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

by John Buchan

  Sandy! The memory of him was like a blow in the face. What in God’s name had happened to him? Here were we up to our necks in a row of his devising, and no word of him! I pictured him held up by an accident somewhere on the road, and frantically trying to get a message through to an island which was now wholly cut off from the world.

  I tried to think calmly and picture what an attack would be like. Our enemies were out for business, and their ways would not be gentle. What did they want? To occupy the House and ransack it at their leisure. Yes, but still more to get hold of Haraldsen. He was what really mattered. They must get their hands on him, and force him to do what they wanted. As for Lombard and me, they must silence us. Kill us, or hide us away somewhere for good. Or bribe us. The horrid thought struck me that they would try to bribe me with Peter John as the price.

  I have never contemplated an uglier prospect, and the notion that the children were part of it made me sick at heart. No doubt the enemy would begin with overtures – Haraldsen and the House to be handed over – Lombard and myself to sign some kind of bond of conformity. When that was refused they would attack. We might stall them off for a bit and do them a certain amount of damage, but in the end we must be overpowered… Was there any hope? Only to protract the business as long as possible on the chance that something might turn up. I tried to make a picture of Sandy hurrying to our rescue, but got little comfort out of it. If he was going to do anything, he would have been here long ago.

  The sole way of spinning out the affair was to keep Haraldsen away from their hands. So long as he was uncaptured they had not won. Therefore he must be got out of the House into hiding. Was there any place of concealment?

  He was more reasonable than I expected. He forced his mind back from its wanderings, and his eyes became more like those of a rational being. He saw my point. I had been afraid that his bellicosity would make him refuse to keep out of the scrap, but Anna’s loss seemed to have weakened the spirit in him. He agreed that our only chance was to delay his own capture as long as possible… There was one hiding-place known only to Anna and himself. I have mentioned that to the north of the House, at the end of a kind of covered arcade used for pot-plants, stood the little stone cell of an Irish hermit who had brought Christianity to the Norlands and had been murdered by the sea-rovers. The elder Haraldsen had restored this, and had put a roof on it, not of living turf like the House, but of ordinary thatch. In the floor of the cell the workmen had discovered steps which led downward to the sea, ending in a cave in the cliffs at the north side of the harbour. The discovery had been kept secret – which was the only alternative to blocking the place up – and the entrance was through a trap carefully concealed by a heavy bench which old Haraldsen had had made of driftwood.

  This seemed to be what we wanted. I told Haraldsen that he must get to it at once, taking with him a lantern and a packet of food. If the worst happened and we were all scuppered or kidnapped, the attack would still have failed if he remained at large. I told him not to try to get out at the sea end, for then he would be certainly taken, but to stay tight in the passage till the enemy had gone, and then to try what he could do in the way of getting help. The one thing that mattered was that he himself should keep out of their hands. Addled as his wits were, I think that he understood this. He looked at me with eyes like a willing, but stupid, dog’s. Arn fitted him out with food and light, but the last thing he did was to go up to his bedroom and fetch a light sporting rifle and some clips of cartridges. ‘I shall feel safer with this,’ he said, and I saw no harm in his being armed. The enemy might find the passage, and the show conclude with a scrap in the bowels of the earth. I saw him into the cell, watched his lantern flickering down a stone staircase like a precipice, and pulled the bench back over the trap. There can have been no lack of ventilation in that passage, for a current of air drew up it like a tornado.

  Then Lombard and I set ourselves to barricade the House. It wasn’t a great deal that we could do, for the place was big and rambling, and had not been built for defence. We shuttered the windows, and stacked furniture at the doors, and at the back parts, where the entrance was simplest, made a kind of abattis of derelict machines like chaff-cutters and mangles and even an old weaver’s loom. The ancient servants were no use except to watch certain entrances and give timely warning. To Geordie Hamilton, who was something of a shot, I gave the front of the House, his post being a little pavilion at the south end. He was to let nobody approach the main door, and challenge anybody who showed his face on the Terrace. Lombard I placed in command of the rear. He distrusted his prowess with a rifle, and preferred to trust to four double-barrelled shot-guns. There was not much of a field of fire in the back parts, owing to the rise of the hill, and any assault there was likely to be close-quarters fighting. For myself I chose the roof, which gave me a prospect of the whole terrain. I could see little of the Island, for the lift of the hill blocked the view to north and south and west, but I had the Channel clear before me, and that would give me early news of the Tjaldar.

