Complete Fictional Works of John Buchan (Illustrated)

by John Buchan

Jaikie had come here several times with Dickson, when the latter, growing weary of hill waters, desired to fill his lungs with sea air, and appease his appetite for slaughter by catching the easy salt-water fish. In Mr Maclellan’s boat they had fished the length of the Solway, and beyond it far down the English coast and round the Mull. Once even in a fine April they had crossed to the Isle of Man and made the return journey by night.

  “No sae bad,” Maclellan answered Jaikie’s question. “Ye’ll see the Rosabelle’s new pentit. It’s been a fair season for us folk, and the weather has been mercifu’! . . . It’s ower lown the noo, but it’ll no be long or it changes. The auld folk was sayin’ that this month will gang oot in snaw. When are you and Mr McCunn comin’ to hae a shot at the jukes? The first nip o’ frost and there’ll be a walth o’ birds on the tideway.”

  “Mr McCunn’s not much of a shot,” said Jaikie, “and just now he has other things to think about. . . . What’s that?” he asked suddenly, pointing towards the sea. On the right of what seemed to be the Callowa mouth rose the top-gear of a small ship, a schooner with auxiliary steam.

  “That?” said Maclellan, turning his deep-set, long-sighted eyes in the direction of Jaikie’s finger. “That’s a yatt — a bonny wee yatt. She’s lyin’ off Fallatown. What she’s doin’ there I canna tell, unless she belongs to some shooting-tenant”

  “Has she been there long?”

  “Since the day afore yesterday. I was thinkin’ o’ takin’ the dinghy and gaun down to hae a look at her.”

  Jaikie pondered. A yacht at Fallatown at this season of the year was a portent. Now he understood the reason of Allins’s journey. . . . He understood something more. The people at the Hydropathic would not stick at trifles. Kidnapping? No, there could be no reason for that. They did not want to put themselves in the wrong. But it might be that they would desire to leave quietly and speedily, when their business was done, and the little ship at Fallatown gave them the means. . . . Jaikie smiled. It was a pleasure to deal with people who really meant business. He no longer felt that he had been too ingenious.

  “Is the Rosabelle in good trim?” he said.

  “Never better. As ye see, she’s new pentit.”

  “Well, Mr McCunn wants you to do a job for him. He’s staying up the water at Starr, and he has a friend with him who wants to get over to Cumberland to-morrow night. It’s a quicker way than going round by Gledmouth and Carlisle. Could you put him over to Markhaven — that’s where he wants to go — some time before midnight to-morrow?”

  Maclellan considered. “High tide’s about 9.15. I could slip down wi’ the ebb. . . . There’s no muckle wind, but what there is is frae the north. . . . Ay, I could set your freend over if he cam here round about eleven — maybe, a wee thing later.”

  “That’s splendid. Mr McCunn will bring him down. He wants to see you again. . . . There’s just one small thing. Keep the business entirely to yourself. You see, Mr McCunn’s friend has a reason for wanting to get away quietly. . . . I’m not quite sure what it is, but there’s some tiresome engagement he wants to cut, and it wouldn’t do if the story got about that he had made a moonlight flitting to avoid it. He’s rather a big man in his way, I believe. A politician, I think.”

  Maclellan nodded with profound comprehension. “There’s walth o’ poaliticians in the Canonry the noo,” he observed. “It’s a dowg’s trade. I don’t blame ane o’ the puir deevils for takin’ the jee. Tell Mr McCunn I’ll never breathe a word o’t. . . . Peety there’s nae smugglin’ nowadays. I wad be a fine hand at it, bidin’ here wi’ nae wife and nae neebors.”

  Jaikie spent a pleasant morning. He boarded the Rosabelle and renewed his memory of her tiny cabin; he enjoyed a rat hunt in Woolworth’s company; he helped Maclellan to paint the dinghy: he dined with him at noon on Irish stew. Then he borrowed his bicycle. There was a train to Portaway at 1.30, but it was possible that Allins might travel by it, and Jaikie was taking no needless risks. “Send back the thing when ye’re through wi’t,” Maclellan told him. “I’ve nae need o’t the noo. I thought o’ bicycling in to vote the morn, but I’m inclined to bide at hame. I’m seeck o’ poalitics.”

