Huntingtower

by John Buchan

  CHAPTER V

  OF THE PRINCESS IN THE TOWER

  Very early next morning, while Mrs. Morran was still cooking breakfast,Dickson and Heritage might have been observed taking the air in thevillage street. It was the Poet who had insisted upon this walk, and hehad his own purpose. They looked at the spires of smoke piercing thewindless air, and studied the daffodils in the cottage gardens. Dicksonwas glum, but Heritage seemed in high spirits. He varied his garrulitywith spells of cheerful whistling.

  They strode along the road by the park wall till they reached the inn.There Heritage's music waxed peculiarly loud. Presently from the yard,unshaven and looking as if he had slept in his clothes, came Dobson theinnkeeper.

  "Good morning," said the Poet. "I hope the sickness in your house is onthe mend?"

  "Thank ye, it's no worse," was the reply, but in the man's heavy facethere was little civility. His small grey eyes searched their faces.

  "We're just waiting on breakfast to get on the road again. I'm jollyglad we spent the night here. We found quarters after all, you know."

  "So I see. Whereabouts, may I ask?"

  "Mrs. Morran's. We could always have got in there, but we didn't wantto fuss an old lady, so we thought we'd try the inn first. She's myfriend's aunt."

  At this amazing falsehood Dickson started, and the man observed hissurprise. The eyes were turned on him like a searchlight. They rousedantagonism in his peaceful soul, and with that antagonism came animpulse to back up the Poet. "Ay," he said, "she's my Auntie Phemie, mymother's half-sister."

  The man turned on Heritage.

  "Where are ye for the day?"

  "Auchenlochan," said Dickson hastily. He was still determined to shakethe dust of Dalquharter from his feet.

  The innkeeper sensibly brightened. "Well, ye'll have a fine walk. I mustgo in and see about my own breakfast. Good day to ye, gentlemen."

  "That," said Heritage as they entered the village street again, "is thefirst step in camouflage, to put the enemy off his guard."

  "It was an abominable lie," said Dickson crossly.

  "Not at all. It was a necessary and proper _ruse de guerre_. Itexplained why we spent the night here, and now Dobson and his friendscan get about their day's work with an easy mind. Their suspicions aretemporarily allayed, and that will make our job easier."

  "I'm not coming with you."

  "I never said you were. By 'we' I refer to myself and the red-headedboy."

  "Mistress, you're my auntie," Dickson informed Mrs. Morran as she setthe porridge on the table. "This gentleman has just been telling the manat the inn that you're my Auntie Phemie."

  For a second their hostess looked bewildered. Then the corners of herprim mouth moved upwards in a slow smile.

  "I see," she said. "Weel, maybe it was weel done. But if ye're my nevoyye'll hae to keep up my credit, for we're a bauld and siccar lot."

  Half an hour later there was a furious dissension when Dickson attemptedto pay for the night's entertainment. Mrs. Morran would have none of it."Ye're no' awa' yet," she said tartly, and the matter was complicated byHeritage's refusal to take part in the debate. He stood aside andgrinned, till Dickson in despair returned his note-case to his pocket,murmuring darkly that "he would send it from Glasgow."

  The road to Auchenlochan left the main village street at right angles bythe side of Mrs. Morran's cottage. It was a better road than that whichthey had come yesterday, for by it twice daily the post-cart travelledto the post-town. It ran on the edge of the moor and on the lip of theGarple glen, till it crossed that stream and, keeping near the coast,emerged after five miles into the cultivated flats of the Lochan valley.The morning was fine, the keen air invited to high spirits, ploverspiped entrancingly over the bent and linnets sang in the whins, therewas a solid breakfast behind him, and the promise of a cheerful roadtill luncheon. The stage was set for good humour, but Dickson's heart,which should have been ascending with the larks, stuck leadenly in hisboots. He was not even relieved at putting Dalquharter behind him. Theatmosphere of that unhallowed place lay still on his soul. He hated it,but he hated himself more. Here was one, who had hugged himself all hisdays as an adventurer waiting his chance, running away at the firstchallenge of adventure; a lover of Romance who fled from the earliestoverture of his goddess. He was ashamed and angry, but what else wasthere to do? Burglary in the company of a queer poet and a queererurchin? It was unthinkable.

  Presently as they tramped silently on they came to the bridge beneathwhich the peaty waters of the Garple ran in porter-coloured pools andtawny cascades. From a clump of elders on the other side Dougal emerged.A barefoot boy, dressed in much the same parody of a Boy Scout'suniform, but with corduroy shorts instead of a kilt, stood before him atrigid attention. Some command was issued, the child saluted, and trottedback past the travellers with never a look at them. Discipline wasstrong among the Gorbals Die-Hards; no Chief of Staff ever conversedwith his General under a stricter etiquette.

