Books: Huntingtower
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John Buchan >> Huntingtower
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"Now you are going to tell me everything," he said. "If the Paul
who is your enemy is the Paul I think him, then we are allies."
But Dickson did not need this assurance. His mind had suddenly
received a revelation. The Princess had expected an enemy,
but also a friend. Might not this be the long-awaited friend,
for whose sake she was rooted to Huntingtower with all its terrors?
"Are you sure your name's no' Alexis?" he asked.
"In my own country I was called Alexis Nicolaevitch, for I am a Russian.
But for some years I have made my home with your folk, and I call myself
Alexander Nicholson, which is the English form. Who told you about Alexis?
"Give me your hand," said Dickson shamefacedly. "Man, she's been
looking for you for weeks. You're terribly behind the fair."
"She!" he cried. "For God's sake, tell me what you mean."
"Ay, she--the Princess. But what are we havering here for?
I tell you at this moment she's somewhere down about the old Tower,
and there's boatloads of blagyirds landing from the sea. Help me up,
man, for I must be off. The story will keep. Losh, it's very near
the darkening. If you're Alexis, you're just about in time for a battle."
But Dickson on his feet was but a frail creature. He was still
deplorably giddy, and his legs showed an unpleasing tendency to crumple.
"I'm fair done," he moaned. "You see, I've been tied up all day to a
tree and had two sore bashes on my head. Get you on that bicycle and
hurry on, and I'll hirple after you the best I can. I'll direct you
the road, and if you're lucky you'll find a Die-Hard about the village.
Away with you, man, and never mind me."
"We go together," said the other quietly. "You can sit behind me
and hang on to my waist. Before you turned up I had pretty well
got the thing in order."
Dickson in a fever of impatience sat by while the Russian put
the finishing touches to the machine, and as well as his anxiety
allowed put him in possession of the main facts of the story.
He told of how he and Heritage had come to Dalquharter, of the first
meeting with Saskia, of the trip to Glasgow with the jewels, of the
exposure of Loudon the factor, of last night's doings in the House,
and of the journey that morning to the Mains of Garple. He sketched the
figures on the scene--Heritage and Sir Archie, Dobson and his gang, the
Gorbals Die-Hards. He told of the enemy's plans so far as he knew them.
"Looked at from a business point of view," he said, "the situation's
like this. There's Heritage in the Tower, with Dobson, Leon, and
Spidel sitting round him. Somewhere about the place there's the
Princess and Sir Archibald and three men with guns from the Mains.
Dougal and his five laddies are running loose in the policies.
And there's four tinklers and God knows how many foreign ruffians
pushing up from the Garplefoot, and a brig lying waiting to carry
off the ladies. Likewise there's the police, somewhere on the road,
though the dear kens when they'll turn up. It's awful the
incompetence of our Government, and the rates and taxes that high!..
.And there's you and me by this roadside, and me no more use
than a tattie-bogle....That's the situation, and the question is
what's our plan to be? We must keep the blagyirds in play till
the police come, and at the same time we must keep the Princess
out of danger. That's why I'm wanting back, for they've sore need
of a business head. Yon Sir Archibald's a fine fellow, but I
doubt he'll be a bit rash, and the Princess is no' to hold or bind.
Our first job is to find Dougal and get a grip of the facts."
"I am going to the Princess," said the Russian.
"Ay, that'll be best. You'll be maybe able to manage her,
for you'll be well acquaint."
"She is my kinswoman. She is also my affianced wife."
"Keep us!" Dickson exclaimed, with a doleful thought of Heritage.
"What ailed you then no' to look after her better?"
"We have been long separated, because it was her will. She had work
to do and disappeared from me, though I searched all Europe for her.
Then she sent me word, when the danger became extreme, and summoned
me to her aid. But she gave me poor directions, for she did not know
her own plans very clearly. She spoke of a place called Darkwater,
and I have been hunting half Scotland for it. It was only last night
that I heard of Dalquharter and guessed that that might be the name.
But I was far down in Galloway, and have ridden fifty miles today."
"It's a queer thing, but I wouldn't take you for a Russian."
Alexis finished his work and put away his tools.
"For the present," he said, "I am an Englishman, till my country
comes again to her senses. Ten years ago I left Russia, for I
was sick of the foolishness of my class and wanted a free life
in a new world. I went to Australia and made good as an engineer.