  Going very slow, so that Woolworth might keep up with him, Jaikie managed to avoid Portaway altogether, and joined the Callowa valley three miles above the town. After that he went warily, reconnoitring every turn of the road, till he was inside the Mains avenue. He arrived a few minutes after the hour he had named to Dougal.

  At the edge of the lawn Alison was waiting for him.

  “Oh, Jaikie,” she cried, “isn’t this a stupendous lark! Such a party in the drawing-room! A real live Pretender to a Throne — and very nice-looking! Freddy as anxious as a hen, and Dougal as cross as thunder — I’ve discovered that that’s Dougal’s way of showing nervousness! And Mr Craw! What have you done with Mr Craw? He’s as bold as brass, and nobody can manage him except Aunt Hatty. . . . Jaikie, you’re very disreputable. I don’t like your clothes a bit. Where did you get that horrible scarf?”

  “I was worse yesterday,” was all that Jaikie would say. “What I want to know is — have you kept Prince John indoors? And what about the servants? They mustn’t talk.”

  “He has never put his head outside since he arrived yesterday — except for an hour after dark last night when I took him for a walk on the hill. The servants have nothing to talk about. We call him John, and pretend he is another Australian cousin like Robin. Freddy sent a groom to Knockraw to pick up his kit.”

  “How did that go off?”

  “All right. The groom went to the back door. There was a good deal of luggage — enough to fill the dogcart. He said he met a lot of people — a man in the avenue and several on the road. I suppose these were the spies?”

  “The groom went straight to Castle Gay?”

  “Yes. Middlemas arranged for getting the things over here after dark.”

  “That was lucky. The sight of the luggage going to the Castle will have helped my reputation for speaking the truth, when the story gets to the Hydropathic this morning. You realise that all this neighbourhood is being watched?”

  “Of course I do. It’s a delicious feeling. There’s been some very odd people in cars and on bicycles up the road, and Mackillop has hunted several out of the park.”

  “Mackillop had better stop that,” said Jaikie. “For the next twenty-four hours it would be as well if the park were open to the public.”

  “Are you serious?” Alison looked puzzled. “Come in at once and explain things. I’ve had a lot of trouble keeping our own lot quiet. Mr Craw has been rather above himself. That beloved Mr McCunn is my great ally. He said, ‘I’ll take no responsibility about anything till Jaikie comes. It’s Jaikie that’s got the sow by the lug.’”

  Mrs Brisbane-Brown’s drawing-room was as bright and gracious in the October sun as when Jaikie had visited it a week ago. But then he had entered it with curiosity and trepidation; now it seemed too familiar to give a thought to; it was merely a background for various human beings with whom he had urgent business. The coffee cups were still in the room, and the men were smoking. Prince John wore the clothes he had worn the day before, and in the clear afternoon light looked more elegant than ever. He was talking to Charvill, who was much about his height, and looking up at them was Dickson McCunn in an ancient suit of knickerbockers, listening reverently. The hostess sat in her accustomed chair, busy at her usual needlework, and beside her was the anxious face of Mr Barbon. Dougal was deep in that day’s issue of the View. But the centre of the company was Mr Craw. He stood with his back to the fire, his legs a little apart, and his eyes on Mrs Brisbane-Brown. He seemed to have recovered his balance, for there was no apology or diffidence in his air. Rather it spoke of renewed authority. He had also recovered his familiar nattiness of attire. Gone were the deplorable garments provided by the Watermeeting innkeeper and the Portaway draper. He wore a neat grey suit with a white line in it, a grey tie with a pearl pin, and the smartest of tan shoes. His ga
rb was almost festive.

  “I am very glad to see you, Mr Galt,” said Mrs Brisbane-Brown. “You look a little the worse for wear. Have you had luncheon? . . . Well, you have been giving us all a good deal to think about. It looks as if the situation had rather got out of hand. Perhaps you can clear things up.”

  Jaikie’s mild eyes scanned the party. He saw Dougal hungry for enlightenment, Mr Barbon fearful lest some new horror should be sprung upon him, Charvill prepared to be amused, Prince John smilingly careless as being used to odd adventures, Dickson puzzled but trustful, Mr Craw profoundly suspicious. He met their eyes in turn, and then he met Alison’s, and the lashes of one of hers drooped over her cheek in a conspirator’s wink.

