Huntingtower

by John Buchan

  CHAPTER VII

  SUNDRY DOINGS IN THE MIRK

  From Kirkmichael on the train stopped at every station, but no passengerseemed to leave or arrive at the little platforms white in the moon. AtDalquharter the case of provisions was safely transferred to the porterwith instructions to take charge of it till it was sent for. During thenext ten minutes Dickson's mind began to work upon his problem with acertain briskness. It was all nonsense that the law of Scotland couldnot be summoned to the defence. The jewels had been safely got rid of,and who was to dispute their possession? Not Dobson and his crew, whohad no sort of title, and were out for naked robbery. The girl hadspoken of greater dangers from new enemies--kidnapping perhaps. Well,that was felony, and the police must be brought in. Probably if all wereknown the three watchers had criminal records, pages long, filed atScotland Yard. The man to deal with that side of the business was Loudonthe factor, and to him he was bound in the first place. He had made aclear picture in his head of this Loudon--a derelict old country writer,formal, pedantic, lazy, anxious only to get an unprofitable business offhis hands with the least possible trouble, never going near the placehimself, and ably supported in his lethargy by conceited EdinburghWriters to the Signet. "Sich notions of business!" he murmured. "Iwonder that there's a single county family in Scotland no' in thebankruptcy court!" It was his mission to wake up Mr. James Loudon.

  Arrived at Auchenlochan he went first to the Salutation Hotel, apretentious place sacred to golfers. There he engaged a bedroom for thenight and, having certain scruples, paid for it in advance. He also hadsome sandwiches prepared which he stowed in his pack, and filled hisflask with whisky. "I'm going home to Glasgow by the first trainto-morrow," he told the landlady, "and now I've got to see a friend.I'll not be back till late." He was assured that there would be nodifficulty about his admittance at any hour, and directed how to findMr. Loudon's dwelling.

  It was an old house fronting direct on the street, with a fanlight abovethe door and a neat brass plate bearing the legend "Mr. James Loudon,Writer." A lane ran up one side leading apparently to a garden, for themoonlight showed the dusk of trees. In front was the main street ofAuchenlochan, now deserted save for a single roysterer, and oppositestood the ancient town house, with arches where the country folk came atthe spring and autumn hiring fairs. Dickson rang the antiquated bell,and was presently admitted to a dark hall floored with oil-cloth, wherea single gas-jet showed that on one side was the business office and onthe other the living-rooms. Mr. Loudon was at supper, he was told, andhe sent in his card. Almost at once the door at the end on the leftside was flung open and a large figure appeared flourishing a napkin."Come in, sir, come in," it cried. "I've just finished a bite of meat.Very glad to see you. Here, Maggie, what d'you mean by keeping thegentleman standing in that outer darkness?"

  The room into which Dickson was ushered was small and bright, with a redpaper on the walls, a fire burning and a big oil lamp in the centre of atable. Clearly Mr. Loudon had no wife, for it was a bachelor's den inevery line of it. A cloth was laid on a corner of the table, on whichstood the remnants of a meal. Mr. Loudon seemed to have been about tomake a brew of punch, for a kettle simmered by the fire, and lemons andsugar flanked a pot-bellied whisky decanter of the type that used to beknown as a "mason's mell."

  The sight of the lawyer was a surprise to Dickson and dissipated hisnotions of an aged and lethargic incompetent. Mr. Loudon was a stronglybuilt man who could not be a year over fifty. He had a ruddy face,clean-shaven except for a grizzled moustache; his grizzled hair wasthinning round the temples; but his skin was unwrinkled and his eyes hadall the vigour of youth. His tweed suit was well cut, and the buffwaistcoat with flaps and pockets and the plain leather watchguard hintedat the sportsman, as did the half-dozen racing prints on the wall. Apleasant high-coloured figure he made; his voice had the frank ring dueto much use out of doors; and his expression had the singular candourwhich comes from grey eyes with large pupils and a narrow iris.

