Complete Fictional Works of John Buchan (Illustrated)

by John Buchan

  Sandy did not answer. For the past week he had been his old vigorous self, but now his vitality seemed to have ebbed again. He looked tired and preoccupied, and his eyes were always searching Castor’s face.

  It was the latter who spoke. “Luis is right,” he said. “Things are very near a head, but this is the real moment of crisis. We cannot take the city of Olifa by force. We have no siege artillery, and General Bianca has made the defences very strong. The defence, I need not remind you, is in a privileged position with modern weapons. The policy of the Government is simple. They have sufficient troops to police the city and defend their lines against anything can bring. They are waiting for Lossberg, and if Lossberg comes we are beaten.”

  “I do not agree,” Luis interposed. “Lossberg cannot conquer a people in arms.”

  “I wonder,” Sandy spoke at last. “You have a great levy of stout fellows, gallant fellows, but not one in ten knows anything about the business. We are infernally short of machine guns, and we are not too well armed. There’s a variety of rifles in our ranks which would stock a museum, and our training is rudimentary. We are mostly third-line troops, and we have far too small a stiffening of first-line stuff. I don’t want to croak, but Lossberg could go through us like a knife through blotting-paper. Our only hope is that he won’t have the chance.”

  “Well, he is safely bottled up, isn’t he?”

  “For the present. But for how long? Peters and Escrick may keep him quiet for the moment, but he is bound to pull himself together and make for Santa Ana. And he is bound to succeed. Therefore—” He paused.

  “Therefore?” Luis repeated.

  “We must bring things to a head — now. The Government must surrender before he relieves them. How are we going to put on the screw? We are back at the old problem — of cracking their moral...It’s probably getting brittle. Bianca is a stiff old warrior, but the others are soft, sedentary fellows. They must be pretty jumpy by tow. Is there anything fresh from Hamilton?”

  “We had a report this morning,” Castor answered. “Undoubtedly their Excellencies are nervous. Also their police. The lower classes are on our side, and there is a perpetual rounding-up of suspects, which makes bad feeling. I am little anxious about the safety of our envoy.”

  “So am I,” said Sandy. “It was a wild escapade, and don’t believe we should have allowed it. He’s too good a man to lose. How on earth did he get through the lines, and how on earth is he concealing himself?”

  Archie laughed. “I’m not worrying about that. He makes the best imitation you ever saw of a sulky drunken Olifero peasant, and he has picked up enough of the lingo to ask for what he wants and see that he gets it. Geordie is a very wise citizen. But I do worry about one thing. He has gone back to his old waterside and backstairs haunts, and what is to prevent him from being done in by one of the Bodyguard ruffians? They might recognise him, and for all we know some of them are in Olifa. More by token, has he seen Lariarty in the city?”

  “He doesn’t mention him.”

  “I would like to know where that sportsman has gone. You were too easy with him, Sandy. Lariarty is the kind of lad I would always keep under lock and key.”

  “May be. I don’t know...But to get back to the main question — how can we put the screw on their Excellencies? I’ve been away for a week. What is the exact position on the Santa Ana railway?”

  Blenkiron put his spectacles on his nose and spread out a map and certain papers. He expounded the strength in Santa Ana and the reserves at Pecos — the exact destruction done to the railway — the present position of his posts south of Gabones, and the results of Bobby Latimer’s air reconnaissance beyond that point. To the best of his belief, he said, Lossberg was being so extensively worried in the Gran Seco that he was not able yet to look southward. He admitted that the look would come, but he was positive that any advance would be a slow business. He drew a sketch of several parts of the route, which he said could be held for days by a small force against any army.

  “That’s good as far as it goes,” Sandy said. “We have probably a week at least in which to draw our people in upon Olifa and rattle the Government. A week — but not more.”

  An orderly summoned Blenkiron to the telephone. “Darn those boys,” he grumbled, “they’re so mighty keen they always want to be passing the time of day. I’m going to call them down.”