  So I sat down among the lush greenery of the roof, with a chimney stack as cover, a revolver in my pocket, a couple of .240 magazine rifles beside me, and my spirits as low as I ever remembered them. The thought of Peter John made me sick at heart. The message on Morag’s leg said they were both safe, but that was nothing; they were on the Tjaldar, and that meant in the enemy’s power. D’Ingraville wasn’t likely to fling away such a trump card. He would use these helpless children to the limit as bargaining counters, and if I refused to deal, he would not be scrupulous about the counters… I remember wondering just how far his colleagues would approve of his methods – Troth and Barralty and the rest, who were probably more particular about the kind of crime in which they dabbled. But D’Ingraville would not pay much attention to the whimsies of sedentary folk who by this time must be putty in his hands… I longed to see the Tjaldar appear, for, though that would mean the beginning of the end, it would also mean that I was within a mile or so of my son. I tried to concentrate my mind on a plan, but I simply could not think. I must wait and see how D’Ingraville opened the action.

  It was a mild morning, growing closer as it neared midday. The visibility was only moderate, but the Channel was clear, and there was no Tjaldar in it… Five minutes after twelve, just when I was thinking of taking a look round our defences, I saw the first sign of the enemy. Someone keeping well in cover came over the skirts of Snowfell, and took up position to the north of the House, about half a mile off. My glass showed me that he had a seaman’s boots and jersey, and that he was armed. The timing must have been good, because five minutes later the sudden clamour of a flock of black-backed gulls to the south made me turn that way, and I saw a second man of the same type ensconce himself just behind the reservoir and rake the House and the gardens with his glasses. I knew now what was happening. D’Ingraville was getting his vedettes placed, so as to prevent any movement out of the House. The earths were being stopped before the pack came up… I turned my glass on Snowfell. There were two men squatting on its upper screes.

  A thought struck me which gave me a moment of comfort. Why did he take this precaution? He must have thought, not only that we were helpless, but that we were unsuspecting. The breakdown of the telephone and the motor-boat might have alarmed us, but we had no cause to assume the near presence of the enemy. Or the Tjaldar as his base. But Anna and Peter John knew! Could they have escaped? Could D’Ingraville imagine that they were now in the House?… I rejected the vain hope. How could the children get out of the clutches of men who left nothing to chance? Or why should these men imagine that we could escape when we had nowhere to fly to?…

  Nothing happened for an hour or two. I descended from my perch and made a tour of the House. Geordie Hamilton had seen nothing – he was too low down for any long views. Lombard too had not much of a prospect, and the watchmen on Snowfell were just beyond his radius of vision. I left Geordie lunching solidly off bread-and-cheese and beer, had a po
w-wow with Lombard, and returned to my watch-tower. I noticed that the weather was changing. It was getting very dark to the east over Haldar, the Channel was being flawed with odd little cat’s-paws, and, though it was still close, I had the feeling of being in a hot room next to an ice box – as if something sharp and bitter were just round the corner.

  Close on three o’clock there came a diversion. There was a shot behind me, and when I looked over the ridge of the roof I saw some stone splinters clattering off one of the byres. I hastened down to investigate, and found that it was Lombard who had drawn fire. He had remembered that Morag was immured in the cheese-house, and would probably be pretty thirsty. So he had set out to water her, and had been observed by a picket, who had fired a warning shot which sent him back to cover. The earth-stoppers were taking their job seriously.

  A few minutes later we got our first news of the hounds. Round the seaward cliff north of the harbour came the bows of a ship. I had not seen the Tjaldar at close quarters before, and at first did not recognize her. As seen at her moorings under Haldar she had looked a smaller craft. But with my glass I picked out her name. She was showing no colours, for the Danish flag was no longer at her masthead…

  I did not see her anchor and lower her boats. For she was no sooner off the mouth of the voe than the gloom which had been brooding over the Channel burst in the father and mother of a storm. I would have been beaten off my perch if I had not found some shelter from the chimney stack. In a minute or two the grass of the roof was white with hailstones the size of a sparrow’s eggs. The garden, the terrace, the hillside looked deep in snow. And with the hail came a wind that cut like a knife. It must have been the better part of half an hour before the tornado passed, and I could look seaward at anything but a blinding scurry.