I am a partner in a firm which is pretty well known even in Britain.
When war broke out I returned to fight for my people, and when Russia
fell out of the war, I joined the Australians in France and fought
with them till the Armistice. And now I have only one duty left,
to save the Princess and take her with me to my new home till Russia
is a nation once more."
Dickson whistled joyfully. "So Mr. Heritage was right. He aye said
you were an Australian....And you're a business man! That's grand
hearing and puts my mind at rest. You must take charge of the party
at the House, for Sir Archibald's a daft young lad and Mr. Heritage
is a poet. I thought I would have to go myself, but I doubt I would
just be a hindrance with my dwaibly legs. I'd be better outside,
watching for the police....Are you ready, sir?"
Dickson not without difficulty perched himself astride the
luggage carrier, firmly grasping the rider round the middle.
The machine started, but it was evidently in a bad way, for it made
poor going till the descent towards the main Auchenlochan road.
On the slope it warmed up and they crossed the Garple bridge at
a fair pace. There was to be no pleasant April twilight, for
the stormy sky had already made dusk, and in a very little
the dark would fall. So sombre was the evening that Dickson
did not notice a figure in the shadow of the roadside pines
till it whistled shrilly on its fingers. He cried on Alexis
to stop, and, this being accomplished with some suddenness,
fell off at Dougal's feet.
"What's the news?" he demanded.
Dougal glanced at Alexis and seemed to approve his looks.
"Napoleon has just reported that three boatloads, making either
twenty-three or twenty-four men--they were gey ill to count--has
landed at Garplefit and is makin' their way to the auld Tower.
The tinklers warned Dobson and soon it'll be a' bye wi' Heritage."
"The Princess is not there?" was Dickson's anxious inquiry.
"Na, na. Heritage is there his lone. They were for joinin' him,
but I wouldn't let them. She came wi' a man they call Sir Erchibald
and three gamekeepers wi' guns. I stoppit their cawr up the road and
tell't them the lie o' the land. Yon Sir Erchibald has poor notions
o' strawtegy. He was for bangin' into the auld Tower straight away
and shootin' Dobson if he tried to stop them. 'Havers,' say I,
'let them break their teeth on the Tower, thinkin' the leddy's
inside, and that'll give us time, for Heritage is no' the lad to
surrender in a hurry.'"
"Where are they now?"
"In the Hoose o' Dalquharter, and a sore job I had gettin' them in.
We've shifted our base again, without the enemy suspectin'."
"Any word of the police?"
"The polis!" and Dougal spat cynically. "It seems they're a dour
crop to shift. Sir Erchibald was sayin' that him and the lassie had
been to the Chief Constable, but the man was terrible auld and slow.
They persuadit him, but he threepit that it would take a long time
to collect his men and that there was no danger o' the brig landin'
before night. He's wrong there onyway, for they're landit."
"Dougal," said Dickson, "you've heard the Princess speak of
a friend she was expecting here called Alexis. This is him.
You can address him as Mr. Nicholson. Just arrived in the
nick of time. You must get him into the House, for he's the
best right to be beside the lady...Jaikie would tell you that I've
been sore mishandled the day, and am no' very fit for a battle.
But Mr. Nicholson's a business man and he'll do as well.
You're keeping the Die-Hards outside, I hope?"
"Ay. Thomas Yownie's in charge, and Jaikie will be in and out with orders.
They've instructions to watch for the polis, and keep an eye on
the Garplefit. It's a mortal long front to hold, but there's no
other way. I must be in the hoose mysel' Thomas Yownie's
headquarters is the auld wife's hen-hoose."
At that moment in a pause of the gale came the far-borne echo of a shot.
"Pistol," said Alexis.
"Heritage," said Dougal. "Trade will be gettin' brisk with him.
Start your machine and I'll hang on ahint. We'll try the road by
the West Lodge.
Presently the pair disappeared in the dusk, the noise of the engine
was swallowed up in the wild orchestra of the wind, and Dickson
hobbled towards the village in a state of excitement which made him
oblivious of his wounds. That lonely pistol shot was, he felt,
the bell to ring up the curtain on the last act of the play.
CHAPTER XIII
THE COMING OF THE DANISH BRIG
Mr. John Heritage, solitary in the old Tower, found much to
occupy his mind. His giddiness was passing, though the dregs
of a headache remained, and his spirits rose with his responsibilities.