  "Sit down, Mr. McCunn. Take the arm-chair by the fire. I've had a wirefrom Glendonan and Speirs about you. I was just going to have a glass oftoddy--a grand thing for these uncertain April nights. You'll join me?No? Well, you'll smoke anyway. There's cigars at your elbow. Certainly,a pipe if you like. This is Liberty Hall."

  Dickson found some difficulty in the part for which he had cast himself.He had expected to condescend upon an elderly inept and give him sharpinstructions; instead he found himself faced with a jovial, virilefigure which certainly did not suggest incompetence. It has beenmentioned already that he had always great difficulty in looking any onein the face, and this difficulty was intensified when he found himselfconfronted with bold and candid eyes. He felt abashed and a littlenervous.

  "I've come to see you about Huntingtower House," he began.

  "I know. So Glendonan's informed me. Well, I'm very glad to hear it. Theplace has been standing empty far too long, and that is worse for a newhouse than an old house. There's not much money to spend on it either,unless we can make sure of a good tenant. How did you hear about it?"

  "I was taking a bit holiday and I spent a night at Dalquharter with anold auntie of mine. You must understand I've just retired from business,and I'm thinking of finding a country place. I used to have the bigprovision shop in Mearns Street--now the United Supply Stores, Limited.You've maybe heard of it?"

  The other bowed and smiled. "Who hasn't? The name of Dickson McCunn isknown far beyond the city of Glasgow."

  Dickson was not insensible of the flattery, and he continued with morefreedom. "I took a walk and got a glisk of the House and I liked thelook of it. You see, I want a quiet bit a good long way from a town, andat the same time a house with all modern conveniences. I supposeHuntingtower has that?"

  "When it was built fifteen years ago it was considered a model--sixbathrooms, its own electric light plant, steam heating, an independentboiler for hot water, the whole bag of tricks. I won't say but what someof these contrivances will want looking to, for the place has been sometime empty, but there can be nothing very far wrong, and I can guaranteethat the bones of the house are good."

  "Well, that's all right," said Dickson. "I don't mind spending a littlemoney myself if the place suits me. But of that, of course, I'm not yetcertain, for I've only had a glimpse of the outside. I wanted to getinto the policies, but a man at the lodge wouldn't let me. They're amighty uncivil lot down there."

  "I'm very sorry to hear that," said Mr. Loudon in a tone of concern.

  "Ay, and if I take the place I'll stipulate that you get rid of thelodgekeepers."

  "There won't be the slightest difficulty about that, for they are onlyweekly tenants. But I'm vexed to hear they were uncivil. I was glad toget any tenant that offered, and they were well recommended to me."

  "They're foreigners."

  "One of them is--a Belgian refugee that Lady Morewood took an interestin. But the other--Spittal, they call him--I thought he was Scotch."

  "He's not that. And I don't like the innkeeper either. I would want himshifted."

  Mr. Loudon laughed. "I dare say Dobson is a rough diamond. There's worsefolk in the world all the same, but I don't think he will want to stay.He only went there to pass the time till he heard from his brother inVancouver. He's a roving spirit, and will be off overseas again."

  "That's all right!" said Dickson, who was beginning to have horridsuspicions that he might be on a wild-goose chase after all. "Well, thenext thing is for me to see over the House."

  "Certainly. I'd like to go with you myself. What day would suit you? Letme see. This is Friday. What about this day week?"

  "I was thinking of to-morrow. Since I'm down in these parts I may aswell get the job done."

  Mr. Loudon looked puzzled. "I quite see that. But I don't think it'spossible. You see, I have to consult the owners and get their consent toa lease. Of course they have the general purpose of letting, but--well,they're queer folk the Kennedys," and his face wore the half-embarrassedsmile of
an honest man preparing to make confidences. "When poor Mr.Quentin died, the place went to his two sisters in joint ownership. Avery bad arrangement, as you can imagine. It isn't entailed, and I'vealways been pressing them to sell, but so far they won't hear of it.They both married Englishmen, so it will take a day or two to get intouch with them. One, Mrs. Stukely, lives in Devonshire. The other--MissKatie that was--married Sir Francis Morewood, the general, and I hearthat she's expected back in London next Monday from the Riviera. I'llwire and write first thing to-morrow morning. But you must give me a dayor two."

