(and our other authors) or get HELP Reading, Downloading and Converting files)
or
SEARCHthe entire site withGoogle Site Search
| BROWSEthe site for other works by this author (and our other authors) or get HELP Reading, Downloading and Converting files) or SEARCHthe entire site withGoogle Site Search |
I spent one-third of my journey looking out of the window of afirst-class carriage, the next in a local motor-car following thecourse of a trout stream in a shallow valley, and the lasttramping over a ridge of downland through great beech-woods to myquarters for the night. In the first part I was in an infamoustemper; in the second I was worried and mystified; but the cooltwilight of the third stage calmed and heartened me, and Ireached the gates of Fosse Manor with a mighty appetite and aquiet mind.
As we slipped up the Thames valley on the smooth Great Westernline I had reflected ruefully on the thorns in the path of duty.For more than a year I had never been out of khaki, except themonths I spent in hospital. They gave me my battalion before theSomme, and I came out of that weary battle after the first bigSeptember fighting with a crack in my head and a D.S.O. I hadreceived a C.B. for the Erzerum business, so what with these andmy Matabele and South African medals and the Legion of Honour, Ihad a chest like the High Priest's breastplate. I rejoined inJanuary, and got a brigade on the eve of Arras. There we had astar turn, and took about as many prisoners as we put infantryover the top. After that we were hauled out for a month, andsubsequently planted in a bad bit on the Scarpe with a hint thatwe would soon be used for a big push. Then suddenly I was orderedhome to report to the War Office, and passed on by them toBullivant and his merry men. So here I was sitting in a railwaycarriage in a grey tweed suit, with a neat new suitcase on therack labelled C.B. The initials stood for Cornelius Brand, forthat was my name now. And an old boy in the corner was asking mequestions and wondering audibly why I wasn't fighting, while ayoung blood of a second lieutenant with a wound stripe was eyeingme with scorn.
The old chap was one of the cross-examining type, and after hehad borrowed my matches he set to work to find out all about me.He was a tremendous fire-eater, and a bit of a pessimist aboutour slow progress in the west. I told him I came from SouthAfrica and was a mining engineer.
'Been fighting with Botha?' he asked.
'No,' I said. 'I'm not the fighting kind.' The secondlieutenant screwed up his nose.
'Is there no conscription in South Africa?'
'Thank God there isn't,' I said, and the old fellow beggedpermission to tell me a lot of unpalatable things. I knew hiskind and didn't give much for it. He was the sort who, if he hadbeen under fifty, would have crawled on his belly to his tribunalto get exempted, but being over age was able to pose as apatriot. But I didn't like the second lieutenant's grin, for heseemed a good class of lad. I looked steadily out of the windowfor the rest of the way, and wasn't sorry when I got to mystation.
I had had the queerest interview with Bullivant andMacgillivray. They asked me first if I was willing to serve againin the old game, and I said I was. I felt as bitter as sin, for Ihad got fixed in the military groove, and had made good there.Here was I—a brigadier and still under forty, and withanother year of the war there was no saying where I might end. Ihad started out without any ambition, only a great wish to seethe business finished. But now I had acquired a professionalinterest in the thing, I had a nailing good brigade, and I hadgot the hang of our new kind of war as well as any fellow fromSandhurst and Camberley. They were asking me to scrap all I hadlearned and start again in a new job. I had to agree, fordiscipline's discipline, but I could have knocked their headstogether in my vexation.
What was worse they wouldn't, or couldn't, tell me anythingabout what they wanted me for. It was the old game of running mein blinkers. They asked me to take it on trust and put myselfunreservedly in their hands. I would get my instructions later,they said.
I asked if it was important.
Bullivant narrowed his eyes. 'If it weren't, do you suppose wecould have wrung an active brigadier out of the War Office? As itwas, it was like drawing teeth.'
'Is it risky?' was my next question.
'in the long run—damnably,' was the answer.
'And you can't tell me anything more?'
'Nothing as yet. You'll get your instructions soon enough. Youknow both of us, Hannay, and you know we wouldn't waste the timeof a good man on folly. We are going to ask you for somethingwhich will make a big call on your patriotism. It will be adifficult and arduous task, and it may be a very grim one beforeyou get to the end of it, but we believe you can do it, and thatno one else can... You know us pretty well. Will you let us judgefor you?'
I looked at Bullivant's shrewd, kind old face andMacgillivray's steady eyes. These men were my friends andwouldn't play with Me.
'All right,' I said. 'I'm willing. What's the first step?'
'Get out of uniform and forget you ever were a soldier. Changeyour name. Your old one, Cornelius Brandt, will do, but you'dbetter spell it "Brand" this time. Remember that you are anengineer just back from South Africa, and that you don't care arush about the war. You can't understand what all the fools arefighting about, and you think we might have peace at once by alittle friendly business talk. You needn't be pro-German—ifyou like you can be rather severe on the Hun. But you must be indeadly earnest about a speedy peace.'
I expect the corners of my mouth fell, for Bullivant burst outlaughing.
'Hang it all, man, it's not so difficult. I feel sometimesinclined to argue that way myself, when my dinner doesn't agreewith me. It's not so hard as to wander round the Fatherlandabusing Britain, which was your last job.'
'I'm ready,' I said. 'But I want to do one errand on my ownfirst. I must see a fellow in my brigade who is in a shell-shockhospital in the Cotswolds. Isham's the name of the place.'
The two men exchanged glances. 'This looks like fate,' saidBullivant. 'By all means go to Isham. The place where your workbegins is only a couple of miles off. I want you to spend nextThursday night as the guest of two maiden ladies called Wymondhamat Fosse Manor. You will go down there as a lone South Africanvisiting a sick friend. They are hospitable souls and entertainmany angels unawares.'
'And I get my orders there?'
'You get your orders, and you are under bond to obey them.'And Bullivant and Macgillivray smiled at each other.
I was thinking hard about that odd conversation as the smallFord car, which I had wired for to the inn, carried me away fromthe suburbs of the county town into a land of rolling hills andgreen water-meadows. It was a gorgeous afternoon and the blossomof early June was on every tree. But I had no eyes for landscapeand the summer, being engaged in reprobating Bullivant andcursing my fantastic fate. I detested my new part and lookedforward to naked shame. It was bad enough for anyone to have topose as a pacifist, but for me, strong as a bull and as sunburntas a gipsy and not looking my forty years, it was a blackdisgrace. To go into Germany as an anti-British Afrikander was astoutish adventure, but to lounge about at home talking rot was avery different-sized job. My stomach rose at the thought of it,and I had pretty well decided to wire to Bullivant and cry off.There are some things that no one has a right to ask of any whiteman.
When I got to Isham and found poor old Blaikie I didn't feelhappier. He had been a friend of mine in Rhodesia, and after theGerman South-West affair was over had come home to a Fusilierbattalion, which was in my brigade at Arras. He had been buriedby a big crump just before we got our second objective, and wasdug out without a scratch on him, but as daft as a hatter. I hadheard he was mending, and had promised his family to look him upthe first chance I got. I found him sitting on a garden seat,staring steadily before him like a lookout at sea. He knew me allright and cheered up for a second, but very soon he was back athis staring, and every word he uttered was like the carefulspeech of a drunken man. A bird flew out of a bush, and I couldsee him holding himself tight to keep from screaming. The best Icould do was to put a hand on his shoulder and stroke him as onestrokes a frightened horse. The sight of the price my old friendhad paid didn't put me in love with pacifism.
We talked of brother officers and South Africa, for I wantedto keep his thoughts off the war, but he kept edging round toit.
'How long will the damned thing last?' he asked.
'Oh, it's practically over,' I lied cheerfully. 'No morefighting for you and precious little for me. The Boche is done inall right... What you've got to do, my lad, is to sleep fourteenhours in the twenty-four and spend half the rest catching trout.We'll have a shot at the grouse-bird together this autumn andwe'll get some of the old gang to join us.'
Someone put a tea-tray on the table beside us, and I looked upto see the very prettiest girl I ever set eyes on. She seemedlittle more than a child, and before the war would probably havestill ranked as a flapper. She wore the neat blue dress and apronof a V.A.D. and her white cap was set on hair like spun gold. Shesmiled demurely as she arranged the tea-things, and I thought Ihad never seen eyes at once so merry and so grave. I stared afterher as she walked across the lawn, and I remember noticing thatshe moved with the free grace of an athletic boy.
'Who on earth's that?' I asked Blaikie.
'That? Oh, one of the sisters,' he said listlessly. 'There aresquads of them. I can't tell one from another.'
Nothing gave me such an impression of my friend's sickness asthe fact that he should have no interest in something so freshand jolly as that girl. Presently my time was up and I had to go,and as I looked back I saw him sunk in his chair again, his eyesfixed on vacancy, and his hands gripping his knees.
The thought of him depressed me horribly. Here was I condemnedto some rotten buffoonery in inglorious safety, while the salt ofthe earth like Blaikie was paying the ghastliest price. From himmy thoughts flew to old Peter Pienaar, and I sat down on aroadside wall and read his last letter. It nearly made me howl.Peter, you must know, had shaved his beard and joined the RoyalFlying Corps the summer before when we got back from theGreenmantle affair. That was the only kind of reward he wanted,and, though he was absurdly over age, the authorities allowed it.They were wise not to stickle about rules, for Peter's eyesightand nerve were as good as those of any boy of twenty. I knew hewould do well, but I was not prepared for his immediately blazingsuccess. He got his pilot's certificate in record time and wentout to France; and presently even we foot-sloggers, busy shiftingground before the Somme, began to hear rumours of his doings. Hedeveloped a perfect genius for air-fighting. There were plentybetter trick-flyers, and plenty who knew more about the scienceof the game, but there was no one with quite Peter's genius foran actual scrap. He was as full of dodges a couple of miles up inthe sky as he had been among the rocks of the Berg. He apparentlyknew how to hide in the empty air as cleverly as in the longgrass of the Lebombo Flats. Amazing yarns began to circulateamong the infantry about this new airman, who could take coverbelow one plane of an enemy squadron while all the rest werelooking for him. I remember talking about him with the SouthAfricans when we were out resting next door to them after thebloody Delville Wood business. The day before we had seen a goodbattle in the clouds when the Boche plane had crashed, and aTransvaal machine-gun officer brought the report that the Britishairman had been Pienaar. 'Well done, the oldtakhaar!' hecried, and started to yarn about Peter's methods. It appearedthat Peter had a theory that every man has a blind spot, and thathe knew just how to find that blind spot in the world of air. Thebest cover, he maintained, was not in cloud or a wisp of fog, butin the unseeing patch in the eye of your enemy. I recognized thattalk for the real thing. It was on a par with Peter's doctrine of'atmosphere' and 'the double bluff' and all the other principlesthat his queer old mind had cogitated out of his racketylife.
By the end of August that year Peter's was about thebest-known figure in the Flying Corps. If the reports hadmentioned names he would have been a national hero, but he wasonly 'Lieutenant Blank', and the newspapers, which expatiated onhis deeds, had to praise the Service and not the man. That wasright enough, for half the magic of our Flying Corps was itsfreedom from advertisement. But the British Army knew all abouthim, and the men in the trenches used to discuss him as if hewere a crack football-player. There was a very big German airmancalled Lensch, one of the Albatross heroes, who about the end ofAugust claimed to have destroyed thirty-two Allied machines.Peter had then only seventeen planes to his credit, but he wasrapidly increasing his score. Lensch was a mighty man of valourand a good sportsman after his fashion. He was amazingly quick atmanoeuvering his machine in the actual fight, but Peter wassupposed to be better at forcing the kind of fight he wanted.Lensch, if you like, was the tactician and Peter the strategist.Anyhow the two were out to get each other. There were plenty offellows who saw the campaign as a struggle not between Hun andBriton, but between Lensch and Pienaar.
The 15th September came, and I got knocked out and went tohospital. When I was fit to read the papers again and receiveletters, I found to my consternation that Peter had been downed.It happened at the end of October when the southwest gales badlyhandicapped our air work. When our bombing or reconnaissance jobsbehind the enemy lines were completed, instead of being able toglide back into safety, we had to fight our way home slowlyagainst a head-wind exposed to Archies and Hun planes. Somewhereeast of Bapaume on a return journey Peter fell in withLensch—at least the German Press gave Lensch the credit.His petrol tank was shot to bits and he was forced to descend ina wood near Morchies. 'The celebrated British airman, Pinner,' inthe words of the German communique, was made prisoner.
I had no letter from him till the beginning of the New Year,when I was preparing to return to France. It was a very contentedletter. He seemed to have been fairly well treated, though he hadalways a low standard of what he expected from the world in theway of comfort. I inferred that his captors had not identified inthe brilliant airman the Dutch miscreant who a year before hadbroken out of a German jail. He had discovered the pleasures ofreading and had perfected himself in an art which he had oncepractised indifferently. Somehow or other he had got aPilgrim's Progress, from which he seemed to extractenormous pleasure. And then at the end, quite casually, hementioned that he had been badly wounded and that his left legwould never be much use again.
After that I got frequent letters, and I wrote to him everyweek and sent him every kind of parcel I could think of. Hisletters used to make me both ashamed and happy. I had alwaysbanked on old Peter, and here he was behaving like an earlyChristian martyr—never a word of complaint, and just ascheery as if it were a winter morning on the high veld and wewere off to ride down springbok. I knew what the loss of a legmust mean to him, for bodily fitness had always been his pride.The rest of life must have unrolled itself before him very draband dusty to the grave. But he wrote as if he were on the top ofhis form and kept commiserating me on the discomforts of my job.The picture of that patient, gentle old fellow, hobbling abouthis compound and puzzling over hisPilgrim's Progress, acripple for life after five months of blazing glory, would havestiffened the back of a jellyfish.
This last letter was horribly touching, for summer had comeand the smell of the woods behind his prison reminded Peter of aplace in the Woodbush, and one could read in every sentence theache of exile. I sat on that stone wall and considered howtrifling were the crumpled leaves in my bed of life compared withthe thorns Peter and Blaikie had to lie on. I thought of Sandyfar off in Mesopotamia, and old Blenkiron groaning with dyspepsiasomewhere in America, and I considered that they were the kind offellows who did their jobs without complaining. The result wasthat when I got up to go on I had recovered a manlier temper. Iwasn't going to shame my friends or pick and choose my duty. Iwould trust myself to Providence, for, as Blenkiron used to say,Providence was all right if you gave him a chance. It was notonly Peter's letter that steadied and calmed me. Isham stood highup in a fold of the hills away from the main valley, and the roadI was taking brought me over the ridge and back to thestream-side. I climbed through great beechwoods, which seemed inthe twilight like some green place far below the sea, and thenover a short stretch of hill pasture to the rim of the vale. Allabout me were little fields enclosed with walls of grey stone andfull of dim sheep. Below were dusky woods around what I took tobe Fosse Manor, for the great Roman Fosse Way, straight as anarrow, passed over the hills to the south and skirted itsgrounds. I could see the stream slipping among its water-meadowsand could hear the plash of the weir. A tiny village settled in acrook of the hill, and its church-tower sounded seven with acuriously sweet chime. Otherwise there was no noise but thetwitter of small birds and the night wind in the tops of thebeeches.
In that moment I had a kind of revelation. I had a vision ofwhat I had been fighting for, what we all were fighting for. Itwas peace, deep and holy and ancient, peace older than the oldestwars, peace which would endure when all our swords were hammeredinto ploughshares. It was more; for in that hour England firsttook hold of me. Before my country had been South Africa, andwhen I thought of home it had been the wide sun-steeped spaces ofthe veld or some scented glen of the Berg. But now I realizedthat I had a new home. I understood what a precious thing thislittle England was, how old and kindly and comforting, how whollyworth striving for. The freedom of an acre of her soil wascheaply bought by the blood of the best of us. I knew what itmeant to be a poet, though for the life of me I could not havemade a line of verse. For in that hour I had a prospect as iffrom a hilltop which made all the present troubles of the roadseem of no account. I saw not only victory after war, but a newand happier world after victory, when I should inherit somethingof this English peace and wrap myself in it till the end of mydays.
Very humbly and quietly, like a man walking through acathedral, I went down the hill to the Manor lodge, and came to adoor in an old red-brick facade, smothered in magnolias whichsmelt like hot lemons in the June dusk. The car from the inn hadbrought on my baggage, and presently I was dressing in a roomwhich looked out on a water-garden. For the first time for morethan a year I put on a starched shirt and a dinner-jacket, and asI dressed I could have sung from pure lightheartedness. I was infor some arduous job, and sometime that evening in that place Ishould get my marching orders. Someone would arrive—perhapsBullivant—and read me the riddle. But whatever it was, Iwas ready for it, for my whole being had found a new purpose.Living in the trenches, you are apt to get your horizon narroweddown to the front line of enemy barbed wire on one side and thenearest rest billets on the other. But now I seemed to see beyondthe fog to a happy country.
High-pitched voices greeted my ears as I came down the broadstaircase, voices which scarcely accorded with the panelled wallsand the austere family portraits; and when I found my hostessesin the hall I thought their looks still less in keeping with thehouse. Both ladies were on the wrong side of forty, but theirdress was that of young girls. Miss Doria Wymondham was tall andthin with a mass of nondescript pale hair confined by a blackvelvet fillet. Miss Claire Wymondham was shorter and plumper andhad done her best by ill-applied cosmetics to make herself looklike a foreign demi-mondaine. They greeted me with the friendlycasualness which I had long ago discovered was the right Englishmanner towards your guests; as if they had just strolled in andbilleted themselves, and you were quite glad to see them butmustn't be asked to trouble yourself further. The next secondthey were cooing like pigeons round a picture which a young manwas holding up in the lamplight.
He was a tallish, lean fellow of round about thirty years,wearing grey flannels and shoes dusty from the country roads. Histhin face was sallow as if from living indoors, and he had rathermore hair on his head than most of us. In the glow of the lamphis features were very clear, and I examined them with interest,for, remember, I was expecting a stranger to give me orders. Hehad a long, rather strong chin and an obstinate mouth withpeevish lines about its corners. But the remarkable feature washis eyes. I can best describe them by saying that they lookedhot—not fierce or angry, but so restless that they seemedto ache physically and to want sponging with cold water.
They finished their talk about the picture—which wascouched in a jargon of which I did not understand oneword—and Miss Doria turned to me and the young man.
'My cousin Launcelot Wake—Mr Brand.'
We nodded stiffly and Mr Wake's hand went up to smooth hishair in a self-conscious gesture.
'Has Barnard announced dinner? By the way, where is Mary?'
'She came in five minutes ago and I sent her to change,' saidMiss Claire. 'I won't have her spoiling the evening with thathorrid uniform. She may masquerade as she likes out-of-doors, butthis house is for civilized people.'
The butler appeared and mumbled something. 'Come along,' criedMiss Doria, 'for I'm sure you are starving, Mr Brand. AndLauncelot has bicycled ten miles.'
The dining-room was very unlike the hall. The panelling hadbeen stripped off, and the walls and ceiling were covered with adead-black satiny paper on which hung the most monstrous picturesin large dull-gold frames. I could only see them dimly, but theyseemed to be a mere riot of ugly colour. The young man noddedtowards them. 'I see you have got the Degousses hung at last,' hesaid.
'How exquisite they are!' cried Miss Claire. 'How subtle andcandid and brave! Doria and I warm our souls at their flame.'
Some aromatic wood had been burned in the room, and there wasa queer sickly scent about. Everything in that place was strainedand uneasy and abnormal—the candle shades on the table, themass of faked china fruit in the centre dish, the gaudy hangingsand the nightmarish walls. But the food was magnificent. It wasthe best dinner I had eaten since 1914. 'Tell me, Mr Brand,' saidMiss Doria, her long white face propped on a much-beringed hand.'You are one of us? You are in revolt against this crazywar?'
'Why, yes,' I said, remembering my part. 'I think a littlecommon-sense would settle it right away.'
'With a little common-sense it would never have started,' saidMr Wake.
'Launcelot's a C.O., you know,' said Miss Doria.
I did not know, for he did not look any kind of soldier... Iwas just about to ask him what he commanded, when I rememberedthat the letters stood also for 'Conscientious Objector,' andstopped in time.
At that moment someone slipped into the vacant seat on myright hand. I turned and saw the V.A.D. girl who had brought teato Blaikie that afternoon at the hospital.
'He was exempted by his Department,' the lady went on, 'forhe's a Civil Servant, and so he never had a chance of testifyingin court, but no one has done better work for our cause. He is onthe committee of the L.D.A., and questions have been asked abouthim in Parliament.'
The man was not quite comfortable at this biography. Heglanced nervously at me and was going to begin some kind ofexplanation, when Miss Doria cut him short. 'Remember our rule,Launcelot. No turgid war controversy within these walls.'
I agreed with her. The war had seemed closely knit to theSummer landscape for all its peace, and to the noble old chambersof the Manor. But in that demented modish dining-room it wasshriekingly incongruous.
Then they spoke of other things. Mostly of pictures or commonfriends, and a little of books. They paid no heed to me, whichwas fortunate, for I know nothing about these matters and didn'tunderstand half the language. But once Miss Doria tried to bringme in. They were talking about some Russian novel—a namelike Leprous Souls—and she asked me if I had read it. By acurious chance I had. It had drifted somehow into our dug-out onthe Scarpe, and after we had all stuck in the second chapter ithad disappeared in the mud to which it naturally belonged. Thelady praised its 'poignancy' and 'grave beauty'. I assented andcongratulated myself on my second escape—for if thequestion had been put to me I should have described it asGod-forgotten twaddle.
I turned to the girl, who welcomed me with a smile. I hadthought her pretty in her V.A.D. dress, but now, in a filmy blackgown and with her hair no longer hidden by a cap, she was themost ravishing thing you ever saw. And I observed something else.There was more than good looks in her young face. Her broad, lowbrow and her laughing eyes were amazingly intelligent. She had anuncanny power of making her eyes go suddenly grave and deep, likea glittering river narrowing into a pool.
'We shall never be introduced,' she said, 'so let me revealmyself. I'm Mary Lamington and these are my aunts... Did youreally like Leprous Souls?'
it was easy enough to talk to her. And oddly enough her merepresence took away the oppression I had felt in that room. Forshe belonged to the out-of-doors and to the old house and to theworld at large. She belonged to the war, and to that happierworld beyond it—a world which must be won by going throughthe struggle and not by shirking it, like those two sillyladies.
I could see Wake's eyes often on the girl, while he boomed andoraculated and the Misses Wymondham prattled. Presently theconversation seemed to leave the flowery paths of art and toverge perilously near forbidden topics. He began to abuse ourgenerals in the field. I could not choose but listen. MissLamington's brows were slightly bent, as if in disapproval, andmy own temper began to rise.
He had every kind of idiotic criticism—incompetence,faint-heartedness, corruption. Where he got the stuff I can'timagine, for the most grousing Tommy, with his leave stopped,never put together such balderdash. Worst of all he asked me toagree with him.
It took all my sense of discipline. 'I don't know much aboutthe subject,' I said, 'but out in South Africa I did hear thatthe British leading was the weak point. I expect there's a gooddeal in what you say.'
It may have been fancy, but the girl at my side seemed towhisper 'Well done!'
Wake and I did not remain long behind before joining theladies; I purposely cut it short, for I was in mortal fear lest Ishould lose my temper and spoil everything. I stood up with myback against the mantelpiece for as long as a man may smoke acigarette, and I let him yarn to me, while I looked steadily athis face. By this time I was very clear that Wake was not thefellow to give me my instructions. He wasn't playing a game. Hewas a perfectly honest crank, but not a fanatic, for he wasn'tsure of himself. He had somehow lost his self-respect and wastrying to argue himself back into it. He had considerable brains,for the reasons he gave for differing from most of his countrymenwere good so far as they went. I shouldn't have cared to take himon in public argument. If you had told me about such a fellow aweek before I should have been sick at the thought of him. Butnow I didn't dislike him. I was bored by him and I was alsotremendously sorry for him. You could see he was as restless as ahen.
When we went back to the hall he announced that he must get onthe road, and commandeered Miss Lamington to help him find hisbicycle. It appeared he was staying at an inn a dozen miles offfor a couple of days' fishing, and the news somehow made me likehim better. Presently the ladies of the house departed to bed fortheir beauty sleep and I was left to my own devices.
For some time I sat smoking in the hall wondering when themessenger would arrive. It was getting late and there seemed tobe no preparation in the house to receive anybody. The butlercame in with a tray of drinks and I asked him if he expectedanother guest that night.
'I 'adn't 'eard of it, sir,' was his answer. 'There 'asn'tbeen a telegram that I know of, and I 'ave received noinstructions.'
I lit my pipe and sat for twenty minutes reading a weeklypaper. Then I got up and looked at the family portraits. The mooncoming through the lattice invited me out-of-doors as a cure formy anxiety. It was after eleven o'clock, and I was still withoutany knowledge of my next step. It is a maddening business to bescrewed up for an unpleasant job and to have the wheels of theconfounded thing tarry.
Outside the house beyond a flagged terrace the lawn fell away,white in the moonshine, to the edge of the stream, which here hadexpanded into a miniature lake. By the water's edge was a littleformal garden with grey stone parapets which now gleamed likedusky marble. Great wafts of scent rose from it, for the lilacswere scarcely over and the may was in full blossom. Out from theshade of it came suddenly a voice like a nightingale.
It was singing the old song 'Cherry Ripe', a common enoughthing which I had chiefly known from barrel-organs. But heard inthe scented moonlight it seemed to hold all the lingering magicof an elder England and of this hallowed countryside. I steppedinside the garden bounds and saw the head of the girl Mary.
She was conscious of my presence, for she turned towardsme.
'I was coming to look for you,' she said, 'now that the houseis quiet. I have something to say to you, General Hannay.'
She knew my name and must be somehow in the business. Thethought entranced me. 'Thank God I can speak to you freely,' Icried. 'Who and what are you—living in that house in thatkind of company?'
'My good aunts!' She laughed softly. 'They talk a great dealabout their souls, but they really mean their nerves. Why, theyare what you call my camouflage, and a very good one too.'
'And that cadaverous young prig?'
'Poor Launcelot! Yes—camouflage too—perhapssomething a little more. You must not judge him too harshly.'
'But... but—' I did not know how to put it, andstammered in my eagerness. 'How can I tell that you are the rightperson for me to speak to? You see I am under orders, and I havegot none about you.'
'I will give You Proof,' she said. 'Three days ago Sir WalterBullivant and Mr Macgillivray told you to come here tonight andto wait here for further instructions. You met them in the littlesmoking-room at the back of the Rota Club. You were bidden takethe name of Cornelius Brand, and turn yourself from a successfulgeneral into a pacifist South African engineer. Is thatcorrect?'
'Perfectly.'
'You have been restless all evening looking for the messengerto give you these instructions. Set your mind at ease. Nomessenger is coming. You will get your orders from me.'
'I could not take them from a more welcome source,' Isaid.
'Very prettily put. If you want further credentials I can tellyou much about your own doings in the past three years. I canexplain to you who don't need the explanation, every step in thebusiness of the Black Stone. I think I could draw a prettyaccurate map of your journey to Erzerum. You have a letter fromPeter Pienaar in your pocket—I can tell you its contents.Are you willing to trust me?'
'With all my heart,' I said.
'Good. Then my first order will try you pretty hard. For Ihave no orders to give you except to bid you go and steepyourself in a particular kind of life. Your first duty is to get"atmosphere", as your friend Peter used to say. Oh, I will tellyou where to go and how to behave. But I can't bid you doanything, only live idly with open eyes and ears till you havegot the "feel" of the situation.'
She stopped and laid a hand on my arm.
'It won't be easy. It would madden me, and it will be a farheavier burden for a man like you. You have got to sink down deepinto the life of the half-baked, the people whom this war hasn'ttouched or has touched in the wrong way, the people who splithairs all day and are engrossed in what you and I would callselfish little fads. Yes. People like my aunts and Launcelot,only for the most part in a different social grade. You won'tlive in an old manor like this, but among gimcrack little "arty"houses. You will hear everything you regard as sacred laughed atand condemned, and every kind of nauseous folly acclaimed, andyou must hold your tongue and pretend to agree. You will havenothing in the world to do except to let the life soak into you,and, as I have said, keep your eyes and ears open.'
'But you must give me some clue as to what I should be lookingfor?'
'My orders are to give you none. Our chiefs—yours andmine— want you to go where you are going without any kindofparti pris. Remember we are still in the intelligencestage of the affair. The time hasn't yet come for a plan ofcampaign, and still less for action.'
'Tell me one thing,' I said. 'Is it a really big thing we'reafter?'
'A—really—big—thing,' she said slowly andvery gravely. 'You and I and some hundred others are hunting themost dangerous man in all the world. Till we succeed everythingthat Britain does is crippled. If we fail or succeed too late theAllies may never win the victory which is their right. I willtell you one thing to cheer you. It is in some sort a raceagainst time, so your purgatory won't endure too long.'
I was bound to obey, and she knew it, for she took mywillingness for granted.
From a little gold satchel she selected a tiny box, andopening it extracted a thing like a purple wafer with a white StAndrew's Cross on it.
'What kind of watch have you? Ah, a hunter. Paste that insidethe lid. Some day you may be called on to show it... One otherthing. Buy tomorrow a copy of thePilgrim's Progress andget it by heart. You will receive letters and messages some dayand the style of our friends is apt to be reminiscent of JohnBunyan... The car will be at the door tomorrow to catch theten-thirty, and I will give you the address of the rooms thathave been taken for you... Beyond that I have nothing to say,except to beg you to play the part well and keep your temper. Youbehaved very nicely at dinner.'
I asked one last question as we said good night in the hall.'Shall I see you again?'
'Soon, and often,' was the answer. 'Remember we arecolleagues.'
I went upstairs feeling extraordinarily comforted. I had aperfectly beastly time ahead of me, but now it was all glorifiedand coloured with the thought of the girl who had sung 'CherryRipe' in the garden. I commended the wisdom of that old serpentBullivant in the choice of his intermediary, for I'm hanged if Iwould have taken such orders from anyone else.
Up on the high veld our rivers are apt to be strings of poolslinked by muddy trickles—the most stagnant kind ofwatercourse you would look for in a day's journey. But presentlythey reach the edge of the plateau and are tossed down into theflats in noble ravines, and roll thereafter in full and soundingcurrents to the sea. So with the story I am telling. It began insmooth reaches, as idle as a mill-pond; yet the day soon camewhen I was in the grip of a torrent, flung breathless from rockto rock by a destiny which I could not control. But for thepresent I was in a backwater, no less than the Garden City ofBiggleswick, where Mr Cornelius Brand, a South African gentlemanvisiting England on holiday, lodged in a pair of rooms in thecottage of Mr Tancred Jimson.
The house—or 'home' as they preferred to name it atBiggleswick—was one of some two hundred others which ringeda pleasant Midland common. It was badly built and oddlyfurnished; the bed was too short, the windows did not fit, thedoors did not stay shut; but it was as clean as soap and waterand scrubbing could make it. The three-quarters of an acre ofgarden were mainly devoted to the culture of potatoes, thoughunder the parlour window Mrs Jimson had a plot of sweet-smellingherbs, and lines of lank sunflowers fringed the path that led tothe front door. It was Mrs Jimson who received me as I descendedfrom the station fly—a large red woman with hair bleachedby constant exposure to weather, clad in a gown which, both inshape and material, seemed to have been modelled on a chintzcurtain. She was a good kindly soul, and as proud as Punch of herhouse.
'We follow the simple life here, Mr Brand,' she said. 'Youmust take us as you find us.'
I assured her that I asked for nothing better, and as Iunpacked in my fresh little bedroom with a west wind blowing inat the window I considered that I had seen worse quarters.
I had bought in London a considerable number of books, for Ithought that, as I would have time on my hands, I might as welldo something about my education. They were mostly Englishclassics, whose names I knew but which I had never read, and theywere all in a little flat-backed series at a shilling apiece. Iarranged them on top of a chest of drawers, but I kept thePilgrim's Progress beside my bed, for that was one of myworking tools and I had got to get it by heart.
Mrs Jimson, who came in while I was unpacking to see if theroom was to my liking, approved my taste. At our midday dinnershe wanted to discuss books with me, and was so full of her ownknowledge that I was able to conceal my ignorance.
'We are all labouring to express our personalities,' sheinformed me. 'Have you found your medium, Mr Brand? is it to bethe pen or the pencil? Or perhaps it is music? You have the browof an artist, the frontal "bar of Michelangelo", youremember!'
I told her that I concluded I would try literature, but beforewriting anything I would read a bit more.
It was a Saturday, so Jimson came back from town in the earlyafternoon. He was a managing clerk in some shipping office, butyou wouldn't have guessed it from his appearance. His cityclothes were loose dark-grey flannels, a soft collar, an orangetie, and a soft black hat. His wife went down the road to meethim, and they returned hand-in-hand, swinging their arms like acouple of schoolchildren. He had a skimpy red beard streaked withgrey, and mild blue eyes behind strong glasses. He was the mostfriendly creature in the world, full of rapid questions, andeager to make me feel one of the family. Presently he got into atweed Norfolk jacket, and started to cultivate his garden. I tookoff my coat and lent him a hand, and when he stopped to rest fromhis labours—which was every five minutes, for he had nokind of physique—he would mop his brow and rub hisspectacles and declaim about the good smell of the earth and thejoy of getting close to Nature.
Once he looked at my big brown hands and muscular arms with akind of wistfulness. 'You are one of the doers, Mr Brand,' hesaid, 'and I could find it in my heart to envy you. You have seenNature in wild forms in far countries. Some day I hope you willtell us about your life. I must be content with my little corner,but happily there are no territorial limits for the mind. Thismodest dwelling is a watch-tower from which I look over all theworld.'
After that he took me for a walk. We met parties of returningtennis-players and here and there a golfer. There seemed to be anabundance of young men, mostly rather weedy-looking, but with oneor two well-grown ones who should have been fighting. The namesof some of them Jimson mentioned with awe. An unwholesome youthwas Aronson, the great novelist; a sturdy, bristling fellow witha fierce moustache was Letchford, the celebrated leader-writer ofthe Critic. Several were pointed out to me as artists who hadgone one better than anybody else, and a vast billowy creaturewas described as the leader of the new Orientalism in England. Inoticed that these people, according to Jimson, were all 'great',and that they all dabbled in something 'new'. There werequantities of young women, too, most of them rather badly dressedand inclining to untidy hair. And there were several decentcouples taking the air like house-holders of an evening all theworld Over. Most of these last were Jimson's friends, to whom heintroduced me. They were his own class—modest folk, whosought for a coloured background to their prosaic city lives andfound it in this odd settlement.
At supper I was initiated into the peculiar merits ofBiggleswick.
'It is one great laboratory of thought,' said Mrs Jimson. 'Itis glorious to feel that you are living among the eager, vitalpeople who are at the head of all the newest movements, and thatthe intellectual history of England is being made in our studiesand gardens. The war to us seems a remote and secondary affair.As someone has said, the great fights of the world are all foughtin the mind.'
A spasm of pain crossed her husband's face. 'I wish I couldfeel it far away. After all, Ursula, it is the sacrifice of theyoung that gives people like us leisure and peace to think. Ourduty is to do the best which is permitted to us, but that duty isa poor thing compared with what our young soldiers are giving! Imay be quite wrong about the war... I know I can't argue withLetchford. But I will not pretend to a superiority I do notfeel.'
I went to bed feeling that in Jimson I had struck a prettysound fellow. As I lit the candles on my dressing-table Iobserved that the stack of silver which I had taken out of mypockets when I washed before supper was top-heavy. It had two bigcoins at the top and sixpences and shillings beneath. Now it isone of my oddities that ever since I was a small boy I havearranged my loose coins symmetrically, with the smallestuppermost. That made me observant and led me to notice a secondpoint. The English classics on the top of the chest of drawerswere not in the order I had left them. Izaak Walton had got tothe left of Sir Thomas Browne, and the poet Burns was wedgeddisconsolately between two volumes of Hazlitt. Moreover areceipted bill which I had stuck in thePilgrim's Progressto mark my place had been moved. Someone had been going throughmy belongings.
A moment's reflection convinced me that it couldn't have beenMrs Jimson. She had no servant and did the housework herself, butmy things had been untouched when I left the room before supper,for she had come to tidy up before I had gone downstairs. Someonehad been here while we were at supper, and had examinedelaborately everything I possessed. Happily I had little luggage,and no papers save the new books and a bill or two in the name ofCornelius Brand. The inquisitor, whoever he was, had foundnothing... The incident gave me a good deal of comfort. It hadbeen hard to believe that any mystery could exist in this publicplace, where people lived brazenly in the open, and wore theirhearts on their sleeves and proclaimed their opinions from therooftops. Yet mystery there must be, or an inoffensive strangerwith a kit-bag would not have received these strange attentions.I made a practice after that of sleeping with my watch below mypillow, for inside the case was Mary Lamington's label. Now begana period of pleasant idle receptiveness. Once a week it was mycustom to go up to London for the day to receive letters andinstructions, if any should come. I had moved from my chambers inPark Lane, which I leased under my proper name, to a small flatin Westminster taken in the name of Cornelius Brand. The lettersaddressed to Park Lane were forwarded to Sir Walter, who sentthem round under cover to my new address. For the rest I used tospend my mornings reading in the garden, and I discovered for thefirst time what a pleasure was to be got from old books. Theyrecalled and amplified that vision I had seen from the Cotswoldridge, the revelation of the priceless heritage which is England.I imbibed a mighty quantity of history, but especially I likedthe writers, like Walton, who got at the very heart of theEnglish countryside. Soon, too, I found thePilgrim'sProgress not a duty but a delight. I discovered new jewelsdaily in the honest old story, and my letters to Peter began tobe as full of it as Peter's own epistles. I loved, also, thesongs of the Elizabethans, for they reminded me of the girl whohad sung to me in the June night.
In the afternoons I took my exercise in long tramps along thegood dusty English roads. The country fell away from Biggleswickinto a plain of wood and pasture-land, with low hills on thehorizon. The Place was sown with villages, each with its greenand pond and ancient church. Most, too, had inns, and there I hadmany a draught of cool nutty ale, for the inn at Biggleswick wasa reformed place which sold nothing but washy cider. Often,tramping home in the dusk, I was so much in love with the landthat I could have sung with the pure joy of it. And in theevening, after a bath, there would be supper, when a ratherfagged Jimson struggled between sleep and hunger, and the lady,with an artistic mutch on her untidy head, talked ruthlessly ofculture.
Bit by bit I edged my way into local society. The Jimsons werea great help, for they were popular and had a noddingacquaintance with most of the inhabitants. They regarded me as ameritorious aspirant towards a higher life, and I was paradedbefore their friends with the suggestion of a vivid, ifPhilistine, past. If I had any gift for writing, I would make abook about the inhabitants of Biggleswick. About half wererespectable citizens who came there for country air and lowrates, but even these had a touch of queerness and had picked upthe jargon of the place. The younger men were mostly Governmentclerks or writers or artists. There were a few widows with flocksof daughters, and on the outskirts were several biggerhouses—mostly houses which had been there before the gardencity was planted. One of them was brand-new, a staring villa withsham-antique timbering, stuck on the top of a hill among rawgardens. It belonged to a man called Moxon Ivery, who was a kindof academic pacifist and a great god in the place. Another, aquiet Georgian manor house, was owned by a London publisher, anardent Liberal whose particular branch of business compelled himto keep in touch with the new movements. I used to see himhurrying to the station swinging a little black bag and returningat night with the fish for dinner.
I soon got to know a surprising lot of people, and they werethe rummiest birds you can imagine. For example, there were theWeekeses, three girls who lived with their mother in a house soartistic that you broke your head whichever way you turned in it.The son of the family was a conscientious objector who hadrefused to do any sort of work whatever, and had got quodded forhis pains. They were immensely proud of him and used to relatehis sufferings in Dartmoor with a gusto which I thought ratherheartless. Art was their great subject, and I am afraid theyfound me pretty heavy going. It was their fashion never to admireanything that was obviously beautiful, like a sunset or a prettywoman, but to find surprising loveliness in things which Ithought hideous. Also they talked a language that was beyond me.This kind of conversation used to happen.
Miss WEEKES: 'Don't you admire Ursula Jimson?'
SELF: 'Rather!'
Miss W.: 'She is so Junoesque in her lines.'
SELF: 'Exactly!'
Miss W.: 'And Tancred, too—he is so full of nuances.'
SELF: 'Rather!'
Miss W.: 'He suggests one of Degousse's countrymen.'
SELF: 'Exactly!'
They hadn't much use for books, except some Russian ones, andI acquired merit in their eyes for having readLeprousSouls. If you talked to them about that divine countryside,you found they didn't give a rap for it and had never been a milebeyond the village. But they admired greatly the sombre effect ofa train going into Marylebone station on a rainy day.
But it was the men who interested me most. Aronson, thenovelist, proved on acquaintance the worst kind of blighter. Heconsidered himself a genius whom it was the duty of the countryto support, and he sponged on his wretched relatives and anyonewho would lend him money. He was always babbling about his sins,and pretty squalid they were. I should like to have flung himamong a few good old-fashioned full-blooded sinners of myacquaintance; they would have scared him considerably. He told methat he sought 'reality' and 'life' and 'truth', but it was hardto see how he could know much about them, for he spent half theday in bed smoking cheap cigarettes, and the rest sunning himselfin the admiration of half-witted girls. The creature wastuberculous in mind and body, and the only novel of his I read,pretty well turned my stomach. Mr Aronson's strong point wasjokes about the war. If he heard of any acquaintance who hadjoined up or was even doing war work his merriment knew nobounds. My fingers used to itch to box the little wretch'sears.
Letchford was a different pair of shoes. He was some kind of aman, to begin with, and had an excellent brain and the worstmanners conceivable. He contradicted everything you said, andlooked out for an argument as other people look for their dinner.He was a double-engined, high-speed pacifist, because he was thekind of cantankerous fellow who must always be in a minority. ifBritain had stood out of the war he would have been a ravingmilitarist, but since she was in it he had got to find reasonswhy she was wrong. And jolly good reasons they were, too. Icouldn't have met his arguments if I had wanted to, so I satdocilely at his feet. The world was all crooked for Letchford,and God had created him with two left hands. But the fellow hadmerits. He had a couple of jolly children whom he adored, and hewould walk miles with me on a Sunday, and spout poetry about thebeauty and greatness of England. He was forty-five; if he hadbeen thirty and in my battalion I could have made a soldier outof him.
There were dozens more whose names I have forgotten, but theyhad one common characteristic. They were puffed up with spiritualpride, and I used to amuse myself with finding their originals inthePilgrim's Progress. When I tried to judge them by thestandard of old Peter, they fell woefully short. They shut outthe war from their lives, some out of funk, some out of purelevity of mind, and some because they were really convinced thatthe thing was all wrong. I think I grew rather popular in my roleof the seeker after truth, the honest colonial who was againstthe war by instinct and was looking for instruction in thematter. They regarded me as a convert from an alien world ofaction which they secretly dreaded, though they affected todespise it. Anyhow they talked to me very freely, and before longI had all the pacifist arguments by heart. I made out that therewere three schools. One objected to war altogether, and this hadfew adherents except Aronson and Weekes, C.O., now languishing inDartmoor. The second thought that the Allies' cause was tainted,and that Britain had contributed as much as Germany to thecatastrophe. This included all the adherents of theL.D.A.—or League of Democrats against Aggression—avery proud body. The third and much the largest, which embracedeverybody else, held that we had fought long enough and that thebusiness could now be settled by negotiation, since Germany hadlearned her lesson. I was myself a modest member of the lastschool, but I was gradually working my way up to the second, andI hoped with luck to qualify for the first. My acquaintancesapproved my progress. Letchford said I had a core of fanaticismin my slow nature, and that I would end by waving the redflag.
Spiritual pride and vanity, as I have said, were at the bottomof most of them, and, try as I might, I could find nothing verydangerous in it all. This vexed me, for I began to wonder if themission which I had embarked on so solemnly were not going to bea fiasco. Sometimes they worried me beyond endurance. When thenews of Messines came nobody took the slightest interest, while Iwas aching to tooth every detail of the great fight. And whenthey talked on military affairs, as Letchford and others didsometimes, it was difficult to keep from sending them all to thedevil, for their amateur cocksureness would have riled job. Onehad got to batten down the recollection of our fellows out therewho were sweating blood to keep these fools snug. Yet I found itimpossible to be angry with them for long, they were so babyishlyinnocent. Indeed, I couldn't help liking them, and finding a sortof quality in them. I had spent three years among soldiers, andthe British regular, great follow that he is, has his faults. Hisdiscipline makes him in a funk of red-tape and any kind ofsuperior authority. Now these people were quite honest and in aperverted way courageous. Letchford was, at any rate. I could nomore have done what he did and got hunted off platforms by thecrowd and hooted at by women in the streets than I could havewritten his leading articles.
All the same I was rather low about my job. Barring theepisode of the ransacking of my effects the first night, I hadnot a suspicion of a clue or a hint of any mystery. The place andthe people were as open and bright as a Y.M.C.A. hut. But one dayI got a solid wad of comfort. In a corner of Letchford's paper,theCritic, I found a letter which was one of the steepestpieces of invective I had ever met with. The writer gave tonguelike a beagle pup about the prostitution, as he called it, ofAmerican republicanism to the vices of European aristocracies. Hedeclared that Senator La Follette was a much-misunderstoodpatriot, seeing that he alone spoke for the toiling millions whohad no other friend. He was mad with President Wilson, and heprophesied a great awakening when Uncle Sam got up against JohnBull in Europe and found out the kind of standpatter he was. Theletter was signed 'John S. Blenkiron' and dated 'London, 3July-'
The thought that Blenkiron was in England put a new complexionon my business. I reckoned I would see him soon, for he wasn'tthe man to stand still in his tracks. He had taken up the role hehad played before he left in December 1915, and very right too,for not more than half a dozen people knew of the Erzerum affair,and to the British public he was only the man who had been firedout of the Savoy for talking treason. I had felt a bit lonelybefore, but now somewhere within the four corners of the islandthe best companion God ever made was writing nonsense with histongue in his old cheek.
There was an institution in Biggleswick which deservesmention. On the south of the common, near the station, stood ared-brick building called the Moot Hall, which was a kind ofchurch for the very undevout population. Undevout in the ordinarysense, I mean, for I had already counted twenty-seven varietiesof religious conviction, including three Buddhists, a CelestialHierarch, five Latter-day Saints, and about ten varieties ofMystic whose names I could never remember. The hall had been thegift of the publisher I have spoken of, and twice a week it wasused for lectures and debates. The place was managed by acommittee and was surprisingly popular, for it gave all thebubbling intellects a chance of airing their views. When youasked where somebody was and were told he was 'at Moot,' theanswer was spoken in the respectful tone in which you wouldmention a sacrament.
I went there regularly and got my mind broadened to crackingpoint. We had all the stars of the New Movements. We had DoctorChirk, who lectured on 'God', which, as far as I could make out,was a new name he had invented for himself. There was a woman, aterrible woman, who had come back from Russia with what shecalled a 'message of healing'. And to my joy, one night there wasa great buck nigger who had a lot to say about 'Africa for theAfricans'. I had a few words with him in Sesutu afterwards, andrather spoiled his visit. Some of the people were extraordinarilygood, especially one jolly old fellow who talked about Englishfolk songs and dances, and wanted us to set up a Maypole. In thedebates which generally followed I began to join, very coyly atfirst, but presently with some confidence. If my time atBiggleswick did nothing else it taught me to argue on myfeet.
The first big effort I made was on a full-dress occasion, whenLauncelot Wake came down to speak. Mr Ivery was in thechair—the first I had seen of him—a plump middle-agedman, with a colourless face and nondescript features. I was notinterested in him till he began to talk, and then I sat boltupright and took notice. For he was the genuine silver-tongue,the sentences flowing from his mouth as smooth as butter and asneatly dovetailed as a parquet floor. He had a sort ofman-of-the-world manner, treating his opponents withcondescending geniality, deprecating all passion and exaggerationand making you feel that his urbane statement must be right, forif he had wanted he could have put the case so much higher. Iwatched him, fascinated, studying his face carefully; and thething that struck me was that there was nothing init—nothing, that is to say, to lay hold on. It was simplynondescript, so almightily commonplace that that very fact madeit rather remarkable.
Wake was speaking of the revelations of the Sukhomhnov trialin Russia, which showed that Germany had not been responsible forthe war. He was jolly good at the job, and put as clear anargument as a first-class lawyer. I had been sweating away at thesubject and had all the ordinary case at my fingers' ends, sowhen I got a chance of speaking I gave them a long harangue, withsome good quotations I had cribbed out of theVossischeZeitung, which Letchford lent me. I felt it was up to me tobe extra violent, for I wanted to establish my character withWake, seeing that he was a friend of Mary and Mary would knowthat I was playing the game. I got tremendously applauded, farmore than the chief speaker, and after the meeting Wake came upto me with his hot eyes, and wrung my hand. 'You're coming onwell, Brand,' he said, and then he introduced me to Mr Ivery.'Here's a second and a better Smuts,' he said.
Ivery made me walk a bit of the road home with him. 'I amstruck by your grip on these difficult problems, Mr Brand,' hetold me. 'There is much I can tell you, and you may be of greatvalue to our cause.' He asked me a lot of questions about mypast, which I answered with easy mendacity. Before we parted hemade me promise to come one night to supper.
Next day I got a glimpse of Mary, and to my vexation she cutme dead. She was walking with a flock of bare-headed girls, allchattering hard, and though she saw me quite plainly she turnedaway her eyes. I had been waiting for my cue, so I did not liftmy hat, but passed on as if we were strangers. I reckoned it waspart of the game, but that trifling thing annoyed me, and I spenta morose evening.
The following day I saw her again, this time talking sedatelywith Mr Ivery, and dressed in a very pretty summer gown, and abroad-brimmed straw hat with flowers in it. This time she stoppedwith a bright smile and held out her hand. 'Mr Brand, isn't it?'she asked with a pretty hesitation. And then, turning to hercompanion—'This is Mr Brand. He stayed with us last monthin Gloucestershire.'
Mr Ivery announced that he and I were already acquainted. Seenin broad daylight he was a very personable fellow, somewherebetween forty-five and fifty, with a middle-aged figure and acuriously young face. I noticed that there were hardly any lineson it, and it was rather that of a very wise child than that of aman. He had a pleasant smile which made his jaw and cheeks expandlike indiarubber. 'You are coming to sup with me, Mr Brand,' hecried after me. 'On Tuesday after Moot. I have already written.'He whisked Mary away from me, and I had to content myself withcontemplating her figure till it disappeared round a bend of theroad.
Next day in London I found a letter from Peter. He had beenvery solemn of late, and very reminiscent of old days now that heconcluded his active life was over. But this time he was in adifferent mood.
'I think,' he wrote, 'that you and I will meetagain soon, my old friend. Do you remember when we went after thebig black-maned lion in the Rooirand and couldn't get on histrack, and then one morning we woke up and said we would get himtoday?—and we did, but he very near got you first. I've hada feel these last days that we're both going down into the Valleyto meet with Apollyon, and that the devil will give us a badtime, but anyhow we'll be together.'
I had the same kind of feel myself, though I didn't see howPeter and I were going to meet, unless I went out to the Frontagain and got put in the bag and sent to the same Boche prison.But I had an instinct that my time in Biggleswick was drawing toa close, and that presently I would be in rougher quarters. Ifelt quite affectionate towards the place, and took all myfavourite walks, and drank my own health in the brew of thevillage inns, with a consciousness of saying goodbye. Also I madehaste to finish my English classics, for I concluded I wouldn'thave much time in the future for miscellaneous reading.
The Tuesday came, and in the evening I set out rather late forthe Moot Hall, for I had been getting into decent clothes after along, hot stride. When I reached the place it was pretty wellpacked, and I could only find a seat on the back benches. Thereon the platform was Ivery, and beside him sat a figure thatthrilled every inch of me with affection and a wild anticipation.'I have now the privilege,' said the chairman, 'of introducing toyou the speaker whom we so warmly welcome, our fearless andindefatigable American friend, Mr Blenkiron.'
It was the old Blenkiron, but almightily changed. Hisstoutness had gone, and he was as lean as Abraham Lincoln.Instead of a puffy face, his cheek-bones and jaw stood out hardand sharp, and in place of his former pasty colour his complexionhad the clear glow of health. I saw now that he was a splendidfigure of a man, and when he got to his feet every movement hadthe suppleness of an athlete in training. In that moment Irealized that my serious business had now begun. My sensessuddenly seemed quicker, my nerves tenser, my brain more active.The big game had started, and he and I were playing ittogether.
I watched him with strained attention. It was a funny speech,stuffed with extravagance and vehemence, not very well argued andterribly discursive. His main point was that Germany was now in afine democratic mood and might well be admitted into a brotherlypartnership—that indeed she had never been in any othermood, but had been forced into violence by the plots of herenemies. Much of it, I should have thought, was in stark defianceof the Defence of the Realm Acts, but if any wise Scotland Yardofficer had listened to it he would probably have considered itharmless because of its contradictions. It was full of a fierceearnestness, and it was full of humour—long-drawn Americanmetaphors at which that most critical audience roared withlaughter. But it was not the kind of thing that they wereaccustomed to, and I could fancy what Wake would have said of it.The conviction grew upon me that Blenkiron was deliberatelytrying to prove himself an honest idiot. If so, it was a hugesuccess. He produced on one the impression of the type ofsentimental revolutionary who ruthlessly knifes his opponent andthen weeps and prays over his tomb.
just at the end he seemed to pull himself together and to trya little argument. He made a great point of the Austriansocialists going to Stockholm, going freely and with theirGovernment's assent, from a country which its critics called anautocracy, while the democratic western peoples held back. 'Iadmit I haven't any real water-tight proof,' he said, 'but I willbet my bottom dollar that the influence which moved the AustrianGovernment to allow this embassy of freedom was the influence ofGermany herself. And that is the land from which the AlliedPharisees draw in their skirts lest their garments bedefiled!'
He sat down amid a good deal of applause, for his audience hadnot been bored, though I could see that some of them thought hispraise of Germany a bit steep. It was all right in Biggleswick toprove Britain in the wrong, but it was a slightly different thingto extol the enemy. I was puzzled about his last point, for itwas not of a piece with the rest of his discourse, and I wastrying to guess at his purpose. The chairman referred to it inhis concluding remarks. 'I am in a position,' he said, 'to bearout all that the lecturer has said. I can go further. I canassure him on the best authority that his surmise is correct, andthat Vienna's decision to send delegates to Stockholm was largelydictated by representations from Berlin. I am given to understandthat the fact has in the last few days been admitted in theAustrian Press.'
A vote of thanks was carried, and then I found myself shakinghands with Ivery while Blenkiron stood a yard off, talking to oneof the Misses Weekes. The next moment I was being introduced.
'Mr Brand, very pleased to meet you,' said the voice I knew sowell. 'Mr Ivery has been telling me about you, and I guess we'vegot something to say to each other. We're both from noocountries, and we've got to teach the old nations a littlehorse-sense.'
Mr Ivery's car—the only one left in theneighbourhood— carried us to his villa, and presently wewere seated in a brightly-lit dining-room. It was not a prettyhouse, but it had the luxury of an expensive hotel, and thesupper we had was as good as any London restaurant. Gone were theold days of fish and toast and boiled milk. Blenkiron squared hisshoulders and showed himself a noble trencherman.
'A year ago,' he told our host, 'I was the meanest kind ofdyspeptic. I had the love of righteousness in my heart, but I hadthe devil in my stomach. Then I heard stories about the RobsonBrothers, the star surgeons way out west in White Springs,Nebraska. They were reckoned the neatest hands in the world atcarving up a man and removing devilments from his intestines.Now, sir, I've always fought pretty shy of surgeons, for Iconsidered that our Maker never intended His handiwork to bereconstructed like a bankrupt Dago railway. But by that time Iwas feeling so almighty wretched that I could have paid a man toput a bullet through my head. "There's no other way," I said tomyself. "Either you forget your religion and your miserablecowardice and get cut up, or it's you for the Golden Shore." So Iset my teeth and journeyed to White Springs, and the Brothers hada look at my duodenum. They saw that the darned thing wouldn'tdo, so they sidetracked it and made a noo route for mynoo-trition traffic. It was the cunningest piece of surgery sincethe Lord took a rib out of the side of our First Parent. They'vegot a mighty fine way of charging, too, for they take five percent of a man's income, and it's all one to them whether he's aMeat King or a clerk on twenty dollars a week. I can tell you Itook some trouble to be a very rich man last year.'
All through the meal I sat in a kind of stupor. I was tryingto assimilate the new Blenkiron, and drinking in the comfort ofhis heavenly drawl, and I was puzzling my head about Ivery. I hada ridiculous notion that I had seen him before, but, delve as Imight into my memory, I couldn't place him. He was theincarnation of the commonplace, a comfortable middle-classsentimentalist, who patronized pacifism out of vanity, but wasvery careful not to dip his hands too far. He was always dampingdown Blenkiron's volcanic utterances. 'Of course, as you know,the other side have an argument which I find rather hard tomeet... ' 'I can sympathize with patriotism, and even withjingoism, in certain moods, but I always come back to thisdifficulty.' 'Our opponents are not ill-meaning so much asill-judging,'—these were the sort of sentences he keptthrowing in. And he was full of quotations from privateconversations he had had with every sort of person—including members of the Government. I remember that he expressedgreat admiration for Mr Balfour.
Of all that talk, I only recalled one thing clearly, and Irecalled it because Blenkiron seemed to collect his wits and tryto argue, just as he had done at the end of his lecture. He wasspeaking about a story he had heard from someone, who had heardit from someone else, that Austria in the last week of July 1914had accepted Russia's proposal to hold her hand and negotiate,and that the Kaiser had sent a message to the Tsar saying heagreed. According to his story this telegram had been received inPetrograd, and had been re-written, like Bismarck's Ems telegram,before it reached the Emperor. He expressed his disbelief in theyarn. 'I reckon if it had been true,' he said, 'we'd have had theright text out long ago. They'd have kept a copy in Berlin. Allthe same I did hear a sort of rumour that some kind of message ofthat sort was published in a German paper.'
Mr Ivery looked wise. 'You are right,' he said. 'I happen toknow that it has been published. You will find it in theWieser Zeitung.'
'You don't say?' he said admiringly. 'I wish I could read theold tombstone language. But if I could they wouldn't let me havethe papers.'
'Oh yes they would.' Mr Ivery laughed pleasantly. 'England hasstill a good share of freedom. Any respectable person can get apermit to import the enemy press. I'm not considered quiterespectable, for the authorities have a narrow definition ofpatriotism, but happily I have respectable friends.'
Blenkiron was staying the night, and I took my leave as theclock struck twelve. They both came into the hall to see me off,and, as I was helping myself to a drink, and my host was lookingfor my hat and stick, I suddenly heard Blenkiron's whisper in myear. 'London... the day after tomorrow,' he said. Then he took aformal farewell. 'Mr Brand, it's been an honour for me, as anAmerican citizen, to make your acquaintance, sir. I will considermyself fortunate if we have an early reunion. I am stopping atClaridge's Ho-tel, and I hope to be privileged to receive youthere.'
Thirty-five hours later I found myself in my rooms inWestminster. I thought there might be a message for me there, forI didn't propose to go and call openly on Blenkiron at Claridge'still I had his instructions. But there was no message—onlya line from Peter, saying he had hopes of being sent toSwitzerland. That made me realize that he must be pretty badlybroken up.
Presently the telephone bell rang. It was Blenkiron who spoke.'Go down and have a talk with your brokers about the War Loan.Arrive there about twelve o'clock and don't go upstairs till youhave met a friend. You'd better have a quick luncheon at yourclub, and then come to Traill's bookshop in the Haymarket at two.You can get back to Biggleswick by the 5.16.'
I did as I was bid, and twenty minutes later, having travelledby Underground, for I couldn't raise a taxi, I approached theblock of chambers in Leadenhall Street where dwelt the respectedfirm who managed my investments. It was still a few minutesbefore noon, and as I slowed down a familiar figure came out ofthe bank next door.
Ivery beamed recognition. 'Up for the day, Mr Brand?' heasked. 'I have to see my brokers,' I said, 'read the SouthAfrican papers in my club, and get back by the 5.16. Any chanceof your company?'
'Why, yes—that's my train.Au revoir. We meet atthe station.' He bustled off, looking very smart with his neatclothes and a rose in his button-hole.
I lunched impatiently, and at two was turning over some newbooks in Traill's shop with an eye on the street-door behind me.It seemed a public place for an assignation. I had begun to dipinto a big illustrated book on flower-gardens when an assistantcame up. 'The manager's compliments, sir, and he thinks there aresome old works of travel upstairs that might interest you.' Ifollowed him obediently to an upper floor lined with every kindof volume and with tables littered with maps and engravings.'This way, sir,' he said, and opened a door in the wall concealedby bogus book-backs. I found myself in a little study, andBlenkiron sitting in an armchair smoking.
He got up and seized both my hands. 'Why, Dick, this is betterthan good noos. I've heard all about your exploits since weparted a year ago on the wharf at Liverpool. We've both been busyon our own jobs, and there was no way of keeping you wise aboutmy doings, for after I thought I was cured I got worse than hellinside, and, as I told you, had to get the doctor-men to dig intome. After that I was playing a pretty dark game, and had to getdown and out of decent society. But, holy Mike! I'm a new man. Iused to do my work with a sick heart and a taste in my mouth likea graveyard, and now I can eat and drink what I like and frolicround like a colt. I wake up every morning whistling and thankthe good God that I'm alive, It was a bad day for Kaiser when Igot on the cars for White Springs.'
'This is a rum place to meet,' I said, 'and you brought me bya roundabout road.'
He grinned and offered me a cigar.
'There were reasons. It don't do for you and me to advertiseour acquaintance in the street. As for the shop, I've owned itfor five years. I've a taste for good reading, though youwouldn't think it, and it tickles me to hand it out across thecounter... First, I want to hear about Biggleswick.'
'There isn't a great deal to it. A lot of ignorance, a largeslice of vanity, and a pinch or two of wrong-headedhonesty—these are the ingredients of the pie. Not much realharm in it. There's one or two dirty literary gents who should bein a navvies' battalion, but they're about as dangerous as yellowKaffir dogs. I've learned a lot and got all the arguments byheart, but you might plant a Biggleswick in every shire and itwouldn't help the Boche. I can see where the danger lies all thesame. These fellows talked academic anarchism, but the genuinearticle is somewhere about and to find it you've got to look inthe big industrial districts. We had faint echoes of it inBiggleswick. I mean that the really dangerous fellows are thosewho want to close up the war at once and so get on with theirblessed class war, which cuts across nationalities. As for beingspies and that sort of thing, the Biggleswick lads are toocallow.'
'Yes,' said Blenkiron reflectively. 'They haven't got as muchsense as God gave to geese. You're sure you didn't hit againstany heavier metal?'
'Yes. There's a man called Launcelot Wake, who came down tospeak once. I had met him before. He has the makings of afanatic, and he's the more dangerous because you can see hisconscience is uneasy. I can fancy him bombing a Prime Ministermerely to quiet his own doubts.'
'So,' he said. 'Nobody else?'
I reflected. 'There's Mr Ivery, but you know him better thanI. I shouldn't put much on him, but I'm not precisely certain,for I never had a chance of getting to know him.'
'Ivery,' said Blenkiron in surprise. 'He has a hobby forhalf-baked youth, just as another rich man might fancy orchids orfast trotters. You sure can place him right enough.'
'I dare say. Only I don't know enough to be positive.'
He sucked at his cigar for a minute or so. 'I guess, Dick, ifI told you all I've been doing since I reached these shores youwould call me a ro-mancer. I've been way down among the toilers.I did a spell as unskilled dilooted labour in the Barrowshipyards. I was barman in a ho-tel on the Portsmouth Road, and Iput in a black month driving a taxicab in the city of London. Fora while I was the accredited correspondent of the Noo YorkSentinel and used to go with the rest of the bunch to thepow-wows of under-secretaries of State and War Office generals.They censored my stuff so cruel that the paper fired me. Then Iwent on a walking-tour round England and sat for a fortnight in alittle farm in Suffolk. By and by I came back to Claridge's andthis bookshop, for I had learned most of what I wanted.
'I had learned,' he went on, turning his curious, full,ruminating eyes on me, 'that the British working-man is about thesoundest piece of humanity on God's earth. He grumbles a bit andjibs a bit when he thinks the Government are giving him a crookeddeal, but he's gotten the patience of job and the sand of agamecock. And he's gotten humour too, that tickles me to death.There's not much trouble in that quarter for it's he and his kindthat's beating the Hun... But I picked up a thing or two besidesthat.'
He leaned forward and tapped me on the knee. 'I reverence theBritish Intelligence Service. Flies don't settle on it to anyconsiderable extent. It's got a mighty fine mesh, but there's onehole in that mesh, and it's our job to mend it. There's ahigh-powered brain in the game against us. I struck it a coupleof years ago when I was hunting Dumba and Albert, and I thoughtit was in Noo York, but it wasn't. I struck its working again athome last year and located its head office in Europe. So I triedSwitzerland and Holland, but only bits of it were there. Thecentre of the web where the old spider sits is right here inEngland, and for six months I've been shadowing that spider.There's a gang to help, a big gang, and a clever gang, and partlyan innocent gang. But there's only one brain, and it's to matchthat that the Robson Brothers settled my duodenum.'
I was listening with a quickened pulse, for now at last I wasgetting to business.
'What is he—international socialist, or anarchist, orwhat?' I asked.
'Pure-blooded Boche agent, but the biggest-sized brand in thecatalogue—bigger than Steinmeier or old Bismarck'sStaubier. Thank God I've got him located... I must put you wiseabout some things.'
He lay back in his rubbed leather armchair and yarned fortwenty minutes. He told me how at the beginning of the warScotland Yard had had a pretty complete register of enemy spies,and without making any fuss had just tidied them away. Afterthat, the covey having been broken up, it was a question ofpicking off stray birds. That had taken some doing. There hadbeen all kinds of inflammatory stuff around, Red Masons andinternational anarchists, and, worst of all, internationalfinance-touts, but they had mostly been ordinary cranks androgues, the tools of the Boche agents rather than agentsthemselves. However, by the middle Of 1915 most of the stragglershad been gathered in. But there remained loose ends, and towardsthe close of last year somebody was very busy combining theseends into a net. Funny cases cropped up of the leakage of vitalinformation. They began to be bad about October 1916, when theHun submarines started on a special racket. The enemy suddenlyappeared possessed of a knowledge which we thought to be sharedonly by half a dozen officers. Blenkiron said he was notsurprised at the leakage, for there's always a lot of people whohear things they oughtn't to. What surprised him was that it gotso quickly to the enemy.
Then after last February, when the Hun submarines went in forfrightfulness on a big scale, the thing grew desperate. Leakagesoccurred every week, and the business was managed by people whoknew their way about, for they avoided all the traps set forthem, and when bogus news was released on purpose, they neversent it. A convoy which had been kept a deadly secret would beattacked at the one place where it was helpless. A carefullyprepared defensive plan would be checkmated before it could betried. Blenkiron said that there was no evidence that a singlebrain was behind it all, for there was no similarity in thecases, but he had a strong impression all the time that it wasthe work of one man. We managed to close some of the bolt-holes,but we couldn't put our hands near the big ones. 'By this time,'said he, 'I reckoned I was about ready to change my methods. Ihad been working by what the highbrows call induction, trying toargue up from the deeds to the doer. Now I tried a new lay, whichwas to calculate down from the doer to the deeds. They call itdeduction. I opined that somewhere in this island was a gentlemanwhom we will call Mr X, and that, pursuing the line of businesshe did, he must have certain characteristics. I considered verycarefully just what sort of personage he must be. I had noticedthat his device was apparently the Double Bluff. That is to say,when he had two courses open to him, A and B, he pretended he wasgoing to take B, and so got us guessing that he would try A. Thenhe took B after all. So I reckoned that his camouflage mustcorrespond to this little idiosyncrasy. Being a Boche agent, hewouldn't pretend to be a hearty patriot, an honest oldblood-and-bones Tory. That would be only the Single Bluff. Iconsidered that he would be a pacifist, cunning enough just tokeep inside the law, but with the eyes of the police on him. Hewould write books which would not be allowed to be exported. Hewould get himself disliked in the popular papers, but all themugwumps would admire his moral courage. I drew a mighty finepicture to myself of just the man I expected to find. Then Istarted out to look for him.'
Blenkiron's face took on the air of a disappointed child. 'Itwas no good. I kept barking up the wrong tree and wore myself outplaying the sleuth on white-souled innocents.'
'But you've found him all right,' I cried, a sudden suspicionleaping into my brain.
'He's found,' he said sadly, 'but the credit does not belongto John S. Blenkiron. That child merely muddied the pond. The bigfish was left for a young lady to hook.'
'I know,' I cried excitedly. 'Her name is Miss MaryLamington.'
He shook a disapproving head. 'You've guessed right, my son,but you've forgotten your manners. This is a rough business andwe won't bring in the name of a gently reared and pure-mindedyoung girl. If we speak to her at all we call her by a pet nameout of thePilgrim's Progress... Anyhow she hooked thefish, though he isn't landed. D'you see any light?'
'Ivery,' I gasped.
'Yes. Ivery. Nothing much to look at, you say. A common,middle-aged, pie-faced, golf-playing high-brow, that you wouldn'tkeep out of a Sunday school. A touch of the drummer, too, to showhe has no dealings with your effete aristocracy. A languishingsilver-tongue that adores the sound of his own voice. As mild,you'd say, as curds and cream.'
Blenkiron got out of his chair and stood above me. 'I tellyou, Dick, that man makes my spine cold. He hasn't a drop of goodred blood in him. The dirtiest apache is a Christian gentlemancompared to Moxon Ivery. He's as cruel as a snake and as deep ashell. But, by God, he's got a brain below his hat. He's hookedand we're playing him, but Lord knows if he'll ever belanded!'
'Why on earth don't you put him away?' I asked.
