by John Buchan
Then she felt the rise as they mounted to the pass. Here the going was bad, very different from the dry frost in which I had covered the same road the night before. Moreover, there seemed to be curious obstacles. Some careless wood-cart had dropped logs on the highway, and more than once both Ivery and the chauffeur had to get out to shift them. In one place there had been a small landslide which left little room to pass, and Mary had to descend and cross on foot while the driver took the car over alone. Ivery’s temper seemed to be souring. To the girl’s relief he resumed the outside seat, where he was engaged in constant argument with the chauffeur.
At the head of the pass stands an inn, the comfortable hostelry of Herr Kronig, well known to all who clamber among the lesser peaks of the Staubthal. There in the middle of the way stood a man with a lantern.
‘The road is blocked by a snowfall,’ he cried. ‘They are clearing it now. It will be ready in half an hour’s time.’
Ivery sprang from his seat and darted into the hotel. His business was to speed up the clearing party, and Herr Kronig himself accompanied him to the scene of the catastrophe. Mary sat still, for she had suddenly became possessed of an idea. She drove it from her as foolishness, but it kept returning. Why had those tree-trunks been spilt on the road? Why had an easy pass after a moderate snowfall been suddenly closed?
A man came out of the inn-yard and spoke to the chauffeur. It seemed to be an offer of refreshment, for the latter left his seat and disappeared inside. He was away for some time and returned shivering and grumbling at the weather, with the collar of his greatcoat turned up around his ears. A lantern had been hung in the porch and as he passed Mary saw the man. She had been watching the back of his head idly during the long drive, and had observed that it was of the round bullet type, with no nape to the neck, which is common in the Fatherland. Now she could not see his neck for the coat collar, but she could have sworn that the head was a different shape. The man seemed to suffer acutely from the cold, for he buttoned the collar round his chin and pulled his cap far over his brows.
Ivery came back, followed by a dragging line of men with spades and lanterns. He flung himself into the front seat and nodded to the driver to start. The man had his engine going already so as to lose no time. He bumped over the rough debris of the snowfall and then fairly let the car hum. Ivery was anxious for speed, but he did not want his neck broken and he yelled out to take care. The driver nodded and slowed down, but presently he had got up speed again.
If Ivery was restless, Mary was worse. She seemed suddenly to have come on the traces of her friends. In the St Anton valley the snow had stopped and she let down the window for air, for she was choking with suspense. The car rushed past the station, down the hill by Peter’s cottage, through the village, and along the lake shore to the Pink Chalet.
Ivery halted it at the gate. ‘See that you fill up with petrol,’ he told the man. ‘Bid Gustav get the Daimler and be ready to follow in half in hour.’
He spoke to Mary through the open window.
‘I will keep you only a very little time. I think you had better wait in the car, for it will be more comfortable than a dismantled house. A servant will bring you food and more rugs for the night journey.’
Then he vanished up the dark avenue.
Mary’s first thought was to slip out and get back to the village and there to find someone who knew me or could take her where Peter lived. But the driver would prevent her, for he had been left behind on guard. She looked anxiously at his back, for he alone stood between her and liberty.
That gentleman seemed to be intent on his own business. As soon as Ivery’s footsteps had grown faint, he had backed the car into the entrance, and turned it so that it faced towards St Anton. Then very slowly it began to move.
At the same moment a whistle was blown shrilly three times. The door on the right had opened and someone who had been waiting in the shadows climbed painfully in. Mary saw that it was a little man and that he was a cripple. She reached a hand to help him, and he fell on to the cushions beside her. The car was gathering speed.
Before she realized what was happening the new-comer had taken her hand and was patting it.
*
About two minutes later I was entering the gate of the Pink Chalet.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Cage of the Wild Birds
‘Why, Mr Ivery, come right in,’ said the voice at the table.
There was a screen before me, stretching from the fireplace to keep off the draught from the door by which I had entered. It stood higher than my head but there were cracks in it through which I could watch the room. I found a little table on which I could lean my back, for I was dropping with fatigue.