  “A week ago,” he said slowly, “I was given my instructions. I was told to find Mr Craw at the Back House of the Garroch and keep him hidden till the Evallonians left Knockraw. I have fulfilled them to the letter. There’s not a soul except ourselves knows where Mr Craw has been. Nobody has recognised him. The world believes that he’s living quietly at Castle Gay. . . . And the Knockraw people by this time must be in London. . . .”

  Mrs Brisbane-Brown laughed. “A very good account of your stewardship. . . . On the other side the situation can scarcely be said to have cleared. We have his Royal Highness here in close hiding, and a number of men in Portaway who mean every kind of mischief to him and to Mr Craw. The question is, what we are to do about it. This state of affairs cannot go on indefinitely.”

  “It can’t,” said Jaikie. “It must be cleared up to-morrow night.”

  “Will you please explain?”

  “It all begins,” said Jaikie, “with the man Allins.”

  “He is shockingly underbred,” said Mrs Brisbane-Brown. “I never understood why Mr Craw employed him. Poor Freddy can’t have been happy with him. . . . You think he is something worse?”

  “I can prove that he is a rogue,” said Jaikie calmly, and embarked on his tale.

  He dealt first with Allins, recounting his meetings with him, from the Cambridge club to the episode of the previous day. He told the story well, and he purposely made Mr Craw the hero of it — Mr Craw’s encounter with Allins in the street, Mr Craw at the Socialist meeting, Mr Craw as a Communist orator. The hero was made a little self-conscious by the narrative, but he was also flattered. He became slightly pink and shifted his feet.

  “What astonishing presence of mind!” said Mrs Brisbane-Brown. “I warmly congratulate you.”

  “I must not be understood to have made a speech in favour of Communism,” said Mr Craw. “It was a speech condemnatory of official Socialism, showing its logical culmination.”

  “Anyway, it did the trick,” said Jaikie. “Allins dropped his suspicions. Mr Craw’s disguise was pretty good in any case. You saw him yourself yesterday.”

  “I did,” said Mrs Brisbane-Brown. “I thought he was the piano-tuner from Gledmouth, who is a little given to drink.”

  Mr Craw frowned. “Will you continue, Mr Galt? Detail the suspicions you entertain about Mr Allins.”

  “He brought the Evallonians to Knockraw, and was paid for it. We have it on their own testimony. He brought the other Evallonians to Portaway and is being paid for it. And the man is in a sweat of fear in case the plot fails. The price must be pretty big.”

  “The plot! What is it? What evidence have you?”

  “The evidence of my own eyes and ears. I spent part of yesterday afternoon with Allins, and two hours last night with him and his friends.”

  Jaikie had an audience which hung on his lips while he told of how he had made himself ground-bait for the predatory fish. There was a good deal of the actor in him, and he did full justice to his alcoholic babblings of the afternoon, and the grim inquisition of the evening. He even allowed part of his motive to appear. “They called me a little rat,” he said meditatively.

  “You led them to believe that Count Casimir and his friends were now at Castle Gay. May I ask why?” Mr Craw’s voice was harsh with offence.

  “Because I wanted the Knockraw people to have plenty of time to get clear.”

  “For which purpose I am to be sacrificed?”

  “Your interests and theirs are the same. You must see that. What they want is to find the Evallonian monarchists and Prince John and you yourself in some close relation, and to publish the fact to the world. That would give them a big advantage. It would kill your power to help Casimir, and it would put Britain definitely against him. Our people would never stand the notion that you and the Evallonians were conspiring on British soil, and the presence of Prince John would put the lid on it. You see that, don’t you?”

  “I see that it was desirable to get rid of the Knockraw tenants. . . . But I do not see why I should be exposed to a visit from those Republican miscreants.”

  “It was the only way to make Casimir’s escape certain. . . . What will happen, Mr Craw? The Republicans think that Casimir and the Prince are safe at Castle Gay. They won’t trouble very much about them till to-morrow night, when they are coming to see you, hoping to catch the lot of you in the very act of conspiracy. They chose Friday because it is the day of the poll, and the countryside will be in a stir, and they think that your outdoor and indoor servants will be mostly in Portaway. Well, all you’ve got to do is to be there to meet them, and tell them you never heard of any such nonsense, and send them all to blazes. Then it will be they who will look the fools, and you won’t be troubled any more from that quarter. We must settle this business once and for all, and give you some security for a quiet life.”