  Dougal received the travellers with the condescension of a regulartowards civilians.

  "They're off their gawrd," he announced. "Thomas Yownie has beenshadowin' them since skreigh o' day, and he reports that Dobson and Leanfollowed ye till ye were out o' sight o' the houses, and syne Lean got aspy-glass and watched ye till the road turned in among the trees. Thatsatisfied them, and they're both away back to their jobs. ThomasYownie's the fell yin. Ye'll no fickle Thomas Yownie."

  Dougal extricated from his pouch the fag of a cigarette, lit it andpuffed meditatively. "I did a reckonissince mysel' this morning. I wasup at the Hoose afore it was light, and tried the door o' the coal-hole.I doot they've gotten on our tracks, for it was lockit--ay, and wedgedfrom the inside."

  Dickson brightened. Was the insane venture off?

  "For a wee bit I was fair beat. But I mindit that the lassie was allowedto walk in a kind o' a glass hoose on the side farthest away from theGarple. That was where she was singin' yest'reen. So I reckonissinced inthat direction, and I fund a queer place." _Sacred Songs and Solos_ wasrequisitioned, and on a page of it Dougal proceeded to make marks withthe stump of a carpenter's pencil. "See here," he commanded. "There'sthe glass place wi' a door into the Hoose. That door must be open or thelassie must have the key, for she comes there whenever she likes. Now,at each end o' the place the doors are lockit, but the front that lookson the garden is open, wi' muckle posts and flower-pots. The trouble isthat that side there's maybe twenty feet o' a wall between the pawrapetand the ground. It's an auld wall wi' cracks and holes in it, and itwouldn't be ill to sklim. That's why they let her gang there when shewants, for a lassie couldn't get away without breakin' her neck."

  "Could we climb it?" Heritage asked.

  The boy wrinkled his brows. "I could manage it mysel'--I think--andmaybe you. I doubt if auld McCunn could get up. Ye'd have to be mightycarefu' that nobody saw ye, for your hinder end, as ye were sklimmin',wad be a grand mark for a gun."

  "Lead on," said Heritage. "We'll try the verandah."

  They both looked at Dickson, and Dickson, scarlet in the face, lookedback at them. He had suddenly found the thought of a solitary march toAuchenlochan intolerable. Once again he was at the parting of the ways,and once more caprice determined his decision. That the coal-hole wasout of the question had worked a change in his views. Somehow it seemedto him less burglarious to enter by a verandah. He felt very frightenedbut--for the moment--quite resolute.

  "I'm coming with you," he said.

  "Sportsman," said Heritage and held out his hand. "Well done, the auldyin," said the Chieftain of the Gorbals Die-Hards. Dickson's quakingheart experienced a momentary bound as he followed Heritage down thetrack into the Garple Dean.

  The track wound through a thick covert of hazels, now close to therushing water, now high upon the bank so that clear sky showed throughthe fringes of the wood. When they had gone a little way Dougal haltedthem.

  "It's a ticklish job," he whispered. "There's the tinklers, mind, that'scampin' in the Dean. I
f they're still in their camp we can get by easyenough, but they're maybe wanderin' about the wud after rabbits.... Thenwe must ford the water, for ye'll no' cross it lower down where it'sdeep.... Our road is on the Hoose side o' the Dean and it's awfu' publicif there's onybody on the other side, though it's hid well enough fromfolk up in the policies.... Ye must do exactly what I tell ye. When weget near danger I'll scout on ahead, and I daur ye to move a hair o'your head till I give the word."

  Presently, when they were at the edge of the water, Dougal announced hisintention of crossing. Three boulders in the stream made a bridge for anactive man and Heritage hopped lightly over. Not so Dickson, who stuckfast on the second stone, and would certainly have fallen in had notDougal plunged into the current and steadied him with a grimy hand. Theleap was at last successfully taken, and the three scrambled up a roughscaur, all reddened with iron springs, till they struck a slender trackrunning down the Dean on its northern side. Here the undergrowth wasvery thick, and they had gone the better part of half a mile before thecovert thinned sufficiently to show them the stream beneath. Then Dougalhalted them with a finger on his lips, and crept forward alone.

  He returned in three minutes. "Coast's clear," he whispered. "Thetinklers are eatin' their breakfast. They're late at their meat thoughthey're up early seekin' it."