  Dickson felt himself waking up. His doubts about his own sanity weredissolving, for, as his mind reasoned, the factor was prepared to doanything he asked--but only after a week had gone. What he was concernedwith was the next few days.

  "All the same I would like to have a look at the place to-morrow, evenif nothing comes of it."

  Mr. Loudon looked seriously perplexed. "You will think me absurdlyfussy, Mr. McCunn, but I must really beg of you to give up the idea. TheKennedys, as I have said, are--well, not exactly like other people, andI have the strictest orders not to let any one visit the house withouttheir express leave. It sounds a ridiculous rule, but I assure you it'sas much as my job is worth to disregard it."

  "D'you mean to say not a soul is allowed inside the House?"

  "Not a soul."

  "Well, Mr. Loudon, I'm going to tell you a queer thing, which I thinkyou ought to know. When I was taking a walk the other night--yourBelgian wouldn't let me into the policies, but I went down theglen--what's that they call it? the Garple Dean--I got round the backwhere the old ruin stands and I had a good look at the House. I tell youthere was somebody in it."

  "It would be Spittal, who acts as caretaker."

  "It was not. It was a woman. I saw her on the verandah."

  The candid grey eyes were looking straight at Dickson, who managed tobring his own shy orbs to meet them. He thought that he detected a shadeof hesitation. Then Mr. Loudon got up from his chair and stood on thehearthrug looking down at his visitor. He laughed, with someembarrassment, but ever so pleasantly.

  "I really don't know what you will think of me, Mr. McCunn. Here areyou, coming to do us all a kindness, and lease that infernal whiteelephant, and here have I been steadily hoaxing you for the last fiveminutes. I humbly ask your pardon. Set it down to the loyalty of an oldfamily lawyer. Now, I am going to tell you the truth and take you intoour confidence, for I know we are safe with you. The Kennedysare--always have been--just a wee bit queer. Old inbred stock, you know.They will produce somebody like poor Mr. Quentin, who was as sane as youor me, but as a rule in every generation there is one member of thefamily--or more--who is just a little bit----" and he tapped hisforehead. "Nothing violent, you understand, but just not quite 'wise andworld-like,' as the old folk say. Well, there's a certain old lady, anaunt of Mr. Quentin and his sisters, who has always been about tenpencein the shilling. Usually she lives at Bournemouth, but one of her crazesis a passion for Huntingtower, and the Kennedys have always humoured herand had her to stay every spring. When the House was shut up that becameimpossible, but this year she took such a craving to come back, thatLady Morewood asked me to arrange it. It had to be kept very quiet, butthe poor old thing is perfectly harmless, and just sits and knits withher maid and looks out of the seaward windows. Now you see why I can'ttake you there to-morrow. I have to get rid of the old lady, who in anycase was travelling south early next week. Do you understand?"

  "Perfectly," said Dickson with some fervour. He had learned exactly whathe wanted. The factor was telling him lies. Now he knew where to placeMr. Loudon.

  He always looked back upon what followed as a very creditable piece ofplay-acting for a man who had small experience in that line.

  "Is the old lady a wee wizened body, with a black cap and something likea white cashmere shawl round her shoulders?"

  "You describe her exactly," Mr. Loudon replied eagerly.

  "That would explain the foreigners."

  "Of course. We couldn't have natives who would make the thing the clashof the countryside."

  "Of course not. But it must be a difficult job to keep a business likethat quiet. Any wandering policeman might start inquiries. And supposingthe lady became violent?"

  "Oh, there's no fear of that. Besides, I've a position in thiscounty--Deputy Fiscal and so forth--and a friend of the Chief Constable.I think I may be trusted to do a little private explaining if the needarose."

  "I see," said Dickson. He saw, indeed, a great deal which would give himfood for furious thought. "Well, I must just possess my soul inpatience. Here's my Glasgow address, and I look to you to send me atelegram whenever you're ready for me. I'm at the Salutation to-night,and go home to-morrow with the first train. Wait a minute"--and hepulled out his watch--"there's a train stops at Auchenlochan at 10.17. Ithink I'll catch that.... Well, Mr. Loudon, I'm very much obliged toyou, and I'm glad to think that it'll not be long till we renew ouracquaintance."