'We haven't the proof—legal proof, I mean; thoughthere's buckets of the other kind. I could put up a morallycertain case, but he'd beat me in a court of law. And half ahundred sheep would get up in Parliament and bleat aboutpersecution. He has a graft with every collection of cranks inEngland, and with all the geese that cackle about the liberty ofthe individual when the Boche is ranging about to enslave theworld. No, sir, that's too dangerous a game! Besides, I've abetter in hand, Moxon Ivery is the best-accredited member of thisState. Hisdossier is the completest thing outside theRecording Angel's little note-book. We've taken up his referencesin every corner of the globe and they're all as right as Morgan'sbalance sheet. From these it appears he's been a high-tonedcitizen ever since he was in short-clothes. He was raised inNorfolk, and there are people living who remember his father. Hewas educated at Melton School and his name's in the register. Hewas in business in Valparaiso, and there's enough evidence towrite three volumes of his innocent life there. Then he came homewith a modest competence two years before the war, and has beenin the public eye ever since. He was Liberal candidate for aLondon constitooency and he has decorated the board of everyinstitootion formed for the amelioration of mankind. He's gotenough alibis to choke a boa constrictor, and they're water-tightand copper-bottomed, and they're mostly damned lies... But youcan't beat him at that stunt. The man's the superbest actor thatever walked the earth. You can see it in his face. It isn't aface, it's a mask. He could make himself look like Shakespeare orJulius Caesar or Billy Sunday or Brigadier-General Richard Hannayif he wanted to. He hasn't got any personality either—he'sgot fifty, and there's no one he could call his own. I reckonwhen the devil gets the handling of him at last he'll have to putsand on his claws to keep him from slipping through.'
Blenkiron was settled in his chair again, with one leg hoistedover the side.
'We've closed a fair number of his channels in the last fewmonths. No, he don't suspect me. The world knows nothing of itsgreatest men, and to him I'm only a Yankee peace-crank, who givesbig subscriptions to loony societies and will travel a hundredmiles to let off steam before any kind of audience. He's been tosee me at Claridge's and I've arranged that he shall know all myrecord. A darned bad record it is too, for two years ago I wasviolent pro-British before I found salvation and was requested toleave England. When I was home last I was officially anti-war,when I wasn't stretched upon a bed of pain. Mr Moxon Ivery don'ttake any stock in John S. Blenkiron as a serious proposition. Andwhile I've been here I've been so low down in the social scaleand working in so many devious ways that he can't connect me up... As I was saying, we've cut most of his wires, but the biggestwe haven't got at. He's still sending stuff out, and mightycompromising stuff it is. Now listen close, Dick, for we'recoming near your own business.'
It appeared that Blenkiron had reason to suspect that thechannel still open had something to do with the North. Hecouldn't get closer than that, till he heard from his people thata certain Abel Gresson had turned up in Glasgow from the States.This Gresson he discovered was the same as one Wrankester, who asa leader of the Industrial Workers of the World had been mixed upin some ugly cases of sabotage in Colorado. He kept his news tohimself, for he didn't want the police to interfere, but he hadhis own lot get into touch with Gresson and shadow him closely.The man was very discreet but very mysterious, and he woulddisappear for a week at a time, leaving no trace. For someunknown reason—he couldn't explain why— Blenkiron hadarrived at the conclusion that Gresson was in touch with Ivery,so he made experiments to prove it.
'I wanted various cross-bearings to make certain, and I gotthem the night before last. My visit to Biggleswick was goodbusiness.'
'I don't know what they meant,' I said, 'but I know where theycame in. One was in your speech when you spoke of the Austriansocialists, and Ivery took you up about them. The other was aftersupper when he quoted theWieser Zeitung.'
'You're no fool, Dick,' he said, with his slow smile. 'You'vehit the mark first shot. You know me and you could follow myprocess of thought in those remarks. Ivery, not knowing me sowell, and having his head full of just that sort of argument, sawnothing unusual. Those bits of noos were pumped into Gresson thathe might pass them on. And he did pass them on—to Ivery.They completed my chain.'
'But they were commonplace enough things which he might haveguessed for himself.'
'No, they weren't. They were the nicest tit-bits of politicalnoos which all the cranks have been reaching after.'
'Anyhow, they were quotations from German papers. He mighthave had the papers themselves earlier than you thought.'
'Wrong again. The paragraph never appeared in theWieserZeitung. But we faked up a torn bit of that noospaper, and avery pretty bit of forgery it was, and Gresson, who's a kind of ascholar, was allowed to have it. He passed it on. Ivery showed itme two nights ago. Nothing like it ever sullied the columns ofBoche journalism. No, it was a perfectly final proof ... Now,Dick, it's up to you to get after Gresson.'
'Right,' I said. 'I'm jolly glad I'm to start work again. I'mgetting fat from lack of exercise. I suppose you want me to catchGresson out in some piece of blackguardism and have him and Iverysnugly put away.'
'I don't want anything of the kind,' he said very slowly anddistinctly. 'You've got to attend very close to yourinstructions, I cherish these two beauties as if they were my ownwhite-headed boys. I wouldn't for the world interfere with theircomfort and liberty. I want them to go on corresponding withtheir friends. I want to give them every facility.'
He burst out laughing at my mystified face.
'See here, Dick. How do we want to treat the Boche? Why, tofill him up with all the cunningest lies and get him to act onthem. Now here is Moxon Ivery, who has always given them goodinformation. They trust him absolutely, and we would be fools tospoil their confidence. Only, if we can find out Moxon's methods,we can arrange to use them ourselves and send noos in his namewhich isn't quite so genooine. Every word he dispatches goesstraight to the Grand High Secret General Staff, and oldHindenburg and Ludendorff put towels round their heads and cipherit out. We want to encourage them to go on doing it. We'llarrange to send true stuff that don't matter, so as they'llcontinue to trust him, and a few selected falsehoods that'llmatter like hell. It's a game you can't play for ever, but withluck I propose to play it long enough to confuse Fritz's littleplans.'
His face became serious and wore the air that our corpscommander used to have at the big pow-wow before a push.
'I'm not going to give you instructions, for you're man enoughto make your own. But I can give you the general hang of thesituation. You tell Ivery you're going North to inquire intoindustrial disputes at first hand. That will seem to him naturaland in line with your recent behaviour. He'll tell his peoplethat you're a guileless colonial who feels disgruntled withBritain, and may come in useful. You'll go to a man of mine inGlasgow, a red-hot agitator who chooses that way of doing his bitfor his country. It's a darned hard way and darned dangerous.Through him you'll get in touch with Gresson, and you'll keepalongside that bright citizen. Find out what he is doing, and geta chance of following him. He must never suspect you, and forthat purpose you must be very near the edge of the law yourself.You go up there as an unabashed pacifist and you'll live withfolk that will turn your stomach. Maybe you'll have to break someof these two-cent rules the British Government have invented todefend the realm, and it's up to you not to get caught out...Remember, you'll get no help from me. you've got to wise up aboutGresson with the whole forces of the British State arrayedofficially against you. I guess it's a steep proposition, butyou're man enough to make good.'
As we shook hands, he added a last word. 'You must take yourown time, but it's not a case for slouching. Every day thatpasses Ivery is sending out the worst kind of poison. The Bocheis blowing up for a big campaign in the field, and a big effortto shake the nerve and confuse the judgement of our civilians.The whole earth's war-weary, and we've about reached thedanger-point. There's pretty big stakes hang on you, Dick, forthings are getting mighty delicate.'
I purchased a new novel in the shop and reached St Pancras intime to have a cup of tea at the buffet. Ivery was at thebookstall buying an evening paper. When we got into the carriagehe seized myPunch and kept laughing and calling myattention to the pictures. As I looked at him, I thought that hemade a perfect picture of the citizen turned countryman, goingback of an evening to his innocent home. Everything wasright— his neat tweeds, his light spats, his spottedneck-cloth, and his aquascutum.
Not that I dared look at him much. What I had learned made meeager to search his face, but I did not dare show any increasedinterest. I had always been a little off-hand with him, for I hadnever much liked him, so I had to keep on the same manner. He wasas merry as a grig, full of chat and very friendly and amusing. Iremember he picked up the book I had brought off that morning toread in the train—the second volume of Hazlitt'sEssays, the last of my English classics—anddiscoursed so wisely about books that I wished I had spent moretime in his company at Biggleswick.
'Hazlitt was the academic Radical of his day,' he said. 'He isalways lashing himself into a state of theoretical fury overabuses he has never encountered in person. Men who are up againstthe real thing save their breath for action.'
That gave me my cue to tell him about my journey to the North.I said I had learned a lot in Biggleswick, but I wanted to seeindustrial life at close quarters. 'Otherwise I might become likeHazlitt,' I said.
He was very interested and encouraging. 'That's the right wayto set about it,' he said. 'Where were you thinking ofgoing?'
I told him that I had half thought of Barrow, but decided totry Glasgow, since the Clyde seemed to be a warm corner.
'Right,' he said. 'I only wish I was coming with you. It'lltake you a little while to understand the language. You'll find agood deal of senseless bellicosity among the workmen, for they'vegot parrot-cries about the war as they used to have parrot-criesabout their labour politics. But there's plenty of shrewd brainsand sound hearts too. You must write and tell me yourconclusions.'
It was a warm evening and he dozed the last part of thejourney. I looked at him and wished I could see into the mind atthe back of that mask-like face. I counted for nothing in hiseyes, not even enough for him to want to make me a tool, and Iwas setting out to try to make a tool of him. It sounded aforlorn enterprise. And all the while I was puzzled with apersistent sense of recognition. I told myself it was idiocy, fora man with a face like that must have hints of resemblance to athousand people. But the idea kept nagging at me till we reachedour destination.
As we emerged from the station into the golden evening I sawMary Lamington again. She was with one of the Weekes girls, andafter the Biggleswick fashion was bareheaded, so that the sunglinted from her hair. Ivery swept his hat off and made her apretty speech, while I faced her steady eyes with theexpressionlessness of the stage conspirator.
'A charming child,' he observed as we passed on. 'Not withouta touch of seriousness, too, which may yet be touched to nobleissues.'
I considered, as I made my way to my final supper with theJimsons, that the said child was likely to prove a sufficientlyserious business for Mr Moxon Ivery before the game was out.
I took the train three days later from King's Cross toEdinburgh. I went to the Pentland Hotel in Princes Street andleft there a suit-case containing some clean linen and a changeof clothes. I had been thinking the thing out, and had come tothe conclusion that I must have a base somewhere and a freshoutfit. Then in well-worn tweeds and with no more luggage than asmall trench kit-bag, I descended upon the city of Glasgow.
I walked from the station to the address which Blenkiron hadgiven me. It was a hot summer evening, and the streets werefilled with bareheaded women and weary-looking artisans. As Imade my way down the Dumbarton Road i was amazed at the number ofable-bodied fellows about, considering that you couldn't stir amile on any British front without bumping up against a Glasgowbattalion. Then I realized that there were such things asmunitions and ships, and I wondered no more.
A stout and dishevelled lady at a close-mouth directed me toMr Amos's dwelling. 'Twa stairs up. Andra will be in noo, havin'his tea. He's no yin for overtime. He's generally hame on thechap of six.' I ascended the stairs with a sinking heart, forlike all South Africans I have a horror of dirt. The place waspretty filthy, but at each landing there were two doors withwell-polished handles and brass plates. On one I read the name ofAndrew Amos.
A man in his shirt-sleeves opened to me, a little man, withouta collar, and with an unbuttoned waistcoat. That was all I saw ofhim in the dim light, but he held out a paw like a gorilla's anddrew me in.
The sitting-room, which looked over many chimneys to a paleyellow sky against which two factory stalks stood out sharply,gave me light enough to observe him fully. He was about five feetfour, broad-shouldered, and with a great towsy head of grizzledhair. He wore spectacles, and his face was like someold-fashioned Scots minister's, for he had heavy eyebrows andwhiskers which joined each other under his jaw, while his chinand enormous upper lip were clean-shaven. His eyes were steelygrey and very solemn, but full of smouldering energy. His voicewas enormous and would have shaken the walls if he had not hadthe habit of speaking with half-closed lips. He had not a soundtooth in his head.
A saucer full of tea and a plate which had once contained hamand eggs were on the table. He nodded towards them and asked meif I had fed.
'Ye'll no eat onything? Well, some would offer ye a dram, butthis house is staunch teetotal. I door ye'll have to try thenearest public if ye're thirsty.'
I disclaimed any bodily wants, and produced my pipe, at whichhe started to fill an old clay. 'Mr Brand's your name?' he askedin his gusty voice. 'I was expectin' ye, but God! man ye'relate!'
He extricated from his trousers pocket an ancient silverwatch, and regarded it with disfavour. 'The dashed thing hasstoppit. What do ye make the time, Mr Brand?'
He proceeded to prise open the lid of his watch with the knifehe had used to cut his tobacco, and, as he examined the works, heturned the back of the case towards me. On the inside I sawpasted Mary Lamington's purple-and-white wafer.
I held my watch so that he could see the same token. His keeneyes, raised for a second, noted it, and he shut his own with asnap and returned it to his pocket. His manner lost its warinessand became almost genial.
'Ye've come up to see Glasgow, Mr Brand? Well, it's a steerin'bit, and there's honest folk bides in it, and some not so honest.They tell me ye're from South Africa. That's a long gait away,but I ken something aboot South Africa, for I had a cousin's sonoot there for his lungs. He was in a shop in Main Street,Bloomfountain. They called him Peter Dobson. Ye would maybe mindof him.'
Then he discoursed of the Clyde. He was an incomer, he toldme, from the Borders, his native place being the town ofGalashiels, or, as he called it, 'Gawly'. 'I began as apower-loom tuner in Stavert's mill. Then my father dee'd and Itook up his trade of jiner. But it's no world nowadays for thesma' independent business, so I cam to the Clyde and learned ashipwright's job. I may say I've become a leader in the trade,for though I'm no an official of the Union, and not likely to be,there's no man's word carries more weight than mine. And theGoavernment kens that, for they've sent me on commissions up anddown the land to look at wuds and report on the nature of thetimber. Bribery, they think it is, but Andrew Amos is not to bebribit. He'll have his say about any Goavernment on earth, andtell them to their face what he thinks of them. Ay, and he'llfight the case of the working man against his oppressor, shouldit be the Goavernment or the fatted calves they ca' LabourMembers. Ye'll have heard tell o' the shop stewards, MrBrand?'
I admitted I had, for I had been well coached by Blenkiron inthe current history of industrial disputes.
'Well, I'm a shop steward. We represent the rank and fileagainst office-bearers that have lost the confidence o' theworkingman. But I'm no socialist, and I would have ye keep mindof that. I'm yin o' the old Border radicals, and I'm not like tochange. I'm for individual liberty and equal rights and chancesfor all men. I'll no more bow down before a Dagon of aGoavernment official than before the Baal of a feckless Tweedsidelaird. I've to keep my views to mysel', for thae young lads areall drucken-daft with their wee books about Cawpital andCollectivism and a wheen long senseless words I wouldna fyle mytongue with. Them and their socialism! There's more gumption in apage of John Stuart Mill than in all that foreign trash. But, asI say, I've got to keep a quiet sough, for the world is gettin'socialism now like the measles. It all comes of a defectiveeddication.'
'And what does a Border radical say about the war?' Iasked.
He took off his spectacles and cocked his shaggy brows at me.'I'll tell ye, Mr Brand. All that was bad in all that I've everwrestled with since I cam to years o' discretion—Tories andlairds and manufacturers and publicans and the AuldKirk—all that was bad, I say, for there were orra bits ofdecency, ye'll find in the Germans full measure pressed down andrunning over. When the war started, I considered the subjectcalmly for three days, and then I said: "Andra Amos, ye've foundthe enemy at last. The ones ye fought before were in a manner o'speakin' just misguided friends. It's either you or the Kaiserthis time, my man!"'
His eyes had lost their gravity and had taken on a sombreferocity. 'Ay, and I've not wavered. I got a word early in thebusiness as to the way I could serve my country best. It's notbeen an easy job, and there's plenty of honest folk the day willgive me a bad name. They think I'm stirrin' up the men at homeand desertin' the cause o' the lads at the front. Man, I'mkeepin' them straight. If I didna fight their battles on a soundeconomic isshue, they would take the dorts and be at the mercy ofthe first blagyird that preached revolution. Me and my like aresafety-valves, if ye follow me. And dinna you make ony mistake,Mr Brand. The men that are agitating for a rise in wages are notfor peace. They're fighting for the lads overseas as much as forthemselves. There's not yin in a thousand that wouldna sweathimself blind to beat the Germans. The Goavernment has mademistakes, and maun be made to pay for them. If it were not so,the men would feel like a moose in a trap, for they would have noway to make their grievance felt. What for should the big mandouble his profits and the small man be ill set to get his hamand egg on Sabbath mornin'? That's the meaning o' Labour unrest,as they call it, and it's a good thing, says I, for if Labourdidna get its leg over the traces now and then, the spunk o' theland would be dead in it, and Hindenburg could squeeze it like arotten aipple.'
I asked if he spoke for the bulk of the men.
'For ninety per cent in ony ballot. I don't say that there'snot plenty of riff-raff—the pint-and-a-dram gentry and thesoft-heads that are aye reading bits of newspapers, and muddlin'their wits with foreign whigmaleeries. But the average man on theClyde, like the average man in ither places, hates just threethings, and that's the Germans, the profiteers, as they callthem, and the Irish. But he hates the Germans first.'
'The Irish!' I exclaimed in astonishment.
'Ay, the Irish,' cried the last of the old Border radicals.'Glasgow's stinkin' nowadays with two things, money and Irish. Imind the day when I followed Mr Gladstone's Home Rule policy, andused to threep about the noble, generous, warm-hearted sisternation held in a foreign bondage. My Goad! I'm not speakin' aboutUlster, which is a dour, ill-natured den, but our own folk allthe same. But the men that will not do a hand's turn to help thewar and take the chance of our necessities to set up a bawbeerebellion are hateful to Goad and man. We treated them like petlambs and that's the thanks we get. They're coming over here inthousands to tak the jobs of the lads that are doing their duty.I was speakin' last week to a widow woman that keeps a wee dairydown the Dalmarnock Road. She has two sons, and both in theairmy, one in the Cameronians and one a prisoner in Germany. Shewas telling me that she could not keep goin' any more, lackingthe help of the boys, though she had worked her fingers to thebone. "Surely it's a crool job, Mr Amos," she says, "that theGoavernment should tak baith my laddies, and I'll maybe never seethem again, and let the Irish gang free and tak the bread fraeour mouth. At the gasworks across the road they took on a hundredIrish last week, and every yin o' them as young and well set upas you would ask to see. And my wee Davie, him that's in Germany,had aye a weak chest, and Jimmy was troubled wi' a bowelcomplaint. That's surely no justice!"... '
He broke off and lit a match by drawing it across the seat ofhis trousers. 'It's time I got the gas lichtit. There's some mencoming here at half-ten.'
As the gas squealed and flickered in the lighting, he sketchedfor me the coming guests. 'There's Macnab and Niven, two o' mycolleagues. And there's Gilkison of the Boiler-fitters, and a ladWilkie—he's got consumption, and writes wee bits in thepapers. And there's a queer chap o' the name o' Tombs—theytell me he comes frae Cambridge, and is a kind of a professorthere—anyway he's more stuffed wi' havers than an egg wi'meat. He telled me he was here to get at the heart o' theworkingman, and I said to him that he would hae to look a bitfurther than the sleeve o' the workin'-man's jaicket. There's nomuckle in his head, poor soul. Then there'll be Tam Norie, himthat edits our weekly paper—Justice for All. Tam's ahumorist and great on Robert Burns, but he hasna the balance o' adwinin' teetotum... Ye'll understand, Mr Brand, that I keep mymouth shut in such company, and don't express my own views morethan is absolutely necessary. I criticize whiles, and that givesme a name of whunstane common-sense, but I never let my tonguewag. The feck o' the lads comin' the night are not the realworkingman—they're just the froth on the pot, but it's thefroth that will be useful to you. Remember they've heard tell o'ye already, and ye've some sort o' reputation to keep up.'
'Will Mr Abel Gresson be here?' I asked.
'No,' he said. 'Not yet. Him and me havena yet got to thepoint o' payin' visits. But the men that come will be Gresson'sfriends and they'll speak of ye to him. It's the best kind ofintroduction ye could seek.'
The knocker sounded, and Mr Amos hastened to admit the firstcomers. These were Macnab and Wilkie: the one a decentmiddle-aged man with a fresh-washed face and a celluloid collar-,the other a round-shouldered youth, with lank hair and the largeeyes and luminous skin which are the marks of phthisis. 'This isMr Brand boys, from South Africa,' was Amos's presentation.Presently came Niven, a bearded giant, and Mr Norie, the editor,a fat dirty fellow smoking a rank cigar. Gilkison of theBoiler-fitters, when he arrived, proved to be a pleasant youngman in spectacles who spoke with an educated voice and clearlybelonged to a slightly different social scale. Last came Tombs,the Cambridge 'professor, a lean youth with a sour mouth and eyesthat reminded me of Launcelot Wake.
'Ye'll no be a mawgnate, Mr Brand, though ye come from SouthAfrica,' said Mr Norie with a great guffaw.
'Not me. I'm a working engineer,' I said. 'My father was fromScotland, and this is my first visit to my native country, as myfriend Mr Amos was telling you.'
The consumptive looked at me suspiciously. 'We've gottwo-three of the comrades here that the cawpitalist Governmentexpelled from the Transvaal. If ye're our way of thinking, yewill maybe ken them.'
I said I would be overjoyed to meet them, but that at the timeof the outrage in question I had been working on a mine athousand miles further north.
Then ensued an hour of extraordinary talk. Tombs in his sing-song namby-pamby University voice was concerned to getinformation. He asked endless questions, chiefly of Gilkison, whowas the only one who really understood his language. I thought Ihad never seen anyone quite so fluent and so futile, and yetthere was a kind of feeble violence in him like a demented sheep.He was engaged in venting some private academic spite againstsociety, and I thought that in a revolution he would be the classof lad I would personally conduct to the nearest lamp-post. Andall the while Amos and Macnab and Niven carried on their ownconversation about the affairs of their society, whollyimpervious to the tornado raging around them.
It was Mr Norie, the editor, who brought me into thediscussion.
'Our South African friend is very blate,' he said in hisboisterous way. 'Andra, if this place of yours wasn't so damnedteetotal and we had a dram apiece, we might get his tongueloosened. I want to hear what he's got to say about the war. Youtold me this morning he was sound in the faith.'
'I said no such thing,' said Mr Amos. 'As ye ken well, TamNorie, I don't judge soundness on that matter as you judge it.I'm for the war myself, subject to certain conditions that I'veoften stated. I know nothing of Mr Brand's opinions, except thathe's a good democrat, which is more than I can say of some o'your friends.'
'Hear to Andra,' laughed Mr Norie. 'He's thinkin' theinspector in the Socialist State would be a waur kind ofawristocrat then the Duke of Buccleuch. Weel, there's maybesomething in that. But about the war he's wrong. Ye ken my views,boys. This war was made by the cawpitalists, and it has beenfought by the workers, and it's the workers that maun have theending of it. That day's comin' very near. There are those thatwant to spin it out till Labour is that weak it can be pit inchains for the rest o' time. That's the manoeuvre we're out toprevent. We've got to beat the Germans, but it's the workers thathas the right to judge when the enemy's beaten and not thecawpitalists. What do you say, Mr Brand?'
Mr Norie had obviously pinned his colours to the fence, but hegave me the chance I had been looking for. I let them have myviews with a vengeance, and these views were that for the sake ofdemocracy the war must be ended. I flatter myself I put my casewell, for I had got up every rotten argument and I borrowedlargely from Launcelot Wake's armoury. But I didn't put it toowell, for I had a very exact notion of the impression I wanted toproduce. I must seem to be honest and in earnest, just a bit of afanatic, but principally a hard-headed businessman who knew whenthe time had come to make a deal. Tombs kept interrupting me withimbecile questions, and I had to sit on him. At the end Mr Noriehammered with his pipe on the table.
'That'll sort ye, Andra. Ye're entertain' an angel unawares.What do ye say to that, my man?'
Mr Amos shook his head. 'I'll no deny there's something in it,but I'm not convinced that the Germans have got enough of awheepin'.' Macnab agreed with him; the others were with me. Noriewas for getting me to write an article for his paper, and theconsumptive wanted me to address a meeting.
'Wull ye say a' that over again the morn's night down at ourhall in Newmilns Street? We've got a lodge meeting o' the I.W.B.,and I'll make them pit ye in the programme.' He kept his luminouseyes, like a sick dog s, fixed on me, and I saw that I had madeone ally. I told him I had come to Glasgow to learn and not toteach, but I would miss no chance of testifying to my faith.
'Now, boys, I'm for my bed,' said Amos, shaking the dottlefrom his pipe. 'Mr Tombs, I'll conduct ye the morn over theBrigend works, but I've had enough clavers for one evening. I'm aman that wants his eight hours' sleep.'
The old fellow saw them to the door, and came back to me withthe ghost of a grin in his face.
'A queer crowd, Mr Brand! Macnab didna like what ye said. Hehad a laddie killed in Gallypoly, and he's no lookin' for peacethis side the grave. He's my best friend in Glasgow. He's anelder in the Gaelic kirk in the Cowcaddens, and I'm what ye calla free-thinker, but we're wonderful agreed on the fundamentals.Ye spoke your bit verra well, I must admit. Gresson will heartell of ye as a promising recruit.' 'It's a rotten job,' Isaid.
'Ay, it's a rotten job. I often feel like vomiting over itmysel'. But it's no for us to complain. There's waur jobs oot inFrance for better men ... A word in your ear, Mr Brand. Could yenot look a bit more sheepish? Ye stare folk ower straight in theeen, like a Hieland sergeant-major up at Maryhill Barracks.' Andhe winked slowly and grotesquely with his left eye.
He marched to a cupboard and produced a black bottle andglass. 'I'm blue-ribbon myself, but ye'll be the better ofsomething to tak the taste out of your mouth. There's LochKatrine water at the pipe there... As I was saying, there's notmuch ill in that lot. Tombs is a black offence, but a dominie's adominie all the world over. They may crack about their IndustrialWorkers and the braw things they're going to do, but there's awholesome dampness about the tinder on Clydeside. They should tryIreland.'
Supposing,' I said, 'there was a really clever man who wantedto help the enemy. You think he could do little good by stirringup trouble in the shops here?'
'I'm positive.'
'And if he were a shrewd fellow, he'd soon tumble tothat?'
'Ay.' 'Then if he still stayed on here he would be afterbigger game—something really dangerous and damnable?'
Amos drew down his brows and looked me in the face. 'I seewhat ye're ettlin' at. Ay! That would be my conclusion. I came toit weeks syne about the man ye'll maybe meet the morn'snight.'
Then from below the bed he pulled a box from which he drew ahandsome flute. 'Ye'll forgive me, Mr Brand, but I aye like atune before I go to my bed. Macnab says his prayers, and I have atune on the flute, and the principle is just the same.'
So that singular evening closed with music—very sweetand true renderings of old Border melodies like 'My Peggy is ayoung thing', and 'When the kye come hame'. I fell asleep with avision of Amos, his face all puckered up at the mouth and awandering sentiment in his eye, recapturing in his dingy worldthe emotions of a boy.
The widow-woman from next door, who acted as house-keeper,cook, and general factotum to the establishment, brought meshaving water next morning, but I had to go without a bath. WhenI entered the kitchen I found no one there, but while I consumedthe inevitable ham and egg, Amos arrived back for breakfast. Hebrought with him the morning's paper. 'TheHerald saysthere's been a big battle at Eepers,' he announced.
I tore open the sheet and read of the great attack Of 31 Julywhich was spoiled by the weather. 'My God!' I cried. 'They've gotSt Julien and that dirty Frezenberg ridge... and Hooge... andSanctuary Wood. I know every inch of the damned place... '
'Mr Brand,' said a warning voice, 'that'll never do. If ourfriends last night heard ye talk like that ye might as well takthe train back to London ... They're speakin' about ye in theyards this morning. ye'll get a good turnout at your meeting thenight, but they're SaYin' that the polis will interfere. Thatmightna be a bad thing, but I trust ye to show discretion, forye'll not be muckle use to onybody if they jyle ye in DukeStreet. I hear Gresson will be there with a fraternal messagefrom his lunatics in America ... I've arranged that ye go down toTam Norie this afternoon and give him a hand with his bit paper.Tam will tell ye the whole clash o' the West country, and I lookto ye to keep him off the drink. He's aye arguin' that writin'and drinkin' gang thegither, and quotin' Robert Burns, but thecreature has a wife and five bairns dependin' on him.'
I spent a fantastic day. For two hours I sat in Norie's dirtyden, while he smoked and orated, and, when he remembered hisbusiness, took down in shorthand my impressions of the Laboursituation in South Africa for his rag. They were fine breezyimpressions, based on the most whole-hearted ignorance, and ifthey ever reached the Rand I wonder what my friends there made ofCornelius Brand, their author. I stood him dinner in anindifferent eating-house in a street off the Broomielaw, andthereafter had a drink with him in a public-house, and wasintroduced to some of his less reputable friends.
About tea-time I went back to Amos's lodgings, and spent anhour or so writing a long letter to Mr Ivery. I described to himeverybody I had met, I gave highly coloured views of theexplosive material on the Clyde, and I deplored the lack ofclearheadedness in the progressive forces. I drew an elaboratepicture of Amos, and deduced from it that the Radicals werelikely to be a bar to true progress. 'They have switched theirold militancy,' I wrote, 'on to another track, for with them itis a matter of conscience to be always militant.' I finished upwith some very crude remarks on economics culled from thetable-talk of the egregious Tombs. It was the kind of letterwhich I hoped would establish my character in his mind as anindustrious innocent.
Seven o'clock found me in Newmilns Street, where I was seizedupon by Wilkie. He had put on a clean collar for the occasion andhad partially washed his thin face. The poor fellow had a coughthat shook him like the walls of a power-house when the dynamosare going.
He was very apologetic about Amos. 'Andra belongs to a pastworrld,' he said. 'He has a big reputation in his society, andhe's a fine fighter, but he has no kind of Vision, if yeunderstand me. He's an auld Gladstonian, and that's done anddamned in Scotland. He's not a Modern, Mr Brand, like you and me.But tonight ye'll meet one or two chaps that'll be worth yourwhile to ken. Ye'll maybe no go quite as far as them, but ye'reon the same road. I'm hoping for the day when we'll have oorCouncils of Workmen and Soldiers like the Russians all over theland and dictate our terms to the pawrasites in Pawrliament. Theytell me, too, the boys in the trenches are comin' round to ourside.'
We entered the hall by a back door, and in a littlewaiting-room I was introduced to some of the speakers. They werea scratch lot as seen in that dingy place. The chairman was ashop-steward in one of the Societies, a fierce little rat of aman, who spoke with a cockney accent and addressed me as'Comrade'. But one of them roused my liveliest interest. I heardthe name of Gresson, and turned to find a fellow of aboutthirty-five, rather sprucely dressed, with a flower in hisbuttonhole. 'Mr Brand,' he said, in a rich American voice whichrecalled Blenkiron's. 'Very pleased to meet you, sir. We haveCome from remote parts of the globe to be present at thisgathering.' I noticed that he had reddish hair, and small brighteyes, and a nose with a droop like a Polish jew's.
As soon as we reached the platform I saw that there was goingto be trouble. The hall was packed to the door, and in all thefront half there was the kind of audience I expected tosee—working-men of the political type who before the warwould have thronged to party meetings. But not all the crowd atthe back had come to listen. Some were scallawags, some lookedlike better-class clerks out for a spree, and there was a fairquantity of khaki. There were also one or two gentlemen notstrictly sober.
The chairman began by putting his foot in it. He said we werethere tonight to protest against the continuation of the war andto form a branch of the new British Council of Workmen andSoldiers. He told them with a fine mixture of metaphors that wehad got to take the reins into our own hands, for the men whowere running the war had their own axes to grind and weremarching to oligarchy through the blood of the workers. He addedthat we had no quarrel with Germany half as bad as we had withour own capitalists. He looked forward to the day when Britishsoldiers would leap from their trenches and extend the hand offriendship to their German comrades.
'No me!' said a solemn voice. 'I'm not seekin' a bullet in mywame,'—at which there was laughter and cat-calls.
Tombs followed and made a worse hash of it. He was determinedto speak, as he would have put it, to democracy in its ownlanguage, so he said 'hell' several times, loudly but withoutconviction. Presently he slipped into the manner of the lecturer,and the audience grew restless. 'I propose to ask myself aquestion—' he began, and from the back of the hallcame—'And a damned sully answer ye'll get.' After thatthere was no more Tombs.
I followed with extreme nervousness, and to my surprise got afair hearing. I felt as mean as a mangy dog on a cold morning,for I hated to talk rot before soldiers—especially before acouple of Royal Scots Fusiliers, who, for all I knew, might havebeen in my own brigade. My line was the plain, practical,patriotic man, just come from the colonies, who looked at thingswith fresh eyes, and called for a new deal. I was very moderate,but to justify my appearance there I had to put in a wild patchor two, and I got these by impassioned attacks on the Ministry ofMunitions. I mixed up a little mild praise of the Germans, whom Isaid I had known all over the world for decent fellows. Ireceived little applause, but no marked dissent, and sat downwith deep thankfulness.
The next speaker put the lid on it. I believe he was a notedagitator, who had already been deported. Towards him there was nolukewarmness, for one half of the audience cheered wildly when herose, and the other half hissed and groaned. He began withwhirlwind abuse of the idle rich, then of the middle-classes (hecalled them the 'rich man's flunkeys'), and finally of theGovernment. All that was fairly well received, for it is thefashion of the Briton to run down every Government and yet to bevery averse to parting from it. Then he started on the soldiersand slanged the officers ('gentry pups' was his name for them),and the generals, whom he accused of idleness, of cowardice, andof habitual intoxication. He told us that our own kith and kinwere sacrificed in every battle by leaders who had not the gutsto share their risks. The Scots Fusiliers looked perturbed, as ifthey were in doubt of his meaning. Then he put it more plainly.'Will any soldier deny that the men are the barrage to keep theofficers' skins whole?'
'That's a bloody lee,' said one of the Fusilier jocks.
The man took no notice of the interruption, being carried awayby the torrent of his own rhetoric, but he had not allowed forthe persistence of the interrupter. The jock got slowly to hisfeet, and announced that he wanted satisfaction. 'If ye open yourdirty gab to blagyird honest men, I'll come up on the platformand wring your neck.'
At that there was a fine old row, some crying out 'Order',some 'Fair play', and some applauding. A Canadian at the back ofthe hall started a song, and there was an ugly press forward. Thehall seemed to be moving up from the back, and already men werestanding in all the passages and right to the edge of theplatform. I did not like the look in the eyes of thesenew-comers, and among the crowd I saw several who were obviouslyplain-clothes policemen.
The chairman whispered a word to the speaker, who continuedwhen the noise had temporarily died down. He kept off the armyand returned to the Government, and for a little sluiced out pureanarchism. But he got his foot in it again, for he pointed to theSinn Feiners as examples of manly independence. At that,pandemonium broke loose, and he never had another look in. Therewere several fights going on in the hall between the public andcourageous supporters of the orator.
Then Gresson advanced to the edge of the platform in a vainendeavour to retrieve the day. I must say he did it uncommonlywell. He was clearly a practised speaker, and for a moment hisappeal 'Now, boys, let's cool down a bit and talk sense,' had aneffect. But the mischief had been done, and the crowd was surginground the lonely redoubt where we sat. Besides, I could see thatfor all his clever talk the meeting did not like the look of him.He was as mild as a turtle dove, but they wouldn't stand for it.A missile hurtled past my nose, and I saw a rotten cabbageenvelop the baldish head of the ex-deportee. Someone reached outa long arm and grabbed a chair, and with it took the legs fromGresson. Then the lights suddenly went out, and we retreated ingood order by the platform door with a yelling crowd at ourheels.
It was here that the plain-clothes men came in handy. Theyheld the door while the ex-deportee was smuggled out by some sideentrance. That class of lad would soon cease to exist but for theprotection of the law which he would abolish. The rest of us,having less to fear, were suffered to leak into Newmilns Street.I found myself next to Gresson, and took his arm. There wassomething hard in his coat pocket.
Unfortunately there was a big lamp at the point where weemerged, and there for our confusion were the Fusilier jocks.Both were strung to fighting pitch, and were determined to havesomeone's blood. Of me they took no notice, but Gresson hadspoken after their ire had been roused, and was marked out as avictim. With a howl of joy they rushed for him.
I felt his hand steal to his side-pocket. 'Let that alone, youfool,' I growled in his ear.
'Sure, mister,' he said, and the next second we were in thethick of it.
It was like so many street fights I have seen—an immensecrowd which surged up around us, and yet left a clear ring.Gresson and I got against the wall on the side-walk, and facedthe furious soldiery. My intention was to do as little aspossible, but the first minute convinced me that my companion hadno idea how to use his fists, and I was mortally afraid that hewould get busy with the gun in his pocket. It was that fear thatbrought me into the scrap. The jocks were sportsmen every bit ofthem, and only one advanced to the combat. He hit Gresson a clipon the jaw with his left, and but for the wall would have laidhim out. I saw in the lamplight the vicious gleam in theAmerican's eye and the twitch of his hand to his pocket. Thatdecided me to interfere and I got in front of him.
This brought the second jock into the fray. He was a broad,thickset fellow, of the adorable bandy-legged stocky type that Ihad seen go through the Railway Triangle at Arras as though itwere blotting-paper. He had some notion of fighting, too, andgave me a rough time, for I had to keep edging the other fellowoff Gresson.
'Go home, you fool,' I shouted. 'Let this gentleman alone. Idon't want to hurt you.'
The only answer was a hook-hit which I just managed to guard,followed by a mighty drive with his right which I dodged so thathe barked his knuckles on the wall. I heard a yell of rage, andobserved that Gresson seemed to have kicked his assailant on theshin. I began to long for the police.
Then there was that swaying of the crowd which betokens theapproach of the forces of law and order. But they were too lateto prevent trouble. In self-defence I had to take my jockseriously, and got in my blow when he had overreached himself andlost his balance. I never hit anyone so unwillingly in my life.He went over like a poled ox, and measured his length on thecauseway.
I found myself explaining things politely to the constables.'These men objected to this gentleman's speech at the meeting,and I had to interfere to protect him. No, no! I don't want tocharge anybody. It was all a misunderstanding.' I helped thestricken jock to rise and offered him ten bob forconsolation.
He looked at me sullenly and spat on the ground. 'Keep yourdirty money,' he said. 'I'll be even with ye yet, myman—you and that red-headed scab. I'll mind the looks of yethe next time I see ye.' Gresson was wiping the blood from hischeek with a silk handkerchief. 'I guess I'm in your debt, MrBrand,' he said. 'You may bet I won't forget it.'
I returned to an anxious Amos. He heard my story in silenceand his only comment was—'Well done the Fusiliers!'
'It might have been worse, I'll not deny,' he went on. 'Ye'veestablished some kind of a claim upon Gresson, which may come inhandy... Speaking about Gresson, I've news for ye. He's sailingon Friday as purser in theTobermory. TheTobermory's a boat that wanders every month up the WestHighlands as far as Stornoway. I've arranged for ye to take atrip on that boat, Mr Brand.'
I nodded. 'How did you find out that?' I asked.
'It took me some finding,' he said dryly, 'but I've ways andmeans. Now I'll not trouble ye with advice, for ye ken your jobas well as me. But I'm going north myself the morn to look aftersome of the Ross-shire wuds, and I'll be in the way of gettingtelegrams at the Kyle. Ye'll keep that in mind. Keep in mind,too, that I'm a great reader of thePilgrim's Progress andthat I've a cousin of the name of Ochterlony.'
TheTobermory was no ship for passengers. Its deckswere littered with a hundred oddments, so that a man could barelywalk a step without tacking, and my bunk was simply a shelf inthe frowsty little saloon, where the odour of ham and eggs hunglike a fog. I joined her at Greenock and took a turn on deck withthe captain after tea, when he told me the names of the big bluehills to the north. He had a fine old copper-coloured face andside-whiskers like an archbishop, and, having spent all his daysbeating up the western seas, had as many yarns in his head asPeter himself.
'On this boat,' he announced, 'we don't ken what a day maybring forth. I may put into Colonsay for twa hours and bide therethree days. I get a telegram at Oban and the next thing I'm awaayont Barra. Sheep's the difficult business. They maun be fetchedfor the sales, and they're dooms slow to lift. So ye see it's notwhat ye call a pleasure trip, Maister Brand.'
Indeed it wasn't, for the confounded tub wallowed like a fatsow as soon as we rounded a headland and got the weight of thesouth-western wind. When asked my purpose, I explained that I wasa colonial of Scots extraction, who was paying his first visit tohis fatherland and wanted to explore the beauties of the WestHighlands. I let him gather that I was not rich in this world'sgoods.
' Ye'll have a passport?' he asked. 'They'll no let ye gonorth o' Fort William without one.'
Amos had said nothing about passports, so I looked blank.
'I could keep ye on board for the whole voyage,' he went on,'but ye wouldna be permitted to land. if ye're seekin' enjoyment,it would be a poor job sittin' on this deck and admirin' theworks O' God and no allowed to step on the pier-head. Ye shouldhave applied to the military gentlemen in Glesca. But ye'veplenty o' time to make up your mind afore we get to Oban. We've aheap o' calls to make Mull and Islay way.'
The purser came up to inquire about my ticket, and greeted mewith a grin.
,Ye're acquaint with Mr Gresson, then?' said the captain.'Weel, we're a cheery wee ship's company, and that's the greatthing on this kind o' job.'
I made but a poor supper, for the wind had risen to half agale, and I saw hours of wretchedness approaching. The troublewith me is that I cannot be honestly sick and get it over.Queasiness and headache beset me and there is no refuge but bed.I turned into my bunk, leaving the captain and the mate smokingshag not six feet from my head, and fell into a restless sleep.When I woke the place was empty, and smelt vilely of staletobacco and cheese. My throbbing brows made sleep impossible, andI tried to ease them by staggering upon deck. I saw a clear windysky, with every star as bright as a live coal, and a heavingwaste of dark waters running to ink-black hills. Then a douche ofspray caught me and sent me down the companion to my bunk again,where I lay for hours trying to make a plan of campaign.
I argued that if Amos had wanted me to have a passport hewould have provided one, so I needn't bother my head about that.But it was my business to keep alongside Gresson, and if the boatstayed a week in some port and he went off ashore, I must followhim. Having no passport I would have to be always dodgingtrouble, which would handicap my movements and in all likelihoodmake me more conspicuous than I wanted. I guessed that Amos haddenied me the passport for the very reason that he wanted Gressonto think me harmless. The area of danger would, therefore, be thepassport country, somewhere north of Fort William.
But to follow Gresson I must run risks and enter that country.His suspicions, if he had any, would be lulled if I left the boatat Oban, but it was up to me to follow overland to the north andhit the place where theTobermory made a long stay. Theconfounded tub had no plans; she wandered about the WestHighlands looking for sheep and things; and the captain himselfcould give me no time-table of her voyage. It was incredible thatGresson should take all this trouble if he did not know that atsome place—and the right place—he would have time toget a spell ashore. But I could scarcely ask Gresson for thatinformation, though I determined to cast a wary fly over him. Iknew roughly theTobermory's course—through theSound of Islay to Colonsay; then up the east side of Mull toOban; then through the Sound of Mull to the islands with nameslike cocktails, Rum and Eigg and Coll; then to Skye; and then forthe Outer Hebrides. I thought the last would be the place, and itseemed madness to leave the boat, for the Lord knew how I shouldget across the Minch. This consideration upset all my plansagain, and I fell into a troubled sleep without coming to anyconclusion.
Morning found us nosing between Jura and Islay, and aboutmidday we touched at a little port, where we unloaded some cargoand took on a couple of shepherds who were going to Colonsay. Themellow afternoon and the good smell of salt and heather got ridof the dregs of my queasiness, and I spent a profitable hour onthe pier-head with a guide-book calledBaddely's Scotland,and one of Bartholomew's maps. I was beginning to think that Amosmight be able to tell me something, for a talk with the captainhad suggested that theTobermory would not dally long inthe neighbourhood of Rum and Eigg. The big droving season wasscarcely on yet, and sheep for the Oban market would be lifted onthe return journey. In that case Skye was the first place towatch, and if I could get wind of any big cargo waiting there Iwould be able to make a plan. Amos was somewhere near the Kyle,and that was across the narrows from Skye. Looking at the map, itseemed to me that, in spite of being passportless, I might beable somehow to make my way up through Morvern and Arisaig to thelatitude of Skye. The difficulty would be to get across the stripof sea, but there must be boats to beg, borrow or steal.
I was poring over Baddely when Gresson sat down beside me. Hewas in a good temper, and disposed to talk, and to my surprisehis talk was all about the beauties of the countryside. There wasa kind of apple-green light over everything; the steep heatherhills cut into the sky like purple amethysts, while beyond thestraits the western ocean stretched its pale molten gold to thesunset. Gresson waxed lyrical over the scene. 'This just aboutputs me right inside, Mr Brand. I've got to get away from thatlittle old town pretty frequent or I begin to moult like acanary. A man feels a man when he gets to a place that smells asgood as this. Why in hell do we ever get messed up in those stoneand lime cages? I reckon some day I'll pull my freight for aclean location and settle down there and make little poems. Thisplace would about content me. And there's a spot out inCalifornia in the Coast ranges that I've been keeping my eye on,'The odd thing was that I believe he meant it. His ugly face waslit up with a serious delight.
He told me he had taken this voyage before, so I got outBaddely and asked for advice. 'I can't spend too much time onholidaying,' I told him, 'and I want to see all the beauty spots.But the best of them seem to be in the area that this foolBritish Government won't let you into without a passport. Isuppose I shall have to leave you at Oban.'
'Too bad,' he said sympathetically. 'Well, they tell methere's some pretty sights round Oban.' And he thumbed theguide-book and began to read about Glencoe.
I said that was not my purpose, and pitched him a yarn aboutPrince Charlie and how my mother's great-grandfather had playedsome kind of part in that show. I told him I wanted to see theplace where the Prince landed and where he left for France. 'Sofar as I can make out that won't take me into the passportcountry, but I'll have to do a bit of footslogging. Well, I'mused to padding the hoof. I must get the captain to put me off inMorvern, and then I can foot it round the top of Lochiel and getback to Oban through Appin. How's that for a holiday trek?'
He gave the scheme his approval. 'But if it was me, Mr Brand,I would have a shot at puzzling your gallant policemen. You and Idon't take much stock in Governments and their two-cent laws, andit would be a good game to see just how far you could get intothe forbidden land. A man like you could put up a good bluff onthose hayseeds. I don't mind having a bet... '
'No,' I said. 'I'm out for a rest, and not for sport. If therewas anything to be gained I'd undertake to bluff my way to theOrkney Islands. But it's a wearing job and I've better things tothink about.' 'So? Well, enjoy yourself your own way. I'll besorry when you leave us, for I owe you something for thatrough-house, and beside there's darned little company in the oldmoss-back captain.'
That evening Gresson and I swopped yarns after supper to theaccompaniment of the 'Ma Goad!' and 'Is't possible?' of captainand mate. I went to bed after a glass or two of weak grog, andmade up for the last night's vigil by falling sound asleep. I hadvery little kit with me, beyond what I stood up in and couldcarry in my waterproof pockets, but on Amos's advice I hadbrought my little nickel-plated revolver. This lived by day in myhip pocket, but at night I put it behind my pillow. But when Iwoke next morning to find us casting anchor in the bay belowrough low hills, which I knew to be the island of Colonsay, Icould find no trace of the revolver. I searched every inch of thebunk and only shook out feathers from the mouldy ticking. Iremembered perfectly putting the thing behind my head before Iwent to sleep, and now it had vanished utterly. Of course I couldnot advertise my loss, and I didn't greatly mind it, for this wasnot a job where I could do much shooting. But it made me think agood deal about Mr Gresson. He simply could not suspect me; if hehad bagged my gun, as I was pretty certain he had, it must bebecause he wanted it for himself and not that he might disarm me.Every way I argued it I reached the same conclusion. In Gresson'seyes I must seem as harmless as a child.
We spent the better part of a day at Colonsay, and Gresson, sofar as his duties allowed, stuck to me like a limpet. Before Iwent ashore I wrote out a telegram for Amos. I devoted a hectichour to thePilgrim's Progress, but I could not composeany kind of intelligible message with reference to its text. Wehad all the same edition—the one in theGoldenTreasury series—so I could have made up a sort ofcipher by referring to lines and pages, but that would have takenup a dozen telegraph forms and seemed to me too elaborate for thepurpose. So I sent this message:
Ochterlony, Post Office, Kyle,
I hope to spend part of holiday near you and to see you if boat'sprogramme permits. Are any good cargoes waiting in yourneighbourhood? Reply Post Office, Oban.
It was highly important that Gresson should not see this, butit was the deuce of a business to shake him off. I went for awalk in the afternoon along the shore and passed the telegraphoffice, but the confounded fellow was with me all the time. Myonly chance was just before we sailed, when he had to go on boardto check some cargo. As the telegraph office stood full in viewof the ship's deck I did not go near it. But in the back end ofthe clachan I found the schoolmaster, and got him to promise tosend the wire. I also bought off him a couple of well-wornsevenpenny novels.
The result was that I delayed our departure for ten minutesand when I came on board faced a wrathful Gresson. 'Where thehell have you been?' he asked. 'The weather's blowing up dirtyand the old man's mad to get off. Didn't you get your legsstretched enough this afternoon?'
I explained humbly that I had been to the schoolmaster to getsomething to read, and produced my dingy red volumes. At that hisbrow cleared. I could see that his suspicions were set atrest.
We left Colonsay about six in the evening with the sky behindus banking for a storm, and the hills of Jura to starboard anangry purple. Colonsay was too low an island to be any kind ofbreakwater against a western gale, so the weather was bad fromthe start. Our course was north by east, and when we had passedthe butt-end of the island we nosed about in the trough of bigseas, shipping tons of water and rolling like a buffalo. I knowas much about boats as about Egyptian hieroglyphics, but even mylandsman's eyes could tell that we were in for a rough night. Iwas determined not to get queasy again, but when I went below thesmell of tripe and onions promised to be my undoing; so I dinedoff a slab of chocolate and a cabin biscuit, put on mywaterproof, and resolved to stick it out on deck.
I took up position near the bows, where I was out of reach ofthe oily steamer smells. It was as fresh as the top of amountain, but mighty cold and wet, for a gusty drizzle had setin, and I got the spindrift of the big waves. There I balancedmyself, as we lurched into the twilight, hanging on with one handto a rope which descended from the stumpy mast. I noticed thatthere was only an indifferent rail between me and the edge, butthat interested me and helped to keep off sickness. I swung tothe movement of the vessel, and though I was mortally cold it wasrather pleasant than otherwise. My notion was to get the nauseawhipped out of me by the weather, and, when I was properly tired,to go down and turn in.
I stood there till the dark had fallen. By that time I was anautomaton, the way a man gets on sentry-go, and I could haveeasily hung on till morning. My thoughts ranged about the earth,beginning with the business I had set out on, andpresently—by way of recollections of Blenkiron andPeter—reaching the German forest where, in the Christmas of1915, I had been nearly done in by fever and old Stumm. Iremembered the bitter cold of that wild race, and the way thesnow seemed to burn like fire when I stumbled and got my faceinto it. I reflected that sea-sickness was kitten's play to agood bout of malaria.
The weather was growing worse, and I was getting more thanspindrift from the seas. I hooked my arm round the rope, for myfingers were numbing. Then I fell to dreaming again, principallyabout Fosse Manor and Mary Lamington. This so ravished me that Iwas as good as asleep. I was trying to reconstruct the picture asI had last seen her at Biggleswick station...
A heavy body collided with me and shook my arm from the rope.I slithered across the yard of deck, engulfed in a whirl ofwater. One foot caught a stanchion of the rail, and it gave withme, so that for an instant I was more than half overboard. But myfingers clawed wildly and caught in the links of what must havebeen the anchor chain. They held, though a ton's weight seemed tobe tugging at my feet... Then the old tub rolled back, the watersslipped off, and I was sprawling on a wet deck with no breath inme and a gallon of brine in my windpipe.
I heard a voice cry out sharply, and a hand helped me to myfeet. It was Gresson, and he seemed excited.
'God, Mr Brand, that was a close call! I was coming up to findyou, when this damned ship took to lying on her side. I guess Imust have cannoned into you, and I was calling myself bad nameswhen I saw you rolling into the Atlantic. If I hadn't got a gripon the rope I would have been down beside you. Say, you're nothurt? I reckon you'd better come below and get a glass of rumunder your belt. You're about as wet as mother'sdish-clouts.'
There's one advantage about campaigning. You take your luckwhen it comes and don't worry about what might have been. Ididn't think any more of the business, except that it had curedme of wanting to be sea-sick. I went down to the reeking cabinwithout one qualm in my stomach, and ate a good meal ofwelsh-rabbit and bottled Bass, with a tot of rum to follow upwith. Then I shed my wet garments, and slept in my bunk till weanchored off a village in Mull in a clear blue morning.
It took us four days to crawl up that coast and make Oban, forwe seemed to be a floating general store for every hamlet inthose parts. Gresson made himself very pleasant, as if he wantedto atone for nearly doing me in. We played some poker, and I readthe little books I had got in Colonsay, and then rigged up afishing-line, and caught saithe and lythe and an occasional bighaddock. But I found the time pass slowly, and I was glad thatabout noon one day we came into a bay blocked with islands andsaw a clean little town sitting on the hills and the smoke of arailway engine.
I went ashore and purchased a better brand of hat in a tweedstore. Then I made a bee-line for the post office, and asked fortelegrams. One was given to me, and as I opened it I saw Gressonat my elbow.
It read thus:
'Brand, Post office, Oban. Page 117, paragraph3. Ochterlony.'
I passed it to Gresson with a rueful face.
'There's a piece of foolishness,' I said. 'I've got a cousinwho's a Presbyterian minister up in Ross-shire, and before I knewabout this passport humbug I wrote to him and offered to pay hima visit. I told him to wire me here if it was convenient, and theold idiot has sent me the wrong telegram. This was likely as notmeant for some other brother parson, who's got my messageinstead.'
'What's the guy's name?' Gresson asked curiously, peering atthe signature.
'Ochterlony. David Ochterlony. He's a great swell at writingbooks, but he's no earthly use at handling the telegraph.However, it don't signify, seeing I'm not going near him.' Icrumpled up the pink form and tossed it on the floor. Gresson andI walked to theTobermory together.
That afternoon, when I got a chance, I had out myPilgrim'sProgress. Page 117, paragraph 3, read:
'Then I saw in my dream, that a little off theroad, over against the Silver-mine, stood Demas (gentlemanlike)to call to passengers to come and see: who said to Christian andhis fellow, Ho, turn aside hither and I will show you athing.'
At tea I led the talk to my own past life. I yarned about myexperiences as a mining engineer, and said I could never get outof the trick of looking at country with the eye of theprospector. 'For instance,' I said, 'if this had been Rhodesia, Iwould have said there was a good chance of copper in these littlekopjes above the town. They're not unlike the hills round theMessina mine.' I told the captain that after the war I wasthinking of turning my attention to the West Highlands andlooking out for minerals.
'Ye'll make nothing of it,' said the captain. 'The costs areower big, even if ye found the minerals, for ye'd have to importa' your labour. The West Hielandman is no fond o' hard work. Yeken the psalm o' the crofter?
'O that the peats would cut themselves,
The fish chump on the shore,
And that I in my bed might lie
Henceforth for ever more!
'Has it ever been tried?' I asked.
'Often. There's marble and slate quarries, and there was wordo' coal in Benbecula. And there's the iron mines at Ranna.'
'Where's that?' I asked.
'Up forenent Skye. We call in there, and generally bide a bit.There's a heap of cargo for Ranna, and we usually get a good loadback. But as I tell ye, there's few Hielanders working there.Mostly Irish and lads frae Fife and Falkirk way.'
I didn't pursue the subject, for I had found Demas'ssilver-mine. If theTobermory lay at Ranna for a week,Gresson would have time to do his own private business. Rannawould not be the spot, for the island was bare to the world inthe middle of a much-frequented channel. But Skye was just acrossthe way, and when I looked in my map at its big, wanderingpeninsulas I concluded that my guess had been right, and thatSkye was the place to make for.
That night I sat on deck with Gresson, and in a wonderfulstarry silence we watched the lights die out of the houses in thetown, and talked of a thousand things. I noticed—what I hadhad a hint of before— that my companion was no common man.There were moments when he forgot himself and talked like aneducated gentleman: then he would remember, and relapse into thelingo of Leadville, Colorado. In my character of the ingenuousinquirer I set him posers about politics and economics, the kindof thing I might have been supposed to pick up from unintelligentbrowsing among little books. Generally he answered with someslangy catchword, but occasionally he was interested beyond hisdiscretion, and treated me to a harangue like an equal. Idiscovered another thing, that he had a craze for poetry, and acapacious memory for it. I forgot how we drifted into thesubject, but I remember he quoted some queer haunting stuff whichhe said was Swinburne, and verses by people I had heard of fromLetchford at Biggleswick. Then he saw by my silence that he hadgone too far, and fell back into the jargon of the West. Hewanted to know about my plans, and we went down into the cabinand had a look at the map. I explained my route, up Morvern andround the head of Lochiel, and back to Oban by the east side ofLoch Linnhe.
'Got you,' he said. 'You've a hell of a walk before you. Thatbug never bit me, and I guess I'm not envying you any. And afterthat, Mr Brand?'
'Back to Glasgow to do some work for the cause,' I saidlightly. 'Just so,' he said with a grin. 'It's a great life ifyou don't weaken.'
We steamed out of the bay next morning at dawn, and about nineo'clock I got on shore at a little place called Lochaline. My kitwas all on my person, and my waterproof's pockets were stuffedwith chocolates and biscuits I had bought in Oban. The captainwas discouraging. 'Ye'll get your bellyful o' Hieland hills, MrBrand, afore ye win round the loch head. Ye'll be wishin' yerselfback on theTobermory.' But Gresson speeded me joyfully onmy way, and said he wished he were coming with me. He evenaccompanied me the first hundred yards, and waved his hat afterme till I was round the turn of the road.
The first stage in that journey was pure delight. I wasthankful to be rid of the infernal boat, and the hot summerscents coming down the glen were comforting after the cold, saltsmell of the sea. The road lay up the side of a small bay, at thetop of which a big white house stood among gardens. Presently Ihad left the coast and was in a glen where a brown salmon-riverswirled through acres of bog-myrtle. It had its source in a loch,from which the mountain rose steeply—a place so glassy inthat August forenoon that every scar and wrinkle of the hillsidewere faithfully reflected. After that I crossed a low pass to thehead of another sea-lock, and, following the map, struck over theshoulder of a great hill and ate my luncheon far up on its side,with a wonderful vista of wood and water below me.
All that morning I was very happy, not thinking about Gressonor Ivery, but getting my mind clear in those wide spaces, and mylungs filled with the brisk hill air. But I noticed one curiousthing. On my last visit to Scotland, when I covered more moorlandmiles a day than any man since Claverhouse, I had been fascinatedby the land, and had pleased myself with plans for settling downin it. But now, after three years of war and general rocketing, Ifelt less drawn to that kind of landscape. I wanted somethingmore green and peaceful and habitable, and it was to theCotswolds that my memory turned with longing.
I puzzled over this till I realized that in all my Cotswoldpictures a figure kept going and coming—a young girl with acloud of gold hair and the strong, slim grace of a boy, who hadsung 'Cherry Ripe' in a moonlit garden. Up on that hillside Iunderstood very clearly that I, who had been as careless of womenas any monk, had fallen wildly in love with a child of half myage. I was loath to admit it, though for weeks the conclusion hadbeen forcing itself on me. Not that I didn't revel in my madness,but that it seemed too hopeless a business, and I had no use forbarren philandering. But, seated on a rock munching chocolate andbiscuits, I faced up to the fact and resolved to trust my luck.After all we were comrades in a big job, and it was up to me tobe man enough to win her. The thought seemed to brace any couragethat was in me. No task seemed too hard with her approval to gainand her companionship somewhere at the back of it. I sat for along time in a happy dream, remembering all the glimpses I hadhad of her, and humming her song to an audience of oneblack-faced sheep.
On the highroad half a mile below me, I saw a figure on abicycle mounting the hill, and then getting off to mop its faceat the summit. I turned my Ziess glasses on to it, and observedthat it was a country policeman. It caught sight of me, staredfor a bit, tucked its machine into the side of the road, and thenvery slowly began to climb the hillside. Once it stopped, wavedits hand and shouted something which I could not hear. I satfinishing my luncheon, till the features were revealed to me of afat oldish man, blowing like a grampus, his cap well on the backof a bald head, and his trousers tied about the shins withstring.
There was a spring beside me and I had out my flask to roundoff my meal.
'Have a drink,' I said.
His eye brightened, and a smile overran his moist face.
'Thank you, sir. It will be very warrm coming up thebrae.'
'You oughtn't to,' I said. 'You really oughtn't, you know.Scorching up hills and then doubling up a mountain are not goodfor your time of life.'
He raised the cap of my flask in solemn salutation. 'Your verygood health.' Then he smacked his lips, and had several cupfulsof water from the spring.
'You will haf come from Achranich way, maybe?' he said in hissoft sing-song, having at last found his breath.
'Just so. Fine weather for the birds, if there was anybody toshoot them.'
'Ah, no. There will be few shots fired today, for there are nogentlemen left in Morvern. But I wass asking you, if you comefrom Achranich, if you haf seen anybody on the road.'
From his pocket he extricated a brown envelope and a bulkytelegraph form. 'Will you read it, sir, for I haf forgot myspectacles?'
It contained a description of one Brand, a South African and asuspected character, whom the police were warned to stop andreturn to Oban. The description wasn't bad, but it lacked any onegood distinctive detail. Clearly the policeman took me for aninnocent pedestrian, probably the guest of some moorlandshooting-box, with my brown face and rough tweeds and hobnailedshoes.
I frowned and puzzled a little. 'I did see a fellow aboutthree miles back on the hillside. There's a public-house justwhere the burn comes in, and I think he was making for it. Maybethat was your man. This wire says "South African"; and now Iremember the fellow had the look of a colonial.'
The policeman sighed. 'No doubt it will be the man. Perhaps hewill haf a pistol and will shoot.'
'Not him,' I laughed. 'He looked a mangy sort of chap, andhe'll be scared out of his senses at the sight of you. But takemy advice and get somebody with you before you tackle him. You'realways the better of a witness.'
'That is so,' he said, brightening. 'Ach, these are the badtimes! in old days there wass nothing to do but watch the doorsat the flower-shows and keep the yachts from poaching thesea-trout. But now it is spies, spies, and "Donald, get out ofyour bed, and go off twenty mile to find a German." I wasswishing the war wass by, and the Germans all dead.'
'Hear, hear!' I cried, and on the strength of it gave himanother dram.
I accompanied him to the road, and saw him mount his bicycleand zig-zag like a snipe down the hill towards Achranich. Then Iset off briskly northward. It was clear that the faster I movedthe better. As I went I paid disgusted tribute to the efficiencyof the Scottish police. I wondered how on earth they had markedme down. Perhaps it was the Glasgow meeting, or perhaps myassociation with Ivery at Biggleswick. Anyhow there was somebodysomewhere mighty quick at compiling adossier. Unless Iwanted to be bundled back to Oban I must make good speed to theArisaig coast.
Presently the road fell to a gleaming sea-loch which lay likethe blue blade of a sword among the purple of the hills. At thehead there was a tiny clachan, nestled among birches and rowans,where a tawny burn wound to the sea. When I entered the place itwas about four o'clock in the afternoon, and peace lay on it likea garment. In the wide, sunny street there was no sign of life,and no sound except of hens clucking and of bees busy among theroses. There was a little grey box of a kirk, and close to thebridge a thatched cottage which bore the sign of a post andtelegraph office.
For the past hour I had been considering that I had betterprepare for mishaps. If the police of these parts had been warnedthey might prove too much for me, and Gresson would be allowed tomake his journey unmatched. The only thing to do was to send awire to Amos and leave the matter in his hands. Whether that waspossible or not depended upon this remote postal authority.
I entered the little shop, and passed from bright sunshine toa twilight smelling of paraffin and black-striped peppermintballs. An old woman with a mutch sat in an arm-chair behind thecounter. She looked up at me over her spectacles and smiled, andI took to her on the instant. She had the kind of old wise facethat God loves.
Beside her I noticed a little pile of books, one of which wasa Bible. Open on her lap was a paper, theUnited Free ChurchMonthly. I noticed these details greedily, for I had to makeup my mind on the part to play.
'It's a warm day, mistress,' I said, my voice falling into thebroad Lowland speech, for I had an instinct that she was not ofthe Highlands.
She laid aside her paper. 'It is that, sir. It is grandweather for the hairst, but here that's no till the hinner end o'September, and at the best it's a bit scart o' aits.'
'Ay. It's a different thing down Annandale way,' I said.
Her face lit up. 'Are ye from Dumfries, sir?'
'Not just from Dumfries, but I know the Borders fine.'
'Ye'll no beat them,' she cried. 'Not that this is no a guidplace and I've muckle to be thankfu' for since JohnSanderson—that was ma man—brought me hereforty-seeven year syne come Martinmas. But the aulder I get themair I think o' the bit whaur I was born. It was twae miles fromWamphray on the Lockerbie road, but they tell me the place is noojust a rickle o' stanes.' 'I was wondering, mistress, if I couldget a cup of tea in the village.'
'Ye'll hae a cup wi' me,' she said. 'It's no often we seeonybody frae the Borders hereaways. The kettle's just on theboil.'
She gave me tea and scones and butter, and black-currant jam,and treacle biscuits that melted in the mouth. And as we ate wetalked of many things—chiefly of the war and of thewickedness of the world.
'There's nae lads left here,' she said. 'They a' joined theCamerons, and the feck o' them fell at an awfu' place calledLowse. John and me never had no boys, jist the one lassie that'smarried on Donald Frew, the Strontian carrier. I used to vexmysel' about it, but now I thank the Lord that in His mercy Hespared me sorrow. But I wad hae liked to have had one laddiefechtin' for his country. I whiles wish I was a Catholic andcould pit up prayers for the sodgers that are deid. It maun be agreat consolation.'
I whipped out thePilgrim's Progress from my pocket.'That is the grand book for a time like this.'
'Fine I ken it,' she said. 'I got it for a prize in theSabbath School when I was a lassie.'
I turned the pages. I read out a passage or two, and then Iseemed struck with a sudden memory.
'This is a telegraph office, mistress. Could I trouble you tosend a telegram? You see I've a cousin that's a minister inRoss-shire at the Kyle, and him and me are great correspondents.He was writing about something in thePilgrim's Progressand I think I'll send him a telegram in answer.'
'A letter would be cheaper,' she said.
'Ay, but I'm on holiday and I've no time for writing.'
She gave me a form, and I wrote:
'Ochterlony. Post Office, Kyle.—Demaswill be at his mine within the week. Strive with him, lest Ifaint by the way.'
'Ye're unco lavish wi' the words, sir,' was her onlycomment.
We parted with regret, and there was nearly a row when I triedto pay for the tea. I was bidden remember her to one DavidTudhole, farmer in Nether Mirecleuch, the next time I passed byWamphray.
The village was as quiet when I left it as when I had entered.I took my way up the hill with an easier mind, for I had got offthe telegram, and I hoped I had covered my tracks. My friend thepostmistress would, if questioned, be unlikely to recognize anySouth African suspect in the frank and homely traveller who hadspoken with her of Annandale and thePilgrim'sProgress.
The soft mulberry gloaming of the west coast was beginning tofall on the hills. I hoped to put in a dozen miles before dark tothe next village on the map, where I might find quarters. But ereI had gone far I heard the sound of a motor behind me, and a carslipped past bearing three men. The driver favoured me with asharp glance, and clapped on the brakes. I noted that the two menin the tonneau were carrying sporting rifles.
' Hi, you, sir,' he cried. 'Come here.' The tworifle-bearers— solemn gillies—brought their weaponsto attention.
'By God,' he said, 'it's the man. What's your name? Keep himcovered, Angus.'
The gillies duly covered me, and I did not like the look oftheir wavering barrels. They were obviously as surprised asmyself.
I had about half a second to make my plans. I advanced with avery stiff air, and asked him what the devil he meant. No LowlandScots for me now. My tone was that of an adjutant of a Guards'battalion.
My inquisitor was a tall man in an ulster, with a green felthat on his small head. He had a lean, well-bred face, and verycholeric blue eyes. I set him down as a soldier, retired,Highland regiment or cavalry, old style.
He produced a telegraph form, like the policeman.
'Middle height—strongly built—greytweeds—brown hat—speaks with a colonialaccent—much sunburnt. What's your name, sir?'
I did not reply in a colonial accent, but with the hauteur ofthe British officer when stopped by a French sentry. I asked himagain what the devil he had to do with my business. This made himangry and he began to stammer.
'I'll teach you what I have to do with it. I'm adeputy-lieutenant of this county, and I have Admiraltyinstructions to watch the coast. Damn it, sir, I've a wire herefrom the Chief Constable describing you. You're Brand, a verydangerous fellow, and we want to know what the devil you're doinghere.'
As I looked at his wrathful eye and lean head, which could nothave held much brains, I saw that I must change my tone. if Iirritated him he would get nasty and refuse to listen and hang meup for hours. So my voice became respectful.
'I beg your pardon, sir, but I've not been accustomed to bepulled up suddenly, and asked for my credentials. My name isBlaikie, Captain Robert Blaikie, of the Scots Fusiliers. I'm homeon three weeks' leave, to get a little peace after Hooge. We wereonly hauled out five days ago.' I hoped my old friend in theshell-shock hospital at Isham would pardon my borrowing hisidentity.
The man looked puzzled. 'How the devil am I to be satisfiedabout that? Have you any papers to prove it?'
'Why, no. I don't carry passports about with me on a walkingtour. But you can wire to the depot, or to my Londonaddress.'
He pulled at his yellow moustache. 'I'm hanged if I know whatto do. I want to get home for dinner. I tell you what, sir, I'lltake you on with me and put you up for the night. My boy's athome, convalescing, and if he says you're pukka I'll ask yourpardon and give you a dashed good bottle of port. I'll trust himand I warn you he's a keen hand.'
There was nothing to do but consent, and I got in beside himwith an uneasy conscience. Supposing the son knew the realBlaikie! I asked the name of the boy's battalion, and was toldthe 10th Seaforths. That wasn't pleasant hearing, for they hadbeen brigaded with us on the Somme. But ColonelBroadbury—for he told me his name—volunteered anotherpiece of news which set my mind at rest. The boy was not yettwenty, and had only been out seven months. At Arras he had got abit of shrapnel in his thigh, which had played the deuce with thesciatic nerve, and he was still on crutches.