  Progress was now very slow and secret and mainly on all fours. At onepoint Dougal nodded downward, and the other two saw on a patch of turf,where the Garple began to widen into its estuary, a group of figuresround a small fire. There were four of them, all men, and Dicksonthought he had never seen such ruffianly-looking customers. After thatthey moved high up the slope, in a shallow glade of a tributary burn,till they came out of the trees and found themselves looking seaward.

  On one side was the House, a hundred yards or so back from the edge, theroof showing above the precipitous scarp. Half-way down the slope becameeasier, a jumble of boulders and boiler-plates, till it reached thewaters of the small haven, which lay calm as a mill-pond in the windlessforenoon. The haven broadened out at its foot and revealed a segment ofblue sea. The opposite shore was flatter and showed what looked like anold wharf and the ruins of buildings, behind which rose a bank clad withscrub and surmounted by some gnarled and wind-crooked firs.

  "There's dashed little cover here," said Heritage.

  "There's no muckle," Dougal assented. "But they canna see us from thepolicies, and it's no' like there's anybody watchin' from the Hoose. Thedanger is somebody on the other side, but we'll have to risk it. Onceamong thae big stones we're safe. Are ye ready?"

  Five minutes later Dickson found himself gasping in the lee of aboulder, while Dougal was making a cast forward. The scout returned witha hopeful report. "I think we're safe, till we get into the policies.There's a road that the auld folk made when ships used to come here.Down there it's deeper than Clyde at the Broomilaw. Has the auld yin gothis wind yet? There's no time to waste."

  Up that broken hillside they crawled, well in the cover of the tumbledstones, till they reached a low wall which was the boundary of thegarden. The House was now behind them on their right rear, and as theytopped the crest they had a glimpse of an ancient dovecot and the ruinsof the old Huntingtower on the short thymy turf which ran seaward to thecliffs. Dougal led them along a sunk fence which divided the downs fromthe lawns behind the house, and, avoiding the stables, brought them bydevious ways to a thicket of rhododendrons and broom. On all fours theytravelled the length of the place, and came to the edge where someforgotten gardeners had once tended a herbaceous border. The border wasnow rank and wild, and, lying flat under the shade of an azalea, andpeering through the young spears of iris, Dickson and Heritage regardedthe north-western facade of the house.

  The ground before them had been a sunken garden, from which a steepwall, once covered with creepers and rock plants, rose to a longverandah, which was pillared and open on that side; but at each endbuilt up half-way and glazed for the rest. There was a glass roof, andinside untended shrubs sprawled in broken plaster vases.

  "Ye must bide here," said Dougal, "and no cheep above your breath. Aforewe dare to try that wall, I must ken where Lean and Spittal and Dobsonare. I'm off to spy the policies." He glided out of sight behind a clumpof pampas grass.

  For hours, so it seemed, Dickson was left to his own unpleasantreflections. His body, prone on the moist earth, was fairly comfortable,but his mind was ill at ease. The scramble up the hillside had convincedhim that he was growing old, and there was no rebound in his soul tocounter the conviction. He felt listless, spiritless--an apathy withfright trembling somewhere at the back of it. He regarded the verandahwall with foreboding. How on earth could he climb that? And if he didthere would be his exposed hinder-parts inviting a shot from somemalevolent gentleman among the trees. He reflected that he would give alarge sum of money to be out of this preposterous adventure.

  Heritage's hand was stretched towards him, containing two of Mrs.Morran's jellied scones, of which the Poet had been wise enough to bringa supply in his pocket. The food cheered him, for he was growing veryhungry, and he began to take an interest in the scene before him insteadof his own thoughts. He observed every detail of the verandah. There wasa door at one end, he noted, giving on a path which wound down to thesunk garden. As he looked he heard a sound of steps and saw a manascending this path.

  It was the lame man whom Dougal had called Spittal, the dweller in theSouth Lodge. Seen at closer quarters he was an odd-looking being, leanas a heron, wry-necked, but amazingly quick on his feet. Had not Mrs.Morran said that he hobbled as fast as other folk ran? He kept his eyeson the ground and seemed to be talking to himself as he went, but he wasalert enough, for the dropping of a twig from a dying magnoliatransferred him in an instant into a figure of active vigilance. Norisks could be run with that watcher. He took a key from his pocket,opened the garden door and entered the verandah. For a moment hisshuffle sounded on its tiled floor, and then he entered the dooradmitting from the verandah to the House. It was clearly unlocked forthere came no sound of a turning key.

