The Complete Richard Hannay: The Thirty-Nine Steps , Greenmantle , Mr Standfas

by John Buchan

  And then I saw that the eyes which were looking at the fire were the most remarkable things of all. Even in that half-light I could see that they were brightly, vividly blue. There was no film or blearing to mar their glory. But I saw also that they were sightless. How I knew it I do not know, for there was no physical sign of it, but my conviction was instantaneous and complete. These starlike things were turned inward. In most blind people the eyes are like marbles, dead windows in an empty house; but – how shall I describe it? – these were blinds drawn in a room which was full of light and movement, stage curtains behind which some great drama was always set. Blind though they were, they seemed to radiate an ardent vitality, to glow and flash like the soul within.

  I realized that it was the most wonderful face of a woman I had ever looked on. And I realized in the same moment that I hated it, that the beauty of it was devilish, and the soul within was on fire with all the hatred of Hell.

  ‘Hannay,’ I heard Medina’s voice, ‘I have brought you here because I wish to present you to my mother.’

  I behaved just like somebody in a play. I advanced to her chair, lifted one of the hands, and put it to my lips. That seemed to me the right thing to do. The face turned towards me, and broke into a smile, the kind of smile you may see on the marble of a Greek goddess.

  The woman spoke to Medina in a tongue which was strange to me, and he replied. There seemed to be many questions and answers, but I did not trouble to try to catch a word I knew. I was occupied with the voice. I recognized in it those soft tones which had crooned over me as I lay in the room in Palmyra Square. I had discovered who had been the third person in that scene.

  Then it spoke to me in English, with that odd lilting accent I had tried in vain to trace.

  ‘You are a friend of Dominick, and I am glad to meet you, Sir Richard Hannay. My son has told me about you. Will you bring a chair and sit close to me?’

  I pulled up a long low armchair, so long and low that the sitter was compelled almost to recline. My head was on a level with the hand which lay on the arm of her chair. Suddenly I felt that hand laid on my head, and I recognized her now by touch as well as voice.

  ‘I am blind, Sir Richard,’ she said, ‘so I cannot see my son’s friends. But I long to know how they look, and I have but one sense which can instruct me. Will you permit me to pass my hands over your face?’

  ‘You may do what you please, Madame,’ I said. ‘I would to God I could give you eyes.’

  ‘That is a pretty speech,’ she said. ‘You might be one of my own people.’ And I felt the light fingers straying over my brow.

  I was so placed that I was looking into the red heart of the fire, the one patch of bright light in the curtained room. I knew what I was in for, and, remembering past experience, I averted my eyes to the dark folios on the lowest shelves beyond the hearth. The fingers seemed to play a gentle tattoo on my temples, and then drew long soft strokes across my eyebrows. I felt a pleasant languour beginning to creep down my neck and spine, but I was fully prepared, and without much trouble resisted it. Indeed my mind was briskly busy, for I was planning how best to play my game. I let my head recline more and more upon the cushioned back of my chair, and I let my eyelids droop.

  The gentle fingers were very thorough, and I had let myself sink beyond their reach before they ceased.

  ‘You are asleep,’ the voice said. ‘Now wake.’

  I was puzzled to know how to stage-manage that wakening, but she saved me the trouble. Her voice suddenly hissed like a snake’s ‘Stand up!’ it said. ‘Quick – on your life.’

  I scrambled to my feet with extreme energy, and stood staring at the fire, wondering what to do next.

  ‘Look at your master,’ came the voice again, peremptory as a drill-sergeant’s.

  That gave me my cue. I knew where Medina was standing, and, in the words of the Bible, my eyes regarded him as a hand-maiden regards her master. I stood before him, dumb and dazed and obedient.

  ‘Down,’ he cried. ‘Down, on all-fours.’

  I did as I was bid, thankful that my job was proving so easy.

  ‘Go to the door – no, on all-fours, open it twice, shut it twice, and bring me the paper-knife from the far table in your mouth.’

  I obeyed, and a queer sight I must have presented prancing across the room, a perfectly sane man behaving like a lunatic.

  I brought the paper-knife, and remained dog-wise. ‘Get up,’ he said, and I got up.