We spun over ridges of moorland, always keeping northward, andbrought up at a pleasant white-washed house close to the sea.Colonel Broadbury ushered me into a hall where a small fire ofpeats was burning, and on a couch beside it lay a slim,pale-faced young man. He had dropped his policeman's manner, andbehaved like a gentleman. 'Ted,' he said, 'I've brought a friendhome for the night. I went out to look for a suspect and found aBritish officer. This is Captain Blaikie, of the ScotsFusiliers.'
The boy looked at me pleasantly. 'I'm very glad to meet you,sir. You'll excuse me not getting up, but I've got a game leg.'He was the copy of his father in features, but dark and sallowwhere the other was blond. He had just the same narrow head, andstubborn mouth, and honest, quick-tempered eyes. It is the typethat makes dashing regimental officers, and earns V.C.s, and getsdone in wholesale. I was never that kind. I belonged to theschool of the cunning cowards.
In the half-hour before dinner the last wisp of suspicion fledfrom my host's mind. For Ted Broadbury and I were immediatelydeep in 'shop'. I had met most of his senior officers, and I knewall about their doings at Arras, for his brigade had been acrossthe river on my left. We fought the great fight over again, andyarned about technicalities and slanged the Staff in the wayyoung officers have, the father throwing in questions that showedhow mighty proud he was of his son. I had a bath before dinner,and as he led me to the bathroom he apologized very handsomelyfor his bad manners. 'Your coming's been a godsend for Ted. Hewas moping a bit in this place. And, though I say it thatshouldn't, he's a dashed good boy.'
I had my promised bottle of port, and after dinner I took onthe father at billiards. Then we settled in the smoking-room, andI laid myself out to entertain the pair. The result was that theywould have me stay a week, but I spoke of the shortness of myleave, and said I must get on to the railway and then back toFort William for my luggage.
So I spent that night between clean sheets, and ate aChristian breakfast, and was given my host's car to set me a biton the road. I dismissed it after half a dozen miles, and,following the map, struck over the hills to the west. Aboutmidday I topped a ridge, and beheld the Sound of Sleat shiningbeneath me. There were other things in the landscape. In thevalley on the right a long goods train was crawling on theMallaig railway. And across the strip of sea, like some fortressof the old gods, rose the dark bastions and turrets of the hillsof Skye.
Obviously I must keep away from the railway. If the policewere after me in Morvern, that line would be warned, for it was abarrier I must cross if I were to go farther north. I observedfrom the map that it turned up the coast, and concluded that theplace for me to make for was the shore south of that turn, whereHeaven might send me some luck in the boat line. For I was prettycertain that every porter and station-master on that tin-potoutfit was anxious to make better acquaintance with my humbleself.
I lunched off the sandwiches the Broadburys had given me, andin the bright afternoon made my way down the hill, crossed at thefoot of a small fresh-water lochan, and pursued the issuingstream through midge-infested woods of hazels to its junctionwith the sea. It was rough going, but very pleasant, and I fellinto the same mood of idle contentment that I had enjoyed theprevious morning. I never met a soul. Sometimes a roe deer brokeout of the covert, or an old blackcock startled me with hisscolding. The place was bright with heather, still in its firstbloom, and smelt better than the myrrh of Arabia. It was ablessed glen, and I was as happy as a king, till I began to feelthe coming of hunger, and reflected that the Lord alone knew whenI might get a meal. I had still some chocolate and biscuits, butI wanted something substantial.
The distance was greater than I thought, and it was alreadytwilight when I reached the coast. The shore was open anddesolate—great banks of pebbles to which straggled aldersand hazels from the hillside scrub. But as I marched northwardand turned a little point of land I saw before me in a crook ofthe bay a smoking cottage. And, plodding along by the water'sedge, was the bent figure of a man, laden with nets and lobsterpots. Also, beached on the shingle was a boat.
I quickened my pace and overtook the fisherman. He was an oldman with a ragged grey beard, and his rig was seaman's boots anda much-darned blue jersey. He was deaf, and did not hear me whenI hailed him. When he caught sight of me he never stopped, thoughhe very solemnly returned my good evening. I fell into step withhim, and in his silent company reached the cottage.
He halted before the door and unslung his burdens. The placewas a two-roomed building with a roof of thatch, and the wallsall grown over with a yellow-flowered creeper. When he hadstraightened his back, he looked seaward and at the sky, as if toprospect the weather. Then he turned on me his gentle, absorbedeyes. 'It will haf been a fine day, sir. Wass you seeking theroad to anywhere?'
'I was seeking a night's lodging,' I said. 'I've had a longtramp on the hills, and I'd be glad of a chance of not goingfarther.'
'We will haf no accommodation for a gentleman,' he saidgravely.
'I can sleep on the floor, if you can give me a blanket and abite of supper.'
'Indeed you will not,' and he smiled slowly. 'But I will askthe wife. Mary, come here!'
An old woman appeared in answer to his call, a woman whoseface was so old that she seemed like his mother. In highlandplaces one sex ages quicker than the other.
'This gentleman would like to bide the night. I wass tellinghim that we had a poor small house, but he says he will not beminding it.'
She looked at me with the timid politeness that you find onlyin outland places.
'We can do our best, indeed, sir. The gentleman can haveColin's bed in the loft, but he will haf to be doing with plainfood. Supper is ready if you will come in now.'
I had a scrub with a piece of yellow soap at an adjacent poolin the burn and then entered a kitchen blue with peat-reek. Wehad a meal of boiled fish, oatcakes and skim-milk cheese, withcups of strong tea to wash it down. The old folk had the mannersof princes. They pressed food on me, and asked me no questions,till for very decency's sake I had to put up a story and givesome account of myself.
I found they had a son in the Argylls and a young boy in theNavy. But they seemed disinclined to talk of them or of the war.By a mere accident I hit on the old man's absorbing interest. Hewas passionate about the land. He had taken part inlong-forgotten agitations, and had suffered eviction in someancient landlords' quarrel farther north. Presently he waspouring out to me all the woes of the crofter—woes thatseemed so antediluvian and forgotten that I listened as one wouldlisten to an old song. 'You who come from a new country will nothaf heard of these things,' he kept telling me, but by that peatfire I made up for my defective education. He told me ofevictions in the year. One somewhere in Sutherland, and of harshdoings in the Outer Isles. It was far more than a politicalgrievance. It was the lament of the conservative for vanisheddays and manners. 'Over in Skye wass the fine land for blackcattle, and every man had his bit herd on the hillside. But thelairds said it wass better for sheep, and then they said it wassnot good for sheep, so they put it under deer, and now there isno black cattle anywhere in Skye.' I tell you it was like sadmusic on the bagpipes hearing that old fellow. The war and allthings modern meant nothing to him; he lived among the tragediesof his youth and his prime.
I'm a Tory myself and a bit of a land-reformer, so we agreedwell enough. So well, that I got what I wanted without asking forit. I told him I was going to Skye, and he offered to take meover in his boat in the morning. 'It will be no trouble. Indeedno. I will be going that way myself to the fishing.'
I told him that after the war, every acre of British soilwould have to be used for the men that had earned the right toit. But that did not comfort him. He was not thinking about theland itself, but about the men who had been driven from it fiftyyears before. His desire was not for reform, but for restitution,and that was past the power of any Government. I went to bed inthe loft in a sad, reflective mood, considering how in speedingour newfangled plough we must break down a multitude of molehillsand how desirable and unreplaceable was the life of themoles.
In brisk, shining weather, with a wind from the south-east, weput off next morning. In front was a brown line of low hills, andbehind them, a little to the north, that black toothcomb ofmountain range which I had seen the day before from the Arisaigridge.
'That is the Coolin,' said the fisherman. 'It is a bad placewhere even the deer cannot go. But all the rest of Skye wass thefine land for black cattle.'
As we neared the coast, he pointed out many places. 'Lookthere, Sir, in that glen. I haf seen six cot houses smokingthere, and now there is not any left. There were three men of myown name had crofts on the machars beyond the point, and if yougo there you will only find the marks of their bit gardens. Youwill know the place by the gean trees.' When he put me ashore ina sandy bay between green ridges of bracken, he was still harpingupon the past. I got him to take a pound—for the boat andnot for the night's hospitality, for he would have beaten me withan oar if I had suggested that. The last I saw of him, as Iturned round at the top of the hill, he had still his sail down,and was gazing at the lands which had once been full of humandwellings and now were desolate.
I kept for a while along the ridge, with the Sound of Sleat onmy right, and beyond it the high hills of Knoydart and Kintail. Iwas watching for theTobermory, but saw no sign of her. Asteamer put out from Mallaig, and there were several drifterscrawling up the channel and once I saw the white ensign and adestroyer bustled northward, leaving a cloud of black smoke inher wake. Then, after consulting the map, I struck acrosscountry, still keeping the higher ground, but, except at oddminutes, being out of sight of the sea. I concluded that mybusiness was to get to the latitude of Ranna without wastingtime.
So soon as I changed my course I had the Coolin for company.Mountains have always been a craze of mine, and the blackness andmystery of those grim peaks went to my head. I forgot all aboutFosse Manor and the Cotswolds. I forgot, too, what had been mychief feeling since I left Glasgow, a sense of the absurdity ofmy mission. It had all seemed too far-fetched and whimsical. Iwas running apparently no great personal risk, and I had alwaysthe unpleasing fear that Blenkiron might have been too clever andthat the whole thing might be a mare's nest. But that darkmountain mass changed my outlook. I began to have a queerinstinct that that was the place, that something might beconcealed there, something pretty damnable. I remember I sat on atop for half an hour raking the hills with my glasses. I made outugly precipices, and glens which lost themselves in primevalblackness. When the sun caught them—for it was a gleamyday—it brought out no colours, only degrees of shade. Nomountains I had ever seen—not the Drakensberg or the redkopjes of Damaraland or the cold, white peaks aroundErzerum—ever looked so unearthly and uncanny.
Oddly enough, too, the sight of them set me thinking aboutIvery. There seemed no link between a smooth, sedentary being,dwelling in villas and lecture-rooms, and that shaggy tangle ofprecipices. But I felt there was, for I had begun to realize thebigness of my opponent. Blenkiron had said that he spun his webwide. That was intelligible enough among the half-baked youth ofBiggleswick, and the pacifist societies, or even the toughs onthe Clyde. I could fit him in all right to that picture. But thathe should be playing his game among those mysterious black cragsseemed to make him bigger and more desperate, altogether adifferent kind of proposition. I didn't exactly dislike the idea,for my objection to my past weeks had been that I was out of myproper job, and this was more my line of country. I always feltthat I was a better bandit than a detective. But a sort of awemingled with my satisfaction. I began to feel about Ivery as Ihad felt about the three devils of the Black Stone who had huntedme before the war, and as I never felt about any other Hun. Themen we fought at the Front and the men I had run across in theGreenmantle business, even old Stumm himself, had been humanmiscreants. They were formidable enough, but you could gauge andcalculate their capacities. But this Ivery was like a poison gasthat hung in the air and got into unexpected crannies and thatyou couldn't fight in an upstanding way. Till then, in spite ofBlenkiron's solemnity, I had regarded him simply as a problem.But now he seemed an intimate and omnipresent enemy, intangible,too, as the horror of a haunted house. Up on that sunny hillside,with the sea winds round me and the whaups calling, I got a chillin my spine when I thought of him.
I am ashamed to confess it, but I was also horribly hungry.There was something about the war that made me ravenous, and theless chance of food the worse I felt. If I had been in Londonwith twenty restaurants open to me, I should as likely as nothave gone off my feed. That was the cussedness of my stomach. Ihad still a little chocolate left, and I ate the fisherman'sbuttered scones for luncheon, but long before the evening mythoughts were dwelling on my empty interior.
I put up that night in a shepherd's cottage miles fromanywhere. The man was called Macmorran, and he had come fromGalloway when sheep were booming. He was a very good imitation ofa savage, a little fellow with red hair and red eyes, who mighthave been a Pict. He lived with a daughter who had once been inservice in Glasgow, a fat young woman with a face entirelycovered with freckles and a pout of habitual discontent. Nowonder, for that cottage was a pretty mean place. It was so thickwith peat-reek that throat and eyes were always smarting. It wasbadly built, and must have leaked like a sieve in a storm. Thefather was a surly fellow, whose conversation was one long growlat the world, the high prices, the difficulty of moving hissheep, the meanness of his master, and the godforsaken characterof Skye. 'Here's me no seen baker's bread for a month, and nocompany but a wheen ignorant Hielanders that yatter Gawlic. Iwish I was back in the Glenkens. And I'd gang the morn if I couldget paid what I'm awed.'
However, he gave me supper—a braxy ham and oatcake, andI bought the remnants off him for use next day. I did not trusthis blankets, so I slept the night by the fire in the ruins of anarm-chair, and woke at dawn with a foul taste in my mouth. A dipin the burn refreshed me, and after a bowl of porridge I took theroad again. For I was anxious to get to some hill-top that lookedover to Ranna.
Before midday I was close under the eastern side of theCoolin, on a road which was more a rockery than a path. PresentlyI saw a big house ahead of me that looked like an inn, so I gaveit a miss and struck the highway that led to it a little farthernorth. Then I bore off to the east, and was just beginning toclimb a hill which I judged stood between me and the sea, when Iheard wheels on the road and looked back.
It was a farmer's gig carrying one man. I was about half amile off, and something in the cut of his jib seemed familiar. Igot my glasses on him and made out a short, stout figure clad ina mackintosh, with a woollen comforter round its throat. As Iwatched, it made a movement as if to rub its nose on its sleeve.That was the pet trick of one man I knew. Inconspicuously Islipped through the long heather so as to reach the road ahead ofthe gig. When I rose like a wraith from the wayside the horsestarted, but not the driver.
'So ye're there,' said Amos's voice. 'I've news for ye. TheTobermory will be in Ranna by now. She passed Broadfordtwo hours syne. When I saw her I yoked this beast and came up onthe chance of foregathering with ye.'
'How on earth did you know I would be here?' I asked in somesurprise.
'Oh, I saw the way your mind was workin' from your telegram.And says I to mysel'—that man Brand, says I, is not thechiel to be easy stoppit. But I was feared ye might be a daylate, so I came up the road to hold the fort. Man, I'm glad tosee ye. Ye're younger and soopler than me, and yon Gresson's astirrin' lad.'
'There's one thing you've got to do for me,' I said. 'I can'tgo into inns and shops, but I can't do without food. I see fromthe map there's a town about six miles on. Go there and buy meanything that's tinned— biscuits and tongue and sardines,and a couple of bottles of whisky if you can get them. This maybe a long job, so buy plenty.'
'Whaur'll I put them?' was his only question.
We fixed on a cache, a hundred yards from the highway in aplace where two ridges of hill enclosed the view so that only ashort bit of road was visible.
'I'll get back to the Kyle,' he told me, 'and a'body therekens Andra Amos, if ye should find a way of sendin' a message orcomin' yourself. Oh, and I've got a word to ye from a lady thatwe ken of. She says, the sooner ye're back in Vawnity Fair thebetter she'll be pleased, always provided ye've got over the HillDifficulty.'
A smile screwed up his old face and he waved his whip infarewell. I interpreted Mary's message as an incitement to speed,but I could not make the pace. That was Gresson's business. Ithink I was a little nettled, till I cheered myself by anotherinterpretation. She might be anxious for my safety, she mightwant to see me again, anyhow the mere sending of the messageshowed I was not forgotten. I was in a pleasant muse as Ibreasted the hill, keeping discreetly in the cover of the manygullies. At the top I looked down on Ranna and the sea.
There lay theTobermory busy unloading. It would besome time, no doubt, before Gresson could leave. There was norow-boat in the channel yet, and I might have to wait hours. Isettled myself snugly between two rocks, where I could not beseen, and where I had a clear view of the sea and shore. Butpresently I found that I wanted some long heather to make acouch, and I emerged to get some. I had not raised my head for asecond when I flopped down again. For I had a neighbour on thehill-top.
He was about two hundred yards off, just reaching the crest,and, unlike me, walking quite openly. His eyes were on Ranna, sohe did not notice me, but from my cover I scanned every line ofhim. He looked an ordinary countryman, wearing badly cut, baggyknickerbockers of the kind that gillies affect. He had a facelike a Portuguese Jew, but I had seen that type before amongpeople with Highland names; they might be Jews or not, but theycould speak Gaelic. Presently he disappeared. He had followed myexample and selected a hiding-place.
It was a clear, hot day, but very pleasant in that airy place.Good scents came up from the sea, the heather was warm andfragrant, bees droned about, and stray seagulls swept the ridgewith their wings. I took a look now and then towards myneighbour, but he was deep in his hidey-hole. Most of the time Ikept my glasses on Ranna, and watched the doings of theTobermory. She was tied up at the jetty, but seemed in nohurry to unload. I watched the captain disembark and walk up to ahouse on the hillside. Then some idlers sauntered down towardsher and stood talking and smoking close to her side. The captainreturned and left again. A man with papers in his hand appeared,and a woman with what looked like a telegram. The mate wentashore in his best clothes. Then at last, after midday, Gressonappeared. He joined the captain at the piermaster's office, andpresently emerged on the other side of the jetty where some smallboats were beached. A man from theTobermory came inanswer to his call, a boat was launched, and began to make itsway into the channel. Gresson sat in the stern, placidly eatinghis luncheon.
I watched every detail of that crossing with some satisfactionthat my forecast was turning out right. About half-way across,Gresson took the oars, but soon surrendered them to theTobermory man, and lit a pipe. He got out a pair ofbinoculars and raked my hillside. I tried to see if my neighbourwas making any signal, but all was quiet. Presently the boat washid from me by the bulge of the hill, and I caught the sound ofher scraping on the beach.
Gresson was not a hill-walker like my neighbour. It took himthe best part of an hour to get to the top, and he reached it ata point not two yards from my hiding-place. I could hear by hislabouring breath that he was very blown. He walked straight overthe crest till he was out of sight of Ranna, and flung himself onthe ground. He was now about fifty yards from me, and I madeshift to lessen the distance. There was a grassy trench skirtingthe north side of the hill, deep and thickly overgrown withheather. I wound my way along it till I was about twelve yardsfrom him, where I stuck, owing to the trench dying away. When Ipeered out of the cover I saw that the other man had joined himand that the idiots were engaged in embracing each other.
I dared not move an inch nearer, and as they talked in a lowvoice I could hear nothing of what they said. Nothing except onephrase, which the strange man repeated twice, very emphatically.'Tomorrow night,' he said, and I noticed that his voice had notthe Highland inflection which I looked for. Gresson nodded andglanced at his watch, and then the two began to move downhilltowards the road I had travelled that morning.
I followed as best I could, using a shallow dry watercourse ofwhich sheep had made a track, and which kept me well below thelevel of the moor. It took me down the hill, but some distancefrom the line the pair were taking, and I had to reconnoitrefrequently to watch their movements. They were still a quarter ofa mile or so from the road, when they stopped and stared, and Istared with them. On that lonely highway travellers were about asrare as roadmenders, and what caught their eye was a farmer's gigdriven by a thick-set elderly man with a woollen comforter roundhis neck.
I had a bad moment, for I reckoned that if Gresson recognizedAmos he might take fright. Perhaps the driver of the gig thoughtthe same, for he appeared to be very drunk. He waved his whip, hejiggoted the reins, and he made an effort to sing. He lookedtowards the figures on the hillside, and cried out something. Thegig narrowly missed the ditch, and then to my relief the horsebolted. Swaying like a ship in a gale, the whole outfit lurchedout of sight round the corner of hill where lay my cache. If Amoscould stop the beast and deliver the goods there, he had put up amasterly bit of buffoonery.
The two men laughed at the performance, and then they parted.Gresson retraced his steps up the hill. The other man—Icalled him in my mind the Portuguese Jew—started off at agreat pace due west, across the road, and over a big patch of bogtowards the northern butt of the Coolin. He had some errand,which Gresson knew about, and he was in a hurry to perform it. Itwas clearly my job to get after him.
I had a rotten afternoon. The fellow covered the moorlandmiles like a deer, and under the hot August sun I toiled on histrail. I had to keep well behind, and as much as possible incover, in case he looked back; and that meant that when he hadpassed over a ridge I had to double not to let him get too farahead, and when we were in an open place I had to make widecircuits to keep hidden. We struck a road which crossed a lowpass and skirted the flank of the mountains, and this we followedtill we were on the western side and within sight of the sea. Itwas gorgeous weather, and out on the blue water I saw cool sailsmoving and little breezes ruffling the calm, while I was glowinglike a furnace. Happily I was in fair training, and I needed it.The Portuguese Jew must have done a steady six miles an hour overabominable country.
About five o'clock we came to a point where I dared notfollow. The road ran flat by the edge of the sea, so that severalmiles of it were visible. Moreover, the man had begun to lookround every few minutes. He was getting near something and wantedto be sure that no one was in his neighbourhood. I left the roadaccordingly, and took to the hillside, which to my undoing wasone long cascade of screes and tumbled rocks. I saw him drop overa rise which seemed to mark the rim of a little bay into whichdescended one of the big corries of the mountains. It must havebeen a good half-hour later before I, at my greater altitude andwith far worse going, reached the same rim. I looked into theglen and my man had disappeared.
He could not have crossed it, for the place was wider than Ihad thought. A ring of black precipices came down to within halfa mile of the shore, and between them was a bigstream—long, shallow pools at the sea end and a chain ofwaterfalls above. He had gone to earth like a badger somewhere,and I dared not move in case he might be watching me from behinda boulder.
But even as I hesitated he appeared again, fording the stream,his face set on the road we had come. Whatever his errand was hehad finished it, and was posting back to his master. For a momentI thought I should follow him, but another instinct prevailed. Hehad not come to this wild place for the scenery. Somewhere downin the glen there was something or somebody that held the key ofthe mystery. It was my business to stay there till I had unlockedit. Besides, in two hours it would be dark, and I had had enoughwalking for one day.
I made my way to the stream side and had a long drink. Thecorrie behind me was lit up with the westering sun, and the baldcliffs were flushed with pink and gold. On each side of thestream was turf like a lawn, perhaps a hundred yards wide, andthen a tangle of long heather and boulders right up to the edgeof the great rocks. I had never seen a more delectable evening,but I could not enjoy its peace because of my anxiety about thePortuguese Jew. He had not been there more than half an hour,just about long enough for a man to travel to the first ridgeacross the burn and back. Yet he had found time to do hisbusiness. He might have left a letter in some prearrangedplace—in which case I would stay there till the man it wasmeant for turned up. Or he might have met someone, though Ididn't think that possible. As I scanned the acres of rough moorand then looked at the sea lapping delicately on the grey sand Ihad the feeling that a knotty problem was before me. It was toodark to try to track his steps. That must be left for themorning, and I prayed that there would be no rain in thenight.
I ate for supper most of the braxy ham and oatcake I hadbrought from Macmorran's cottage. It took some self-denial, for Iwas ferociously hungry, to save a little for breakfast nextmorning. Then I pulled heather and bracken and made myself a bedin the shelter of a rock which stood on a knoll above the stream.My bed-chamber was well hidden, but at the same time, if anythingshould appear in the early dawn, it gave me a prospect. With mywaterproof I was perfectly warm, and, after smoking two pipes, Ifell asleep.
My night's rest was broken. First it was a fox which came andbarked at my ear and woke me to a pitch-black night, withscarcely a star showing. The next time it was nothing but awandering hill-wind, but as I sat up and listened I thought I sawa spark of light near the edge of the sea. It was only for asecond, but it disquieted me. I got out and climbed on the top ofthe rock, but all was still save for the gentle lap of the tideand the croak of some night bird among the crags. The third timeI was suddenly quite wide awake, and without any reason, for Ihad not been dreaming. Now I have slept hundreds of times alonebeside my horse on the veld, and I never knew any cause for suchawakenings but the one, and that was the presence near me of somehuman being. A man who is accustomed to solitude gets this extrasense which announces like an alarm-clock the approach of one ofhis kind.
But I could hear nothing. There was a scraping and rustling onthe moor, but that was only the wind and the little wild thingsof the hills. A fox, perhaps, or a blue hare. I convinced myreason, but not my senses, and for long I lay awake with my earsat full cock and every nerve tense. Then I fell asleep, and woketo the first flush of dawn.
The sun was behind the Coolin and the hills were black as ink,but far out in the western seas was a broad band of gold. I gotup and went down to the shore. The mouth of the stream wasshallow, but as I moved south I came to a place where two smallcapes enclosed an inlet. It must have been a fault in thevolcanic rock, for its depth was portentous. I stripped and divedfar into its cold abysses, but I did not reach the bottom. I cameto the surface rather breathless, and struck out to sea, where Ifloated on my back and looked at the great rampart of crag. I sawthat the place where I had spent the night was only a littleoasis of green at the base of one of the grimmest corries theimagination could picture. It was as desert as Damaraland. Inoticed, too, how sharply the cliffs rose from the level. Therewere chimneys and gullies by which a man might have made his wayto the summit, but no one of them could have been scaled exceptby a mountaineer.
I was feeling better now, with all the frowsiness washed outof me, and I dried myself by racing up and down the heather. ThenI noticed something. There were marks of human feet at the top ofthe deep-water inlet—not mine, for they were on the otherside. The short sea-turf was bruised and trampled in severalplaces, and there were broken stems of bracken. I thought thatsome fisherman had probably landed there to stretch his legs.
But that set me thinking of the Portuguese Jew. Afterbreakfasting on my last morsels of food—a knuckle of braxyand a bit of oatcake— I set about tracking him from theplace where he had first entered the glen. To get my bearings, Iwent back over the road I had come myself, and after a good dealof trouble I found his spoor. It was pretty clear as far as thestream, for he had been walking—or ratherrunning—over ground with many patches of gravel on it.After that it was difficult, and I lost it entirely in the roughheather below the crags. All that I could make out for certainwas that he had crossed the stream, and that his business,whatever it was, had been with the few acres of tumbledwilderness below the precipices.
I spent a busy morning there, but found nothing except theskeleton of a sheep picked clean by the ravens. It was athankless job, and I got very cross over it. I had an uglyfeeling that I was on a false scent and wasting my time. I wishedto Heaven I had old Peter with me. He could follow spoor like aBushman, and would have riddled the Portuguese jew's track out ofany jungle on earth. That was a game I had never learned, for inthe old days I had always left it to my natives. I chucked theattempt, and lay disconsolately on a warm patch of grass andsmoked and thought about Peter. But my chief reflections werethat I had breakfasted at five, that it was now eleven, that Iwas intolerably hungry, that there was nothing here to feed agrasshopper, and that I should starve unless I got supplies.
It was a long road to my cache, but there were no two ways ofit. My only hope was to sit tight in the glen, and it mightinvolve a wait of days. To wait I must have food, and, though itmeant relinquishing guard for a matter of six hours, the risk hadto be taken. I set off at a brisk pace with a very depressedmind.
From the map it seemed that a short cut lay over a pass in therange. I resolved to take it, and that short cut, like most ofits kind, was unblessed by Heaven. I will not dwell upon thediscomforts of the journey. I found myself slithering amongscrees, climbing steep chimneys, and travelling precariouslyalong razor-backs. The shoes were nearly rent from my feet by theinfernal rocks,which were all pitted as if by some geologicalsmall-pox. When at last I crossed the divide, I had a horriblebusiness getting down from one level to another in a gruesomecorrie, where each step was composed of smooth boiler-plates. Butat last I was among the bogs on the east side, and came to theplace beside the road where I had fixed my cache.
The faithful Amos had not failed me. There were theprovisions—a couple of small loaves, a dozen tins, and abottle of whisky. I made the best pack I could of them in mywaterproof, swung it on my stick, and started back, thinking thatI must be very like the picture of Christian on the title-page ofPilgrim's Progress.
I was liker Christian before I reached mydestination—Christian after he had got up the HillDifficulty. The morning's walk had been bad, but the afternoon'swas worse, for I was in a fever to get back, and, having hadenough of the hills, chose the longer route I had followed theprevious day. I was mortally afraid of being seen, for I cut aqueer figure, so I avoided every stretch of road where I had nota clear view ahead. Many weary detours I made among moss-hags andscrees and the stony channels of burns. But I got there at last,and it was almost with a sense of comfort that I flung my packdown beside the stream where I had passed the night.
I ate a good meal, lit my pipe, and fell into the equable moodwhich follows upon fatigue ended and hunger satisfied. The sunwas westering, and its light fell upon the rock-wall above theplace where I had abandoned my search for the spoor.
As I gazed at it idly I saw a curious thing.
It seemed to be split in two and a shaft of sunlight camethrough between. There could be no doubt about it. I saw the endof the shaft on the moor beneath, while all the rest lay inshadow. I rubbed my eyes, and got out my glasses. Then I guessedthe explanation. There was a rock tower close against the face ofthe main precipice and indistinguishable from it to anyonelooking direct at the face. Only when the sun fell on itobliquely could it be discovered. And between the tower and thecliff there must be a substantial hollow.
The discovery brought me to my feet, and set me runningtowards the end of the shaft of sunlight. I left the heather,scrambled up some yards of screes, and had a difficult time onsome very smooth slabs, where only the friction of tweed andrough rock gave me a hold. Slowly I worked my way towards thespeck of sunlight, till I found a handhold, and swung myself intothe crack. On one side was the main wall of the hill, on theother a tower some ninety feet high, and between them a longcrevice varying in width from three to six feet. Beyond it thereshowed a small bright patch of sea.
There was more, for at the point where I entered it there wasan overhang which made a fine cavern, low at the entrance but adozen feet high inside, and as dry as tinder. Here, thought I, isthe perfect hiding-place. Before going farther I resolved toreturn for food. It was not very easy descending, and I slippedthe last twenty feet, landing on my head in a soft patch ofscrees. At the burnside I filled my flask from the whisky bottle,and put half a loaf, a tin of sardines, a tin of tongue, and apacket of chocolate in my waterproof pockets. Laden as I was, ittook me some time to get up again, but I managed it, and storedmy belongings in a corner of the cave. Then I set out to explorethe rest of the crack.
It slanted down and then rose again to a small platform. Afterthat it dropped in easy steps to the moor beyond the tower. Ifthe Portuguese Jew had come here, that was the way by which hehad reached it, for he would not have had the time to make myascent. I went very cautiously, for I felt I was on the eve of abig discovery. The platform was partly hidden from my end by abend in the crack, and it was more or less screened by anoutlying bastion of the tower from the other side. Its surfacewas covered with fine powdery dust, as were the steps beyond it.In some excitement I knelt down and examined it.
Beyond doubt there was spoor here. I knew the Portuguese jew'sfootmarks by this time, and I made them out clearly, especiallyin one corner. But there were other footsteps, quite different.The one showed the rackets of rough country boots, the otherswere from un-nailed soles. Again I longed for Peter to makecertain, though I was pretty sure of my conclusions. The man Ihad followed had come here, and he had not stayed long. Someoneelse had been here, probably later, for the un-nailed shoesoverlaid the rackets. The first man might have left a message forthe second. Perhaps the second was that human presence of which Ihad been dimly conscious in the night-time.
I carefully removed all traces of my own footmarks, and wentback to my cave. My head was humming with my discovery. Iremembered Gresson's word to his friend: 'Tomorrow night.' As Iread it, the Portuguese Jew had taken a message from Gresson tosomeone, and that someone had come from somewhere and picked itup. The message contained an assignation for this very night. Ihad found a point of observation, for no one was likely to comenear my cave, which was reached from the moor by such a toilsomeclimb. There I should bivouac and see what the darkness broughtforth. I remember reflecting on the amazing luck which had so farattended me. As I looked from my refuge at the blue haze oftwilight creeping over the waters, I felt my pulses quicken witha wild anticipation.
Then I heard a sound below me, and craned my neck round theedge of the tower. A man was climbing up the rock by the way Ihad come.
I saw an old green felt hat, and below it lean tweed-cladshoulders. Then I saw a knapsack with a stick slung through it,as the owner wriggled his way on to a shelf. Presently he turnedhis face upward to judge the remaining distance. It was the faceof a young man, a face sallow and angular, but now a littleflushed with the day's sun and the work of climbing. It was aface that I had first seen at Fosse Manor.
I felt suddenly sick and heartsore. I don't know why, but Ihad never really associated the intellectuals of Biggleswick witha business like this. None of them but Ivery, and he wasdifferent. They had been silly and priggish, but no more—Iwould have taken my oath on it. Yet here was one of them engagedin black treason against his native land. Something began to beatin my temples when I remembered that Mary and this man had beenfriends, that he had held her hand, and called her by herChristian name. My first impulse was to wait till he got up andthen pitch him down among the boulders and let his Germanaccomplices puzzle over his broken neck.
With difficulty I kept down that tide of fury. I had my dutyto do, and to keep on terms with this man was part of it. I hadto convince him that I was an accomplice, and that might not beeasy. I leaned over the edge, and, as he got to his feet on theledge above the boiler-plates, I whistled so that he turned hisface to me. 'Hullo, Wake,'I said.
He started, stared for a second, and recognized me. He did notseem over-pleased to see me.
'Brand!' he cried. 'How did you get here?'
He swung himself up beside me, straightened his back andunbuckled his knapsack. 'I thought this was my own privatesanctuary, and that nobody knew it but me. Have you spotted thecave? It's the best bedroom in Skye.' His tone was, as usual,rather acid.
That little hammer was beating in my head. I longed to get myhands on his throat and choke the smug treason in him. But I keptmy mind fixed on one purpose—to persuade him that I sharedhis secret and was on his side. His off-hand self-possessionseemed only the clever screen of the surprised conspirator whowas hunting for a plan.
We entered the cave, and he flung his pack into a corner.'Last time I was here,' he said, 'I covered the floor withheather. We must get some more if we would sleep soft.' In thetwilight he was a dim figure, but he seemed a new man from theone I had last seen in the Moot Hall at Biggleswick. There was awiry vigour in his body and a purpose in his face. What a fool Ihad been to set him down as no more than a conceited fidneur!
He went out to the shelf again and sniffed the fresh evening.There was a wonderful red sky in the west, but in the crevice theshades had fallen, and only the bright patches at either end toldof the sunset. 'Wake,' I said, 'you and I have to understand eachother. I'm a friend of Ivery and I know the meaning of thisplace. I discovered it by accident, but I want you to know thatI'm heart and soul with you. You may trust me in tonight's job asif I were Ivery himself.'
He swung round and looked at me sharply. His eyes were hotagain, as I remembered them at our first meeting.
'What do you mean? How much do you know?'
The hammer was going hard in my forehead, and I had to pullmyself together to answer.
'I know that at the end of this crack a message was left lastnight, and that someone came out of the sea and picked it up.That someone is coming again when darkness falls, and there willbe another message.'
He had turned his head away. 'You are talking nonsense. Nosubmarine could land on this coast.'
I could see that he was trying me. 'This morning,' I said, 'Iswam in the deep-water inlet below us. It is the most perfectsubmarine shelter in Britain.'
He still kept his face from me, looking the way he had come.For a moment he was silent, and then he spoke in the bitter,drawling voice which had annoyed me at Fosse Manor.
'How do you reconcile this business with your principles, MrBrand? You were always a patriot, I remember, though you didn'tsee eye to eye with the Government.'
It was not quite what I expected and I was unready. Istammered in my reply. 'It's because I am a patriot that I wantpeace. I think that... I mean... '
'Therefore you are willing to help the enemy to win?'
'They have already won. I want that recognized and the endhurried on.' I was getting my mind clearer and continuedfluently. 'The longer the war lasts, the worse this country isruined. We must make the people realize the truth,and—'
But he swung round suddenly, his eyes blazing.
'You blackguard!' he cried, 'you damnable blackguard!' And heflung himself on me like a wild-cat.
I had got my answer. He did not believe me, he knew me for aspy, and he was determined to do me in. We were beyond finessenow, and back at the old barbaric game. It was his life or mine.The hammer beat furiously in my head as we closed, and a fiercesatisfaction rose in my heart. He never had a chance, for thoughhe was in good trim and had the light, wiry figure of themountaineer, he hadn't a quarter of my muscular strength.Besides, he was wrongly placed, for he had the outside station.Had he been on the inside he might have toppled me over the edgeby his sudden assault. As it was, I grappled him and forced himto the ground, squeezing the breath out of his body in theprocess. I must have hurt him considerably, but he never gave acry. With a good deal of trouble I lashed his hands behind hisback with the belt of my waterproof, carried him inside the caveand laid him in the dark end of it. Then I tied his feet with thestrap of his own knapsack. I would have to gag him, but thatcould wait.
I had still to contrive a plan of action for the night, for Idid not know what part he had been meant to play in it. He mightbe the messenger instead of the Portuguese Jew, in which case hewould have papers about his person. If he knew of the cave,others might have the same knowledge, and I had better shift himbefore they came. I looked at my wrist-watch, and the luminousdial showed that the hour was half past nine.
Then I noticed that the bundle in the corner was sobbing. Itwas a horrid sound and it worried me. I had a little pocketelectric torch and I flashed it on Wake's face. If he was crying,it was with dry eyes.
'What are you going to do with me?' he asked.
'That depends,' I said grimly.
'Well, I'm ready. I may be a poor creature, but I'm damned ifI'm afraid of you, or anything like you.' That was a brave thingto say, for it was a lie; his teeth were chattering.
'I'm ready for a deal,' I said.
'You won't get it,' was his answer. 'Cut my throat if you meanto, but for God's sake don't insult me... I choke when I thinkabout you. You come to us and we welcome you, and receive you inour houses, and tell you our inmost thoughts, and all the timeyou're a bloody traitor. You want to sell us to Germany. You maywin now, but by God! your time will come! That is my last word toyou... you swine!'
The hammer stopped beating in my head. I saw myself suddenlyas a blind, preposterous fool. I strode over to Wake, and he shuthis eyes as if he expected a blow. Instead I unbuckled the strapswhich held his legs and arms.
'Wake, old fellow,' I said, 'I'm the worst kind of idiot. I'lleat all the dirt you want. I'll give you leave to knock me blackand blue, and I won't lift a hand. But not now. Now we've anotherjob on hand. Man, we're on the same side and I never knew it.It's too bad a case for apologies, but if it's any consolation toyou I feel the lowest dog in Europe at this moment.'
He was sitting up rubbing his bruised shoulders. 'What do youmean?' he asked hoarsely.
'I mean that you and I are allies. My name's not Brand. I'm asoldier—a general, if you want to know. I went toBiggleswick under orders, and I came chasing up here on the samejob. Ivery's the biggest German agent in Britain and I'm afterhim. I've struck his communication lines, and this very night,please God, we'll get the last clue to the riddle. Do you hear?We're in this business together, and you've got to lend ahand.'
I told him briefly the story of Gresson, and how I had trackedhis man here. As I talked we ate our supper, and I wish I couldhave watched Wake's face. He asked questions, for he wasn'tconvinced in a hurry. I think it was my mention of Mary Lamingtonthat did the trick. I don't know why, but that seemed to satisfyhim. But he wasn't going to give himself away.
'You may count on me,' he said, 'for this is black,blackguardly treason. But you know my politics, and I don'tchange them for this. I'm more against your accursed war thanever, now that I know what war involves.'
'Right-o,' I said, 'I'm a pacifist myself. You won't get anyheroics about war from me. I'm all for peace, but we've got todown those devils first.'
It wasn't safe for either of us to stick in that cave, so wecleared away the marks of our occupation, and hid our packs in adeep crevice on the rock. Wake announced his intention ofclimbing the tower, while there was still a faint afterglow oflight. 'It's broad on the top, and I can keep a watch out to seaif any light shows. I've been up it before. I found the way twoyears ago. No, I won't fall asleep and tumble off. I slept mostof the afternoon on the top of Sgurr Vhiconnich, and I'm aswakeful as a bat now.'
I watched him shin up the face of the tower, and admiredgreatly the speed and neatness with which he climbed. Then Ifollowed the crevice southward to the hollow just below theplatform where I had found the footmarks. There was a big boulderthere, which partly shut off the view of it from the direction ofour cave. The place was perfect for my purpose, for between theboulder and the wall of the tower was a narrow gap, through whichI could hear all that passed on the platform. I found a stancewhere I could rest in comfort and keep an eye through the crackon what happened beyond.
There was still a faint light on the platform, but soon thatdisappeared and black darkness settled down on the hills. It wasthe dark of the moon, and, as had happened the night before, athin wrack blew over the sky, hiding the stars. The place wasvery still, though now and then would come the cry of a bird fromthe crags that beetled above me, and from the shore the pipe of atern or oyster-catcher. An owl hooted from somewhere up on thetower. That I reckoned was Wake, so I hooted back and wasanswered. I unbuckled my wrist-watch and pocketed it, lest itsluminous dial should betray me; and I noticed that the hour wasclose on eleven. I had already removed my shoes, and my jacketwas buttoned at the collar so as to show no shirt. I did notthink that the coming visitor would trouble to explore thecrevice beyond the platform, but I wanted to be prepared foremergencies.
Then followed an hour of waiting. I felt wonderfully cheeredand exhilarated, for Wake had restored my confidence in humannature. In that eerie place we were wrapped round with mysterylike a fog. Some unknown figure was coming out of the sea, theemissary of that Power we had been at grips with for three years.It was as if the war had just made contact with our own shores,and never, not even when I was alone in the South German forest,had I felt so much the sport of a whimsical fate. I only wishedPeter could have been with me. And so my thoughts fled to Peterin his prison camp, and I longed for another sight of my oldfriend as a girl longs for her lover.
Then I heard the hoot of an owl, and presently the sound ofcareful steps fell on my ear. I could see nothing, but I guessedit was the Portuguese Jew, for I could hear the grinding ofheavily nailed boots on the gritty rock.
The figure was very quiet. It appeared to be sitting down, andthen it rose and fumbled with the wall of the tower just beyondthe boulder behind which I sheltered. It seemed to move a stoneand to replace it. After that came silence, and then once morethe hoot of an owl. There were steps on the rock staircase, thesteps of a man who did not know the road well and stumbled alittle. Also they were the steps of one without nails in hisboots.
They reached the platform and someone spoke. It was thePortuguese Jew and he spoke in good German.
'Die Vögelein schweigen im Walde,' he said.
The answer came from a clear, authoritative voice.
'Warte nur, balde ruhest du auch.'
Clearly some kind of password, for sane men don't talk aboutlittle birds in that kind of situation. It sounded to me likeindifferent poetry.
Then followed a conversation in low tones, of which I onlycaught odd phrases. I heard two names—Chelius and whatsounded like a Dutch word, Bommaerts. Then to my joy I caughtElfenbein, and when uttered it seemed to be followed by alaugh. I heard too a phrase several times repeated, which seemedto me to be pure gibberish—Die Stubenvögelverstehen. It was spoken by the man from the sea. And thenthe wordWildvögel. The pair seemed demented aboutbirds.
For a second an electric torch was flashed in the shelter ofthe rock, and I could see a tanned, bearded face looking at somepapers. The light disappeared, and again the Portuguese Jew wasfumbling with the stones at the base of the tower. To my joy hewas close to my crack, and I could hear every word. 'You cannotcome here very often,' he said, 'and it may be hard to arrange ameeting. See, therefore, the place I have made to put theVogelfutter. When I get a chance I will come here, and youwill come also when you are able. Often there will be nothing,but sometimes there will be much.'
My luck was clearly in, and my exultation made me careless. Astone, on which a foot rested, slipped and though I checkedmyself at once, the confounded thing rolled down into the hollow,making a great clatter. I plastered myself in the embrasure ofthe rock and waited with a beating heart. The place was pitchdark, but they had an electric torch, and if they once flashed iton me I was gone. I heard them leave the platform and climb downinto the hollow. There they stood listening, while I held mybreath. Then I heard 'Nix, mein Freund,' and the two wentback, the naval officer's boots slipping on the gravel. They didnot leave the platform together. The man from the sea bade ashort farewell to the Portuguese Jew, listening, I thought,impatiently to his final message as if eager to be gone. It was agood half-hour before the latter took himself off, and I heardthe sound of his nailed boots die away as he reached the heatherof the moor.
I waited a little longer, and then crawled back to the cave.The owl hooted, and presently Wake descended lightly beside me;he must have known every foothold and handhold by heart to do thejob in that inky blackness. I remember that he asked no questionof me, but he used language rare on the lips of conscientiousobjectors about the men who had lately been in the crevice. We,who four hours earlier had been at death grips, now curled up onthe hard floor like two tired dogs, and fell sound asleep.
I woke to find Wake in a thundering bad temper. The thing heremembered most about the night before was our scrap and thegross way I had insulted him. I didn't blame him, for if any manhad taken me for a German spy I would have been out for hisblood, and it was no good explaining that he had given me groundsfor suspicion. He was as touchy about his blessed principles asan old maid about her age. I was feeling rather extra buckishmyself and that didn't improve matters. His face was like agargoyle as we went down to the beach to bathe, so I held mytongue. He was chewing the cud of his wounded pride.
But the salt water cleared out the dregs of his distemper. Youcouldn't be peevish swimming in that jolly, shining sea. We racedeach other away beyond the inlet to the outer water, which abrisk morning breeze was curling. Then back to a promontory ofheather, where the first beams of the sun coming over the Coolindried our skins. He sat hunched up staring at the mountains whileI prospected the rocks at the edge. Out in the Minch twodestroyers were hurrying southward, and I wondered where in thatwaste of blue was the craft which had come here in the nightwatches.
I found the spoor of the man from the sea quite fresh on apatch of gravel above the tide-mark.
'There's our friend of the night,' I said.
'I believe the whole thing was a whimsy,' said Wake, his eyeson the chimneys of Sgurr Dearg. 'They were only twonatives—poachers, perhaps, or tinkers.'
'They don't speak German in these parts.' 'It was Gaelicprobably.'
'What do you make of this, then?' and I quoted the stuff aboutbirds with which they had greeted each other.
Wake looked interested. 'That'sÜber allenGipfeln. Have you ever read Goethe?' 'Never a word. And whatdo you make of that?' I pointed to a flat rock below tide-markcovered with a tangle of seaweed. It was of a softer stone thanthe hard stuff in the hills and somebody had scraped off half theseaweed and a slice of the side. 'That wasn't done yesterdaymorning, for I had my bath here.'
Wake got up and examined the place. He nosed about in thecrannies of the rocks lining the inlet, and got into the wateragain to explore better. When he joined me he was smiling. 'Iapologize for my scepticism,' he said. 'There's been somepetrol-driven craft here in the night. I can smell it, for I've anose like a retriever. I daresay you're on the right track.Anyhow, though you seem to know a bit about German, you couldscarcely invent immortal poetry.'
We took our belongings to a green crook of the burn, and madea very good breakfast. Wake had nothing in his pack but plasmonbiscuits and raisins, for that, he said, was his mountaineeringprovender, but he was not averse to sampling my tinned stuff. Hewas a different-sized fellow out in the hills from the anaemicintellectual of Biggleswick. He had forgotten his beastlyself-consciousness, and spoke of his hobby with a seriouspassion. It seemed he had scrambled about everywhere in Europe,from the Caucasus to the Pyrenees. I could see he must be good atthe job, for he didn't brag of his exploits. It was the mountainsthat he loved, not wriggling his body up hard places. The Coolin,he said, were his favourites, for on some of them you could gettwo thousand feet of good rock. We got our glasses on the face ofSgurr Alasdair, and he sketched out for me various ways ofgetting to its grim summit. The Coolin and the Dolomites for him,for he had grown tired of the Chamonix aiguilles. I remember hedescribed with tremendous gusto the joys of early dawn in Tyrol,when you ascended through acres of flowery meadows to a tooth ofclean white limestone against a clean blue sky. He spoke, too, ofthe little wild hills in the Bavarian Wettersteingebirge, and ofa guide he had picked up there and trained to the job.
'They called him Sebastian Buchwieser. He was the jolliest boyyou ever saw, and as clever on crags as a chamois. He is probablydead by now, dead in a filthy jaeger battalion. That's you andyour accursed war.'
'Well, we've got to get busy and end it in the right way,' Isaid. 'And you've got to help, my lad.'
He was a good draughtsman, and with his assistance I drew arough map of the crevice where we had roosted for the night,giving its bearings carefully in relation to the burn and thesea. Then I wrote down all the details about Gresson and thePortuguese Jew, and described the latter in minute detail. Idescribed, too, most precisely the cache where it had beenarranged that the messages should be placed. That finished mystock of paper, and I left the record of the oddments overheardof the conversation for a later time. I put the thing in an oldleather cigarette-case I possessed, and handed it to Wake.'You've got to go straight off to the Kyle and not waste any timeon the way. Nobody suspects you, so you can travel any road youplease. When you get there you ask for Mr Andrew Amos, who hassome Government job in the neighbourhood. Give him that paperfrom me. He'll know what to do with it all right. Tell him I'llget somehow to the Kyle before midday the day after tomorrow. Imust cover my tracks a bit, so I can't come with you, and I wantthat thing in his hands just as fast as your legs will take you.If anyone tries to steal it from you, for God's sake eat it. Youcan see for yourself that it's devilish important.'
'I shall be back in England in three days,' he said. 'Anymessage for your other friends?'
'Forget all about me. You never saw me here. I'm still Brand,the amiable colonial studying social movements. If you meetIvery, say you heard of me on the Clyde, deep in sedition. But ifyou see Miss Lamington you can tell her I'm past the HillDifficulty. I'm coming back as soon as God will let me, and I'mgoing to drop right into the Biggleswick push. Only this timeI'll be a little more advanced in my views... You needn't getcross. I'm not saying anything against your principles. The mainpoint is that we both hate dirty treason.'
He put the case in his waistcoat pocket. 'I'll go roundGarsbheinn,' he said, 'and over by Camasunary. I'll be at theKyle long before evening. I meant anyhow to sleep at Broadfordtonight... Goodbye, Brand, for I've forgotten your proper name.You're not a bad fellow, but you've landed me in melodrama forthe first time in my sober existence. I have a grudge against youfor mixing up the Coolin with a shilling shocker. You've spoiledtheir sanctity.'
'You've the wrong notion of romance,' I said. 'Why, man, lastnight for an hour you were in the front line—the placewhere the enemy forces touch our own. You were over thetop—you were in No-man's-land.'
He laughed. 'That is one way to look at it'; and then hestalked off and I watched his lean figure till it was round theturn of the hill.
All that morning I smoked peacefully by the burn, and let mythoughts wander over the whole business. I had got precisely whatBlenkiron wanted, a post office for the enemy. It would needcareful handling, but I could see the juiciest lies passing thatway to theGrosses Hauptquartier. Yet I had an uglyfeeling at the back of my head that it had been all too easy, andthat Ivery was not the man to be duped in this way for long. Thatset me thinking about the queer talk on the crevice. The poetrystuff I dismissed as the ordinary password, probably changedevery time. But who were Chelius and Bommaerts, and what in thename of goodness were the Wild Birds and the Cage Birds? Twice inthe past three years I had had two such riddles tosolve—Scudder's scribble in his pocket-book, and HarryBullivant's three words. I remembered how it had only been byconstant chewing at them that I had got a sort of meaning, and Iwondered if fate would some day expound this puzzle also.
Meantime I had to get back to London as inconspicuously as Ihad come. It might take some doing, for the police who had beenactive in Morvern might be still on the track, and it wasessential that I should keep out of trouble and give no hint toGresson and his friends that I had been so far north. However,that was for Amos to advise me on, and about noon I picked up mywaterproof with its bursting pockets and set off on a long detourup the coast. All that blessed day I scarcely met a soul. Ipassed a distillery which seemed to have quit business, and inthe evening came to a little town on the sea where I had a bedand supper in a superior kind of public-house.
Next day I struck southward along the coast, and had twoexperiences of interest. I had a good look at Ranna, and observedthat theTobermory was no longer there. Gresson had onlywaited to get his job finished; he could probably twist the oldcaptain any way he wanted. The second was that at the door of avillage smithy I saw the back of the Portuguese Jew. He wastalking Gaelic this time—good Gaelic it sounded, and inthat knot of idlers he would have passed for the ordinariest kindof gillie.
He did not see me, and I had no desire to give him the chance,for I had an odd feeling that the day might come when it would begood for us to meet as strangers.
That night I put up boldly in the inn at Broadford, where theyfed me nobly on fresh sea-trout and I first tasted an excellentliqueur made of honey and whisky. Next morning I was early afoot,and well before midday was in sight of the narrows of the Kyle,and the two little stone clachans which face each other acrossthe strip of sea. About two miles from the place at a turn of theroad I came upon a farmer's gig, drawn up by the wayside, withthe horse cropping the moorland grass. A man sat on the banksmoking, with his left arm hooked in the reins. He was an oldishman, with a short, square figure, and a woollen comforterenveloped his throat.
'Ye're punctual to time, Mr Brand,' said the voice of Amos.'But losh! man, what have ye done to your breeks! And your buits?Ye're no just very respectable in your appearance.'
I wasn't. The confounded rocks of the Coolin had left theirmark on my shoes, which moreover had not been cleaned for a week,and the same hills had rent my jacket at the shoulders, and tornmy trousers above the right knee, and stained every part of myapparel with peat and lichen.
I cast myself on the bank beside Amos and lit my pipe. 'Didyou get my message?' I asked.
'Ay. It's gone on by a sure hand to the destination we ken of.Ye've managed well, Mr Brand, but I wish ye were back in London.'He sucked at his pipe, and the shaggy brows were pulled so low asto hide the wary eyes. Then he proceeded to think aloud.
'Ye canna go back by Mallaig. I don't just understand why, butthey're lookin' for you down that line. It's a vexatious businesswhen your friends, meanin' the polis, are doing their best toupset your plans and you no able to enlighten them. I could sendword to the Chief Constable and get ye through to London withouta stop like a load of fish from Aiberdeen, but that would bespoilin' the fine character ye've been at such pains toconstruct. Na, na! Ye maun take the risk and travel by Muirtownwithout ony creedentials.'
'It can't be a very big risk,' I interpolated.
'I'm no so sure. Gresson's left theTobermory. He wentby here yesterday, on the Mallaig boat, and there was a weeblackavised man with him that got out at the Kyle. He's therestill, stoppin' at the hotel. They ca' him Linklater and hetravels in whisky. I don't like the looks of him.'
'But Gresson does not suspect me?'
'Maybe no. But ye wouldna like him to see ye hereaways. Yongentry don't leave muckle to chance. Be very certain that everyman in Gresson's lot kens all about ye, and has your descriptiondown to the mole on your chin.'
'Then they've got it wrong,' I replied. 'I was speakin'feeguratively,' said Amos. 'I was considerin' your case the feckof yesterday, and I've brought the best I could do for ye in thegig. I wish ye were more respectable clad, but a good topcoatwill hide defeecencies.'
From behind the gig's seat he pulled out an ancient Gladstonebag and revealed its contents. There was a bowler of a vulgar andantiquated style; there was a ready-made overcoat of some darkcloth, of the kind that a clerk wears on the road to the office;there was a pair of detachable celluloid cuffs, and there was alinen collar and dickie. Also there was a small handcase, such asbagmen carry on their rounds.
'That's your luggage,' said Amos with pride. 'That wee bag'sfull of samples. Ye'll mind I took the precaution of measurin' yein Glasgow, so the things'll fit. Ye've got a new name, Mr Brand,and I've taken a room for ye in the hotel on the strength of it.Ye're Archibald McCaskie, and ye're travellin' for the firm o'Todd, Sons Brothers, of Edinburgh. Ye ken the folk? They publishwee releegious books, that ye've bin trying to sell forSabbath-school prizes to the Free Kirk ministers in Skye.'
The notion amused Amos, and he relapsed into the sombrechuckle which with him did duty for a laugh.
I put my hat and waterproof in the bag and donned the bowlerand the top-coat. They fitted fairly well. Likewise the cuffs andcollar, though here I struck a snag, for I had lost my scarfsomewhere in the Coolin, and Amos, pelican-like, had to surrenderthe rusty black tie which adorned his own person. It was a queerrig, and I felt like nothing on earth in it, but Amos wassatisfied.
'Mr McCaskie, sir,' he said, 'ye're the very model of apublisher's traveller. Ye'd better learn a few biographicaldetails, which ye've maybe forgotten. Ye're an Edinburgh man, butye were some years in London, which explains the way ye speak. Yebide at 6, Russell Street, off the Meadows, and ye're an elder inthe Nethergate U.F. Kirk. Have ye ony special taste ye could leadthe crack on to, if ye're engaged in conversation?'
I suggested the English classics.
'And very suitable. Ye can try poalitics, too. Ye'd better bea Free-trader but convertit by Lloyd George. That's a commoncase, and ye'll need to be by-ordinar common... If I was you, Iwould daunder about here for a bit, and no arrive at your hoteltill after dark. Then ye can have your supper and gang to bed.The Muirtown train leaves at half-seven in the morning... Na, yecan't come with me. It wouldna do for us to be seen thegither. IfI meet ye in the street I'll never let on I know ye.'
Amos climbed into the gig and jolted off home. I went down tothe shore and sat among the rocks, finishing about tea-time theremains of my provisions. In the mellow gloaming I strolled intothe clachan and got a boat to put me over to the inn. It provedto be a comfortable place, with a motherly old landlady whoshowed me to my room and promised ham and eggs and cold salmonfor supper. After a good wash, which I needed, and an honestattempt to make my clothes presentable, I descended to the mealin a coffee-room lit by a single dim parafin lamp.
The food was excellent, and, as I ate, my spirits rose. In twodays I should be back in London beside Blenkiron and somewherewithin a day's journey of Mary. I could picture no scene nowwithout thinking how Mary fitted into it. For her sake I heldBiggleswick delectable, because I had seen her there. I wasn'tsure if this was love, but it was something I had never dreamedof before, something which I now hugged the thought of. It madethe whole earth rosy and golden for me, and life so well worthliving that I felt like a miser towards the days to come.
I had about finished supper, when I was joined by anotherguest. Seen in the light of that infamous lamp, he seemed asmall, alert fellow, with a bushy, black moustache, and blackhair parted in the middle. He had fed already and appeared to behungering for human society.
In three minutes he had told me that he had come down fromPortree and was on his way to Leith. A minute later he hadwhipped out a card on which I read 'J. J. Linklater', and in thecorner the name of Hatherwick Bros. His accent betrayed that hehailed from the west.
'I've been up among the distilleries,' he informed me. 'It's apoor business distillin' in these times, wi' the teetotallersyowlin' about the nation's shame and the way to lose the war. I'ma temperate man mysel', but I would think shame to spile decentfolks' business. If the Government want to stop the drink, letthem buy us out. They've permitted us to invest good money in thetrade, and they must see that we get it back. The other way willwreck public credit. That's what I say. Supposin' some LabourGovernment takes the notion that soap's bad for the nation? Arethey goin' to shut up Port Sunlight? Or good clothes? Or lumhats? There's no end to their daftness if they once start on thattrack. A lawfu' trade's a lawfu' trade, says I, and it's contraryto public policy to pit it at the mercy of wheen cranks. D'ye noagree, sir? By the way, I havena got your name?'
I told him and he rambled on.
'We're blenders and do a very high-class business, mostlyforeign. The war's hit us wi' our export trade, of course, butwe're no as bad as some. What's your line, Mr McCaskie?'
When he heard he was keenly interested.
'D'ye say so? Ye're from Todd's! Man, I was in the bookbusiness mysel', till I changed it for something a wee bit morelucrative. I was on the road for three years for Andrew Matheson.Ye ken the name—Paternoster Row—I've forgotten thenumber. I had a kind of ambition to start a book-sellin' shop ofmy own and to make Linklater o' Paisley a big name in the trade.But I got the offer from Hatherwick's, and I was wantin' to getmarried, so filthy lucre won the day. And I'm no sorry I changed.If it hadna been for this war, I would have been makin' fourfigures with my salary and commissions... My pipe's out. Have youone of those rare and valuable curiosities called a spunk, MrMcCaskie?' He was a merry little grig of a man, and he babbledon, till I announced my intention of going to bed. If this wasAmos's bagman, who had been seen in company with Gresson, Iunderstood how idle may be the suspicions of a clever man. He hadprobably foregathered with Gresson on the Skye boat, and weariedthat saturnine soul with his cackle.
I was up betimes, paid my bill, ate a breakfast of porridgeand fresh haddock, and walked the few hundred yards to thestation. It was a warm, thick morning, with no sun visible, andthe Skye hills misty to their base. The three coaches on thelittle train were nearly filled when I had bought my ticket, andI selected a third-class smoking carriage which held foursoldiers returning from leave.
The train was already moving when a late passenger hurriedalong the platform and clambered in beside me. A cheery 'Mornin',Mr McCaskie,' revealed my fellow guest at the hotel.
We jolted away from the coast up a broad glen and then on to awide expanse of bog with big hills showing towards the north. Itwas a drowsy day, and in that atmosphere of shag and crowdedhumanity I felt my eyes closing. I had a short nap, and woke tofind that Mr Linklater had changed his seat and was now besideme.
'We'll no get a Scotsman till Muirtown,' he said. 'Have yenothing in your samples ye could give me to read?'
I had forgotten about the samples. I opened the case and foundthe oddest collection of little books, all in gay bindings. Somewere religious, with names likeDew of Hermon andCoolSiloam; some were innocent narratives,How Tommy saved hisPennies,A Missionary Child in China, andLittleSusie and Her Uncle. There was aLife of DavidLivingstone, a child's book on sea-shells, and a richly giltedition of the poems of one James Montgomery. I offered theselection to Mr Linklater, who grinned and chose the MissionaryChild. 'It's not the reading I'm accustomed to,' he said. 'I likestrong meat—Hall Caine and Jack London. By the way, howd'ye square this business of yours wi' the booksellers? When Iwas in Matheson's there would have been trouble if we had dealtdirect wi' the public like you.'
The confounded fellow started to talk about the details of thebook trade, of which I knew nothing. He wanted to know on whatterms we sold 'juveniles', and what discount we gave the bigwholesalers, and what class of book we put out 'on sale'. Ididn't understand a word of his jargon, and I must have givenmyself away badly, for he asked me questions about firms of whichI had never heard, and I had to make some kind of answer. I toldmyself that the donkey was harmless, and that his opinion of memattered nothing, but as soon as I decently could I pretended tobe absorbed in thePilgrim's Progress, a gaudy copy ofwhich was among the samples. It opened at the episode ofChristian and Hopeful in the Enchanted Ground, and in that stuffycarriage I presently followed the example of Heedless andToo-Bold and fell sound asleep. I was awakened by the trainrumbling over the points of a little moorland junction. Sunk in apleasing lethargy, I sat with my eyes closed, and then covertlytook a glance at my companion. He had abandoned the MissionaryChild and was reading a little dun-coloured book, and markingpassages with a pencil. His face was absorbed, and it was a newface, not the vacant, good-humoured look of the garrulous bagman,but something shrewd, purposeful, and formidable. I remainedhunched up as if still sleeping, and tried to see what the bookwas. But my eyes, good as they are, could make out nothing of thetext or title, except that I had a very strong impression thatthat book was not written in the English tongue.
I woke abruptly, and leaned over to him. Quick as lightning heslid his pencil up his sleeve and turned on me with a fatuoussmile.
'What d'ye make o' this, Mr McCaskie? It's a wee book I pickedup at a roup along with fifty others. I paid five shillings forthe lot. It looks like Gairman, but in my young days they didnateach us foreign languages.'
I took the thing and turned over the pages, trying to keep anysign of intelligence out of my face. It was German right enough,a little manual of hydrography with no publisher's name on it. Ithad the look of the kind of textbook a Government departmentmight issue to its officials.
I handed it back. 'It's either German or Dutch. I'm not muchof a scholar, barring a little French and the Latin I got atHeriot's Hospital... This is an awful slow train, MrLinklater.'
The soldiers were playing nap, and the bagman proposed a gameof cards. I remembered in time that I was an elder in theNethergate U.F. Church and refused with some asperity. After thatI shut my eyes again, for I wanted to think out this newphenomenon.
The fellow knew German—that was clear. He had also beenseen in Gresson's company. I didn't believe he suspected me,though I suspected him profoundly. It was my business to keepstrictly to my part and give him no cause to doubt me. He wasclearly practising his own part on me, and I must appear to takehim literally on his professions. So, presently, I woke up andengaged him in a disputatious conversation about the morality ofselling strong liquors. He responded readily, and put the casefor alcohol with much point and vehemence. The discussioninterested the soldiers, and one of them, to show he was onLinklater's side, produced a flask and offered him a drink. Iconcluded by observing morosely that the bagman had been a betterman when he peddled books for Alexander Matheson, and that putthe closure on the business.
That train was a record. It stopped at every station, and inthe afternoon it simply got tired and sat down in the middle of amoor and reflected for an hour. I stuck my head out of the windownow and then, and smelt the rooty fragrance of bogs, and when wehalted on a bridge I watched the trout in the pools of the brownriver. Then I slept and smoked alternately, and began to getfuriously hungry.
Once I woke to hear the soldiers discussing the war. There wasan argument between a lance-corporal in the Camerons and a sapperprivate about some trivial incident on the Somme.
'I tell ye I was there,' said the Cameron. 'We were relievin'the Black Watch, and Fritz was shelling the road, and we didnaget up to the line till one o'clock in the mornin'. Frae FrickoutCircus to the south end o' the High Wood is every bit o' fivemile.'
'Not abune three,' said the sapper dogmatically.
'Man, I've trampit it.'
'Same here. I took up wire every nicht for a week.'
The Cameron looked moodily round the company. 'I wish therewas anither man here that kent the place. He wad bear me out.These boys are no good, for they didna join till later. I tell yeit's five mile.'
'Three,' said the sapper.
Tempers were rising, for each of the disputants felt hisveracity assailed. It was too hot for a quarrel and I was sodrowsy that I was heedless.
'Shut up, you fools,' I said. 'The distance is six kilometres,so you're both wrong.'
My tone was so familiar to the men that it stopped thewrangle, but it was not the tone of a publisher's traveller. MrLinklater cocked his ears.
'What's a kilometre, Mr McCaskie?' he asked blandly.
'Multiply by five and divide by eight and you get themiles.'
I was on my guard now, and told a long story of a nephew whohad been killed on the Somme, and how I had corresponded with theWar Office about his case. 'Besides,' I said, 'I'm a greatstudent o' the newspapers, and I've read all the books about thewar. It's a difficult time this for us all, and if you can take aserious interest in the campaign it helps a lot. I mean workingout the places on the map and reading Haig's dispatches.'
'Just so,' he said dryly, and I thought he watched me with anodd look in his eyes.
A fresh idea possessed me. This man had been in Gresson'scompany, he knew German, he was obviously something verydifferent from what he professed to be. What if he were in theemploy of our own Secret Service? I had appeared out of the voidat the Kyle, and I had made but a poor appearance as a bagman,showing no knowledge of my own trade. I was in an areainterdicted to the ordinary public; and he had good reason tokeep an eye on my movements. He was going south, and so was I;clearly we must somehow part company.
'We change at Muirtown, don't we?' I asked. 'When does thetrain for the south leave?' He consulted a pocket timetable.'Ten-thirty-three. There's generally four hours to wait, forwe're due in at six-fifteen. But this auld hearse will be luckyif it's in by nine.'
His forecast was correct. We rumbled out of the hills intohaughlands and caught a glimpse of the North Sea. Then we werehung up while a long goods train passed down the line. It wasalmost dark when at last we crawled into Muirtown station anddisgorged our load of hot and weary soldiery.
I bade an ostentatious farewell to Linklater. 'Very pleased tohave met you. I'll see you later on the Edinburgh train. I'm fora walk to stretch my legs, and a bite o' supper.' I was verydetermined that the ten-thirty for the south should leave withoutme.
My notion was to get a bed and a meal in some secluded inn,and walk out next morning and pick up a slow train down the line.Linklater had disappeared towards the guard's van to find hisluggage, and the soldiers were sitting on their packs with thatair of being utterly and finally lost and neglected whichcharacterizes the British fighting-man on a journey. I gave up myticket and, since I had come off a northern train, walkedunhindered into the town.
It was market night, and the streets were crowded.Blue-jackets from the Fleet, country-folk in to shop, and everykind of military detail thronged the pavements. Fish-hawkers werecrying their wares, and there was a tatterdemalion piper makingthe night hideous at a corner. I took a tortuous route andfinally fixed on a modest-looking public-house in a back street.When I inquired for a room I could find no one in authority, buta slatternly girl informed me that there was one vacant bed, andthat I could have ham and eggs in the bar. So, after hitting myhead violently against a cross-beam, I stumbled down some stepsand entered a frowsty little place smelling of spilt beer andstale tobacco.
The promised ham and eggs proved impossible—there wereno eggs to be had in Muirtown that night—but I was givencold mutton and a pint of indifferent ale. There was nobody inthe place but two farmers drinking hot whisky and water anddiscussing with sombre interest the rise in the price offeeding-stuffs. I ate my supper, and was just preparing to findthe whereabouts of my bedroom when through the street door thereentered a dozen soldiers.
In a second the quiet place became a babel. The men werestrictly sober; but they were in that temper of friendlinesswhich demands a libation of some kind. One was prepared to standtreat; he was the leader of the lot, and it was to celebrate theend of his leave that he was entertaining his pals. From where Isat I could not see him, but his voice was dominant. 'What's yourfancy, jock? Beer for you, Andra? A pint and a dram for me. Thisis better than vongblong and vongrooge, Davie. Man, when I'msittin' in those estamints, as they ca' them, I often long for aguid Scots public.'
The voice was familiar. I shifted my seat to get a view of thespeaker, and then I hastily drew back. It was the Scots FusilierI had clipped on the jaw in defending Gresson after the Glasgowmeeting.
But by a strange fatality he had caught sight of me.
'Whae's that i' the corner?' he cried, leaving the bar tostare at me. Now it is a queer thing, but if you have once foughtwith a man, though only for a few seconds, you remember his face,and the scrap in Glasgow had been under a lamp. The jockrecognized me well enough.
'By God!' he cried, 'if this is no a bit o' luck! Boys, here'sthe man I feucht wi' in Glesca. Ye mind I telled ye about it. Helaid me oot, and it's my turn to do the same wi' him. I had anotion I was gaun to mak' a nicht o't. There's naebody can hitGeordie Hamilton without Geordie gettin' his ain back some day.Get up, man, for I'm gaun to knock the heid off ye.'
I duly got up, and with the best composure I could musterlooked him in the face.
'You're mistaken, my friend. I never clapped eyes on youbefore, and I never was in Glasgow in my life.'
