object was to get these dispositions without our knowing it. Now it only required one of us to mention to Alloa our meeting tonight for the whole fraud to be exposed.’

  Sir Walter laughed dryly. ‘The selection of Alloa shows their acumen. Which of us was likely to speak to him about tonight? Or was he likely to open the subject?’

  I remembered the First Sea Lord’s reputation for taciturnity and shortness of temper.

  ‘The one thing that puzzles me,’ said the General, ‘is what good his visit here would do that spy fellow? He could not carry away several pages of figures and strange names in his head.’

  ‘That is not difficult,’ the Frenchman replied. ‘A good spy is trained to have a photographic memory. Like your own Macaulay. You noticed he said nothing, but went through these papers again and again. I think we may assume that he has every detail stamped on his mind. When I was younger I could do the same trick.’

  ‘Well, I suppose there is nothing for it but to change the plans,’ said Sir Walter ruefully.

  Whittaker was looking very glum. ‘Did you tell Lord Alloa what has happened?’ he asked. ‘No? Well, I can’t speak with absolute assurance, but I’m nearly certain we can’t make any serious change unless we alter the geography of England.’

  ‘Another thing must be said,’ it was Royer who spoke. ‘I talked freely when that man was here. I told something of the military plans of my Government. I was permitted to say so much. But that information would be worth many millions to our enemies. No, my friends, I see no other way. The man who came here and his confederates must be taken, and taken at once.’

  ‘Good God,’ I cried, ‘and we have not a rag of a clue.’

  ‘Besides,’ said Whittaker, ‘there is the post. By this time the news will be on its way.’

  ‘No,’ said the Frenchman. ‘You do not understand the habits of the spy. He receives personally his reward, and he delivers personally his intelligence. We in France know something of the breed. There is still a chance, mes amis. These men must cross the sea, and there are ships to be searched and ports to be watched. Believe me, the need is desperate for both France and Britain.’

  Royer’s grave good sense seemed to pull us together. He was the man of action among fumblers. But I saw no hope in any face, and I felt none. Where among the fifty millions of these islands and within a dozen hours were we to lay hands on the three cleverest rogues in Europe?

  Then suddenly I had an inspiration.

  ‘Where is Scudder’s book?’ I cried to Sir Walter. ‘Quick, man, I remember something in it.’

  He unlocked the door of a bureau and gave it to me.

  I found the place. Thirty-nine steps, I read, and again, Thirty-nine steps — I counted them — high tide 10.17 p.m.

  The Admiralty man was looking at me as if he thought I had gone mad.

  ‘Don’t you see it’s a clue,’ I shouted. ‘Scudder knew where these fellows laired — he knew where they were going to leave the country, though he kept the name to himself. Tomorrow was the day, and it was some place where high tide was at 10.17.’

  ‘They may have gone tonight,’ someone said.

  ‘Not they. They have their own snug secret way, and they won’t be hurried. I know Germans, and they are mad about working to a plan. Where the devil can I get a book of Tide Tables?’

  Whittaker brightened up. ‘It’s a chance,’ he said. ‘Let’s go over to the Admiralty.’

  We got into two of the waiting motor-cars — all but Sir Walter, who went off to Scotland Yard — to ‘mobilize MacGillivray’, so he said. We marched through empty corridors and big bare chambers where the charwomen were busy, till we reached a little room lined with books and maps. A resident clerk was unearthed, who presently fetched from the library the Admiralty Tide Tables. I sat at the desk and the others stood round, for somehow or other I had got charge of this expedition.

  It was no good. There were hundreds of entries, and so far as I could see 10.17 might cover fifty places. We had to find some way of narrowing the possibilities.

  I took my head in my hands and thought. There must be some way of reading this riddle. What did Scudder mean by steps? I thought of dock steps, but if he had meant that I didn’t think he would have mentioned the number. It must be some place where there were several staircases, and one marked out from the others by having thirty-nine steps.

  Then I had a sudden thought, and hunted up all the steamer sailings. There was no boat which left for the Continent at 10.17 p.m.

  Why was high tide so important? If it was a harbour it must be some little place where the tide mattered, or else it was a heavy-draught boat. But there was no regular steamer sailing at that hour, and somehow I didn’t think they would travel by a big boat from a regular harbour. So it must be some little harbour where the tide was important, or perhaps no harbour at all.

  But if it was a little port I couldn’t see what the steps signified. There were no sets of staircases on any harbour that I had ever seen. It must be some place which a particular staircase identified, and where the tide was full at 10.17. On the whole it seemed to me that the place must be a bit of open coast. But the staircases kept puzzling me.