At daybreak he breakfasted out of the Mearns Street provision box,
and made tea in one of the Die-Hard's camp kettles. Next he gave
some attention to his toilet, necessary after the rough-and-tumble
of the night. He made shift to bathe in icy water from the Tower well,
shaved, tidied up his clothes and found a clean shirt from his pack.
He carefully brushed his hair, reminding himself that thus had the
Spartans done before Thermopylae. The neat and somewhat pallid young
man that emerged from these rites then ascended to the first floor
to reconnoitre the landscape from the narrow unglazed windows.
If any one had told him a week ago that he would be in so strange
a world he would have quarrelled violently with his informant.
A week ago he was a cynical clear-sighted modern, a contemner of
illusions, a swallower of formulas, a breaker of shams--one who had
seen through the heroical and found it silly. Romance and such-like
toys were playthings for fatted middle-age, not for strenuous and
cold-eyed youth. But the truth was that now he was altogether
spellbound by these toys. To think that he was serving his lady was
rapture-ecstasy, that for her he was single-handed venturing all.
He rejoiced to be alone with his private fancies. His one fear was
that the part he had cast himself for might be needless, that the
men from the sea would not come, or that reinforcements would
arrive before he should be called upon. He hoped alone to make
a stand against thousands. What the upshot might be he did not
trouble to inquire. Of course the Princess would be saved,
but first he must glut his appetite for the heroic.
He made a diary of events that day, just as he used to do at the front.
At twenty minutes past eight he saw the first figure coming from the House.
It was Spidel, who limped round the Tower, tried the door, and came to
a halt below the window. Heritage stuck out his head and wished him
good morning, getting in reply an amazed stare. The man was not disposed
to talk, though Heritage made some interesting observations on the weather,
but departed quicker than he came, in the direction of the West Lodge.
Just before nine o'clock he returned with Dobson and Leon.
They made a very complete reconnaissance of the Tower, and
for a moment Heritage thought that they were about to try to
force an entrance. They tugged and hammered at the great oak door,
which he had further strengthened by erecting behind it a pile of
the heaviest lumber he could find in the place. It was imperative
that they should not get in, and he got Dickson's pistol ready with the
firm intention of shooting them if necessary. But they did nothing,
except to hold a conference in the hazel clump a hundred yards to the
north, when Dobson seemed to be laying down the law, and Leon spoke
rapidly with a great fluttering of hands. They were obviously
puzzled by the sight of Heritage, whom they believed to have
left the neighbourhood. Then Dobson went off, leaving Leon and
Spidel on guard, one at the edge of the shrubberies between the
Tower and the House, the other on the side nearest the Laver glen.
These were their posts, but they did sentry-go around the building,
and passed so close to Heritage's window that he could have tossed a
cigarette on their heads.
It occurred to him that he ought to get busy with camouflage.
They must be convinced that the Princess was in the place,
for he wanted their whole mind to be devoted to the siege.
He rummaged among the ladies' baggage, and extracted a skirt
and a coloured scarf. The latter he managed to flutter so that
it could be seen at the window the next time one of the watchers
came within sight. He also fixed up the skirt so that the fringe of
it could be seen, and, when Leon appeared below, he was in the
shadow talking rapid French in a very fair imitation of the tones
of Cousin Eugenie. The ruse had its effect, for Leon promptly
went off to tell Spidel, and when Dobson appeared he too was
given the news. This seemed to settle their plans, for all three
remained on guard, Dobson nearest to the Tower, seated on an
outcrop of rock with his mackintosh collar turned up, and his
eyes usually on the misty sea.
By this time it was eleven o'clock, and the next three hours passed
slowly with Heritage. He fell to picturing the fortunes of his friends.
Dickson and the Princess should by this time be far inland, out of danger
and in the way of finding succour. He was confident that they would
return, but he trusted not too soon, for he hoped for a run for his
money as Horatius in the Gate. After that he was a little torn in
his mind. He wanted the Princess to come back and to be somewhere
near if there was a fight going, so that she might be a witness of
his devotion. But she must not herself run any risk, and he became
anxious when he remembered her terrible sangfroid. Dickson could no
more restrain her than a child could hold a greyhound....But of course
it would never come to that. The police would turn up long before
the brig appeared--Dougal had thought that would not be till high tide,
between four and five--and the only danger would be to the pirates.