  Dickson had finished the last crumbs of his scones before the manemerged again. He seemed to be in a greater hurry than ever, as helocked the garden door behind him and hobbled along the west front ofthe House till he was lost to sight. After that the time passed slowly.A pair of yellow wagtails arrived and played at hide-and-seek among thestuccoed pillars. The little dry scratch of their claws was heardclearly in the still air. Dickson had almost fallen asleep when asmothered exclamation from Heritage woke him to attention. A girl hadappeared in the verandah.

  Above the parapet he saw only her body from the waist up. She seemed tobe clad in bright colours, for something red was round her shoulders andher hair was bound with an orange scarf. She was tall--that he couldtell, tall and slim and very young. Her face was turned seaward, and shestood for a little scanning the broad channel, shading her eyes as ifto search for something on the extreme horizon. The air was very quietand he thought that he could hear her sigh. Then she turned andre-entered the House, while Heritage by his side began to curse underhis breath with a shocking fervour.

  One of Dickson's troubles had been that he did not really believeDougal's story, and the sight of the girl removed one doubt. That brightexotic thing did not belong to the Cruives or to Scotland at all, andthat she should be in the House removed the place from the conventionaldwelling to which the laws against burglary applied.

  There was a rustle among the rhododendrons and the fiery face of Dougalappeared. He lay between the other two, his chin on his hands, andgrunted out his report.

  "After they had their dinner Dobson and Lean yokit a horse and went offto Auchenlochan. I seen them pass the Garple brig, so that's twoaccounted for. Has Spittal been round here?"

  "Half an hour ago," said Heritage, consulting a wrist watch.

  "It was him that keepit me waitin' so long. But he's safe enough now,for five minutes syne he was splittin' firewood at the back door o' hishoose.... I've foun
d a ladder, an auld yin in ahint yon lot o' bushes.It'll help wi' the wall. There! I've gotten my breath again and we canstart."

  The ladder was fetched by Heritage and proved to be ancient and wantingmany rungs, but sufficient in length. The three stood silent for amoment, listening like stags, and then ran across the intervening lawnto the foot of the verandah wall. Dougal went up first, then Heritage,and lastly Dickson, stiff and giddy from his long lie under the bushes.Below the parapet the verandah floor was heaped with old garden litter,rotten matting, dead or derelict bulbs, fibre, withies and strawberrynets. It was Dougal's intention to pull up the ladder and hide it amongthe rubbish against the hour of departure. But Dickson had barely puthis foot on the parapet when there was a sound of steps within the Houseapproaching the verandah door.

  The ladder was left alone. Dougal's hand brought Dickson summarily tothe floor, where he was fairly well concealed by a mess of matting.Unfortunately his head was in the vicinity of some upturned pot-plants,so that a cactus ticked his brow and a spike of aloe supported painfullythe back of his neck. Heritage was prone behind two old water-butts, andDougal was in a hamper which had once contained seed potatoes. The housedoor had panels of opaque glass, so the new-comer could not see thedoings of the three till it was opened, and by that time all were incover.

  The man--it was Spittal--walked rapidly along the verandah and out ofthe garden door. He was talking to himself again, and Dickson, who had aglimpse of his face, thought he looked both evil and furious. Then camesome anxious moments, for had the man glanced back when he was onceoutside, he must have seen the tell-tale ladder. But he seemed immersedin his own reflections, for he hobbled steadily along the house fronttill he was lost to sight.

  "That'll be the end o' them the night," said Dougal, as he helpedHeritage to pull up the ladder and stow it away. "We've got the place tooursels, now. Forward, men, forward." He tried the handle of the housedoor and led the way in.

  A narrow paved passage took them into what had once been the gardenroom, where the lady of the house had arranged her flowers, and thetennis racquets and croquet mallets had been kept. It was very dusty andon the cobwebbed walls still hung a few soiled garden overalls. A doorbeyond opened into a huge murky hall, murky, for the windows wereshuttered, and the only light came through things like port-holes far upin the wall. Dougal, who seemed to know his way about, halted them."Stop here till I scout a bit. The women bide in a wee room through thatmuckle door." Bare feet stole across the oak flooring, there was thesound of a door swinging on its hinges, and then silence and darkness.Dickson put out a hand for companionship and clutched Heritage's; to hissurprise it was cold and all a-tremble. They listened for voices, andthought they could detect a far-away sob.

  It was some minutes before Dougal returned. "A bonny kettle o' fish," hewhispered. "They're both greetin'. We're just in time. Come on, the pairo' ye."