  There was the Tjaldar, white as a ship marooned in the Arctic ice, rocking in a sea which had suddenly become sullen and yeasty. Her starboard ladder was down, but there was no sign of boats. These must have landed. On her deck I thought I saw the flutter of a woman’s dress… And then I looked at the foreground, where a path from the harbour climbed on to the terrace. In the same second of time I saw heads appear above the terrace’s edge, and heard Geordie Hamilton’s challenge. The heads disappeared. I found a better stance in the corner of my chimney-stack, and picked up one of the rifles. I considered that presently I might have to get busy.

  The Tjaldar’s party were no fools. Some of them must have gone south under the cliff to their picket stationed beside the reservoir, and learned from him how we had placed our men. I had hoped that Geordie had kept himself well in cover, but he must have shown himself to the sentry, who told the newcomers of his whereabouts. Anyhow, the next thing I heard was a roar like a bull’s from Geordie’s little pavilion, and I had a glimpse of a confused struggle there which ended in a sudden silence. The Scots Fusilier had been overpowered, and one of the three defenders put out of action…

  The next act followed fast. The terrace became suddenly populous, and the new-comers were unchallenged. D’Ingraville had not underrated his opponents, for to match our miserable trio he had brought at least twenty. I did not count the numbers beneath me, but there were at least a score, and there were also the pickets to be reckoned with. Clearly they knew all about us, for, now that Geordie Hamilton had been dealt with, they seemed at their ease. They were following a prearranged plan, based on exact knowledge of the place, for some made their way to the back parts, and some to the arcade which led to the hermit’s cell, but more waited at the foot of the steps which led to the main door. They were grouped in two bodies with an alley between them, and seemed to be waiting for somebody.

  Who that was soon appeared. Up the alley came three men. I had no doubt about who they were, for I remembered Sandy’s descriptions. D’Ingraville was the tall fellow in the yachting cap and grey flannels – he had grown his beard again and looked like a naval officer, except that his light, springy stride was scarcely the walk of the quarter-deck. The dark, lean man, with the long face made in two planes, was Carreras the Spaniard. And beyond doubt the slim one, in the much-stained blue suit and the cap a little over one eye, was Martel, the Belgian.

  Of the others I had only a vague general impression, as of something hard, tough, and ruthless, but well-disciplined.. This might be a posse of gangsters, but they would obey orders like a Guards battalion. But the three leaders made the clearest and sharpest impact on my mind. They were perhaps three hundred yards away from me, but their personalities seemed as vivid as if they were in the same room. I had an overpowering impression of a burning vitality which was also evil, a glowing, incandescent evil. It cried out from the taut lines of D’Ingraville, from his poise like that of a waiting leopard. It clamoured from Carreras’s white, pitiless face. Above all it seemed to me that it shouted from the Belgian Martel’s mean, faun-like presence. It was the last one I hated worst. D’Ingraville was a fallen angel, Carreras a common desperado, but Martel seemed to be apache, sewer-rat, and sneak-thief all in one.

  They had something to say to us. I moved out from the shelter of the chimney, was instantly seen, and covered by twenty guns. I dropped my own rifle and held up my hand.

  ‘Will you gentlemen kindly tell me your business?’ I shouted against the east wind.

  It was D’Ingraville who replied. He bowed, and his two queer companions did the same.

  ‘Sir Richard Hannay, isn’t it?’ he said, and his pleasant voice coming down wind was easily heard. ‘We want a talk with Mr Haraldsen. But it would perhaps save time – and trouble – if I could first have a word with Lord Clanroyden.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I shouted. ‘Mr Haraldsen is not at home. He has left the island.’

  From where I stood I could see the smile on his face, repeated in those of his two companions. They knew very well that I was lying.

