by Neil M. Gunn
“Did you tell him about it afterwards?”
“I did. Not unpleasantly, of course. Still—I admit I was a bit put out.”
“You didn’t swear, I hope?” Helen asked.
“No no,” said Geoffrey. “Not that you would notice.” And he laughed. He seemed in such good form, considering his trials and the blank day, so excitedly taken up with the sport—which, after all, was the reason for their being here—that Harry remembered his dark moment or hatred with some uneasiness.
Sir John came in again, his gaunt, smileless face saying quietly, “Sorry about your lost day, Harry.” He set down the decanter on top of the cabinet. “If I had been sure, when we left, that Alick would not turn up, we could have fixed you up with Andrew all right. Maclean was saying that Andrew did some good work with the hinds last winter.”
“Oh, it was quite all right. I really enjoyed the lazy day. Besides, I thought it would give Geoffrey the whole field for—uh—King Brude.”
“When did Alick actually turn up?” Sir John asked.
“As a matter of fact, I went for a long tramp and haven’t yet spoken to him.”
“Oh,” said Sir John thoughtfully. “I saw him meet Maclean some way back. I took it for granted you had sent him. Too bad of him. Really too bad.”
Geoffrey chuckled heartily. “He’ll have squared Maclean first! I say, would it not be fun to ask him point-blank what excuse he has? The trouble is”—and he smiled to Sir John with a certain sly amusement—“that you would not push the matter to a relentless finish: too considerate, if you can pardon my saying so. And as for Harry here—he’d be made to see an excuse. Now if you’d let me have a few simple words with him—I shouldn’t miss a second time!”
“I could hardly——” Sir John smiled.
“Merely just to demonstrate,” suggested Geoffrey. “To my mind, he’ll either tell the truth or he’ll tell a whacking lie. I’ll give you twenty to one now that he’ll tell perhaps an elaborate, even an artistic, but still a whacking lie. And I’ll expose it by simple question and answer. I shan’t rub it in or anything.” Geoffrey was in ruthlessly good form. “I mean I shan’t make it uncomfortable for the—uh—more sensitive minds present.”
“Geoffrey, how could you think of such a thing!” said Helen.
“There you go!” And Geoffrey had his laugh.
“I’m agreeable,” said Harry. “And as for the bet, right. Twenty to one in what?”
“My feet are sodden,” said Sir John. “Shall I leave justice in your hands, Harry, seeing you lost your day? And do you mind my having the bath first, Geoffrey? Thanks.”
When he had gone, Helen turned on the two men. “I think this is grossly unfair.”
“Why?” asked Harry.
“Why?” she repeated, looking at his set face with some astonishment. “Because you obviously have him at a disadvantage.”
“So you know he would lie?” Geoffrey smiled dryly.
“I never said that.”
“No?” Geoffrey raised mock eyebrows. “I must be getting dull. Or is the light beginning to fail?”
The daylight was in fact beginning to go, and Helen’s face seemed to gather a paler glow. “You can be maddening.”
Geoffrey laughed again.
“I’ll get hold of him,” said Harry casually.
“What?” demanded Helen.
“Well, why not?” asked Harry, facing her. Though he did not show it, he was stung by Geoffrey’s attitude, and suddenly annoyed that Alick had not reported to him first. It was the very least the fellow might have done. “He deserves all he’ll get.”
“Having him cornered, you’ll both proceed to hit him. In that case, don’t you think it would be better to do it as his superiors—not as his friends?” She went to the bell-pull. It slapped back firmly. They kept looking at her, but she ignored them. The door opened and Mairi appeared. “Is Alick about, Mairi?”
For a fraction of a second Mairi’s eyes went blank, evasive. “I think so, ma’m.”
“Would you mind asking him to come here?”
“Yes’m.” Mairi withdrew.
“Well, I’m damned!” Geoffrey enjoyed the moment. “But you’re quite right. We’ve got to go straight about this.”
“Do you suggest someone was going to go crooked?” Harry asked.
Geoffrey caught the dry inflection. “Oh, you know there’s no offence. You are, you know it, sympathetic—and, to that degree, not the best person to draw out the brutal truth.”
“I see.”
“Now, look here, Harry,” and Geoffrey’s tone tried to be reasonable. “You just watch what happens. If the fellow confesses right away—that’s one up for you. If we find him in an involved lie, then you may be better able to understand my scepticism, not only of this affair which, if you like, is unimportant, but of last night—which you contrived to make us think is important.”
“Very good,” said Harry, tonelessly.
There was silence. Geoffrey glanced from one to the other, but they were not looking at him or at anything in particular. He had difficulty in keeping his peculiar humour in control. Then Helen’s head went up, listened, and she strolled to the bookcase. To the knock on the door, Harry called “Come in!” and Alick entered a pace or two and stood still.
He was without any trace of self-consciousness. His face was quite expressionless, yet not wooden. He looked levelly across the floor at Harry, awaiting his question or humour.