  When he had gone, Luis spoke. He outlined the character of the various ministers from the President downwards. He was not complimentary, for he had the bitterness of the old regime towards the mushroom commercialism of Olifa, and especially towards the renegades of his own class. But he was not unfair. He admitted quality — a coarse toughness of fibre — the obstinacy of men who had been successful beyond their dreams — above all shrewdness. “It is on this last trait,” he said, “that we must bank. They will be a little awed by the Gobernador, whom they have always looked upon as a wizard. They will be impressed by the rising of the country, for they know that it is a difficult business to govern the unwilling. We have arguments, perhaps, to convince them, always provided they do not get back Lossberg and his army in time. They are not soldiers and will be afraid of us, but, being civilians, they will also exaggerate the power of Lossberg’s professionals, and may be foolish enough to defy us...A little while ago I spoke too confidently. We are still on the razor’s edge.”

  Blenkiron re-entered the room, and without a word made for the table where lay the papers from which he had given his exposition. He picked up his sketch of the section of the Gran Seco railway, where he had located various points A, B, C, and D. Then, almost violently, he swung Sandy round so that he could see it.

  “Lossberg has fooled me good and sure,” he said in a voice which he tried to keep level. “It was Melville talking. There’s been hell loose up the line. Our post at A was destroyed two hours ago...Yes, cavalry and armoured cars and light field batteries...There’s a howling desolation on the railway between A and B, but Melville reckons that B is going to fall before night. He proposes to make a great effort at C and is pushing everything up. But God knows what strength Lossberg is in, and, though it’s a darned bad fighting country, numbers are bound to tell. D isn’t much in the way of a reserve position. It’s my solemn opinion that, if C goes, in two days Lossberg will be in Santa Ana.”

  There was a moment of complete silence. Then Sandy observed casually, “I said we had a week. It appears we have only two days.” Every man in the room knew that one in his voice. Sandy could be explosive and vehement when things went well, but in a crisis he often seemed to be in detached spectator from another planet.

  Castor’s face did not alter, except for a slight knitting of the brows. Blenkiron was on his feet. “I’d better get back to Santa Ana,” he said.

  “I don’t think so,” Sandy drawled, and looked at Castor. “I suggest, sir, that I go instead. I will take my Indians, every man of them. There’s going to be a pretty rough-and-tumble on the railway, and that suits me better than Blenkiron. I’ll push off at once, by car, and Rogerson can bring on the troops. I hope to be able to send you good news within forty-eight hours. If not — well, the game’s with you. I shall be out of it.”

  “The game is with me,” said Castor. “I propose tomorrow to have a talk with the Excelentisimo and his Cabinet.”

  “No, no,” Sandy exclaimed. “I beg your pardon, sir, but not you. You are too valuable. We must send ambassadors. You would be a hostage.”

  Castor allowed his head to sink on his breast.

  “I must go,” he said after a pause. “The responsibility is mine. We are playing for high stakes, and I should cast the dice.”

  “And be a loser from the start! You are our reserve, sir. You must stay here in Veiro, while your plenipotentiaries speak in your name. It is not a question of taking risks. We know you’re a glutton for them. It is a question of playing the right hand. Send Luis and Blenkiron. The one can speak for the republic of Olifa and the other can talk business. And
meantime get your levies up to the edge of the Olifa lines. The Government have got to yield before Lossberg reaches Santa Ana. If he ever gets there, he must find that the whole country is in our hands. If we head him back, I’ll send you word, and that will be a clinching argument. But even if we’re scuppered, you may still win...Let ‘em know you’re coming. No, no! No flag of truce business. Get Archie to fly you to the Plaza de Toros. They’ll be hungry to see you. We’re gambling on the outer edge of sanity, and the wildest course is the safest. You must impress them — it’s their nerves we’re gunning for. Good-bye, sir. Good-bye, all of you. If I see Veiro again, we’ll be smoking the peace-pipe.”

  VI

  A little before noon Archie brought his plane to a smooth landing in the great dusty amphitheatre which had been the bull-ring of an older Olifa, and was now sports ground and polo ground. The journey had been uneventful, and they had crossed the lines saluted only by a few rifle shots. It appeared that they were not unexpected. The place was empty, but there were pickets at the different entrances. As the travellers climbed out of the plane a squad of soldiers came forward at the double, and they completed their disembarkation in the presence of a substantial military guard. The officer in charge saluted.