  Then I went back to wider considerations. Whereabouts would a man be likely to leave for Germany, a man in a hurry, who wanted a speedy and a secret passage? Not from any of the big harbours. And not from the Channel or the West Coast or Scotland, for, remember, he was starting from London.
I measured the distance on the map, and tried to put myself in the enemy’s shoes. I should try for Ostend or Antwerp or Rotterdam, and I should sail from somewhere on the East Coast between Cromer and Dover.

  All this was very loose guessing, and I don’t pretend it was ingenious or scientific. I wasn’t any kind of Sherlock Holmes. But I have always fancied I had a kind of instinct about questions like this. I don’t know if I can explain myself, but I used to use my brains as far as they went, and after they came to a blank wall I guessed, and I usually found my guesses pretty right.

  So I set out all my conclusions on a bit of Admiralty paper. They ran like this:

  Fairly Certain

  (1) Place where there are several sets of stairs; one that matters distinguished by having thirty-nine steps.

  (2) Full tide at 10.17 p.m. Leaving shore only possible at full tide.

  (3) Steps not dock steps, and so place probably not harbour.

  (4) No regular night steamer at 10.17. Means of transport must be tramp (unlikely), yacht, or fishing-boat.

  There my reasoning stopped. I made another list, which I headed ‘Guessed’, but I was just as sure of the one as the other.

  Guessed

  (1) Place not harbour but open coast.

  (2) Boat small — trawler, yacht, or launch.

  (3) Place somewhere on East Coast between Cromer and Dover.

  It struck me as odd that I should be sitting at that desk with a Cabinet Minister, a Field-Marshal, two high Government officials, and a French General watching me, while from the scribble of a dead man I was trying to drag a secret which meant life or death for us.

  Sir Walter had joined us, and presently MacGillivray arrived. He had sent out instructions to watch the ports and railway stations for the three men whom I had described to Sir Walter. Not that he or anybody else thought that that would do much good.

  ‘Here’s the most I can make of it,’ I said. ‘We have got to find a place where there are several staircases down to the beach, one of which has thirty-nine steps. I think it’s a piece of open coast with biggish cliffs, somewhere between the Wash and the Channel. Also it’s a place where full tide is at 10.17 tomorrow night.’

  Then an idea struck me. ‘Is there no Inspector of Coastguards or some fellow like that who knows the East Coast?’

  Whittaker said there was, and that he lived in Clapham. He went off in a car to fetch him, and the rest of us sat about the little room and talked of anything that came into our heads. I lit a pipe and went over the whole thing again till my brain grew weary.

  About one in the morning the coastguard man arrived. He was a fine old fellow, with the look of a naval officer, and was desperately respectful to the company. I left the War Minister to cross-examine him, for I felt he would think it cheek in me to talk.

  ‘We want you to tell us the places you know on the East Coast where there are cliffs, and where several sets of steps run down to the beach.’

  He thought for a bit. ‘What kind of steps do you mean, Sir? There are plenty of places with roads cut down through the cliffs, and most roads have a step or two in them. Or do you mean regular staircases — all steps, so to speak?’

  Sir Arthur looked towards me. ‘We mean regular staircases,’ I said.

  He reflected a minute or two. ‘I don’t know that I can think of any. Wait a second. There’s a place in Norfolk — Brattlesham — beside a golf-course, where there are a couple of staircases, to let the gentlemen get a lost ball.’

  ‘That’s not it,’ I said.

  ‘Then there are plenty of Marine Parades, if that’s what you mean. Every seaside resort has them.’

  I shook my head. ‘It’s got to be more retired than that,’ I said.

  ‘Well, gentlemen, I can’t think of anywhere else. Of course, there’s the Ruff—’

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked.

  ‘The big chalk headland in Kent, close to Bradgate. It’s got a lot of villas on the top, and some of the houses have staircases down to a private beach. It’s a very high-toned sort of place, and the residents there like to keep by themselves.’

  I tore open the Tide Tables and found Bradgate. High tide there was at 10.17 p.m. on the 15th of June.

  ‘We’re on the scent at last,’ I cried excitedly. ‘How can I find out what is the tide at the Ruff?’

  ‘I can tell you that, Sir,’ said the coastguard man. ‘I once was lent a house there in this very month, and I used to go out at night to the deep-sea fishing. The tide’s ten minutes before Bradgate.’

  I closed the book and looked round at the company.

  ‘If one of those staircases has thirty-nine steps we have solved the mystery, gentlemen,’ I said. ‘I want the loan of your car, Sir Walter, and a map of the roads. If Mr MacGillivray will spare me ten minutes, I think we can prepare something for tomorrow.’