Blenkiron sat at the writing-table and in front of him were little rows of Patience cards. Wood ashes still smouldered in the stove, and a lamp stood at his right elbow which lit up the two figures. The bookshelves and the cabinets were in twilight.
‘I’ve been hoping to see you for quite a time.’ Blenkiron was busy arranging the little heaps of cards, and his face was wreathed in hospitable smiles. I remember wondering why he should play the host to the true master of the house.
Ivery stood erect before him. He was rather a splendid figure now that he had sloughed all disguises and was on the threshold of his triumph. Even through the fog in which my brain worked it was forced upon me that here was a man born to play a big part. He had a jowl like a Roman king on a coin, and scornful eyes that were used to mastery. He was younger than me, confound him, and now he looked it.
He kept his eyes on the speaker, while a smile played round his mouth, a very ugly smile.
‘So,’ he said. ‘We have caught the old crow too. I had scarcely hoped for such good fortune, and, to speak the truth, I had not concerned myself much about you. But now we shall add you to the bag. And what a bag of vermin to lay out on the lawn!’ He flung back his head and laughed.
‘Mr Ivery –’ Blenkiron began, but was cut short.
‘Drop that name. All that is past, thank God! I am the Graf von Schwabing, an officer of the Imperial Guard. I am not the least of the weapons that Germany has used to break her enemies…’
‘You don’t say,’ drawled Blenkiron, still fiddling with his Patience cards.
The man’s moment had come, and he was minded not to miss a jot of his triumph. His figure seemed to expand, his eye kindled, his voice rang with pride. It was melodrama of the best kind and he fairly rolled it round his tongue. I don’t think I grudged it him, for I was fingering something in my pocket. He had won all right, but he wouldn’t enjoy his victory long, for soon I would shoot him. I had my eye on the very spot above his right ear where I meant to put my bullet… For I was very clear that to kill him was the only way to protect Mary. I feared the whole seventy millions of Germany less than this man. That was the single idea that remained firm against the immense fatigue that pressed down on me.
‘I have little time to waste on you,’ said he who had been called Ivery. ‘But I will spare a moment to tell you a few truths. Your childish game never had a chance. I played with you in England and I have played with you ever since. You have never made a move but I have quietly countered it. Why, man, you gave me your confidence. The American Mr Donne…’
‘What about Clarence?’ asked Blenkiron. His face seemed a study in pure bewilderment.
‘I was that interesting journalist.’
‘Now to think of that!’ said Blenkiron in a sad, gentle voice. ‘I thought I was safe with Clarence. Why, he brought me a letter from old Joe Hooper and he knew all the boys down Emporia way.’
Ivery laughed. ‘You have never done me justice, I fear; but I think you will do it now. Your gang is helpless in my hands. General Hannay…’ And I wish I could give you a notion of the scorn with which he pronounced the word ‘General’.
‘Yes – Dick?’ said Blenkiron intently.
‘He has been my prisoner for twenty-four hours. And the pretty Miss Mary, to
o. You are all going with me in a little to my own country. You will not guess how. We call it the Underground Railway, and you will have the privilege of studying its working… I had not troubled much about you, for I had no special dislike of you. You are only a blundering fool, what you call in your country easy fruit.’
‘I thank you, Graf,’ Blenkiron said solemnly.
‘But since you are here you will join the others… One last word. To beat inepts such as you is nothing. There is a far greater thing. My country has conquered. You and your friends will be dragged at the chariot wheels of a triumph such as Rome never saw. Does that penetrate your thick skull? Germany has won, and in two days the whole round earth will be stricken dumb by her greatness.’
As I watched Blenkiron a grey shadow of hopelessness seemed to settle on his face. His big body drooped in his chair, his eyes fell, and his left hand shuffled limply among his Patience cards. I could not get my mind to work, but I puzzled miserably over his amazing blunders. He had walked blindly into the pit his enemies had dug for him. Peter must have failed to get my message to him, and he knew nothing of last night’s work or my mad journey to Italy. We had all bungled, the whole wretched bunch of us, Peter and Blenkiron and myself… I had a feeling at the back of my head that there was something in it all that I couldn’t understand, that the catastrophe could not be quite as simple as it seemed. But I had no power to think, with the insolent figure of Ivery dominating the room… Thank God I had a bullet waiting for him. That was the one fixed point in the chaos of my mind. For the first time in my life I was resolute on killing one particular man, and the purpose gave me a horrid comfort.