  “We have come to keep an appointment with their Excellencies,” said Luis.

  “Their Excellencies await you,” was the reply. A big closed car had drawn up beside them, and he motioned them to enter. A minute later they were moving swiftly from the Plaza into the road which led to the Ciudad Nueva. Archie pulled up the blind of the back window and laughed.

  “They’ve got the needle, for they are putting the plane out of action. They must think we’re devils of fellows. Well, our boats are burned right enough.”

  The Avenida de la Paz slept in the noonday sun. On its broad sidewalk there were few of the well-dressed Oliferos whom Archie had seen on his first visit, but many of the riff-raff from the old city. There seemed to be little life in the splendid offices. The headquarters of the Gran Seco administration had no longer sentries at its doors.

  Olifa had lost its comfortable bustle and its confidence, and had acquired the air of a city in a crisis. At the street corners there were not police, but soldiers, and as the car swung up the hill towards the great copper dome of the Parliament House, there were frequent halts and the interchange of passwords. Archie reported that a car was following them containing an armed guard. “I feel as if I were in Black Maria,” he said. “Have either of you fellows ever been in quod before?”

  Their reception in the Grand Court was one of high ceremony. The sentries presented arms at the gate, and they were met at the main door by an aide-de-camp. There were soldiers everywhere, in the great entrance-hall, and at every turn of the broad marble staircase. First they were taken to an ante-room, where on a table light refreshments were laid out. “The senores may be thirsty after their flight,” said the aide-de-camp, as he bowed and left them.

  “Very handsome,” Archie observed.

  “Very politic,” said Luis. “The Cabinet believe that we have come to treat. No doubt they have their terms ready. It will be a shock to them to learn that our minimum demand is complete surrender.”

  Blenkiron’s eyes had been slowly taking in the magnificence of his surroundings. “We’ve gotten into the wrong atmosphere,” he explained. “The folks that live in a shack like this are bound to think that nothing can go wrong with them. It’ll stiffen their backs, for it looks as if it were built for eternity. We should have aimed to shift them somewhere where they could get a sight of Sandy’s braves or Melville’s roughnecks. You can’t scare kings sitting in their palace.”

  “Dwellers in palaces,” said Luis oracularly, “have weaker nerves than dwellers in tents.”

  The aide-de-camp appeared again. “Their Excellencies are ready to receive you,” he announced, and, holding himself very stiff and straight, he opened a door which led to the Council Chamber. It was a vast room, copied, like all the Olifa buildings, from an Old World model — in this case from a room in a Venetian palazzo. The ceiling was painted with nymphs and goddesses, and statues stood in the alcoves of the panelled marble walls. The light was dim, for the sun shutters were partially closed. At a table near the window sat, not the full Cabinet which Archie had expected, but five men. One was the heavy bull-necked President, with on each side of him Vicente Sanfuentes, the Minister of external Affairs, and Aribia, the Minister of Finance. Next to Aribia was General Bianca, and on the Foreign Minister’s other side a figure which made Archie stare, for it was Romanes, whom he had last seen in the Tronos del Rey. The President and his colleagues were in their customary black frock-coats and stiff linen, the old General was in uniform, but the Conquistador wore a suit of white drill. There was much bowing, and the three took their seats opposite the five, like witnesses before an official inquiry. A big silver box of cigars stood before the President, which he pushed towards Blenkiron, who shook his head. Archie alone helped himself; he wanted something to occupy his hands.

  The five showed no sign of embarrassment or strain. The President had still his air of massive composure, though the pouches under his eyes seemed a little heavier. The two ministers, Sanfuentes with his round shrewd face and Aribia with his well-trimmed beard, looked as if they were at an ordinary board meeting. The old General’s thin knotted fingers drummed on the table, but that had always been his habit. Romanes’s neat light-cavalry figure seemed more dapper than ever in its cool clothing, and his lean sallow face was as expressionless as the marble at his back.