'That's a damned lee,' said the Fusilier. 'Ye're the man, andif ye're no, ye're like enough him to need a hidin'!'
'Confound your nonsense!' I said. 'I've no quarrel with you,and I've better things to do than be scrapping with a stranger ina public-house.'
'Have ye sae? Well, I'll learn ye better. I'm gaun to hit ye,and then ye'll hae to fecht whether ye want it or no. Tam, haudmy jacket, and see that my drink's no skailed.'
This was an infernal nuisance, for a row here would bring inthe police, and my dubious position would be laid bare. I thoughtof putting up a fight, for I was certain I could lay out the jocka second time, but the worst of that was that I did not knowwhere the thing would end. I might have to fight the lot of them,and that meant a noble public shindy. I did my best to speak myopponent fair. I said we were all good friends and offered tostand drinks for the party. But the Fusilier's blood was up andhe was spoiling for a row, ably abetted by his comrades. He hadhis tunic off now and was stamping in front of me with doubledfists. I did the best thing I could think of in thecircumstances. My seat was close to the steps which led to theother part of the inn. I grabbed my hat, darted up them, andbefore they realized what I was doing had bolted the door behindme. I could hear pandemonium break loose in the bar.
I slipped down a dark passage to another which ran at rightangles to it, and which seemed to connect the street door of theinn itself with the back premises. I could hear voices in thelittle hall, and that stopped me short. One of them wasLinklater's, but he was not talking as Linklater had talked. Hewas speaking educated English. I heard another with a Scotsaccent, which I took to be the landlord's, and a third whichsounded like some superior sort of constable's, very prompt andofficial. I heard one phrase, too, from Linklater—'He callshimself McCaskie.' Then they stopped, for the turmoil from thebar had reached the front door. The Fusilier and his friends werelooking for me by the other entrance.
The attention of the men in the hall was distracted, and thatgave me a chance. There was nothing for it but the back door. Islipped through it into a courtyard and almost tumbled over a tubof water. I planted the thing so that anyone coming that waywould fall over it. A door led me into an empty stable, and fromthat into a lane. It was all absurdly easy, but as I started downthe lane I heard a mighty row and the sound of angry voices.Someone had gone into the tub and I hoped it was Linklater. I hadtaken a liking to the Fusilier jock.
There was the beginning of a moon somewhere, but that lane wasvery dark. I ran to the left, for on the right it looked like acul-de-sac. This brought me into a quiet road of two-storiedcottages which showed at one end the lights of a street. So Itook the other way, for I wasn't going to have the wholepopulation of Muirtown on the hue-and-cry after me. I came into acountry lane, and I also came into the van of the pursuit, whichmust have taken a short cut. They shouted when they saw me, but Ihad a small start, and legged it down that road in the beliefthat I was making for open country.
That was where I was wrong. The road took me round to theother side of the town, and just when I was beginning to think Ihad a fair chance I saw before me the lights of a signal-box anda little to the left of it the lights of the station. In half anhour's time the Edinburgh train would be leaving, but I had madethat impossible. Behind me I could hear the pursuers, givingtongue like hound puppies, for they had attracted some prettydrunken gentlemen to their party. I was badly puzzled where toturn, when I noticed outside the station a long line of blurredlights, which could only mean a train with the carriage blindsdown. It had an engine attached and seemed to be waiting for theaddition of a couple of trucks to start. It was a wild chance,but the only one I saw. I scrambled across a piece of wasteground, climbed an embankment and found myself on the metals. Iducked under the couplings and got on the far side of the train,away from the enemy.
Then simultaneously two things happened. I heard the yells ofmy pursuers a dozen yards off, and the train jolted into motion.I jumped on the footboard, and looked into an open window. Thecompartment was packed with troops, six a side and two mensitting on the floor, and the door was locked. I divedheadforemost through the window and landed on the neck of a wearywarrior who had just dropped off to sleep.
While I was falling I made up my mind on my conduct. I must beintoxicated, for I knew the infinite sympathy of the Britishsoldier towards those thus overtaken. They pulled me to my feet,and the man I had descended on rubbed his skull and blasphemouslydemanded explanations.
'Gen'lmen,' I hiccoughed, 'I 'pologize. I was late for thisbl-blighted train and I mus' be in E'inburgh 'morrow or I'll getthe sack. I 'pologize. If I've hurt my friend's head, I'll kissit and make it well.'
At this there was a great laugh. 'Ye'd better accept, Pete,'said one. 'It's the first time anybody ever offered to kiss yourugly heid.'
A man asked me who I was, and I appeared to be searching for acard-case.
'Losht,' I groaned. 'Losht, and so's my wee bag and I'vebashed my po' hat. I'm an awful sight, gen'lmen—an awfulwarning to be in time for trains. I'm John Johnstone, managingclerk to Messrs Watters, Brown Elph'stone, 923 Charl'tte Street,E'inburgh. I've been up north seein' my mamma.'
'Ye should be in France,' said one man.
'Wish't I was, but they wouldn't let me. "Mr Johnstone," theysaid, "ye're no dam good. Ye've varicose veins and a bad heart,"they said. So I says, "Good mornin', gen'lmen. Don't blame me ifthe country's ru'ned". That's what I said.'
I had by this time occupied the only remaining space left onthe floor. With the philosophy of their race the men had acceptedmy presence, and were turning again to their own talk. The trainhad got up speed, and as I judged it to be a special of some kindI looked for few stoppings. Moreover it was not a corridorcarriage, but one of the old-fashioned kind, so I was safe for atime from the unwelcome attention of conductors. I stretched mylegs below the seat, rested my head against the knees of a brawnygunner, and settled down to make the best of it.
My reflections were not pleasant. I had got down too far belowthe surface, and had the naked feeling you get in a dream whenyou think you have gone to the theatre in your nightgown. I hadhad three names in two days, and as many characters. I felt as ifI had no home or position anywhere, and was only a stray dog witheverybody's hand and foot against me. It was an ugly sensation,and it was not redeemed by any acute fear or any knowledge ofbeing mixed up in some desperate drama. I knew I could easily goon to Edinburgh, and when the police made trouble, as they would,a wire to Scotland Yard would settle matters in a couple ofhours. There wasn't a suspicion of bodily danger to restore mydignity. The worst that could happen would be that Ivery wouldhear of my being befriended by the authorities, and the part Ihad settled to play would be impossible. He would certainly hear.I had the greatest respect for his intelligence service.
Yet that was bad enough. So far I had done well. I had putGresson off the scent. I had found out what Bullivant wanted toknow, and I had only to return unostentatiously to London to havewon out on the game. I told myself all that, but it didn't cheermy spirits. I was feeling mean and hunted and very cold about thefeet.
But I have a tough knuckle of obstinacy in me which makes meunwilling to give up a thing till I am fairly choked off it. Thechances were badly against me. The Scottish police were activelyinterested in my movements and would be ready to welcome me at myjourney's end. I had ruined my hat, and my clothes, as Amos hadobserved, were not respectable. I had got rid of a four-days'beard the night before, but had cut myself in the process, andwhat with my weather-beaten face and tangled hair looked liker atinker than a decent bagman. I thought with longing of myportmanteau in the Pentland Hotel, Edinburgh, and the neat blueserge suit and the clean linen that reposed in it. It was no casefor a subtle game, for I held no cards. Still I was determinednot to chuck in my hand till I was forced to. If the trainstopped anywhere I would get out, and trust to my own wits andthe standing luck of the British Army for the rest.
The chance came just after dawn, when we halted at a littlejunction. I got up yawning and tried to open the door, till Iremembered it was locked. Thereupon I stuck my legs out of thewindow on the side away from the platform, and was immediatelyseized upon by a sleepy Seaforth who thought I contemplatedsuicide.
'Let me go,' I said. 'I'll be back in a jiffy.'
'Let him gang, jock,' said another voice. 'Ye ken what a man'slike when he's been on the bash. The cauld air'll sober him.'
I was released, and after some gymnastics dropped on themetals and made my way round the rear of the train. As Iclambered on the platform it began to move, and a face looked outof one of the back carriages. It was Linklater and he recognizedme. He tried to get out, but the door was promptly slammed by anindignant porter. I heard him protest, and he kept his head outtill the train went round the curve. That cooked my goose allright. He would wire to the police from the next station.Meantime in that clean, bare, chilly place there was only onetraveller. He was a slim young man, with a kit-bag and agun-case. His clothes were beautiful, a green Homburg hat, asmart green tweed overcoat, and boots as brightly polished as ahorse chestnut. I caught his profile as he gave up his ticket andto my amazement I recognized it.
The station-master looked askance at me as I presented myself,dilapidated and dishevelled, to the official gaze. I tried tospeak in a tone of authority.
'Who is the man who has just gone out?'
'Whaur's your ticket?'
'I had no time to get one at Muirtown, and as you see I haveleft my luggage behind me. Take it out of that pound and I'llcome back for the change. I want to know if that was SirArchibald Roylance.'
He looked suspiciously at the note. 'I think that's the name.He's a captain up at the Fleein' School. What was ye wantin' withhim?'
I charged through the booking-office and found my man about toenter a big grey motor-car.
'Archie,' I cried and beat him on the shoulders.
He turned round sharply. 'What the devil—! Who are you?'And then recognition crept into his face and he gave a joyousshout. 'My holy aunt! The General disguised as Charlie Chaplin!Can I drive you anywhere, sir?'
'Drive me somewhere to breakfast, Archie,' I said, 'for I'mperishing hungry.'
He and I got into the tonneau, and the driver swung us out ofthe station road up a long incline of hill. Sir Archie had beenone of my subalterns in the old Lennox Highlanders, and had leftus before the Somme to join the Flying Corps. I had heard that hehad got his wings and had done well before Arras, and was nowtraining pilots at home. He had been a light-hearted youth, whohad endured a good deal of rough-tonguing from me for his sins ofomission. But it was the casual class of lad I was looking fornow.
I saw him steal amused glances at my appearance.
'Been seein' a bit of life, sir?' he inquiredrespectfully.
'I'm being hunted by the police,' I said.
'Dirty dogs! But don't worry, sir; we'll get you off allright. I've been in the same fix myself. You can lie snug in mylittle log hut, for that old image Gibbons won't blab. Or, tellyou what, I've got an aunt who lives near here and she's a bit ofa sportsman. You can hide in her moated grange till the bobbiesget tired.'
I think it was Archie's calm acceptance of my position asnatural and becoming that restored my good temper. He was far toowell bred to ask what crime I had committed, and I didn't proposeto enlighten him much. But as we swung up the moorland road I lethim know that I was serving the Government, but that it wasnecessary that I should appear to be unauthenticated and thattherefore I must dodge the police. He whistled hisappreciation.
'Gad, that's a deep game. Sort of camouflage? Speaking from myexperience it is easy to overdo that kind of stunt. When I was atMisieux the French started out to camouflage the caravans wherethey keep their pigeons, and they did it so damned well that thepoor little birds couldn't hit 'em off, and spent the nightout.'
We entered the white gates of a big aerodrome, skirted aforest of tents and huts, and drew up at a shanty on the farconfines of the place. The hour was half past four, and the worldwas still asleep. Archie nodded towards one of the hangars, fromthe mouth of which projected the propeller end of anaeroplane.
'I'm by way of flyin' that bus down to Farnton tomorrow,' heremarked. 'It's the new Shark-Gladas. Got a mouth like atree.'
An idea flashed into my mind.
'You're going this morning,' I said.
'How did you know?' he exclaimed. 'I'm due to go today, butthe grouse up in Caithness wanted shootin' so badly that Idecided to wangle another day's leave. They can't expect a man tostart for the south of England when he's just off a frowsyjourney.'
'All the same you're going to be a stout fellow and start intwo hours' time. And you're going to take me with you.'
He stared blankly, and then burst into a roar of laughter.'You're the man to go tiger-shootin' with. But what price mycommandant? He's not a bad chap, but a trifle shaggy about thefetlocks. He won't appreciate the joke.'
'He needn't know. He mustn't know. This is an affair betweenyou and me till it's finished. I promise you I'll make it allsquare with the Flying Corps. Get me down to Farnton beforeevening, and you'll have done a good piece of work for thecountry.'
'Right-o! Let's have a tub and a bit of breakfast, and thenI'm your man. I'll tell them to get the bus ready.'
In Archie's bedroom I washed and shaved and borrowed a greentweed cap and a brand-new Aquascutum. The latter covered thedeficiencies of my raiment, and when I commandeered a pair ofgloves I felt almost respectable. Gibbons, who seemed to be ajack-of-all-trades, cooked us some bacon and an omelette, and ashe ate Archie yarned. In the battalion his conversation had beenmostly of race-meetings and the forsaken delights of town, butnow he had forgotten all that, and, like every good airman I haveever known, wallowed enthusiastically in 'shop'. I have a deeprespect for the Flying Corps, but it is apt to change its jargonevery month, and its conversation is hard for the layman tofollow. He was desperately keen about the war, which he sawwholly from the viewpoint of the air. Arras to him was overbefore the infantry crossed the top, and the tough bit of theSomme was October, not September. He calculated that the bigair-fighting had not come along yet, and all he hoped for was tobe allowed out to France to have his share in it. Like all goodairmen, too, he was very modest about himself. 'I've done a bitof steeple-chasin' and huntin' and I've good hands for a horse,so I can handle a bus fairly well. It's all a matter of hands,you know. There ain't half the risk of the infantry down belowyou, and a million times the fun. jolly glad I changed, sir.'
We talked of Peter, and he put him about top. Voss, hethought, was the only Boche that could compare with him, for hehadn't made up his mind about Lensch. The Frenchman Guynemer heranked high, but in a different way. I remember he had no respectfor Richthofen and his celebrated circus.
At six sharp we were ready to go. A couple of mechanics hadgot out the machine, and Archie put on his coat and gloves andclimbed into the pilot's seat, while I squeezed in behind in theobserver's place. The aerodrome was waking up, but I saw noofficers about. We were scarcely seated when Gibbons called ourattention to a motor-car on the road, and presently we heard ashout and saw men waving in our direction.
'Better get off, my lad,' I said. 'These look like myfriends.'
The engine started and the mechanics stood clear. As we taxiedover the turf I looked back and saw several figures running inour direction. The next second we had left the bumpy earth forthe smooth highroad of the air.
I had flown several dozen times before, generally over theenemy lines when I wanted to see for myself how the land lay.Then we had flown low, and been nicely dusted by the Hun Archies,not to speak of an occasional machine-gun. But never till thathour had I realized the joy of a straight flight in a swift planein perfect weather. Archie didn't lose time. Soon the hangarsbehind looked like a child's toys, and the world ran away from ustill it seemed like a great golden bowl spilling over with thequintessence of light. The air was cold and my hands numbed, butI never felt them. As we throbbed and tore southward, sometimesbumping in eddies, sometimes swimming evenly in a stream ofmotionless ether, my head and heart grew as light as a boy's. Iforgot all about the vexations of my job and saw only its joyfulcomedy. I didn't think that anything on earth could worry meagain. Far to the left was a wedge of silver and beside it acluster of toy houses. That must be Edinburgh, where reposed myportmanteau, and where a most efficient police force was nowinquiring for me. At the thought I laughed so loud that Archiemust have heard me. He turned round, saw my grinning face, andgrinned back. Then he signalled to me to strap myself in. Iobeyed, and he proceeded to practise 'stunts'—the loop, thespinning nose-dive, and others I didn't know the names of. It wasglorious fun, and he handled his machine as a good rider coaxes anervous horse over a stiff hurdle. He had that extra something inhis blood that makes the great pilot.
Presently the chessboard of green and brown had changed to adeep purple with faint silvery lines like veins in a rock. Wewere crossing the Border hills, the place where I had legged itfor weary days when I was mixed up in the Black Stone business.What a marvellous element was this air, which took one far abovethe fatigues of humanity! Archie had done well to change. Peterhad been the wise man. I felt a tremendous pity for my old friendhobbling about a German prison-yard, when he had once flown ahawk. I reflected that I had wasted my life hitherto. And then Iremembered that all this glory had only one use in war and thatwas to help the muddy British infantryman to down his Hunopponent. He was the fellow, after all, that decided battles, andthe thought comforted me.
A great exhilaration is often the precursor of disaster, andmine was to have a sudden downfall. It was getting on for noonand we were well into England—I guessed from the rivers wehad passed that we were somewhere in the north ofYorkshire—when the machine began to make odd sounds, and webumped in perfectly calm patches of air. We dived and thenclimbed, but the confounded thing kept sputtering. Archie passedback a slip of paper on which he had scribbled: 'Engine conked.Must land at Micklegill. Very sorry.' So we dropped to a lowerelevation where we could see clearly the houses and roads and thelong swelling ridges of a moorland country. I could never havefound my way about, but Archie's practised eye knew everylandmark. We were trundling along very slowly now, and even I wassoon able to pick up the hangars of a big aerodrome.
We made Micklegill, but only by the skin of our teeth. We wereso low that the smoky chimneys of the city of Bradfield sevenmiles to the east were half hidden by a ridge of down. Archieachieved a clever descent in the lee of a belt of firs, and gotout full of imprecations against the Gladas engine. 'I'll go upto the camp and report,' he said, 'and send mechanics down totinker this darned gramophone. You'd better go for a walk, sir. Idon't want to answer questions about you till we're ready tostart. I reckon it'll be an hour's job.' The cheerfulness I hadacquired in the upper air still filled me. I sat down in a ditch,as merry as a sand-boy, and lit a pipe. I was possessed by aboyish spirit of casual adventure, and waited on the next turn offortune's wheel with only a pleasant amusement.
That turn was not long in coming. Archie appeared verybreathless.
'Look here, sir, there's the deuce of a row up there. They'vebeen wirin' about you all over the country, and they know you'rewith me. They've got the police, and they'll have you in fiveminutes if you don't leg it. I lied like billy-o and said I hadnever heard of you, but they're comin' to see for themselves. ForGod's sake get off... You'd better keep in cover down that hollowand round the back of these trees. I'll stay here and try tobrazen it out. I'll get strafed to blazes anyhow... I hope you'llget me out of the scrape, sir.'
'Don't you worry, my lad,' I said. 'I'll make it all squarewhen I get back to town. I'll make for Bradfield, for this placeis a bit conspicuous. Goodbye, Archie. You're a good chap andI'll see you don't suffer.'
I started off down the hollow of the moor, trying to makespeed atone for lack of strategy, for it was hard to know howmuch my pursuers commanded from that higher ground. They musthave seen me, for I heard whistles blown and men's cries. Istruck a road, crossed it, and passed a ridge from which I had aview of Bradfield six miles off. And as I ran I began to reflectthat this kind of chase could not last long. They were bound toround me up in the next half-hour unless I could puzzle them. Butin that bare green place there was no cover, and it looked as ifmy chances were pretty much those of a hare coursed by a goodgreyhound on a naked moor.
Suddenly from just in front of me came a familiar sound. Itwas the roar of guns—the slam of field-batteries and theboom of small howitzers. I wondered if I had gone off my head. AsI plodded on the rattle of machine-guns was added, and over theridge before me I saw the dust and fumes of bursting shells. Iconcluded that I was not mad, and that therefore the Germans musthave landed. I crawled up the last slope, quite forgetting thepursuit behind me.
And then I'm blessed if I did not look down on a veritablebattle.
There were two sets of trenches with barbed wire and all thefixings, one set filled with troops and the other empty. On theselatter shells were bursting, but there was no sign of life inthem. In the other lines there seemed the better part of twobrigades, and the first trench was stiff with bayonets. My firstthought was that Home Forces had gone dotty, for this kind ofshow could have no sort of training value. And then I saw otherthings—cameras and camera-men on platforms on the flanks,and men with megaphones behind them on wooden scaffoldings. Oneof the megaphones was going full blast all the time. I saw themeaning of the performance at last. Some movie-merchant had got agraft with the Government, and troops had been turned out to makea war film. It occurred to me that if I were mixed up in thatpush I might get the cover I was looking for. I scurried down thehill to the nearest camera-man.
As I ran, the first wave of troops went over the top. They didit uncommon well, for they entered into the spirit of the thing,and went over with grim faces and that slow, purposeful lope thatI had seen in my own fellows at Arras. Smoke grenades burst amongthem, and now and then some resourceful mountebank would rollover. Altogether it was about the best show I have ever seen. Thecameras clicked, the guns banged, a background of boy scoutsapplauded, and the dust rose in billows to the sky.
But all the same something was wrong. I could imagine thatthis kind of business took a good deal of planning from the pointof view of the movie-merchant, for his purpose was not the sameas that of the officer in command. You know how a photographerfinicks about and is dissatisfied with a pose that seems allright to his sitter. I should have thought the spectacle enoughto get any cinema audience off their feet, but the man on thescaffolding near me judged differently. He made his megaphoneboom like the swan-song of a dying buffalo. He wanted to changesomething and didn't know how to do it. He hopped on one leg; hetook the megaphone from his mouth to curse; he waved it like abanner and yelled at some opposite number on the other flank. Andthen his patience forsook him and he skipped down the ladder,dropping his megaphone, past the camera-men, on to thebattlefield.
That was his undoing. He got in the way of the second wave andwas swallowed up like a leaf in a torrent. For a moment I saw ared face and a loud-checked suit, and the rest was silence. Hewas carried on over the hill, or rolled into an enemy trench, butanyhow he was lost to my ken.
I bagged his megaphone and hopped up the steps to theplatform. At last I saw a chance of first-class cover, for withArchie's coat and cap I made a very good appearance as amovie-merchant. Two waves had gone over the top, and thecinema-men, working like beavers, had filmed the lot. But therewas still a fair amount of troops to play with, and I determinedto tangle up that outfit so that the fellows who were after mewould have better things to think about.
My advantage was that I knew how to command men. I could seethat my opposite number with the megaphone was helpless, for themistake which had swept my man into a shell-hole had reduced himto impotence. The troops seemed to be mainly in charge of N.C.O.s(I could imagine that the officers would try to shirk thisbusiness), and an N.C.O. is the most literal creature on earth.So with my megaphone I proceeded to change the battle order.
I brought up the third wave to the front trenches. In aboutthree minutes the men had recognized the professional touch andwere moving smartly to my orders. They thought it was part of theshow, and the obedient cameras clicked at everything that cameinto their orbit. My aim was to deploy the troops on too narrow afront so that they were bound to fan outward, and I had to bequick about it, for I didn't know when the hapless movie-merchantmight be retrieved from the battle-field and dispute myauthority.
It takes a long time to straighten a thing out, but it doesnot take long to tangle it, especially when the thing is sodelicate a machine as disciplined troops. In about eight minutesI had produced chaos. The flanks spread out, in spite of all theshepherding of the N.C.O.s, and the fringe engulfed thephotographers. The cameras on their little platforms went downlike ninepins. It was solemn to see the startled face of aphotographer, taken unawares, supplicating the purposefulinfantry, before he was swept off his feet intospeechlessness.
It was no place for me to linger in, so I chucked away themegaphone and got mixed up with the tail of the third wave. I wasswept on and came to anchor in the enemy trenches, where I found,as I expected, my profane and breathless predecessor, themovie-merchant. I had nothing to say to him, so I stuck to thetrench till it ended against the slope of the hill.
On that flank, delirious with excitement, stood a knot of boyscouts. My business was to get to Bradfield as quick as my legswould take me, and as inconspicuously as the gods would permit.Unhappily I was far too great an object of interest to thatnursery of heroes. Every boy scout is an amateur detective andhungry for knowledge. I was followed by several, who plied mewith questions, and were told that I was off to Bradfield tohurry up part of the cinema outfit. It sounded lame enough, forthat cinema outfit was already past praying for.
We reached the road and against a stone wall stood severalbicycles. I selected one and prepared to mount.
'That's Mr Emmott's machine,' said one boy sharply. 'He toldme to keep an eye on it.'
'I must borrow it, sonny,' I said. 'Mr Emmott's my very goodfriend and won't object.'
From the place where we stood I overlooked the back of thebattle-field and could see an anxious congress of officers. Icould see others, too, whose appearance I did not like. They hadnot been there when I operated on the megaphone. They must havecome downhill from the aerodrome and in all likelihood were thepursuers I had avoided. The exhilaration which I had won in theair and which had carried me into the tomfoolery of the pasthalf-hour was ebbing. I had the hunted feeling once more, andgrew middle-aged and cautious. I had a baddish record for theday, what with getting Archie into a scrape and busting up anofficial cinema show—neither consistent with the duties ofa brigadier-general. Besides, I had still to get to London.
I had not gone two hundred yards down the road when a boyscout, pedalling furiously, came up abreast me.
'Colonel Edgeworth wants to see you,' he panted. 'You're tocome back at once.'
'Tell him I can't wait now,' I said. 'I'll pay my respects tohim in an hour.'
'He said you were to come at once,' said the faithfulmessenger. 'He's in an awful temper with you, and he's gotbobbies with him.'
I put on pace and left the boy behind. I reckoned I had thebetter part of two miles' start and could beat anything exceptpetrol. But my enemies were bound to have cars, so I had betterget off the road as soon as possible. I coasted down a long hillto a bridge which spanned a small discoloured stream that flowedin a wooded glen. There was nobody for the moment on the hillbehind me, so I slipped into the covert, shoved the bicycle underthe bridge, and hid Archie's aquascutum in a bramble thicket. Iwas now in my own disreputable tweeds and I hoped that theshedding of my most conspicuous garment would puzzle my pursuersif they should catch up with me.
But this I was determined they should not do. I made goodgoing down that stream and out into a lane which led from thedowns to the market-gardens round the city. I thanked Heaven Ihad got rid of the aquascutum, for the August afternoon was warmand my pace was not leisurely. When I was in secluded ground Iran, and when anyone was in sight I walked smartly.
As I went I reflected that Bradfield would see the end of myadventures. The police knew that I was there and would watch thestations and hunt me down if I lingered in the place. I knew noone there and had no chance of getting an effective disguise.Indeed I very soon began to wonder if I should get even as far asthe streets. For at the moment when I had got a lift on the backof a fishmonger's cart and was screened by its flapping canvas,two figures passed on motor-bicycles, and one of them was theinquisitive boy scout. The main road from the aerodrome wasprobably now being patrolled by motor-cars. It looked as if therewould be a degrading arrest in one of the suburbs.
The fish-cart, helped by half a crown to the driver, took mepast the outlying small-villadom, between long lines of workmen'shouses, to narrow cobbled lanes and the purlieus of greatfactories. As soon as I saw the streets well crowded I got outand walked. In my old clothes I must have appeared like somesecond-class bookie or seedy horse-coper. The only respectablething I had about me was my gold watch. I looked at the time andfound it half past five.
I wanted food and was casting about for an eating-house when Iheard the purr of a motor-cycle and across the road saw theintelligent boy scout. He saw me, too, and put on the brake witha sharpness which caused him to skid and all but come to griefunder the wheels of a wool-wagon. That gave me time to effacemyself by darting up a side street. I had an unpleasant sensethat I was about to be trapped, for in a place I knew nothing ofI had not a chance to use my wits.
I remember trying feverishly to think, and I suppose that mypreoccupation made me careless. I was now in a veritable slum,and when I put my hand to my vest pocket I found that my watchhad gone. That put the top stone on my depression. The reactionfrom the wild burnout of the forenoon had left me very cold aboutthe feet. I was getting into the under-world again and there wasno chance of a second Archie Roylance turning up to rescue me. Iremember yet the sour smell of the factories and the mist ofsmoke in the evening air. It is a smell I have never met sincewithout a sort of dulling of spirit.
Presently I came out into a market-place. Whistles wereblowing, and there was a great hurrying of people back from themills. The crowd gave me a momentary sense of security, and I wasjust about to inquire my way to the railway station when someonejostled my arm.
A rough-looking fellow in mechanic's clothes was besideme.
'Mate,' he whispered. 'I've got summat o' yours here.' And tomy amazement he slipped my watch into my hand.
'It was took by mistake. We're friends o' yours. You're rightenough if you do what I tell you. There's a peeler over there gothis eye on you. Follow me and I'll get you off.'
I didn't much like the man's looks, but I had no choice, andanyhow he had given me back my watch. He sidled into an alleybetween tall houses and I sidled after him. Then he took to hisheels, and led me a twisting course through smelly courts into atanyard and then by a narrow lane to the back-quarters of afactory. Twice we doubled back, and once we climbed a wall andfollowed the bank of a blue-black stream with a filthy scum onit. Then we got into a very mean quarter of the town, and emergedin a dingy garden, strewn with tin cans and broken flowerpots. Bya back door we entered one of the cottages and my guide verycarefully locked it behind him.
He lit the gas and drew the blinds in a small parlour andlooked at me long and quizzically. He spoke now in an educatedvoice.
'I ask no questions,' he said, 'but it's my business to put myservices at your disposal. You carry the passport.'
I stared at him, and he pulled out his watch and showed awhite-and-purple cross inside the lid.
'I don't defend all the people we employ,' he said, grinning.'Men's morals are not always as good as their patriotism. One ofthem pinched your watch, and when he saw what was inside it hereported to me. We soon picked up your trail, and observed youwere in a bit of trouble. As I say, I ask no questions. What canwe do for you?'
'I want to get to London without any questions asked. They'relooking for me in my present rig, so I've got to change it.'
'That's easy enough,' he said. 'Make yourself comfortable fora little and I'll fix you up. The night train goes ateleven-thirty... You'll find cigars in the cupboard and there'sthis week'sCritic on that table. It's got a good articleon Conrad, if you care for such things.'
I helped myself to a cigar and spent a profitable half-hourreading about the vices of the British Government. Then my hostreturned and bade me ascend to his bedroom. 'You're Private HenryTomkins of the 12th Gloucesters, and you'll find your clothesready for you. I'll send on your present togs if you give me anaddress.'
I did as I was bid, and presently emerged in the uniform of aBritish private, complete down to the shapeless boots and thedropsical puttees. Then my friend took me in hand and finishedthe transformation. He started on my hair with scissors andarranged a lock which, when well oiled, curled over my forehead.My hands were hard and rough and only needed some grubbiness andhacking about the nails to pass muster. With my cap on the sideof my head, a pack on my back, a service rifle in my hands, andmy pockets bursting with penny picture papers, I was the verymodel of the British soldier returning from leave. I had also apacket of Woodbine cigarettes and a hunch of bread-and-cheese forthe journey. And I had a railway warrant made out in my name forLondon.
Then my friend gave me supper—bread and cold meat and abottle of Bass, which I wolfed savagely, for I had had nothingsince breakfast. He was a curious fellow, as discreet as atombstone, very ready to speak about general subjects, but neveronce coming near the intimate business which had linked him andme and Heaven knew how many others by means of a littlepurple-and-white cross in a watch-case. I remember we talkedabout the topics that used to be popular at Biggleswick—thebig political things that begin with capital letters. He tookAmos's view of the soundness of the British working-man, but hesaid something which made me think. He was convinced that therewas a tremendous lot of German spy work about, and that most ofthe practitioners were innocent. 'The ordinary Briton doesn't runto treason, but he's not very bright. A clever man in that kindof game can make better use of a fool than a rogue.'
As he saw me off he gave me a piece of advice. 'Get out ofthese clothes as soon as you reach London. Private Tomkins willfrank you out of Bradfield, but it mightn't be a healthy alias inthe metropolis.'
At eleven-thirty I was safe in the train, talking the jargonof the returning soldier with half a dozen of my own type in asmoky third-class carriage. I had been lucky in my escape, for atthe station entrance and on the platform I had noticed severalmen with the unmistakable look of plainclothes police.Also—though this may have been my fancy— I thought Icaught in the crowd a glimpse of the bagman who had calledhimself Linklater.
The train was abominably late. It was due ateight-twenty-seven, but it was nearly ten when we reached StPancras. I had resolved to go straight to my rooms inWestminster, buying on the way a cap and waterproof to conceal myuniform should anyone be near my door on my arrival. Then I wouldring up Blenkiron and tell him all my adventures. I breakfastedat a coffee-stall, left my pack and rifle in the cloak-room, andwalked out into the clear sunny morning.
I was feeling very pleased with myself. Looking back on mymadcap journey, I seemed to have had an amazing run of luck andto be entitled to a little credit too. I told myself thatpersistence always pays and that nobody is beaten till he isdead. All Blenkiron's instructions had been faithfully carriedout. I had found Ivery's post office. I had laid the lines of ourown special communications with the enemy, and so far as I couldsee I had left no clue behind me. Ivery and Gresson took me for awell-meaning nincompoop. It was true that I had aroused profoundsuspicion in the breasts of the Scottish police. But thatmattered nothing, for Cornelius Brand, the suspect, wouldpresently disappear, and there was nothing against that risingsoldier, Brigadier-General Richard Hannay, who would soon be onhis way to France. After all this piece of service had not beenso very unpleasant. I laughed when I remembered my grimforebodings in Gloucestershire. Bullivant had said it would bedamnably risky in the long run, but here was the end and I hadnever been in danger of anything worse than making a fool ofmyself.
I remember that, as I made my way through Bloomsbury, I wasnot thinking so much of my triumphant report to Blenkiron as ofmy speedy return to the Front. Soon I would be with my belovedbrigade again. I had missed Messines and the first part of ThirdYpres, but the battle was still going on, and I had yet a chance.I might get a division, for there had been talk of that before Ileft. I knew the Army Commander thought a lot of me. But on thewhole I hoped I would be left with the brigade. After all I wasan amateur soldier, and I wasn't certain of my powers with abigger command.
In Charing Cross Road I thought of Mary, and the brigadeseemed suddenly less attractive. I hoped the war wouldn't lastmuch longer, though with Russia heading straight for the devil Ididn't know how it was going to stop very soon. I was determinedto see Mary before I left, and I had a good excuse, for I hadtaken my orders from her. The prospect entranced me, and I wasmooning along in a happy dream, when I collided violently with inagitated citizen.
Then I realized that something very odd was happening.
There was a dull sound like the popping of the corks of flatsoda-water bottles. There was a humming, too, from very far up inthe skies. People in the street were either staring at theheavens or running wildly for shelter. A motor-bus in front of meemptied its contents in a twinkling; a taxi pulled up with a jarand the driver and fare dived into a second-hand bookshop. Ittook me a moment or two to realize the meaning of it all, and Ihad scarcely done this when I got a very practical proof. Ahundred yards away a bomb fell on a street island, shiveringevery window-pane in a wide radius, and sending splinters ofstone flying about my head. I did what I had done a hundred timesbefore at the Front, and dropped flat on my face.
The man who says he doesn't mind being bombed or shelled iseither a liar or a maniac. This London air raid seemed to me asingularly unpleasant business. I think it was the sight of thedecent civilized life around one and the orderly streets, forwhat was perfectly natural in a rubble-heap like Ypres or Arrasseemed an outrage here. I remember once being in billets in aFlanders village where I had the Maire's house and sat in a roomupholstered in cut velvet, with wax flowers on the mantelpieceand oil paintings of three generations on the walls. The Bochetook it into his head to shell the place with a long-range navalgun, and I simply loathed it. It was horrible to have dust andsplinters blown into that snug, homely room, whereas if I hadbeen in a ruined barn I wouldn't have given the thing twothoughts. In the same way bombs dropping in central London seemeda grotesque indecency. I hated to see plump citizens with wildeyes, and nursemaids with scared children, and miserable womenscuttling like rabbits in a warren.
The drone grew louder, and, looking up, I could see the enemyplanes flying in a beautiful formation, very leisurely as itseemed, with all London at their mercy. Another bomb fell to theright, and presently bits of our own shrapnel were clatteringviciously around me. I thought it about time to take cover, andran shamelessly for the best place I could see, which was a Tubestation. Five minutes before the street had been crowded; now Ileft behind me a desert dotted with one bus and three emptytaxicabs.
I found the Tube entrance filled with excited humanity. Onestout lady had fainted, and a nurse had become hysterical, but onthe whole people were behaving well. Oddly enough they did notseem inclined to go down the stairs to the complete security ofunderground; but preferred rather to collect where they couldstill get a glimpse of the upper world, as if they were tornbetween fear of their lives and interest in the spectacle. Thatcrowd gave me a good deal of respect for my countrymen. Butseveral were badly rattled, and one man a little way off, whoseback was turned, kept twitching his shoulders as if he had thecolic.
I watched him curiously, and a movement of the crowd broughthis face into profile. Then I gasped with amazement, for I sawthat it was Ivery.
And yet it was not Ivery. There were the familiar nondescriptfeatures, the blandness, the plumpness, but all, so to speak, inruins. The man was in a blind funk. His features seemed to bedislimning before my eyes. He was growing sharper, finer, in away younger, a man without grip on himself, a shapeless creaturein process of transformation. He was being reduced to hisrudiments. Under the spell of panic he was becoming a newman.
And the crazy thing was that I knew the new man better thanthe old.
My hands were jammed close to my sides by the crowd; I couldscarcely turn my head, and it was not the occasion for one'sneighbours to observe one's expression. If it had been, mine musthave been a study. My mind was far away from air raids, back inthe hot summer weather Of 1914. I saw a row of villas perched ona headland above the sea. In the garden of one of them two menwere playing tennis, while I was crouching behind an adjacentbush. One of these was a plump young man who wore a colouredscarf round his waist and babbled of golf handicaps... I saw himagain in the villa dining-room, wearing a dinner-jacket, andlisping a little... I sat opposite him at bridge, I beheld himcollared by two of Macgillivray's men, when his comrade hadrushed for the thirty-nine steps that led to the sea... I saw,too, the sitting-room of my old flat in Portland Place and heardlittle Scudder's quick, anxious voice talking about the three menhe feared most on earth, one of whom lisped in his speech. I hadthought that all three had long ago been laid under theturf...
He was not looking my way, and I could devour his face insafety. There was no shadow of doubt. I had always put him downas the most amazing actor on earth, for had he not played thepart of the First Sea Lord and deluded that officer's dailycolleagues? But he could do far more than any human actor, for hecould take on a new personality and with it a new appearance, andlive steadily in the character as if he had been born in it... Mymind was a blank, and I could only make blind gropings atconclusions... How had he escaped the death of a spy and amurderer, for I had last seen him in the hands of justice?... Ofcourse he had known me from the first day in Biggleswick... I hadthought to play with him, and he had played most cunningly anddamnably with me. In that sweating sardine-tin of refugees Ishivered in the bitterness of my chagrin.
And then I found his face turned to mine, and I knew that herecognized me. more, I knew that he knew that I had recognizedhim—not as Ivery, but as that other man. There came intohis eyes a curious look of comprehension, which for a momentovercame his funk.
I had sense enough to see that that put the final lid on it.There was still something doing if he believed that I was blind,but if he once thought that I knew the truth he would be throughour meshes and disappear like a fog.
My first thought was to get at him and collar him and summoneverybody to help me by denouncing him for what he was. Then Isaw that that was impossible. I was a private soldier in aborrowed uniform, and he could easily turn the story against me.I must use surer weapons. I must get to Bullivant andMacgillivray and set their big machine to work. Above all I mustget to Blenkiron.
I started to squeeze out of that push, for air raids nowseemed far too trivial to give a thought to. Moreover the gunshad stopped, but so sheeplike is human nature that the crowdstill hung together, and it took me a good fifteen minutes toedge my way to the open air. I found that the trouble was over,and the street had resumed its usual appearance. Buses and taxiswere running, and voluble knots of people were recounting theirexperiences. I started off for Blenkiron's bookshop, as thenearest harbour of refuge.
But in Piccadilly Circus I was stopped by a militarypoliceman. He asked my name and battalion, and I gave him them,while his suspicious eye ran over my figure. I had no pack orrifle, and the crush in the Tube station had not improved myappearance. I explained that I was going back to France thatevening, and he asked for my warrant. I fancy my preoccupationmade me nervous and I lied badly. I said I had left it with mykit in the house of my married sister, but I fumbled in givingthe address. I could see that the fellow did not believe a wordof it.
just then up came an A.P.M. He was a pompous dug-out, verysplendid in his red tabs and probably bucked up at having justbeen under fire. Anyhow he was out to walk in the strict path ofduty.
'Tomkins!' he said. 'Tomkins! We've got some fellow of thatname on our records. Bring him along, Wilson.'
'But, sir,' I said, 'I must—I simply must meet myfriend. It's urgent business, and I assure you I'm all right. Ifyou don't believe me, I'll take a taxi and we'll go down toScotland Yard and I'll stand by what they say.'
His brow grew dark with wrath. 'What infernal nonsense isthis? Scotland Yard! What the devil has Scotland Yard to do withit? You're an imposter. I can see it in your face. I'll have yourdepot rung up, and you'll be in jail in a couple of hours. I knowa deserter when I see him. Bring him along, Wilson. You know whatto do if he tries to bolt.'
I had a momentary thought of breaking away, but decided thatthe odds were too much against me. Fuming with impatience, Ifollowed the A.P.M. to his office on the first floor in a sidestreet. The precious minutes were slipping past; Ivery, nowthoroughly warned, was making good his escape; and I, the solerepository of a deadly secret, was tramping in this absurdprocession.
The A.P.M. issued his orders. He gave instructions that mydepot should be rung up, and he bade Wilson remove me to what hecalled the guard-room. He sat down at his desk, and busiedhimself with a mass of buff dockets.
in desperation I renewed my appeal. 'I implore you totelephone to Mr Macgillivray at Scotland Yard. It's a matter oflife and death, Sir. You're taking a very big responsibility ifyou don't.'
I had hopelessly offended his brittle dignity. 'Any more ofyour insolence and I'll have you put in irons. I'll attend to yousoon enough for your comfort. Get out of this till I send foryou.'
As I looked at his foolish, irritable face I realized that Iwas fairly UP against it. Short of assault and battery oneverybody I was bound to submit. I saluted respectfully and wasmarched away.
The hours I spent in that bare anteroom are like a nightmarein my recollection. A sergeant was busy at a desk with more buffdockets and an orderly waited on a stool by a telephone. I lookedat my watch and observed that it was one o'clock. Soon theslamming of a door announced that the A.P.M. had gone to lunch. Itried conversation with the fat sergeant, but he very soon shutme up. So I sat hunched up on the wooden form and chewed the cudof my vexation.
I thought with bitterness of the satisfaction which had filledme in the morning. I had fancied myself the devil of a finefellow, and I had been no more than a mountebank. The adventuresof the past days seemed merely childish. I had been telling liesand cutting capers over half Britain, thinking I was playing adeep game, and I had only been behaving like a schoolboy. On suchoccasions a man is rarely just to himself, and the intensity ofmy self-abasement would have satisfied my worst enemy. It didn'tconsole me that the futility of it all was not my blame. I waslooking for excuses. It was the facts that cried out against me,and on the facts I had been an idiotic failure.
For of course Ivery had played with me, played with me sincethe first day at Biggleswick. He had applauded my speeches andflattered me, and advised me to go to the Clyde, laughing at meall the time. Gresson, too, had known. Now I saw it all. He hadtried to drown me between Colonsay and Mull. It was Gresson whohad set the police on me in Morvern. The bagman Linklater hadbeen one of Gresson's creatures. The only meagre consolation wasthat the gang had thought me dangerous enough to attempt tomurder me, and that they knew nothing about my doings in Skye. Ofthat I was positive. They had marked me down, but for severaldays I had slipped clean out of their ken.
As I went over all the incidents, I asked if everything wasyet lost. I had failed to hoodwink Ivery, but I had found out hispost office, and if he only believed I hadn't recognized him forthe miscreant of the Black Stone he would go on in his old waysand play into Blenkiron's hands. Yes, but I had seen him inundress, so to speak, and he knew that I had so seen him. Theonly thing now was to collar him before he left the country, forthere was ample evidence to hang him on. The law must stretch outits long arm and collect him and Gresson and the Portuguese Jew,try them by court martial, and put them decently underground. Buthe had now had more than an hour's warning, and I was entangledwith red-tape in this damned A.P.M.'s office. The thought droveme frantic, and I got up and paced the floor. I saw the orderlywith rather a scared face making ready to press the bell, and Inoticed that the fat sergeant had gone to lunch.
'Say, mate,' I said, 'don't you feel inclined to do a poorfellow a good turn? I know I'm for it all right, and I'll take mymedicine like a lamb. But I want badly to put a telephone callthrough.'
'It ain't allowed,' was the answer. 'I'd get 'ell from the oldman.'
'But he's gone out,' I urged. 'I don't want you to do anythingwrong, mate, I leave you to do the talkin' if you'll only send mymessage. I'm flush of money, and I don't mind handin' you a quidfor the job.'
He was a pinched little man with a weak chin, and he obviouslywavered.
''Oo d'ye want to talk to?' he asked.
'Scotland Yard,' I said, 'the home of the police. Lord blessyou, there can't be no harm in that. Ye've only got to ring upScotland Yard— I'll give you the number—and give themessage to Mr Macgillivray. He's the head bummer of all thebobbies.'
'That sounds a bit of all right,' he said. 'The old man 'ewon't be back for 'alf an hour, nor the sergeant neither. Let'ssee your quid though.'
I laid a pound note on the form beside me. 'It's yours, mate,if you get through to Scotland Yard and speak the piece I'm goin'to give you.'
He went over to the instrument. 'What d'you want to say to thebloke with the long name?' 'Say that Richard Hannay is detainedat the A.P.M.'s office in Claxton Street. Say he's got importantnews—say urgent and secret news—and ask MrMacgillivray to do something about it at once.' 'But 'Annay ain'tthe name you gave.'
'Lord bless you, no. Did you never hear of a man borrowin'another name? Anyhow that's the one I want you to give.'
'But if this Mac man comes round 'ere, they'll know 'e's binrung up, and I'll 'ave the old man down on me.'
It took ten minutes and a second pound note to get him pastthis hurdle. By and by he screwed up courage and rang up thenumber. I listened with some nervousness while he gave mymessage—he had to repeat it twice—and waited eagerlyon the next words.
'No, sir,' I heard him say, "e don't want you to come round'ere. E thinks as 'ow—I mean to say, 'e wants—'
I took a long stride and twitched the receiver from him.
'Macgillivray,' I said, 'is that you? Richard Hannay! For thelove of God come round here this instant and deliver me from theclutches of a tomfool A.P.M. I've got the most deadly news.There's not a second to waste. For God's sake come quick!' Then Iadded: 'Just tell your fellows to gather Ivery in at once. Youknow his lairs.'
I hung up the receiver and faced a pale and indignant orderly.'It's all right,' I said. 'I promise you that you won't get intoany trouble on my account. And there's your two quid.'
The door in the next room opened and shut. The A.P.M. hadreturned from lunch...
Ten minutes later the door opened again. I heardMacgillivray's voice, and it was not pitched in dulcet tones. Hehad run up against minor officialdom and was making hay withit.
I was my own master once more, so I forsook the company of theorderly. I found a most rattled officer trying to save a few ragsof his dignity and the formidable figure of Macgillivrayinstructing him in manners.
'Glad to see you, Dick,' he said. 'This is General Hannay,sir. It may comfort you to know that your folly may have madejust the difference between your country's victory and defeat. Ishall have a word to say to your superiors.'
It was hardly fair. I had to put in a word for the old fellow,whose red tabs seemed suddenly to have grown dingy.
'It was my blame wearing this kit. We'll call it amisunderstanding and forget it. But I would suggest that civilityis not wasted even on a poor devil of a defaulting privatesoldier.'
Once in Macgillivray's car, I poured out my tale. 'Tell meit's a nightmare,' I cried. 'Tell me that the three men wecollected on the Ruff were shot long ago.'
'Two,' he replied, 'but one escaped. Heaven knows how hemanaged it, but he disappeared clean out of the world.'
'The plump one who lisped in his speech?'
Macgillivray nodded.
'Well, we're in for it this time. Have you issuedinstructions?'
'Yes. With luck we shall have our hands on him within an hour.We've our net round all his haunts.'
'But two hours' start! It's a big handicap, for you're dealingwith a genius.'
'Yet I think we can manage it. Where are you bound for?'
I told him my rooms in Westminster and then to my old flat inPark Lane. 'The day of disguises is past. In half an hour I'll beRichard Hannay. It'll be a comfort to get into uniform again.Then I'll look up Blenkiron.'
He grinned. 'I gather you've had a riotous time. We've had agood many anxious messages from the north about a certain MrBrand. I couldn't discourage our men, for I fancied it might havespoiled your game. I heard that last night they had lost touchwith you in Bradfield, so I rather expected to see you heretoday. Efficient body of men the Scottish police.'
'Especially when they have various enthusiastic amateurhelpers.'
'So?' he said. 'Yes, of course. They would have. But I hopepresently to congratulate you on the success of yourmission.'
'I'll bet you a pony you don't,' I said.
'I never bet on a professional subject. Why thispessimism?'
'Only that I know our gentleman better than you. I've beentwice up against him. He's the kind of wicked that don't ceasefrom troubling till they're stone-dead. And even then I'd want tosee the body cremated and take the ashes into mid-ocean andscatter them. I've got a feeling that he's the biggest thing youor I will ever tackle.'
I collected some baggage and a pile of newly arrived lettersfrom my rooms in Westminster and took a taxi to my Park Laneflat. Usually I had gone back to that old place with a greatfeeling of comfort, like a boy from school who ranges about hisroom at home and examines his treasures. I used to like to see myhunting trophies on the wall and to sink into my own armchairsBut now I had no pleasure in the thing. I had a bath, and changedinto uniform, and that made me feel in better fighting trim. ButI suffered from a heavy conviction of abject failure, and had noshare in Macgillivray's optimism. The awe with which the BlackStone gang had filled me three years before had revived athousandfold. Personal humiliation was the least part of mytrouble. What worried me was the sense of being up againstsomething inhumanly formidable and wise and strong. I believed Iwas willing to own defeat and chuck up the game.
Among the unopened letters was one from Peter, a very bulkyone which I sat down to read at leisure. It was a curiousepistle, far the longest he had ever written me, and its sizemade me understand his loneliness. He was still at his Germanprison-camp, but expecting every day to go to Switzerland. Hesaid he could get back to England or South Africa, if he wanted,for they were clear that he could never be a combatant again; buthe thought he had better stay in Switzerland, for he would beunhappy in England with all his friends fighting. As usual hemade no complaints, and seemed to be very grateful for his smallmercies. There was a doctor who was kind to him, and some goodfellows among the prisoners.
But Peter's letter was made up chiefly of reflection. He hadalways been a bit of a philosopher, and now, in his isolation, hehad taken to thinkin hard, and poured out the results to me onpages of thin paper in his clumsy handwriting. I could readbetween the lines that he was having a stiff fight with himself.He was trying to keep his courage going in face of the bitteresttrial he could be called on to face—a crippled old age. Hehad always known a good deal about the Bible, and that and thePilgrim's Progress were his chief aids in reflection. Bothhe took quite literally, as if they were newspaper reports ofactual recent events.
He mentioned that after much consideration he had reached theconclusion that the three greatest men he had ever heard of ormet were Mr Valiant-for-Truth, the Apostle Paul, and a certainBilly Strang who had been with him in Mashonaland in '92. Billy Iknew all about; he had been Peter's hero and leader till a liongot him in the Blaauwberg. Peter preferred Valiant-for-Truth toMr Greatheart, I think, because of his superior truculence, for,being very gentle himself, he loved a bold speaker. After that hedropped into a vein of self-examination. He regretted that hefell far short of any of the three. He thought that he might withluck resemble Mr Standfast, for like him he had not much troublein keeping wakeful, and was also as 'poor as a howler', anddidn't care for women. He only hoped that he could imitate him inmaking a good end.
Then followed some remarks of Peter's on courage, which cameto me in that London room as if spoken by his living voice. Ihave never known anyone so brave, so brave by instinct, or anyonewho hated so much to be told so. It was almost the only thingthat could make him angry. All his life he had been facing death,and to take risks seemed to him as natural as to get up in themorning and eat his breakfast. But he had started out to considerthe very thing which before he had taken for granted, and here isan extract from his conclusions. I paraphrase him, for he was notgrammatical.
'It's easy enough to be brave if you're feelingwell and have food inside you. And it's not so difficult even ifyou're short of a meal and seedy, for that makes you inclined togamble. I mean by being brave playing the game by the right ruleswithout letting it worry you that you may very likely get knockedon the head. It's the wisest way to save your skin. It doesn't doto think about death if you're facing a charging lion or tryingto bluff a lot of savages. If you think about it you'll get it;if you don't, the odds are you won't. That kind of courage isonly good nerves and experience... Most courage is experience.Most people are a little scared at new things...
'You want a bigger heart to face danger which you go out to lookfor, and which doesn't come to you in the ordinary way ofbusiness. Still, that's Pretty much the same thing—goodnerves and good health, and a natural liking for rows. You see,Dick, in all that game there's a lot Of fun. There's excitementand the fun of using your wits and skill, and you know that thebad bits can't last long. When Arcoll sent me to Makapan's kraalI didn't altogether fancy the job, but at the worst it was threeparts sport, and I got so excited that I never thought of therisk till it was over ...
'But the big courage is the cold-blooded kind, the kind thatnever lets go even when you're feeling empty inside, and yourblood's thin, and there's no kind of fun or profit to be had, andthe trouble's not over in an hour or two but lasts for months andyears. One of the men here was speaking about that kind, and hecalled it "Fortitude." I reckon fortitude's the biggest thing aman can have—just to go on enduring when there's no guts orheart left in you. Billy had it when he trekked solitary fromGarungoze to the Limpopo with fever and a broken arm just to showthe Portugooses that he wouldn't be downed by them. But the headman at the job was the Apostle Paul... '
Peter was writing for his own comfort, for fortitude was allthat was left to him now. But his words came pretty straight tome, and I read them again and again, for I needed the lesson.Here was I losing heart just because I had failed in the firstround and my pride had taken a knock. I felt honestly ashamed ofmyself, and that made me a far happier man. There could be noquestion of dropping the business, whatever its difficulties. Ihad a queer religious feeling that Ivery and I had our fortunesintertwined, and that no will of mine could keep us apart. I hadfaced him before the war and won; I had faced him again and lost;the third time or the twentieth time we would reach a finaldecision. The whole business had hitherto appeared to me a trifleunreal, at any rate my own connection with it. I had beendocilely obeying orders, but my real self had been standing asideand watching my doings with a certain aloofness. But that hour inthe Tube station had brought me into the serum, and I saw theaffair not as Bullivant's or even Blenkiron's, but as my own.Before I had been itching to get back to the Front; now I wantedto get on to Ivery's trail, though it should take me through thenether pit. Peter was right; fortitude was the thing a man mustpossess if he would save his soul.
The hours passed, and, as I expected, there came no word fromMacgillivray. I had some dinner sent up to me at seven o'clock,and about eight I was thinking of looking up Blenkiron. just thencame a telephone call asking me to go round to Sir WalterBullivant's house in Queen Anne's Gate.
Ten minutes later I was ringing the bell, and the door wasopened to me by the same impassive butler who had admitted me onthat famous night three years before. Nothing had changed in thepleasant green-panelled hall; the alcove was the same as when Ihad watched from it the departure of the man who now calledhimself Ivery; the telephone book lay in the very place fromwhich I had snatched it in order to ring up the First Sea Lord.And in the back room, where that night five anxious officials hadconferred, I found Sir Walter and Blenkiron.
Both looked worried, the American feverishly so. He walked upand down the hearthrug, sucking an unlit black cigar.
'Say, Dick,' he said, this is a bad business. It wasn't nofault of yours. You did fine. It was us—me and Sir Walterand Mr Macgillivray that were the quitters.'
'Any news?' I asked.
'So far the cover's drawn blank,' Sir Walter replied. 'It wasthe devil's own work that our friend looked your way today.You're pretty certain he saw that you recognized him?'
'Absolutely. As sure as that he knew I recognized him in yourhall three years ago when he was swaggering as Lord Alloa.'
'No,' said Blenkiron dolefully, that little flicker ofrecognition is just the one thing you can't be wrong about. Landalive! I wish Mr Macgillivray would come.'
The bell rang, and the door opened, but it was notMacgillivray. It was a young girl in a white ball-gown, with acluster of blue cornflowers at her breast. The sight of herfetched Sir Walter out of his chair so suddenly that he upset hiscoffee cup. 'Mary, my dear, how did you manage it? I didn'texpect you till the late train.' 'I was in London, you see, andthey telephoned on your telegram. I'm staying with Aunt Doria,and I cut her theatre party. She thinks I'm at the Shandwick'sdance, so I needn't go home till morning... Good evening, GeneralHannay. You got over the Hill Difficulty.'
'The next stage is the Valley of Humiliation,' I answered.
'So it would appear,' she said gravely, and sat very quietlyon the edge of Sir Walter's chair with her small, cool hand uponhis.
I had been picturing her in my recollection as very young andglimmering, a dancing, exquisite child. But now I revised thatpicture. The crystal freshness of morning was still there, but Isaw how deep the waters were. It was the clean fineness andstrength of her that entranced me. I didn't even think of her aspretty, any more than a man thinks of the good looks of thefriend he worships.
We waited, hardly speaking a word, till Macgillivray came. Thefirst sight of his face told his story.
'Gone?' asked Blenkiron sharply. The man's lethargic calmseemed to have wholly deserted him.
'Gone,' repeated the newcomer. 'We have just tracked him down.Oh, he managed it cleverly. Never a sign of disturbance in any ofhis lairs. His dinner ordered at Biggleswick and several peopleinvited to stay with him for the weekend—one a member ofthe Government. Two meetings at which he was to speak arrangedfor next week. Early this afternoon he flew over to France as apassenger in one of the new planes. He had been mixed up with theAir Board people for months—of course as another man withanother face. Miss Lamington discovered that just too late. Thebus went out of its course and came down in Normandy. By thistime our man's in Paris or beyond it.'
Sir Walter took off his big tortoiseshell spectacles and laidthem carefully on the table.
'Roll up the map of Europe,' he said. 'This is our Austerlitz.Mary, my dear, I am feeling very old.'
Macgillivray had the sharpened face of a bitterly disappointedman. Blenkiron had got very red, and I could see that he wasblaspheming violently under his breath. Mary's eyes were quietand solemn. She kept on patting Sir Walter's hand. The sense ofsome great impending disaster hung heavily on me, and to breakthe spell I asked for details.
'Tell me just the extent of the damage,' I asked. 'Our neatplan for deceiving the Boche has failed. That is bad. A dangerousspy has got beyond our power. That's worse. Tell me, is therestill a worst? What's the limit of mischief he can do?' SirWalter had risen and joined Blenkiron on the hearthrug. His browswere furrowed and his mouth hard as if he were sufferingPain.
'There is no limit,' he said. 'None that I can see, except thelong-suffering of God. You know the man as Ivery, and you knewhim as that other whom you believed to have been shot one summermorning and decently buried. You feared the second—at leastif you didn't, I did— most mortally. You realized that wefeared Ivery, and you knew enough about him to see his fiendishcleverness. Well, you have the two men combined in one man. Iverywas the best brain Macgillivray and I ever encountered, the mostcunning and patient and long-sighted. Combine him with the other,the chameleon who can blend himself with his environment, and hasas many personalities as there are types and traits on the earth.What kind of enemy is that to have to fight?'
'I admit it's a steep proposition. But after all how much illcan he do? There are pretty strict limits to the activity of eventhe cleverest spy.'
'I agree. But this man is not a spy who buys a few wretchedsubordinates and steals a dozen private letters. He's a geniuswho has been living as part of our English life. There's nothinghe hasn't seen. He's been on terms of intimacy with all kinds ofpoliticians. We know that. He did it as Ivery. They rather likedhim, for he was clever and flattered them, and they told himthings. But God knows what he saw and heard in his otherpersonalities. For all I know he may have breakfasted at DowningStreet with letters of introduction from President Wilson, orvisited the Grand Fleet as a distinguished neutral. Then think ofthe women; how they talk. We're the leakiest society on earth,and we safeguard ourselves by keeping dangerous people out of it.We trust to our outer barrage. But anyone who has really slippedinside has a million chances. And this, remember, is one man inten millions, a man whose brain never sleeps for a moment, who isquick to seize the slightest hint, who can piece a plan togetherout of a dozen bits of gossip. It's like—it's as if theChief of the Intelligence Department were suddenly to desert tothe enemy... The ordinary spy knows only bits of unconnectedfacts. This man knows our life and our way of thinking andeverything about us.'
'Well, but a treatise on English life in time of war won't domuch good to the Boche.'
Sir Walter shook his head. 'Don't you realize the explosivestuff that is lying about? Ivery knows enough to make the nextGerman peace offensive really deadly—not the blunderingthing which it has been up to now, but something which gets ourweak spots on the raw. He knows enough to wreck our campaign inthe field. And the awful thing is that we don't know just what heknows or what he is aiming for. This war's a packet of surprises.Both sides are struggling for the margin, the little fraction ofadvantage, and between evenly matched enemies it's just the extraatom of foreknowledge that tells.' 'Then we've got to push offand get after him,' I said cheerfully.
'But what are you going to do?' asked Macgillivray. 'If itwere merely a question of destroying an organization it might bemanaged, for an organization presents a big front. But it's aquestion of destroying this one man, and his front is a razoredge. How are you going to find him? It's like looking for aneedle in a haystack, and such a needle! A needle which canbecome a piece of straw or a tin-tack when it chooses!'
'All the same we've got to do it,' I said, remembering oldPeter's lesson on fortitude, though I can't say I was feelingvery stout-hearted.
Sir Walter flung himself wearily into an arm-chair. 'I wish Icould be an optimist,' he said, 'but it looks as if we must owndefeat. I've been at this work for twenty years, and, though I'vebeen often beaten, I've always held certain cards in the game.Now I'm hanged if I've any. It looks like a knock-out, Hannay.It's no good deluding ourselves. We're men enough to look factsin the face and tell ourselves the truth. I don't see any ray oflight in the business. We've missed our shot by a hairsbreadthand that's the same as missing by miles.'
I remember he looked at Mary as if for confirmation, but shedid not smile or nod. Her face was very grave and her eyes lookedsteadily at him. Then they moved and met mine, and they seemed togive me my marching orders.
'Sir Walter,' I said, 'three years ago you and I sat in thisvery room. We thought we were done to the world, as we think now.We had just that one miserable little clue to hang on to—adozen words scribbled in a notebook by a dead man. You thought Iwas mad when I asked for Scudder's book, but we put our backsinto the job and in twenty-four hours we had won out. Rememberthat then we were fighting against time. Now we have a reasonableamount of leisure. Then we had nothing but a sentence ofgibberish. Now we have a great body of knowledge, for Blenkironhas been brooding over Ivery like an old hen, and he knows hisways of working and his breed of confederate. You've gotsomething to work on now. Do you mean to tell me that, when thestakes are so big, you're going to chuck in your hand?'
Macgillivray raised his head. 'We know a good deal aboutIvery, but Ivery's dead. We know nothing of the man who wasgloriously resurrected this evening in Normandy.'
'Oh, yes we do. There are many faces to the man, but only onemind, and you know plenty about that mind.'
'I wonder,' said Sir Walter. 'How can you know a mind whichhas no characteristics except that it is wholly and supremelycompetent? Mere mental powers won't give us a clue. We want toknow the character which is behind all the personalities. Aboveall we want to know its foibles. If we had only a hint of someweakness we might make a plan.'
'Well, let's set down all we know,' I cried, for the more Iargued the keener I grew. I told them in some detail the story ofthe night in the Coolin and what I had heard there.
'There's the two names Chelius and Bommaerts. The man spokethem in the same breath as Effenbein, so they must be associatedwith Ivery's gang. You've got to get the whole Secret Service ofthe Allies busy to fit a meaning to these two words. Surely togoodness you'll find something! Remember those names don't belongto the Ivery part, but to the big game behind all the differentdisguises... Then there's the talk about the Wild Birds and theCage Birds. I haven't a guess at what it means. But it refers tosome infernal gang, and among your piles of records there must besome clue. You set the intelligence of two hemispheres busy onthe job. You've got all the machinery, and it's my experiencethat if even one solitary man keeps chewing on at a problem hediscovers something.'
My enthusiasm was beginning to strike sparks fromMacgillivray. He was looking thoughtful now, instead ofdespondent.
'There might be something in that,' he said, 'but it's afar-out chance.'
'Of course it's a far-out chance, and that's all we're evergoing to get from Ivery. But we've taken a bad chance before andwon... Then you've all that you know about Ivery here. Go throughhisdossier with a small-tooth comb and I'll bet you findsomething to work on. Blenkiron, you're a man with a cool head.You admit we've a sporting chance.'
'Sure, Dick. He's fixed things so that the lines are acrossthe track, but we'll clear somehow. So far as John S. Blenkironis concerned he's got just one thing to do in this world, andthat's to follow the yellow dog and have him neatly and cleanlytidied up. I've got a stack of personal affronts to settle. I waseasy fruit and he hasn't been very respectful. You can count mein, Dick.'
'Then we're agreed,' I cried. 'Well, gentlemen, it's up to youto arrange the first stage. You've some pretty solid staff workto put in before you get on the trail.'
'And you?' Sir Walter asked.
'I'm going back to my brigade. I want a rest and a change.Besides, the first stage is office work, and I'm no use for that.But I'll be waiting to be summoned, and I'll come like a shot assoon as you hoick me out. I've got a presentiment about thisthing. I know there'll be a finish and that I'll be in at it, andI think it will be a desperate, bloody business too.'
I found Mary's eyes fixed upon me, and in them I read the samethought. She had not spoken a word, but had sat on the edge of achair, swinging a foot idly, one hand playing with an ivory fan.She had given me my old orders and I looked to her forconfirmation of the new.
'Miss Lamington, you are the wisest of the lot of us. What doyou say?'
She smiled—that shy, companionable smile which I hadbeen picturing to myself through all the wanderings of the pastmonth.
'I think you are right. We've a long way to go yet, for theValley of Humiliation comes only half-way in thePilgrim'sProgress. The next stage was Vanity Fair. I might be of someuse there, don't you think?'
I remember the way she laughed and flung back her head like agallant boy.
'The mistake we've all been making,' she said, 'is that ourmethods are too terre-a-terre. We've a poet to deal with, a greatpoet, and we must fling our imaginations forward to catch up withhim. His strength is his unexpectedness, you know, and we won'tbeat him by plodding only. I believe the wildest course is thewisest, for it's the most likely to intersect his ... Who's thepoet among us?'
'Peter,' I said. 'But he's pinned down with a game leg inGermany. All the same we must rope him in.'
By this time we had all cheered up, for it is wonderful what atonic there is in a prospect of action. The butler brought intea, which it was Bullivant's habit to drink after dinner. To meit seemed fantastic to watch a slip of a girl pouring it out fortwo grizzled and distinguished servants of the State and onebattered soldier—as decorous a family party as you wouldask to see—and to reflect that all four were engaged in anenterprise where men's lives must be reckoned at less thanthistledown.
After that we went upstairs to a noble Georgian drawing-roomand Mary played to us. I don't care two straws for music from aninstrument— unless it be the pipes or a regimentalband—but I dearly love the human voice. But she would notsing, for singing to her, I fancy, was something that did notcome at will, but flowed only like a bird's note when the moodfavoured. I did not want it either. I was content to let 'CherryRipe' be the one song linked with her in my memory.
It was Macgillivray who brought us back to business.
'I wish to Heaven there was one habit of mind we coulddefinitely attach to him and to no one else.' (At this moment'He' had only one meaning for us.)
'You can't do nothing with his mind,' Blenkiron drawled. 'Youcan't loose the bands of Orion, as the Bible says, or holdLeviathan with a hook. I reckoned I could and made a mighty closestudy of his de-vices. But the darned cuss wouldn't stay put. Ithought I had tied him down to the double bluff, and he went andplayed the triple bluff on me. There's nothing doing thatline.'
A memory of Peter recurred to me.
'What about the "blind spot"?' I asked, and I told them oldPeter's pet theory. 'Every man that God made has his weak spotsomewhere, some flaw in his character which leaves a dull patchin his brain. We've got to find that out, and I think I've made abeginning.' Macgillivray in a sharp voice asked my meaning.
'He's in a funk... of something. Oh, I don't mean he's acoward. A man in his trade wants the nerve of a buffalo. He couldgive us all points in courage. What I mean is that he's not cleanwhite all through. There are yellow streaks somewhere in him...I've given a good deal of thought to this courage business, for Ihaven't got a great deal of it myself. Not like Peter, I mean.I've got heaps of soft places in me. I'm afraid of being drownedfor one thing, or of getting my eyes shot out. Ivery's afraid ofbombs—at any rate he's afraid of bombs in a big city. Ionce read a book which talked about a thing called agoraphobia.Perhaps it's that... Now if we know that weak spot it helps us inour work. There are some places he won't go to, and there aresome things he can't do—not well, anyway. I reckon that'suseful.'
'Ye-es,' said Macgillivray. 'Perhaps it's not what you'd calla burning and a shining light.'
'There's another chink in his armour,' I went on. 'There's oneperson in the world he can never practise his transformations on,and that's me. I shall always know him again, though he appearedas Sir Douglas Haig. I can't explain why, but I've got a feel inmy bones about it. I didn't recognize him before, for I thoughthe was dead, and the nerve in my brain which should have beenlooking for him wasn't working. But I'm on my guard now, and thatnerve's functioning at full power. Whenever and wherever andhowsoever we meet again on the face of the earth, it will be "DrLivingstone, I presume" between him and me.'
'That is better,' said Macgillivray. 'If we have any luck,Hannay, it won't be long till we pull you out of His Majesty'sForces.'
Mary got up from the piano and resumed her old perch on thearm of Sir Walter's chair.
'There's another blind spot which you haven't mentioned.' Itwas a cool evening, but I noticed that her cheeks had suddenlyflushed.
'Last week Mr Ivery asked me to marry him,' she said.
I returned to France on 13 September, and took over my oldbrigade on the 19th of the same month. We were shoved in at thePolygon Wood on the 26th, and after four days got so badly mauledthat we were brought out to refit. On 7 October, very much to mysurprise, I was given command of a division and was on thefringes of the Ypres fighting during the first days of November.From that front we were hurried down to Cambrai in support, butcame in only for the last backwash of that singular battle. Weheld a bit of the St Quentin sector till just before Christmas,when we had a spell of rest in billets, which endured, so far asI was concerned, till the beginning of January, when I was sentoff on the errand which I shall presently relate.