  I heard the woman’s voice say triumphantly: ‘He is well broken,’ and Medina laughed.

  ‘There is yet the last test,’ he said. ‘I may as well put him through it now. If it fails, it means only that he needs more schooling. He cannot remember, for his mind is now in my keeping. There is no danger.’

  He walked up to me, and gave me a smart slap in the face.

  I accepted it with Christian meekness. I wasn’t even angry. In fact I would have turned the other cheek in the Scriptural fashion, if it hadn’t occurred to me that it might be overacting.

  Then he spat in my face.

  That, I admit, tried me pretty high. It was such a filthy Kaffir trick that I had some trouble in taking it resignedly. But I managed it. I kept my eyes on the ground, and didn’t even get out my handkerchief to wipe my cheek till he had turned away.

  ‘Well broken to heel,’ I heard him say. ‘It is strange how easily these flat tough English natures succumb to the stronger spirit. I have got a useful weapon in him, mother mine.’

  They paid no more attention to me than if I had been a piece of furniture, which, indeed, in their eyes I was. I was asleep, or rather awake in a phantasmal world, and I could not return to my normal life till they bade me. I could know nothing – so they thought – and remember nothing, except what they willed. Medina sat in my chair, and the woman had her hand on his head, and they talked as if they were alone in the desert. And all the while I was standing sheepishly on the rug, not daring to move, scarcely to breathe, lest I should give the show away.

  They made a pretty picture – ‘The Prodigal’s Return’ or ‘The Old Folks at Home’, by Simpkins, R.A., Royal Academy, 1887. No, by Heaven, there was no suggestion of that. It was a marvellous and tragic scene that I regarded. The fitful light of the fire showed figures of an antique beauty and dignity. The regal profile of the woman, her superb pose, and the soft eerie music of her voice were a world removed from vulgarity, and so was the lithe vigour and the proud face of the man. They were more like a king and queen in exile, decreeing the sea of blood which was to wash them back again. I realized for the first time that Medina might be damnable, but was also great. Yes, the man who had spat on me like a stableboy had also something of the prince. I realized another thing. The woman’s touch had flattened down the hair above his forehead, which he brushed square, and his head, outlined in the firelight against the white cushion, was as round as a football. I had suspected this when I first saw him, and now I was certain. What did a head like that portend? I had a vague remembrance that I had heard somewhere that it meant madness – at any rate degeneracy.

  They talked rapidly and unceasingly, but the confounded thing was that I could hear very little of it. They spoke in low tones, and I was three yards off and daren’t for my life move an inch nearer. Also they spoke for the most part in a language of which I did not know a word – it may have been Choctaw, but was probably Erse. If I had only comprehended that tongue I might there and then have learned all I wanted to know. But sometimes Medina talked English, though it seemed to me that the woman always tried to bring him back to the other speech. All I heard were broken sentences that horribly tantalized me.

  My brain was cool and very busy. This woman was the Blind Spinner of the rhymes. No doubt of it. I could see her spinning beside a peat fire, nursing ancient hate and madness, and crooning forgotten poetry. ‘Beside the Sacred Tree.’ Yggdrasil be hanged! I had it, it was Gospel Oak. Lord, what a fool I had been not to guess it before! The satisfaction of having got
one of the three conundrums dead right made me want to shout. These two harpies held the key to the whole riddle ,and I had only to keep up my present character to solve it. They thought they were dealing with a hypnotized fool, and instead they had a peculiarly wide-awake if rather slow and elderly Englishman. I wished to Heaven I knew what they were saying. Sluicing out malice about my country, no doubt, or planning the ruin of our civilization for the sake of a neurotic dream.

  Medina said something impatiently about ‘danger’, as if his purpose were to reassure. Then I caught nothing for several minutes, till he laughed and repeated the word ‘secundus’. Now I was looking for three people, and if there was a ‘secundus’ there must have been a ‘primus’, and possibly a ‘tertius’.

  ‘He is the least easy to handle,’ he said. ‘And it is quite necessary that Jason should come home. I have decided that the doctor must go out. It won’t be for long – only till midsummer.’