  The factor accompanied him to the door, diffusing geniality. "Verypleased indeed to have met you. A pleasant journey and a quick return."

  The street was still empty. Into a corner of the arches opposite themoon was shining, and Dickson retired thither to consult his map of theneighbourhood. He found what he wanted and, as he lifted his eyes,caught sight of a man coming down the causeway. Promptly he retired intothe shadow and watched the new-comer. There could be no mistake aboutthe figure; the bulk, the walk, the carriage of the head marked it forDobson. The inn-keeper went slowly past the factor's house; then haltedand retraced his steps; then, making sure that the street was empty,turned into the side lane which led to the garden.

  This was what sailors call a cross-bearing, and strengthened Dickson'sconviction. He delayed no longer, but hurried down the side street bywhich the north road leaves the town.

  He had crossed the bridge of Lochan and was climbing the steep ascentwhich led to the heathy plateau separating that stream from the Garplebefore he had got his mind quite clear on the case. _First_, Loudon wasin the plot, whatever it was; responsible for the details of the girl'simprisonment, but not the main author. That must be the Unknown who wasstill to come, from whom Spidel took his orders. Dobson was probablyLoudon's special henchman, working directly under him. _Secondly_, theimmediate object had been the jewels, and they were happily safe in thevaults of the incorruptible Mackintosh. But, _third_--and this only onSaskia's evidence--the worst danger to her began with the arrival of theUnknown. What could that be? Probably, kidnapping. He was prepared tobelieve anything of people like Bolsheviks. And, _fourth_, this dangerwas due within the next day or two. Loudon had been quite willing to lethim into the house and to sack all the watchers within a week from thatdate. The natural and right thing was to summon the aid of the law,but, _fifth_, that would be a slow business with Loudon able to putspokes in the wheels and befog the authorities, and the mischief wouldbe done before a single policeman showed his face in Dalquharter.Therefore, _sixth_, he and Heritage must hold the fort in the meantime,and he would send a wire to his lawyer, Mr. Caw, to get to work with theconstabulary. _Seventh_, he himself was probably free from suspicion inboth Loudon's and Dobson's minds as a harmless fool. But that freedomwould not survive his reappearance in Dalquharter. He could say, to besure, that he had come back to see his auntie, but that would notsatisfy the watchers, since, so far as they knew, he was the only manoutside the gang who was aware that people were dwelling in the House.They would not tolerate his presence in the neighbourhood.

  He formulated his conclusions as if it were an ordinary business deal,and rather to his surprise was not conscious of any fear. As he pulledtogether the belt of his waterproof he felt the reassuring bulges in itspockets which were his pistol and cartridges. He reflected that it mustbe very difficult to miss with a pistol if you fired it at, say, threeyards, and if there was to be shooting that would be his range. Mr.McCunn had stumbled on the precious truth that the best way to be rid ofquaking knee
s is to keep a busy mind.

  He crossed the ridge of the plateau and looked down on the Garple glen.There were the lights of Dalquharter--or rather a single light, for theinhabitants went early to bed. His intention was to seek quarters withMrs. Morran, when his eye caught a gleam in a hollow of the moor alittle to the east. He knew it for the camp-fire around which Dougal'swarriors bivouacked. The notion came to him to go there instead, andhear the news of the day before entering the cottage. So he crossed thebridge, skirted a plantation of firs, and scrambled through the broomand heather in what he took to be the right direction.

  The moon had gone down, and the quest was not easy. Dickson had come tothe conclusion that he was on the wrong road, when he was summoned by avoice which seemed to arise out of the ground.

  "Who goes there?"

  "What's that you say?"

  "Who goes there?" The point of a pole was held firmly against his chest.

  "I'm Mr. McCunn, a friend of Dougal's."

  "Stand, friend." The shadow before him whistled and another shadowappeared. "Report to the Chief that there's a man here, name o' McCunn,seekin' for him."