That is a brief summary of my military record in the latterpart Of 1917. I am not going to enlarge on the fighting. Exceptfor the days of the Polygon Wood it was neither very severe norvery distinguished, and you will find it in the history books.What I have to tell of here is my own personal quest, for all thetime I was living with my mind turned two ways. In the morassesof the Haanebeek flats, in the slimy support lines at Zonnebeke,in the tortured uplands about Flesquieres, and in many other oddplaces I kept worrying at my private conundrum. At night I wouldlie awake thinking of it, and many a toss I took into shell-holesand many a time I stepped off the duckboards, because my eyeswere on a different landscape. Nobody ever chewed a few wretchedclues into such a pulp as I did during those bleak months inFlanders and Picardy.
For I had an instinct that the thing was desperately grave,graver even than the battle before me. Russia had gone headlongto the devil, Italy had taken it between the eyes and was stilldizzy, and our own prospects were none too bright. The Boche wasgetting uppish and with some cause, and I foresaw a rocky timeahead till America could line up with us in the field. It was thechance for the Wild Birds, and I used to wake in a sweat to thinkwhat devilry Ivery might be engineering. I believe I did myproper job reasonably well, but I put in my most savage thinkingover the other. I remember how I used to go over every hour ofevery day from that June night in the Cotswolds till my lastmeeting with Bullivant in London, trying to find a new bearing. Ishould probably have got brain-fever, if I hadn't had to spendmost of my days and nights fighting a stiffish battle with a verywatchful Hun. That kept my mind balanced, and I dare say it gavean edge to it; for during those months I was lucky enough to hiton a better scent than Bullivant and Macgillivray and Blenkiron,pulling a thousand wires in their London offices.
I will set down in order of time the various incidents in thisprivate quest of mine. The first was my meeting with GeordieHamilton. It happened just after I rejoined the brigade, when Iwent down to have a look at our Scots Fusilier battalion. The oldbrigade had been roughly handled on 31st July, and had had to getheavy drafts to come anywhere near strength. The Fusiliersespecially were almost a new lot, formed by joining our remnantsto the remains of a battalion in another division and bringingabout a dozen officers from the training unit at home. Iinspected the men and my eyes caught sight of a familiar face. Iasked his name and the colonel got it from the sergeant-major. Itwas Lance-Corporal George Hamilton.
Now I wanted a new batman, and I resolved then and there tohave my old antagonist. That afternoon he reported to me atbrigade headquarters. As I looked at that solid bandy-leggedfigure, standing as stiff to attention as a tobacconist's sign,his ugly face hewn out of brown oak, his honest, sullen mouth,and his blue eyes staring into vacancy, I knew I had got the manI wanted.
'Hamilton,' I said, 'you and I have met before.'
'Sirr?' came the mystified answer.
'Look at me, man, and tell me if you don't recognize me.'
He moved his eyes a fraction, in a respectful glance.
'Sirr, I don't mind of you.'
'Well, I'll refresh your memory. Do you remember the hall inNewmilns Street and the meeting there? You had a fight with a manoutside, and got knocked down.'
He made no answer, but his colour deepened.
'And a fortnight later in a public-house in Muirtown you sawthe same man, and gave him the chase of his life.'
I could see his mouth set, for visions of the penalties laiddown by the King's Regulations for striking an officer must havecrossed his mind. But he never budged.
'Look me in the face, man,' I said. 'Do you remember menow?'
He did as he was bid.
'Sirr, I mind of you.' 'Have you nothing more to say?'
He cleared his throat. 'Sirr, I did not ken I was hittin' anofficer.' 'Of course you didn't. You did perfectly right, and ifthe war was over and we were both free men, I would give you achance of knocking me down here and now. That's got to wait. Whenyou saw me last I was serving my country, though you didn't knowit. We're serving together now, and you must get your revenge outof the Boche. I'm going to make you my servant, for you and Ihave a pretty close bond between us. What do you say tothat?'
This time he looked me full in the face. His troubled eyeappraised me and was satisfied. 'I'm proud to be servant to ye,sirr,' he said. Then out of his chest came a strangled chuckle,and he forgot his discipline. 'Losh, but ye're the great lad!' Herecovered himself promptly, saluted, and marched off.
The second episode befell during our brief rest after thePolygon Wood, when I had ridden down the line one afternoon tosee a friend in the Heavy Artillery. I was returning in thedrizzle of evening, clanking along the greasy path between thesad poplars, when I struck a Labour company repairing the ravagesof a Boche strafe that morning. I wasn't very certain of my roadand asked one of the workers. He straightened himself andsaluted, and I saw beneath a disreputable cap the features of theman who had been with me in the Coolin crevice.
I spoke a word to his sergeant, who fell him out, and hewalked a bit of the way with me.
'Great Scot, Wake, what brought you here?' I asked.
'Same thing as brought you. This rotten war.'
I had dismounted and was walking beside him, and I noticedthat his lean face had lost its pallor and that his eyes wereless hot than they used to be.
'You seem to thrive on it,' I said, for I did not know what tosay. A sudden shyness possessed me. Wake must have gone throughsome violent cyclones of feeling before it came to this. He sawwhat I was thinking and laughed in his sharp, ironical way.
'Don't flatter yourself you've made a convert. I think as Ialways thought. But I came to the conclusion that since the fateshad made me a Government servant I might as well do my worksomewhere less cushioned than a chair in the Home Office... Oh,no, it wasn't a matter of principle. One kind of work's as goodas another, and I'm a better clerk than a navvy. With me it wasself-indulgence: I wanted fresh air and exercise.'
I looked at him—mud to the waist, and his hands allblistered and cut with unaccustomed labour. I could realize whathis associates must mean to him, and how he would relish therough tonguing of non-coms.
'You're a confounded humbug,' I said. 'Why on earth didn't yougo into an O.T.C. and come out with a commission? They're easyenough to get.'
'You mistake my case,' he said bitterly. 'I experienced nosudden conviction about the justice of the war. I stand where Ialways stood. I'm a non-combatant, and I wanted a change ofcivilian work... No, it wasn't any idiotic tribunal sent me here.I came of my own free will, and I'm really rather enjoyingmyself.'
'It's a rough job for a man like you,' I said. 'Not so roughas the fellows get in the trenches. I watched a battalionmarching back today and they looked like ghosts who had beenyears in muddy graves. White faces and dazed eyes and leadenfeet. Mine's a cushy job. I like it best when the weather's foul.It cheats me into thinking I'm doing my duty.'
I nodded towards a recent shell-hole. 'Much of that sort ofthing?'
'Now and then. We had a good dusting this morning. I can't sayI liked it at the time, but I like to look back on it. A sort ofmoral anodyne.'
'I wonder what on earth the rest of your lot make of you?'
'They don't make anything. I'm not remarkable for mybonhomie. They think I'm a prig—which I am. Itdoesn't amuse me to talk about beer and women or listen to agramophone or grouse about my last meal. But I'm quite content,thank you. Sometimes I get a seat in a corner of a Y.M.C.A. hut,and I've a book or two. My chief affliction is the padre. He wasup at Keble in my time, and, as one of my colleagues puts it,wants to be "too bloody helpful"... What are you doing, Hannay? Isee you're some kind of general. They're pretty thick on theground here.'
'I'm a sort of general. Soldiering in the Salient isn't thesoftest of jobs, but I don't believe it's as tough as yours isfor you. D'you know, Wake, I wish I had you in my brigade.Trained or untrained, you're a dashed stout-hearted fellow.'
He laughed with a trifle less acidity than usual. 'Almost thoupersuadest me to be combatant. No, thank you. I haven't thecourage, and besides there's my jolly old principles. All thesame I'd like to be near you. You're a good chap, and I've hadthe honour to assist in your education... I must be getting back,or the sergeant will think I've bolted.'
We shook hands, and the last I saw of him was a figuresaluting stiffly in the wet twilight.
The third incident was trivial enough, though momentous in itsresults. just before I got the division I had a bout of malaria.We were in support in the Salient, in very uncomfortable trenchesbehind Wieltje, and I spent three days on my back in a dug-out.Outside was a blizzard of rain, and the water now and then camedown the stairs through the gas curtain and stood in pools at mybed foot. It wasn't the merriest place to convalesce in, but Iwas as hard as nails at the time and by the third day I wasbeginning to sit up and be bored.
I read all my English papers twice and a big stack of Germanones which I used to have sent up by a friend in the G.H.Q.Intelligence, who knew I liked to follow what the Boche wassaying. As I dozed and ruminated in the way a man does afterfever, I was struck by the tremendous display of oneadvertisement in the English press. It was a thing called'Gussiter's Deep-breathing System,' which, according to itspromoter, was a cure for every ill, mental, moral, or physical,that man can suffer. Politicians, generals, admirals, andmusic-hall artists all testified to the new life it had opened upfor them. I remember wondering what these sportsmen got for theirtestimonies, and thinking I would write a spoof letter myself toold Gussiter.
Then I picked up the German papers, and suddenly my eye caughtan advertisement of the same kind in theFrankfurterZeitung. It was not Gussiter this time, but one Weissmann,but his game was identical— 'deep breathing'. The Hun stylewas different from the English—all about the Goddess ofHealth, and the Nymphs of the Mountains, and two quotations fromSchiller. But the principle was the same.
That made me ponder a little, and I went carefully through thewhole batch. I found the advertisement in theFrankfurterand in one or two rather obscureVolkstimmen andVolkszeitungen. I found it too inDer grosse Krieg,the official German propagandist picture-paper. They were thesame all but one, and that one had a bold variation, for itcontained four of the sentences used in the ordinary Englishadvertisement.
This struck me as fishy, and I started to write a letter toMacgillivray pointing out what seemed to be a case of tradingwith the enemy, and advising him to get on to Mr Gussiter'sfinancial backing. I thought he might find a Hun syndicate behindhim. And then I had another notion, which made me rewrite myletter.
I went through the papers again. The English ones whichcontained the advertisement were all good, solid, bellicoseorgans; the kind of thing no censorship would object to leavingthe country. I had before me a small sheaf of pacifist prints,and they had not the advertisement. That might be for reasons ofcirculation, or it might not. The German papers were eitherRadical or Socialist publications, just the opposite of theEnglish lot, exceptDer grosse Krieg. Now we have a freepress, and Germany has, strictly speaking, none. All herjournalistic indiscretions are calculated. Therefore the Bochehas no objection to his rags getting to enemy countries. He wantsit. He likes to see them quoted in columns headed 'Through GermanGlasses', and made the text of articles showing what a gooddemocrat he is becoming.
As I puzzled over the subject, certain conclusions began toform in my mind. The four identical sentences seemed to hint that'Deep Breathing' had Boche affiliations. Here was a chance ofcommunicating with the enemy which would defy the argus-eyedgentlemen who examine the mails. What was to hinder Mr A at oneend writing an advertisement with a good cipher in it, and thepaper containing it getting into Germany by Holland in threedays? Herr B at the other end replied in theFrankfurter,and a few days later shrewd editors and acute Intelligenceofficers—and Mr A—were reading it in London, thoughonly Mr A knew what it really meant.
It struck me as a bright idea, the sort of simple thing thatdoesn't occur to clever people, and very rarely to the Boche. Iwished I was not in the middle of a battle, for I would have hada try at investigating the cipher myself. I wrote a long letterto Macgillivray putting my case, and then went to sleep. When Iawoke I reflected that it was a pretty thin argument, and wouldhave stopped the letter, if it hadn't gone off early by a rationparty.
After that things began very slowly to happen. The first waswhen Hamilton, having gone to Boulogne to fetch some mess-stores,returned with the startling news that he had seen Gresson. He hadnot heard his name, but described him dramatically to me as thewee red-headed devil that kicked Ecky Brockie's knee yon time inGlesca, sirr,' I recognized the description.
Gresson, it appeared, was joy-riding. He was with a party ofLabour delegates who had been met by two officers and carried offin chars-a-bancs. Hamilton reported from inquiries among hisfriends that this kind of visitor came weekly. I thought it avery sensible notion on the Government's part, but I wondered howGresson had been selected. I had hoped that Macgillivray hadweeks ago made a long arm and quodded him. Perhaps they had toolittle evidence to hang him, but he was the blackest sort ofsuspect and should have been interned.
A week later I had occasion to be at G.H.Q. on businessconnected with my new division. My friends in the Intelligenceallowed me to use the direct line to London, and I called upMacgillivray. For ten minutes I had an exciting talk, for I hadhad no news from that quarter since I left England. I heard thatthe Portuguese Jew had escaped—had vanished from his nativeheather when they went to get him. They had identified him as aGerman professor of Celtic languages, who had held a chair in aWelsh college—a dangerous fellow, for he was an upright,high-minded, raging fanatic. Against Gresson they had no evidenceat all, but he was kept under strict observation. When I askedabout his crossing to France, Macgillivray replied that that waspart of their scheme. I inquired if the visit had given them anyclues, but I never got an answer, for the line had to be clearedat that moment for the War Office. I hunted up the man who hadcharge of these Labour visits, and made friends with him.Gresson, he said, had been a quiet, well-mannered, and mostappreciative guest. He had wept tears on Vimy Ridge,and—strictly against orders—had made a speech to sometroops he met on the Arras road about how British Labour wasremembering the Army in its prayers and sweating blood to makeguns. On the last day he had had a misadventure, for he got verysick on the road—some kidney trouble that couldn't standthe jolting of the car—and had to be left at a village andpicked up by the party on its way back. They found him better,but still shaky. I cross-examined the particular officer incharge about that halt, and learned that Gresson had been leftalone in a peasant's cottage, for he said he only needed to liedown. The place was the hamlet of Eaucourt Sainte-Anne.
For several weeks that name stuck in my head. It had apleasant, quaint sound, and I wondered how Gresson had spent hishours there. I hunted it up on the map, and promised myself tohave a look at it the next time we came out to rest. And then Iforgot about it till I heard the name mentioned again.
On 23rd October I had the bad luck, during a tour of myfirst-line trenches, to stop a small shell-fragment with my head.It was a close, misty day and I had taken off my tin hat to wipemy brow when the thing happened. I got a long, shallow scalpwound which meant nothing but bled a lot, and, as we were not infor any big move, the M.O. sent me back to a clearing station tohave it seen to. I was three days in the place and, beingperfectly well, had leisure to look about me and reflect, so thatI recall that time as a queer, restful interlude in the infernalracket of war. I remember yet how on my last night there a galemade the lamps swing and flicker, and turned the grey-greencanvas walls into a mass of mottled shadows. The floor canvas wasmuddy from the tramping of many feet bringing in the constantdribble of casualties from the line. In my tent there was no onevery bad at the time, except a boy with his shoulder half-blownoff by a whizz-bang, who lay in a drugged sleep at the far end.The majority were influenza, bronchitis, andtrench-fever—waiting to be moved to the base, orconvalescent and about to return to their units.
A small group of us dined off tinned chicken, stewed fruit,and radon cheese round the smoky stove, where two screensmanufactured from packing cases gave some protection against thedraughts which swept like young tornadoes down the tent. One manhad been reading a book called theGhost Stories of anAntiquary, and the talk turned on the unexplainable thingsthat happen to everybody once or twice in a lifetime. Icontributed a yarn about the men who went to look for Kruger'streasure in the bushveld and got scared by a green wildebeeste.It is a good yarn and I'll write it down some day. A tallHighlander, who kept his slippered feet on the top of the stove,and whose costume consisted of a kilt, a British warm, a greyhospital dressing-gown, and four pairs of socks, told the storyof the Camerons at First Ypres, and of the Lowland subaltern whoknew no Gaelic and suddenly found himself encouraging his menwith some ancient Highland rigmarole. The poor chap had a rackingbronchial cough, which suggested that his country might well usehim on some warmer battle-ground than Flanders. He seemed a bitof a scholar and explained the Cameron business in a lot of longwords.
I remember how the talk meandered on as talk does when men areidle and thinking about the next day. I didn't pay muchattention, for I was reflecting on a change I meant to make inone of my battalion commands, when a fresh voice broke in. Itbelonged to a Canadian captain from Winnipeg, a very silentfellow who smoked shag tobacco.
'There's a lot of ghosts in this darned country,' he said.
Then he started to tell about what happened to him when hisdivision was last back in rest billets. He had a staff job andput up with the divisional command at an old French chateau. Theyhad only a little bit of the house; the rest was shut up, but thepassages were so tortuous that it was difficult to keep fromwandering into the unoccupied part. One night, he said, he wokewith a mighty thirst, and, since he wasn't going to get choleraby drinking the local water in his bedroom, he started out forthe room they messed in to try to pick up a whisky-and-soda. Hecouldn't find it, though he knew the road like his own name. Headmitted he might have taken a wrong turning, but he didn't thinkso. Anyway he landed in a passage which he had never seen before,and, since he had no candle, he tried to retrace his steps. Againhe went wrong, and groped on till he saw a faint light which hethought must be the room of the G.S.O., a good fellow and afriend of his. So he barged in, and found a big, dim salon withtwo figures in it and a lamp burning between them, and a queer,unpleasant smell about. He took a step forward, and then he sawthat the figures had no faces. That fairly loosened his jointswith fear, and he gave a cry. One of the two ran towards him, thelamp went out, and the sickly scent caught suddenly at histhroat. After that he knew nothing till he awoke in his own bednext morning with a splitting headache. He said he got theGeneral's permission and went over all the unoccupied part of thehouse, but he couldn't find the room. Dust lay thick oneverything, and there was no sign of recent human presence.
I give the story as he told it in his drawling voice. 'Ireckon that was the genuine article in ghosts. You don't believeme and conclude I was drunk? I wasn't. There isn't any drinkconcocted yet that could lay me out like that. I just struck acrack in the old universe and pushed my head outside. It mayhappen to you boys any day.'
The Highlander began to argue with him, and I lost interest inthe talk. But one phrase brought me to attention. 'I'll give youthe name of the darned place, and next time you're around you cando a bit of prospecting for yourself. It's called the Chateau ofEaucourt Sainte-Anne, about seven kilometres from Douvecourt. IfI was purchasing real estate in this country I guess I'd givethat location a miss.'
After that I had a grim month, what with the finish of ThirdYpres and the hustles to Cambrai. By the middle of December wehad shaken down a bit, but the line my division held was not ofour choosing, and we had to keep a wary eye on the Boche doings.It was a weary job, and I had no time to think of anything butthe military kind of intelligence—fixing the units againstus from prisoners' stories, organizing small raids, and keepingthe Royal Flying Corps busy. I was keen about the last, and Imade several trips myself over the lines with Archie Roylance,who had got his heart's desire and by good luck belonged to thesquadron just behind me. I said as little as possible about this,for G.H.Q. did not encourage divisional generals to practise suchmethods, though there was one famous army commander who made ahobby of them. It was on one of these trips that an incidentoccurred which brought my spell of waiting on the bigger game toan end.
One dull December day, just after luncheon, Archie and I setout to reconnoitre. You know the way that fogs in Picardy seemsuddenly to reek out of the ground and envelop the slopes like ashawl. That was our luck this time. We had crossed the lines,flying very high, and received the usual salute of Hun Archies.After a mile or two the ground seemed to climb up to us, thoughwe hadn't descended, and presently we were in the heart of acold, clinging mist. We dived for several thousand feet, but theconfounded thing grew thicker and no sort of landmark could befound anywhere. I thought if we went on at this rate we shouldhit a tree or a church steeple and be easy fruit for theenemy.
The same thought must have been in Archie's mind, for heclimbed again. We got into a mortally cold zone, but the air wasno clearer. Thereupon he decided to head for home, and passed meword to work out a compass course on the map. That was easiersaid than done, but I had a rough notion of the rate we hadtravelled since we had crossed the lines and I knew our originaldirection, so I did the best I could. On we went for a bit, andthen I began to get doubtful. So did Archie. We dropped low down,but we could hear none of the row that's always going on for amile on each side of the lines. The world was very eerie anddeadly still, so still that Archie and I could talk through thespeaking-tube.
'We've mislaid this blamed battle,'he shouted.
'I think your rotten old compass has soured on us,' Ireplied.
We decided that it wouldn't do to change direction, so we heldon the same course. I was getting as nervous as a kitten, chieflyowing to the silence. It's not what you expect in the middle of abattle-field... I looked at the compass carefully and saw that itwas really crocked. Archie must have damaged it on a formerflight and forgotten to have it changed.
He had a very scared face when I pointed this out.
'Great God!' he croaked—for he had a fearsomecold—'we're either about Calais or near Paris or miles thewrong side of the Boche line. What the devil are we to do?'
And then to put the lid on it his engine went wrong. It wasthe same performance as on the Yorkshire moors, and seemed to bea speciality of the Shark-Gladas type. But this time the end camequick. We dived steeply, and I could see by Archie's grip on thestick that he was going to have his work cut out to save ournecks. Save them he did, but not by much for we jolted down onthe edge of a ploughed field with a series of bumps that shookthe teeth in my head. It was the same dense, dripping fog, and wecrawled out of the old bus and bolted for cover like two ferretedrabbits.
Our refuge was the lee of a small copse.
'It's my opinion,' said Archie solemnly, 'that we're somewhereabout La Cateau. Tim Wilbraham got left there in the Retreat, andit took him nine months to make the Dutch frontier. It's a giddyprospect, sir.'
I sallied out to reconnoitre. At the other side of the woodwas a highway, and the fog so blanketed sound that I could nothear a man on it till I saw his face. The first one I saw made melie flat in the covert... For he was a German soldier,field-grey, forage cap, red band and all, and he had a pick onhis shoulder.
A second's reflection showed me that this was not final proof.He might be one of our prisoners. But it was no place to takechances. I went back to Archie, and the pair of us crossed theploughed field and struck the road farther on. There we saw afarmer's cart with a woman and child in it. They looked French,but melancholy, just what you would expect from the inhabitantsof a countryside in enemy occupation.
Then we came to the park wall of a great house, and saw dimlythe outlines of a cottage. Here sooner or later we would getproof of our whereabouts, so we lay and shivered among thepoplars of the roadside. No one seemed abroad that afternoon. Fora quarter of an hour it was as quiet as the grave. Then came asound of whistling, and muffled steps.
'That's an Englishman,' said Archie joyfully. 'No Boche couldmake such a beastly noise.'
He was right. The form of an Army Service Corps privateemerged from the mist, his cap on the back of his head, his handsin his pockets, and his walk the walk of a free man. I never sawa welcomer sight than that jam-merchant.
We stood up and greeted him. 'What's this place?' Ishouted.
He raised a grubby hand to his forelock. 'Ockott Saint Anny,sir,' he said. 'Beg pardon, sir, but you ain't hurt, sir?'
Ten minutes later I was having tea in the mess of an M.T.workshop while Archie had gone to the nearest Signals totelephone for a car and give instructions about his precious bus.It was almost dark, but I gulped my tea and hastened out into thethick dusk. For I wanted to have a look at the Chateau.
I found a big entrance with high stone pillars, but the irongates were locked and looked as if they had not been opened inthe memory of man. Knowing the way of such places, I hunted forthe side entrance and found a muddy road which led to the back ofthe house. The front was evidently towards a kind of park; at theback was a nest of outbuildings and a section of moat whichlooked very deep and black in the winter twilight. This wascrossed by a stone bridge with a door at the end of it.
Clearly the Chateau was not being used for billets. There wasno sign of the British soldier; there was no sign of anythinghuman. I crept through the fog as noiselessly as if I trod onvelvet, and I hadn't even the company of my own footsteps. Iremembered the Canadian's ghost story, and concluded I would beimagining the same sort of thing if I lived in such a place.
The door was bolted and padlocked. I turned along the side ofthe moat, hoping to reach the house front, which was probablymodern and boasted a civilized entrance. There must be somebodyin the place, for one chimney was smoking. Presently the moatpetered out, and gave place to a cobbled causeway, but a wall,running at right angles with the house, blocked my way. I hadhalf a mind to go back and hammer at the door, but I reflectedthat major-generals don't pay visits to deserted chateaux atnight without a reasonable errand. I should look a fool in theeyes of some old concierge. The daylight was almost gone, and Ididn't wish to go groping about the house with a candle.
But I wanted to see what was beyond the wall—one ofthose whims that beset the soberest men. I rolled a dissolutewater-butt to the foot of it, and gingerly balanced myself on itsrotten staves. This gave me a grip on the flat brick top, and Ipulled myself up.
I looked down on a little courtyard with another wall beyondit, which shut off any view of the park. On the right was theChateau, on the left more outbuildings; the whole place was notmore than twenty yards each way. I was just about to retire bythe road I had come, for in spite of my fur coat it was uncommonchilly on that perch, when I heard a key turn in the door in theChateau wall beneath me.
A lantern made a blur of light in the misty darkness. I sawthat the bearer was a woman, an oldish woman, round-shoulderedlike most French peasants. In one hand she carried a leather bag,and she moved so silently that she must have worn rubber boots.The light was held level with her head and illumined her face. Itwas the evillest thing I have ever beheld, for a horrible scarhad puckered the skin of the forehead and drawn up the eyebrowsso that it looked like some diabolical Chinese mask.
Slowly she padded across the yard, carrying the bag asgingerly as if it had been an infant. She stopped at the door ofone of the outhouses and set down the lantern and her burden onthe ground. From her apron she drew something which looked like agas-mask, and put it over her head. She also put on a pair oflong gauntlets. Then she unlocked the door, picked up the lanternand went in. I heard the key turn behind her.
Crouching on that wall, I felt a very ugly tremor run down myspine. I had a glimpse of what the Canadian's ghost might havebeen. That hag, hooded like some venomous snake, was too much formy stomach. I dropped off the wall and ran—yes, ran till Ireached the highroad and saw the cheery headlights of a transportwagon, and heard the honest speech of the British soldier. Thatrestored me to my senses, and made me feel every kind of afool.
As I drove back to the line with Archie, I was black ashamedof my funk. I told myself that I had seen only an oldcountrywoman going to feed her hens. I convinced my reason, but Idid not convince the whole of me. An insensate dread of the placehung around me, and I could only retrieve my self-respect byresolving to return and explore every nook of it.
I looked up Eaucourt Sainte-Anne on the map, and the more Istudied its position the less I liked it. It was the knot fromwhich sprang all the main routes to our Picardy front. If theBoche ever broke us, it was the place for which old Hindenburgwould make. At all hours troops and transport trains were movingthrough that insignificant hamlet. Eminent generals and theirstaffs passed daily within sight of the Chateau. It was aconvenient halting-place for battalions coming back to rest.Supposing, I argued, our enemies wanted a key-spot for someassault upon the morale or the discipline or health of theBritish Army, they couldn't find a better than EaucourtSainte-Anne. It was the ideal centre of espionage. But when Iguardedly sounded my friends of the Intelligence they didn't seemto be worrying about it. From them I got a chit to the localFrench authorities, and, as soon as we came out of the line,towards the end of December, I made straight for the country townof Douvecourt. By a bit of luck our divisional quarters werealmost next door. I interviewed a tremendous swell in a blackuniform and black kid gloves, who received me affably and put hisarchives and registers at my disposal. By this time I talkedFrench fairly well, having a natural turn for languages, but halfthe rapid speech of the sous-prifet was lost on me. By and by heleft me with the papers and a clerk, and I proceeded to grub upthe history of the Chateau.
It had belonged since long before Agincourt to the noble houseof the D'Eaucourts, now represented by an ancient Marquise whodwelt at Biarritz. She had never lived in the place, which adozen years before had been falling to ruins, when a richAmerican leased it and partially restored it. He had soon gotsick of it—his daughter had married a blackguard Frenchcavalry officer with whom he quarrelled, said the clerk—andsince then there had been several tenants. I wondered why a houseso unattractive should have let so readily, but the clerkexplained that the cause was the partridge-shooting. It was aboutthe best in France, and in 1912 had shown the record bag.
The list of the tenants was before me. There was a secondAmerican, an Englishman called Halford, a Paris Jew-banker, andan Egyptian prince. But the space for 1913 was blank, and I askedthe clerk about it. He told me that it had been taken by awoollen manufacturer from Lille, but he had never shot thepartridges, though he had spent occasional nights in the house.He had a five years' lease, and was still paying rent to theMarquise. I asked the name, but the clerk had forgotten. 'It willbe written there,' he said.
'But, no,' I said. 'Somebody must have been asleep over thisregister. There's nothing after 1912.'
He examined the page and blinked his eyes. 'Someone indeedmust have slept. No doubt it was young Louis who is now with theguns in Champagne. But the name will be on the Commissary's list.It is, as I remember, a sort of Flemish.'
He hobbled off and returned in five minutes.
'Bommaerts,' he said, 'Jacques Bommaerts. A young man with nowife but with money—Dieu de Dieu, what oceans of it!'
That clerk got twenty-five francs, and he was cheap at theprice. I went back to my division with a sense of awe on me. Itwas a marvellous fate that had brought me by odd routes to thisout-of-the-way corner. First, the accident of Hamilton's seeingGresson; then the night in the Clearing Station; last the mishapof Archie's plane getting lost in the fog. I had three grounds ofsuspicion—Gresson's sudden illness, the Canadian's ghost,and that horrid old woman in the dusk. And now I had onetremendous fact. The place was leased by a man called Bommaerts,and that was one of the two names I had heard whispered in thatfar-away cleft in the Coolin by the stranger from the sea.
A sensible man would have gone off to the contre-espionagepeople and told them his story. I couldn't do this; I felt thatit was my own private find and I was going to do the prospectingmyself. Every moment of leisure I had I was puzzling over thething. I rode round by the Chateau one frosty morning andexamined all the entrances. The main one was the grand avenuewith the locked gates. That led straight to the front of thehouse where the terrace was—or you might call it the back,for the main door was on the other side. Anyhow the drive came upto the edge of the terrace and then split into two, one branchgoing to the stables by way of the outbuildings where I had seenthe old woman, the other circling round the house, skirting themoat, and joining the back road just before the bridge. If I hadgone to the right instead of the left that first evening withArchie, I should have circumnavigated the place without anytrouble.
Seen in the fresh morning light the house looked commonplaceenough. Part of it was as old as Noah, but most was newish andjerry-built, the kind of flat-chested, thin French Chateau, allfront and no depth, and full of draughts and smoky chimneys. Imight have gone in and ransacked the place, but I knew I shouldfind nothing. It was borne in on me that it was only when eveningfell that that house was interesting and that I must come, likeNicodemus, by night. Besides I had a private account to settlewith my conscience. I had funked the place in the foggy twilight,and it does not do to let a matter like that slide. A man'scourage is like a horse that refuses a fence; you have got totake him by the head and cram him at it again. If you don't, hewill funk worse next time. I hadn't enough courage to be able totake chances with it, though I was afraid of many things, thething I feared most mortally was being afraid.
I did not get a chance till Christmas Eve. The day beforethere had been a fall of snow, but the frost set in and theafternoon ended in a green sunset with the earth crisp andcrackling like a shark's skin. I dined early, and took with meGeordie Hamilton, who added to his many accomplishments that ofdriving a car. He was the only man in the B.E.F. who guessedanything of the game I was after, and I knew that he was asdiscreet as a tombstone. I put on my oldest trench cap, slacks,and a pair of scaife-soled boots, that I used to change into inthe evening. I had a useful little electric torch, which lived inmy pocket, and from which a cord led to a small bulb of lightthat worked with a switch and could be hung on my belt. That leftmy arms free in case of emergencies. Likewise I strapped on mypistol.
There was little traffic in the hamlet of Eaucourt Sainte-Annethat night. Few cars were on the road, and the M.T. detachment,judging from the din, seemed to be busy on a private spree. Itwas about nine o'clock when we turned into the side road, and atthe entrance to it I saw a solid figure in khaki mounting guardbeside two bicycles. Something in the man's gesture, as hesaluted, struck me as familiar, but I had no time to hunt forcasual memories. I left the car just short of the bridge, andtook the road which would bring me to the terraced front of thehouse.
Once I turned the corner of the Chateau and saw the longghostly facade white in the moonlight, I felt less confident. Theeeriness of the place smote me. In that still, snowy world itloomed up immense and mysterious with its rows of shutteredwindows, each with that air which empty houses have of concealingsome wild story. I longed to have old Peter with me, for he wasthe man for this kind of escapade. I had heard that he had beenremoved to Switzerland and I pictured him now in some mountainvillage where the snow lay deep. I would have given anything tohave had Peter with a whole leg by my side.
I stepped on the terrace and listened. There was not a soundin the world, not even the distant rumble of a cart. The piletowered above me like a mausoleum, and I reflected that it musttake some nerve to burgle an empty house. It would be good enoughfun to break into a bustling dwelling and pinch the plate whenthe folk were at dinner, but to burgle emptiness and silencemeant a fight with the terrors in a man's soul. It was worse inmy case, for I wasn't cheered with prospects of loot. I wanted toget inside chiefly to soothe my conscience.
I hadn't much doubt I would find a way, for three years of warand the frequent presence of untidy headquarters' staffs haveloosened the joints of most Picardy houses. There's generally awindow that doesn't latch or a door that doesn't bar. But I triedwindow after window on the terrace without result. The heavygreen sun-shutters were down over each, and when I broke thehinges of one there was a long bar within to hold it firm. I wasbeginning to think of shinning up a rain-pipe and trying thesecond floor, when a shutter I had laid hold on swung back in myhand. It had been left unfastened, and, kicking the snow from myboots, I entered a room.
A gleam of moonlight followed me and I saw I was in a bigsalon with a polished wood floor and dark lumps of furnitureswathed in sheets. I clicked the bulb at my belt, and the littlecircle of light showed a place which had not been dwelt in foryears. At the far end was another door, and as I tiptoed towardsit something caught my eye on the parquet. It was a piece offresh snow like that which clumps on the heel of a boot. I hadnot brought it there. Some other visitor had passed this way, andnot long before me.
Very gently I opened the door and slipped in. In front of mewas a pile of furniture which made a kind of screen, and behindthat I halted and listened. There was somebody in the room. Iheard the sound of human breathing and soft movements; the man,whoever he was, was at the far end from me, and though there wasa dim glow of Moon through a broken shutter I could see nothingof what he was after. I was beginning to enjoy myself now. I knewof his presence and he did not know of mine, and that is thesport of stalking.
An unwary movement of my hand caused the screen to creak.Instantly the movements ceased and there was utter silence. Iheld my breath, and after a second or two the tiny sounds beganagain. I had a feeling, though my eyes could not assure me, thatthe man before me was at work, and was using a very small shadedtorch. There was just the faintest moving shimmer on the wallbeyond, though that might come from the crack of moonlight.Apparently he was reassured, for his movements became moredistinct. There was a jar as if a table had been pushed back.Once more there was silence, and I heard only the intake ofbreath. I have very quick ears, and to me it sounded as if theman was rattled. The breathing was quick and anxious.
Suddenly it changed and became the ghost of awhistle—the kind of sound one makes with the lips and teethwithout ever letting the tune break out clear. We all do it whenwe are preoccupied with something— shaving, or writingletters, or reading the newspaper. But I did not think my man waspreoccupied. He was whistling to quiet fluttering nerves.
Then I caught the air. It was 'Cherry Ripe'.
In a moment, from being hugely at my ease, I became thenervous one. I had been playing peep-bo with the unseen, and thetables were turned. My heart beat against my ribs like a hammer.I shuffled my feet, and again there fell the tense silence.
'Mary,' I said—and the word seemed to explode like abomb in the stillness—'Mary! It's me—DickHannay.'
There was no answer but a sob and the sound of a timidstep.
I took four paces into the darkness and caught in my arms atrembling girl ...
Often in the last months I had pictured the kind of scenewhich would be the culminating point of my life. When our workwas over and war had been forgotten, somewhere—perhaps in agreen Cotswold meadow or in a room of an old manor—I wouldtalk with Mary. By that time we should know each other well and Iwould have lost my shyness. I would try to tell her that I lovedher, but whenever I thought of what I should say my heart sank,for I knew I would make a fool of myself. You can't live my kindof life for forty years wholly among men and be of any use atpretty speeches to women. I knew I should stutter and blunder,and I used despairingly to invent impossible situations where Imight make my love plain to her without words by some piece ofmelodramatic sacrifice.
But the kind Fates had saved me the trouble. Without asyllable save Christian names stammered in that eerie darkness wehad come to complete understanding. The fairies had been at workunseen, and the thoughts of each of us had been moving towardsthe other, till love had germinated like a seed in the dark. As Iheld her in my arms I stroked her hair and murmured things whichseemed to spring out of some ancestral memory. Certainly mytongue had never used them before, nor my mind imagined them...By and by she slipped her arms round my neck and with a half sobstrained towards me. She was still trembling.
'Dick,' she said, and to hear that name on her lips was thesweetest thing I had ever known. 'Dick, is it really you? Tell meI'm not dreaming.'
'It's me, sure enough, Mary dear. And now I have found you Iwill never let you go again. But, my precious child, how on earthdid you get here?'
She disengaged herself and let her little electric torchwander over my rough habiliments.
'You look a tremendous warrior, Dick. I have never seen youlike this before. I was in Doubting Castle and very much afraidof Giant Despair, till you came.'
'I think I call it the Interpreter's House,' I said.
'It's the house of somebody we both know,' she went on. 'Hecalls himself Bommaerts here. That was one of the two names, youremember. I have seen him since in Paris. Oh, it is a long storyand you shall hear it all soon. I knew he came here sometimes, soI came here too. I have been nursing for the last fortnight atthe Douvecourt Hospital only four miles away.'
'But what brought you alone at night?'
'Madness, I think. Vanity, too. You see I had found out a gooddeal, and I wanted to find out the one vital thing which hadpuzzled Mr Blenkiron. I told myself it was foolish, but Icouldn't keep away. And then my courage broke down, and beforeyou came I would have screamed at the sound of a mouse. If Ihadn't whistled I would have cried.'
'But why alone and at this hour?'
'I couldn't get off in the day. And it was safest to comealone. You see he is in love with me, and when he heard I wascoming to Douvecourt forgot his caution and proposed to meet mehere. He said he was going on a long journey and wanted to saygoodbye. If he had found me alone—well, he would have saidgoodbye. If there had been anyone with me, he would havesuspected, and he mustn't suspect me. Mr Blenkiron says thatwould be fatal to his great plan. He believes I am like my aunts,and that I think him an apostle of peace working by his ownmethods against the stupidity and wickedness of all theGovernments. He talks more bitterly about Germany than aboutEngland. He had told me how he had to disguise himself and playmany parts on his mission, and of course I have applauded him.Oh, I have had a difficult autumn.'
'Mary,' I cried, 'tell me you hate him.'
'No,' she said quietly. 'I do not hate him. I am keeping thatfor later. I fear him desperately. Some day when we have brokenhim utterly I will hate him, and drive all likeness of him out ofmy memory like an unclean thing. But till then I won't wasteenergy on hate. We want to hoard every atom of our strength forthe work of beating him.'
She had won back her composure, and I turned on my light tolook at her. She was in nurses' outdoor uniform, and I thoughther eyes seemed tired. The priceless gift that had suddenly cometo me had driven out all recollection of my own errand. I thoughtof Ivery only as a would-be lover of Mary, and forgot themanufacturer from Lille who had rented his house for thepartridge-shooting. 'And you, Dick,' she asked; 'is it part of ageneral's duties to pay visits at night to empty houses?'
'I came to look for traces of M. Bommaerts. I, too, got on histrack from another angle, but that story must wait.'
'You observe that he has been here today?'
She pointed to some cigarette ash spilled on the table edge,and a space on its surface cleared from dust. 'In a place likethis the dust would settle again in a few hours, and that isquite clean. I should say he has been here just afterluncheon.'
'Great Scott!' I cried, 'what a close shave! I'm in the moodat this moment to shoot him at sight. You say you saw him inParis and knew his lair. Surely you had a good enough case tohave him collared.'
She shook her head. 'Mr Blenkiron—he's in Paristoo— wouldn't hear of it. He hasn't just figured the thingout yet, he says. We've identified one of your names, but we'restill in doubt about Chelius.'
'Ah, Chelius! Yes, I see. We must get the whole businesscomplete before we strike. Has old Blenkiron had any luck?'
'Your guess about the "Deep-breathing" advertisement was veryclever, Dick. It was true, and it may give us Chelius. I mustleave Mr Blenkiron to tell you how. But the trouble is this. Weknow something of the doings of someone who may be Chelius, butwe can't link them with Ivery. We know that Ivery is Bommaerts,and our hope is to link Bommaerts with Chelius. That's why I camehere. I was trying to burgle this escritoire in an amateur way.It's a bad piece of fake Empire and deserves smashing.'
I could see that Mary was eager to get my mind back tobusiness, and with some difficulty I clambered down from theexultant heights. The intoxication of the thing was onme—the winter night, the circle of light in that drearyroom, the sudden coming together of two souls from the ends ofthe earth, the realization of my wildest hopes, the gilding andglorifying of all the future. But she had always twice as muchwisdom as me, and we were in the midst of a campaign which had nouse for day-dreaming. I turned my attention to the desk.
It was a flat table with drawers, and at the back ahalf-circle of more drawers with a central cupboard. I tilted itup and most of the drawers slid out, empty of anything but dust.I forced two open with my knife and they held empty cigar boxes.Only the cupboard remained, and that appeared to be locked. Iwedged a key from my pocket into its keyhole, but the thing wouldnot budge.
'It's no good,' I said. 'He wouldn't leave anything he valuedin a place like this. That sort of fellow doesn't take risks. Ifhe wanted to hide something there are a hundred holes in thisChateau which would puzzle the best detective.'
'Can't you open it?' she asked. 'I've a fancy about thattable. He was sitting here this afternoon and he may be comingback.'
I solved the problem by turning up the escritoire and puttingmy knee through the cupboard door. Out of it tumbled a littledark-green attache case.
'This is getting solemn,' said Mary. 'Is it locked?'
It was, but I took my knife and cut the lock out and spilledthe contents on the table. There were some papers, a newspaper ortwo, and a small bag tied with black cord. The last I opened,while Mary looked over my shoulder. It contained a fine yellowishpowder.
'Stand back,' I said harshly. 'For God's sake, stand back anddon't breathe.'
With trembling hands I tied up the bag again, rolled it in anewspaper, and stuffed it into my pocket. For I remembered a daynear Peronne when a Boche plane had come over in the night andhad dropped little bags like this. Happily they were allcollected, and the men who found them were wise and took them offto the nearest laboratory. They proved to be full of anthraxgerms...
I remembered how Eaucourt Sainte-Anne stood at the junction ofa dozen roads where all day long troops passed to and from thelines. From such a vantage ground an enemy could wreck the healthof an army...
I remembered the woman I had seen in the courtyard of thishouse in the foggy dusk, and I knew now why she had worn agas-mask.
This discovery gave me a horrid shock. I was brought down witha crash from my high sentiment to something earthly and devilish.I was fairly well used to Boche filthiness, but this seemed toogrim a piece of the utterly damnable. I wanted to have Ivery bythe throat and force the stuff into his body, and watch him decayslowly into the horror he had contrived for honest men.
'Let's get out of this infernal place,' I said.
But Mary was not listening. She had picked up one of thenewspapers and was gloating over it. I looked and saw that it wasopen at an advertisement of Weissmann's 'Deep-breathing'system.
'Oh, look, Dick,' she cried breathlessly.
The column of type had little dots made by a red pencil belowcertain words.
'It's it,' she whispered, 'it's the cipher—I'm almostsure it's the cipher!'
'Well, he'd be likely to know it if anyone did.'
'But don't you see it's the cipher which Cheliususes—the man in Switzerland? Oh, I can't explain now, forit's very long, but I think— I think—I have found outwhat we have all been wanting. Chelius... '
'Whisht!' I said. 'What's that?'
There was a queer sound from the out-of-doors as if a suddenwind had risen in the still night.
'It's only a car on the main road,' said Mary.
'How did you get in?' I asked.
'By the broken window in the next room. I cycled out here onemorning, and walked round the place and found the brokencatch.'
'Perhaps it is left open on purpose. That may be the way M.Bommaerts visits his country home... Let's get off, Mary, forthis place has a curse on it. It deserves fire from heaven.'
I slipped the contents of the attache case into my pockets.'I'm going to drive you back,' I said. 'I've got a car outthere.'
'Then you must take my bicycle and my servant too. He's an oldfriend of yours—one Andrew Amos.'
'Now how on earth did Andrew get over here?'
'He's one of us,' said Mary, laughing at my surprise. 'A mostuseful member of our party, at present disguised as aninfirmier in Lady Manorwater's Hospital at Douvecourt. Heis learning French, and... '
'Hush!' I whispered. 'There's someone in the next room.'
I swept her behind a stack of furniture, with my eyes glued ona crack of light below the door. The handle turned and theshadows raced before a big electric lamp of the kind they have instables. I could not see the bearer, but I guessed it was the oldwoman.
There was a man behind her. A brisk step sounded on theparquet, and a figure brushed past her. It wore the horizon-blueof a French officer, very smart, with those French riding-bootsthat show the shape of the leg, and a handsome fur-lined pelisse.I would have called him a young man, not more than thirty-five.The face was brown and clean-shaven, the eyes bright andmasterful... Yet he did not deceive me. I had not boasted idly toSir Walter when I said that there was one man alive who couldnever again be mistaken by me.
I had my hand on my pistol, as I motioned Mary farther backinto the shadows. For a second I was about to shoot. I had aperfect mark and could have put a bullet through his brain withutter certitude. I think if I had been alone I might have fired.Perhaps not. Anyhow now I could not do it. It seemed like pottingat a sitting rabbit. I was obliged, though he was my worst enemy,to give him a chance, while all the while my sober senses keptcalling me a fool.
I stepped into the light.
'Hullo, Mr Ivery,' I said. 'This is an odd place to meetagain!'
In his amazement he fell back a step, while his hungry eyestook in my face. There was no mistake about the recognition. Isaw something I had seen once before in him, and that was fear.Out went the light and he sprang for the door.
I fired in the dark, but the shot must have been too high. Inthe same instant I heard him slip on the smooth parquet and thetinkle of glass as the broken window swung open. Hastily Ireflected that his car must be at the moat end of the terrace,and that therefore to reach it he must pass outside this veryroom. Seizing the damaged escritoire, I used it as a ram, andcharged the window nearest me. The panes and shutters went with acrash, for I had driven the thing out of its rotten frame. Thenext second I was on the moonlit snow.
I got a shot at him as he went over the terrace, and again Iwent wide. I never was at my best with a pistol. Still I reckonedI had got him, for the car which was waiting below must come backby the moat to reach the highroad. But I had forgotten the greatclosed park gates. Somehow or other they must have been opened,for as soon as the car started it headed straight for the grandavenue. I tried a couple of long-range shots after it, and onemust have damaged either Ivery or his chauffeur, for there cameback a cry of pain.
I turned in deep chagrin to find Mary beside me. She wasbubbling with laughter.
'Were you ever a cinema actor, Dick? The last two minutes havebeen a really high-class performance. "Featuring Mary Lamington."How does the jargon go?'
'I could have got him when he first entered,' I saidruefully.
'I know,' she said in a graver tone. 'Only of course youcouldn't... Besides, Mr Blenkiron doesn't want it—yet.'
She put her hand on my arm. 'Don't worry about it. It wasn'twritten it should happen that way. It would have been too easy.We have a long road to travel yet before we clip the wings of theWild Birds.'
'Look,' I cried. 'The fire from heaven!'
Red tongues of flame were shooting up from the out-buildingsat the farther end, the place where I had first seen the woman.Some agreed plan must have been acted on, and Ivery wasdestroying all traces of his infamous yellow powder. Even now theconcierge with her odds and ends of belongings would be slippingout to some refuge in the village.
In the still dry night the flames rose, for the place musthave been made ready for a rapid burning. As I hurried Mary roundthe moat I could see that part of the main building had caughtfire. The hamlet was awakened, and before we reached the cornerof the highroad sleepy British soldiers were hurrying towards thescene, and the Town Major was mustering the fire brigade. I knewthat Ivery had laid his plans well, and that they hadn't achance—that long before dawn the Chateau of EaucourtSainte-Anne would be a heap of ashes and that in a day or two thelawyers of the aged Marquise at Biarritz would be wrangling withthe insurance company.
At the corner stood Amos beside two bicycles, solid as agraven image. He recognized me with a gap-toothed grin.
'It's a cauld night, General, but the home fires keep burnin'.I havena seen such a cheery lowe since Dickson's mill atGawly.'
We packed, bicycles and all, into my car with Amos wedged inthe narrow seat beside Hamilton. Recognizing a fellow countryman,he gave thanks for the lift in the broadest Doric. 'For,' saidhe, 'I'm not what you would call a practised hand wi' avelocipede, and my feet are dinnled wi' standin' in thesnaw.'
As for me, the miles to Douvecourt passed as in a blissfulmoment of time. I wrapped Mary in a fur rug, and after that wedid not speak a word. I had come suddenly into a great possessionand was dazed with the joy of it.
Three days later I got my orders to report at Paris forspecial service. They came none too soon, for I chafed at eachhour's delay. Every thought in my head was directed to the gamewhich we were playing against Ivery. He was the big enemy,compared to whom the ordinary Boche in the trenches was innocentand friendly. I had almost lost interest in my division, for Iknew that for me the real battle-front was not in Picardy, andthat my job was not so easy as holding a length of line. Also Ilonged to be at the same work as Mary.
I remember waking up in billets the morning after the night atthe Chateau with the feeling that I had become extraordinarilyrich. I felt very humble, too, and very kindly towards all theworld—even to the Boche, though I can't say I had everhated him very wildly. You find hate more among journalists andpoliticians at home than among fighting men. I wanted to be quietand alone to think, and since that was impossible I went about mywork in a happy abstraction. I tried not to look ahead, but onlyto live in the present, remembering that a war was on, and thatthere was desperate and dangerous business before me, and that myhopes hung on a slender thread. Yet for all that I had sometimesto let my fancies go free, and revel in delicious dreams.
But there was one thought that always brought me back to hardground, and that was Ivery. I do not think I hated anybody in theworld but him. It was his relation to Mary that stung me. He hadthe insolence with all his toad-like past to make love to thatclean and radiant girl. I felt that he and I stood as mortalantagonists, and the thought pleased me, for it helped me to putsome honest detestation into my job. Also I was going to win.Twice I had failed, but the third time I should succeed. It hadbeen like ranging shots for a gun—first short, second over,and I vowed that the third should be dead on the mark.
I was summoned to G.H.Q., where I had half an hour's talk withthe greatest British commander. I can see yet his patient, kindlyface and that steady eye which no vicissitude of fortune couldperturb. He took the biggest view, for he was statesman as wellas soldier, and knew that the whole world was one battle-fieldand every man and woman among the combatant nations was in thebattle-line. So contradictory is human nature, that talk made mewish for a moment to stay where I was. I wanted to go on servingunder that man. I realized suddenly how much I loved my work, andwhen I got back to my quarters that night and saw my men swingingin from a route march I could have howled like a dog at leavingthem. Though I say it who shouldn't, there wasn't a betterdivision in the Army.
One morning a few days later I picked up Mary in Amiens. Ialways liked the place, for after the dirt of the Somme it was acomfort to go there for a bath and a square meal, and it had thenoblest church that the hand of man ever built for God. It was aclear morning when we started from the boulevard beside therailway station; and the air smelt of washed streets and freshcoffee, and women were going marketing and the little trams ranclanking by, just as in any other city far from the sound ofguns. There was very little khaki or horizon-blue about, and Iremember thinking how completely Amiens had got out of thewar-zone. Two months later it was a different story.
To the end I shall count that day as one of the happiest in mylife. Spring was in the air, though the trees and fields hadstill their winter colouring. A thousand good fresh scents cameout of the earth, and the larks were busy over the new furrows. Iremember that we ran up a little glen, where a stream spread intopools among sallows, and the roadside trees were heavy withmistletoe. On the tableland beyond the Somme valley the sun shonelike April. At Beauvais we lunched badly in an inn—badly asto food, but there was an excellent Burgundy at two francs abottle. Then we slipped down through little flat-chestedtownships to the Seine, and in the late afternoon passed throughSt Germains forest. The wide green spaces among the trees set myfancy dwelling on that divine English countryside where Mary andI would one day make our home. She had been in high spirits allthe journey, but when I spoke of the Cotswolds her face grewgrave.
'Don't let us speak of it, Dick,' she said. 'It's too happy athing and I feel as if it would wither if we touched it. I don'tlet myself think of peace and home, for it makes me toohomesick... I think we shall get there some day, you and I... butit's a long road to the Delectable Mountains, and Faithful, youknow, has to die first... There is a price to be paid.'
The words sobered me.
'Who is our Faithful?' I asked.
'I don't know. But he was the best of the Pilgrims.'
Then, as if a veil had lifted, her mood changed, and when wecame through the suburbs of Paris and swung down the ChampsElysees she was in a holiday humour. The lights were twinkling inthe blue January dusk, and the warm breath of the city came togreet us. I knew little of the place, for I had visited it onceonly on a four days' Paris leave, but it had seemed to me thenthe most habitable of cities, and now, coming from thebattle-field with Mary by my side, it was like the happy endingof a dream.
I left her at her cousin's house near the Rue St Honore, anddeposited myself, according to instructions, at the Hotel LouisQuinze. There I wallowed in a hot bath, and got into the civilianclothes which had been sent on from London. They made me feelthat I had taken leave of my division for good and all this time.Blenkiron had a private room, where we were to dine; and a morewonderful litter of books and cigar boxes I have never seen, forhe hadn't a notion of tidiness. I could hear him grunting at histoilet in the adjacent bedroom, and I noticed that the table waslaid for three. I went downstairs to get a paper, and on the wayran into Launcelot Wake.
He was no longer a private in a Labour Battalion. Eveningclothes showed beneath his overcoat. 'Hullo, Wake, are you inthis push too?'
'I suppose so,' he said, and his manner was not cordial.'Anyhow I was ordered down here. My business is to do as I amtold.'
'Coming to dine?' I asked.
'No. I'm dining with some friends at the Crillon.'
Then he looked me in the face, and his eyes were hot as Ifirst remembered them. 'I hear I've to congratulate you, Hannay,'and he held out a limp hand.
I never felt more antagonism in a human being.
'You don't like it?' I said, for I guessed what he meant.
'How on earth can I like it?' he cried angrily. 'Good Lord,man, you'll murder her soul. You an ordinary, stupid, successfulfellow and she— she's the most precious thing God evermade. You can never understand a fraction of her preciousness,but you'll clip her wings all right. She can never fly now...'
He poured out this hysterical stuff to me at the foot of thestaircase within hearing of an elderly French widow with apoodle. I had no impulse to be angry, for I was far toohappy.
'Don't, Wake,' I said. 'We're all too close together toquarrel. I'm not fit to black Mary's shoes. You can't put me toolow or her too high. But I've at least the sense to know it. Youcouldn't want me to be humbler than I felt.'
He shrugged his shoulders, as he went out to the street. 'Yourinfernal magnanimity would break any man's temper.'
I went upstairs to find Blenkiron, washed and shaven, admiringa pair of bright patent-leather shoes.
'Why, Dick, I've been wearying bad to see you. I was nervousyou would be blown to glory, for I've been reading awful thingsabout your battles in the noospapers. The war correspondentsworry me so I can't take breakfast.'
He mixed cocktails and clinked his glass on mine. 'Here's tothe young lady. I was trying to write her a pretty little sonnet,but the darned rhymes wouldn't fit. I've gotten a heap of thingsto say to you when we've finished dinner.'
Mary came in, her cheeks bright from the weather, andBlenkiron promptly fell abashed. But she had a way to meet hisshyness, for, when he began an embarrassed speech of good wishes,she put her arms round his neck and kissed him. Oddly enough,that set him completely at his ease.
It was pleasant to eat off linen and china again, pleasant tosee old Blenkiron's benignant face and the way he tucked into hisfood, but it was delicious for me to sit at a meal with Maryacross the table. It made me feel that she was really mine, andnot a pixie that would vanish at a word. To Blenkiron she boreherself like an affectionate but mischievous daughter, while thedesperately refined manners that afflicted him whenever womenwere concerned mellowed into something like his everyday self.They did most of the talking, and I remember he fetched from somemysterious hiding-place a great box of chocolates, which youcould no longer buy in Paris, and the two ate them like spoiledchildren. I didn't want to talk, for it was pure happiness for meto look on. I loved to watch her, when the servants had gone,with her elbows on the table like a schoolboy, her crisp goldhair a little rumpled, cracking walnuts with gusto, like somechild who has been allowed down from the nursery for dessert andmeans to make the most of it.
With his first cigar Blenkiron got to business.
'You want to know about the staff-work we've been busy on athome. Well, it's finished now, thanks to you, Dick. We weren'tgetting on very fast till you took to peroosing the press on yoursick-bed and dropped us that hint about the "Deep-breathing"ads.'
'Then there was something in it?' I asked.
'There was black hell in it. There wasn't any Gussiter, butthere was a mighty fine little syndicate of crooks with old manGresson at the back of them. First thing, I started out to getthe cipher. It took some looking for, but there's no cipher onearth can't be got hold of somehow if you know it's there, and inthis case we were helped a lot by the return messages in theGerman papers. It was bad stuff when we read it, and explainedthe darned leakages in important noos we've been up against. Atfirst I figured to keep the thing going and turn Gussiter into acorporation with John S. Blenkiron as president. But it wouldn'tdo, for at the first hint Of tampering with their communicationsthe whole bunch got skeery and sent out SOS signals. So wetenderly plucked the flowers.'
'Gresson, too?' I asked.
He nodded. 'I guess your seafaring companion's now under thesod. We had collected enough evidence to hang him ten timesover... But that was the least of it. For your little old cipher,Dick, gave us a line on Ivery.'
I asked how, and Blenkiron told me the story. He had about adozen cross-bearings proving that the organization of the 'Deep-breathing' game had its headquarters in Switzerland. He suspectedIvery from the first, but the man had vanished out of his ken, sohe started working from the other end, and instead of trying todeduce the Swiss business from Ivery he tried to deduce Iveryfrom the Swiss business. He went to Berne and made a conspicuouspublic fool of himself for several weeks. He called himself anagent of the American propaganda there, and took some advertisingspace in the press and put in spread-eagle announcements of hismission, with the result that the Swiss Government threatened toturn him out of the country if he tampered that amount with theirneutrality. He also wrote a lot of rot in the Geneva newspapers,which he paid to have printed, explaining how he was a pacifist,and was going to convert Germany to peace by 'inspirationaladvertisement of pure-minded war aims'. All this was in keepingwith his English reputation, and he wanted to make himself a baitfor Ivery.
But Ivery did not rise to the fly, and though he had a dozenagents working for him on the quiet he could never hear of thename Chelius. That was, he reckoned, a very private andparticular name among the Wild Birds. However, he got to know agood deal about the Swiss end of the 'Deep-breathing' business.That took some doing and cost a lot of money. His best peoplewere a girl who posed as a mannequin in a milliner's shop inLyons and a concierge in a big hotel at St Moritz. His mostimportant discovery was that there was a second cipher in thereturn messages sent from Switzerland, different from the onethat the Gussiter lot used in England. He got this cipher, butthough he could read it he couldn't make anything out of it. Heconcluded that it was a very secret means of communicationbetween the inner circle of the Wild Birds, and that Ivery mustbe at the back of it... But he was still a long way from findingout anything that mattered.
Then the whole situation changed, for Mary got in touch withIvery. I must say she behaved like a shameless minx, for she kepton writing to him to an address he had once given her in Paris,and suddenly she got an answer. She was in Paris herself, helpingto run one of the railway canteens, and staying with her Frenchcousins, the de Mezieres. One day he came to see her. That showedthe boldness of the man, and his cleverness, for the whole secretpolice of France were after him and they never got within sightor sound. Yet here he was coming openly in the afternoon to havetea with an English girl. It showed another thing, which made meblaspheme. A man so resolute and single-hearted in his job musthave been pretty badly in love to take a risk like that.
He came, and he called himself the Capitaine Bommaerts, with atransport job on the staff of the French G.Q.G. He was on thestaff right enough too. Mary said that when she heard that nameshe nearly fell down. He was quite frank with her, and she withhim. They are both peacemakers, ready to break the laws of anyland for the sake of a great ideal. Goodness knows what stuffthey talked together. Mary said she would blush to think of ittill her dying day, and I gathered that on her side it was amixture of Launcelot Wake at his most pedantic and schoolgirlsilliness.
He came again, and they met often, unbeknown to the decorousMadame de Mezieres. They walked together in the Bois de Boulogne,and once, with a beating heart, she motored with him to Auteuilfor luncheon. He spoke of his house in Picardy, and there weremoments, I gathered, when he became the declared lover, to berebuffed with a hoydenish shyness. Presently the pace became toohot, and after some anguished arguments with Bullivant on thelong-distance telephone she went off to Douvecourt to LadyManorwater's hospital. She went there to escape from him, butmainly, I think, to have a look—trembling in every limb,mind you—at the Chateau of Eaucourt Sainte-Anne.
I had only to think of Mary to know just what Joan of Arc was.No man ever born could have done that kind of thing. It wasn'trecklessness. It was sheer calculating courage.
Then Blenkiron took up the tale. The newspaper we found thatChristmas Eve in the Chateau was of tremendous importance, forBommaerts had pricked out in the advertisement the very specialsecond cipher of the Wild Birds. That proved that Ivery was atthe back of the Swiss business. But Blenkiron made doublysure.
'I considered the time had come,' he said, 'to pay high forvaluable noos, so I sold the enemy a very pretty de-vice. If youever gave your mind to ciphers and illicit correspondence, Dick,you would know that the one kind of document you can't write onin invisible ink is a coated paper, the kind they use in theweeklies to print photographs of leading actresses and thestately homes of England. Anything wet that touches it corrugatesthe surface a little, and you can tell with a microscope ifsomeone's been playing at it. Well, we had the good fortune todiscover just how to get over that little difficulty—how towrite on glazed paper with a quill so as the cutest analystcouldn't spot it, and likewise how to detect the writing. Idecided to sacrifice that invention, casting my bread upon thewaters and looking for a good-sized bakery in return... I had itsold to the enemy. The job wanted delicate handling, but thetenth man from me—he was an Austrian Jew—did the dealand scooped fifty thousand dollars out of it. Then I lay low towatch how my friend would use the de-vice, and I didn't waitlong.'
He took from his pocket a folded sheet ofL'Illustration. Over a photogravure plate ran some wordsin a large sprawling hand, as if written with a brush.
'That page when I got it yesterday,' he said, 'was anunassuming picture of General Petain presenting military medals.There wasn't a scratch or a ripple on its surface. But I got busywith it, and see there!' He pointed out two names. The writingwas a set of key-words we did not know, but two names stood outwhich I knew too well. They were 'Bommaerts' and 'Chelius'.
'My God!' I cried, 'that's uncanny. It only shows that if youchew long enough—'
'Dick,' said Mary, 'you mustn't say that again. At the bestit's an ugly metaphor, and you're making it a platitude.'
'Who is Ivery anyhow?' I asked. 'Do you know more about himthan we knew in the summer? Mary, what did Bommaerts pretend tobe?'
'An Englishman.' Mary spoke in the most matter-of-fact tone,as if it were a perfectly usual thing to be made love to by aspy, and that rather soothed my annoyance. 'When he asked me tomarry him he proposed to take me to a country-house inDevonshire. I rather think, too, he had a place in Scotland. Butof course he's a German.'
'Ye-es,' said Blenkiron slowly, 'I've got on to his record,and it isn't a pretty story. It's taken some working out, butI've got all the links tested now... He's a Boche and alarge-sized nobleman in his own state. Did you ever hear of theGraf von Schwabing?'
I shook my head.
'I think I have heard Uncle Charlie speak of him,' said Mary,wrinkling her brows. 'He used to hunt with the Pytchley.'
'That's the man. But he hasn't troubled the Pytchley for thelast eight years. There was a time when he was the last thing insmartness in the German court—officer in the Guards,ancient family, rich, darned clever—all the fixings. Kaiserliked him, and it's easy to see why. I guess a man who had asmany personalities as the Graf was amusing after-dinner company.Specially among the Germans, who in my experience don't excel inthe lighter vein. Anyway, he was William's white-headed boy, andthere wasn't a mother with a daughter who wasn't out gunning forOtto von Schwabing. He was about as popular in London and NooYork—and in Paris, too. Ask Sir Walter about him, Dick. Hesays he had twice the brains of Kuhlmann, and better manners thanthe Austrian fellow he used to yarn about ... Well, one day therecame an almighty court scandal, and the bottom dropped out of theGraf's World. It was a pretty beastly story, and I don't gatherthat SchwabIng was as deep in it as some others. But the troublewas that those others had to be shielded at all costs, andSchwabing was made the scapegoat. His name came out in the papersand he had to go .'
'What was the case called?' I asked.
Blenkiron mentioned a name, and I knew why the word SchwabIngwas familiar. I had read the story long ago in Rhodesia.
'It was some smash,' Blenkiron went on. 'He was drummed out ofthe Guards, out of the clubs, out of the country... Now, howwould you have felt, Dick, if you had been the Graf? Your lifeand work and happiness crossed out, and all to save a mangyprinceling. "Bitter as hell," you say. Hungering for a chance toput it across the lot that had outed you? You wouldn't rest tillyou had William sobbing on his knees asking your pardon, and younot thinking of granting it? That's the way you'd feel, but thatwasn't the Graf's way, and what's more it isn't the German way.He went into exile hating humanity, and with a heart all poisonand snakes, but itching to get back. And I'll tell you why. It'sbecause his kind of German hasn't got any other home on thisearth. Oh, yes, I know there's stacks of good old Teutons comeand squat in our little country and turn into fine Americans. Youcan do a lot with them if you catch them young and teach them theDeclaration of Independence and make them study our Sundaypapers. But you can't deny there's something comic in the roughabout all Germans, before you've civilized them. They're apecooliar people, a darned pecooliar people, else they wouldn'tstaff all the menial and indecent occupations on the globe. Butthat pecooliarity, which is only skin-deep in the working Boche,is in the bone of the grandee. Your German aristocracy can'tconsort on terms of equality with any other Upper Ten Thousand.They swagger and bluff about the world, but they know very wellthat the world's sniggering at them. They're like a boss fromSalt Creek Gully who's made his pile and bought a dress suit anddropped into a Newport evening party. They don't know where toput their hands or how to keep their feet still... Yourcopper-bottomed English nobleman has got to keep jogging himselfto treat them as equals instead of sending them down to theservants' hall. Their fine fixings are just the high light thatreveals the everlasting jay. They can't be gentlemen, becausethey aren't sure of themselves. The world laughs at them, andthey know it and it riles them like hell... That's why when aGraf is booted out of the Fatherland, he's got to creep backsomehow or be a wandering Jew for the rest of time.'
Blenkiron lit another cigar and fixed me with his steady,ruminating eye.
'For eight years the man has slaved, body and soul, for themen who degraded him. He's earned his restoration and I daresayhe's got it in his pocket. If merit was rewarded he should becovered with Iron Crosses and Red Eagles... He had a pretty goodhand to start out with. He knew other countries and he was adandy at languages. More, he had an uncommon gift for living apart. That is real genius, Dick, however much it gets up againstus. Best of all he had a first-class outfit of brains. I can'tsay I ever struck a better, and I've come across some brightcitizens in my time... And now he's going to win out, unless weget mighty busy.'
There was a knock at the door and the solid figure of AndrewAmos revealed itself.
'It's time ye was home, Miss Mary. It chappit half-eleven as Icame up the stairs. It's comin' on to rain, so I've brought anumbrelly.'
'One word,' I said. 'How old is the man?'
'Just gone thirty-six,' Blenkiron replied.
I turned to Mary, who nodded. 'Younger than you, Dick,' shesaid wickedly as she got into her big Jaeger coat.
'I'm going to see you home,' I said. 'Not allowed. You've hadquite enough of my society for one day. Andrew's on escort dutytonight.'
Blenkiron looked after her as the door closed.
'I reckon you've got the best girl in the world.' 'Iverythinks the same,' I said grimly, for my detestation of the manwho had made love to Mary fairly choked me.
'You can see why. Here's this degenerate coming out of hisrotten class, all pampered and petted and satiated with the easypleasures of life. He has seen nothing of women except the badkind and the overfed specimens of his own country. I hate beingimpolite about females, but I've always considered the Germanvariety uncommon like cows. He has had desperate years ofintrigue and danger, and consorting with every kind of scallawag.Remember, he's a big man and a poet, with a brain and animagination that takes every grade without changing gears.Suddenly he meets something that is as fresh and lovely as aspring flower, and has wits too, and the steeliest courage, andyet is all youth and gaiety. It's a new experience for him, akind of revelation, and he's big enough to value her as sheshould be valued... No, Dick, I can understand you getting cross,but I reckon it an item to the man's credit.'
'It's his blind spot all the same,' I said.
'His blind spot,' Blenkiron repeated solemnly, 'and, pleaseGod, we're going to remember that.'
Next morning in miserable sloppy weather Blenkiron carted meabout Paris. We climbed five sets of stairs to a flat away up inMontmartre, where I was talked to by a fat man with spectaclesand a slow voice and told various things that deeply concernedme. Then I went to a room in the Boulevard St Germain, with alittle cabinet opening off it, where I was shown papers and mapsand some figures on a sheet of paper that made me open my eyes.We lunched in a modest cafe tucked away behind the Palais Royal,and our companions were two Alsatians who spoke German betterthan a Boche and had no names—only numbers. In theafternoon I went to a low building beside the Invalides and sawmany generals, including more than one whose features werefamiliar in two hemispheres. I told them everything about myself,and I was examined like a convict, and all particulars about myappearance and manner of speech written down in a book. That wasto prepare the way for me, in case of need, among the vast armyof those who work underground and know their chief but do notknow each other.
The rain cleared before night, and Blenkiron and I walked backto the hotel through that lemon-coloured dusk that you get in aFrench winter. We passed a company of American soldiers, andBlenkiron had to stop and stare. I could see that he was stiffwith pride, though he wouldn't show it.
'What d'you think of that bunch?' he asked.
'First-rate stuff,' I said.
'The men are all right,' he drawled critically. 'But some ofthe officer-boys are a bit puffy. They want fining down.''They'll get it soon enough, honest fellows. You don't keep yourweight long in this war.'
'Say, Dick,' he said shyly, 'what do you truly think of ourAmericans? You've seen a lot of them, and I'd value your views.'His tone was that of a bashful author asking for an opinion onhis first book.