  The date interested me acutely. So did what followed, for he went on:

  ‘By midsummer they liquidate and disband. There is no fear that it won’t succeed. We have the whip hand, remember. Trust me, all will go smoothly, and then we begin a new life…’

  I thought she sighed, and for the first time she spoke in English:

  ‘I fear sometimes that you are forgetting your own land, Dominick.’

  He put up an arm and drew her head to his.

  ‘Never, mother mine. It is our strength that we can seem to forget and still remember.’

  I was finding my stand on that hearth-rug extraordinarily trying. You see I had to keep perfectly rigid, for every now and then Medina would look towards me, and I knew that the woman had an ear like a hound. But my knees were beginning to shake with fatigue and my head to grow giddy, and I feared that, like the soldiers who stand guard round a royal bier, I might suddenly collapse. I did my best to struggle against the growing weakness, and hoped to forget it by concentrating all my attention on the fragments of talk.

  ‘I have news for you,’ Medina was saying. ‘Kharáma is in Europe and proposes to come to England.’

  ‘You will see him?’ I thought her voice had a trace of alarm in it.

  ‘Most certainly. I would rather see him than any living man.’

  ‘Dominick, be careful. I would rather you confined yourself to your old knowledge. I fear these new things from the East.’

  He laughed. ‘They are as old as ours – older. And all knowledge is one. I have already drunk of his learning and I must have the whole cup.’

  That was the last I heard, for at that moment I made my exit from the scene in a way which I could not have bettered by much cogitation. My legs suddenly gave under me, the room swam round, and I collapsed on the floor in a dead faint. I must have fallen heavily, for I knocked a leg off one of the little tables.

  When I came to – which I suppose was a minute or two later – Odell was bathing my face, and Medina with a grave and concerned air was standing by with a brandy decanter.

  ‘My dear fellow, you gave me a bad fright,’ he said, and his manner was that of the considerate friend. ‘You’re not feeling ill?’

  ‘I haven’t been quite fit all day, and I suppose the hot room knocked me out. I say, I’m most awfully sorry for playing the fool like this. I’ve damaged your furniture, I’m afraid. I hope I didn’t scare the lady.’

  ‘What lady?’

  ‘Your mother.’

  He looked at me with a perfectly blank face, and I saw I had made a mistake.

  ‘I beg your pardon – I’m still giddy. I’ve been dreaming.’

  He gave me a glass of brandy and tucked me into a taxi. Long before I got to the Club I was feeling all right, but my mind was in a fine turmoil. I had stumbled at last upon not one clue but many, and though they were confused enough, I hoped with luck to follow them out. I could hardly eat any dinner that night, and my brain was too unsettled to do any serious thinking. So I took a taxi up to Gospel Oak, and, bidding it wait for me, had another look at Palmyra Square. The place seemed to have been dead and decaying for centuries, seen in that windy moonless dark, and No. 4 was a shuttered tomb. I opened the gate and, after making sure that the coast was clear, stole round to the back-door where the tradesmen called. There were some dilapidated outhouses, and the back garden with rank grasses and obscene clothes-posts, looked like nothing so much as a neglected graveyard. In that house was the terrible blind Fate that span. As I listened I heard from somewhere inside the sound of slow heartbroken sobs. I wondered if they came from the queer-looking little girl.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I am Introduced to Strong Magic

  The first thing I did when I got up next morning was to pay a visit to Harlows, the fishing-tackle people. They knew me well enough, for I used to buy my rods there, and one of the assistants had been down to Fosse to teach Mary how to use a light split-cane. With him I embarked on a long talk about Norwegian rivers and their peculiarities, and very soon got his views on the best flies. I asked which river was considered to be the earliest, and was told in an ordinary season the Nirdal and the Skarso.

  Then I asked if he knew my friend Dr Newhover. ‘He was in here yesterday afternoon,’ I was told. ‘He is going to the Skarso this year, and hopes to be on the water in the last week of April. Rather too soon in my opinion, though salmon have been caught in it as early as April 17th. By the end of the first week of May it should be all right.’ I asked a good deal more about the Skarso, and was told that it was best fished from Merdal at the head of the Merdalfjord. There were only about three miles of fishable water before the big foss, but every yard of it was good. I told him I had hoped to get a beat on the Leardal for June, but had had to give up the notion this year and intended to confine myself to Scotland. I bought a new reel, a quantity of sea-trout flies, and a little book about Norwegian fishing.