Suddenly Ivery’s voice rang out sharp. ‘Take your hand out of your pocket. You fool, you are covered from three points in the walls. A movement and my men will make a sieve of you. Others before you have sat in that chair, and I am used to take precautions. Quick. Both hands on the table.’
There was no mistake about Blenkiron’s defeat. He was done and out, and I was left with the only card. He leaned wearily on his arms with the palms of his hands spread out.
‘I reckon you’ve gotten a strong hand, Graf,’ he said, and his voice was flat with despair.
‘I hold a royal flush,’ was the answer.
And then suddenly came a change. Blenkiron raised his head, and his sleepy, ruminating eyes looked straight at Ivery.
‘I call you,’ he said.
I didn’t believe my ears. Nor did Ivery.
‘The hour for bluff is past,’ he said.
‘Nevertheless I call you.’
At that moment I felt someone squeeze through the door behind me and take his place at my side. The light was so dim that I saw only a short, square figure, but a familiar voice whispered in my ear. ‘It’s me – Andra Amos. Man, this is a great ploy. I’m here to see the end o’t.’
No prisoner waiting on the finding of the jury, no commander expecting news of a great battle, ever hung in more desperate suspense than I did during the next seconds. I had forgotten my fatigue; my back no longer needed support. I kept my eyes glued to the crack in the screen and my ears drank in greedily every syllable.
Blenkiron was now sitting bolt upright with his chin in his hands. There was no shadow of melancholy in his lean face.
‘I say I call you, Herr Graf von Schwabing. I’m going to put you wise about some little things. You don’t carry arms, so I needn’t warn you against monkeying with a gun. You’re right in saying that there are three places in these walls from which you can shoot. Well, for your information I may tell you that there’s guns in all three, but they’re covering you at this moment. So you’d better be good.’
Ivery sprang to attention like a ramrod. ‘Karl,’ he cried. ‘Gustav!’
As if by magic figures stood on either side of him, like warders by a criminal. They were not the sleek German footmen whom I had seen at the Chalet. One I did not recognize. The other was my servant, Geordie Hamilton.
He gave them one glance, looked round like a hunted animal, and then steadied himself. The man had his own kind of courage.
‘I’ve gotten something to say to you,’ Blenkiron drawled. ‘It’s been a tough fight, but I reckon the hot end of the poker is with you. I compliment you on Clarence Donne. You fooled me fine over that business, and it was only by the mercy of God you didn’t win out. You see, there was just the one of us who was liable to recognize you whatever way you twisted your face, and that was Dick Hannay. I give you good marks for Clarence… For the rest, I had you beaten flat.’
He looked steadily at him. ‘You don’t believe it. Well, I’ll give you proof. I’ve been watching your Underground Railway for quite a time. I’ve had my men on the job, and I reckon most of the lines are now closed for repairs. All but the trunk line into France. That I’m keeping open, for soon there’s going to be some traffic on it.’
At that I saw Ivery’s eyelids quiver. For all his self-command he was breaking.
‘I admit we cut it mighty fine, along of your fooling me about Clarence. But you struck a bad snag in General Hannay, Graf. Your heart-to-heart talk with him was poor business. You reckoned you had him safe, but that was too big a risk to take with a man like Dick, unless you saw him cold before you left him… He got away from this place, and early this morning I knew all he knew. After that it was easy. I got the telegram you had sent this morning in the name of Clarence Donne and it made me laugh. Before midday I had this whole outfit under my hand. Your servants have gone by the Underground Railway – to France. Ehrlich – well, I’m sorry about Ehrlich.’
I knew now the name of the Portuguese Jew.