  Presently the messenger returned with Dougal and a cheap lantern whichhe flashed in Dickson's face.

  "Oh, it's you," said that leader, who had his jaw bound up as if he hadthe toothache. "What are ye doing back here?"

  "To tell the truth, Dougal," was the answer, "I couldn't stay away. Iwas fair miserable when I thought of Mr. Heritage and you laddies leftto yourselves. My conscience simply wouldn't let me stop at home, sohere I am."

  Dougal grunted, but clearly he approved, for from that moment he treatedDickson with a new respect. Formerly when he had referred to him at allit had been as "auld McCunn." Now it was "Mister McCunn." He was givenrank as a worthy civilian ally.

  The bivouac was a cheerful place in the wet night. A great fire of pineroots and old paling posts hissed in the fine rain, and around itcrouched several urchins busy making oatmeal cakes in the embers. On oneside a respectable lean-to had been constructed by nailing a plank totwo fir-trees, running sloping poles thence to the ground, and thatchingthe whole with spruce branches and heather. On the other side two smalldilapidated home-made tents were pitched. Dougal motioned his companioninto the lean-to, where they had some privacy from the rest of the band.

  "Well, what's your news?" Dickson asked. He noticed that the Chieftainseemed to have been comprehensively in the wars, for apart from thebandage on his jaw, he had numerous small cuts on his brow, and a greatrent in one of his shirt sleeves. Also he appeared to be going lame, andwhen he spoke a new gap was revealed in his large teeth.

  "Things," said Dougal solemnly, "has come to a bonny cripus. This verynight we've been in a battle."

  He spat fiercely, and the light of war burned in his eyes.

  "It was the tinklers from the Garple Dean. They yokit on us about seveno'clock, just at the darkenin'. First they tried to bounce us. Weweren't wanted here, they said, so we'd better clear. I telled them thatit was them that wasn't wanted. 'Awa' to Finnick,' says I. 'D'ye thinkwe take our orders from dirty ne'er-do-weels like you?' 'By God,' saysthey, 'we'll cut your lights out,' and then the battle started."

  "What happened?" Dickson asked excitedly.

  "They were four muckle men against six laddies, and they thought theyhad an easy job! Little they kenned the Gorbals Die-Hards! I had beenexpectin' something of the kind, and had made my plans. They first triedto pu' down our tents and burn them. I let them get within five yards,reservin' my fire. The first volley--stones from our hands and ourcatties--halted them, and before they could recover three of us had gothold o' burnin' sticks frae the fire and were lammin' into them. Wekinnled their claes, and they fell back swearin' and stampin' to get thefire out. Then I gave the word and we were on them wi' our poles, usin'the points accordin' to instructions. My orders was to keep a gooddistance, for if they had grippit one o' us he'd ha' been done for. Theywere roarin' mad by now, and twae had out their knives, but theycouldn't do muckle, for it was gettin' dark, and they didn't ken theground like us, and were aye trippin' and tumblin'. But they pressed ushard, and one o' them landed me an awful clype on the jaw. They werestill aiming at our tents, and I saw that if they got near the fireagain it would be the end o' us. So I blew my whistle for Thomas Yownie,who was in command o' the other half of us, with instructions to fallupon their rear. That brought Thomas up, and the tinklers had to faceround about and fight a battle on two fronts. We charged them and theybroke, and the last seen o' them they were coolin' their burns in theGarple."

  "Well done, man. Had you many casualties?"

  "We're a' a wee thing battered, but nothing to hurt. I'm the worst, forone o' them had a grip o' me for about three seconds, and Gosh! he wasfierce."

  "They're beaten off for the night, anyway?"

  "Ay, for the night. But they'll come back, never fear. That's why I saidthat things had come to a cripus."

  "What's the news from the House?"

  "A quiet day, and no word o' Lean or Dobson."

  Dickson nodded. "They were hunting me."