  Through a green baize door they entered a passage which led to thekitchen regions, and turned in at the first door on their right. Fromits situation Dickson calculated that the room lay on the seaward sideof the House next to the verandah. The light was bad, for the twowindows were partially shuttered, but it had plainly been asmoking-room, for there were pipe-racks by the hearth, and on the wallsa number of old school and college photographs, a couple of oars withemblazoned names, and a variety of stags' and roebucks' heads. There wasno fire in the grate, but a small oil-stove burned inside the fender. Ina stiff-backed chair sat an elderly woman, who seemed to feel the cold,for she was muffled to the neck in a fur coat. Beside her, so that thelate afternoon light caught her face and head, stood a girl.

  Dickson's first impression was of a tall child. The pose, startled andwild and yet curiously stiff and self-conscious, was that of a childstriving to remember a forgotten lesson. One hand clutched ahandkerchief, the other was closing and unclosing on a knob of the chairback. She was staring at Dougal, who stood like a gnome in the centre ofthe floor. "Here's the gentlemen I was tellin' ye about," was hisintroduction, but her eyes did not move.

  Then Heritage stepped forward. "We have met before, Mademoiselle," hesaid. "Do you remember Easter in 1918--in the house in the Trinita deiMonte?"

  The girl looked at him.

  "I do not remember," she said slowly.

  "But I was the English officer who had the apartments on the floorbelow you. I saw you every morning. You spoke to me sometimes."

  "You are a soldier?" she asked, with a new note in her voice.

  "I was then--till the war finished."

  "And now? Why have you come here?"

  "To offer you help if you need it. If not, to ask your pardon and goaway."

  The shrouded figure in the chair burst suddenly into rapid hystericaltalk in some foreign tongue which Dickson suspected of being French.Heritage replied in the same language, and the girl joined in with sharpquestions. Then the Poet turned to Dickson.

  "This is my friend. If you will trust us we will do our best to saveyou."

  The eyes rested on Dickson's face, and he realised that he was in thepresence of something the like of which he had never met in his lifebefore. It was a loveliness greater than he had imagined was permittedby the Almighty to His creatures. The little face was more square thanoval, with a low broad brow and proud exquisite eyebrows. The eyes wereof a colour which he could never decide on; afterwards he used to allegeobscurely that they were the colour of everything in Spring. There was adelicate pallor in the cheeks, and the face bore signs of suffering andcare, possibly even of hunger; but for all that there was youth there,eternal and triumphant! Not youth such as he had known it, but youthwith all history behind it, youth with centuries of command in its bloodand the world's treasures of beauty and pride in its ancestry. Strange,he thought, that a thing so fine should be so masterful. He felt abashedin every inch of him.

  As the eyes rested on him their sorrowfulness seemed to be shot withhumour. A ghost of a smile lurked there, to which Dickson promptlyresponded. He grinned and bowed.

  "Very pleased to meet you, Mem. I'm Mr. McCunn from Glasgow."

  "You don't even know my name," she said.

  "We don't," said Heritage.

  "They call me Saskia. This," nodding to the chair, "is my cousinEugenie.... We are in very great trouble. But why should I tell you? Ido not know you. You cannot help me."

  "We can try," said Heritage. "Part of your trouble we know alreadythrough that boy. You are imprisoned in this place by scoundrels. We arehere to help you to get out. We want to ask no questions--only to dowhat you bid us."

  "You are not strong enough," she said sadly. "A young man--an oldman--and a little boy. There are many against us, and any moment theremay be more."

  It was Dougal's turn to break in. "There's Lean and Spittal and Dobsonand four tinklers in the Dean--that's seven; but there's us three andfive more Gorbals Die-Hards--that's eight."

  There was something in the boy's truculent courage that cheered her.

  "I wonder," she said, and her eyes fell on each in turn.

  Dickson felt impelled to intervene.

  "I think this is a perfectly simple business. Here's a lady shut up inthis house against her will by a wheen blagyirds. This is a free countryand the law doesn't permit that. My advice is for one of us to informthe police at Auchenlochan and get Dobson and his friends took up andthe lady set free to do what she likes. That is, if these folks arereally molesting her, which is not yet quite clear to my mind."

  "Alas! It is not so simple as that," she said. "I dare not invoke yourEnglish law, for perhaps in the eyes of that law I am a thief."

  "Deary me, that's a bad business," said the startled Dickson.

  The two women talked together in some strange tongue, and the elderappeared to be pleading and the younger objecting. Then Saskia seemed tocome to a decision.