‘He wasn’t a bad sort of man,’ Blenkiron said regretfully, ‘and he was plumb honest. I couldn’t get him to listen to reason, and he would play with firearms. So I had to shoot.’
‘Dead?’ asked Ivery sharply.
‘Ye-es. I don’t miss, and it was him or me. He’s under the ice now – where you wanted to send Dick Hannay. He wasn’t your kind, Graf, and I guess he has some chance of getting into Heaven. If I weren’t a hard-shell Presbyterian I’d say a prayer for his soul.’
I looked only at Ivery. His face had gone very pale, and his eyes were wandering. I am certain his brain was working at lightning speed, but he was a rat in a steel trap and the springs held him. If ever I saw a man going through hell it was now. His pasteboard castle had crumbled about his ears and he was giddy with the fall of it. The man was made of pride, and every proud nerve of him was caught on the raw.
‘So much for ordinary business,’ said Blenkiron. ‘There’s the matter of a certain lady. You haven’t behaved over-nice about her, Graf, but I’m not going to blame you. You maybe heard a whistle blow when you were coming in here? No! Why, it sounded like Gabriel’s trump. Peter must have put some lung power into it. Well, that was the signal that Miss Mary was safe in your car… but in our charge. D’you comprehend?’
He did. The ghost of a flush appeared in his cheeks.
‘You ask about General Hannay? I’m not just exactly sure where Dick is at the moment, but I opine he’s in Italy.’
I kicked aside the screen, thereby causing Amos almost to fall on his face.
‘I’m back,’ I said, and pulled up an arm-chair, and dropped into it.
I think the sight of me was the last straw for Ivery. I was a wild enough figure, grey with weariness, soaked, dirty, with the clothes of the porter Joseph Zimmer in rags from the sharp rocks of the Schwarzsteinthor. As his eyes caught mine they wavered, and I saw terror in them. He knew he was in the presence of a mortal enemy.
‘Why, Dick,’ said Blenkiron with a beaming face, ‘this is mighty opportune. How in creation did you get here?’
‘I walked,’ I said. I did not want to have to speak, for I was too tired. I wanted to watch Ivery’s face.
Blenkiron gathered up his Patience cards, slipped them into a little leather case and put it in his pocket.
‘I’ve one thing more to tell you. The Wild Birds h
ave been summoned home, but they won’t ever make it. We’ve gathered them in – Pavia, and Hofgaard, and Conradi. Ehrlich is dead. And you are going to join the rest in our cage.’
As I looked at my friend, his figure seemed to gain in presence. He sat square in his chair with a face like a hanging judge, and his eyes, sleepy no more, held Ivery as in a vice. He had dropped, too, his drawl and the idioms of his ordinary speech, and his voice came out hard and massive like the clash of granite blocks.
‘You’re at the bar now, Graf von Schwabing. For years you’ve done your best against the decencies of life. You have deserved well of your country, I don’t doubt it. But what has your country deserved of the world? One day soon Germany has to do some heavy paying, and you are the first instalment.’
‘I appeal to the Swiss law. I stand on Swiss soil, and I demand that I be surrendered to the Swiss authorities.’ Ivery spoke with dry lips and the sweat was on his brow.
‘Oh, no, no,’ said Blenkiron soothingly. ‘The Swiss are a nice people, and I would hate to add to the worries of a poor little neutral state… All along both sides have been outside the law in this game, and that’s going to continue. We’ve abode by the rules and so must you… For years you’ve murdered and kidnapped and seduced the weak and ignorant, but we’re not going to judge your morals. We leave that to the Almighty when you get across Jordan. We’re going to wash our hands of you as soon as we can. You’ll travel to France by the Underground Railway and there be handed over to the French Government. From what I know they’ve enough against you to shoot you every hour of the day for a twelvemonth.’
I think he had expected to be condemned by us there and then and sent to join Ehrlich beneath the ice. Anyhow, there came a flicker of hope into his eyes. I daresay he saw some way to dodge the French authorities if he once got a chance to use his miraculous wits. Anyhow, he bowed with something very like self-possession, and asked permission to smoke. As I have said, the man had his own courage.