'I'll tell you what I think. You're constructing a greatmiddle-class army, and that's the most formidable fightingmachine on earth. This kind of war doesn't want the Berserker somuch as the quiet fellow with a trained mind and a lot to fightfor. The American ranks are filled with all sorts, fromcow-punchers to college boys, but mostly with decent lads thathave good prospects in life before them and are fighting becausethey feel they're bound to, not because they like it. It was thesame stock that pulled through your Civil War. We have amiddle-class division, too—Scottish Territorials, mostlyclerks and shopmen and engineers and farmers' sons. When I firststruck them my only crab was that the officers weren't muchbetter than the men. It's still true, but the men aresuper-excellent, and consequently so are the officers. Thatdivision gets top marks in the Boche calendar for sheer fightingdevilment... And, please God, that's what your American army'sgoing to be. You can wash out the old idea of a regiment ofscallawags commanded by dukes. That was right enough, maybe, inthe days when you hurrooshed into battle waving a banner, but itdon't do with high explosives and a couple of million men on eachside and a battle front of five hundred miles. The hero of thiswar is the plain man out of the middle class, who wants to getback to his home and is going to use all the brains and grit hepossesses to finish the job soon.'
'That sounds about right,' said Blenkiron reflectively. 'Itpleases me some, for you've maybe guessed that I respect theBritish Army quite a little. Which part of it do you put top?''All of it's good. The French are keen judges and they give frontplace to the Scots and the Australians. For myself I think thebackbone of the Army is the old-fashioned English countyregiments that hardly ever get into the papers Though I don'tknow, if I had to pick, but I'd take the South Africans. There'sonly a brigade of them, but they're hell's delight in a battle.But then you'll say I'm prejudiced.'
'Well,' drawled Blenkiron, you're a mighty Empire anyhow. I'vesojourned up and down it and I can't guess how the old-timehighbrows in your little island came to put it together. But I'lllet you into a secret, Dick. I read this morning in a noospaperthat there was a natural affinity between Americans and the menof the British Dominions. Take it from me, there isn't—atleast not with this American. I don't understand them one littlebit. When I see your lean, tall Australians with the sun at theback of their eyes, I'm looking at men from another planet.Outside you and Peter, I never got to fathom a South African. TheCanadians live over the fence from us, but you mix up a Canuckwith a Yank in your remarks and you'll get a bat in the eye...But most of us Americans have gotten a grip on your Old Country.You'll find us mighty respectful to other parts of your Empire,but we say anything we damn well please about England. You see,we know her that well and like her that well, we can be free withher.
'It's like,' he concluded as we reached the hotel, 'it's likea lot of boys that are getting on in the world and are a bitjealous and stand-offish with each other. But they're all at homewith the old man who used to warm them up with a hickory cane,even though sometimes in their haste they call him astand-patter.'
That night at dinner we talked solid business—Blenkironand I and a young French Colonel from the IIIeme Section atG.Q.G. Blenkiron, I remember, got very hurt about being called abusiness man by the Frenchman, who thought he was paying him acompliment.
'Cut it out,' he said. 'It is a word that's gone bad with me.There's just two kind of men, those who've gotten sense and thosewho haven't. A big percentage of us Americans make our living bytrading, but we don't think because a man's in business or evenbecause he's made big money that he's any natural good at everyjob. We've made a college professor our President, and do what hetells us like little boys, though he don't earn more than some ofus pay our works' manager. You English have gotten business onthe brain, and think a fellow's a dandy at handling yourGovernment if he happens to have made a pile by someflat-catching ramp on your Stock Exchange. It makes me tired.You're about the best business nation on earth, but for God'ssake don't begin to talk about it or you'll lose your power. Anddon't go confusing real business with the ordinary gift of rakingin the dollars. Any man with sense could make money if he wantedto, but he mayn't want. He may prefer the fun of the job and letother people do the looting. I reckon the biggest business on theglobe today is the work behind your lines and the way you feedand supply and transport your army. It beats the SteelCorporation and the Standard Oil to a frazzle. But the man at thehead of it all don't earn more than a thousand dollars a month...Your nation's getting to worship Mammon, Dick. Cut it out.There's just the one difference in humanity—sense or nosense, and most likely you won't find any more sense in the manthat makes a billion selling bonds than in his brother Tim thatlives in a shack and sells corn-cobs. I'm not speaking out ofsinful jealousy, for there was a day when I was reckoned arailroad king, and I quit with a bigger pile than kings usuallyretire on. But I haven't the sense of old Peter, who never evenhad a bank account... And it's sense that wins in this war.'
The Colonel, who spoke good English, asked a question about aspeech which some politician had made.
'There isn't all the sense I'd like to see at the top,' saidBlenkiron. 'They're fine at smooth words. That wouldn't matter,but they're thinking smooth thoughts. What d'you make of thesituation, Dick?' 'I think it's the worst since First Ypres,' Isaid. 'Everybody's cock-a-whoop, but God knows why.'
'God knows why,' Blenkiron repeated. 'I reckon it's a simplecalculation, and you can't deny it any more than a mathematicallaw. Russia is counted out. The Boche won't get food from her fora good many months, but he can get more men, and he's got them.He's fighting only on one foot, and he's been able to bringtroops and guns west so he's as strong as the Allies now onpaper. And he's stronger in reality. He's got better railwaysbehind him, and he's fighting on inside lines and can concentratefast against any bit of our front. I'm no soldier, but that's so,Dick?'
The Frenchman smiled and shook his head. 'All the same theywill not pass. They could not when they were two to one in 1914,and they will not now. If we Allies could not break through inthe last year when we had many more men, how will the Germanssucceed now with only equal numbers?'
Blenkiron did not look convinced. 'That's what they all say. Italked to a general last week about the coming offensive, and hesaid he was praying for it to hurry up, for he reckoned Fritzwould get the fright of his life. It's a good spirit, maybe, butI don't think it's sound on the facts. We've got two mighty greatarmies of fine fighting-men, but, because we've two commands,we're bound to move ragged like a peal of bells. The Hun's gotone army and forty years of stiff tradition, and, what's more,he's going all out this time. He's going to smash our frontbefore America lines up, or perish in the attempt... Why do yousuppose all the peace racket in Germany has died down, and thevery men that were talking democracy in the summer are now hotfor fighting to a finish? I'll tell you. It's because oldLudendorff has promised them complete victory this spring if theyspend enough men, and the Boche is a good gambler and is out torisk it. We're not up against a local attack this time. We'restanding up to a great nation going bald-headed for victory ordestruction. If we're broken, then America's got to fight a newcampaign by herself when she's ready, and the Boche has time tomake Russia his feeding-ground and diddle our blockade. That putsanother five years on to the war, maybe another ten. Are we freeand independent peoples going to endure that much?... I tell youwe're tossing to quit before Easter.'
He turned towards me, and I nodded assent.
'That's more or less my view,' I said. 'We ought to hold, butit'll be by our teeth and nails. For the next six months we'll befighting without any margin.'
'But, my friends, you put it too gravely,' cried theFrenchman. 'We may lose a mile or two of ground—yes. Butserious danger is not possible. They had better chances at Verdunand they failed. Why should they succeed now?'
'Because they are staking everything,' Blenkiron replied. 'Itis the last desperate struggle of a wounded beast, and in thesestruggles sometimes the hunter perishes. Dick's right. We've gota wasting margin and every extra ounce of weight's going to tell.The battle's in the field, and it's also in every corner of everyAllied land. That's why within the next two months we've got toget even with the Wild Birds.'
The French Colonel—his name was de Valliere—smiledat the name, and Blenkiron answered my unspoken question.
'I'm going to satisfy some of your curiosity, Dick, for I'veput together considerable noos of the menagerie. Germany has agood army of spies outside her borders. We shoot a batch now andthen, but the others go on working like beavers and they do amighty deal of harm. They're beautifully organized, but theydon't draw on such good human material as we, and I reckon theydon't pay in results more than ten cents on a dollar of trouble.But there they are. They're the intelligence officers and theirbusiness is just to forward noos. They're the birds in the cage,the—what is it your friend called them?'
'Die Stubenvögel,' I said.
'Yes, but all the birds aren't caged. There's a few outsidethe bars and they don't collect noos. They do things. If there'sanything desperate they're put on the job, and they've got powerto act without waiting on instructions from home. I'veinvestigated till my brain's tired and I haven't made out morethan half a dozen whom I can say for certain are in the business.There's your pal, the Portuguese Jew, Dick. Another's a woman inGenoa, a princess of some sort married to a Greek financier.One's the editor of a pro-Ally up-country paper in the Argentine.One passes as a Baptist minister in Colorado. One was a policespy in the Tzar's Government and is now a red-hot revolutionaryin the Caucasus. And the biggest, of course, is Moxon Ivery, whoin happier times was the Graf von Schwabing. There aren't above ahundred people in the world know of their existence, and thesehundred call them the Wild Birds.'
'Do they work together?' I asked.
'Yes. They each get their own jobs to do, but they're apt toflock together for a big piece of devilment. There were four ofthem in France a year ago before the battle of the Aisne, andthey pretty near rotted the French Army. That's so, Colonel?'
The soldier nodded grimly. 'They seduced our weary troops andthey bought many politicians. Almost they succeeded, but notquite. The nation is sane again, and is judging and shooting theaccomplices at its leisure. But the principals we have nevercaught.'
'You hear that, Dick,, said Blenkiron. 'You're satisfied thisisn't a whimsy of a melodramatic old Yank? I'll tell you more.You know how Ivery worked the submarine business from England.Also, it was the Wild Birds that wrecked Russia. It was Iverythat paid the Bolshevists to sedooce the Army, and theBolshevists took his money for their own purpose, thinking theywere playing a deep game, when all the time he was grinning likeSatan, for they were playing his. It was Ivery or some other ofthe bunch that doped the brigades that broke at Caporetto. If Istarted in to tell you the history of their doings you wouldn'tgo to bed, and if you did you wouldn't sleep... There's just thisto it. Every finished subtle devilry that the Boche has wroughtamong the Allies since August 1914 has been the work of the WildBirds and more or less organized by Ivery. They're worth half adozen army corps to Ludendorff. They're the mightiest poisonmerchants the world ever saw, and they've the nerve of hell...'
'I don't know,' I interrupted. 'Ivery's got his soft spot. Isaw him in the Tube station.'
'Maybe, but he's got the kind of nerve that's wanted. And nowI rather fancy he's whistling in his flock,'
Blenkiron consulted a notebook. 'Pavia—that's theArgentine man—started last month for Europe. He transhippedfrom a coasting steamer in the West Indies and we've temporarilylost track of him, but he's left his hunting-ground. What do youreckon that means?'
'It means,' Blenkiron continued solemnly, 'that Ivery thinksthe game's nearly over. The play's working up for the bigclimax... And that climax is going to be damnation for theAllies, unless we get a move on.'
'Right,' I said. 'That's what I'm here for. What's themove?'
'The Wild Birds mustn't ever go home, and the man they callIvery or Bommaerts or Chelius has to decease. It's a cold-bloodedproposition, but it's him or the world that's got to break. Butbefore he quits this earth we're bound to get wise about some ofhis plans, and that means that we can't just shoot a pistol athis face. Also we've got to find him first. We reckon he's inSwitzerland, but that is a state with quite a lot of diversifiedscenery to lose a man in... Still I guess we'll find him. Butit's the kind of business to plan out as carefully as a battle.I'm going back to Berne on my old stunt to boss the show, and I'mgiving the orders. You're an obedient child, Dick, so I don'treckon on any trouble that way.'
Then Blenkiron did an ominous thing. He pulled up a littletable and started to lay out Patience cards. Since his duodenumwas cured he seemed to have dropped that habit, and from hisresuming it I gathered that his mind was uneasy. I can see thatscene as if it were yesterday—the French colonel in anarmchair smoking a cigarette in a long amber holder, andBlenkiron sitting primly on the edge of a yellow silk ottoman,dealing his cards and looking guiltily towards me.
'You'll have Peter for company,' he said. 'Peter's a sad man,but he has a great heart, and he's been mighty useful to mealready. They're going to move him to England very soon. Theauthorities are afraid of him, for he's apt to talk wild, hishealth having made him peevish about the British. But there's adeal of red-tape in the world, and the orders for hisrepatriation are slow in coming.' The speaker winked very slowlyand deliberately with his left eye.
I asked if I was to be with Peter, much cheered at theprospect.
'Why, yes. You and Peter are the collateral in the deal. Butthe big game's not with you.'
I had a presentiment of something coming, something anxiousand unpleasant.
'Is Mary in it?' I asked.
He nodded and seemed to pull himself together for anexplanation.
'See here, Dick. Our main job is to get Ivery back to Alliedsoil where we can handle him. And there's just the one magnetthat can fetch him back. You aren't going to deny that.'
I felt my face getting very red, and that ugly hammer beganbeating in my forehead. Two grave, patient eyes met my glare.
'I'm damned if I'll allow it!' I cried. 'I've some right to asay in the thing. I won't have Mary made a decoy. It's tooinfernally degrading.'
'It isn't pretty, but war isn't pretty, and nothing we do ispretty. I'd have blushed like a rose when I was young andinnocent to imagine the things I've put my hand to in the lastthree years. But have you any other way, Dick? I'm not proud, andI'll scrap the plan if you can show me another... Night afternight I've hammered the thing out, and I can't hit on a better... Heigh-ho, Dick, this isn't like you,' and he grinnedruefully. 'You're making yourself a fine argument in favour ofcelibacy—in time of war, anyhow. What is it the poetsings?—
White hands cling to the bridle rein, Slippingthe spur from the booted heel—'
I was as angry as sin, but I felt all the time I had no case.Blenkiron stopped his game of Patience, sending the cards flyingover the carpet, and straddled on the hearthrug.
'You're never going to be a piker. What's dooty, if you won'tcarry it to the other side of Hell? What's the use of yappingabout your country if you're going to keep anything back when shecalls for it? What's the good of meaning to win the war if youdon't put every cent you've got on your stake? You'll make methink you're like the jacks in your English novels that chuck intheir hand and say it's up to God, and call that "seeing itthrough"... No, Dick, that kind of dooty don't deserve ablessing. You dursn't keep back anything if you want to save yoursoul. 'Besides,' he went on, 'what a girl it is! She can't scareand she can't soil. She's white-hot youth and innocence, andshe'd take no more harm than clean steel from a muck-heap.'
I knew I was badly in the wrong, but my pride was all raw.
'I'm not going to agree till I've talked to Mary.'
'But Miss Mary has consented,' he said gently. 'She made theplan.'
Next day, in clear blue weather that might have been May, Idrove Mary down to Fontainebleau. We lunched in the inn by thebridge and walked into the forest. I hadn't slept much, for I wastortured by what I thought was anxiety for her, but which was intruth jealousy of Ivery. I don't think that I would have mindedher risking her life, for that was part of the game we were bothin, but I jibbed at the notion of Ivery coming near her again. Itold myself it was honourable pride, but I knew deep down in methat it was jealousy.
I asked her if she had accepted Blenkiron's plan, and sheturned mischievous eyes on me.
'I knew I should have a scene with you, Dick. I told MrBlenkiron so... Of course I agreed. I'm not even very much afraidof it. I'm a member of the team, you know, and I must play up tomy form. I can't do a man's work, so all the more reason why Ishould tackle the thing I can do.'
'But,' I stammered, 'it's such a... such a degrading businessfor a child like you. I can't bear... It makes me hot to think ofit.'
Her reply was merry laughter. 'You're an old Ottoman, Dick.You haven't doubled Cape Turk yet, and I don't believe you'reround Seraglio Point. Why, women aren't the brittle things menused to think them. They never were, and the war has made themlike whipcord. Bless you, my dear, we're the tougher sex now.We've had to wait and endure, and we've been so beaten on theanvil of patience that we've lost all our megrims.'
She put her hands on my shoulders and looked me in theeyes.
'Look at me, Dick, look at your someday-to-be espoused saint.I'm nineteen years of age next August. Before the war I shouldhave only just put my hair up. I should have been the kind ofshivering debutante who blushes when she's spoken to, and oh! Ishould have thought such silly, silly things about life ... Well,in the last two years I've been close to it, and to death. I'venursed the dying. I've seen souls in agony and in triumph.England has allowed me to serve her as she allows her sons. Oh,I'm a robust young woman now, and indeed I think women werealways robuster than men... Dick, dear Dick, we're lovers, butwe're comrades too—always comrades, and comrades trust eachother.' I hadn't anything to say, except contrition, for I had mylesson. I had been slipping away in my thoughts from the gravityof our task, and Mary had brought me back to it. I remember thatas we walked through the woodland we came to a place where therewere no signs of war. Elsewhere there were men busy fellingtrees, and anti-aircraft guns, and an occasional transport wagon,but here there was only a shallow grassy vale, and in thedistance, bloomed over like a plum in the evening haze, the roofsof an old dwelling-house among gardens.
Mary clung to my arm as we drank in the peace of it.
'That is what lies for us at the end of the road, Dick,' shesaid softly.
And then, as she looked, I felt her body shiver. She returnedto the strange fancy she had had in the St Germains woods threedays before.
'Somewhere it's waiting for us and we shall certainly findit... But first we must go through the Valley of the Shadow...And there is the sacrifice to be made... the best of us.'
Ten days later the porter Joseph Zimmer of Arosa, clad in thetough and shapeless trousers of his class, but sporting an oldvelveteen shooting-coat bequeathed to him by a former Germanmaster—speaking the guttural tongue of the Grisons, andwith all his belongings in one massive rucksack, came out of thelittle station of St Anton and blinked in the frosty sunshine. Helooked down upon the little old village beside its icebound lake,but his business was with the new village of hotels and villaswhich had sprung up in the last ten years south of the station.He made some halting inquiries of the station people, and acab-driver outside finally directed him to the place hesought—the cottage of the Widow Summermatter, where residedan English intern, one Peter Pienaar.
The porter Joseph Zimmer had had a long and roundaboutjourney. A fortnight before he had worn the uniform of a Britishmajor-general. As such he had been the inmate of an expensiveParis hotel, till one morning, in grey tweed clothes and with alimp, he had taken the Paris-Mediterranean Express with a ticketfor an officers' convalescent home at Cannes. Thereafter he haddeclined in the social scale. At Dijon he had been still anEnglishman, but at Pontarlier he had become an American bagman ofSwiss parentage, returning to wind up his father's estate. AtBerne he limped excessively, and at Zurich, at a littleback-street hotel, he became frankly the peasant. For he met afriend there from whom he acquired clothes with that odd ranksmell, far stronger than Harris tweed, which marks the raiment ofmost Swiss guides and all Swiss porters. He also acquired a newname and an old aunt, who a little later received him with openarms and explained to her friends that he was her brother's sonfrom Arosa who three winters ago had hurt his leg wood-cuttingand had been discharged from the levy.
A kindly Swiss gentleman, as it chanced, had heard of thedeserving Joseph and interested himself to find him employment.The said philanthropist made a hobby of the French and Britishprisoners returned from Germany, and had in mind an officer, acrabbed South African with a bad leg, who needed a servant. Hewas, it seemed, an ill-tempered old fellow who had to be billetedalone, and since he could speak German, he would be happier witha Swiss native. Joseph haggled somewhat over the wages, but onhis aunt's advice he accepted the job, and, with a very completeset of papers and a store of ready-made reminiscences (it tookhim some time to swot up the names of the peaks and passes he hadtraversed) set out for St Anton, having dispatched beforehand amonstrously ill-spelt letter announcing his coming. He couldbarely read and write, but he was good at maps, which he hadstudied carefully, and he noticed with satisfaction that thevalley of St Anton gave easy access to Italy.
As he journeyed south the reflections of that porter wouldhave surprised his fellow travellers in the stuffy third-classcarriage. He was thinking of a conversation he had had some daysbefore in a cafe at Dijon with a young Englishman bound forModane...
We had bumped up against each other by chance in that strangeflitting when all went to different places at different times,asking nothing of each other's business. Wake had greeted merather shamefacedly and had proposed dinner together.
I am not good at receiving apologies, and Wake's embarrassedme more than they embarrassed him. 'I'm a bit of a cadsometimes,'he said. 'You know I'm a better fellow than I soundedthat night, Hannay.'
I mumbled something about not talking rot—theconventional phrase. What worried me was that the man wassuffering. You could see it in his eyes. But that evening I gotnearer Wake than ever before, and he and I became true friends,for he laid bare his soul before me. That was his trouble, thathe could lay bare his soul, for ordinary healthy folk don'tanalyse their feelings. Wake did, and I think it brought himrelief.
'Don't think I was ever your rival. I would no more haveproposed to Mary than I would have married one of her aunts. Shewas so sure of herself, so happy in her single-heartedness thatshe terrified me. My type of man is not meant for marriage, forwomen must be in the centre of life, and we must always bestanding aside and looking on. It is a damnable thing to beleft-handed.'
'The trouble about you, my dear chap,' I said, 'is that you'retoo hard to please.'
'That's one way of putting it. I should put it more harshly. Ihate more than I love. All we humanitarians and pacifists havehatred as our mainspring. Odd, isn't it, for people who preachbrotherly love? But it's the truth. We're full of hate towardseverything that doesn't square in with our ideas, everything thatjars on our lady-like nerves. Fellows like you are so in lovewith their cause that they've no time or inclination to detestwhat thwarts them. We've no cause—only negatives, and thatmeans hatred, and self-torture, and a beastly jaundice ofsoul.'
Then I knew that Wake's fault was not spiritual pride, as Ihad diagnosed it at Biggleswick. The man was abased withhumility.
'I see more than other people see,' he went on, 'and I feelmore. That's the curse on me. You're a happy man and you getthings done, because you only see one side of a case, one thingat a time. How would you like it if a thousand strings werealways tugging at you, if you saw that every course meant thesacrifice of lovely and desirable things, or even the shatteringof what you know to be unreplaceable? I'm the kind of stuff poetsare made of, but I haven't the poet's gift, so I stagger aboutthe world left-handed and game-legged... Take the war. For me tofight would be worse than for another man to run away. From thebottom of my heart I believe that it needn't have happened, andthat all war is a blistering iniquity. And yet belief has gotvery little to do with virtue. I'm not as good a man as you,Hannay, who have never thought out anything in your life. My timein the Labour battalion taught me something. I knew that with allmy fine aspirations I wasn't as true a man as fellows whose talkwas silly oaths and who didn't care a tinker's curse about theirsoul.'
I remember that I looked at him with a sudden understanding.'I think I know you. You're the sort of chap who won't fight forhis country because he can't be sure that she's altogether in theright. But he'd cheerfully die for her, right or wrong.'
His face relaxed in a slow smile. 'Queer that you should saythat. I think it's pretty near the truth. Men like me aren'tafraid to die, but they haven't quite the courage to live. Everyman should be happy in a service like you, when he obeys orders.I couldn't get on in any service. I lack the bump of veneration.I can't swallow things merely because I'm told to. My sort arealways talking about "service", but we haven't the temperament toserve. I'd give all I have to be an ordinary cog in the wheel,instead of a confounded outsider who finds fault with themachinery... Take a great violent high-handed fellow like you.You can sink yourself till you become only a name and a number. Icouldn't if I tried. I'm not sure if I want to either. I cling tothe odds and ends that are my own.' 'I wish I had had you in mybattalion a year ago,' I said.
'No, you don't. I'd only have been a nuisance. I've been aFabian since Oxford, but you're a better socialist than me. I'm arancid individualist.' 'But you must be feeling better about thewar?' I asked.
'Not a bit of it. I'm still lusting for the heads of thepoliticians that made it and continue it. But I want to help mycountry. Honestly, Hannay, I love the old place. More, I think,than I love myself, and that's saying a devilish lot. Short offighting—which would be the sin against the Holy Spirit forme—I'll do my damnedest. But you'll remember I'm not usedto team work. If I'm a jealous player, beat me over thehead.'
His voice was almost wistful, and I liked him enormously.
'Blenkiron will see to that,' I said. 'We're going to breakyou to harness, Wake, and then you'll be a happy man. You keepyour mind on the game and forget about yourself. That's the curefor jibbers.'
As I journeyed to St Anton I thought a lot about that talk. Hewas quite right about Mary, who would never have married him. Aman with such an angular soul couldn't fit into another's. Andthen I thought that the chief thing about Mary was just herserene certainty. Her eyes had that settled happy look that Iremembered to have seen only in one other human face, and thatwas Peter's... But I wondered if Peter's eyes were still thesame.
I found the cottage, a little wooden thing which had been leftperched on its knoll when the big hotels grew around it. It had afence in front, but behind it was open to the hillside. At thegate stood a bent old woman with a face like a pippin. My make-upmust have been good, for she accepted me before I introducedmyself.
'God be thanked you are come,' she cried. 'The poor lieutenantneeded a man to keep him company. He sleeps now, as he doesalways in the afternoon, for his leg wearies him in the night...But he is brave, like a soldier... Come, I will show you thehouse, for you two will be alone now.'
Stepping softly she led me indoors, pointing with a warningfinger to the little bedroom where Peter slept. I found a kitchenwith a big stove and a rough floor of planking, on which lay somebadly cured skins. Off it was a sort of pantry with a bed for me.She showed me the pots and pans for cooking and the stores shehad laid in, and where to find water and fuel. 'I will do themarketing daily,' she said, 'and if you need me, my dwelling ishalf a mile up the road beyond the new church. God be with you,young man, and be kind to that wounded one.'
When the Widow Summermatter had departed I sat down in Peter'sarm-chair and took stock of the place. It was quiet and simpleand homely, and through the window came the gleam of snow on thediamond hills. On the table beside the stove were Peter'scherished belongings—his buck-skin pouch and the pipe whichJannie Grobelaar had carved for him in St Helena, an aluminiumfield match-box I had given him, a cheap large-print Bible suchas padres present to well-disposed privates, and an old batteredPilgrim's Progress with gaudy pictures. The illustrationat which I opened showed Faithful going up to Heaven from thefire of Vanity Fair like a woodcock that has just been flushed.Everything in the room was exquisitely neat, and I knew that thatwas Peter and not the Widow Summermatter. On a peg behind thedoor hung his much-mended coat, and sticking out of a pocket Irecognized a sheaf of my own letters. In one corner stoodsomething which I had forgotten about—an invalid chair.
The sight of Peter's plain little oddments made me feelsolemn. I wondered if his eyes would be like Mary's now, for Icould not conceive what life would be for him as a cripple. Verysilently I opened the bedroom door and slipped inside.
He was lying on a camp bedstead with one of those stripedSwiss blankets pulled up round his ears, and he was asleep. Itwas the old Peter beyond doubt. He had the hunter's gift ofbreathing evenly through his nose, and the white scar on the deepbrown of his forehead was what I had always remembered. The onlychange since I last saw him was that he had let his beard growagain, and it was grey.
As I looked at him the remembrance of all we had been throughtogether flooded back upon me, and I could have cried with joy atbeing beside him. Women, bless their hearts! can never know whatlong comradeship means to men; it is something not in theirlives—something that belongs only to that wild,undomesticated world which we forswear when we find our mates.Even Mary understood only a bit of it. I had just won her love,which was the greatest thing that ever came my way, but if shehad entered at that moment I would scarcely have turned my head.I was back again in the old life and was not thinking of thenew.
Suddenly I saw that Peter was awake and was looking at me.
'Dick,' he said in a whisper, 'Dick, my old friend.'
The blanket was tossed off, and his long, lean arms werestretched out to me. I gripped his hands, and for a little we didnot speak. Then I saw how woefully he had changed. His left leghad shrunk, and from the knee down was like a pipe stem. Hisface, when awake, showed the lines of hard suffering and heseemed shorter by half a foot. But his eyes were still likeMary's. Indeed they seemed to be more patient and peaceful thanin the days when he sat beside me on the buck-waggon and peeredover the hunting-veld.
I picked him up—he was no heavier than Mary—andcarried him to his chair beside the stove. Then I boiled waterand made tea, as we had so often done together. 'Peter, old man,'I said, 'we're on trek again, and this is a very snug littlerondavel. We've had many good yarns, but this is going tobe the best. First of all, how about your health?'
'Good, I'm a strong man again, but slow like a hippo cow. Ihave been lonely sometimes, but that is all by now. Tell me ofthe big battles.'
But I was hungry for news of him and kept him to his own case.He had no complaint of his treatment except that he did not likeGermans. The doctors at the hospital had been clever, he said,and had done their best for him, but nerves and sinews and smallbones had been so wrecked that they could not mend his leg, andPeter had all the Boer's dislike of amputation. One doctor hadbeen in Damaraland and talked to him of those baked sunny placesand made him homesick. But he returned always to his dislike ofGermans. He had seen them herding our soldiers like brute beasts,and the commandant had a face like Stumm and a chin that stuckout and wanted hitting. He made an exception for the great airmanLensch, who had downed him.
'He is a white man, that one,' he said. 'He came to see me inhospital and told me a lot of things. I think he made them treatme well. He is a big man, Dick, who would make two of me, and hehas a round, merry face and pale eyes like Frickie Celliers whocould put a bullet through a pauw's head at two hundred yards. Hesaid he was sorry I was lame, for he hoped to have more fightswith me. Some woman that tells fortunes had said that I would bethe end of him, but he reckoned she had got the thing the wrongway on. I hope he will come through this war, for he is a goodman, though a German... But the others! They are like the fool inthe Bible, fat and ugly in good fortune and proud and viciouswhen their luck goes. They are not a people to be happywith.'
Then he told me that to keep up his spirits he had amusedhimself with playing a game. He had prided himself on being aBoer, and spoken coldly of the British. He had also, I gathered,imparted many things calculated to deceive. So he left Germanywith good marks, and in Switzerland had held himself aloof fromthe other British wounded, on the advice of Blenkiron, who hadmet him as soon as he crossed the frontier. I gathered it wasBlenkiron who had had him sent to St Anton, and in his timethere, as a disgruntled Boer, he had mixed a good deal withGermans. They had pumped him about our air service, and Peter hadtold them many ingenious lies and heard curious things inreturn.
'They are working hard, Dick,' he said. 'Never forget that.The German is a stout enemy, and when we beat him with a machinehe sweats till he has invented a new one. They have great pilots,but never so many good ones as we, and I do not think in ordinaryfighting they can ever beat us. But you must watch Lensch, for Ifear him. He has a new machine, I hear, with great engines and ashort wingspread, but the wings so cambered that he can climbfast. That will be a surprise to spring upon us. You will saythat we'll soon better it. So we shall, but if it was used at atime when we were pushing hard it might make the littledifference that loses battles.'
'You mean,' I said, 'that if we had a great attack ready andhad driven all the Boche planes back from our front, Lensch andhis circus might get over in spite of us and blow the gaff?'
'Yes,' he said solemnly. 'Or if we were attacked, and had aweak spot, Lensch might show the Germans where to get through. Ido not think we are going to attack for a long time; but I ampretty sure that Germany is going to fling every man against us.That is the talk of my friends, and it is not bluff.'
That night I cooked our modest dinner, and we smoked our pipeswith the stove door open and the good smell of woodsmoke in ournostrils. I told him of all my doings and of the Wild Birds andIvery and the job we were engaged on. Blenkiron's instructionswere that we two should live humbly and keep our eyes and earsopen, for we were outside suspicion—the cantankerous lameBoer and his loutish servant from Arosa. Somewhere in the placewas a rendezvous of our enemies, and thither came Chelius on hisdark errands.
Peter nodded his head sagely, 'I think I have guessed theplace. The daughter of the old woman used to pull my chairsometimes down to the village, and I have sat in cheap inns andtalked to servants. There is a fresh-water pan there, it is allcovered with snow now, and beside it there is a big house thatthey call the Pink Chalet. I do not know much about it, exceptthat rich folk live in it, for I know the other houses and theyare harmless. Also the big hotels, which are too cold and publicfor strangers to meet in.'
I put Peter to bed, and it was a joy to me to look after him,to give him his tonic and prepare the hot water bottle thatcomforted his neuralgia. His behaviour was like a docile child's,and he never lapsed from his sunny temper, though I could see howhis leg gave him hell. They had tried massage for it and given itup, and there was nothing for him but to endure till nature andhis tough constitution deadened the tortured nerves again. Ishifted my bed out of the pantry and slept in the room with him,and when I woke in the night, as one does the first time in astrange place, I could tell by his breathing that he was wakefuland suffering.
Next day a bath chair containing a grizzled cripple and pushedby a limping peasant might have been seen descending the longhill to the village. It was clear frosty weather which makes thecheeks tingle, and I felt so full of beans that it was hard toremember my game leg. The valley was shut in on the east by agreat mass of rocks and glaciers, belonging to a mountain whosetop could not be seen. But on the south, above the snowyfir-woods, there was a most delicate lace-like peak with a pointlike a needle. I looked at it with interest, for beyond it laythe valley which led to the Staub pass, and beyond that wasItaly—and Mary.
The old village of St Anton had one long, narrow street whichbent at right angles to a bridge which spanned the river flowingfrom the lake. Thence the road climbed steeply, but at the otherend of the street it ran on the level by the water's edge, linedwith gimcrack boarding-houses, now shuttered to the world, and afew villas in patches of garden. At the far end, just before itplunged into a pine-wood, a promontory jutted into the lake,leaving a broad space between the road and the water. Here werethe grounds of a more considerable dwelling—snow-coveredlaurels and rhododendrons with one or two bigger trees—andjust on the water-edge stood the house itself, called the PinkChalet.
I wheeled Peter past the entrance on the crackling snow of thehighway. Seen through the gaps of the trees the front looked new,but the back part seemed to be of some age, for I could see highwalls, broken by few windows, hanging over the water. The placewas no more a chalet than a donjon, but I suppose the name wasgiven in honour of a wooden gallery above the front door. Thewhole thing was washed in an ugly pink. There wereouthouses—garage or stables among the trees—and atthe entrance there were fairly recent tracks of anautomobile.
On our way back we had some very bad beer in a cafe and madefriends with the woman who kept it. Peter had to tell her hisstory, and I trotted out my aunt in Zurich, and in the end weheard her grievances. She was a true Swiss, angry at all thebelligerents who had spoiled her livelihood, hating Germany mostbut also fearing her most. Coffee, tea, fuel, bread, even milkand cheese were hard to get and cost a ransom. It would take theland years to recover, and there would be no more tourists, forthere was little money left in the world. I dropped a questionabout the Pink Chalet, and was told that it belonged to oneSchweigler, a professor of Berne, an old man who came sometimesfor a few days in the summer. It was often let, but not now.Asked if it was occupied, she remarked that some friends of theSchweiglers— rich people from Basle—had been therefor the winter. 'They come and go in great cars,' she saidbitterly, 'and they bring their food from the cities. They spendno money in this poor place.'
Presently Peter and I fell into a routine of life, as if wehad always kept house together. In the morning he went abroad inhis chair, in the afternoon I would hobble about on my ownerrands. We sank into the background and took its colour, and aless conspicuous pair never faced the eye of suspicion. Once aweek a young Swiss officer, whose business it was to look afterBritish wounded, paid us a hurried visit. I used to get lettersfrom my aunt in Zurich, Sometimes with the postmark of Arosa, andnow and then these letters would contain curiously worded adviceor instructions from him whom my aunt called 'the kind patron'.Generally I was told to be patient. Sometimes I had word aboutthe health of 'my little cousin across the mountains'. Once I wasbidden expect a friend of the patron's, the wise doctor of whomhe had often spoken, but though after that I shadowed the PinkChalet for two days no doctor appeared.
My investigations were a barren business. I used to go down tothe village in the afternoon and sit in an out-of-the-way cafe,talking slow German with peasants and hotel porters, but therewas little to learn. I knew all there was to hear about the PinkChalet, and that was nothing. A young man who ski-ed stayed forthree nights and spent his days on the alps above the fir-woods.A party of four, including two women, was reported to have beenthere for a night—all ramifications of the rich family ofBasle. I studied the house from the lake, which should have beennicely swept into ice-rinks, but from lack of visitors was a heapof blown snow. The high old walls of the back part were builtstraight from the water's edge. I remember I tried a short cutthrough the grounds to the high-road and was given 'Goodafternoon' by a smiling German manservant. One way and another Igathered there were a good many serving-men about theplace—too many for the infrequent guests. But beyond this Idiscovered nothing.
Not that I was bored, for I had always Peter to turn to. Hewas thinking a lot about South Africa, and the thing he likedbest was to go over with me every detail of our old expeditions.They belonged to a life which he could think about without pain,whereas the war was too near and bitter for him. He liked tohobble out-of-doors after the darkness came and look at his oldfriends, the stars. He called them by the words they use on theveld, and the first star of morning he called thevoorlooper—the little boy who inspans theoxen—a name I had not heard for twenty years. Many a greatyarn we spun in the long evenings, but I always went to bed witha sore heart. The longing in his eyes was too urgent, longing notfor old days or far countries, but for the health and strengthwhich had once been his pride.
One night I told him about Mary. 'She will be a happymysie,' he said, 'but you will need to be very clever withher, for women are queer cattle and you and I don't know theirways. They tell me English women do not cook and make clotheslike our vrouws, so what will she find to do? I doubt an idlewoman will be like a mealie-fed horse.'
It was no good explaining to him the kind of girl Mary was,for that was a world entirely beyond his ken. But I could seethat he felt lonelier than ever at my news. So I told him of thehouse I meant to have in England when the war was over—anold house in a green hilly country, with fields that would carryfour head of cattle to the Morgan and furrows of clear water, andorchards of plums and apples. 'And you will stay with us all thetime,' I said. 'You will have your own rooms and your own boy tolook after you, and you will help me to farm, and we will catchfish together, and shoot the wild ducks when they come up fromthe pans in the evening. I have found a better countryside thanthe Houtbosch, where you and I planned to have a farm. It is ablessed and happy place, England.'
He shook his head. 'You are a kind man, Dick, but your prettymysie won't want an ugly old fellow like me hobbling abouther house... I do not think I will go back to Africa, for Ishould be sad there in the sun. I will find a little place inEngland, and some day I will visit you, old friend.'
That night his stoicism seemed for the first time to fail him.He was silent for a long time and went early to bed, where I canvouch for it he did not sleep. But he must have thought a lot inthe night time, for in the morning he had got himself in hand andwas as cheerful as a sandboy.
I watched his philosophy with amazement. It was far beyondanything I could have compassed myself. He was so frail and sopoor, for he had never had anything in the world but his bodilyfitness, and he had lost that now. And remember, he had lost itafter some months of glittering happiness, for in the air he hadfound the element for which he had been born. Sometimes hedropped a hint of those days when he lived in the clouds andinvented a new kind of battle, and his voice always grew hoarse.I could see that he ached with longing for their return. And yethe never had a word of complaint. That was the ritual he had sethimself, his point of honour, and he faced the future with thesame kind of courage as that with which he had tackled a wildbeast or Lensch himself. Only it needed a far bigger brand offortitude.
Another thing was that he had found religion. I doubt if thatis the right way to put it, for he had always had it. Men wholive in the wilds know they are in the hands of God. But his oldkind had been a tattered thing, more like heathen superstition,though it had always kept him humble. But now he had taken toreading the Bible and to thinking in his lonely nights, and hehad got a creed of his own. I dare say it was crude enough, I amsure it was unorthodox; but if the proof of religion is that itgives a man a prop in bad days, then Peter's was the real thing.He used to ferret about in the Bible and thePilgrim'sProgress—they were both equally inspired in hiseyes—and find texts which he interpreted in his own way tomeet his case. He took everything quite literally. What happenedthree thousand years ago in Palestine might, for all he minded,have been going on next door. I used to chaff him and tell himthat he was like the Kaiser, very good at fitting the Bible tohis purpose, but his sincerity was so complete that he onlysmiled. I remember one night, when he had been thinking about hisflying days, he found a passage in Thessalonians about the deadrising to meet their Lord in the air, and that cheered him a lot.Peter, I could see, had the notion that his time here wouldn't bevery long, and he liked to think that when he got his release hewould find once more the old rapture.
Once, when I said something about his patience, he said he hadgot to try to live up to Mr Standfast. He had fixed on thatcharacter to follow, though he would have preferred MrValiant-for-Truth if he had thought himself good enough. He usedto talk about Mr Standfast in his queer way as if he were afriend of us both, like Blenkiron... I tell you I was humbled outof all my pride by the Sight of Peter, so uncomplaining andgentle and wise. The Almighty Himself couldn't have made a prigout of him, and he never would have thought of preaching. Onlyonce did he give me advice. I had always a liking for short cuts,and I was getting a bit restive under the long inaction. One daywhen I expressed my feelings on the matter, Peter upped and readfrom thePilgrim's Progress: 'Some also have wished thatthe next way to their Father's house were here, that they mightbe troubled no more with either hills or mountains to go over,but the Way is the Way, and there is an end.'
All the same when we got into March and nothing happened Igrew pretty anxious. Blenkiron had said we were fighting againsttime, and here were the weeks slipping away. His letters cameoccasionally, always in the shape of communications from my aunt.One told me that I would soon be out of a job, for Peter'srepatriation was just about through, and he might get hismovement order any day. Another spoke of my little cousin overthe hills, and said that she hoped soon to be going to a placecalled Santa Chiara in the Val Saluzzana. I got out the map in ahurry and measured the distance from there to St Anton and poredover the two roads thither—the short one by the Staub Passand the long one by the Marjolana. These letters made me thinkthat things were nearing a climax, but still no instructionscame. I had nothing to report in my own messages, I haddiscovered nothing in the Pink Chalet but idle servants, I wasnot even sure if the Pink Chalet were not a harmless villa, and Ihadn't come within a thousand miles of finding Chelius. All mydesire to imitate Peter's stoicism didn't prevent me from gettingoccasionally rattled and despondent.
The one thing I could do was to keep fit, for I had a notion Imight soon want all my bodily strength. I had to keep up mypretence of lameness in the daytime, so I used to take myexercise at night. I would sleep in the afternoon, when Peter hadhis siesta, and then about ten in the evening, after putting himto bed, I would slip out-of-doors and go for a four or fivehours' tramp. Wonderful were those midnight wanderings. I pushedup through the snow-laden pines to the ridges where the snow layin great wreaths and scallops, till I stood on a crest with afrozen world at my feet and above me a host of glittering stars.Once on a night of full moon I reached the glacier at the valleyhead, scrambled up the moraine to where the ice began, and peeredfearfully into the spectral crevasses. At such hours I had theearth to myself, for there was not a sound except the slipping ofa burden of snow from the trees or the crack and rustle whichreminded me that a glacier was a moving river. The war seemedvery far away, and I felt the littleness of our human struggles,till I thought of Peter turning from side to side to find ease inthe cottage far below me. Then I realized that the spirit of manwas the greatest thing in this spacious world... I would get backabout three or four, have a bath in the water which had beenwarming in my absence, and creep into bed, almost ashamed ofhaving two sound legs, when a better man a yard away had butone.
Oddly enough at these hours there seemed more life in the PinkChalet than by day. Once, tramping across the lake long aftermidnight, I saw lights in the lake-front in windows which forordinary were blank and shuttered. Several times I cut across thegrounds, when the moon was dark. On one such occasion a great carwith no lights swept up the drive, and I heard low voices at thedoor. Another time a man ran hastily past me, and entered thehouse by a little door on the eastern side, which I had notbefore noticed ... Slowly the conviction began to grow on me thatwe were not wrong in marking down this place, that things went onwithin it which it deeply concerned us to discover. But I waspuzzled to think of a way. I might butt inside, but for all Iknew it would be upsetting Blenkiron's plans, for he had given meno instructions about housebreaking. All this unsettled me worsethan ever. I began to lie awake planning some means ofentrance... I would be a peasant from the next valley who hadtwisted his ankle... I would go seeking an imaginary cousin amongthe servants... I would start a fire in the place and have thedoors flung open to zealous neighbours...
And then suddenly I got instructions in a letter fromBlenkiron.
It came inside a parcel of warm socks that arrived from mykind aunt. But the letter for me was not from her. It was inBlenkiron's large sprawling hand and the style of it was all hisown. He told me that he had about finished his job. He had gothis line on Chelius, who was the bird he expected, and that birdwould soon wing its way southward across the mountains for thereason I knew of.
'We've got an almighty move on,' he wrote, 'and please Godyou're going to hustle some in the next week. It's going betterthan I ever hoped.' But something was still to be done. He hadstruck a countryman, one Clarence Donne, a journalist of KansasCity, whom he had taken into the business. Him he described as a'crackerjack' and commended to my esteem. He was coming to StAnton, for there was a game afoot at the Pink Chalet, which hewould give me news of. I was to meet him next evening at nine-fifteen at the little door in the east end of the house. 'For thelove of Mike, Dick,' he concluded, 'be on time and do everythingClarence tells you as if he was me. It's a mighty complex affair,but you and he have sand enough to pull through. Don't worryabout your little cousin. She's safe and out of the job now.'
My first feeling was one of immense relief, especially at thelast words. I read the letter a dozen times to make sure I hadits meaning. A flash of suspicion crossed my mind that it mightbe a fake, principally because there was no mention of Peter, whohad figured large in the other missives. But why should Peter bementioned when he wasn't on in this piece? The signatureconvinced me. Ordinarily Blenkiron signed himself in full with afine commercial flourish. But when I was at the Front he had gotinto the habit of making a kind of hieroglyphic of his surname tome and sticking J.S. after it in a bracket. That was how thisletter was signed, and it was sure proof it was all right. Ispent that day and the next in wild spirits. Peter spotted whatwas on, though I did not tell him for fear of making him envious.I had to be extra kind to him, for I could see that he ached tohave a hand in the business. Indeed he asked shyly if I couldn'tfit him in, and I had to lie about it and say it was only anotherof my aimless circumnavigations of the Pink Chalet.
'Try and find something where I can help,' he pleaded. 'I'mpretty strong still, though I'm lame, and I can shoot a bit.'
I declared that he would be used in time, that Blenkiron hadpromised he would be used, but for the life of me I couldn't seehow.
At nine o'clock on the evening appointed I was on the lakeopposite the house, close in under the shore, making my way tothe rendezvous. It was a coal-black night, for though the air wasclear the stars were shining with little light, and the moon hadnot yet risen. With a premonition that I might be long away fromfood, I had brought some slabs of chocolate, and my pistol andtorch were in my pocket. It was bitter cold, but I had ceased tomind weather, and I wore my one suit and no overcoat.
The house was like a tomb for silence. There was no crack oflight anywhere, and none of those smells of smoke and food whichproclaim habitation. It was an eerie job scrambling up the steepbank east of the place, to where the flat of the garden started,in a darkness so great that I had to grope my way like a blindman.
I found the little door by feeling along the edge of thebuilding. Then I stepped into an adjacent clump of laurels towait on my companion. He was there before me.
'Say,' I heard a rich Middle West voice whisper, 'are youJoseph Zimmer? I'm not shouting any names, but I guess you arethe guy I was told to meet here.'
'Mr Donne?' I whispered back.
'The same,'he replied. 'Shake.'
I gripped a gloved and mittened hand which drew me towards thedoor.
The journalist from Kansas City was a man of action. He wastedno words in introducing himself or unfolding his plan ofcampaign. 'You've got to follow me, mister, and not deviate oneinch from my tracks. The explaining part will come later. There'sbig business in this shack tonight.' He unlocked the little doorwith scarcely a sound, slid the crust of snow from his boots, andpreceded me into a passage as black as a cellar. The door swungsmoothly behind us, and after the sharp out-of-doors the airsmelt stuffy as the inside of a safe.
A hand reached back to make sure that I followed. We appearedto be in a flagged passage under the main level of the house. Myhobnailed boots slipped on the floor, and I steadied myself onthe wall, which seemed to be of undressed stone. Mr Donne movedsoftly and assuredly, for he was better shod for the job than me,and his guiding hand came back constantly to make sure of mywhereabouts.
I remember that I felt just as I had felt when on that Augustnight I had explored the crevice of the Coolin—the samesense that something queer was going to happen, the samerecklessness and contentment. Moving a foot at a time withimmense care, we came to a right-hand turning. Two shallow stepsled us to another passage, and then my groping hands struck ablind wall. The American was beside me, and his mouth was closeto my ear.
'Got to crawl now,' he whispered. 'You lead, mister, while Ished this coat of mine. Eight feet on your stomach and thenupright.'
I wriggled through a low tunnel, broad enough to take threemen abreast, but not two feet high. Half-way through I feltsuffocated, for I never liked holes, and I had a momentaryanxiety as to what we were after in this cellar pilgrimage.Presently I smelt free air and got on to my knees.
'Right, mister?' came a whisper from behind. My companionseemed to be waiting till I was through before he followed.
'Right,' I answered, and very carefully rose to my feet.
Then something happened behind me. There was a jar and a bumpas if the roof of the tunnel had subsided. I turned sharply andgroped at the mouth. I stuck my leg down and found a block.
'Donne,' I said, as loud as I dared, 'are you hurt? Where areyou?'
But no answer came.
Even then I thought only of an accident. Something hadmiscarried, and I was cut off in the cellars of an unfriendlyhouse away from the man who knew the road and had a plan in hishead. I was not so much frightened as exasperated. I turned fromthe tunnel-mouth and groped into the darkness before me. I mightas well prospect the kind of prison into which I hadblundered.
I took three steps—no more. My feet seemed suddenly togo from me and fly upward. So sudden was it that I fell heavy anddead like a log, and my head struck the floor with a crash thatfor a moment knocked me senseless. I was conscious of somethingfalling on me and of an intolerable pressure on my chest. Istruggled for breath, and found my arms and legs pinned and mywhole body in a kind of wooden vice. I was sick with concussion,and could do nothing but gasp and choke down my nausea. The cutin the back of my head was bleeding freely and that helped toclear my wits, but I lay for a minute or two incapable ofthought. I shut my eyes tight, as a man does when he is fightingwith a swoon.
When I opened them there was light. It came from the left sideof the room, the broad glare of a strong electric torch. Iwatched it stupidly, but it gave me the fillip needed to pick upthe threads. I remembered the tunnel now and the Kansasjournalist. Then behind the light I saw a face which pulled myflickering senses out of the mire.
I saw the heavy ulster and the cap, which I had realized,though I had not seen, outside in the dark laurels. They belongedto the journalist, Clarence Donne, the trusted emissary ofBlenkiron. But I saw his face now, and it was that face which Ihad boasted to Bullivant I could never mistake again upon earth.I did not mistake it now, and I remember I had a faintsatisfaction that I had made good my word. I had not mistaken it,for I had not had the chance to look at it till this moment. Isaw with acid clearness the common denominator of all itsdisguises—the young man who lisped in the seaside villa,the stout philanthropist of Biggleswick, the pulpy panic-strickencreature of the Tube station, the trim French staff officer ofthe Picardy chateau... I saw more, for I saw it beyond the needof disguise. I was looking at von Schwabing, the exile, who haddone more for Germany than any army commander... Mary's wordscame back to me—'the most dangerous man in the world'... Iwas not afraid, or broken-hearted at failure, or angry—notyet, for I was too dazed and awestruck. I looked at him as onemight look at some cataclysm of nature which had destroyed acontinent.
The face was smiling.
'I am happy to offer you hospitality at last,' it said.
I pulled my wits farther out of the mud to attend to him. Thecross-bar on my chest pressed less hard and I breathed better.But when I tried to speak, the words would not come.
'We are old friends,' he went on. 'We have known each otherquite intimately for four years, which is a long time in war. Ihave been interested in you, for you have a kind of crudeintelligence, and you have compelled me to take you seriously. Ifyou were cleverer you would appreciate the compliment. But youwere fool enough to think you could beat me, and for that youmust be punished. Oh no, don't flatter yourself you were everdangerous. You were only troublesome and presumptuous like amosquito one flicks off one's sleeve.'
He was leaning against the side of a heavy closed door. He lita cigar from a little gold tinder box and regarded me with amusedeyes.
'You will have time for reflection, so I propose to enlightenyou a little. You are an observer of little things. So? Did youever see a cat with a mouse? The mouse runs about and hides andmanoeuvres and thinks it is playing its own game. But at anymoment the cat can stretch out its paw and put an end to it. Youare the mouse, my poor General—for I believe you are one ofthose funny amateurs that the English call Generals. At anymoment during the last nine months I could have put an end to youwith a nod.'
My nausea had stopped and I could understand what he said,though I had still no power to reply.
'Let me explain,' he went on. 'I watched with amusement yourgambols at Biggleswick. My eyes followed you when you went to theClyde and in your stupid twistings in Scotland. I gave you rope,because you were futile, and I had graver things to attend to. Iallowed you to amuse yourself at your British Front with childishinvestigations and to play the fool in Paris. I have followedevery step of your course in Switzerland, and I have helped youridiotic Yankee friend to plot against myself. While you thoughtyou were drawing your net around me, I was drawing mine aroundyou. I assure you, it has been a charming relaxation from seriousbusiness.'
I knew the man was lying. Some part was true, for he hadclearly fooled Blenkiron; but I remembered the hurried flightfrom Biggleswick and Eaucourt Sainte-Anne when the game wascertainly against him. He had me at his mercy, and was wreakinghis vanity on me. That made him smaller in my eyes, and my firstawe began to pass.
'I never cherish rancour, you know,' he said. 'In my businessit is silly to be angry, for it wastes energy. But I do nottolerate insolence, my dear General. And my country has the habitof doing justice on her enemies. It may interest you to know thatthe end is not far off. Germany has faced a jealous world in armsand she is about to be justified of her great courage. She hasbroken up bit by bit the clumsy organization of her opponents.Where is Russia today, the steam-roller that was to crush us?Where is the poor dupe Rumania? Where is the strength of Italy,who was once to do wonders for what she called Liberty? Broken,all of them. I have played my part in that work and now the needis past. My country with free hands is about to turn upon yourarmed rabble in the West and drive it into the Atlantic. Then weshall deal with the ragged remains of France and the handful ofnoisy Americans. By midsummer there will be peace dictated bytriumphant Germany.' 'By God, there won't!' I had found my voiceat last.
'By God, there will,' he said pleasantly. 'It is what you calla mathematical certainty. You will no doubt die bravely, like thesavage tribes that your Empire used to conquer. But we have thegreater discipline and the stronger spirit and the bigger brain.Stupidity is always punished in the end, and you are a stupidrace. Do not think that your kinsmen across the Atlantic willsave you. They are a commercial people and by no means sure ofthemselves. When they have blustered a little they will seereason and find some means of saving their faces. Their comicPresident will make a speech or two and write us a solemn Note,and we will reply with the serious rhetoric which he loves, andthen we shall kiss and be friends. You know in your heart that itwill be so.'
A great apathy seemed to settle on me. This bragging did notmake me angry, and I had no longer any wish to contradict him. Itmay have been the result of the fall, but my mind had stoppedworking. I heard his voice as one listens casually to the tickingof a clock.
'I will tell you more,' he was saying. 'This is the evening ofthe 18th day of March. Your generals in France expect an attack,but they are not sure where it will come. Some think it may be inChampagne or on the Aisne, some at Ypres, some at St Quentin.Well, my dear General, you alone will I take into our confidence.On the morning of the 21st, three days from now, we attack theright wing of the British Army. In two days we shall be inAmiens. On the third we shall have driven a wedge as far as thesea. Then in a week or so we shall have rolled up your army fromthe right, and presently we shall be in Boulogne and Calais.After that Paris falls, and then Peace.'
I made no answer. The word 'Amiens' recalled Mary, and I wastrying to remember the day in January when she and I had motoredsouth from that pleasant city.
'Why do I tell you these things? Your intelligence, for youare not altogether foolish, will have supplied the answer. It isbecause your life is over. As your Shakespeare says, the rest issilence... No, I am not going to kill you. That would be crude,and I hate crudities. I am going now on a little journey, andwhen I return in twenty-four hours' time you will be mycompanion. You are going to visit Germany, my dear General.'
That woke me to attention, and he noticed it, for he went onwith gusto.
'You have heard of theUntergrundbahn? No? And youboast of an Intelligence service! Yet your ignorance is shared bythe whole of your General Staff. It is a little organization ofmy own. By it we can take unwilling and dangerous people insideour frontier to be dealt with as we please. Some have gone fromEngland and many from France. Officially I believe they arerecorded as "missing", but they did not go astray on anybattle-field. They have been gathered from their homes or fromhotels or offices or even the busy streets. I will not concealfrom you that the service of our Underground Railway is a littleirregular from England and France. But from Switzerland it issmooth as a trunk line. There are unwatched spots on thefrontier, and we have our agents among the frontier guards, andwe have no difficulty about passes. It is a pretty device, andyou will soon be privileged to observe its working... In GermanyI cannot promise you comfort, but I do not think your life willbe dull.'
As he spoke these words, his urbane smile changed to a grin ofimpish malevolence. Even through my torpor I felt the venom and Ishivered. 'When I return I shall have another companion.' Hisvoice was honeyed again. 'There is a certain pretty lady who wasto be the bait to entice me into Italy. It was so? Well, I havefallen to the bait. I have arranged that she shall meet me thisvery night at a mountain inn on the Italian side. I havearranged, too, that she shall be alone. She is an innocent child,and I do not think that she has been more than a tool in theclumsy hands of your friends. She will come with me when I askher, and we shall be a merry party in the UndergroundExpress.'
My apathy vanished, and every nerve in me was alive at thewords.
'You cur!' I cried. 'She loathes the sight of you. Shewouldn't touch you with the end of a barge-pole.'
He flicked the ash from his cigar. 'I think you are mistaken.I am very persuasive, and I do not like to use compulsion with awoman. But, willing or not, she will come with me. I have workedhard and I am entitled to my pleasure, and I have set my heart onthat little lady.'
There was something in his tone, gross, leering, assured, halfcontemptuous, that made my blood boil. He had fairly got me onthe raw, and the hammer beat violently in my forehead. I couldhave wept with sheer rage, and it took all my fortitude to keepmy mouth shut. But I was determined not to add to histriumph.
He looked at his watch. 'Time passes,' he said. 'I must departto my charming assignation. I will give your remembrances to thelady. Forgive me for making no arrangements for your comfort tillI return. Your constitution is so sound that it will not sufferfrom a day's fasting. To set your mind at rest I may tell youthat escape is impossible. This mechanism has been proved toooften, and if you did break loose from it my servants would dealwith you. But I must speak a word of caution. If you tamper withit or struggle too much it will act in a curious way. The floorbeneath you covers a shaft which runs to the lake below. Set acertain spring at work and you may find yourself shot down intothe water far below the ice, where your body will rot till thespring... That, of course, is an alternative open to you, if youdo not care to wait for my return.'
He lit a fresh cigar, waved his hand, and vanished through thedoorway. As it shut behind him, the sound of his footstepsinstantly died away. The walls must have been as thick as aprison's.
I suppose I was what people in books call 'stunned'. Theillumination during the past few minutes had been so dazzlingthat my brain could not master it. I remember very clearly that Idid not think about the ghastly failure of our scheme, or theGerman plans which had been insolently unfolded to me as to onedead to the world. I saw a single picture—an inn in a snowyvalley (I saw it as a small place like Peter's cottage), asolitary girl, that smiling devil who had left me, and then theunknown terror of the Underground Railway. I think my couragewent for a bit, and I cried with feebleness and rage. The hammerin my forehead had stopped for it only beat when I was angry inaction. Now that I lay trapped, the manhood had slipped out of myjoints, and if Ivery had still been in the doorway, I think Iwould have whined for mercy. I would have offered him all theknowledge I had in the world if he had promised to leave Maryalone.
Happily he wasn't there, and there was no witness of mycowardice. Happily, too, it is just as difficult to be a cowardfor long as to be a hero. It was Blenkiron's phrase about Marythat pulled me together— 'She can't scare and she can'tsoil'. No, by heavens, she couldn't. I could trust my lady farbetter than I could trust myself. I was still sick with anxiety,but I was getting a pull on myself. I was done in, but Iverywould get no triumph out of me. Either I would go under the ice,or I would find a chance of putting a bullet through my headbefore I crossed the frontier. If I could do nothing else I couldperish decently... And then I laughed, and I knew I was past theworst. What made me laugh was the thought of Peter. I had beenpitying him an hour ago for having only one leg, but now he wasabroad in the living, breathing world with years before him, andI lay in the depths, limbless and lifeless, with my numberup.
I began to muse on the cold water under the ice where I couldgo if I wanted. I did not think that I would take that road, fora man's chances are not gone till he is stone dead, but I wasglad the way existed... And then I looked at the wall in front ofme, and, very far up, I saw a small square window.
The stars had been clouded when I entered that accursed house,but the mist must have cleared. I saw my old friend Orion, thehunter's star, looking through the bars. And that suddenly mademe think.
Peter and I had watched them by night, and I knew the place ofall the chief constellations in relation to the St Anton valley.I believed that I was in a room on the lake side of the PinkChalet: I must be, if Ivery had spoken the truth. But if so, Icould not conceivably see Orion from its window... There was noother possible conclusion, I must be in a room on the east sideof the house, and Ivery had been lying. He had already lied inhis boasting of how he had outwitted me in England and at theFront. He might be lying about Mary... No, I dismissed that hope.Those words of his had rung true enough.
I thought for a minute and concluded that he had lied toterrorize me and keep me quiet; therefore this infernalcontraption had probably its weak point. I reflected, too, that Iwas pretty strong, far stronger probably than Ivery imagined, forhe had never seen me stripped. Since the place was pitch dark Icould not guess how the thing worked, but I could feel thecross-bars rigid on my chest and legs and the side-bars whichpinned my arms to my sides ... I drew a long breath and tried toforce my elbows apart. Nothing moved, nor could I raise the barson my legs the smallest fraction.
Again I tried, and again. The side-bar on my right seemed tobe less rigid than the others. I managed to get my right handraised above the level of my thigh, and then with a struggle Igot a grip with it on the cross-bar, which gave me a smallleverage. With a mighty effort I drove my right elbow andshoulder against the side-bar. It seemed to give slightly... Isummoned all my strength and tried again. There was a crack andthen a splintering, the massive bar shuffled limply back, and myright arm was free to move laterally, though the cross-barprevented me from raising it.
With some difficulty I got at my coat pocket where reposed myelectric torch and my pistol. With immense labour and no littlepain I pulled the former out and switched it on by drawing thecatch against the cross-bar. Then I saw my prison house.
It was a little square chamber, very high, with on my left themassive door by which Ivery had departed. The dark baulks of myrack were plain, and I could roughly make out how the thing hadbeen managed. Some spring had tilted up the flooring, and droppedthe framework from its place in the right-hand wall. It wasclamped, I observed, by an arrangement in the floor just in frontof the door. If I could get rid of that catch it would be easy tofree myself, for to a man of my strength the weight would not beimpossibly heavy.
My fortitude had come back to me, and I was living only in themoment, choking down any hope of escape. My first job was todestroy the catch that clamped down the rack, and for that myonly weapon was my pistol. I managed to get the little electrictorch jammed in the corner of the cross-bar, where it lit up thefloor towards the door. Then it was hell's own businessextricating the pistol from my pocket. Wrist and fingers werealways cramping, and I was in terror that I might drop it where Icould not retrieve it.
I forced myself to think out calmly the question of the clamp,for a pistol bullet is a small thing, and I could not afford tomiss. I reasoned it out from my knowledge of mechanics, and cameto the conclusion that the centre of gravity was a certain brightspot of metal which I could just see under the cross-bars. It wasbright and so must have been recently repaired, and that wasanother reason for thinking it important. The question was how tohit it, for I could not get the pistol in line with my eye. Letanyone try that kind of shooting, with a bent arm over a bar,when you are lying flat and looking at the mark from under thebar, and he will understand its difficulties. I had six shots inmy revolver, and I must fire two or three ranging shots in anycase. I must not exhaust all my cartridges, for I must have abullet left for any servant who came to pry, and I wanted one inreserve for myself. But I did not think shots would be heardoutside the room; the walls were too thick.
I held my wrist rigid above the cross-bar and fired. Thebullet was an inch to the right of the piece of bright steel.Moving a fraction I fired again. I had grazed it on the left.With aching eyes glued on the mark, I tried a third time. I sawsomething leap apart, and suddenly the whole framework underwhich I lay fell loose and mobile... I was very cool and restoredthe pistol to my pocket and took the torch in my hand before Imoved ... Fortune had been kind, for I was free. I turned on myface, humped my back, and without much trouble crawled out fromunder the contraption.
I did not allow myself to think of ultimate escape, for thatwould only flurry me, and one step at a time was enough. Iremember that I dusted my clothes, and found that the cut in theback of my head had stopped bleeding. I retrieved my hat, whichhad rolled into a corner when I fell... Then I turned myattention to the next step.
The tunnel was impossible, and the only way was the door. If Ihad stopped to think I would have known that the chances againstgetting out of such a house were a thousand to one. The pistolshots had been muffled by the cavernous walls, but the place, asI knew, was full of servants and, even if I passed the immediatedoor, I would be collared in some passage. But I had myself sowell in hand that I tackled the door as if I had been prospectingto sink a new shaft in Rhodesia.
It had no handle nor, so far as I could see, a keyhole... ButI noticed, as I turned my torch on the ground, that from theclamp which I had shattered a brass rod sunk in the floor led toone of the door-posts. Obviously the thing worked by a spring andwas connected with the mechanism of the rack.
A wild thought entered my mind and brought me to my feet. Ipushed the door and it swung slowly open. The bullet which freedme had released the spring which controlled it.
Then for the first time, against all my maxims of discretion,I began to hope. I took off my hat and felt my forehead burning,so that I rested it for a moment on the cool wall... Perhaps myluck still held. With a rush came thoughts of Mary and Blenkironand Peter and everything we had laboured for, and I was mad towin.
I had no notion of the interior of the house or where lay themain door to the outer world. My torch showed me a long passagewith something like a door at the far end, but I clicked it off,for I did not dare to use it now. The place was deadly quiet. AsI listened I seemed to hear a door open far away, and thensilence fell again.
I groped my way down the passage till I had my hands on thefar door. I hoped it might open on the hall, where I could escapeby a window or a balcony, for I judged the outer door would belocked. I listened, and there came no sound from within. It wasno use lingering, so very stealthily I turned the handle andopened it a crack.
It creaked and I waited with beating heart on discovery, forinside I saw the glow of light. But there was no movement, so itmust be empty. I poked my head in and then followed with mybody.
It was a large room, with logs burning in a stove, and thefloor thick with rugs. It was lined with books, and on a table inthe centre a reading-lamp was burning. Several dispatch-boxesstood on the table, and there was a little pile of papers. A manhad been here a minute before, for a half-smoked cigar wasburning on the edge of the inkstand.
At that moment I recovered complete use of my wits and all myself-possession. More, there returned to me some of the olddevil-may-careness which before had served me well. Ivery hadgone, but this was his sanctum. just as on the roofs of Erzerum Ihad burned to get at Stumm's papers, so now it was borne in on methat at all costs I must look at that pile.
I advanced to the table and picked up the topmost paper. Itwas a little typewritten blue slip with the lettering in italics,and in a corner a curious, involved stamp in red ink. On it Iread:
'Die Wildvögel müssen heimkehren.'
At the same moment I heard steps and the door opened on thefar side, I stepped back towards the stove, and fingered thepistol in my pocket.
A man entered, a man with a scholar's stoop, an unkempt beard,and large sleepy dark eyes. At the sight of me he pulled up andhis whole body grew taut. It was the Portuguese Jew, whose back Ihad last seen at the smithy door in Skye, and who by the mercy ofGod had never seen my face.
I stopped fingering my pistol, for I had an inspiration.Before he could utter a word I got in first.
'Die Vögelein schweigen im Walde,' I said.
His face broke into a pleasant smile, and he replied:
'Warte nur, balde ruhest du auch.'
'Ach,' he said in German, holding out his hand, 'you have comethis way, when we thought you would go by Modane. I welcome you,for I know your exploits. You are Conradi, who did so nobly inItaly?'
I bowed. 'Yes, I am Conradi,' I said.
He pointed to the slip on the table.
'You have seen the orders?'
I nodded.
'The long day's work is over. You must rejoice, for your parthas been the hardest, I think. Some day you will tell me aboutit?'
The man's face was honest and kindly, rather like that of theengineer Gaudian, whom two years before I had met in Germany. Buthis eyes fascinated me, for they were the eyes of the dreamer andfanatic, who would not desist from his quest while life lasted. Ithought that Ivery had chosen well in his colleague.
'My task is not done yet,' I said. 'I came here to seeChelius.'
'He will be back tomorrow evening.'
'Too late. I must see him at once. He has gone to Italy, and Imust overtake him.'
'You know your duty best,' he said gravely.
'But you must help me. I must catch him at Santa Chiara, forit is a business of life and death. Is there a car to behad?'
'There is mine. But there is no chauffeur. Chelius tookhim.'
'I can drive myself and I know the road. But I have no pass tocross the frontier.'
'That is easily supplied,' he said, smiling.
in one bookcase there was a shelf of dummy books. He unlockedthis and revealed a small cupboard, whence he took a tindispatch-box. From some papers he selected one, which seemed tobe already signed.
'Name?' he asked.
'Call me Hans Gruber of Brieg,' I said. 'I travel to pick upmy master, who is in the timber trade.'
'And your return?'
'I will come back by my old road,' I said mysteriously; and ifhe knew what I meant it was more than I did myself.
He completed the paper and handed it to me. 'This will takeyou through the frontier posts. And now for the car. The servantswill be in bed, for they have been preparing for a long journey,but I will myself show it you. There is enough petrol on board totake you to Rome.'
He led me through the hall, unlocked the front door, and wecrossed the snowy lawn to the garage. The place was empty but fora great car, which bore the marks of having come from the muddylowlands. To my joy I saw that it was a Daimler, a type withwhich I was familiar. I lit the lamps, started the engine, andran it out on to the road.
'You will want an overcoat,' he said.
'I never wear them.'
'Food?'
'I have some chocolate. I will breakfast at Santa Chiara.'
'Well, God go with you!'
A minute later I was tearing along the lake-side towards StAnton village.
I stopped at the cottage on the hill. Peter was not yet inbed. I found him sitting by the fire, trying to read, but I sawby his face that he had been waiting anxiously on my coming.
'We're in the soup, old man,' I said as I shut the door. In adozen sentences I told him of the night's doings, of Ivery's planand my desperate errand.
'You wanted a share,' I cried. 'Well, everything depends onyou now. I'm off after Ivery, and God knows what will happen.Meantime, you have got to get on to Blenkiron, and tell him whatI've told you. He must get the news through to G.H.Q. somehow. Hemust trap the Wild Birds before they go. I don't know how, but hemust. Tell him it's all up to him and you, for I'm out of it. Imust save Mary, and if God's willing I'll settle with Ivery. Butthe big job is for Blenkiron—and you. Somehow he has made abad break, and the enemy has got ahead of him. He must sweatblood to make Up. My God, Peter, it's the solemnest moment of ourlives. I don't see any light, but we mustn't miss any chances.I'm leaving it all to you.'