  “It will be a very unpleasant experience for me,” said Mr Craw. But there was no panic in his voice, only irritation. The listeners received the impression that there would be a certain asperity in Mr Craw’s reception of the Evallonian delegates.

  “Of course,” Jaikie added, “it will all have to be stage-managed a little. You can trust me for that.”

  “What I don’t understand,” said Mrs Brisbane-Brown, “is why his Royal Highness did not accompany the Knockraw party. . . . It sounds shockingly inhospitable, sir, and I need not tell you how deeply honoured I am to have you in my house. But I am thinking of your own interests. You are the most important personage in this business, and it is imperative to get you out of danger at once. Yet you are still here, in hiding, only five miles from your bitterest enemies.”

  Jaikie looked a little embarrassed. “Perhaps I was wrong, but it seemed to me that the best chance of the Prince’s safety was to keep him apart from the others. You see, those people at Portaway are not to be trifled with. They have got lines down everywhere, and for all I know they may have discovered the flight of Casimir and his friends and followed them. But Casimir doesn’t greatly matter as long as the Prince is not with him. There’s nothing wrong in three Evallonian gentlemen visiting Scotland; the trouble begins when they get into Mr Craw’s neighbourhood, and when they have the Prince in their company. I thought it safer to break up the covey.”

  “But how is the Prince to get away?”

  “I have arranged all that. There’s a man, Maclellan, down at Rinks — he’s a friend of Mr McCunn. He has a boat, and he’ll put the Prince across to Markhaven and never breathe a word about it. My suggestion is that Mr McCunn and the Prince drive to Rinks to-morrow night, getting there about eleven. There’s a train leaves Markhaven at 8.15 next morning which gets to London at 4.30. Once in London he is for all practical purposes safe. . . . The difficulty will lie in getting him away from here. There’s a man in Portaway will bring a car — a friend of mine; but I may as well tell you that every corner of this place will be pretty well watched. I told the Evallonians that the Prince was now at Castle Gay. We must do something to keep up that pretence.”

  “To-morrow night is the Callowa Club Ball,” said Mrs Brisbane-Brown, but no one was listening.

  “I think Mr Charvill should transfer himself to the Castle as soon as possible,” said Jaikie. “He’s about the Prince’s height.”

  “I h
ave three tickets for the Ball,” went on the hostess. “I usually take tickets, but I have not been for years. This year I proposed to take Alison and Robin.”

  “Mr Charvill must wear the Prince’s white waterproof — whatever the weather — and show himself on the terrace. There will be people to see him, and it will divert attention from the Mains.”

  Mrs Brisbane-Brown obtained an audience at last, for she raised her voice to a high pitch of authority.

  “I have a plan,” she said. “His Royal Highness will come with me to the Ball. It is fancy dress, and he can go as Prince Charles Edward — I have the clothes, wig and all. They belonged to my husband, who was something of the Prince’s height and figure. . . . There will be no need for special precautions. A car from Portaway will take my niece, my cousin, and myself to the Station Hotel. At a certain hour in the evening the Prince will leave us and motor to Rinks, where Mr McCunn will see him safely on board. It is all perfectly simple.”

  “That’s a good idea,” said Jaikie fervently. He saw the one snag in his plan neatly removed. “I’ll arrange about the car. His Royal Highness must lie very close here till to-morrow evening. It might be a good thing if he went to bed. And Mr Charvill had better get to the Castle and inside that waterproof.”

  Mr Craw made one last protest.

  “You have cast me for a very unpleasant part.” He looked with disfavour at Jaikie, whom he had come to fear, and with an air of appeal at Dougal, whom he regarded more particularly as his henchman. It was the henchman who replied:

  “You’ll have nothing to do, Mr Craw. Simply to sit in your own chair in your own library and watch those foreigners making idiots of themselves. Then you can say what is in your mind, and I hope the Almighty will put some winged words into your mouth.”

  An hour later Jaikie stood with Dougal on the terrace of the Mains in the fast-gathering twilight. To them appeared Alison, bearing in her arms a reluctant Woolworth.

  “Such a thing has never happened before,” she declared. “This evil dog of yours has seduced Tactful and Pensive into raiding the chicken run. They have killed three cockerels. . . . Jaikie, you’ve introduced a touch of crime into this quiet countryside.”