  "I will tell you all," and she looked straight at Heritage. "I do notthink you would be cruel or false, for you have honourable faces....Listen, then. I am a Russian and for two
years have been an exile. Iwill not speak of my house, for it is no more, or how I escaped, for itis the common tale of all of us. I have seen things more terrible thanany dream and yet lived, but I have paid a price for such experience.First I went to Italy where there were friends, and I wished only tohave peace among kindly people. About poverty I do not care, for, to us,who have lost all the great things, the want of bread is a littlematter. But peace was forbidden me, for I learned that we Russians hadto win back our fatherland again and that the weakest must work in thatcause. So I was set my task and it was very hard.... There were jewelswhich once belonged to my Emperor--they had been stolen by the brigandsand must be recovered. There were others still hidden in Russia whichmust be brought to a safe place. In that work I was ordered to share."

  She spoke in almost perfect English, with a certain foreign precision.Suddenly she changed to French, and talked rapidly to Heritage.

  "She has told me about her family," he said, turning to Dickson. "It isamong the greatest in Russia, the very greatest after the throne."Dickson could only stare.

  "Our enemies soon discovered me," she went on. "Oh, but they are veryclever, these enemies, and they have all the criminals of the world toaid them. Here you do not understand what they are. You good people inEngland think they are well-meaning dreamers who are forced intoviolence by the persecution of Western Europe. But you are wrong. Somehonest fools there are among them, but the power--the true power--lieswith madmen and degenerates, and they have for allies the special devilthat dwells in each country. That is why they cast their net as wide asmankind."

  She shivered, and for a second her face wore a look which Dickson neverforgot, the look of one who has looked over the edge of life into theouter dark.

  "There were certain jewels of great price which were about to be turnedinto guns and armies for our enemies. These our people recovered and thecharge of them was laid on me. Who would suspect, they said, a foolishgirl? But our enemies were very clever, and soon the hunt was criedagainst me. They tried to rob me of them, but they failed, for I too hadbecome clever. Then they asked the help of the law--first in Italy andthen in France. Oh, it was subtly done. Respectable bourgeois, who hatedthe Bolsheviki but had bought long ago the bonds of my country, desiredto be repaid their debts out of the property of the Russian Crown whichmight be found in the West. But behind them were the Jews, and behindthe Jews our unsleeping enemies. Once I was enmeshed in the law I wouldbe safe for them, and presently they would find the hiding-place of thetreasure, and while the bourgeois were clamouring in the courts, itwould be safe in their pockets. So I fled. For months I have beenfleeing and hiding. They have tried to kidnap me many times, and oncethey have tried to kill me, but I, too, have become very clever--oh,very clever. And I have learned not to fear."

  This simple recital affected Dickson's honest soul with the liveliestindignation. "Sich doings!" he exclaimed, and he could not forbear fromwhispering to Heritage an extract from that gentleman's conversation thefirst night at Kirkmichael. "We needn't imitate all their methods, butthey've got hold of the right end of the stick. They seek truth andreality." The reply from the Poet was an angry shrug.

  "Why and how did you come here?" he asked.

  "I always meant to come to England, for I thought it the sanest place ina mad world. Also it is a good country to hide in, for it is apart fromEurope, and your police, as I thought, do not permit evil men to betheir own law. But especially I had a friend, a Scottish gentleman, whomI knew in the days when we Russians were still a nation. I saw him againin Italy, and since he was kind and brave I told him some part of mytroubles. He was called Quentin Kennedy, and now he is dead. He told methat in Scotland he had a lonely chateau where I could hide secretly andsafely, and against the day when I might be hard-pressed he gave me aletter to his steward, bidding him welcome me as a guest when I madeapplication. At that time I did not think I would need such sanctuary,but a month ago the need became urgent, for the hunt in France was veryclose on me. So I sent a message to the steward as Captain Kennedy toldme."

  "What is his name?" Heritage asked.

  She spelt it, "Monsieur Loudon--L-O-U-D-O-N in the town ofAuchenlochan."

  "The factor," said Dickson. "And what then?"

  "Some spy must have found me out. I had a letter from this Loudonbidding me come to Auchenlochan. There I found no steward to receive me,but another letter saying that that night a carriage would be in waitingto bring me here. It was midnight when we arrived, and we were broughtin by strange ways to this house, with no light but a single candle.Here we were welcomed indeed, but by an enemy."

  "Which?" asked Heritage. "Dobson or Lean or Spittal?"

  "Dobson I do not know. Leon was there. He is no Russian, but a Belgianwho was a valet in my father's service till he joined the Bolsheviki.Next day the Lett Spidel came, and I knew that I was in very truthentrapped. For of all our enemies he is, save one, the most subtle andunwearied."

  Her voice had trailed off into flat weariness. Again Dickson wasreminded of a child, for her arms hung limp by her side; and her slimfigure in its odd clothes was curiously like that of a boy in a schoolblazer. Another resemblance perplexed him. She had a hint ofJanet--about the mouth--Janet, that solemn little girl those twentyyears in her grave.