The three watchers would be put in the bag, and the men from the sea
would walk into a neat trap. This reflection seemed to take all the
colour out of Heritage's prospect. Peril and heroism were not to be
his lot--only boredom.
A little after twelve two of the tinklers appeared with some news
which made Dobson laugh and pat them on the shoulder. He seemed to
be giving them directions, pointing seaward and southward. He nodded
to the Tower, where Heritage took the opportunity of again fluttering
Saskia's scarf athwart the window. The tinklers departed at a trot,
and Dobson lit his pipe as if well pleased. He had some trouble with
it in the wind, which had risen to an uncanny violence. Even the solid
Tower rocked with it, and the sea was a waste of spindrift and low
scurrying cloud. Heritage discovered a new anxiety--this time about
the possibility of the brig landing at all. He wanted a complete bag,
and it would be tragic if they got only the three seedy ruffians now
circumambulating his fortress.
About one o'clock he was greatly cheered by the sight of Dougal.
At the moment Dobson was lunching off a hunk of bread and cheese
directly between the Tower and the House, just short of the crest
of the ridge on the other side of which lay the stables and the
shrubberies; Leon was on the north side opposite the Tower door,
and Spidel was at the south end near the edge of the Garple glen.
Heritage, watching the ridge behind Dobson and the upper windows of
the House which appeared over it, saw on the very crest something
like a tuft of rusty bracken which he had not noticed before.
Presently the tuft moved, and a hand shot up from it waving a rag
of some sort. Dobson at the moment was engaged with a bottle of
porter, and Heritage could safely wave a hand in reply. He could now
make out clearly the red head of Dougal.
The Chieftain, having located the three watchers, proceeded to give
an exhibition of his prowess for the benefit of the lonely inmate
of the Tower. Using as cover a drift of bracken, he wormed his way
down till he was not six yards from Dobson, and Heritage had the
privilege of seeing his grinning countenance a very little way
above the innkeeper's head. Then he crawled back and reached the
neighbourhood of Leon, who was sitting on a fallen Scotch fir.
At that moment it occurred to the Belgian to visit Dobson.
Heritage's breath stopped, but Dougal was ready, and froze into
a motionless blur in the shadow of a hazel bush. Then he crawled
very fast into the hollow where Leon had been sitting, seized
something which looked like a bottle, and scrambled back to the ridge.
At the top he waved the object, whatever it was, but Heritage could
not reply, for Dobson happened to be looking towards the window.
That was the last he saw of the Chieftain, but presently he realized
what was the booty he had annexed. It must be Leon's life-preserver,
which the night before had broken Heritage's head.
After that cheering episode boredom again set in. He collected some
food from the Mearns Street box, and indulged himself with a glass
of liqueur brandy. He was beginning to feel miserably cold, so he
carried up some broken wood and made a fire on the immense hearth
in the upper chamber. Anxiety was clouding his mind again, for it
was now two o'clock, and there was no sign of the reinforcements
which Dickson and the Princess had gone to find. The minutes passed,
and soon it was three o'clock, and from the window he saw only the
top of the gaunt shuttered House, now and then hidden by squalls of
sleet, and Dobson squatted like an Eskimo, and trees dancing like a
witch-wood in the gale. All the vigour of the morning seemed to have
gone out of his blood; he felt lonely and apprehensive and puzzled.
He wished he had Dickson beside him, for that little man's cheerful
voice and complacent triviality would be a comfort....Also, he was
abominably cold. He put on his waterproof, and turned his attention
to the fire. It needed re-kindling, and he hunted in his pockets for
paper, finding only the slim volume lettered WHORLS.
I set it down as the most significant commentary on his state of mind.
He regarded the book with intense disfavour, tore it in two, and used
a handful of its fine deckle-edged leaves to get the fire going.
They burned well, and presently the rest followed. Well for Dickson's
peace of soul that he was not a witness of such vandalism.
A little warmer but in no way more cheerful, he resumed his watch near
the window. The day was getting darker, and promised an early dusk.
His watch told him that it was after four, and still nothing had happened.
Where on earth were Dickson and the Princess? Where in the name of
all that was holy were the police? Any minute now the brig might
arrive and land its men, and he would be left there as a burnt-offering
to their wrath. There must have been an infernal muddle somewhere..