  It was ridiculous in me to take charge of the business like this, but they didn’t seem to mind, and after all I had been in the show from the start. Besides, I was used to rough jobs, and these eminent gentlemen were too clever not to see it. It was General Royer who gave me my commission. ‘I for one,’ he said, ‘am content to leave the matter in Mr Hannay’s hands.’

  By half-past three I was tearing past the moonlit hedgerows of Kent, with MacGillivray’s best man on the seat beside me.

  CHAPTER 10. VARIOUS PARTIES CONVERGING ON THE SEA

  A pink and blue June morning found me at Bradgate looking from the Griffin Hotel over a smooth sea to the lightship on the Cock sands which seemed the size of a bell-buoy. A couple of miles farther south and much nearer the shore a small destroyer was anchored. Scaife, MacGillivray’s man, who had been in the Navy, knew the boat, and told me her name and her commander’s, so I sent off a wire to Sir Walter.

  After breakfast Scaife got from a house-agent a key for the gates of the staircases on the Ruff. I walked with him along the sands, and sat down in a nook of the cliffs while he investigated the half-dozen of them. I didn’t want to be seen, but the place at this hour was quite deserted, and all the time I was on that beach I saw nothing but the sea-gulls.

  It took him more than an hour to do the job, and when I saw him coming towards me, conning a bit of paper, I can tell you my heart was in my mouth. Everything depended, you see, on my guess proving right.

  He read aloud the number of steps in the different stairs. ‘Thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-nine, forty-two, forty-seven,’ and ‘twenty-one’ where the cliffs grew lower. I almost got up and shouted.

  We hurried back to the town and sent a wire to MacGillivray. I wanted half a dozen men, and I directed them to divide themselves among different specified hotels. Then Scaife set out to prospect the house at the head of the thirty-nine steps.

  He came back with news that both puzzled and reassured me. The house was called Trafalgar Lodge, and belonged to an old gentleman called Appleton — a retired stockbroker, the house-agent said. Mr Appleton was there a good deal in the summer time, and was in residence now — had been for the better part of a week. Scaife could pick up very little information about him, except that he was a decent old fellow, who paid his bills regularly, and was always good for a fiver for a local charity. Then Scaife seemed to have penetrated to the back door of the house, pretending he was an agent for sewing-machines. Only three servants were kept, a cook, a parlour-maid, and a housemaid, and they were just the sort that you would find in a respectable middle-class household. The cook was not the gossiping kind, and had pretty soon shut the door in his face, but Scaife said he was positive she knew nothing. Next door there was a new house building which would give good cover for observation, and the villa on the other side was to let, and its garden was rough and shrubby.

  I borrowed Scaife’s telescope, and before lunch went for a walk along the Ruff. I kept well behind the rows of villas, and found a good observation point on the edge of the golf-course. There I had a view of the line of turf along the cliff top, with seats placed at intervals, and the little s
quare plots, railed in and planted with bushes, whence the staircases descended to the beach. I saw Trafalgar Lodge very plainly, a red-brick villa with a veranda, a tennis lawn behind, and in front the ordinary seaside flower-garden full of marguerites and scraggy geraniums. There was a flagstaff from which an enormous Union Jack hung limply in the still air.

  Presently I observed someone leave the house and saunter along the cliff. When I got my glasses on him I saw it was an old man, wearing white flannel trousers, a blue serge jacket, and a straw hat. He carried field-glasses and a newspaper, and sat down on one of the iron seats and began to read. Sometimes he would lay down the paper and turn his glasses on the sea. He looked for a long time at the destroyer. I watched him for half an hour, till he got up and went back to the house for his luncheon, when I returned to the hotel for mine.

  I wasn’t feeling very confident. This decent common-place dwelling was not what I had expected. The man might be the bald archaeologist of that horrible moorland farm, or he might not. He was exactly the kind of satisfied old bird you will find in every suburb and every holiday place. If you wanted a type of the perfectly harmless person you would probably pitch on that.

  But after lunch, as I sat in the hotel porch, I perked up, for I saw the thing I had hoped for and had dreaded to miss. A yacht came up from the south and dropped anchor pretty well opposite the Ruff. She seemed about a hundred and fifty tons, and I saw she belonged to the Squadron from the white ensign. So Scaife and I went down to the harbour and hired a boatman for an afternoon’s fishing.

  I spent a warm and peaceful afternoon. We caught between us about twenty pounds of cod and lythe, and out in that dancing blue sea I took a cheerier view of things. Above the white cliffs of the Ruff I saw the green and red of the villas, and especially the great flagstaff of Trafalgar Lodge. About four o’clock, when we had fished enough, I made the boatman row us round the yacht, which lay like a delicate white bird, ready at a moment to flee. Scaife said she must be a fast boat for her build, and that she was pretty heavily engined.