  ‘How unfortunate!’ he said. ‘Well, what about Lord Clanroyden?’

  Did they know that we were without Sandy? Or was this a fishing question? Or did they believe that he was in the House? Anyhow, it was not for me to enlighten them.

  ‘If you have anything to say you can say it to me,’ I said. ‘Go ahead, for it’s devilish cold waiting.’

  ‘A roof-top is scarcely the place for a conference,’ said D’Ingraville. ‘Won’t you come down, Sir Richard, from your eyrie? It’s a cold day, as you justly observe, and we might talk indoors.’

  ‘All right,’ I said, ‘I’ll come down.’ And then, as I looked at the three men, I had a sudden inspiration. I had meant to ask that D’Ingraville should be their envoy, when I observed the man Martel standing in an odd position, his left arm flung across his chest and clutching the biceps of his right. That was an attitude I had seen before, and it woke in me a wild surmise. It might be meant as a sign. My mind was pretty hopeless, for their desire to talk seemed to me certain proof that they wanted to make terms about the children, but it was just not sodden enough to miss this little thing.

  ‘You can keep yourself for Lord Clanroyden,’ I told D’Ingraville. ‘I’ll do my talking to that other chap – the one on your left. Send him forward, and I’ll let him indoors.’

  ‘If there’s any dirty work,’ said D’Ingraville, his voice suddenly becoming shrill, ‘you’ll pay for it bloodily. You understand that?’

  ‘I do. I’ll leave the door open so that you can keep your eye on me, and plug me if I try to be funny.’

  I went downstairs with an ugly void at the bottom of my stomach. Old Arn was on guard at the main door, and had built up a perfect battlement of furniture, which it took some minutes to clear away. When I got the door opened and the east wind in my face, I saw that the three men had moved nearer – close to the foot of the steps. I beckoned to Martel.

  ‘You two stay where you are,’ I said. ‘This man and I will be inside the hall out of the wind. We’ll be well in sight.’ I turned and re-entered the House. I heard footsteps on the stone and was conscious that Martel had joined me. My heart was in my mouth, for I was
certain that his first word would be about the children and the price we were prepared to pay for them.

  I swung round on him. ‘Well?’ I demanded. ‘What do you want?’

  But the words died away on my lips.

  Said the man called Martel, ‘Dick, my lad, we’ve made rather a hash of this business.’

  God knows how he had managed it. There was no ordinary make-up about him, no false moustache or dyed hair or that sort of thing. But in some subtle way he had degraded himself – that is the only word for it. Everything about him – slanting eyebrows, furtive eyes, tricky mouth, slouching shoulders – was mean and sinister, because he chose that it should be so. But when he looked me in the face, with that familiar twinkle in his eyes and that impish pucker of the lips, he was the friend I knew best in the world.

  There was just an instant when his eyes had the old insouciance. Then they became very grave.

  ‘We must talk fast, for there isn’t much time. I’ve made a deuce of a mess of things, and I thought I was being rather clever. First – to ease your mind. Peter John and the girl are safe – for the moment, at any rate.’

  ‘Thank God!’ I said fervently. Such a load was lifted from my heart that I felt almost confident. But Sandy’s next words disillusioned me.

  ‘I’ve done most of what I set out to do. I’ve got Barralty and his lot scared into fits. No more high-handed crimes for them! They’re sitting in the Tjaldar sweating with terror… I’ve collected enough evidence to keep them good for the rest of their lives, and incidentally to hang D’Ingraville and most of his crowd. Do you realize that up to now we had nothing against him that any court would listen to?… So I had to make him commit himself. You see that? He had to attack Haraldsen in his island, and have a showdown once and for all. Well, I thought I had got him taped. I was counting on Haraldsen doing as he promised to do, and having a hefty push of young islanders to defend him. I would know D’Ingraville’s plans, being his chief staff-officer, and so could play into their hands. And lo and behold! when I get here, I find there’s not a soul in the island but dotards, and the whole place is as unprotected as a stranded whale.’ He stopped and sniffed, and then said a strange thing. ‘Just the weather for the Grind,’ he said. ‘Gad, that would be a bit of luck.’