In the involuntary silence, Helen, lifting her head from the book she had picked up, glanced at him from under her lashes and was thrilled, for she realised she might have been guilty of commanding a presence that would have been awkward, dourly self-defensive, intolerably painful to her. Neither a duke nor a butler could ever have been so naturally there! And though the moment was not one for a smile, a slight warmth did steal over her body. She found herself tremulous with excitement, as Harry’s voice came without any stress: “You didn’t turn up to-day, Alick?”
“No, sir.”
They waited until it was quite clear that no excuse was to be given.
“I thought at least you might have come and told me—and so saved me hanging on here.”
“I’m sorry,” said Alick.
“What happened?”
Alick gave no response of any kind.
“You do not care to say?” Harry pursued him.
“No, sir.”
“Was it so very private?”
No answer.
Geoffrey stirred. “In fact,” he said, “you refuse to discuss the matter?”
Alick looked at him.
“Is that it?” asked Geoffrey with his driest smile.
“No,” said Alick.
“Good,” said Geoffrey. “Where did you go last night?”
“I think, what I do at night, is my own concern,” said Alick without any stress.
Geoffrey’s lips parted for an astonished moment. “Oh, I see! Well, what did you do with yourself this morning, which, I trust you will agree, is our concern?”
“I was on the hill.”
“On the hill! All alone?”
“Yes,” said Alick.
“And what were you doing on the hill, all alone?”
No answer.
“Stalking?” suggested Geoffrey.
“Yes,” said Alick.
“Very interesting,” said Geoffrey. “From pure love of it—or were you trying to get a beast for someone—as a present, let us say?… Can’t you answer?”
“I was not poaching.”
“Stalking just for fun like.” Geoffrey nodded. “I see. Was it a good beast?”
“It was King Brude.”
Which silenced the room, until Geoffrey, with a small secret smile to himself, blandly asked, “Did you get him?”
“I had no rifle.”
“Go on,” said Geoffrey.
“Last night, he headed out of the forest—so I thought I’d turn him back.”
“And did you?”<
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“Yes,” said Alick.
Geoffrey regarded him for a few moments in silence. “Why didn’t you say so at once—or did you require time to develop this story? I ask—because you said at first you would rather not tell. Was the good deed for the forest, then, something to be ashamed of?… I must be frank. In a word, how can you expect us to believe you?”
“I’d rather not say,” replied Alick, his eyes levelly on Geoffrey.
With a dry smile, Geoffrey responded, “I appreciate the difficulty. However, I’m sure we’d all like to have the details of your story. By the way, had you any witness?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Yourself,” said Alick.
“I beg your pardon,” said Geoffrey.
“You didn’t see me. You were stalking at the time.”
“I happened to be stalking all day. Whereabouts exactly did you see me stalking?”
“In the Rock Corrie.”
Geoffrey’s eyes narrowed on him. “And what was I doing?”
“You were stalking over the brow of the corrie—in sight—all alone.”
“You mean, you have been talking to Angus?”
“Angus was not with you then.”
“Really?”
“You crept along——”
“Oh, look here,” said Geoffrey, impatiently interrupting him, “the only place you could spy into the Rock Corrie from was Benuain. Isn’t that so?”
“Yes.”
“And do you mean to ask me to believe you could pick me up, crawling, from that distance, even with a telescope?”
Alick went on as if Geoffrey had not spoken. “Twice the stag you were after raised his head and looked towards you. You lay still until he started to feed again. When you got into position, you saw another stag—a very particular stag—at what you said to yourself was over three hundred yards. Will I go on?”
“Oh, good heavens,” said Geoffrey, throwing his hands up with a harsh laugh, “this nonsense is just too much!” Then he rounded on Alick. “Will you answer this one question sanely? If you had been on top of Benuain—how on earth could you have performed the feat of being back there at the Beallach before us—unless you flew?”
They watched Alick in what became a tense silence, for into his eyes, as they remained on Geoffrey, came a light that communicated hidden knowledge, an assured and intolerable knowledge. Helen stopped breathing. Alick’s words came slowly:
“I was not on Benuain.”
Even Geoffrey was held, as one is held in a nightmare, until he broke out, blustering, chuckling raucously. “Oh, but this is the sheerest utter nonsense.”
“Will I go on?” Alick asked him.
“There is a limit—even to my patience,” said Geoffrey, stamping about.
“But why not let him go on?” Helen asked Geoffrey.
“Go on,” said Harry to Alick.
But Alick kept his eyes on Geoffrey, who clearly had had enough of them. “I’m used to dealing with evidence—not fairy stories,” he was saying, heaving his shoulders, and blowing his wind through closed lips, “pfff!” as if the chill of having been on the hill was at last getting at him and it was high time he was doing something sensible, like getting into a hot bath, instead of listening to this trickster and his manifest nonsense.
Alick looked at Harry. “I am sorry I could not turn up.”
Harry answered as quietly: “All right, Alick. You may go. To-morrow morning sharp.”
Geoffrey could not resist a parting shot: “You did not manage to follow the bullet in its flight, by any chance?”