I spoke like a man in a fever, for after what I had beenthrough I wasn't quite sane. My coolness in the Pink Chalet hadgiven place to a crazy restlessness. I can see Peter yet,standing in the ring of lamplight, supporting himself by a chairback, wrinkling his brows and, as he always did in moments ofexcitement, scratching gently the tip of his left ear. His facewas happy.
'Never fear, Dick,' he said. 'It will all come right.Onssal 'n plan maak.'
And then, still possessed with a demon of disquiet, I was onthe road again, heading for the pass that led to Italy.
The mist had gone from the sky, and the stars were shiningbrightly. The moon, now at the end of its first quarter, wassetting in a gap of the mountains, as I climbed the low col fromthe St Anton valley to the greater Staubthal. There was frost andthe hard snow crackled under my wheels, but there was also thatfeel in the air which preludes storm. I wondered if I should runinto snow in the high hills. The whole land was deep in peace.There was not a light in the hamlets I passed through, not a soulon the highway.
In the Staubthal I joined the main road and swung to the leftup the narrowing bed of the valley. The road was in noblecondition, and the car was running finely, as I mounted throughforests of snowy Pines to a land where the mountains crept closetogether, and the highway coiled round the angles of great cragsor skirted perilously some profound gorge, with only a line ofwooden posts to defend it from the void. In places the snow stoodin walls on either side, where the road was kept open by man'slabour. In other parts it lay thin, and in the dim light onemight have fancied that one was running through openmeadowlands.
Slowly my head was getting clearer, and I was able to lookround my problem. I banished from my mind the situation I hadleft behind me. Blenkiron must cope with that as best he could.It lay with him to deal with the Wild Birds, my job was withIvery alone. Sometime in the early morning he would reach SantaChiara, and there he would find Mary. Beyond that my imaginationcould forecast nothing. She would be alone—I could trusthis cleverness for that; he would try to force her to come withhim, or he might persuade her with some lying story. Well, pleaseGod, I should come in for the tail end of the interview, and atthe thought I cursed the steep gradients I was climbing, andlonged for some magic to lift the Daimler beyond the summit andset it racing down the slope towards Italy.
I think it was about half-past three when I saw the lights ofthe frontier post. The air seemed milder than in the valleys, andthere was a soft scurry of snow on my right cheek. A couple ofsleepy Swiss sentries with their rifles in their hands stumbledout as I drew up.
They took my pass into the hut and gave me an anxious quarterof an hour while they examined it. The performance was repeatedfifty yards on at the Italian post, where to my alarm thesentries were inclined to conversation. I played the part of thesulky servant, answering in monosyllables and pretending toimmense stupidity.
'You are only just in time, friend,' said one in German. 'Theweather grows bad and soon the pass will close. Ugh, it is ascold as last winter on the Tonale. You remember, Giuseppe?'
But in the end they let me move on. For a little I felt my waygingerly, for on the summit the road had many twists and the snowwas confusing to the eyes. Presently came a sharp drop and I letthe Daimler go. It grew colder, and I shivered a little; the snowbecame a wet white fog around the glowing arc of the headlights;and always the road fell, now in long curves, now in steep shortdips, till I was aware of a glen opening towards the south. Fromlong living in the wilds I have a kind of sense for landscapewithout the testimony of the eyes, and I knew where the ravinenarrowed or widened though it was black darkness.
In spite of my restlessness I had to go slowly, for after thefirst rush downhill I realized that, unless I was careful, Imight wreck the car and spoil everything. The surface of the roadon the southern slope of the mountains was a thousand per centworse than that on the other. I skidded and side-slipped, andonce grazed the edge of the gorge. It was far more maddening thanthe climb up, for then it had been a straight-forward grind withthe Daimler doing its utmost, whereas now I had to hold her backbecause of my own lack of skill. I reckon that time crawling downfrom the summit of the Staub as some of the weariest hours I everspent.
Quite suddenly I ran out of the ill weather into a differentclimate. The sky was clear above me, and I saw that dawn was verynear. The first pinewoods were beginning, and at last came astraight slope where I could let the car out. I began to recovermy spirits, which had been very dashed, and to reckon thedistance I had still to travel... And then, without warning, anew world sprang up around me. Out of the blue dusk white shapesrose like ghosts, peaks and needles and domes of ice, their basesfading mistily into shadow, but the tops kindling till theyglowed like jewels. I had never seen such a sight, and the wonderof it for a moment drove anxiety from my heart. More, it gave mean earnest of victory. I was in clear air once more, and surelyin this diamond ether the foul things which loved the dark mustbe worsted...
And then I saw, a mile ahead, the little square red-roofedbuilding which I knew to be the inn of Santa Chiara.
It was here that misfortune met me. I had grown careless now,and looked rather at the house than the road. At one point thehillside had slipped down—it must have been recent, for theroad was well kept—and I did not notice the landslide tillI was on it. I slewed to the right, took too wide a curve, andbefore I knew the car was over the far edge. I slapped on thebrakes, but to avoid turning turtle I had to leave the roadaltogether. I slithered down a steep bank into a meadow, wherefor my sins I ran into a fallen tree trunk with a jar that shookme out of my seat and nearly broke my arm. Before I examined thecar I knew what had happened. The front axle was bent, and theoff front wheel badly buckled.
I had not time to curse my stupidity. I clambered back to theroad and set off running down it at my best speed. I was mortallystiff, for Ivery's rack was not good for the joints, but Irealized it only as a drag on my pace, not as an affliction initself. My whole mind was set on the house before me and whatmight be happening there.
There was a man at the door of the inn, who, when he caughtsight of my figure, began to move to meet me. I saw that it wasLauncelot Wake, and the sight gave me hope.
But his face frightened me. It was drawn and haggard like onewho never sleeps, and his eyes were hot coals.
'Hannay,' he cried, 'for God's sake what does it mean?'
'Where is Mary?' I gasped, and I remember I clutched at alapel of his coat.
He pulled me to the low stone wall by the roadside.
'I don't know,' he said hoarsely. 'We got your orders to comehere this morning. We were at Chiavagno, where Blenkiron told usto wait. But last night Mary disappeared... I found she had hireda carriage and come on ahead. I followed at once, and reachedhere an hour ago to find her gone... The woman who keeps theplace is away and there are only two old servants left. They tellme that Mary came here late, and that very early in the morning aclosed car came over the Staub with a man in it. They say heasked to see the young lady, and that they talked together forsome time, and that then she went off with him in the car downthe valley... I must have passed it on my way up... There's beensome black devilment that I can't follow. Who was the man? Whowas the man?'
He looked as if he wanted to throttle me.
'I can tell you that,' I said. 'It was Ivery.'
He stared for a second as if he didn't understand. Then heleaped to his feet and cursed like a trooper. 'You've botched it,as I knew you would. I knew no good would come of your infernalsubtleties.' And he consigned me and Blenkiron and the Britisharmy and Ivery and everybody else to the devil.
I was past being angry. 'Sit down, man,' I said, 'and listento me.' I told him of what had happened at the Pink Chalet. Heheard me out with his head in his hands. The thing was too badfor cursing.
'The Underground Railway!' he groaned. 'The thought of itdrives me mad. Why are you so calm, Hannay? She's in the hands ofthe cleverest devil in the world, and you take it quietly. Youshould be a raving lunatic.'
'I would be if it were any use, but I did all my raving lastnight in that den of Ivery's. We've got to pull ourselvestogether, Wake. First of all, I trust Mary to the other side ofeternity. She went with him of her own free will. I don't knowwhy, but she must have had a reason, and be sure it was a goodone, for she's far cleverer than you or me... We've got to followher somehow. Ivery's bound for Germany, but his route is by thePink Chalet, for he hopes to pick me up there. He went down thevalley; therefore he is going to Switzerland by the Marjolana.That is a long circuit and will take him most of the day. Why hechose that way I don't know, but there it is. We've got to getback by the Staub.'
'How did you come?' he asked.
'That's our damnable luck. I came in a first-classsix-cylinder Daimler, which is now lying a wreck in a meadow amile up the road. We've got to foot it.'
'We can't do it. It would take too long. Besides, there's thefrontier to pass.'
I remembered ruefully that I might have got a return passportfrom the Portuguese Jew, if I had thought of anything at the timebeyond getting to Santa Chiara.
'Then we must make a circuit by the hillside and dodge theguards. It's no use making difficulties, Wake. We're fairly upagainst it, but we've got to go on trying till we drop. OtherwiseI'll take your advice and go mad.'
'And supposing you get back to St Anton, you'll find the houseshut up and the travellers gone hours before by the UndergroundRailway.'
'Very likely. But, man, there's always the glimmering of achance. It's no good chucking in your hand till the game'sout.'
'Drop your proverbial philosophy, Mr Martin Tupper, and lookup there.'
He had one foot on the wall and was staring at a cleft in thesnow-line across the valley. The shoulder of a high peak droppedsharply to a kind of nick and rose again in a long graceful curveof snow. All below the nick was still in deep shadow, but fromthe configuration of the slopes I judged that a tributary glacierran from it to the main glacier at the river head.
'That's the Colle delle Rondini,' he said, 'the Col of theSwallows. It leads straight to the Staubthal near Grunewald. On agood day I have done it in seven hours, but it's not a pass forwinter-time. It has been done of course, but not often... Yet, ifthe weather held, it might go even now, and that would bring usto St Anton by the evening. I wonder'—and he looked me overwith an appraising eye—'I wonder if you're up to it.'
My stiffness had gone and I burned to set my restlessness tophysical toil.
'If you can do it, I can,' I said. 'No. There you're wrong.You're a hefty fellow, but you're no mountaineer, and the ice ofthe Colle delle Rondini needs knowledge. It would be insane torisk it with a novice, if there were any other way. But I'mdamned if I see any, and I'm going to chance it. We can get arope and axes in the inn. Are you game?'
'Right you are. Seven hours, you say. We've got to do it insix.'
'You will be humbler when you get on the ice,' he said grimly.'We'd better breakfast, for the Lord knows when we shall see foodagain.'
We left the inn at five minutes to nine, with the skycloudless and a stiff wind from the north-west, which we felteven in the deep-cut valley. Wake walked with a long, slow stridethat tried my patience. I wanted to hustle, but he bade me keepin step. 'You take your orders from me, for I've been at this jobbefore. Discipline in the ranks, remember.'
We crossed the river gorge by a plank bridge, and worked ourway up the right bank, past the moraine, to the snout of theglacier. It was bad going, for the snow concealed the boulders,and I often floundered in holes. Wake never relaxed his stride,but now and then he stopped to sniff the air.
I observed that the weather looked good, and he differed.'It's too clear. There'll be a full-blown gale on the Col andmost likely snow in the afternoon.' He pointed to a fat yellowcloud that was beginning to bulge over the nearest peak. Afterthat I thought he lengthened his stride.
'Lucky I had these boots resoled and nailed at Chiavagno,' wasthe only other remark he made till we had passed the seracs ofthe main glacier and turned up the lesser ice-stream from theColle delle Rondini.
By half-past ten we were near its head, and I could seeclearly the ribbon of pure ice between black crags too steep forsnow to lie on, which was the means of ascent to the Col. The skyhad clouded over, and ugly streamers floated on the high slopes.We tied on the rope at the foot of the bergschrund, which waseasy to pass because of the winter's snow. Wake led, of course,and presently we came on to the icefall.
In my time I had done a lot of scrambling on rocks and used topromise myself a season in the Alps to test myself on the bigpeaks. If I ever go it will be to climb the honest rock towersaround Chamonix, for I won't have anything to do with snowmountains. That day on the Colle delle Rondini fairly sickened meof ice. I daresay I might have liked it if I had done it in aholiday mood, at leisure and in good spirits. But to crawl upthat couloir with a sick heart and a desperate impulse to hurrywas the worst sort of nightmare. The place was as steep as a wallof smooth black ice that seemed hard as granite. Wake did thestep-cutting, and I admired him enormously. He did not seem touse much force, but every step was hewn cleanly the right size,and they were spaced the right distance. In this job he was thetrue professional. I was thankful Blenkiron was not with us, forthe thing would have given a squirrel vertigo. The chips of iceslithered between my legs and I could watch them till theybrought up just above the bergschrund.
The ice was in shadow and it was bitterly cold. As we crawledup I had not the exercise of using the axe to warm me, and I gotvery numb standing on one leg waiting for the next step. Worsestill, my legs began to cramp. I was in good condition, but thattime under Ivery's rack had played the mischief with my limbs.Muscles got out of place in my calves and stood in aching lumps,till I almost squealed with the pain of it. I was mortally afraidI should slip, and every time I moved I called out to Wake towarn him. He saw what was happening and got the pick of his axefixed in the ice before I was allowed to stir. He spoke often tocheer me up, and his voice had none of its harshness. He was likesome ill-tempered generals I have known, very gentle in abattle.
At the end the snow began to fall, a soft powder like theoverspill of a storm raging beyond the crest. It was just afterthat that Wake cried out that in five minutes we would be at thesummit. He consulted his wrist-watch. 'Jolly good time, too. Onlytwenty-five minutes behind my best. It's not one o'clock.'
The next I knew I was lying flat on a pad of snow easing mycramped legs, while Wake shouted in my ear that we were in forsomething bad. I was aware of a driving blizzard, but I had nothought of anything but the blessed relief from pain. I lay forsome minutes on my back with my legs stiff in the air and thetoes turned inwards, while my muscles fell into their properplace.
It was certainly no spot to linger in. We looked down into atrough of driving mist, which sometimes swirled aside and showeda knuckle of black rock far below. We ate some chocolate, whileWake shouted in my ear that now we had less step-cutting. He didhis best to cheer me, but he could not hide his anxiety. Ourfaces were frosted over like a wedding-cake and the sting of thewind was like a whiplash on our eyelids.
The first part was easy, down a slope of firm snow where stepswere not needed. Then came ice again, and we had to cut into itbelow the fresh surface snow. This was so laborious that Waketook to the rocks on the right side of the couloir, where therewas some shelter from the main force of the blast. I found iteasier, for I knew something about rocks, but it was difficultenough with every handhold and foothold glazed. Presently we weredriven back again to the ice, and painfully cut our way through athroat of the ravine where the sides narrowed. There the wind wasterrible, for the narrows made a kind of funnel, and wedescended, plastered against the wall, and scarcely able tobreathe, while the tornado plucked at our bodies as if it wouldwhisk us like wisps of grass into the abyss. After that the gorgewidened and we had an easier slope, till suddenly we foundourselves perched on a great tongue of rock round which the snowblew like the froth in a whirlpool. As we stopped for breath,Wake shouted in my ear that this was the Black Stone.
'The what?' I yelled.
'The Schwarzstein. The Swiss call the pass theSchwarzsteinthor. You can see it from Grunewald.'
I suppose every man has a tinge of superstition in him. Tohear that name in that ferocious place gave me a sudden access ofconfidence. I seemed to see all my doings as part of a greatpredestined plan. Surely it was not for nothing that the wordwhich had been the key of my first adventure in the long tussleshould appear in this last phase. I felt new strength in my legsand more vigour in my lungs. 'A good omen,' I shouted. 'Wake, oldman, we're going to win out.'
'The worst is still to come,' he said.
He was right. To get down that tongue of rock to the lowersnows of the couloir was a job that fairly brought us to the endof our tether. I can feel yet the sour, bleak smell of wet rockand ice and the hard nerve pain that racked my forehead. TheKaffirs used to say that there were devils in the high berg, andthis place was assuredly given over to the powers of the air whohad no thought of human life. I seemed to be in the world whichhad endured from the eternity before man was dreamed of. Therewas no mercy in it, and the elements were pitting their immortalstrength against two pigmies who had profaned their sanctuary. Iyearned for warmth, for the glow of a fire, for a tree or bladeof grass or anything which meant the sheltered homeliness ofmortality. I knew then what the Greeks meant by panic, for I wasscared by the apathy of nature. But the terror gave me a kind ofcomfort, too. Ivery and his doings seemed less formidable. Let mebut get out of this cold hell and I could meet him with a newconfidence.
Wake led, for he knew the road and the road wanted knowing.Otherwise he should have been last on the rope, for that is theplace of the better man in a descent. I had some horrible momentsfollowing on when the rope grew taut, for I had no help from it.We zigzagged down the rock, sometimes driven to the ice of theadjacent couloirs, sometimes on the outer ridge of the BlackStone, sometimes wriggling down little cracks and over evilboiler-plates. The snow did not lie on it, but the rock crackledwith thin ice or oozed ice water. Often it was only by the graceof God that I did not fall headlong, and pull Wake out of hishold to the bergschrund far below. I slipped more than once, butalways by a miracle recovered myself. To make things worse, Wakewas tiring. I could feel him drag on the rope, and his movementshad not the precision they had had in the morning. He was themountaineer, and I the novice. If he gave out, we should neverreach the valley.
The fellow was clear grit all through. When we reached thefoot of the tooth and sat huddled up with our faces away from thewind, I saw that he was on the edge of fainting. What that effortMust have cost him in the way of resolution you may guess, but hedid not fail till the worst was past. His lips were colourless,and he was choking with the nausea of fatigue. I found a flask ofbrandy in his pocket, and a mouthful revived him.
'I'm all out,' he said. 'The road's easier now, and I candirect YOU about the rest... You'd better leave me. I'll only bea drag. I'll come on when I feel better.'
'No, you don't, you old fool. You've got me over that infernaliceberg, and I'm going to see you home.'
I rubbed his arms and legs and made him swallow somechocolate. But when he got on his feet he was as doddery as anold man. Happily we had an easy course down a snow gradient,which we glissaded in very unorthodox style. The swift motionfreshened him up a little, and he was able to put on the brakewith his axe to prevent us cascading into the bergschrund. Wecrossed it by a snow bridge, and started out on the seracs of theSchwarzstein glacier.
I am no mountaineer—not of the snow and ice kind,anyway— but I have a big share of physical strength and Iwanted it all now. For those seracs were an invention of thedevil. To traverse that labyrinth in a blinding snowstorm, with afainting companion who was too weak to jump the narrowestcrevasse, and who hung on the rope like lead when there wasoccasion to use it, was more than I could manage. Besides, everystep that brought us nearer to the valley now increased myeagerness to hurry, and wandering in that maze of clotted ice waslike the nightmare when you stand on the rails with the expresscoming and are too weak to climb on the platform. As soon aspossible I left the glacier for the hillside, and though that waslaborious enough in all conscience, yet it enabled me to steer astraight course. Wake never spoke a word. When I looked at himhis face was ashen under a gale which should have made his cheeksglow, and he kept his eyes half closed. He was staggering on atthe very limits of his endurance ...
By and by we were on the moraine, and after splashing througha dozen little glacier streams came on a track which led up thehillside. Wake nodded feebly when I asked if this was right. Thento my joy I saw a gnarled pine.
I untied the rope and Wake dropped like a log on the ground.'Leave me,' he groaned. 'I'm fairly done. I'll come on later.'And he shut his eyes.
My watch told me that it was after five o'clock.
'Get on my back,' I said. 'I won't part from you till I'vefound a cottage. You're a hero. You've brought me over thosedamned mountains in a blizzard, and that's what no other man inEngland would have done. Get up.' He obeyed, for he was too fargone to argue. I tied his wrists together with a handkerchiefbelow my chin, for I wanted my arms to hold up his legs. The ropeand axes I left in a cache beneath the pine-tree. Then I startedtrotting down the track for the nearest dwelling.
My strength felt inexhaustible and the quicksilver in my bonesdrove me forward. The snow was still falling, but the wind wasdying down, and after the inferno of the pass it was like summer.The road wound over the shale of the hillside and then into whatin spring must have been upland meadows. Then it ran among trees,and far below me on the right I could hear the glacier riverchurning in its gorge' Soon little empty huts appeared, and roughenclosed paddocks, and presently I came out on a shelf above thestream and smelt the wood-smoke of a human habitation.
I found a middle-aged peasant in the cottage, a guide byprofession in summer and a woodcutter in winter.
'I have brought my Herr from Santa Chiara,' I said, 'over theSchwarzsteinthor. He is very weary and must sleep.'
I decanted Wake into a chair, and his head nodded on hischest. But his colour was better.
'You and your Herr are fools,' said the man gruffly, but notunkindly. 'He must sleep or he will have a fever. TheSchwarzsteinthor in this devil's weather! Is he English?'
'Yes,' I said, 'like all madmen. But he's a good Herr, and abrave mountaineer.'
We stripped Wake of his Red Cross uniform, now a collection ofsopping rags, and got him between blankets with a hugeearthenware bottle of hot water at his feet. The woodcutter'swife boiled milk, and this, with a little brandy added, we madehim drink. I was quite easy in my mind about him, for I had seenthis condition before. In the morning he would be as stiff as apoker, but recovered.
'Now I'm off for St Anton,' I said. 'I must get theretonight.'
'You are the hardy one,' the man laughed. 'I will show you thequick road to Grunewald, where is the railway. With good fortuneyou may get the last train.'
I gave him fifty francs on my Herr's behalf, learned hisdirections for the road, and set off after a draught of goat'smilk, munching my last slab of chocolate. I was still strung upto a mechanical activity, and I ran every inch of the three milesto the Staubthal without consciousness of fatigue. I was twentyminutes too soon for the train, and, as I sat on a bench on theplatform, my energy suddenly ebbed away. That is what happensafter a great exertion. I longed to sleep, and when the trainarrived I crawled into a carriage like a man with a stroke. Thereseemed to be no force left in my limbs. I realized that I wasleg-weary, which is a thing you see sometimes with horses, butnot often with men.
All the journey I lay like a log in a kind of coma, and it waswith difficulty that I recognized my destination, and stumbledout of the train. But I had no sooner emerged from the station ofSt Anton than I got my second wind. Much snow had fallen sinceyesterday, but it had stopped now, the sky was clear, and themoon was riding. The sight of the familiar place brought back allmy anxieties. The day on the Col of the Swallows was wiped out ofmy memory, and I saw only the inn at Santa Chiara, and heardWake's hoarse voice speaking of Mary. The lights were twinklingfrom the village below, and on the right I saw the clump of treeswhich held the Pink Chalet.
I took a short cut across the fields, avoiding the littletown. I ran hard, stumbling often, for though I had got my mentalenergy back my legs were still precarious. The station clock hadtold me that it was nearly half-past nine.
Soon I was on the high-road, and then at the Chalet gates. Iheard as in a dream what seemed to be three shrill blasts on awhistle. Then a big car passed me, making for St Anton. For asecond I would have hailed it, but it was past me and away. But Ihad a conviction that my business lay in the house, for I thoughtIvery was there, and Ivery was what mattered.
I marched up the drive with no sort of plan in my head, only ablind rushing on fate. I remembered dimly that I had still threecartridges in my revolver.
The front door stood open and I entered and tiptoed down thepassage to the room where I had found the Portuguese Jew. No onehindered me, but it was not for lack of servants. I had theimpression that there were people near me in the darkness, and Ithought I heard German softly spoken. There was someone ahead ofme, perhaps the speaker, for I could hear careful footsteps. Itwas very dark, but a ray of light came from below the door of theroom. Then behind me I heard the hall door clang, and the noiseof a key turned in its lock. I had walked straight into a trapand all retreat was cut off.
My mind was beginning to work more clearly, though my purposewas still vague. I wanted to get at Ivery and I believed that hewas somewhere in front of me. And then I thought of the doorwhich led from the chamber where I had been imprisoned. If Icould enter that way I would have the advantage of surprise.
I groped on the right-hand side of the passage and found ahandle. It opened upon what seemed to be a dining-room, for therewas a faint smell of food. Again I had the impression of peoplenear, who for some unknown reason did not molest me. At the farend I found another door, which led to a second room, which Iguessed to be adjacent to the library. Beyond it again must liethe passage from the chamber with the rack. The whole place wasas quiet as a shell.
I had guessed right. I was standing in the passage where I hadstood the night before. In front of me was the library, and therewas the same chink of light showing. Very softly I turned thehandle and opened it a crack...
The first thing that caught my eye was the profile of Ivery.He was looking towards the writing-table, where someone wassitting.
This is the story which I heard later from Mary...
She was at Milan with the new Anglo-American hospital when shegot Blenkiron's letter. Santa Chiara had always been the placeagreed upon, and this message mentioned specifically SantaChiara, and fixed a date for her presence there. She was a littlepuzzled by it, for she had not yet had a word from Ivery, to whomshe had written twice by the roundabout address in France whichBommaerts had given her. She did not believe that he would cometo Italy in the ordinary course of things, and she wondered atBlenkiron's certainty about the date.
The following morning came a letter from Ivery in which heardently pressed for a meeting. It was the first of several, fullof strange talk about some approaching crisis, in which theforebodings of the prophet were mingled with the solicitude of alover.
'The storm is about to break,' he wrote, 'and I cannot thinkonly of my own fate. I have something to tell you which vitallyconcerns yourself. You say you are in Lombardy. The Chiavagnovalley is within easy reach, and at its head is the inn of SantaChiara, to which I come on the morning of March 19th. Meet methere even if only for half an hour, I implore you. We havealready shared hopes and confidences, and I would now share withyou a knowledge which I alone in Europe possess. You have theheart of a lion, my lady, worthy of what I can bring you.'
Wake was summoned from theCroce Rossa unit with whichhe was working at Vicenza, and the plan arranged by Blenkiron wasfaithfully carried out. Four officers of the Alpini, in the roughdress of peasants of the hills, met them in Chiavagno on themorning of the 18th. It was arranged that the hostess of SantaChiara should go on a visit to her sister's son, leaving the inn,now in the shuttered quiet of wintertime, under the charge of twoancient servants. The hour of Ivery's coming on the 19th had beenfixed by him for noon, and that morning Mary would drive up thevalley, while Wake and the Alpini went inconspicuously by otherroutes so as to be in station around the place before midday. Buton the evening of the 18th at the Hotel of the Four Kings inChiavagno Mary received another message. It was from me and toldher that I was crossing the Staub at midnight and would be at theinn before dawn. It begged her to meet me there, to meet me alonewithout the others, because I had that to say to her which mustbe said before Ivery's coming. I have seen the letter. It waswritten in a hand which I could not have distinguished from myown scrawl. It was not exactly what I would myself have written,but there were phrases in it which to Mary's mind could have comeonly from me. Oh, I admit it was cunningly done, especially thelove-making, which was just the kind of stammering thing which Iwould have achieved if I had tried to put my feelings on paper.Anyhow, Mary had no doubt of its genuineness. She slipped offafter dinner, hired a carriage with two broken-winded screws andset off up the valley. She left a line for Wake telling him tofollow according to the plan—a line which he never got, forhis anxiety when he found she had gone drove him to immediatepursuit.
At about two in the morning of the 19th after a slow and icyjourney she arrived at the inn, knocked up the aged servants,made herself a cup of chocolate out of her tea-basket and satdown to wait on my coming.
She has described to me that time of waiting. A home-madecandle in a tall earthenware candlestick lit up the littlesalle-à-manger, which was the one room in use. Theworld was very quiet, the snow muffled the roads, and it was coldwith the penetrating chill of the small hours of a March night.Always, she has told me, will the taste of chocolate and thesmell of burning tallow bring back to her that strange place andthe flutter of the heart with which she waited. For she was onthe eve of the crisis of all our labours, she was very young, andyouth has a quick fancy which will not be checked. Moreover, itwas I who was coming, and save for the scrawl of the nightbefore, we had had no communication for many weeks... She triedto distract her mind by repeating poetry, and the thing that cameinto her head was Keats's 'Nightingale', an odd poem for the timeand place.
There was a long wicker chair among the furnishings of theroom, and she lay down on it with her fur cloak muffled aroundher. There were sounds of movement in the inn. The old woman whohad let her in, with the scent of intrigue of her kind, hadbrightened when she heard that another guest was coming.Beautiful women do not travel at midnight for nothing. She alsowas awake and expectant.
Then quite suddenly came the sound of a car slowing downoutside. She sprang to her feet in a tremor of excitement. It waslike the Picardy chateau again—the dim room and a friendcoming out of the night. She heard the front door open and a stepin the little hall...
She was looking at Ivery... He slipped his driving-coat off ashe entered, and bowed gravely. He was wearing a green huntingsuit which in the dusk seemed like khaki, and, as he was about myown height, for a second she was misled. Then she saw his faceand her heart stopped.
'You!' she cried. She had sunk back again on the wickerchair.
'I have come as I promised,' he said, 'but a little earlier.You will forgive me my eagerness to be with you.'
She did not heed his words, for her mind was feverishly busy.My letter had been a fraud and this man had discovered our plans.She was alone with him, for it would be hours before her friendscame from Chiavagno. He had the game in his hands, and of all ourconfederacy she alone remained to confront him. Mary's couragewas pretty near perfect, and for the moment she did not think ofherself or her own fate. That came later. She was possessed withpoignant disappointment at our failure. All our efforts had goneto the winds, and the enemy had won with contemptuous ease. Hernervousness disappeared before the intense regret, and her brainset coolly and busily to work.
It was a new Ivery who confronted her, a man with vigour andpurpose in every line of him and the quiet confidence of power.He spoke with a serious courtesy.
'The time for make-believe is past,' he was saying. 'We havefenced with each other. I have told you only half the truth, andyou have always kept me at arm's length. But you knew in yourheart, my dearest lady, that there must be the full truth betweenus some day, and that day has come. I have often told you that Ilove you. I do not come now to repeat that declaration. I come toask you to entrust yourself to me, to join your fate to mine, forI can promise you the happiness which you deserve.'
He pulled up a chair and sat beside her. I cannot put down allthat he said, for Mary, once she grasped the drift of it, wasbusy with her own thoughts and did not listen. But I gather fromher that he was very candid and seemed to grow as he spoke inmental and moral stature. He told her who he was and what hiswork had been. He claimed the same purpose as hers, a hatred ofwar and a passion to rebuild the world into decency. But now hedrew a different moral. He was a German: it was through Germanyalone that peace and regeneration could come. His country waspurged from her faults, and the marvellous German discipline wasabout to prove itself in the eye of gods and men. He told herwhat he had told me in the room at the Pink Chalet, but withanother colouring. Germany was not vengeful or vainglorious, onlypatient and merciful. God was about to give her the power todecide the world's fate, and it was for him and his kind to seethat the decision was beneficent. The greater task of his peoplewas only now beginning.
That was the gist of his talk. She appeared to listen, but hermind was far away. She must delay him for two hours, three hours,four hours. If not, she must keep beside him. She was the onlyone of our company left in touch with the enemy...
'I go to Germany now,' he was saying. 'I want you to come withme— to be my wife.'
He waited for an answer, and got it in the form of a startledquestion.
'To Germany? How?'
'It is easy,' he said, smiling. 'The car which is waitingoutside is the first stage of a system of travel which we haveperfected.' Then he told her about the UndergroundRailway—not as he had told it to me, to scare, but as aproof of power and forethought.
His manner was perfect. He was respectful, devoted, thoughtfulof all things. He was the suppliant, not the master. He offeredher power and pride, a dazzling career, for he had deserved wellof his country, the devotion of the faithful lover. He would takeher to his mother's house, where she would be welcomed like aprincess. I have no doubt he was sincere, for he had many moods,and the libertine whom he had revealed to me at the Pink Chalethad given place to the honourable gentleman. He could play allparts well because he could believe in himself in them all.
Then he spoke of danger, not so as to slight her courage, butto emphasize his own thoughtfulness. The world in which she hadlived was crumbling, and he alone could offer a refuge. She feltthe steel gauntlet through the texture of the velvet glove.
All the while she had been furiously thinking, with her chinin her hand in the old way... She might refuse to go. He couldcompel her, no doubt, for there was no help to be got from theold servants. But it might be difficult to carry an unwillingwoman over the first stages of the Underground Railway. Theremight be chances... Supposing he accepted her refusal and lefther. Then indeed he would be gone for ever and our game wouldhave closed with a fiasco. The great antagonist of England wouldgo home rejoicing, taking his sheaves with him.
At this time she had no personal fear of him. So curious athing is the human heart that her main preoccupation was with ourmission, not with her own fate. To fail utterly seemed toobitter. Supposing she went with him. They had still to get out ofItaly and cross Switzerland. If she were with him she would be anemissary of the Allies in the enemy's camp. She asked herselfwhat could she do, and told herself 'Nothing.' She felt like asmall bird in a very large trap, and her chief sensation was thatof her own powerlessness. But she had learned Blenkiron's gospeland knew that Heaven sends amazing chances to the bold. And, evenas she made her decision, she was aware of a dark shadow lurkingat the back of her mind, the shadow of the fear which she knewwas awaiting her. For she was going into the unknown with a manwhom she hated, a man who claimed to be her lover. It was thebravest thing I have ever heard of, and I have lived my lifeamong brave men.
'I will come with you,' she said. 'But you mustn't speak tome, please. I am tired and troubled and I want peace tothink.'
As she rose weakness came over her and she swayed till his armcaught her. 'I wish I could let you rest for a little,' he saidtenderly, 'but time presses. The car runs smoothly and you cansleep there.'
He summoned one of the servants to whom he handed Mary. 'Weleave in ten minutes,' he said, and he went out to see to thecar.
Mary's first act in the bedroom to which she was taken was tobathe her eyes and brush her hair. She felt dimly that she mustkeep her head clear. Her second was to scribble a note to Wake,telling him what had happened, and to give it to the servant witha tip.
'The gentleman will come in the morning,' she said. 'You mustgive it him at once, for it concerns the fate of your country.'The woman grinned and promised. It was not the first time she haddone errands for pretty ladies.
Ivery settled her in the great closed car with muchsolicitude, and made her comfortable with rugs. Then he went backto the inn for a second, and she saw a light move in thesalle-à-manger. He returned and spoke to the driverin German, taking his seat beside him.
But first he handed Mary her note to Wake. 'I think you leftthis behind you,' he said. He had not opened it.
Alone in the car Mary slept. She saw the figures of Ivery andthe chauffeur in the front seat dark against the headlights, andthen they dislimned into dreams. She had undergone a greaterstrain than she knew, and was sunk in the heavy sleep of wearynerves.
When she woke it was daylight. They were still in Italy, asher first glance told her, so they could not have taken the Staubroute. They seemed to be among the foothills, for there waslittle snow, but now and then up tributary valleys she hadglimpses of the high peaks. She tried hard to think what it couldmean, and then remembered the Marjolana. Wake had laboured toinstruct her in the topography of the Alps, and she had graspedthe fact of the two open passes. But the Marjolana meant a bigcircuit, and they would not be in Switzerland till the evening.They would arrive in the dark, and pass out of it in the dark,and there would be no chance of succour. She felt very lonely andvery weak.
Throughout the morning her fear grew. The more hopeless herchance of defeating Ivery became the more insistently the darkshadow crept over her mind. She tried to steady herself bywatching the show from the windows. The car swung through littlevillages, past vineyards and pine-woods and the blue of lakes,and over the gorges of mountain streams. There seemed to be notrouble about passports. The sentries at the controls waved areassuring hand when they were shown some card which thechauffeur held between his teeth. In one place there was alongish halt, and she could hear Ivery talking Italian with twoofficers of Bersaglieri, to whom he gave cigars. They werefresh-faced, upstanding boys, and for a second she had an idea offlinging open the door and appealing to them to save her. Butthat would have been futile, for Ivery was clearly amplycertificated. She wondered what part he was now playing.
The Marjolana route had been chosen for a purpose. In one townIvery met and talked to a civilian official, and more than oncethe car slowed down and someone appeared from the wayside tospeak a word and vanish. She was assisting at the last gatheringup of the threads of a great plan, before the Wild Birds returnedto their nest. Mostly these conferences seemed to be in Italian,but once or twice she gathered from the movement of the lips thatGerman was spoken and that this rough peasant or thatblack-hatted bourgeois was not of Italian blood.
Early in the morning, soon after she awoke, Ivery had stoppedthe car and offered her a well-provided luncheon basket. Shecould eat nothing, and watched him breakfast off sandwichesbeside the driver. In the afternoon he asked her permission tosit with her. The car drew up in a lonely place, and a tea-basketwas produced by the chauffeur. Ivery made tea, for she seemed toolistless to move, and she drank a cup with him. After that heremained beside her.
'In half an hour we shall be out of Italy,' he said. The carwas running up a long valley to the curious hollow between snowysaddles which is the crest of the Marjolana. He showed her theplace on a road map. As the altitude increased and the air grewcolder he wrapped the rugs closer around her and apologized forthe absence of a foot-warmer. 'In a little,' he said, 'we shallbe in the land where your slightest wish will be law.'
She dozed again and so missed the frontier post. When she wokethe car was slipping down the long curves of the Weiss valley,before it narrows to the gorge through which it debouches onGrunewald.
'We are in Switzerland now,' she heard his voice say. It mayhave been fancy, but it seemed to her that there was a new notein it. He spoke to her with the assurance of possession. Theywere outside the country of the Allies, and in a land where hisweb was thickly spread.
'Where do we stop tonight?' she asked timidly.
'I fear we cannot stop. Tonight also you must put up with thecar. I have a little errand to do on the way, which will delay usa few minutes, and then we press on. Tomorrow, my fairest one,fatigue will be ended.'
There was no mistake now about the note of possession in hisvoice. Mary's heart began to beat fast and wild. The trap hadclosed down on her and she saw the folly of her courage. It haddelivered her bound and gagged into the hands of one whom sheloathed more deeply every moment, whose proximity was lesswelcome than a snake's. She had to bite hard on her lip to keepfrom screaming.
The weather had changed and it was snowing hard, the samestorm that had greeted us on the Col of the Swallows. The pacewas slower now, and Ivery grew restless. He looked frequently athis watch, and snatched the speaking-tube to talk to the driver.Mary caught the word 'St Anton'.
'Do we go by St Anton?' she found voice to ask. 'Yes, he saidshortly.
The word gave her the faintest glimmering of hope, for sheknew that Peter and I had lived at St Anton. She tried to lookout of the blurred window, but could see nothing except that thetwilight was falling. She begged for the road-map, and saw thatso far as she could make out they were still in the broadGrunewald valley and that to reach St Anton they had to cross thelow pass from the Staubthal. The snow was still drifting thickand the car crawled.
Then she felt the rise as they mounted to the pass. Here thegoing was bad, very different from the dry frost in which I hadcovered the same road the night before. Moreover, there seemed tobe curious obstacles. Some careless wood-cart had dropped logs onthe highway, and more than once both Ivery and the chauffeur hadto get out to shift them. In one place there had been a smalllandslide which left little room to pass, and Mary had to descendand cross on foot while the driver took the car over alone.Ivery's temper seemed to be souring. To the girl's relief heresumed the outside seat, where he was engaged in constantargument with the chauffeur.
At the head of the pass stands an inn, the comfortablehostelry of Herr Kronig, well known to all who clamber among thelesser peaks of the Staubthal. There in the middle of the waystood a man with a lantern.
'The road is blocked by a snowfall,' he cried. 'They areclearing it now. It will be ready in half an hour's time.'
Ivery sprang from his seat and darted into the hotel. Hisbusiness was to speed up the clearing party, and Herr Kronighimself accompanied him to the scene of the catastrophe. Mary satstill, for she had suddenly become possessed of an idea. Shedrove it from her as foolishness, but it kept returning. Why hadthose tree-trunks been spilt on the road? Why had an easy passafter a moderate snowfall been suddenly closed?
A man came out of the inn-yard and spoke to the chauffeur. Itseemed to be an offer of refreshment, for the latter left hisseat and disappeared inside. He was away for some time andreturned shivering and grumbling at the weather, with the collarof his greatcoat turned up around his ears. A lantern had beenhung in the porch and as he passed Mary saw the man. She had beenwatching the back of his head idly during the long drive, and hadobserved that it was of the round bullet type, with no nape tothe neck, which is common in the Fatherland. Now she could notsee his neck for the coat collar, but she could have sworn thatthe head was a different shape. The man seemed to suffer acutelyfrom the cold, for he buttoned the collar round his chin andpulled his cap far over his brows.
Ivery came back, followed by a dragging line of men withspades and lanterns. He flung himself into the front seat andnodded to the driver to start. The man had his engine goingalready so as to lose no time. He bumped over the rough debris ofthe snowfall and then fairly let the car hum. Ivery was anxiousfor speed, but he did not want his neck broken and he yelled outto take care. The driver nodded and slowed down, but presently hehad got up speed again.
If Ivery was restless, Mary was worse. She seemed suddenly tohave come on the traces of her friends. In the St Anton valleythe snow had stopped and she let down the window for air, for shewas choking with suspense. The car rushed past the station, downthe hill by Peter's cottage, through the village, and along thelake shore to the Pink Chalet.
Ivery halted it at the gate. 'See that you fill up withpetrol,' he told the man. 'Bid Gustav get the Daimler and beready to follow in half in hour.'
He spoke to Mary through the open window.
'I will keep you only a very little time. I think you hadbetter wait in the car, for it will be more comfortable than adismantled house. A servant will bring you food and more rugs forthe night journey.'
Then he vanished up the dark avenue.
Mary's first thought was to slip out and get back to thevillage and there to find someone who knew me or could take herwhere Peter lived. But the driver would prevent her, for he hadbeen left behind on guard. She looked anxiously at his back, forhe alone stood between her and liberty.
That gentleman seemed to be intent on his own business. Assoon as Ivery's footsteps had grown faint, he had backed the carinto the entrance, and turned it so that it faced towards StAnton. Then very slowly it began to move.
At the same moment a whistle was blown shrilly three times.The door on the right had opened and someone who had been waitingin the shadows climbed painfully in. Mary saw that it was alittle man and that he was a cripple. She reached a hand to helphim, and he fell on to the cushions beside her. The car wasgathering speed.
Before she realized what was happening the new-comer had takenher hand and was patting it.
About two minutes later I was entering the gate of the PinkChalet.
'Why, Mr Ivery, come right in,' said the voice at the table.There was a screen before me, stretching from the fireplace tokeep off the draught from the door by which I had entered. Itstood higher than my head but there were cracks in it throughwhich I could watch the room. I found a little table on which Icould lean my back, for I was dropping with fatigue.
Blenkiron sat at the writing-table and in front of him werelittle rows of Patience cards. Wood ashes still smouldered in thestove, and a lamp stood at his right elbow which lit up the twofigures. The bookshelves and the cabinets were in twilight.
'I've been hoping to see you for quite a time.' Blenkiron wasbusy arranging the little heaps of cards, and his face waswreathed in hospitable smiles. I remember wondering why he shouldplay the host to the true master of the house.
Ivery stood erect before him. He was rather a splendid figurenow that he had sloughed all disguises and was on the thresholdof his triumph. Even through the fog in which my brain worked itwas forced upon me that here was a man born to play a big part.He had a jowl like a Roman king on a coin, and scornful eyes thatwere used to mastery. He was younger than me, confound him, andnow he looked it.
He kept his eyes on the speaker, while a smile played roundhis mouth, a very ugly smile.
'So,' he said. 'We have caught the old crow too. I hadscarcely hoped for such good fortune, and, to speak the truth, Ihad not concerned myself much about you. But now we shall add youto the bag. And what a bag of vermin to lay out on the lawn!' Heflung back his head and laughed.
'Mr Ivery—' Blenkiron began, but was cut short.
'Drop that name. All that is past, thank God! I am the Grafvon Schwabing, an officer of the Imperial Guard. I am not theleast of the weapons that Germany has used to break herenemies.'
'You don't say,' drawled Blenkiron, still fiddling with hisPatience cards.
The man's moment had come, and he was minded not to miss a jotof his triumph. His figure seemed to expand, his eye kindled, hisvoice rang with pride. It was melodrama of the best kind and hefairly rolled it round his tongue. I don't think I grudged ithim, for I was fingering something in my pocket. He had won allright, but he wouldn't enjoy his victory long, for soon I wouldshoot him. I had my eye on the very spot above his right earwhere I meant to put my bullet... For I was very clear that tokill him was the only way to protect Mary. I feared the wholeseventy millions of Germany less than this man. That was thesingle idea that remained firm against the immense fatigue thatpressed down on me.
'I have little time to waste on you,' said he who had beencalled Ivery. 'But I will spare a moment to tell you a fewtruths. Your childish game never had a chance. I played with youin England and I have played with you ever since. You have nevermade a move but I have quietly countered it. Why, man, you gaveme your confidence. The American Mr Donne... '
'What about Clarence?' asked Blenkiron. His face seemed astudy in pure bewilderment.
'I was that interesting journalist.'
'Now to think of that!' said Blenkiron in a sad, gentle voice.'I thought I was safe with Clarence. Why, he brought me a letterfrom old Joe Hooper and he knew all the boys down Emporiaway.'
Ivery laughed. 'You have never done me justice, I fear; but Ithink you will do it now. Your gang is helpless in my hands.General Hannay... ' And I wish I could give you a notion of thescorn with which he pronounced the word 'General'.
'Yes—Dick?' said Blenkiron intently.
'He has been my prisoner for twenty-four hours. And the prettyMiss Mary, too. You are all going with me in a little to my owncountry. You will not guess how. We call it the UndergroundRailway, and you will have the privilege of studying itsworking... I had not troubled much about you, for I had nospecial dislike of you. You are only a blundering fool, what youcall in your country easy fruit.'
'I thank you, Graf,' Blenkiron said solemnly.
'But since you are here you will join the others... One lastword. To beat inepts such as you is nothing. There is a fargreater thing. My country has conquered. You and your friendswill be dragged at the chariot wheels of a triumph such as Romenever saw. Does that penetrate your thick skull? Germany has won,and in two days the whole round earth will be stricken dumb byher greatness.'
As I watched Blenkiron a grey shadow of hopelessness seemed tosettle on his face. His big body drooped in his chair, his eyesfell, and his left hand shuffled limply among his Patience cards.I could not get my mind to work, but I puzzled miserably over hisamazing blunders. He had walked blindly into the pit his enemieshad dug for him. Peter must have failed to get my message to him,and he knew nothing of last night's work or my mad journey toItaly. We had all bungled, the whole wretched bunch of us, Peterand Blenkiron and myself... I had a feeling at the back of myhead that there was something in it all that I couldn'tunderstand, that the catastrophe could not be quite as simple asit seemed. But I had no power to think, with the insolent figureof Ivery dominating the room... Thank God I had a bullet waitingfor him. That was the one fixed point in the chaos of my mind.For the first time in my life I was resolute on killing oneparticular man, and the purpose gave me a horrid comfort.
Suddenly Ivery's voice rang out sharp. 'Take your hand out ofyour pocket. You fool, you are covered from three points in thewalls. A movement and my men will make a sieve of you. Othersbefore you have sat in that chair, and I am used to takeprecautions. Quick. Both hands on the table.'
There was no mistake about Blenkiron's defeat. He was done andout, and I was left with the only card. He leaned wearily on hisarms with the palms of his hands spread out.
'I reckon you've gotten a strong hand, Graf,' he said, and hisvoice was flat with despair.
'I hold a royal flush,' was the answer.
And then suddenly came a change. Blenkiron raised his head,and his sleepy, ruminating eyes looked straight at Ivery.
'I call you,' he said.
I didn't believe my ears. Nor did Ivery.
'The hour for bluff is past,' he said.
'Nevertheless I call you.'
At that moment I felt someone squeeze through the door behindme and take his place at my side. The light was so dim that I sawonly a short, square figure, but a familiar voice whispered in myear. 'It's me—Andra Amos. Man, this is a great ploy. I'mhere to see the end o't.'
No prisoner waiting on the finding of the jury, no commanderexpecting news of a great battle, ever hung in more desperatesuspense than I did during the next seconds. I had forgotten myfatigue; my back no longer needed support. I kept my eyes gluedto the crack in the screen and my ears drank in greedily everysyllable.
Blenkiron was now sitting bolt upright with his chin in hishands. There was no shadow of melancholy in his lean face.
'I say I call you, Herr Graf von Schwabing. I'm going to putyou wise about some little things. You don't carry arms, so Ineedn't warn you against monkeying with a gun. You're right insaying that there are three places in these walls from which youcan shoot. Well, for your information I may tell you that there'sguns in all three, but they're coveringyou at thismoment. So you'd better be good.'
Ivery sprang to attention like a ramrod. 'Karl,' he cried.'Gustav!'
As if by magic figures stood on either side of him, likewarders by a criminal. They were not the sleek German footmenwhom I had seen at the Chalet. One I did not recognize. The otherwas my servant, Geordie Hamilton.
He gave them one glance, looked round like a hunted animal,and then steadied himself. The man had his own kind ofcourage.
'I've gotten something to say to you,' Blenkiron drawled.'It's been a tough fight, but I reckon the hot end of the pokeris with you. I compliment you on Clarence Donne. You fooled mefine over that business, and it was only by the mercy of God youdidn't win out. You see, there was just the one of us who wasliable to recognize you whatever way you twisted your face, andthat was Dick Hannay. I give you good marks for Clarence... Forthe rest, I had you beaten flat.'
He looked steadily at him. 'You don't believe it. Well, I'llgive you proof. I've been watching your Underground Railway forquite a time. I've had my men on the job, and I reckon most ofthe lines are now closed for repairs. All but the trunk line intoFrance. That I'm keeping open, for soon there's going to be sometraffic on it.'
At that I saw Ivery's eyelids quiver. For all his self-commandhe was breaking.
'I admit we cut it mighty fine, along of your fooling me aboutClarence. But you struck a bad snag in General Hannay, Graf. Yourheart-to-heart talk with him was poor business. You reckoned youhad him safe, but that was too big a risk to take with a man likeDick, unless you saw him cold before you left him... He got awayfrom this place, and early this morning I knew all he knew. Afterthat it was easy. I got the telegram you had sent this morning inthe name of Clarence Donne and it made me laugh. Before midday Ihad this whole outfit under my hand. Your servants have gone bythe Underground Railway—to France. Ehrlich—well, I'msorry about Ehrlich.'
I knew now the name of the Portuguese Jew.
'He wasn't a bad sort of man,' Blenkiron said regretfully,'and he was plumb honest. I couldn't get him to listen to reason,and he would play with firearms. So I had to shoot.'
'Dead?' asked Ivery sharply.
'Ye-es. I don't miss, and it was him or me. He's under the icenow— where you wanted to send Dick Hannay. He wasn't yourkind, Graf, and I guess he has some chance of getting intoHeaven. If I weren't a hard-shell Presbyterian I'd say a prayerfor his soul.' I looked only at Ivery. His face had gone verypale, and his eyes were wandering. I am certain his brain wasworking at lightning speed, but he was a rat in a steel trap andthe springs held him. If ever I saw a man going through hell itwas now. His pasteboard castle had crumbled about his ears and hewas giddy with the fall of it. The man was made of pride, andevery proud nerve of him was caught on the raw.
'So much for ordinary business,' said Blenkiron. 'There's thematter of a certain lady. You haven't behaved over-nice abouther, Graf, but I'm not going to blame you. You maybe heard awhistle blow when you were coming in here? No! Why, it soundedlike Gabriel's trump. Peter must have put some lung power intoit. Well, that was the signal that Miss Mary was safe in your car... but in our charge. D'you comprehend?'
He did. The ghost of a flush appeared in his cheeks.
'You ask about General Hannay? I'm not just exactly sure whereDick is at the moment, but I opine he's in Italy.'
I kicked aside the screen, thereby causing Amos almost to fallon his face.
'I'm back,' I said, and pulled up an arm-chair, and droppedinto it.
I think the sight of me was the last straw for Ivery. I was awild enough figure, grey with weariness, soaked, dirty, with theclothes of the porter Joseph Zimmer in rags from the sharp rocksof the Schwarzsteinthor. As his eyes caught mine they wavered,and I saw terror in them. He knew he was in the presence of amortal enemy.
'Why, Dick,' said Blenkiron with a beaming face, 'this ismighty opportune. How in creation did you get here?'
'I walked,' I said. I did not want to have to speak, for I wastoo tired. I wanted to watch Ivery's face.
Blenkiron gathered up his Patience cards, slipped them into alittle leather case and put it in his pocket.
'I've one thing more to tell you. The Wild Birds have beensummoned home, but they won't ever make it. We've gathered themin—Pavia, and Hofgaard, and Conradi. Ehrlich is dead. Andyou are going to join the rest in our cage.'
As I looked at my friend, his figure seemed to gain inpresence. He sat square in his chair with a face like a hangingjudge, and his eyes, sleepy no more, held Ivery as in a vice. Hehad dropped, too, his drawl and the idioms of his ordinaryspeech, and his voice came out hard and massive like the clash ofgranite blocks.
'You're at the bar now, Graf von Schwabing. For years you'vedone your best against the decencies of life. You have deservedwell of your country, I don't doubt it. But what has your countrydeserved of the world? One day soon Germany has to do some heavypaying, and you are the first instalment.'
'I appeal to the Swiss law. I stand on Swiss soil, and Idemand that I be surrendered to the Swiss authorities.' Iveryspoke with dry lips and the sweat was on his brow.
'Oh, no, no,' said Blenkiron soothingly. 'The Swiss are a nicepeople, and I would hate to add to the worries of a poor littleneutral state... All along both sides have been outside the lawin this game, and that's going to continue. We've abode by therules and so must you... For years you've murdered and kidnappedand seduced the weak and ignorant, but we're not going to judgeyour morals. We leave that to the Almighty when you get acrossJordan. We're going to wash our hands of you as soon as we can.You'll travel to France by the Underground Railway and there behanded over to the French Government. From what I know they'veenough against you to shoot you every hour of the day for atwelvemonth.'
I think he had expected to be condemned by us there and thenand sent to join Ehrlich beneath the ice. Anyhow, there came aflicker of hope into his eyes. I daresay he saw some way to dodgethe French authorities if he once got a chance to use hismiraculous wits. Anyhow, he bowed with something very likeself-possession, and asked permission to smoke. As I have said,the man had his own courage.
'Blenkiron,' I cried, 'we're going to do nothing of thekind.'
He inclined his head gravely towards me. 'What's your notion,Dick?'
'We've got to make the punishment fit the crime,' I said. Iwas so tired that I had to form my sentences laboriously, as if Iwere speaking a half-understood foreign tongue.
'Meaning?'
'I mean that if you hand him over to the French he'll eithertwist out of their hands somehow or get decently shot, which isfar too good for him. This man and his kind have sent millions ofhonest folk to their graves. He has sat spinning his web like agreat spider and for every thread there has been an ocean ofblood spilled. It's his sort that made the war, not the brave,stupid, fighting Boche. It's his sort that's responsible for allthe clotted beastliness... And he's never been in sight of ashell. I'm for putting him in the front line. No, I don't meanany Uriah the Hittite business. I want him to have a sportingchance, just what other men have. But, by God, he's going tolearn what is the upshot of the strings he's been pulling somerrily ... He told me in two days' time Germany would smash ourarmies to hell. He boasted that he would be mostly responsiblefor it. Well, let him be there to see the smashing.'
'I reckon that's just,' said Blenkiron.
Ivery's eyes were on me now, fascinated and terrified likethose of a bird before a rattlesnake. I saw again the shapelessfeatures of the man in the Tube station, the residuum ofshrinking mortality behind his disguises. He seemed to beslipping something from his pocket towards his mouth, but GeordieHamilton caught his wrist.
'Wad ye offer?' said the scandalized voice of my servant.'Sirr, the prisoner would appear to be trying to puishon hisself.Wull I search him?'
After that he stood with each arm in the grip of a warder.
'Mr Ivery,' I said, 'last night, when I was in your power, youindulged your vanity by gloating over me. I expected it, for yourclass does not breed gentlemen. We treat our prisonersdifferently, but it is fair that you should know your fate. Youare going into France, and I will see that you are taken to theBritish front. There with my old division you will learnsomething of the meaning of war. Understand that by noconceivable chance can you escape. Men will be detailed to watchyou day and night and to see that you undergo the full rigour ofthe battlefield. You will have the same experience as otherpeople, no more, no less. I believe in a righteous God and I knowthat sooner or later you will find death—death at the handsof your own people—an honourable death which is far beyondyour deserts. But before it comes you will have understood thehell to which you have condemned honest men.'
In moments of great fatigue, as in moments of great crisis,the mind takes charge and may run on a track independent of thewill. It was not myself that spoke, but an impersonal voice whichI did not know, a voice in whose tones rang a strange authority.Ivery recognized the icy finality of it, and his body seemed towilt, and droop. Only the hold of the warders kept him fromfalling.
I, too, was about at the end of my endurance. I felt dimlythat the room had emptied except for Blenkiron and Amos, and thatthe former was trying to make me drink brandy from the cup of aflask. I struggled to my feet with the intention of going toMary, but my legs would not carry me... I heard as in a dreamAmos giving thanks to an Omnipotence in whom he officiallydisbelieved. 'What's that the auld man in the Bible said? Now letthou thy servant depart in peace. That's the way I'm feelin'mysel'.' And then slumber came on me like an armed man, and inthe chair by the dying wood-ash I slept off the ache of my limbs,the tension of my nerves, and the confusion of my brain.
The following evening—it was the 20th day ofMarch—I started for France after the dark fell. I droveIvery's big closed car, and within sat its owner, bound andgagged, as others had sat before him on the same errand. GeordieHamilton and Amos were his companions. From what Blenkiron hadhimself discovered and from the papers seized in the Pink ChaletI had full details of the road and its mysterious stages. It waslike the journey of a mad dream. In a back street of a littletown I would exchange passwords with a nameless figure and begiven instructions. At a wayside inn at an appointed hour a voicespeaking a thick German would advise that this bridge or thatrailway crossing had been cleared. At a hamlet among pine woodsan unknown man would clamber up beside me and take me past asentry-post. Smooth as clockwork was the machine, till in thedawn of a spring morning I found myself dropping into a broadvalley through little orchards just beginning to blossom, and Iknew that I was in France. After that, Blenkiron's ownarrangements began, and soon I was drinking coffee with a younglieutenant of Chasseurs, and had taken the gag from Ivery'smouth. The bluecoats looked curiously at the man in the greenulster whose face was the colour of clay and who lit cigarettefrom cigarette with a shaky hand.
The lieutenant rang up a General of Division who knew allabout us. At his headquarters I explained my purpose, and hetelegraphed to an Army Headquarters for a permission which wasgranted. It was not for nothing that in January I had seencertain great personages in Paris, and that Blenkiron had wiredahead of me to prepare the way. Here I handed over Ivery and hisguard, for I wanted them to proceed to Amiens under Frenchsupervision, well knowing that the men of that great army are notused to let slip what they once hold.
It was a morning of clear spring sunlight when we breakfastedin that little red-roofed town among vineyards with a shiningriver looping at our feet. The General of Division was anAlgerian veteran with a brush of grizzled hair, whose eye keptwandering to a map on the wall where pins and stretched threadmade a spider's web.
'Any news from the north?' I asked.
'Not yet,' he said. 'But the attack comes soon. It will beagainst our army in Champagne.' With a lean finger he pointed outthe enemy dispositions.
'Why not against the British?' I asked. With a knife and forkI made a right angle and put a salt dish in the centre. 'That isthe German concentration. They can so mass that we do not knowwhich side of the angle they will strike till the blowfalls.'
'It is true,' he replied. 'But consider. For the enemy toattack towards the Somme would be to fight over many miles of anold battle-ground where all is still desert and every yard ofwhich you British know. In Champagne at a bound he might enterunbroken country. It is a long and difficult road to Amiens, butnot so long to Chilons. Such is the view of Petain. Does itconvince you?'
'The reasoning is good. Nevertheless he will strike at Amiens,and I think he will begin today.'
He laughed and shrugged his shoulders. 'Nous verrons.You are obstinate, my general, like all your excellentcountrymen.'
But as I left his headquarters an aide-de-camp handed him amessage on a pink slip. He read it, and turned to me with a graveface.
'You have a flair, my friend. I am glad we did not wager. Thismorning at dawn there is great fighting around St Quentin. Becomforted, for they will not pass. YourMaréchalwill hold them.'
That was the first news I had of the battle.
At Dijon according to plan I met the others. I only justcaught the Paris train, and Blenkiron's great wrists lugged meinto the carriage when it was well in motion. There sat Peter, adocile figure in a carefully patched old R.F.C. uniform. Wake wasreading a pile of French papers, and in a corner Mary, with herfeet up on the seat, was sound asleep.
We did not talk much, for the life of the past days had beenso hectic that we had no wish to recall it. Blenkiron's face worean air of satisfaction, and as he looked out at the sunny springlandscape he hummed his only tune. Even Wake had lost hisrestlessness. He had on a pair of big tortoiseshell readingglasses, and when he looked up from his newspaper and caught myeye he smiled. Mary slept like a child, delicately flushed, herbreath scarcely stirring the collar of the greatcoat which wasfolded across her throat. I remember looking with a kind of aweat the curve of her young face and the long lashes that lay sosoftly on her cheek, and wondering how I had borne the anxiety ofthe last months. Wake raised his head from his reading, glancedat Mary and then at me, and his eyes were kind, almostaffectionate. He seemed to have won peace of mind among thehills.
Only Peter was out of the picture. He was a strange,disconsolate figure, as he shifted about to ease his leg, orgazed incuriously from the window. He had shaved his beard again,but it did not make him younger, for his face was too lined andhis eyes too old to change. When I spoke to him he looked towardsMary and held up a warning finger.
'I go back to England,' he whispered. 'Your littlemysie is going to take care of me till I am settled. Wespoke of it yesterday at my cottage. I will find a lodging and bepatient till the war is over. And you, Dick?'
'Oh, I rejoin my division. Thank God, this job is over. I havean easytrund now and can turn my attention tostraight-forward soldiering. I don't mind telling you that I'llbe glad to think that you and Mary and Blenkiron are safe athome. What about you, Wake?'
'I go back to my Labour battalion,' he said cheerfully. 'Likeyou, I have an easier mind.'
I shook my head. 'We'll see about that. I don't like suchsinful waste. We've had a bit of campaigning together and I knowyour quality.'
'The battalion's quite good enough for me,' and he relapsedinto a day-oldTemps.
Mary had suddenly woke, and was sitting upright with her fistsin her eyes like a small child. Her hand flew to her hair, andher eyes ran over us as if to see that we were all there. As shecounted the four of us she seemed relieved.
'I reckon you feel refreshed, Miss Mary,' said Blenkiron.'It's good to think that now we can sleep in peace, all of us.Pretty soon you'll be in England and spring will be beginning,and please God it'll be the start of a better world. Our work'sover, anyhow.'
'I wonder,' said the girl gravely. 'I don't think there's anydischarge in this war. Dick, have you news of the battle? Thiswas the day.'
'It's begun,' I said, and told them the little I had learnedfrom the French General. 'I've made a reputation as a prophet,for he thought the attack was coming in Champagne. It's StQuentin right enough, but I don't know what has happened. We'llhear in Paris.'
Mary had woke with a startled air as if she remembered her oldinstinct that our work would not be finished without a sacrifice,and that sacrifice the best of us. The notion kept recurring tome with an uneasy insistence. But soon she appeared to forget heranxiety. That afternoon as we journeyed through the pleasant landof France she was in holiday mood, and she forced all our spiritsup to her level. It was calm, bright weather, the long curves ofploughland were beginning to quicken into green, the catkins madea blue mist on the willows by the watercourses, and in theorchards by the red-roofed hamlets the blossom was breaking. Insuch a scene it was hard to keep the mind sober and grey, and thepall of war slid from us. Mary cosseted and fussed over Peterlike an elder sister over a delicate little boy. She made himstretch his bad leg full length on the seat, and when she madetea for the party of us it was a protesting Peter who had thelast sugar biscuit. Indeed, we were almost a merry company, forBlenkiron told stories of old hunting and engineering days in theWest, and Peter and I were driven to cap them, and Mary askedprovocative questions, and Wake listened with amused interest. Itwas well that we had the carriage to ourselves, for no queererrigs were ever assembled. Mary, as always, was neat andworkmanlike in her dress; Blenkiron was magnificent in a suit ofrusset tweed with a pale-blue shirt and collar, and well-polishedbrown shoes; but Peter and Wake were in uniforms which had seenfar better days, and I wore still the boots and the shapeless andragged clothes of Joseph Zimmer, the porter from Arosa.
We appeared to forget the war, but we didn't, for it was inthe background of all our minds. Somewhere in the north there wasraging a desperate fight, and its issue was the true test of oursuccess or failure. Mary showed it by bidding me ask for news atevery stopping-place. I asked gendarmes andpermissionnaires, but I learned nothing. Nobody had everheard of the battle. The upshot was that for the last hour we allfell silent, and when we reached Paris about seven o'clock myfirst errand was to the bookstall.
I bought a batch of evening papers, which we tried to read inthe taxis that carried us to our hotel. Sure enough there was theannouncement in big headlines. The enemy had attacked in greatstrength from south of Arras to the Oise; but everywhere he hadbeen repulsed and held in our battle-zone. The leading articleswere confident, the notes by the various military critics werealmost braggart. At last the German had been driven to anoffensive, and the Allies would have the opportunity they hadlonged for of proving their superior fighting strength. It was,said one and all, the opening of the last phase of the war.
I confess that as I read my heart sank. If the civilians wereso over-confident, might not the generals have fallen into thesame trap? Blenkiron alone was unperturbed. Mary said nothing,but she sat with her chin in her hands, which with her was a suresign of deep preoccupation.
Next morning the papers could tell us little more. The mainattack had been on both sides of St Quentin, and though theBritish had given ground it was only the outposts line that hadgone. The mist had favoured the enemy, and his bombardment hadbeen terrific, especially the gas shells. Every journal added theold old comment—that he had paid heavily for his temerity,with losses far exceeding those of the defence.
Wake appeared at breakfast in his private's uniform. He wantedto get his railway warrant and be off at once, but when I heardthat Amiens was his destination I ordered him to stay and travelwith me in the afternoon. I was in uniform myself now and hadtaken charge of the outfit. I arranged that Blenkiron, Mary, andPeter should go on to Boulogne and sleep the night there, whileWake and I would be dropped at Amiens to await instructions.
I spent a busy morning. Once again I visited with Blenkironthe little cabinet in the Boulevard St Germain, and told in everydetail our work of the past two months. Once again I sat in thelow building beside the Invalides and talked to staff officers.But some of the men I had seen on the first visit were not there.The chiefs of the French Army had gone north.
We arranged for the handling of the Wild Birds, now safely inFrance, and sanction was given to the course I had proposed toadopt with Ivery. He and his guard were on their way to Amiens,and I would meet them there on the morrow. The great men werevery complimentary to us, so complimentary that my knowledge ofgrammatical French ebbed away and I could only stutter in reply.That telegram sent by Blenkiron on the night of the 18th, fromthe information given me in the Pink Chalet, had done wonders inclearing up the situation.
But when I asked them about the battle they could tell melittle. It was a very serious attack in tremendous force, but theBritish line was strong and the reserves were believed to besufficient. Petain and Foch had gone north to consult with Haig.The situation in Champagne was still obscure, but some Frenchreserves were already moving thence to the Somme sector. Onething they did show me, the British dispositions. As I looked atthe plan I saw that my old division was in the thick of thefighting.
'Where do you go now?' I was asked.
'To Amiens, and then, please God, to the battle front,' Isaid.
'Good fortune to you. You do not give body or mind much rest,my general.'
After that I went to theMission Anglaise, but they hadnothing beyond Haig's communique and a telephone message fromG.H.Q. that the critical sector was likely to be that between StQuentin and the Oise. The northern pillar of our defence, southof Arras, which they had been nervous about, had stood like arock. That pleased me, for my old battalion of the LennoxHighlanders was there.
Crossing the Place de la Concorde, we fell in with a Britishstaff officer of my acquaintance, who was just starting to motorback to G.H.Q. from Paris leave. He had a longer face than thepeople at the Invalides.
'I don't like it, I tell you,' he said. 'It's this mist thatworries me. I went down the whole line from Arras to the Oise tendays ago. It was beautifully sited, the cleverest thing you eversaw. The outpost line was mostly a chain of blobs—redoubts,you know, with machine-guns— so arranged as to bringflanking fire to bear on the advancing enemy. But mist would playthe devil with that scheme, for the enemy would be past the placefor flanking fire before we knew it... Oh, I know we had goodwarning, and had the battle-zone manned in time, but the outpostline was meant to hold out long enough to get everything behindin apple-pie order, and I can't see but how big chunks of it musthave gone in the first rush... Mind you, we've banked everythingon that battle-zone. It's damned good, but if it's gone ... ' Heflung up his hands.
'Have we good reserves?' I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders.
'Have we positions prepared behind the battle-zone?'
'i didn't notice any,' he said dryly, and was off before Icould get more out of him.
'You look rattled, Dick,' said Blenkiron as we walked to thehotel.
'I seem to have got the needle. It's silly, but I feel worseabout this show than I've ever felt since the war started. Lookat this city here. The papers take it easily, and the people arewalking about as if nothing was happening. Even the soldiersaren't worried. You may call me a fool to take it so hard, butI've a sense in my bones that we're in for the bloodiest anddarkest fight of our lives, and that soon Paris will be hearingthe Boche guns as she did in 1914.'
'You're a cheerful old Jeremiah. Well, I'm glad Miss Mary'sgoing to be in England soon. Seems to me she's right and thatthis game of ours isn't quite played out yet. I'm envying yousome, for there's a place waiting for you in the fightingline.'
'You've got to get home and keep people's heads straightthere. That's the weak link in our chain and there's a mighty lotof work before you.'
'Maybe,' he said abstractedly, with his eye on the top of theVendome column.
The train that afternoon was packed with officers recalledfrom leave, and it took all the combined purchase of Blenkironand myself to get a carriage reserved for our little party. Atthe last moment I opened the door to admit a warm and agitatedcaptain of the R.F.C. in whom I recognized my friend andbenefactor, Archie Roylance.
'Just when I was gettin' nice and clean and comfy a wire comestellin' me to bundle back, all along of a new battle. It's acruel war, Sir.' The afflicted young man mopped his forehead,grinned cheerfully at Blenkiron, glanced critically at Peter,then caught sight of Mary and grew at once acutely conscious ofhis appearance. He smoothed his hair, adjusted his tie and becamedesperately sedate.
I introduced him to Peter and he promptly forgot Mary'sexistence. If Peter had had any vanity in him it would have beenflattered by the frank interest and admiration in the boy's eyes.'I'm tremendously glad to see you safe back, sir. I've alwayshoped I might have a chance of meeting you. We want you badly nowon the front. Lensch is gettin' a bit uppish.'