  “Don Luis de Marzaniga we know well,” said the President, “and we have the honour of Senor Roylance’s acquaintance. You, sir,” and he looked towards Blenkiron “I take to be the late Vice-President of the Gran Seco Administration.”

  Blenkiron did his best to bow. He seemed to find amusement in the scene before him, for his face wore a broad grin.

  “You have come, gentlemen,” the President continued “to ask for terms.”

  “No, Excellency,” said Luis, “we have come to offer them.”

  The President frowned slightly, and General Bianca threw up his head.

  “It is a trifling change of a word,” Luis continued, “but it is well to understand each other clearly from the start. We desire to make peace — on the basis of facts. The republic of Olifa is in our hands, and therefore we are in a position to dictate the terms of peace.”

  The General laughed angrily. He had a long face with finely cut features and very large black eyes. His skin was like ancient yellow parchment. That day he wore all his many orders, and they trembled as he squared his old shoulders.

  “You are insolent,” he said, “insolent dreamers. You have been driven out of the Gran Seco, and as a last gambler’s throw you have stirred up trouble in Olifa. Pouf! It signifies nothing. Our army, having finished with the Gran Seco, will presently arrive, and where will your rabble be then?”

  His voice was becoming shrill and he was embarking on a fierce tirade when the President checked him. “Have patience, General,” he said. “Let the senores state their case. We can be patient, for we are confident!”

  Luis laid a map on the table. “General Lossberg is not happy in the Gran Seco,” he said. “We have still an army there — an army in being, and it is occupying all his attention. I will be candid with your Excellencies. Your General holds the Gran Seco city and the Mines and much of the country, but for the rest we are masters. He is immobilised, for he cannot come to your aid. Already he has tried it. Sixteen days ago he attempted to break out through the passes of the south-east, which he had just discovered. He was beaten back, the door is closed, and some of his troops are our prisoners. As for the railway to Santa Ana, that route has been destroyed, and, as you know well, it is a route which is easily blocked. I do not think that he can come to you by that way.”

  “These are lies,” the General shouted. “We have the most expert army of its size on the globe. What can a handful of bandits and
guerrilleros do against it? General Lossberg can burst his way through your barrier whenever he pleases. He has the latest guns and tanks—”

  “I know, I know,” said Luis soothingly. “But it is too expert an army. It cannot compete with our rude simple ways.”

  Aribia laid a hand on the General’s arm. “You have a map, Senor de Marzaniga? You have perhaps something to say about Olifa.”

  Luis had much to say. He was dealing with men who knew their own country well, and he spoke as to experts. He took his hearers up and down the land, and explained how far the revolution had prospered in each district. He expounded in detail the revolt of the regular battalions, at Santa Ana, at Pecos, at Alcorta and Cardanio, and what accession of strength they represented. He showed them the position of each railway and railway junction. He gave the names of leaders, and at some of these names the ministers started. He was constantly interrupted with questions, which he patiently answered. He had an air of extreme candour, the air of a man who has nothing to conceal, and who is anxious to give the last tittle of information in his power...Then he expounded the nature of the different concentrations, and the strategy of the advance on the city. “I take you into our innermost confidence,” he said. “That is proof in itself that we believe we are victorious. If we had any doubt, we should not be disclosing our plans.”

  The exposition lasted till two o’clock, when there was an adjournment for luncheon. They did not lunch together, for the three ambassadors ate in the ante-room to which they had been taken on their arrival. They talked little at the meal, for a heavy sense of futility had come upon all the three. “You can’t make that bunch understand facts,” said Blenkiron. “That is what comes of living coddled up in this palace. They’re still hanging on to Lossberg’s coat-tails.”

  Luis rather wearily agreed. “If Lossberg gets to Santa Ana, and their Excellencies get wind of it in time, our game is up. We won’t be having meals like this. It will be the Old Prison for us, and a very nasty corner of it, and the Gobernador will have to do without our services. I pray God that Sandy can hold the line a little longer.”