Alick turned at the door. “The bullet was low. You should have raised the sight—as you thought of doing in your mind—another hundred yards.” Then he went out, quietly closing the door behind him.
Geoffrey, staring at the door, became aware that Harry and Helen were looking at him.
“God, he has all the tricks of the business,” said Geoffrey, laughing blusteringly rather than with his usual hilarity. “He has practised his stuff. Yes! I don’t quite get the trick of it. Hm! But leave it to me. I’ll get at it. Yes, I’ll get him! I’ll go into this. I’ll expose him. You wait. Pfff!” He poured himself a whisky and, just about to drink it, paused as if a sudden thought had occurred to him. “Perhaps—uhm.” His eyes seemed to light up. He drank. “Well, I’m getting out of these cold togs.” He was smiling. “You wait, That’s only the first move.” But feeling he was not acting very convincingly he could hardly go, and when at last he went it was awkwardly, helped by the entrance of Mairi to light the lamps.
“Phew!” whistled Harry softly to Helen.
“I wonder?” breathed Helen.
“Heaven knows!” said Harry, shaking his head.
They were both charged with wonder, thrilled by the end to the strange encounter. And though Mairi’s back was to them, as she unscrewed and lifted the chimney and mantle of the bracket lamp, preparatory to lighting it, they felt constrained in her presence. They expanded their chests, too, as if they were being choked.
“I feel I could do with some fresh air,” said Helen.
“Yes.” Harry nodded. “What about a stroll out to meet the car coming back? We could crowd in.”
“Oh splendid! Wait till I get on some shoes.”
As they went out, their faces were eager and excited.
Mairi looked after them, the white glass shade in her hand, and listened, her tongue-tip against her top lip. Then she put the bulbous shade down over the chimney and turned up the light just far enough to do away with the flickering sound. With the standard lamp, she went through the same performance, but raising the light until the mantle was fully incandescent; then she went to the window and, before drawing the curtains, stood a few seconds staring out into the rapidly gathering dark. Anyone interested in the house could not fail to see her. When there was a noise at the outside door of the gun-room, she rapidly drew the curtains and became the efficient maid. The light must not burn too high. She put one or two things straight in the room, hesitated, listened, looked at the gun-room door and went towards it. As she opened it, Alick said, “Hallo!”
“It’s you, is it?” she remarked coolly.
“More or less,” he said, coming towards her.
She backed a pace into the room before holding her ground.
“What do you want?”
“What about a drink—to begin with?”
“I should have thought you had enough of that last night. You can’t come in here.”
“Why not? I can’t see you in the kitchen alone. Where am I to see you?”
Before his advance, she backed a few paces, saying intensely, “You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”
“You think so?” he asked lightly, looking around. He saw the decanter. “Now if you had only given me a drink last night.”
She appeared desperate but kept control. “You can’t stay here. They may come in.” She listened, the blood burning in her cheeks.
He smiled sardonically. “I’ve given one of them enough to keep him out for a few minutes. He thought himself very clever—so I went one better.”
“If I give you a drink, will you go home?”
“All right.”
“You promise?”
“I’d promise you anything,” he said, smiling to her with a measuring humour.
“You’ll get the sack—that’s what you’ll get.”
“If you come with me, I shouldn’t mind.”
She ignored him, listened a moment, then went quickly to the decanter and was about to pour some whisky into Geoffrey’s glass, when Alick suggested, “What about a clean glass?”
It was no time for argument. She tried to replace the decanter quietly, and as her hand lifted a clean glass, it shook. She was breathing in little gulps. The decanter’s neck was clinking against the glass, as the door opened hurriedly and Harry came in.
But Mairi miraculously saved the decanter from falling, and Harry, taking in the unexpecte
d situation in one swift glance, went towards her, saying in a pleasant voice, “Good! I’m glad you held that one!” He took the decanter from her and the glass. “I’m sorry I did not think of this before, Alick.” He poured out a stiff drink and went over with it to Alick, in his normal friendly way.
Alick took the glass automatically, looking not so much confused as darkly angry. He stared at the glass but made no effort to drink.
“All right, Mairi.” Harry nodded to her, indicating that everything was all right and that she could go.
She hesitated, then went out at the hall door and drew it shut behind her.
“I suppose you feel like a good one—after last night,” said Harry in the tone of one man to another. “I know the feeling. Drink up.”
Alick’s eyes narrowed on the glass. Harry saw he was in a dangerous mood. Without word or look, Alick got up, set his glass on the cabinet, and turned to walk out.
“No need to take it like that,” said Harry.
Alick turned. “No?”
But Harry went and companionably poured himself a small whisky. “Like some soda in yours?…No?” Then he faced Alick and said frankly, “Well, here’s slàinte!”
It was the friendly courtesy of the flask and the hill. His dangerous humour recognising its naturalness, Alick dropped his eyes, flushed a trifle, and, with a touch of awkwardness, took up his glass. Harry drank. “Slàinte! ” muttered Alick, and drank his off neat.