  Heritage was wrinkling his brows. "I don't think I quite understand. Thejewels? You have them with you?"

  She nodded.

  "These men wanted to rob you. Why didn't they do it between here andAuchenlochan? You had no chance to hide them on the journey. Why didthey let you come here where you were in a better position to bafflethem?"

  She shook her head. "I cannot explain--except perhaps, that Spidel hadnot arrived that night, and Leon may have been waiting instructions."

  The other still looked dissatisfied. "They are either clumsier villainsthan I take them to be, or there is something deeper in the businessthan we understand. These jewels--are they here?"

  His tone was so sharp that she looked startled--almost suspicious. Thenshe saw that in his face which reassured her. "I have them hidden here.I have grown very skilful in hiding things."

  "Have they searched for them?"

  "The first day they demanded them of me. I denied all knowledge. Thenthey ransacked this house--I think they ransack it daily, but I am tooclever for them. I am not allowed to go beyond the verandah, and when atfirst I disobeyed there was always one of them in wait to force me backwith a pistol behind my head. Every morning Leon brings us food for theday--good food, but not enough, so that Cousin Eugenie is always hungry,and each day he and Spidel question and threaten me. This afternoonSpidel has told me that their patience is at an end. He has given metill to-morrow at noon to produce the jewels. If not, he says I willdie."

  "Mercy on us!" Dickson exclaimed.

  "There will be no mercy for us," she said solemnly. "He and his kindthink as little of shedding blood as of spilling water. But I do notthink he will kill me. I think I will kill him first, but after that Ishall surely die. As for Cousin Eugenie, I do not know."

  Her level matter-of-fact tone seemed to Dickson most shocking, for hecould not treat it as mere melodrama. It carried a horrid conviction."We must get you out of this at once," he declared.

  "I cannot leave. I will tell you why. When I came to this country Iappointed one to meet me here. He is a kinsman who knows England well,for he fought in your army. With him by my side I have no fear. It isaltogether needful that I wait for him."

  "Then there is something more which you haven't told us?" Heritageasked.

  Was there the faintest shadow of a blush on her cheek? "There issomething more," she said.

  She spoke to Heritage in French and Dickson caught the name "Alexis" anda word which sounded like "prance." The Poet listened eagerly andnodded. "I have heard of him," he said.

  "But have you not seen him? A tall man with a yellow beard, who bearshimself proudly. Being of my mother's race he has eyes like mine."

  "That's the man she was ask
in' me about yesterday," said Dougal, who hadsquatted on the floor.

  Heritage shook his head. "We only came here last night. When did youexpect Prince--your friend?"

  "I hoped to find him here before me. Oh, it is his not coming thatterrifies me. I must wait and hope. But if he does not come in timeanother may come before him."

  "The ones already here are not all the enemies that threaten you?"

  "Indeed, no. The worst has still to come, and till I know he is here Ido not greatly fear Spidel or Leon. They receive orders and do not givethem."

  Heritage ran a perplexed hand through his hair. The sunset which hadbeen flaming for some time in the unshuttered panes was now passing intothe dark. The girl lit a lamp after first shuttering the rest of thewindows. As she turned it up the odd dusty room and its strange companywere revealed more clearly and Dickson saw with a shock how haggard wasthe beautiful face. A great pity seized him and almost conquered histimidity.

  "It is very difficult to help you," Heritage was saying. "You won'tleave this place, and you won't claim the protection of the law. You arevery independent, Mademoiselle, but it can't go on for ever. The man youfear may arrive at any moment. At any moment, too, your treasure may bediscovered."

  "It is that that weighs on me," she cried. "The jewels! They are mysolemn trust, but they burden me terribly. If I were only rid of themand knew them to be safe I should face the rest with a braver mind."

  "If you'll take my advice," said Dickson slowly, "you'll get themdeposited in a bank and take a receipt for them. A Scotch bank is no' ina hurry to surrender a deposit without it gets the proper authority."

  Heritage brought his hands together with a smack. "That's an idea. Willyou trust us to take these things and deposit them safely?"

  For a little she was silent and her eyes were fixed on each of the trioin turn. "I will trust you," she said at last. "I think you will notbetray me."

  "By God, we won't!" said the Poet fervently. "Dogson, it's up to you.You march off to Glasgow in double quick time and place the stuff inyour own name in your own bank. There's not a moment to lose. D'youhear?"