  "Mr. Heritage has gone to bide in the Hoose. They were watchin' theGarple Dean, so I took him round by the Laver foot and up the rocks.He's a grand climber, yon. We fund a road up the rocks and got in by theverandy. Did ye ken that the lassie had a pistol? Well, she has, and itseems that Mr. Heritage is a good shot wi' a pistol, so there's somehope thereaways.... Are the jools safe?"

  "Safe in the bank. But the jools were not the main thing."

  Dougal nodded. "So I was thinkin'. The lassie wasn't muckle the easierfor gettin' rid o' them. I didn't just quite understand what she said toMr. Heritage, for they were aye wanderin' into foreign langwidges, butit seems she's terrible feared o' somebody that may turn up any moment.What's the reason I can't say. She's maybe got a secret, or maybe it'sjust that she's ower bonny."

  "That's the trouble," said Dickson and proceeded to recount hisinterview with the factor, to which Dougal gave close attention. "Nowthe way I read the thing is this. There's a plot to kidnap that lady,for some infernal purpose, and it depends on the arrival of some personor persons, and it's due to happen in the next day or two. If we try towork it through the police alone, they'll beat us, for Loudon willmanage to hang the business up till it's too late. So we must take upthe job ourselves. We must stand a siege, Mr. Heritage and me and youladdies, and for that purpose we'd better all keep together. It won't beextra easy to carry her off from all of us, and if they do manage itwe'll stick to their heels.... Man, Dougal, isn't it a queer thing thatwhiles law-abiding folk have to make their own laws?... So my plan isthat the lot of us get into the House and form a garrison. If you don't,the tinklers will come back and you'll no' beat them in the daylight."

  "I doubt no'," said Dougal. "But what about our meat?"

  "We must lay in provisions. We'll get what we can from Mrs. Morran, andI've left a big box of fancy things at Dalquharter station. Can youladdies manage to get it down here?"

  Dougal reflected. "Ay, we can hire Mrs. Sempill's powny, the same thatfetched our kit."

  "Well, that's your job to-morrow. See, I'll write you a line to thestation-master. And will you undertake to get it some way into theHouse?"

  "There's just the one road open--by the rocks. It'll have to be done. It_can_ be done."

  "And I've another job. I'm writing this telegram to a friend in Glasgowwho will put a spoke in Mr. Loudon's wheel. I want one of you to go toKirkmichael to send it from the telegraph office there."

  Dougal placed the wire to Mr. Caw in his bosom. "What about yourself? Wewant somebody outside to keep his eyes open. It's bad strawtegy to cutoff your communications."

  Dickson thought for a moment. "I believe you're right. I believe thebest plan for me is to go back to Mrs. Morran's as soon as the oldbody's like to be awake. You can always get at me there, for it's easyto slip into her back kitchen without anybody in the village seeingyou.... Yes, I'll do that, and you'll come and report deve
lopments tome. And now I'm for a bite and a pipe. It's hungry work travelling thecountry in the small hours."

  "I'm going to introjuice ye to the rest o' us," said Dougal. "Here,men!" he called, and four figures rose from the side of the fire. AsDickson munched a sandwich he passed in review the whole company of theGorbals Die-Hards, for the pickets were also brought in, two otherstaking their places. There was Thomas Yownie, the Chief of Staff, with awrist wound up in the handkerchief which he had borrowed from his neck.There was a burly lad who wore trousers much too large for him, and whowas known as Peer Pairson, a contraction presumably for Peter Paterson.After him came a lean tall boy who answered to the name of Napoleon.There was a midget of a child, desperately sooty in the face either frombattle or from fire-tending, who was presented as Wee Jaikie. Last camethe picket who had held his pole at Dickson's chest, a sandy-hairedwarrior with a snub nose and the mouth and jaw of a pug-dog. He was OldBill, or in Dougal's parlance "Auld Bull."

  The Chieftain viewed his scarred following with a grim content. "That'sa tough lot for ye, Mr. McCunn. Used a' their days wi' sleepin' incoalrees and dunnies and dodgin' the polis. Ye'll no beat the GorbalsDie-Hards."

  "You're right, Dougal," said Dickson. "There's just the six of you. Ifthere were a dozen, I think this country would be needing some new kindof a government."