..Anyhow the Princess was out of the trouble, but where the Lord
alone knew....Perhaps the reinforcements were lying in wait for the
boats at the Garplefoot. That struck him as a likely explanation,
and comforted him. Very soon he might hear the sound of an engagement
to the south, and the next thing would be Dobson and his crew in flight.
He was determined to be in the show somehow and would be very close
on their heels. He felt a peculiar dislike to all three, but
especially to Leon. The Belgian's small baby features had for
four days set him clenching his fists when he thought of them.
The next thing he saw was one of the tinklers running hard towards the
Tower. He cried something to Dobson, which woke the latter to activity.
The innkeeper shouted to Leon and Spidel, and the tinkler was
excitedly questioned. Dobson laughed and slapped his thigh.
He gave orders to the others, and himself joined the tinkler and
hurried off in the direction of the Garplefoot. Something was
happening there, something of ill omen, for the man's face and
manner had been triumphant. Were the boats landing?
As Heritage puzzled over this event, another figure appeared on the scene.
It was a big man in knickerbockers and mackintosh, who came round the end
of the House from the direction of the South Lodge. At first he thought
it was the advance-guard from his own side, the help which Dickson
had gone to find, and he only restrained himself in time from
shouting a welcome. But surely their supports would not advance so
confidently in enemy country. The man strode over the slopes as if
looking for somebody; then he caught sight of Leon and waved
to him to come. Leon must have known him, for he hastened to obey.
The two were about thirty yards from Heritage's window. Leon was
telling some story volubly, pointing now to the Tower and now
towards the sea. The big man nodded as if satisfied. Heritage noted
that his right arm was tied up, and that the mackintosh sleeve was
empty, and that brought him enlightenment. It was Loudon the factor,
whom Dickson had winged the night before. The two of them passed out
of view in the direction of Spidel.
The sight awoke Heritage to the supreme unpleasantness of his position.
He was utterly alone on the headland, and his allies had vanished into
space, while the enemy plans, moving like clockwork, were approaching
their consummation. For a second he thought of leaving the Tower and
hiding somewhere in the cliffs. He dismissed the notion unwillingly,
for he remembered the task that had been set him. He was there to hold
the fort to the last--to gain time, though he could not for the life of
him see what use time was to be when all the strategy of his own side
seemed to have miscarried. Anyhow, the blackguards would be sold,
for they would not find the Princess. But he felt a horrid void
in the pit of his stomach, and a looseness about his knees.
The moments passed more quickly as he wrestled with his fears.
The next he knew the empty space below his window was filling with figures.
There was a great crowd of them, rough fellows with seamen's coats,
still dripping as if they had had a wet landing. Dobson was with them,
but for the rest they were strange figures.
Now that the expected had come at last Heritage's nerves grew calmer.
He made out that the newcomers were trying the door, and he waited to
hear it fall, for such a mob could soon force it. But instead a
voice called from beneath.
"Will you please open to us?" it called.
He stuck his head out and saw a little group with one man at the
head of it, a young man clad in oilskins whose face was dim in
the murky evening. The voice was that of a gentleman.
"I have orders to open to no one," Heritage replied.
"Then I fear we must force an entrance," said the voice.
"You can go to the devil," said Heritage.
That defiance was the screw which his nerves needed. His temper had
risen, he had forgotten all about the Princess, he did not even
remember his isolation. His job was to make a fight for it.
He ran up the staircase which led to the attics of the Tower, for he
recollected that there was a window there which looked over the space
before the door. The place was ruinous, the floor filled with holes,
and a part of the roof sagged down in a corner. The stones around
the window were loose and crumbling, and he managed to pull several
out so that the slit was enlarged. He found himself looking down
on a crowd of men, who had lifted the fallen tree on which Leon
had perched, and were about to use it as a battering ram.
"The first fellow who comes within six yards of the door I shoot,"
he shouted.
There was a white wave below as every face was turned to him.
He ducked back his head in time as a bullet chipped the side
of the window.
But his position was a good one, for he had a hole in the broken
wall through which he could see, and could shoot with his hand
at the edge of the window while keeping his body in cover.
The battering party resumed their task, and as the tree swung nearer,
he fired at the foremost of them. He missed, but the shot for a
moment suspended operations.
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