  Then I went to see Macgillivray, with whom I had made an appointment by telephone.

  ‘I’ve come to ask your help,’ I told him. ‘I’m beginning to get a move on, but it’s a ticklish business, and I must walk very warily. First of all, I want you to find out the movements of a certain Dr Newhover of Wimpole Street. He is going to Norway some time in the next fortnight, to the Skarso to fish, and his jumping-off place will be Stavanger. Find out by which boat he takes a passage, and book me a berth in it also. I’d better have my old name, Cornelius Brand.’

  ‘You’re not thinking of leaving England just now?’ he asked reproachfully.

  ‘I don’t know. I may have to go or I may not, but in any case I won’t be long away. Anyhow, find out about Dr Newhover. Now for the more serious business. Just about when have you settled to round up the gang?’

  ‘For the reasons I gave you it must be before midsummer. It is an infernally complicated job and we must work to a timetable. I had fixed provisionally the 20th of June.’

  ‘I think you’d better choose an earlier date.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because the gang are planning themselves to liquidate by midsummer, and, if you don’t hurry, you may draw the net tight and find nothing in it.’

  ‘Now how on earth did you find that out?’ he asked, and his usually impassive face was vivid with excitement.

  ‘I can’t tell you. I found it out in the process of hunting for the hostages, and I give you my word it’s correct.’

  ‘But you must tell me more. If you have fresh lines on what you call my “gang”, it may be desperately important for me to know.’

  ‘I haven’t. I’ve just the one fact, which I have given you. Honestly, old man, I can’t tell you anything more till I tell you everything. Believe me, I’m working hard.’

  I had thought the thing out, and had resolved to keep the Medina business to myself and Sandy. Our one chance with him was that he should be utterly unsuspecting, and even so wary a fellow as Macgillivray might, if he were told, create just that faint breath of suspicion that would ruin all.

  He grunted, as if he were not sa
tisfied. ‘I suppose you must have it your own way. Very well, we’ll fix the 10th of June for Der Tag. You realize, of course, that the round-up of all must be simultaneous – that’s why it takes such a lot of bandobast. By the way, you’ve got the same problem with the hostages. You can’t release one without the others, or the show is given away – not your show only but mine. You realize that?’

  ‘I do,’ I said, ‘and I realize that the moving forward of your date narrows my time down to less than two months. If I succeed, I must wait till the very eve of your move. Not earlier, I suppose than June 9th? Assume I only find one of the three? I wait till June 9th before getting him out of their clutches. Then you strike, and what happens to the other two?’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘The worst, I fear. You see, Dick, the gang I mean to crush and the people who hold the hostages are allied, but I take it they are different sets. I may land every member of my gang, and yet not come within speaking distance of the other lot. I don’t know, but I’m pretty certain that even if we found the second lot we’d never be able to prove complicity between the two. The first are devilish deep fellows, but the second are great artists.’

  ‘All the same,’ I said, ‘I’m in hopes of finding at least one of the hostages, and that means some knowledge of the kidnappers.’

  ‘I must not ask, but I’d give my head to know how and where you’re working. More power to you! But I wonder if you’ll ever get near the real prime fountain of iniquity.’

  ‘I wonder,’ I said, and took my leave.

  I had been playing with sickness, and now it looked as if I was going to be punished by getting the real thing. For all the rest of that day I felt cheap, and in the evening I was positive I had a temperature. I thought I might have ’flu, so I went round after dinner to see a doctor whom I had known in France. He refused to admit the temperature. ‘What sort of life have you been leading these last weeks?’ he asked, and when I told him that I had been hanging round London waiting on some tiresome business developments, he said that that was the whole trouble. ‘You’re accustomed to an active life in fresh air and you’ve been stuffing in town, feeding too well and getting no exercise. Go home tomorrow and you’ll be as right as a trivet.’