  "I will that." To his own surprise Dickson spoke without hesitation.Partly it was because of his merchant's sense of property, which madehim hate the thought that miscreants should acquire that to which theyhad no title; but mainly it was the appeal in those haggard childisheyes. "But I'm not going to be tramping the country in the nightcarrying a fortune and seeking for trains that aren't there. I'll go thefirst thing in the morning."

  "Where are they?" Heritage asked.

  "That I do not tell. But I will fetch them."

  She left the room and presently returned with three odd little parcelswrapped in leather and tied with thongs of raw hide. She gave them toHeritage, who held them appraisingly in his hand and then passed them toDickson.

  "I do not ask about their contents. We take them from you as they are,and, please God, when the moment comes they will be returned to you asyou gave them. You trust us, Mademoiselle?"

  "I trust you, for you are a soldier. Oh, and I thank you from my heart,my friends." She held out a hand to each, which caused Heritage to growsuddenly very red.

  "I will remain in the neighbourhood to await developments," he said."We had better leave you now. Dougal, lead on."

  Before going, he took the girl's hand again, and with a sudden movementbent and kissed it. Dickson shook it heartily. "Cheer up, Mem," heobserved. "There's a better time coming." His last recollection of hereyes was of a soft mistiness not far from tears. His pouch and pipe hadstrange company jostling them in his pocket as he followed the othersdown the ladder into the night.

  Dougal insisted that they must return by the road of the morning. "Wedaren't go by the Laver, for that would bring us by the public-house. Ifthe worst comes to the worst, and we fall in wi' any of the deevils,they must think ye've changed your mind and come back fromAuchenlochan."

  The night smelt fresh and moist as if a break in the weather wereimminent. As they scrambled along the Garple Dean a pinprick of lightbelow showed where the tinklers were busy by their fire. Dickson'sspirits suffered a sharp fall and he began to marvel at his temerity.What in Heaven's name had he undertaken? To carry very precious things,to which certainly he had no right, through the enemy to distantGlasgow. How could he escape the notice of the watchers? He was alreadysuspect, and the sight of him back again in Dalquharter would doublethat suspicion. He must brazen it out, but he distrusted his powers withsuch tell-tale stuff in his pockets. They might murder him anywhere onthe moor road or in an empty railway carriage. An unpleasant memory ofvarious novels he had read in which such things happened haunted hismind.... There was just one consolation. This job over, he would be quitof the whole business. And honourably quit, too, for he would haveplayed a manly part in a most unpleasant affair. He could retire to theidyllic with the knowledge that he had not been wanting when Romancecalled. Not a soul should ever hear of it, but he saw himself in thefuture tramping green roads or sitting by his winter fireside pleasantlyretelling himself the tale.

  Before they came to the Garple bridge Dougal insisted that they shouldseparate, remarking that "it would never do if we were seen thegither."Heritage was despatched by a short cut over fields to the left, whicheventually, after one or two plunges into ditches, landed him safely inMrs. Morran's back yard. Dickson and Dougal crossed the bridge andtramped Dalquharter-wards by the highway. There was no sign of humanlife in that quiet place with owls hooting and rabbits rustling in theundergrowth. Beyond the woods they came in sight of the light in theback kitchen, and both seemed to relax their watchfulness when it wasmost needed. Dougal sniffed the air and looked seaward.

  "It's coming on to rain," he observed. "There should be a muckle starthere, and when you can't see it it means wet weather wi' this wind."

  "What star?" Dickson asked.

  "The one wi' the Irish-lukkin' name. What's that they call it? O'Brien?"And he pointed to where the constellation of the Hunter should have beendeclining on the western horizon.

  There was a bend of the road behind them, and suddenly round it came adogcart driven rapidly. Dougal slipped like a weasel into a bush, andpresently Dickson stood revealed in the glare of a lamp. The horse waspulled up sharply and the driver called out to him. He saw that it wasDobson the innkeeper with Leon beside him.

  "Who is it?" cried the voice. "Oh, you! I thought ye were off the day?"

  Dickson rose nobly to the occasion.

  "I thought myself I was. But I didn't think much of Auchenlochan, and Itook a fancy to come back and spend the last night of my holiday with myAuntie. I'm off to Glasgow first thing the morn's morn."

  "So!" said the voice. "Queer thing I never saw ye on the Auchenlochanroad, where ye can see three mile before ye."

  "I left early and took it easy along the shore."

  "Did ye so? Well, good-night to ye."

  Five minutes later Dickson walked into Mrs. Morran's kitchen, whereHeritage was busy making up for a day of short provender.

  "I'm for Glasgow to-morrow, Auntie Phemie," he cried. "I want you toloan me a wee trunk with a key, and steek the doors and windows, forI've a lot to tell you."