Then his eye fell on Peter's withered leg and he saw that hehad blundered. He blushed scarlet and looked his apologies. Butthey weren't needed, for it cheered Peter to meet someone whotalked of the possibility of his fighting again. Soon the twowere deep in technicalities, the appalling technicalities of theairman. It was no good listening to their talk, for you couldmake nothing of it, but it was bracing up Peter like wine. Archiegave him a minute description of Lensch's latest doings and hisnew methods. He, too, had heard the rumour that Peter hadmentioned to me at St Anton, of a new Boche plane, with mightyengines and stumpy wings cunningly cambered, which was a devil toclimb; but no specimens had yet appeared over the line. Theytalked of Bali, and Rhys Davids, and Bishop, and McCudden, andall the heroes who had won their spurs since the Somme, and ofthe new British makes, most of which Peter had never seen and hadto have explained to him.
Outside a haze had drawn over the meadows with the twilight. Ipointed it out to Blenkiron.
'There's the fog that's doing us. This March weather is justlike October, mist morning and evening. I wish to Heaven we couldhave some good old drenching spring rain.'
Archie was discoursing of the Shark-Gladas machine.
'I've always stuck to it, for it's a marvel in its way, but ithas my heart fairly broke. The General here knows its littletricks. Don't you, sir? Whenever things get really excitin', theengine's apt to quit work and take a rest.'
'The whole make should be publicly burned,' I said, withgloomy recollections.
'I wouldn't go so far, sir. The old Gladas has surprisin'merits. On her day there's nothing like her for pace andclimbing-power, and she steers as sweet as a racin' cutter. Thetrouble about her is she's too complicated. She's like somebreeds of car—you want to be a mechanical genius tounderstand her... If they'd only get her a little simpler andsafer, there wouldn't be her match in the field. I'm about theonly man that has patience with her and knows her merits, butshe's often been nearly the death of me. All the same, if I werein for a big fight against some fellow like Lensch, where it wasneck or nothing, I'm hanged if I wouldn't pick the Gladas.'
Archie laughed apologetically. 'The subject is banned for mein our mess. I'm the old thing's only champion, and she's like amare I used to hunt that loved me so much she was always tryin'to chew the arm off me. But I wish I could get her a fair trialfrom one of the big pilots. I'm only in the second class myselfafter all.'
We were running north of St just when above the rattle of thetrain rose a curious dull sound. It came from the east, and waslike the low growl of a veld thunderstorm, or a steady roll ofmuffled drums.
'Hark to the guns!' cried Archie. 'My aunt, there's a tidybombardment goin' on somewhere.'
I had been listening on and off to guns for three years. I hadbeen present at the big preparations before Loos and the Sommeand Arras, and I had come to accept the racket of artillery assomething natural and inevitable like rain or sunshine. But thissound chilled me with its eeriness, I don't know why. Perhaps itwas its unexpectedness, for I was sure that the guns had not beenheard in this area since before the Marne. The noise must betravelling down the Oise valley, and I judged there was bigfighting somewhere about Chauny or La Fere. That meant that theenemy was pressing hard on a huge front, for here was clearly agreat effort on his extreme left wing. Unless it was ourcounter-attack. But somehow I didn't think so.
I let down the window and stuck my head into the night. Thefog had crept to the edge of the track, a gossamer mist throughwhich houses and trees and cattle could be seen dim in themoonlight. The noise continued—not a mutter, but a steadyrumbling flow as solid as the blare of a trumpet. Presently, aswe drew nearer Amiens, we left it behind us, for in all the Sommevalley there is some curious configuration which blankets sound.The countryfolk call it the 'Silent Land', and during the firstphase of the Somme battle a man in Amiens could not hear the gunstwenty miles off at Albert.
As I sat down again I found that the company had fallensilent, even the garrulous Archie. Mary's eyes met mine, and inthe indifferent light of the French railway-carriage I could seeexcitement in them—I knew it was excitement, not fear. Shehad never heard the noise of a great barrage before. Blenkironwas restless, and Peter was sunk in his own thoughts. I wasgrowing very depressed, for in a little I would have to part frommy best friends and the girl I loved. But with the depression wasmixed an odd expectation, which was almost pleasant. The guns hadbrought back my profession to me, I was moving towards theirthunder, and God only knew the end of it. The happy dream I haddreamed of the Cotswolds and a home with Mary beside me seemedsuddenly to have fallen away to an infinite distance. I felt onceagain that I was on the razor-edge of life.
The last part of the journey I was casting back to rake up myknowledge of the countryside. I saw again the stricken belt fromSerre to Combles where we had fought in the summer Of '17. I hadnot been present in the advance of the following spring, but Ihad been at Cambrai and I knew all the down country fromLagnicourt to St Quentin. I shut my eyes and tried to picture it,and to see the roads running up to the line, and wondered just atwhat points the big pressure had come. They had told me in Paristhat the British were as far south as the Oise, so thebombardment we had heard must be directed to our address. WithPasschendaele and Cambrai in my mind, and some notion of thedifficulties we had always had in getting drafts, I was puzzledto think where we could have found the troops to man the newfront. We must be unholily thin on that long line. And againstthat awesome bombardment! And the masses and the new tactics thatIvery had bragged of!
When we ran into the dingy cavern which is Amiens station Iseemed to note a new excitement. I felt it in the air rather thandeduced it from any special incident, except that the platformwas very crowded with civilians, most of them with an extraamount of baggage. I wondered if the place had been bombed thenight before.
'We won't say goodbye yet,' I told the others. 'The traindoesn't leave for half an hour. I'm off to try and get news.'Accompanied by Archie, I hunted out an R.T.O. of my acquaintance.To my questions he responded cheerfully.
'Oh, we're doing famously, sir. I heard this afternoon from aman in Operations that G.H.Q. was perfectly satisfied. We'vekilled a lot of Huns and only lost a few kilometres of ground...You're going to your division? Well, it's up Peronne way, or waslast night. Cheyne and Dunthorpe came back from leave and triedto steal a car to get up to it... Oh, I'm having the deuce of atime. These blighted civilians have got the wind up, and a lotare trying to clear out. The idiots say the Huns will be inAmiens in a week. What's the phrase? "Pourvu que les civilstiennent." 'Fraid I must push on, Sir.'
I sent Archie back with these scraps of news and was about tomake a rush for the house of one of the Press officers, whowould, I thought, be in the way of knowing things, when at thestation entrance I ran across Laidlaw. He had been B.G.G.S. inthe corps to which my old brigade belonged, and was now on thestaff of some army. He was striding towards a car when I grabbedhis arm, and he turned on me a very sick face.
'Good Lord, Hannay! Where did you spring from? The news, yousay?' He sank his voice, and drew me into a quiet corner. 'Thenews is hellish.'
'They told me we were holding,' I observed.
'Holding be damned! The Boche is clean through on a broadfront. He broke us today at Maissemy and Essigny. Yes, thebattle-zone. He's flinging in division after division like theblows of a hammer. What else could you expect?' And he clutchedmy arm fiercely. 'How in God's name could eleven divisions hold afront of forty miles? And against four to one in numbers? Itisn't war, it's naked lunacy.'
I knew the worst now, and it didn't shock me, for I had knownit was coming. Laidlaw's nerves were pretty bad, for his face waspale and his eyes bright like a man with a fever.
'Reserves!' and he laughed bitterly. 'We have three infantrydivisions and two cavalry. They're into the mill long ago. TheFrench are coming up on our right, but they've the devil of a wayto go. That's what I'm down here about. And we're getting helpfrom Horne and Plumer. But all that takes days, and meantimewe're walking back like we did at Mons. And at this time of day,too ... Oh, yes, the whole line's retreating. Parts of it werepretty comfortable, but they had to get back or be put in thebag. I wish to Heaven I knew where our right divisions have gotto. For all I know they're at Compiegne by now. The Boche wasover the canal this morning, and by this time most likely he'sacross the Somme.'
At that I exclaimed. 'D'you mean to tell me we're going tolose Peronne?'
'Peronne!' he cried. 'We'll be lucky not to lose Amiens!...And on the top of it all I've got some kind of blasted fever.I'll be raving in an hour.'
He was rushing off, but I held him.
'What about my old lot?' I asked.
'Oh, damned good, but they're shot all to bits. Every divisiondid well. It's a marvel they weren't all scuppered, and it'll bea flaming miracle if they find a line they can stand on.Westwater's got a leg smashed. He was brought down this evening,and you'll find him in the hospital. Fraser's killed and Lefroy'sa prisoner—at least, that was my last news. I don't knowwho's got the brigades, but Masterton's carrying on with thedivision ... You'd better get up the line as fast as you can andtake over from him. See the Army Commander. He'll be in Amienstomorrow morning for a pow-wow.'
Laidlaw lay wearily back in his car and disappeared into thenight, while I hurried to the train.
The others had descended to the platform and were groupedround Archie, who was discoursing optimistic nonsense. I got theminto the carriage and shut the door.
'It's pretty bad,' I said. 'The front's pierced in severalplaces and we're back to the Upper Somme. I'm afraid it isn'tgoing to stop there. I'm off up the line as soon as I can get myorders. Wake, you'll come with me, for every man will be wanted.Blenkiron, you'll see Mary and Peter safe to England. We're justin time, for tomorrow it mightn't be easy to get out ofAmiens.'
I can see yet the anxious faces in that ill-lit compartment.We said goodbye after the British style without much to-do. Iremember that old Peter gripped my hand as if he would neverrelease it, and that Mary's face had grown very pale. If Idelayed another second I should have howled, for Mary's lips weretrembling and Peter had eyes like a wounded stag. 'God blessyou,' I said hoarsely, and as I went off I heard Peter's voice, alittle cracked, saying 'God bless you, my old friend.'
I spent some weary hours looking for Westwater. He was not inthe big clearing station, but I ran him to earth at last in thenew hospital which had just been got going in the Ursulineconvent. He was the most sterling little man, in ordinary liferather dry and dogmatic, with a trick of taking you up sharplywhich didn't make him popular. Now he was lying very stiff andquiet in the hospital bed, and his blue eyes were solemn andpathetic like a sick dog's.
'There's nothing much wrong with me,' he said, in reply to myquestion. 'A shell dropped beside me and damaged my foot. Theysay they'll have to cut it off... I've an easier mind now you'rehere, Hannay. Of course you'll take over from Masterton. He's agood man but not quite up to his job. Poor Fraser—you'veheard about Fraser. He was done in at the very start. Yes, ashell. And Lefroy. If he's alive and not too badly smashed theHun has got a troublesome prisoner.'
He was too sick to talk, but he wouldn't let me go.
'The division was all right. Don't you believe anyone who sayswe didn't fight like heroes. Our outpost line held up the Hun forsix hours, and only about a dozen men came back. We could havestuck it out in the battle-zone if both flanks hadn't beenturned. They got through Crabbe's left and came down the Vereyravine, and a big wave rushed Shropshire Wood... We fought it outyard by yard and didn't budge till we saw the Plessis dumpblazing in our rear. Then it was about time to go... We haven'tmany battalion commanders left. Watson, Endicot, Crawshay... ' Hestammered out a list of gallant fellows who had gone.
'Get back double quick, Hannay. They want you. I'm not happyabout Masterton. He's too young for the job.' And then a nursedrove me out, and I left him speaking in the strange forced voiceof great weakness.
At the foot of the staircase stood Mary.
'I saw you go in,' she said, 'so I waited for you.'
'Oh, my dear,' I cried, 'you should have been in Boulogne bynow. What madness brought you here?'
'They know me here and they've taken me on. You couldn'texpect me to stay behind. You said yourself everybody was wanted,and I'm in a Service like you. Please don't be angry, Dick.'
I wasn't angry, I wasn't even extra anxious. The whole thingseemed to have been planned by fate since the creation of theworld. The game we had been engaged in wasn't finished and it wasright that we should play it out together. With that feeling camea conviction, too, of ultimate victory. Somehow or sometime weshould get to the end of our pilgrimage. But I remembered Mary'sforebodings about the sacrifice required. The best of us. Thatruled me out, but what about her?
I caught her to my arms. 'Goodbye, my very dearest. Don'tworry about me, for mine's a soft job and I can look after myskin. But oh! take care of yourself, for you are all the world tome.'
She kissed me gravely like a wise child.
'I am not afraid for you,' she said. 'You are going to standin the breach, and I know—I know you will win. Rememberthat there is someone here whose heart is so full of pride of herman that it hasn't room for fear.'
As I went out of the convent door I felt that once again I hadbeen given my orders.
It did not surprise me that, when I sought out my room on anupper floor of the Hotel de France, I found Blenkiron in thecorridor. He was in the best of spirits.
'You can't keep me out of the show, Dick,' he said, 'so youneedn't start arguing. Why, this is the one original chance of alifetime for John S. Blenkiron. Our little fight at Erzerum wasonly a side-show, but this is a real high-class Armageddon. Iguess I'll find a way to make myself useful.'
I had no doubt he would, and I was glad he had stayed behind.But I felt it was hard on Peter to have the job of returning toEngland alone at such a time, like useless flotsam washed up by aflood.
'You needn't worry,' said Blenkiron. 'Peter's not makingEngland this trip. To the best of my knowledge he has beat it outof this township by the eastern postern. He had some talk withSir Archibald Roylance, and presently other gentlemen of theRoyal Flying Corps appeared, and the upshot was that SirArchibald hitched on to Peter's grip and departed without sayingfarewell. My notion is that he's gone to have a few words withhis old friends at some flying station. Or he might have the ideaof going back to England by aeroplane, and so having one lastflutter before he folds his wings. Anyhow, Peter looked a mightyhappy man. The last I saw he was smoking his pipe with a batch ofyoung lads in a Flying Corps waggon and heading straight forGermany.'
Next morning I found the Army Commander on his way toDoullens.
'Take over the division?' he said. 'Certainly. I'm afraidthere isn't much left of it. I'll tell Carr to get through to theCorps Headquarters, when he can find them. You'll have to nursethe remnants, for they can't be pulled out yet—not for aday or two. Bless me, Hannay, there are parts of our line whichwe're holding with a man and a boy. You've got to stick it outtill the French take over. We're not hanging on by oureyelids—it's our eyelashes now.'
'What about positions to fall back on, sir?' I asked.
'We're doing our best, but we haven't enough men to preparethem.' He plucked open a map. 'There we're digging aline—and there. If we can hold that bit for two days weshall have a fair line resting on the river. But we mayn't havetime.'
Then I told him about Blenkiron, whom of course he had heardof. 'He was one of the biggest engineers in the States, and he'sgot a nailing fine eye for country. He'll make good somehow ifyou let him help in the job.'
'The very fellow,' he said, and he wrote an order. 'Take thisto Jacks and he'll fix up a temporary commission. Your man canfind a uniform somewhere in Amiens.'
After that I went to the detail camp and found that Ivery hadduly arrived.
'The prisoner has given no trouble, sirr,' Hamilton reported.'But he's a wee thing peevish. They're saying that the Gairmansis gettin' on fine, and I was tellin' him that he should be proudof his ain folk. But he wasn't verra weel pleased.'
Three days had wrought a transformation in Ivery. That face,once so cool and capable, was now sharpened like a huntedbeast's. His imagination was preying on him and I could pictureits torture. He, who had been always at the top directing themachine, was now only a cog in it. He had never in his life beenanything but powerful; now he was impotent. He was in a hard,unfamiliar world, in the grip of something which he feared anddidn't understand, in the charge of men who were in no wayamenable to his persuasiveness. It was like a proud and bullyingmanager suddenly forced to labour in a squad of navvies, andworse, for there was the gnawing physical fear of what wascoming.
He made an appeal to me.
'Do the English torture their prisoners?' he asked. 'You havebeaten me. I own it, and I plead for mercy. I will go on my kneesif you like. I am not afraid of death—in my own way.'
'Few people are afraid of death—in their own way.'
'Why do you degrade me? I am a gentleman.'
'Not as we define the thing,' I said.
His jaw dropped. 'What are you going to do with me?' hequavered.
'You have been a soldier,' I said. 'You are going to see alittle fighting—from the ranks. There will be no brutality,you will be armed if you want to defend yourself, you will havethe same chance of survival as the men around you. You may haveheard that your countrymen are doing well. It is even possiblethat they may win the battle. What was your forecast to me?Amiens in two days, Abbeville in three. Well, you are a littlebehind scheduled time, but still you are prospering. You told methat you were the chief architect of all this, and you are goingto be given the chance of seeing it, perhaps of sharing init—from the other side. Does it not appeal to your sense ofjustice?' He groaned and turned away. I had no more pity for himthan I would have had for a black mamba that had killed my friendand was now caught to a cleft tree. Nor, oddly enough, had Wake.If we had shot Ivery outright at St Anton, I am certain that Wakewould have called us murderers. Now he was in complete agreement.His passionate hatred of war made him rejoice that a chiefcontriver of war should be made to share in its terrors.
'He tried to talk me over this morning,' he told me. 'Claimedhe was on my side and said the kind of thing I used to say lastyear. It made me rather ashamed of some of my past performancesto hear that scoundrel imitating them ... By the way, Hannay,what are you going to do with me?'
'You're coming on my staff. You're a stout fellow and I can'tdo without you.'
'Remember I won't fight.'
'You won't be asked to. We're trying to stem the tide whichwants to roll to the sea. You know how the Boche behaves inoccupied country, and Mary's in Amiens.'
At that news he shut his lips.
'Still—'he began.
still" I said. 'I don't ask you to forfeit one of your blessedprinciples. You needn't fire a shot. But I want a man to carryorders for me, for we haven't a line any more, only a lot ofblobs like quicksilver. I want a clever man for the job and abrave one, and I know that you're not afraid.'
'No,' he said. 'I don't think I am—much. Well. I'mcontent!'
I started Blenkiron off in a car for Corps Headquarters, andin the afternoon took the road myself. I knew every inch of thecountry—the lift of the hill east of Amiens, the Romanhighway that ran straight as an arrow to St Quentin, the marshylagoons of the Somme, and that broad strip of land wasted bybattle between Dompierre and Peronne. I had come to Amiensthrough it in January, for I had been up to the line before Ileft for Paris, and then it had been a peaceful place, withpeasants tilling their fields, and new buildings going up on theold battle-field, and carpenters busy at cottage roofs, andscarcely a transport waggon on the road to remind one of war. Nowthe main route was choked like the Albert road when the Sommebattle first began—troops going up and troops coming down,the latter in the last stage of weariness; a ceaseless traffic ofambulances one way and ammunition waggons the other; busy staffcars trying to worm a way through the mass; strings of gunhorses, oddments of cavalry, and here and there blue Frenchuniforms. All that I had seen before; but one thing was new tome. Little country carts with sad-faced women and mystifiedchildren in them and piles of household plenishing were creepingwestward, or stood waiting at village doors. Beside these trampedold men and boys, mostly in their Sunday best as if they weregoing to church. I had never seen the sight before, for I hadnever seen the British Army falling back. The dam which held upthe waters had broken and the dwellers in the valley were tryingto save their pitiful little treasures. And over everything,horse and man, cart and wheelbarrow, road and tillage, lay thewhite March dust, the sky was blue as June, small birds were busyin the copses, and in the corners of abandoned gardens I had aglimpse of the first violets.
Presently as we topped a rise we came within full noise of theguns. That, too, was new to me, for it was no ordinarybombardment. There was a special quality in the sound, somethingragged, straggling, intermittent, which I had never heard before.It was the sign of open warfare and a moving battle.
At Peronne, from which the newly returned inhabitants had asecond time fled, the battle seemed to be at the doors. There Ihad news of my division. It was farther south towards St Christ.We groped our way among bad roads to where its headquarters werebelieved to be, while the voice of the guns grew louder. Theyturned out to be those of another division, which was busygetting ready to cross the river. Then the dark fell, and whileairplanes flew west into the sunset there was a redder sunset inthe east, where the unceasing flashes of gunfire were paleagainst the angry glow of burning dumps. The sight of thebonnet-badge of a Scots Fusilier made me halt, and the man turnedout to belong to my division. Half an hour later I was takingover from the much-relieved Masterton in the ruins of what hadonce been a sugar-beet factory.
There to my surprise I found Lefroy. The Boche had held himprisoner for precisely eight hours. During that time he had beenso interested in watching the way the enemy handled an attackthat he had forgotten the miseries of his position. He describedwith blasphemous admiration the endless wheel by which suppliesand reserve troops move up, the silence, the smoothness, theperfect discipline. Then he had realized that he was a captiveand unwounded, and had gone mad. Being a heavy-weight boxer ofnote, he had sent his two guards spinning into a ditch, dodgedthe ensuing shots, and found shelter in the lee of a blazingammunition dump where his pursuers hesitated to follow. Then hehad spent an anxious hour trying to get through an outpost line,which he thought was Boche. Only by overhearing an exchange ofoaths in the accents of Dundee did he realize that it was ourown... It was a comfort to have Lefroy back, for he was bothstout-hearted and resourceful. But I found that I had a divisiononly on paper. It was about the strength of a brigade, thebrigades battalions, and the battalions companies.
This is not the place to write the story of the week thatfollowed. I could not write it even if I wanted to, for I don'tknow it. There was a plan somewhere, which you will find in thehistory books, but with me it was blank chaos. Orders came, butlong before they arrived the situation had changed, and I couldno more obey them than fly to the moon. Often I had lost touchwith the divisions on both flanks. Intelligence arrivederratically out of the void, and for the most part we worriedalong without it. I heard we were under the French—first itwas said to be Foch, and then Fayolle, whom I had met in Paris.But the higher command seemed a million miles away, and we wereleft to use our mother wits. My problem was to give ground asslowly as possible and at the same time not to delay too long,for retreat we must, with the Boche sending in brand-newdivisions each morning. It was a kind of war worlds distant fromthe old trench battles, and since I had been taught no other Ihad to invent rules as I went along. Looking back, it seems amiracle that any of us came out of it. Only the grace of God andthe uncommon toughness of the British soldier bluffed the Hun andprevented him pouring through the breach to Abbeville and thesea. We were no better than a mosquito curtain stuck in a doorwayto stop the advance of an angry bull.
The Army Commander was right; we were hanging on with oureyelashes. We must have been easily the weakest part of the wholefront, for we were holding a line which was never less than twomiles and was often, as I judged, nearer five, and there wasnothing in reserve to us except some oddments of cavalry whochased about the whole battle-field under vague orders.Mercifully for us the Boche blundered. Perhaps he did not knowour condition, for our airmen were magnificent and you never sawa Boche plane over our line by day, though they bombed us merrilyby night. If he had called our bluff we should have been done,but he put his main strength to the north and the south of us.North he pressed hard on the Third Army, but he got well hammeredby the Guards north of Bapaume and he could make no headway atArras. South he drove at the Paris railway and down the Oisevalley, but there Petain's reserves had arrived, and the Frenchmade a noble stand.
Not that he didn't fight hard in the centre where we were, buthe hadn't his best troops, and after we got west of the bend ofthe Somme he was outrunning his heavy guns. Still, it was adesperate enough business, for our flanks were all the timefalling back, and we had to conform to movements we could onlyguess at. After all, we were on the direct route to Amiens, andit was up to us to yield slowly so as to give Haig and Petaintime to get up supports. I was a miser about every yard ofground, for every yard and every minute were precious. We alonestood between the enemy and the city, and in the city wasMary.
If you ask me about our plans I can't tell you. I had a newone every hour. I got instructions from the Corps, but, as I havesaid, they were usually out of date before they arrived, and mostof my tactics I had to invent myself. I had a plain task, and tofulfil it I had to use what methods the Almighty allowed me. Ihardly slept, I ate little, I was on the move day and night, butI never felt so strong in my life. It seemed as if I couldn'ttire, and, oddly enough, I was happy. If a man's whole being isfocused on one aim, he has no time to worry... I remember we wereall very gentle and soft-spoken those days. Lefroy, whose tonguewas famous for its edge, now cooed like a dove. The troops wereon their uppers, but as steady as rocks. We were against the endof the world, and that stiffens a man...
Day after day saw the same performance. I held my waveringfront with an outpost line which delayed each new attack till Icould take its bearings. I had special companies forcounter-attack at selected points, when I wanted time to retirethe rest of the division. I think we must have fought more than adozen of such little battles. We lost men all the time, but theenemy made no big scoop, though he was always on the edge of one.Looking back, it seems like a succession of miracles. Often I wasin one end of a village when the Boche was in the other. Ourbatteries were always on the move, and the work of the gunnerswas past praising. Sometimes we faced east, sometimes north, andonce at a most critical moment due south, for our front waved andblew like a flag at a masthead... Thank God, the enemy wasgetting away from his big engine, and his ordinary troops werefagged and poor in quality. It was when his fresh shockbattalions came on that I held my breath... He had a heathenishamount of machine-guns and he used them beautifully. Oh, I takemy hat off to the Boche performance. He was doing what we hadtried to do at the Somme and the Aisne and Arras and Ypres, andhe was more or less succeeding. And the reason was that he wasgoing bald-headed for victory.
The men, as I have said, were wonderfully steady and patientunder the fiercest trial that soldiers can endure. I had allkinds in the division—old army, new army,Territorials—and you couldn't pick and choose between them.They fought like Trojans, and, dirty, weary, and hungry, foundstill some salt of humour in their sufferings. It was a proof ofthe rock-bottom sanity of human nature. But we had one man withus who was hardly sane...
In the hustle of those days I now and then caught sight ofIvery. I had to be everywhere at all hours, and often visitedthat remnant of Scots Fusiliers into which the subtlest brain inEurope had been drafted. He and his keepers were never on outpostduty or in any counter-attack. They were part of the mass whoseonly business was to retire discreetly. This was child's play toHamilton, who had been out since Mons; and Amos, after taking aday to get used to it, wrapped himself in his grim philosophy andrather enjoyed it. You couldn't surprise Amos any more than aTurk. But the man with them, whom they never left—that wasanother matter.
'For the first wee bit,' Hamilton reported, 'we thocht he wasgaun daft. Every shell that came near he jumped like a younghorse. And the gas! We had to tie on his mask for him, for hishands were fushionless. There was whiles when he wadna behindered from standin' up and talkin' to hisself, though thebullets was spittin'. He was what ye call demoralized... Syne hegot as though he didna hear or see onything. He did what wetell't him, and when we let him be he sat down and grat. He's ayegreetin'... Queer thing, sirr, but the Gairmans canna hit him.I'm aye shakin' bullets out o' my claes, and I've got a hole inmy shoulder, and Andra took a bash on his tin that wad hae felledonybody that hadna a heid like a stot. But, sirr, the prisonertaks no scaith. Our boys are feared of him. There was an Irishmansays to me that he had the evil eye, and ye can see for yerselfthat he's no canny.'
I saw that his skin had become like parchment and that hiseyes were glassy. I don't think he recognized me.
'Does he take his meals?' I asked.
'He doesna eat muckle. But he has an unco thirst. Ye cannakeep him off the men's water-bottles.'
He was learning very fast the meaning of that war he had soconfidently played with. I believe I am a merciful man, but as Ilooked at him I felt no vestige of pity. He was dreeing the weirdhe had prepared for others. I thought of Scudder, of the thousandfriends I had lost, of the great seas of blood and the mountainsof sorrow this man and his like had made for the world. Out ofthe corner of my eye I could see the long ridges above Comblesand Longueval which the salt of the earth had fallen to win, andwhich were again under the hoof of the Boche. I thought of thedistracted city behind us and what it meant to me, and the weak,the pitifully weak screen which was all its defence. I thought ofthe foul deeds which had made the German name to stink by landand sea, foulness of which he was the arch-begetter. And then Iwas amazed at our forbearance. He would go mad, and madness forhim was more decent than sanity.
I had another man who wasn't what you might call normal, andthat was Wake. He was the opposite of shell-shocked, if youunderstand me. He had never been properly under fire before, buthe didn't give a straw for it. I had known the same thing withother men, and they generally ended by crumpling up, for it isn'tnatural that five or six feet of human flesh shouldn't be afraidof what can torture and destroy it. The natural thing is to bealways a little scared, like me, but by an effort of the will andattention to work to contrive to forget it. But Wake apparentlynever gave it a thought. He wasn't foolhardy, only indifferent.He used to go about with a smile on his face, a smile ofcontentment. Even the horrors—and we had plenty ofthem—didn't affect him. His eyes, which used to be hot, hadnow a curious open innocence like Peter's. I would have beenhappier if he had been a little rattled.
One night, after we had had a bad day of anxiety, I talked tohim as we smoked in what had once been a French dug-out. He wasan extra right arm to me, and I told him so. 'This must be aqueer experience for you,' I said.
'Yes,' he replied, 'it is very wonderful. I did not think aman could go through it and keep his reason. But I know manythings I did not know before. I know that the soul can be rebornwithout leaving the body.'
I stared at him, and he went on without looking at me.
'You're not a classical scholar, Hannay? There was a strangecult in the ancient world, the worship of Magna Mater—theGreat Mother. To enter into her mysteries the votary passedthrough a bath of blood—I think I am passing through thatbath. I think that like the initiate I shall berenatus inaeternum—reborn into the eternal.'
I advised him to have a drink, for that talk frightened me. Itlooked as if he were becoming what the Scots call 'fey'. Lefroynoticed the same thing and was always speaking about it. He wasas brave as a bull himself, and with very much the same kind ofcourage; but Wake's gallantry perturbed him. 'I can't make thechap out,' he told me. 'He behaves as if his mind was too full ofbetter things to give a damn for Boche guns. He doesn't takefoolish risks—I don't mean that, but he behaves as if risksdidn't signify. It's positively eerie to see him making noteswith a steady hand when shells are dropping like hailstones andwe're all thinking every minute's our last. You've got to becareful with him, sir. He's a long sight too valuable for us tospare.'
Lefroy was right about that, for I don't know what I shouldhave done without him. The worst part of our job was to keeptouch with our flanks, and that was what I used Wake for. Hecovered country like a moss-trooper, sometimes on a rustybicycle, oftener on foot, and you couldn't tire him. I wonderwhat other divisions thought of the grimy private who was ourchief means of communication. He knew nothing of military affairsbefore, but he got the hang of this rough-and-tumble fighting asif he had been born for it. He never fired a shot; he carried noarms; the only weapons he used were his brains. And they were thebest conceivable. I never met a staff officer who was so quick atgetting a point or at sizing up a situation. He had put his backinto the business, and first-class talent is not common anywhere.One day a G. S. O. from a neighbouring division came to see me.'Where on earth did you pick up that man Wake?' he asked.
'He's a conscientious objector and a non-combatant,' Isaid.
'Then I wish to Heaven we had a few more conscientiousobjectors in this show. He's the only fellow who seems to knowanything about this blessed battle. My general's sending you achit about him.'
'No need,' I said, laughing. 'I know his value. He's an oldfriend of mine.'
I used Wake as my link with Corps Headquarters, and especiallywith Blenkiron. For about the sixth day of the show I wasbeginning to get rather desperate. This kind of thing couldn't goon for ever. We were miles back now, behind the old line Of '17,and, as we rested one flank on the river, the immediate situationwas a little easier. But I had lost a lot of men, and those thatwere left were blind with fatigue. The big bulges of the enemy tonorth and south had added to the length of the total front, and Ifound I had to fan out my thin ranks. The Boche was stillpressing on, though his impetus was slacker. If he knew howlittle there was to stop him in my section he might make a pushwhich would carry him to Amiens. Only the magnificent work of ourairmen had prevented him getting that knowledge, but we couldn'tkeep the secrecy up for ever. Some day an enemy plane would getover, and it only needed the drive of a fresh storm-battalion ortwo to scatter us. I wanted a good prepared position, with soundtrenches and decent wiring. Above all I wantedreserves—reserves. The word was on my lips all day and ithaunted my dreams. I was told that the French were to relieve us,but when—when? My reports to Corps Headquarters were onelong wail for more troops. I knew there was a position preparedbehind us, but I needed men to hold it.
Wake brought in a message from Blenkiron. 'We're waiting foryou, Dick,' he wrote, 'and we've gotten quite a nice little homeready for you. This old man hasn't hustled so hard since hestruck copper in Montana in '92. We've dug three lines oftrenches and made a heap of pretty redoubts, and I guess they'rewell laid out, for the Army staff has supervised them and they'reno slouches at this brand of engineering. You would have laughedto see the labour we employed. We had all breeds of Dago andChinaman, and some of your own South African blacks, and they gotso busy on the job they forgot about bedtime. I used to bereckoned a bit of a slave driver, but my special talents weren'tneeded with this push. I'm going to put a lot of money intoforeign missions henceforward.'
I wrote back: 'Your trenches are no good without men. ForGod's sake get something that can hold a rifle. My lot are doneto the world.'
Then I left Lefroy with the division and went down on the backof an ambulance to see for myself. I found Blenkiron, some of theArmy engineers, and a staff officer from Corps Headquarters, andI found Archie Roylance.
They had dug a mighty good line and wired it nobly. It ranfrom the river to the wood of La Bruyere on the little hill abovethe Ablain stream. It was desperately long, but I saw at once itcouldn't well be shorter, for the division on the south of us hadits hands full with the fringe of the big thrust against theFrench.
'It's no good blinking the facts,' I told them. 'I haven't athousand men, and what I have are at the end of their tether. Ifyou put 'em in these trenches they'll go to sleep on their feet.When can the French take over?'
I was told that it had been arranged for next morning, butthat it had now been put off twenty-four hours. It was only atemporary measure, pending the arrival of British divisions fromthe north.
Archie looked grave. 'The Boche is pushin' up new troops inthis sector. We got the news before I left squadron headquarters.It looks as if it would be a near thing, sir.'
'It won't be a near thing. It's an absolute black certainty.My fellows can't carry on as they are another day. Great God,they've had a fortnight in hell! Find me more men or we buckle upat the next push.' My temper was coming very near its limits.
'We've raked the country with a small-tooth comb, sir,' saidone of the staff officers. 'And we've raised a scratch pack. Bestpart of two thousand. Good men, but most of them know nothingabout infantry fighting. We've put them into platoons, and doneour best to give them some kind of training. There's one thingmay cheer you. We've plenty of machine-guns. There's amachine-gun school near by and we got all the men who were takingthe course and all the plant.'
I don't suppose there was ever such a force put into the fieldbefore. It was a wilder medley than Moussy's camp-followers atFirst Ypres. There was every kind of detail in the shape of menreturning from leave, representing most of the regiments in thearmy. There were the men from the machine-gun school. There wereCorps troops—sappers and A.S.C., and a handful of Corpscavalry. Above all, there was a batch of American engineers,fathered by Blenkiron. I inspected them where they were drillingand liked the look of them. 'Forty-eight hours,' I said tomyself. 'With luck we may just pull it off.'
Then I borrowed a bicycle and went back to the division. Butbefore I left I had a word with Archie. 'This is one big game ofbluff, and it's you fellows alone that enable us to play it. Tellyour people that everything depends on them. They mustn't stintthe planes in this sector, for if the Boche once suspicions howlittle he's got before him the game's up. He's not a fool and heknows that this is the short road to Amiens, but he imagineswe're holding it in strength. If we keep up the fiction foranother two days the thing's done. You say he's pushing uptroops?'
'Yes, and he's sendin' forward his tanks.'
'Well, that'll take time. He's slower now than a week ago andhe's got a deuce of a country to march over. There's still anoutside chance we may win through. You go home and tell theR.F.C. what I've told you.'
He nodded. 'By the way, sir, Pienaar's with the squadron. Hewould like to come up and see you.'
'Archie,' I said solemnly, 'be a good chap and do me a favour.If I think Peter's anywhere near the line I'll go off my headwith worry. This is no place for a man with a bad leg. He shouldhave been in England days ago. Can't you get him off—toAmiens, anyhow?'
'We scarcely like to. You see, we're all desperately sorry forhim, his fun gone and his career over and all that. He likesbein' with us and listenin' to our yarns. He has been up once ortwice too. The Shark-Gladas. He swears it's a great make, andcertainly he knows how to handle the little devil.'
'Then for Heaven's sake don't let him do it again. I look toyou, Archie, remember. Promise.'
'Funny thing, but he's always worryin' about you. He has a mapon which he marks every day the changes in the position, and he'dhobble a mile to pump any of our fellows who have been up yourway.'
That night under cover of darkness I drew back the division tothe newly prepared lines. We got away easily, for the enemy wasbusy with his own affairs. I suspected a relief by freshtroops.
There was no time to lose, and I can tell you I toiled to getthings straight before dawn. I would have liked to send my ownfellows back to rest, but I couldn't spare them yet. I wantedthem to stiffen the fresh lot, for they were veterans. The newposition was arranged on the same principles as the old frontwhich had been broken on March 21st. There was our forward zone,consisting of an outpost line and redoubts, very cleverly sited,and a line of resistance. Well behind it were the trenches whichformed the battle-zone. Both zones were heavily wired, and we hadplenty of machine-guns; I wish I could say we had plenty of menwho knew how to use them. The outposts were merely to give thealarm and fall back to the line of resistance which was to holdout to the last. In the forward zone I put the freshest of my ownmen, the units being brought up to something like strength by thedetails returning from leave that the Corps had commandeered.With them I put the American engineers, partly in the redoubtsand partly in companies for counter-attack. Blenkiron hadreported that they could shoot like Dan'l Boone, and were simplyspoiling for a fight. The rest of the force was in thebattle-zone, which was our last hope. If that went the Boche hada clear walk to Amiens. Some additional field batteries had beenbrought up to support our very weak divisional artillery. Thefront was so long that I had to put all three of my emaciatedbrigades in the line, so I had nothing to speak of in reserve. Itwas a most almighty gamble.
We had found shelter just in time. At 6.30 next day—fora change it was a clear morning with clouds beginning to bank upfrom the west— the Boche let us know he was alive. He gaveus a good drenching with gas shells which didn't do much harm,and then messed up our forward zone with his trench mortars. At7.20 his men began to come on, first little bunches withmachine-guns and then the infantry in waves. It was clear theywere fresh troops, and we learned afterwards from prisoners thatthey were Bavarians—6th or 7th, I forget which, but thedivision that hung us up at Monchy. At the same time there wasthe sound of a tremendous bombardment across the river. It lookedas if the main battle had swung from Albert and Montdidier to adirect push for Amiens. I have often tried to write down theevents of that day. I tried it in my report to the Corps; I triedit in my own diary; I tried it because Mary wanted it; but I havenever been able to make any story that hung together. Perhaps Iwas too tired for my mind to retain clear impressions, though atthe time I was not conscious of special fatigue. More likely itis because the fight itself was so confused, for nothing happenedaccording to the books and the orderly soul of the Boche musthave been scarified... At first it went as I expected. Theoutpost line was pushed in, but the fire from the redoubts brokeup the advance, and enabled the line of resistance in the forwardzone to give a good account of itself. There was a check, andthen another big wave, assisted by a barrage from field-gunsbrought far forward. This time the line of resistance gave atseveral points, and Lefroy flung in the Americans in acounter-attack. That was a mighty performance. The engineers,yelling like dervishes, went at it with the bayonet, and thosethat preferred swung their rifles as clubs. It was terriblycostly fighting and all wrong, but it succeeded. They cleared theBoche out of a ruined farm he had rushed, and a little wood, andre-established our front. Blenkiron, who saw it all, for he wentwith them and got the tip of an ear picked off by a machine-gunbullet, hadn't any words wherewith to speak of it. 'And I oncesaid those boys looked puffy,' he moaned.
The next phase, which came about midday, was the tanks. I hadnever seen the German variety, but had heard that it was speedierand heavier than ours, but unwieldy. We did not see much of theirspeed, but we found out all about their clumsiness. Had thethings been properly handled they should have gone through uslike rotten wood. But the whole outfit was bungled. It lookedgood enough country for the use of them, but the men who made ourposition had had an eye to this possibility. The great monsters,mounting a field-gun besides other contrivances, wanted somethinglike a highroad to be happy in. They were useless over anythinglike difficult ground. The ones that came down the main road goton well enough at the start, but Blenkiron very sensibly hadmined the highway, and we blew a hole like a diamond pit. One layhelpless at the foot of it, and we took the crew prisoner;another stuck its nose over and remained there till ourfield-guns got the range and knocked it silly. As for therest—there is a marshy lagoon called the Patte d'Oie besidethe farm of Gavrelle, which runs all the way north to the river,though in most places it only seems like a soft patch in themeadows. This the tanks had to cross to reach our line, and theynever made it. Most got bogged, and made pretty targets for ourgunners; one or two returned; and one the Americans, creepingforward under cover of a little stream, blew up with a timefuse.
By the middle of the afternoon I was feeling happier. I knewthe big attack was still to come, but I had my forward zoneintact and I hoped for the best. I remember I was talking toWake, who had been going between the two zones, when I got thefirst warning of a new and unexpected peril. A dud shell plumpeddown a few yards from me.
'Those fools across the river are firing short and badly offthe straight,' I said.
Wake examined the shell. 'No, it's a German one,' he said.
Then came others, and there could be no mistake about thedirection—followed by a burst of machine-gun fire from thesame quarter. We ran in cover to a point from which we could seethe north bank of the river, and I got my glass on it. There wasa lift of land from behind which the fire was coming. We lookedat each other, and the same conviction stood in both faces. TheBoche had pushed down the northern bank, and we were no longer inline with our neighbours. The enemy was in a situation to catchus with his fire on our flank and left rear. We couldn't retireto conform, for to retire meant giving up our preparedposition.
It was the last straw to all our anxieties, and for a moment Iwas at the end of my wits. I turned to Wake, and his calm eyespulled me together.
'If they can't retake that ground, we're fairly carted,' Isaid.
'We are. Therefore they must retake it.'
'I must get on to Mitchinson.' But as I spoke I realized thefutility of a telephone message to a man who was pretty hard upagainst it himself. Only an urgent appeal could effectanything... I must go myself... No, that was impossible. I mustsend Lefroy... But he couldn't be spared. And all my staffofficers were up to their necks in the battle. Besides, none ofthem knew the position as I knew it... And how to get there? Itwas a long way round by the bridge at Loisy.
Suddenly I was aware of Wake's voice. 'You had better sendme,' he was saying. 'There's only one way—to swim the rivera little lower down.'
'That's too damnably dangerous. I won't send any man tocertain death.'
'But I volunteer,' he said. 'That, I believe, is alwaysallowed in war.'
'But you'll be killed before you can cross.'
'Send a man with me to watch. If I get over, you may be sureI'll get to General Mitchinson. If not, send somebody else byLoisy. There's desperate need for hurry, and you see yourselfit's the only way.'
The time was past for argument. I scribbled a line toMitchinson as his credentials. No more was needed, for Wake knewthe position as well as I did. I sent an orderly to accompany himto his starting-place on the bank.
'Goodbye,' he said, as we shook hands. 'You'll see, I'll comeback all right.' His face, I remember, looked singularly happy.Five minutes later the Boche guns opened for the finalattack.
I believe I kept a cool head; at least so Lefroy and theothers reported. They said I went about all afternoon grinning asif I liked it, and that I never raised my voice once. (It'srather a fault of mine that I bellow in a scrap.) But I know Iwas feeling anything but calm, for the problem was ghastly. Itall depended on Wake and Mitchinson. The flanking fire was so badthat I had to give up the left of the forward zone, which caughtit fairly, and retire the men there to the battle-zone. Thelatter was better protected, for between it and the river was asmall wood and the bank rose into a bluff which sloped inwardstowards us. This withdrawal meant a switch, and a switch isn't apretty thing when it has to be improvised in the middle of abattle.
The Boche had counted on that flanking fire. His plan was tobreak our two wings—the old Boche plan which crops up inevery fight. He left our centre at first pretty well alone, andthrust along the river bank and to the wood of La Bruyere, wherewe linked up with the division on our right. Lefroy was in thefirst area, and Masterton in the second, and for three hours itwas as desperate a business as I have ever faced... Theimprovised switch went, and more and more of the forward zonedisappeared. It was a hot, clear spring afternoon, and in theopen fighting the enemy came on like troops at manoeuvres. On theleft they got into the battle-zone, and I can see yet Lefroy'sgreat figure leading a counter-attack in person, his face allpuddled with blood from a scalp wound...
I would have given my soul to be in two places at once, but Ihad to risk our left and keep close to Masterton, who needed memost. The wood of La Bruyere was the maddest sight. Again andagain the Boche was almost through it. You never knew where hewas, and most of the fighting there was duels between machine-gunparties. Some of the enemy got round behind us, and only a fineperformance of a company of Cheshires saved a completebreakthrough.
As for Lefroy, I don't know how he stuck it out, and hedoesn't know himself, for he was galled all the time by thataccursed flanking fire. I got a note about half past four sayingthat Wake had crossed the river, but it was some weary hoursafter that before the fire slackened. I tore back and forwardbetween my wings, and every time I went north I expected to findthat Lefroy had broken. But by some miracle he held. The Bocheswere in his battle-zone time and again, but he always flung themout. I have a recollection of Blenkiron, stark mad, encouraginghis Americans with strange tongues. Once as I passed him I sawthat he had his left arm tied up. His blackened face grinned atme. 'This bit of landscape's mighty unsafe for democracy,' hecroaked. 'For the love of Mike get your guns on to those devilsacross the river. They're plaguing my boys too bad.'
It was about seven o'clock, I think, when the flanking fireslacked off, but it was not because of our divisional guns. Therewas a short and very furious burst of artillery fire on the northbank, and I knew it was British. Then things began to happen. Oneof our planes—they had been marvels all day, swinging downlike hawks for machine-gun bouts with the Bocheinfantry—reported that Mitchinson was attacking hard andgetting on well. That eased my mind, and I started off forMasterton, who was in greater straits than ever, for the enemyseemed to be weakening on the river bank and putting his mainstrength in against our right... But my G.S.O.2 stopped me on theroad. 'Wake,' he said. 'He wants to see you.'
'Not now,' I cried.
'He can't live many minutes.'
I turned and followed him to the ruinous cowshed which was mydivisional headquarters. Wake, as I heard later, had swum theriver opposite to Mitchinson's right, and reached the other shoresafely, though the current was whipped with bullets. But he hadscarcely landed before he was badly hit by shrapnel in the groin.Walking at first with support and then carried on a stretcher, hemanaged to struggle on to the divisional headquarters, where hegave my message and explained the situation. He would not let hiswound be looked to till his job was done. Mitchinson told meafterwards that with a face grey from pain he drew for him asketch of our position and told him exactly how near we were toour end... After that he asked to be sent back to me, and theygot him down to Loisy in a crowded ambulance, and then up to usin a returning empty. The M.O. who looked at his wound saw thatthe thing was hopeless, and did not expect him to live beyondLoisy. He was bleeding internally and no surgeon on earth couldhave saved him.
When he reached us he was almost pulseless, but he recoveredfor a moment and asked for me.
I found him, with blue lips and a face drained of blood, lyingon my camp bed. His voice was very small and far away.
'How goes it?' he asked.
'Please God, we'll pull through... thanks to you, oldman.'
'Good,' he said and his eyes shut.
He opened them once again.
'Funny thing life. A year ago I was preaching peace... I'mstill preaching it... I'm not sorry.'
I held his hand till two minutes later he died.
In the press of a fight one scarcely realizes death, even thedeath of a friend. It was up to me to make good my assurance toWake, and presently I was off to Masterton. There in thatshambles of La Bruyere, while the light faded, there was adesperate and most bloody struggle. It was the last lap of thecontest. Twelve hours now, I kept telling myself, and the Frenchwill be here and we'll have done our task. Alas! how many of uswould go back to rest?... Hardly able to totter, ourcounter-attacking companies went in again. They had gone farbeyond the limits of mortal endurance, but the human spirit candefy all natural laws. The balance trembled, hung, and thendropped the right way. The enemy impetus weakened, stopped, andthe ebb began.
I wanted to complete the job. Our artillery put up a sharpbarrage, and the little I had left comparatively fresh I sent infor a counter-stroke. Most of the men were untrained, but therewas that in our ranks which dispensed with training, and we hadcaught the enemy at the moment of lowest vitality. We pushed himout of La Bruyere, we pushed him back to our old forward zone, wepushed him out of that zone to the position from which he hadbegun the day.
But there was no rest for the weary. We had lost at least athird of our strength, and we had to man the same long line. Weconsolidated it as best we could, started to replace the wiringthat had been destroyed, found touch with the division on ourright, and established outposts. Then, after a conference with mybrigadiers, I went back to my headquarters, too tired to feeleither satisfaction or anxiety. In eight hours the French wouldbe here. The words made a kind of litany in my ears.
In the cowshed where Wake had lain, two figures awaited me.The talc-enclosed candle revealed Hamilton and Amos, dirty beyondwords, smoke-blackened, blood-stained, and intricately bandaged.They stood stiffly to attention.
'Sirr, the prisoner,' said Hamilton. 'I have to report thatthe prisoner is deid.'
I stared at them, for I had forgotten Ivery. He seemed acreature of a world that had passed away.
'Sirr, it was like this. Ever sin' this mornin', the prisonerseemed to wake up. Ye'll mind that he was in a kind of dream allweek. But he got some new notion in his heid, and when the battlebegan he exheebited signs of restlessness. Whiles he wad lie dounin the trench, and whiles he was wantin' back to the dug-out.Accordin' to instructions I provided him wi' a rifle, but hedidna seem to ken how to handle it. It was your orders, sirr,that he was to have means to defend hisself if the enemy cam on,so Amos gie'd him a trench knife. But verra soon he looked as ifhe was ettlin' to cut his throat, so I deprived him of it.'
Hamilton stopped for breath. He spoke as if he were reciting alesson, with no stops between the sentences.
'I jaloused, sirr, that he wadna last oot the day, and Amoshere was of the same opinion. The end came at twenty minutes pastthree—I ken the time, for I had just compared my watch withAmos. Ye'll mind that the Gairmans were beginning a big attack.We were in the front trench of what they ca' the battle-zone, andAmos and me was keepin' oor eyes on the enemy, who could beobsairved dribblin' ower the open. just then the prisoner catchessight of the enemy and jumps up on the top. Amos tried to holdhim, but he kicked him in the face. The next we kenned he wasrunnin' verra fast towards the enemy, holdin' his hands ower hisheid and crying out loud in a foreign langwidge.'
'It was German,' said the scholarly Amos through his brokenteeth.
'It was Gairman,' continued Hamilton. 'It seemed as if he wasappealin' to the enemy to help him. But they paid no attention,and he cam under the fire of their machine-guns. We watched himspin round like a teetotum and kenned that he was bye withit.'
'You are sure he was killed?' I asked.
'Yes, sirr. When we counter-attacked we fund his body.'
There is a grave close by the farm of Gavrelle, and a woodencross at its head bears the name of the Graf von Schwabing andthe date of his death. The Germans took Gavrelle a little later.I am glad to think that they read that inscription.
I slept for one and three-quarter hours that night, and when Iawoke I seemed to emerge from deeps of slumber which had lastedfor days. That happens sometimes after heavy fatigue and greatmental strain. Even a short sleep sets up a barrier between pastand present which has to be elaborately broken down before youcan link on with what has happened before. As my wits groped atthe job some drops of rain splashed on my face through the brokenroof. That hurried me out-of-doors. It was just after dawn andthe sky was piled with thick clouds, while a wet wind blew upfrom the southwest. The long-prayed-for break in the weatherseemed to have come at last. A deluge of rain was what I wanted,something to soak the earth and turn the roads into water-coursesand clog the enemy transport, something above all to blind theenemy's eyes... For I remembered what a preposterous bluff it allhad been, and what a piteous broken handful stood between theGermans and their goal. If they knew, if they only knew, theywould brush us aside like flies.
As I shaved I looked back on the events of yesterday as onsomething that had happened long ago. I seemed to judge themimpersonally, and I concluded that it had been a pretty goodfight. A scratch force, half of it dog-tired and half of ituntrained, had held up at least a couple of fresh divisions ...But we couldn't do it again, and there were still some hoursbefore us of desperate peril. When had the Corps said that theFrench would arrive?... I was on the point of shouting forHamilton to get Wake to ring up Corps Headquarters, when Iremembered that Wake was dead. I had liked him and greatlyadmired him, but the recollection gave me scarcely a pang. Wewere all dying, and he had only gone on a stage ahead.
There was no morning strafe, such as had been our usualfortune in the past week. I went out-of-doors and found anoiseless world under the lowering sky. The rain had stoppedfalling, the wind of dawn had lessened, and I feared that thestorm would be delayed. I wanted it at once to help us throughthe next hours of tension. Was it in six hours that the Frenchwere coming? No, it must be four. It couldn't be more than four,unless somebody had made an infernal muddle. I wondered whyeverything was so quiet. It would be breakfast time on bothsides, but there seemed no stir of man's presence in that uglystrip half a mile off. Only far back in the German hinterland Iseemed to hear the rumour of traffic.
An unslept and unshaven figure stood beside me which revealeditself as Archie Roylance.
'Been up all night,' he said cheerfully, lighting a cigarette.'No, I haven't had breakfast. The skipper thought we'd better getanother anti-aircraft battery up this way, and I wassuperintendin' the job. He's afraid of the Hun gettin' over yourlines and spying out the nakedness of the land. For, you know,we're uncommon naked, sir. Also,' and Archie's face became grave,'the Hun's pourin' divisions down on this sector. As I judge,he's blowin' up for a thunderin' big drive on both sides of theriver. Our lads yesterday said all the country back of Peronnewas lousy with new troops. And he's gettin' his big guns forward,too. You haven't been troubled with them yet, but he has got theroads mended and the devil of a lot of new light railways, andany moment we'll have the five-point-nines sayin' Good-mornin'...Pray Heaven you get relieved in time, sir. I take it there's notmuch risk of another push this mornin'?'
'I don't think so. The Boche took a nasty knock yesterday, andhe must fancy we're pretty strong after that counter-attack. Idon't think he'll strike till he can work both sides of theriver, and that'll take time to prepare. That's what his freshdivisions are for... But remember, he can attack now, if helikes. If he knew how weak we were he's strong enough to send usall to glory in the next three hours. It's just that knowledgethat you fellows have got to prevent his getting. If a single Hunplane crosses our lines and returns, we're wholly and utterlydone. You've given us splendid help since the show began, Archie.For God's sake keep it up to the finish and put every machine youcan spare in this sector.'
'We're doin' our best,' he said. 'We got some more fightin'scouts down from the north, and we're keepin' our eyes skinned.But you know as well as I do, sir, that it's never an ab-so-lutecertainty. If the Hun sent over a squadron we might beat 'em alldown but one, and that one might do the trick. It's a matter ofluck. The Hun's got the wind up all right in the air just now andI don't blame the poor devil. I'm inclined to think we haven'thad the pick of his push here. Jennings says he's doin' good workin Flanders, and they reckon there's the deuce of a thrust comin'there pretty soon. I think we can manage the kind of footler he'sbeen sendin' over here lately, but if Lensch or some lad likethat were to choose to turn up I wouldn't say what might happen.The air's a big lottery,' and Archie turned a dirty face skywardwhere two of our planes were moving very high towards theeast.
The mention of Lensch brought Peter to mind, and I asked if hehad gone back.
'He won't go,' said Archie, 'and we haven't the heart to makehim. He's very happy, and plays about with the Gladas single-seater. He's always speakin' about you, sir, and it'd break hisheart if we shifted him.'
I asked about his health, and was told that he didn't seem tohave much pain.
'But he's a bit queer,' and Archie shook a sage head. 'One ofthe reasons why he won't budge is because he says God has somework for him to do. He's quite serious about it, and ever sincehe got the notion he has perked up amazin'. He's always askin'about Lensch, too—not vindictive like, you understand, butquite friendly. Seems to take a sort of proprietary interest inhim. I told him Lensch had had a far longer spell of first-classfightin' than anybody else and was bound by the law of averagesto be downed soon, and he was quite sad about it.'
I had no time to worry about Peter. Archie and I swallowedbreakfast and I had a pow-wow with my brigadiers. By this time Ihad got through to Corps H.Q. and got news of the French. It wasworse than I expected. General Peguy would arrive about teno'clock, but his men couldn't take over till well after midday.The Corps gave me their whereabouts and I found it on the map.They had a long way to cover yet, and then there would be theslow business of relieving. I looked at my watch. There werestill six hours before us when the Boche might knock us toblazes, six hours of maddening anxiety... Lefroy announced thatall was quiet on the front, and that the new wiring at the Boisde la Bruyere had been completed. Patrols had reported thatduring the night a fresh German division seemed to have relievedthat which we had punished so stoutly yesterday. I asked him ifhe could stick it out against another attack. 'No,' he saidwithout hesitation. 'We're too few and too shaky on our pins tostand any more. I've only a man to every three yards.' Thatimpressed me, for Lefroy was usually the most devil-may-careoptimist.
'Curse it, there's the sun,' I heard Archie cry. It was true,for the clouds were rolling back and the centre of the heavenswas a patch of blue. The storm was coming—I could smell itin the air—but probably it wouldn't break till the evening.Where, I wondered, would we be by that time?
it was now nine o'clock, and I was keeping tight hold onmyself, for I saw that I was going to have hell for the nexthours. I am a pretty stolid fellow in some ways, but I havealways found patience and standing still the most difficult jobto tackle, and my nerves were all tattered from the long strainof the retreat. I went up to the line and saw the battalioncommanders. Everything was unwholesomely quiet there. Then I cameback to my headquarters to study the reports that were coming infrom the air patrols. They all said the same thing—abnormalactivity in the German back areas. Things seemed shaping for anew 21st of March, and, if our luck were out, my poor littleremnant would have to take the shock. I telephoned to the Corpsand found them as nervous as me. I gave them the details of mystrength and heard an agonized whistle at the other end of theline. I was rather glad I had companions in the samepurgatory.
I found I couldn't sit still. If there had been any work to doI would have buried myself in it, but there was none. Only thisfearsome job of waiting. I hardly ever feel cold, but now myblood seemed to be getting thin, and I astonished my staff byputting on a British warm and buttoning up the collar. Round thatderelict farm I ranged like a hungry wolf, cold at the feet,queasy in the stomach, and mortally edgy in the mind.
Then suddenly the cloud lifted from me, and the blood seemedto run naturally in my veins. I experienced the change of moodwhich a man feels sometimes when his whole being is fined downand clarified by long endurance. The fight of yesterday revealeditself as something rather splendid. What risks we had run andhow gallantly we had met them! My heart warmed as I thought ofthat old division of mine, those ragged veterans that were neverbeaten as long as breath was left them. And the Americans and theboys from the machine-gun school and all the oddments we hadcommandeered! And old Blenkiron raging like a good-tempered lion!It was against reason that such fortitude shouldn't win out. Wehad snarled round and bitten the Boche so badly that he wanted nomore for a little. He would come again, but presently we shouldbe relieved and the gallant blue-coats, fresh as paint andburning for revenge, would be there to worry him.
I had no new facts on which to base my optimism, only achanged point of view. And with it came a recollection of otherthings. Wake's death had left me numb before, but now the thoughtof it gave me a sharp pang. He was the first of our littleconfederacy to go. But what an ending he had made, and how happyhe had been in that mad time when he had come down from hispedestal and become one of the crowd! He had found himself at thelast, and who could grudge him such happiness? If the best wereto be taken, he would be chosen first, for he was a big man,before whom I uncovered my head. The thought of him made me veryhumble. I had never had his troubles to face, but he had comeclean through them, and reached a courage which was for everbeyond me. He was the Faithful among us pilgrims, who hadfinished his journey before the rest. Mary had foreseen it.'There is a price to be paid,' she had said—'the best ofus.'
And at the thought of Mary a flight of warm and happy hopesseemed to settle on my mind. I was looking again beyond the warto that peace which she and I would some day inherit. I had avision of a green English landscape, with its far-flung scents ofwood and meadow and garden... And that face of all my dreams,with the eyes so childlike and brave and honest, as if they, too,saw beyond the dark to a radiant country. A line of an old song,which had been a favourite of my father's, sang itself in myears:
There's an eye that ever weeps and a fair facewill be fain
When I ride through Annan Water wi' my bonny bands again!
We were standing by the crumbling rails of what had once beenthe farm sheepfold. I looked at Archie and he smiled back at me,for he saw that my face had changed. Then he turned his eyes tothe billowing clouds.
I felt my arm clutched.
'Look there!' said a fierce voice, and his glasses were turnedupward.
I looked, and far up in the sky saw a thing like a wedge ofwild geese flying towards us from the enemy's country. I made outthe small dots which composed it, and my glass told me they wereplanes. But only Archie's practised eye knew that they wereenemy.
'Boche?' I asked.
'Boche,' he said. 'My God, we're for it now.' My heart hadsunk like a stone, but I was fairly cool. I looked at my watchand saw that it was ten minutes to eleven.
'How many?'
'Five,' said Archie. 'Or there may be six—not more.'
'Listen!' I said. 'Get on to your headquarters. Tell them thatit's all up with us if a single plane gets back. Let them getwell over the line, the deeper in the better, and tell them tosend up every machine they possess and down them all. Tell themit's life or death. Not one single plane goes back. Quick!'
Archie disappeared, and as he went our anti-aircraft gunsbroke out. The formation above opened and zigzagged, but theywere too high to be in much danger. But they were not too high tosee that which we must keep hidden or perish.
The roar of our batteries died down as the invaders passedwestward. As I watched their progress they seemed to be droppinglower. Then they rose again and a bank of cloud concealedthem.
I had a horrid certainty that they must beat us, that some atany rate would get back. They had seen thin lines and the roadsbehind us empty of supports. They would see, as they advanced,the blue columns of the French coming up from the south-west, andthey would return and tell the enemy that a blow now would openthe road to Amiens and the sea. He had plenty of strength for it,and presently he would have overwhelming strength. It only neededa spear-point to burst the jerry-built dam and let the floodthrough ... They would return in twenty minutes, and by noon wewould be broken. Unless—unless the miracle of miracleshappened, and they never returned.
Archie reported that his skipper would do his damnedest andthat our machines were now going up. 'We've a chance, sir,' hesaid, 'a good sportin' chance.' It was a new Archie, with a hardvoice, a lean face, and very old eyes.
Behind the jagged walls of the farm buildings was a knollwhich had once formed part of the high-road. I went up therealone, for I didn't want anybody near me. I wanted a viewpoint,and I wanted quiet, for I had a grim time before me. From thatknoll I had a big prospect of country. I looked east to our lineson which an occasional shell was falling, and where I could hearthe chatter of machine-guns. West there was peace for the woodsclosed down on the landscape. Up to the north, I remember, therewas a big glare as from a burning dump, and heavy guns seemed tobe at work in the Ancre valley. Down in the south there was thedull murmur of a great battle. But just around me, in the gap,the deadliest place of all, there was an odd quiet. I could pickout clearly the different sounds. Somebody down at the farm hadmade a joke and there was a short burst of laughter. I envied thehumorist his composure. There was a clatter and jingle from abattery changing position. On the road a tractor was joltingalong—I could hear its driver shout and the screech of itsunoiled axle.
My eyes were glued to my glasses, but they shook in my handsso that I could scarcely see. I bit my lip to steady myself, butthey still wavered. From time to time I glanced at my watch.Eight minutes gone—ten—seventeen. If only the planeswould come into sight! Even the certainty of failure would bebetter than this harrowing doubt. They should be back by nowunless they had swung north across the salient, or unless themiracle of miracles...
Then came the distant yapping of an anti-aircraft gun, caughtup the next second by others, while smoke patches studded thedistant blue sky. The clouds were banking in mid-heaven, but tothe west there was a big clear space now woolly with shrapnelbursts. I counted them mechanically—one—three—five—nine—with despairbeginning to take the place of my anxiety. My hands were steadynow, and through the glasses I saw the enemy.
Five attenuated shapes rode high above the bombardment, nowsharp against the blue, now lost in a film of vapour. They werecoming back, serenely, contemptuously, having seen all theywanted.
The quiet was gone now and the din was monstrous.Anti-aircraft guns, singly and in groups, were firing from everyside. As I watched it seemed a futile waste of ammunition. Theenemy didn't give a tinker's curse for it... But surely there wasone down. I could only count four now. No, there was the fifthcoming out of a cloud. In ten minutes they would be all over theline. I fairly stamped in my vexation. Those guns were no moreuse than a sick headache. Oh, where in God's name were our ownplanes?
At that moment they came, streaking down into sight, fourfighting-scouts with the sun glinting on their wings andburnishing their metal cowls. I saw clearly the rings of red,white, and blue. Before their downward drive the enemy instantlyspread out.
I was watching with bare eyes now, and I wanted companionship,for the time of waiting was over. Automatically I must have rundown the knoll, for the next I knew I was staring at the heavenswith Archie by my side. The combatants seemed to coupleinstinctively. Diving, wheeling, climbing, a pair would drop outof the melee or disappear behind a cloud. Even at that height Icould hear the methodical rat-tat-tat of the machine-guns. Thenthere was a sudden flare and wisp of smoke. A plane sank, turningand twisting, to earth.
'Hun!' said Archie, who had his glasses on it.
Almost immediately another followed. This time the pilotrecovered himself, while still a thousand feet from the ground,and started gliding for the enemy lines. Then he wavered, plungedsickeningly, and fell headlong into the wood behind LaBruyere.
Farther east, almost over the front trenches, a two-seaterAlbatross and a British pilot were having a desperate tussle. Thebombardment had stopped, and from where we stood every movementcould be followed. First one, then another, climbed uppermost anddived back, swooped out and wheeled in again, so that the twoplanes seemed to clear each other only by inches. Then it lookedas if they closed and interlocked. I expected to see both gocrashing, when suddenly the wings of one seemed to shrivel up,and the machine dropped like a stone.
'Hun,' said Archie. 'That makes three. Oh, good lads! Goodlads!'
Then I saw something which took away my breath. Sloping downin wide circles came a German machine, and, following, a littlebehind and a little above, a British. It was the first surrenderin mid-air I had seen. In my amazement I watched the couple rightdown to the ground, till the enemy landed in a big meadow acrossthe high-road and our own man in a field nearer the river.
When I looked back into the sky, it was bare. North, south,east, and west, there was not a sign of aircraft, British orGerman.
A violent trembling took me. Archie was sweeping the heavenswith his glasses and muttering to himself. Where was the fifthman? He must have fought his way through, and it was toolate.
But was it? From the toe of a great rolling cloud-bank a flameshot earthwards, followed by a V-shaped trail of smoke. Britishor Boche? British or Boche? I didn't wait long for an answer.For, riding over the far end of the cloud, came two of ourfighting scouts.
I tried to be cool, and snapped my glasses into their case,though the reaction made me want to shout. Archie turned to mewith a nervous smile and a quivering mouth. 'I think we have wonon the post,' he said.
He reached out a hand for mine, his eyes still on the sky, andI was grasping it when it was torn away. He was staring upwardswith a white face.
We were looking at the sixth enemy plane.
It had been behind the others and much lower, and was makingstraight at a great speed for the east. The glasses showed me adifferent type of machine—a big machine with short wings,which looked menacing as a hawk in a covey of grouse. It wasunder the cloud-bank, and above, satisfied, easing down aftertheir fight, and unwitting of this enemy, rode the two Britishcraft.
A neighbouring anti-aircraft gun broke out into a suddenburst, and I thanked Heaven for its inspiration. Curious as tothis new development, the two British turned, caught sight of theBoche, and dived for him.
What happened in the next minutes I cannot tell. The threeseemed to be mixed up in a dog fight, so that I could notdistinguish friend from foe. My hands no longer trembled; I wastoo desperate. The patter of machine-guns came down to us, andthen one of the three broke clear and began to climb. The othersstrained to follow, but in a second he had risen beyond theirfire, for he had easily the pace of them. Was it the Hun?
Archie's dry lips were talking.
'It's Lensch,' he said.
'How d'you know?' I gasped angrily.
'Can't mistake him. Look at the way he slipped out as hebanked. That's his patent trick.'
In that agonizing moment hope died in me. I was perfectly calmnow, for the time for anxiety had gone. Farther and fartherdrifted the British pilots behind, while Lensch in thecompleteness of his triumph looped more than once as if to cry aninsulting farewell. In less than three minutes he would be safeinside his own lines, and he carried the knowledge which for uswas death.
Someone was bawling in my ear, and pointing upward. It wasArchie and his face was wild. I looked and gasped—seized myglasses and looked again.
A second before Lensch had been alone; now there were twomachines.
I heard Archie's voice. 'My God, it's the Gladas—thelittle Gladas.' His fingers were digging into my arm and his facewas against my shoulder. And then his excitement sobered into anawe which choked his speech, as he stammered—'It'sold—'
But I did not need him to tell me the name, for I had divinedit when I first saw the new plane drop from the clouds. I hadthat queer sense that comes sometimes to a man that a friend ispresent when he cannot see him. Somewhere up in the void twoheroes were fighting their last battle— and one of them hada crippled leg.
I had never any doubt about the result, though Archie told melater that he went crazy with suspense. Lensch was not aware ofhis opponent till he was almost upon him, and I wonder if by anyfreak of instinct he recognized his greatest antagonist. He neverfired a shot, nor did Peter... I saw the German twist andside-slip as if to baffle the fate descending upon him. I sawPeter veer over vertically and I knew that the end had come. Hewas there to make certain of victory and he took the only way.The machines closed, there was a crash which I felt though Icould not hear it, and next second both were hurtling down, overand over, to the earth.
They fell in the river just short of the enemy lines, but Idid not see them, for my eyes were blinded and I was on myknees.
After that it was all a dream. I found myself being embracedby a French General of Division, and saw the first companies ofthe cheerful bluecoats whom I had longed for. With them came therain , and it was under a weeping April sky that early in thenight I marched what was left of my division away from thebattle-field. The enemy guns were starting to speak behind us,but I did not heed them. I knew that now there were warders atthe gate, and I believed that by the grace of God that gate wasbarred for ever.
They took Peter from the wreckage with scarcely a scar excepthis twisted leg. Death had smoothed out some of the age in him,and left his face much as I remembered it long ago in theMashonaland hills. In his pocket was his old batteredPilgrim's Progress. It lies before me as I write, andbeside it—for I was his only legatee—the little casewhich came to him weeks later, containing the highest honour thatcan be bestowed upon a soldier of Britain. It was from thePilgrim's Progress that I read next morning, when in thelee of an apple-orchard Mary and Blenkiron and I stood in thesoft spring rain beside his grave. And what I read was the talein the end not of Mr Standfast, whom he had singled out for hiscounterpart, but of Mr Valiant-for-Truth whom he had not hoped toemulate. I set down the words as a salute and a farewell:
'Then said he, "I am going to my Father's; andthough with great difficulty I am got hither, yet now I do notrepent me of all the trouble I have been at to arrive where I am.My sword I give to him that shall succeed me in my pilgrimage,and my courage and skill to him that can get it. My marks andscars I carry with me, to be a witness for me that I have foughtHis battles who now will be my rewarder."
'So he passed over, and all the trumpets sounded for him on theother side.'
THE END
This site is full of FREE ebooks -Project Gutenberg Australia